by Claire Allan
“It is,” he said. “We have to start getting on with things. Never forget her, never stop missing her, but we need to move on – try and accept she isn’t coming back. It doesn’t even feel real saying that, does it?”
“No,” Áine said, “but you are right.”
“I’ll talk to the children the next time I’m over. Float the idea to them of me going back to Italy on my own for a while – see how they feel. I would love it if you would help me tell them. Maybe we’ll take them out for a bit – for an ice cream in Fiorentini’s? Break it to them gently.”
“I think that would be a good idea,” Áine said, starting to tidy up the cups. “And I’ll do what I can to help.”
Jack stood as well, picking up the plate from the well-buttered toast they had shared and bringing it to the sink until they were standing side by side. Their hands brushed, just momentarily, and Áine turned to look at her brother-in-law.
“I appreciate it, Áine,” he said. “I appreciate how much you have done for us. How much you have done for me.”
He held her gaze – for just a moment or two too long until she felt her heart quicken.
She turned herself away from him and quickly walked down the hall to get his coat. “It might still ice over tonight,” she said. “You’d better be on your way.”
“Yes, I’d better be gone,” he agreed. Taking his coat from her, he put it on and wrapped his scarf around his neck. “I’ll be in touch to talk about the children.”
With that he was gone – and she was left, her back to the door, and her hand on her heart, her breathing heavy. Oh Áine, she chided herself, what are you getting yourself into? She was sure she had felt something and she knew by the way he had held her gaze that he had too. This man – her brother-in-law – someone who had always come across as brash, confident and larger than life. Someone the exact opposite of who she was. Someone who only three months before had buried the love of his life – her sister. Someone who, over the course of the last month had become someone she could confide in, who understood how much she missed Charlotte and who knew how lonely the long nights could be.
Chapter 25
Present Day
Áine had been true to her word that I could have a bit of extra time to get myself ready, and I had left Temple Muse before my normal finishing time. I made it home, where a lovely, very bubbly hair and make-up expert called Ciara was waiting to work on me. Sinéad was already there in all her finery and explained that Ciara was often called in to Northern People when they wanted to do extra-special photo-shoots. She had certainly worked her magic on Sinéad – transforming her from her usual well-presented professional office look to a vampy vintage glamour-puss ready for a night on the town. But, as I told her as she started tousling my hair and blow-drying it, Sinéad offered a much better canvas in the first place.
“Nonsense,” Ciara said. “You have great bone structure, and your hair is so thick. There are women who would kill to have your looks as a starting point.”
I giggled, bolstered by the compliments and the glass of Prosecco I had downed to give me some Dutch courage for the night that lay ahead. When I’d told Sinéad that Jonathan was going, she’d given me the kind of sneaky half-smile which told me that she already very much suspected that would be the case.
“I may have been aware of that when I offered you a seat at our table,” she then admitted, grinning. “Sure why not make a little magic happen?”
“You are getting far ahead of yourself. You are all as bad as each other – you, the girls, even Áine was getting in on the act. She put £20 in an envelope and told me to treat myself to a drink – and not to say no if any handsome men asked me to dance.”
Sinéad laughed. “I like the cut of her jib.”
Ciara achieved what she had promised. She curled my hair into a soft, short fifties-style bob. She did my make-up so that I barely recognised my usual tired face in the mirror. My wrinkles were gone, my eyes were highlighted, my lips were delicately stained a very pale pink. I couldn’t stop looking at myself in the mirror – and Sinéad almost had to pull me away to get me dressed. In a soft damson-coloured wrap-dress with a full skirt, and a pair of nude court heels I looked more elegant than I had in years. In fact, with the exception of my wedding day, I wasn’t sure I had ever looked as elegant.
“Oh my!” Sinéad said, pulling me into a hug so she could take a selfie. “There is no way we look any way near forty! We are gorgeous and I am going to very much enjoy going out on the razz with you. It has been too long since we have partied anywhere other than at my kitchen table or your kitchen table.”
“God, do you remember the days …” I started.
“Not that well,” Sinéad laughed. “But sure we can start again tonight.”
My earlier sense of confidence started to fade a little as we arrived at the hotel. Sensing my growing apprehension, it didn’t take too long for Sinéad to present me with a glass of Prosecco – courtesy of Northern People – and introduce me to her fellow workers at the magazine who were already seated at our table and who had, it seemed, already started their own party. I was nervous of telling people what I did for a living – all these people who did glamorous jobs in the media, while I had been a stay-at-home mother for most of my life and now worked as a carer. I had very quickly learned people weren’t all that interested in finding out about the caring profession. No one ever says, “Oh, I always wanted to do that” or “That sounds really exciting” when you tell them about your work as a carer. People tend to get a little strange about it – afraid almost that whatever you are caring for may be catching. Then again, I supposed old age was something that caught up with us all eventually – and people tended not to enjoy thinking about the days when they would become old and possibly infirm. But Sinéad’s staff were kind and welcoming and many of them were three sheets to the wind. They welcomed me into their brood easily – and I had the genuine feeling they weren’t just doing it to please their boss.
But no matter how welcoming they were, my mind was on someone else who might well have been in the room and I found myself looking around for him when I should have been trying to get into the full flow of a conversation. Someone Sinéad had been reminding me that I would see that night – in a social setting, away from the constraints, rules and accepted practices of a work environment. And I wouldn’t be in my Brightly Care uniform – nor my gardening casuals. And he would be in a suit – a tuxedo at that. And perhaps seeing me would make him smile that special smile, the one that made the wrinkles around his eyes crinkle all the more, that he normally reserved for his aunt.
When I spotted him I felt myself flush at the feelings I was having. This was crazy. I could not really be contemplating this, could I? Finding another man attractive? It seemed preposterous. Here was me. Georgina Casey. Mother of two teenage daughters. Famous burner of dinners. Famous for being in denial about her age. Former child bride. Faithful wife. Here was me and I was sitting, looking like a better version of myself, sipping fizzy wine, mixing with business people and movers and shakers and contemplating crossing some sort of borderline with an older man whose aunt I cared for. I felt my pulse quicken and the room swim a little around me before I excused myself and headed for the ladies’ room to try and catch my breath.
As I looked in the mirror, delighted to see that the great make-up job Ciara had done hid the flush on my face, I saw someone look back at me I didn’t quite recognise. The girl I used to be. The girl who believed in taking chances, in following her gut, in believing in what her heart told her. The girl who so firmly believed that the universe brought people into your life for a reason – and the girl who had so recently learned from Áine that life can take you to places you never expected. And all of it can turn on the spin of a coin.
Once I had settled myself and vowed to drink no more until the end of the evening, I felt safe enough to return to the dinner table where things were becoming more raucous as the courses passed. There was still a
charity auction to be held (I was determined to keep my hands down so as not to inadvertently bid on anything) and dancing to be done. I had been promised a whirl around the dancefloor by the partner of one of Sinéad’s employees who said he loved “a bit of disco”.
But, as I headed back to my seat, I found myself unexpectedly walking straight into Jonathan who subsequently told me he was on his way to the bar.
I was momentarily dumbstruck. There was no doubt about it, he looked exceptionally handsome in his suit. We stepped back from each other, mirroring each other’s movements. We looked at each other, taking in the sight of each other out of our usual environment, and we both smiled at the same time.
“You look well,” he said.
“You scrub up well yourself,” I offered, not just the Prosecco I had consumed making me feel lightheaded.
“Why, thank you,” he said. “To be honest, this isn’t normally my scene.”
“A mover and a shaker like you? I would have thought these kinds of events were staples in your social calendar?”
“Well, they are, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy them all that much. Lots of false people wanting to network – just wanting to know what they can get out of you, or how you can help them. There aren’t many real and lasting connections made at these kinds of things.”
“No, I suppose not. I find it a bit scary,” I confided. “I’m tempted to hide out here till the auction is done – afraid of my life of getting into debt and danger bidding on something by accident when I only meant to scratch my nose.”
He laughed. “Well, I’ve given my secretary carte blanche to vote for something we don’t need and won’t use but will cost the appropriate amount of money, so how about I keep you company while you hide?”
I looked past him, where I could see Sinéad lost in mid-flow of raucous laughter with her friends, and nodded a quick okay.
“And as I was going to the bar anyway – can I buy you a drink?” Jonathan asked.
“Actually, I think I may have had enough,” I said, but then, Dutch courage was a valuable resource at this time. “Then again, just a little one, as they say,” I muttered. “Maybe a gin and tonic.”
“Ice and lemon?”
“Of course,” I smiled.
He gestured to a seat in front of the roaring fire in the lobby and told me he wouldn’t be long and I used his brief trip to the bar to text Sinéad and let her know where I was. Just in case she would miss me. She replied with a series of smiley-faced emoticons which spoke volumes about her sobriety and also, in a rather disturbing way, her hopes for what the night would mean for me. Blushing, I stuffed my phone back in my clutch bag and looked up to see Jonathan approach with two gin and tonics.
“I thought I would join you,” he said as he sat down opposite me. “I’ve had enough wine for one night.”
“You can’t beat a good gin and tonic, as long as it is made well,” I said, sipping from the tall glass. “Ice first, then the gin, then a little squeeze of lemon, the tonic and a slice to finish it off.”
“Sounds perfect,” he said with a smile, sipping from his own drink and sitting back. “The barman may have left the squeeze of lemon out of these, but perhaps they will do?”
I sipped and nodded.
He drank then put his glass down. “Look, Georgina, I’m really glad to meet you tonight. I have been wanting to talk to you for a while – to thank you and –”
“It’s my job,” I butted in, embarrassed.
“We both know you have gone above and beyond your duties,” he said. “I don’t know how you put up with me when we first met. I know I can be insufferable at times. As I’ve said before, there are many people who are always trying to get something from me. And from my aunt. She is a wealthy woman, you know. When my father died, he left her, along with my sister and me, his business. I suppose I find it hard to trust people – and, with my aunt being so vulnerable, that made the issue of trust even more important. I know I was hard on you.”
“I think it’s understandable,” I said.
He laughed. “I was an ass.”
It was my turn to laugh. “Well, you were a bit. But as I said, understandable, and haven’t we gone past that now?”
“I really hope we have,” he said, looking straight at me. “Look, Georgina, while we are spilling all here and now, I have to say I’m struggling at the moment and it’s unlike me to be so troubled.”
“Is it Áine? She’s doing well these days, you know. I know we have the odd blip – but she seems happier overall.”
He nodded. “Yes, she does. And I’ve no doubt that’s down to you and how you care about her – but it’s not about Áine. It’s about you, Georgina.”
I felt my stomach flip.
“I can’t seem to get you out of my mind – and I know it’s inappropriate. You look after my aunt. You work in her house, but if I’m being honest – and Áine tells me I should never, never ignore the chance to find some happiness, no matter how awkward it may be – I can’t stop thinking about you.”
I put my drink down abruptly – my hands were shaking so much I was afraid I might drop it.
He quickly reached across and took my hand. “Don’t run away, Georgina.”
“I wasn’t,” I muttered, looking back into his eyes – holding his gaze. “My hands … were …”
“Shaking?” he laughed, letting go of my hand and showing me the slight tremor in his own.
“If you want we can forget tonight ever happened, forget we ever had this conversation and I promise to be nothing other than professional and courteous when you are caring for Áine. But if you want, I could also cross those lines a little. Life’s too short to wait for the perfect moment and, if I don’t tell you that, already, you mean something to me I know I would regret it. I have to tell you that I look forward to seeing you every day – and when you smile, something in me which has been locked away for a long time smiles too.”
He was so earnest, so honest, and yet he looked so vulnerable that I did the only thing I could in that moment – the thing I realised I had wanted to do for several weeks – I reached across and kissed him, as gently as I could. I could feel him respond, tenderly at first and then more deeply – and everything around us melted away until we were there in the moment, just two people who had been brought together in the strangest of ways.
But neither of us could stay in that moment for long – we were aware that we were in a public place, that no matter how personal this moment felt we were in a busy hotel lobby and Jonathan was high-profile enough to draw a few stares. At the same time, both of us knew that we were not done. Any doubt I had – any feeling that I was stepping out of my comfort zone – was gone. I was as comfortable as I could be, and as sure as I could be that this was meant to be.
When Jonathan pulled back, his eyes heavy, and suggested we get a room, I didn’t need to think about it. I didn’t need to question his motives – I knew them. I knew he felt just as I did. I nodded, and he asked again if I was sure.
I smiled, emboldened by the sense of passion in his kiss and the alcohol I had consumed, and said: “Jonathan, if you don’t organise a room, I’ll do it myself.”
I had never been touched by anyone else, never caressed by anyone else. I had never been kissed by anyone else, undressed by anyone else or left utterly satisfied by anyone else but Matthew – and now I lay in the dark of this hotel room, feeling reborn. Although my body ached in a delicious way, and the blinking of the clock on the front of the television told me it was gone three, I was as far away from sleep as I could be. I was enthralled – wrapped up in this man who was holding me in a way I didn’t think Matthew ever had. We talked, kissed, touched, made love, talked some more and the minutes and hours melted away. He had chipped away at the wall I had put up around myself – the feeling that I had done something wrong, that I had become unworthy of being admired, or desired or loved again.
When eventually we couldn’t keep our eyes open any longer, as the s
un started to peek through the dark curtains of our room, I whispered “Thank you” to his sleeping form and, as I drifted off myself, content in every way, I heard him whisper, “No – thank you,” back to me.
Chapter 26
1965
They say time is a great healer. Áine thought about that. She thought about it a lot. Spring had started to take hold and the garden had started to come back to life. It was strange to see the flowers start to bud and blossom, colours starting to fill in the dark, muddy patches which had lain so bare over the cold winter. It was odder still to feel that touch of warmth in the air, to be able to sit on the back stoop without her heavy coat pulled tight around her. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, she could lift her head to the sky and feel the warmth of the sun burn through the remnants of the cool winter sky and caress her face with the promise of brighter days to come.
The world was coming to life again, she thought – and as she looked around the big house it was clear her family was coming to life again too. Slowly but nonetheless steadily.
There were fewer days when the sheer shock of the grief they all felt would floor them – and she felt she could talk to her mother now about the good times with Charlotte without risking Rosaleen taking to her bed to weep over the sheer injustice of it all.
In fact, Rosaleen would often gather the children round her and tell them stories of their mother – how naughty she could be as a child but how she always won everyone round with a flash of her blue eyes and a shake of her blonde curls. “She never stayed in the bad books for long,” Rosaleen would laugh. “And you two, you’ve the look of her. You might just escape those bad books yourself.”
Those times with the children gave Áine heart that her mother would survive this after all. Even when she was unwell – when she was crippled with her arthritis – the children would bring a smile to her face as soon as they ran in the door from school, eager to tell her of their latest adventures.
