Still You

by Claire Allan

  “Or me, his best big boy?” Jonathan had said, as he stood in front of the mirror, puffing out his chest. “I have been eating all my vegetables to grow big and strong, haven’t I, Auntie Áine? And running around as fast as I can. Do you think he will think I’ve got bigger and stronger?”

  “You’ve both been great altogether and I’m sure your daddy will see how good you have been and he’ll be delighted with you. Sure how could he not be?”

  “Will you not even tell him about that time I was bold and sneaked a biscuit out of the jar?” Emma asked, eyes wide.

  “It’s our secret,” Áine smiled, miming that she was zipping her lips shut.

  “I hope he stays a while,” Jonathan said. “I want to tell him all about school and my new friends and how good my reading is.”

  “I’m sure he will stay as long as he can. Now run on and play while Granny and I get the dinner on and the house ready. We all want to make a very good impression, don’t we?”

  The children had cheered and run on, clattering down the stairs like a herd of baby elephants while Áine stood and took stock of herself in front of the mirror. She brushed her hair back and fixed it with a ribbon. Nothing too fancy, mind – just a low ponytail. She pinched her cheeks to add colour and looked at the dress she was wearing. It was drab – more suited for the classroom than a beautiful spring day. She opened her wardrobe in despair, hoping something more colourful and less mumsy would jump out at her. In the end she opted for a pale tea dress, with a light floral pattern, which just about bordered on the fashionable. It was a far cry from the short skirts and bright colours some of the girls were starting to wear, but it was feminine and modest. As she smoothed the fabric down over her hips, she chided herself. No good could come of purposely making an effort just because Jack Hegarty was coming to town.

  But there was no denying they had become closer. Their letters were being exchanged more frequently. He would enquire after her, and do his best to make her laugh with his witty way with words. She looked on him as a confidant of sorts. And, if the tone of his letters to her were to be believed, he looked at her in the same light. There was no word of romance, but she had started to see him differently. The layers of the confident man he was – the man who was showy and had to be the centre of attention at all times – had started to peel away. He was man who was in many ways very insecure – and who was struggling without Charlotte to keep him in line and to boost him when he felt down. He was a man who loved his children very much but had no faith in his ability to be a good father to them. He simply did not know how to cope and the only time he felt in any way in control of his life was at work. She understood, in a way. She had tried to focus on her work too, despite the awkwardness that still existed in the staffroom when she bumped into Lorcan.

  She wasn’t altogether frank with Jack about the children. She did her best to reassure him, to pretend that all was well, that they were coping well with their new surroundings, that they felt secure spending time with her and their granny, but she was well aware that she was not, and never could be, their mother. What she did tell him was that they needed him, Jack, dreadfully.

  She felt a confusing mixture of emotions – from the feelings that she felt were appropriate and those which were sneaking in around the corners and waking her up at night. The excitement and the guilt made for a heady combination and, as she stood in front of the mirror, looking at an unfamiliar reflection of a woman who made an effort with her appearance, a part of her felt as giddy and light as the children did at the thought of Jack’s arrival.

  “Will he stay long, do you think?” Rosaleen asked as they sat in the kitchen later. “Here? Will he stay for a week maybe? The children need a good long stint with him.” Almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, Áine noticed a change in her mother’s expression. “Or do you think he is ready now? Áine, tell me he isn’t ready now to take them back?”

  “I’m sure this is just a visit,” Áine replied. “But for the sake of the children, I do hope it is a long one.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell and the same clatter of footsteps which had bounced down the stairs earlier bounced down the hall, accompanied by cries of “Daddy! It’s Daddy!”.

  Áine felt her heart thump a little at the sound of his voice greeting the children.

  “Well, I suppose we better go and let him see we’re doing a good job,” Rosaleen said. “Come on now, Áine, don’t be making a show of us.”

  As they walked down the hall Jonathan was the first to turn his head.

  “Did you see who is it, Auntie Áine? Did you see? It’s my very own daddy.” Jack had lifted him into his arms, and Jonathan had wrapped his own arms tight around his father’s neck while Emma did her best to squeeze in and get her daddy to lift her too.

  “So it is,” Áine said, with a smile that was matched by that on Jack’s face as he looked at her.

  “What a tonic it is to see these children,” he said, pulling them both closer. “What a wonderful, wonderful tonic!”

  Áine found that she did not have the words to answer him. She just stood and stared while her mother launched into her own greeting.

  “Sure of course they’re a tonic. They are only the best children in all of Derry and they have been thriving here, haven’t you, children? We should tell Daddy about how well you are doing at school.”

  “I want to show him my books,” Jonathan said.

  “And I want to show you my room, Daddy,” Emma said.

  “Sure your daddy has seen your room, pet,” Rosaleen said. “Why not take him through and show him how good you are on the piano now. Áine has been teaching her, haven’t you, Áine? She’s very good with them, you know. Gives them that woman’s touch that children need when they are so young.”

  “I’m sure she does,” Jack said, pulling himself gently from his children’s embrace and standing. “And I would certainly love to hear Miss Emma here play the piano and you, son, go and get me those books and we’ll have a good look through them.”

  “And I’ll bring tea, will I?” Rosaleen said. “And biscuits. Homemade, of course. Áine here had the children helping her in the kitchen this morning. She is a dab hand at the baking and the children loved every moment of it.”

  Áine felt herself blush furiously as Rosaleen rambled on as if the children were angels who never stepped out of line and she was some kind of divine creature who did nothing but guide them on the right path. She was sure Jack knew enough about his own children to know they were as capable of acting up as anyone else’s and he didn’t need the great act from on high to persuade him that they were better off left with their aunt and granny than ever setting foot in Italy again.

  “Yes, Mother, why not go and get the tea? I’ll come and help you and the children can have a little time alone with their daddy who they haven’t seen in a very long time.”

  Rosaleen smiled as Áine guided her to the door.

  “Eleven weeks, Auntie Áine said. She showed me on the colander,” Jonathan said. “Daddy, you’ve been away a long, long time.”

  Áine paused in the hall to hear Jack’s response.

  “I know, son,” Jack said, choosing not to correct his son’s mispronunciation. “I know and I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’m very sorry but I have been so busy.”

  “We missed you,” Emma said.

  “And I’ve missed you too, both of you, so very much.”

  Áine could hear the emotion thick in his voice. She followed her mother to the kitchen. She did not need to see any weakness in Jack Hegarty that would lead her to have any more inappropriate feelings for him.

  “Let’s let the children and their father be for a while,” she said as she closed the kitchen door and set about setting a tray with cups and saucers.

  “What do you make of that?” Rosaleen asked.

  “What?”

  “His reaction to the children. Do you think he means to take them back wi
th him?”

  Her mother’s face was so stricken Áine felt for her. “Mother, you need to relax and what will be, will be.”

  “I couldn’t lose them too,” Rosaleen said, sitting down, kettle left to boil on the range.

  “He is their father,” Áine said softly.

  “Still and all, I couldn’t lose them as well,” Rosaleen said.

  “I know.”

  “I bet it isn’t a patch on Italy,” Áine said as she walked along the beach at the Donegal coast.

  The children were running on ahead, dragging sticks across the sand, leaving a trail in their wake.

  “Oh, I don’t know. This has its own charms. There is something about Ireland that always pulls you back.”

  “But I’m sure Italy has the same appeal?” Áine smiled.

  “Well, it is warmer,” Jack said, laughing, and Áine pulled her cardigan a little tighter.

  “The children seem very happy, Áine. I don’t think I can thank you and your mother enough for all you have done for us. God only knows what state they would be in by now if they were left in my care.”

  “You cope with what you have to cope with,” Áine said. “You would have managed in some way.”

  “But not this way. They seem happy and settled. They’re acting like children again and not tiny adults trying to tiptoe their way through a world they don’t understand. If they say you cope with what you have to cope with, I’m pretty sure I let them down badly in those early days. I could barely function myself – never mind teach piano lessons and read books and bake biscuits.”

  “In those early days I wasn’t much better myself,” Áine admitted. “Don’t be too hard on yourself for grieving for Charlotte. It would be more worrying for all of us if you didn’t drop a beat after she died and were able to go on as if nothing happened.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose you’re right. Charlotte would have come back to haunt me anyway. She always said if something were to happen to her she very much wanted me to fall to pieces for a bit out of sheer grief.”

  Áine laughed. “That sounds like Charlotte’s strange logic alright.”

  “I know. She said it would prove to everyone how much we were in love. She said she would never be so magnanimous as to wish me not to cry and to move on with my life as if nothing had happened. She wanted the full works.”

  “She was one of a kind.”

  “She was.” Jack smiled, dug his hands in his pockets and walked on, listening to the calls of his children carried on the wind as they ran on ahead of them. “But, you know, she did want me to move on eventually. She made that clear as well. I wasn’t to ‘linger’ in my grief. I wasn’t to let it destroy me. ‘Life is for living,’ she said and while I had to be suitably destroyed for a while she said she would come back and kill me herself if I wasted what she couldn’t have.”

  Áine didn’t speak but looked ahead. The children were sitting on the sand, peeling off their shoes and socks and laughing at each other.

  “Do you know what she said to me, Áine? She said she had grown up in a house where grief was ever present. That your mother had locked herself away from the world and not allowed herself a moment to live again after your father died. There was no greater tragedy, she said, than that. She would tell me that was why she embraced life so much – she felt as if she had to live for your mother too.”

  Áine felt tears well in her eyes. She tried not to think about her mother – and all those years sitting in that house, afraid to go anywhere, refusing so much as a weekend trip to Dublin or a day out at Portrush. “I’m happy as I am,” her mother would say – but Áine could see that Rosaleen was not truly happy.

  Áine glanced at Jack who was looking straight at her.

  “Áine,” he said, reaching out and gently brushing her hand, “she wanted you to live a little as well.”

  Áine found herself caught in his glance – lost in a moment where nothing existed but this man and her on this beach. She found herself caught on the horns of a dilemma, fighting the urge to feel the brush of his skin again against hers and the urge to run away from this moment – this conversation and all that it could mean.

  A squeal of excitement, as the waves washed over the children’s feet, brought her to her senses and she turned to see them smiling brightly at her.

  “I think I’ll go and dip my toes with the children,” she mumbled and headed off down the beach, vowing not to look back.

  Chapter 28

  Present Day

  I poured a glass of water and drank it quickly, trying to settle the unquiet feeling in the pit of my stomach. It wasn’t long before Jonathan joined me in the kitchen. He looked worn out and I didn’t hesitate in crossing the floor and pulling him into my arms. He held on tight as I tried to soothe him, telling him that it would be okay.

  “She’s getting worse,” he whispered. “I know it.”

  “She has bad days. It’s normal.”

  “But they are becoming more frequent,” he said, pulling back and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I can feel her slipping away. Yes, she comes back – but it takes longer, and less comes back. Less of the here and now – and she is getting so scared, scared and angry.”

  “We’ll take her to the doctor’s,” I said, confidently. “It might just be that her medication needs to be tweaked.”

  He looked at me, put his hand to my cheek and pulled me into a kiss, the force of which took me by surprise. Everything was in that kiss – every ounce of pain he was feeling, every inch of hope he was clinging on to.

  When he pulled away, both of us breathless, he said: “Georgina Casey, you remind me there is good in the world.”

  We both knew the doctor might not be able to do a lot. We both knew where we heading – but we both now knew that at least we were together.

  He drew me over to the table and we sat down side by side.

  “Would you care for her full-time?” he asked. “I’d pay, of course. But I’d feel more secure knowing you were here. She responds well to you – you have a way with her.”

  “Yes,” I said, without hesitation. I would do anything I could to stop this wonderful woman from slipping away further.

  “I should probably call Emma as well,” he said. “Ask her to come back for a visit. It’s been a while. She wouldn’t want to have regrets.”

  “Áine will be here for a while,” I soothed.

  “Perhaps,” he said. “But how much of her will be? Emma and Áine have, well, some unfinished business. It would be nice for them to sort out their differences.”

  I was surprised to learn they had differences – given Jonathan’s devotion to his aunt and his assertion she had been like a mother to them after Charlotte died.

  As if reading my mind he said, “After our mother died, Áine and my father . . . well, they fell in love. It was a huge scandal at the time – to my granny anyway. I don’t remember much about that time – those early days. I was young – it just seemed to happen and I was happy to see my father happy. But it was different for Emma and my grandmother, especially Granny. She saw it as some sort of betrayal – and Emma worshipped the ground our granny walked on. They didn’t see it like I did, even when it was clear how much they meant to each other. Jack and Áine. They made each other so happy – it wasn’t conventional, but it was love. They held each other up for a long, long time. They were very happy.”

  I sat back, dumbstruck. Áine, who had brought me into her confidence on so many things, had not told me about this love affair – the love affair which, it seemed, was the biggest of her life. She had been happy – she had found love after things with Lorcan hadn’t worked out. I always assumed she had devoted so much of herself to Jonathan and Emma that she never had the time for love elsewhere. But she had, it seemed. Although they had never married. They didn’t live together. Had it been the happy ending she had so deserved? It didn’t seem like it.

  1965

  “They are asleep now – m
uch as they tried to fight it,” Jack said, standing in the doorway of the kitchen while Áine tidied up after supper.

  “I think they’re dreading your leaving tomorrow,” Áine replied. She had seen the children try to hide their yawns and beg their daddy to tell one more story before they finally agreed to let him take them up to bed.

  “I’m dreading it myself but it would be selfish of me to take them with me. You believe that, don’t you? I know what I’m going back to – hard work from morning to night. It wouldn’t be trips to the coast and days at the park. I’d have to get a nanny in – and no matter how good she was, she wouldn’t be you. She could never love them how you love them. She could never offer them everything you are.”

  Áine blushed.

  Rosaleen had, of course, been delighted at the news. Much as she had tried to hide her enthusiasm for fear of not comforting the children enough, she had been over the moon that they would stay under her roof.

  “They have a home here always,” she had told Jack. “Charlotte would have been happy to have them here with us. I know it. We’ll care for them as well as she would.”

  Jack had expressed his gratitude while the children had sat, trying their very hardest to be brave but unable to hide their trembling lower lips.

  “I will come back more,” Jack said to Rosaleen, “I promise you that. And maybe you could come out for a visit in the summer holidays? I’m sure Áine here wouldn’t object to travelling with you?”

  The children had looked at Áine so hopefully she could not bring herself to tell them that she would prefer to keep her distance as much as possible. “That sounds like a plan,” she said. She looked at Rosaleen. “Mammy might like a chance to go to Italy – to see where Charlotte is sleeping.”

  Rosaleen had put her hand to her mouth but shook her head. “No. There is no comfort in a grave,” she said. “Charlotte is in my heart – and in these children. That’s enough for me. And, my dear girl, I wouldn’t be fit for that travelling nor that heat. You know me, I have lived here happily long enough. I’m happy for you to go on your adventures and come back to tell me all about it.”