Still You

by Claire Allan

  Jonathan was holding his aunt’s hand, trying to reassure her as best he could. We talked through everything we were doing – we were doing it all right, we were told. No, there wasn’t much else we could do. I could sense Jonathan’s frustration at the doctor’s words. That he wanted an easy fix. Or a hard fix. Or an expensive fix. As long as it was a fix.

  We had left feeling a combination of confusing feelings – hope that the new drugs would help Áine on the days she felt more agitated, worried that they wouldn’t stall the progression of the illness.

  But I wouldn’t tell the girls that. I would just tell them that we hoped she would feel better. They weren’t fools though – they knew enough to know that ultimately, over time, Áine would become worse.

  “Can I see her tomorrow?” Sorcha asked.

  “I could bake some cupcakes tonight?” Eve offered.

  “Yes, girls. I’m sure she would love to see you and that she would love the cupcakes.”

  They seemed happy with that and returned to eating their dinner.

  Later, as I cleaned up, Eve sidled up beside me. “When I’m making cupcakes, should I make extra for Jonathan?” She had a cheeky smile on her face – one I couldn’t help returning.

  I swiped her gently with the tea towel. “If you want,” I laughed.

  “I’m glad he’s making you happy,” she said.

  “Really?” I asked. “You don’t mind that I’m seeing someone?”

  “If you are asking does it feel a bit weird – yes, it does. And you can spare me the details,” she said, pulling a face. “But if you’re happy, really happy, that’s all that matters. And you seem happy.”

  “We’re taking it slowly,” I assured her.

  “I know, I know,” she said, raising her hands. “And I know you aren’t trying to replace Dad. Or any of that nonsense we’re supposed to understand and all. But all that aside, cupcakes? Yes?”

  “That would be nice,” I repeated – and despite the emotional nature of the day and the worry about Áine that wouldn’t go away, I went to bed feeling positive about at least one aspect of my life.

  Chapter 30

  1965

  When Áine woke the sun was streaming through the shutters on the windows. For a moment or two she wondered where she was – and what had brought her there. Memories – hazy and soft – flitted through her mind. The kisses in the moonlight, the talking into the small hours. She had no idea what time it was then – she only knew that there had been the slightest hint of light in the sky as she had gone to bed, reluctantly leaving Jack and slipping into the guest room. She should have fallen straight to sleep. She should have been so exhausted from the travelling, worn out from the heat and left woozy from the wine, but even as she put her head to her pillow she felt more awake and more alive than she had done in years.

  She wasn’t silly. She was well aware of the complications their situation would bring. Tongues would wag – there was no doubt about that. People would cast aspersions on her – and on Jack. Scandal was a great source of entertainment back at home.

  At the forefront of everything were the children – who despite their outward appearance of being resilient and more settled were still reeling from their loss. Áine wondered if that would ever go away. She couldn’t imagine it would. She still missed her father – or the notion of him anyway – and she had never even really known him. A child old enough to know and rely on the love of a parent could not easily move on from it. Their lives were also so diverse. She loved her work and her mother needed her. Jack had made no bones of the fact his work and his life was here in Italy.

  But it was early days. It could be just the first flush of romance – one which would burn out quickly and in a few months she would be nursing a bruised heart and wondering what madness had come over her. Then again, every part of her body and her mind felt this was something different.

  She had stared into the darkness of her room and listened to the sounds the house made around her until she could find no more answers and was fed up with questions and fell asleep. Now waking, she felt more at peace and she could not wipe the smile from her face. Maybe this is what Charlotte had meant all the time she had told her she should live a little – that there was a world outside of the four walls of the big house with Rosaleen at the kitchen table morning, noon and night.

  She pulled her dressing gown around her and slipped her feet into her slippers – although there was no need for them, not like at home. The floor was warm under her feet as if the sun had been shining directly on it for hours. Before she left her room she had sense enough to brush her hair into a loose ponytail and pinch her cheeks to bring some colour to them. It was only then – when she felt she was looking halfway to respectable that she walked to the kitchen, following the noise of the children laughing uproariously with their father.

  “Daddy is trying to flip pancakes,” Emma spat out through her giggles as Áine walked into the room.

  “He’s not very good at it,” Jonathan said, his face bright as a button with glee.

  Áine looked at Jack who stood, shrugging, a smile on his face.

  “We were hoping if we made enough noise you would get up and show us how it’s done,” he said. “I’ve already warned you that cooking is not my strong point. I should have stayed with toast, shouldn’t I, children?”

  Áine walked towards him, resisting the urge to kiss the smile that danced across his lips, and took the pan from him. “But if you had stayed with toast, then these lovely children of yours would not have had so much to laugh at.”

  “Laughing at their poor daddy, the cheek of it!” Jack said, shaking his fist in mock rage at them so that they laughed even louder.

  As Áine set about making up a fresh bowl of batter, she marvelled at just how lovely it was to see the three of them laugh together – so loudly and without any reservations at all. This, she thought, as she stood there in a kitchen she had never cooked in before, in her dressing gown and slippers, listening to the laughter of her niece and nephew and this man – this man who was slowly but surely working his way into her heart – this was what happiness was. In that moment, she knew that more than she had ever known anything before.

  Present Day

  We fell into a pattern as spring moved towards summer. Áine remained relatively stable. There were days, when she was tired or it was too hot, when she would become more confused and at times more agitated. I would do my best to keep us all calm – tell her the heat made me grouchy as well, which it did.

  June surprised us all by being both very warm and very dry. We – Áine, Jonathan and I – spent many hours in the garden which was now close to full bloom. My girls would call over at least twice a week, Sorcha having taken a liking to the piano in the dining room and Eve grateful to have someone to share cooking stories with.

  Jonathan and Áine would talk freely about their past – about growing up in this big house and the mischief they respectively got up to. They talked about their summers in Italy – how Rosaleen still refused to join them and how Áine would cut her own break short, afraid of leaving her mother at home alone. She would talk about Jack – of the friendship they shared which had blossomed into something more – something which gave her a lot of comfort over the years.

  Often I would just listen as they chatted – busying myself getting on with work around the house. And when Áine would take a rest, an afternoon nap or some time out in front of the television, Jonathan would come through to the kitchen and we would share our own quality time. I realised I had forgotten to laugh in the months before I met him – forgot about those deep belly laughs that made you fall head over heels in love with the person making you feel so joyous in the first place. But of course I was cautious of those ‘in love’ feelings. I held them close to me, only revealing how I was feeling in the intensity of the kisses we shared.

  I felt younger too. I didn’t worry so much about my age and whether or not I looked it. I felt confident and comfortabl
e in my own skin – helped of course by ditching the Brightly Care uniform and turning up to work in summer dresses, or light linen trousers and soft cotton fitted T-shirts.

  Sinéad noticed it – she said I had a glow about me. Being Sinéad, she of course said the glow was clearly the sign that I was being sexually fulfilled on a regular basis. But we didn’t cross that line in Áine’s house – no matter how strong the temptation became. Friday nights were ours though, when the girls went to their father’s house. We both wanted to keep things low key for now – so when we went out for dinner, we chose quiet restaurants on the outskirts of town. Sometimes I would go to his house and sometimes he would come to visit me. The first night I was afraid of what he would make of my chaotic family home but, as he held me that night, as we talked again into the small hours, he told me how my house felt as though it was filled with love. It was, of course, even if I had forgotten that for a while after Matthew left.

  The hazy days of June, which progressed into some blistering weeks in July, lulled us all into a false sense of security. We all believed in good things, happy endings and life being fair. The famous Emma even made plans to come home for a visit in August when she took a break from her work. Áine seemed greatly cheered at the news and she talked of a welcome-home dinner party, cooking all of her niece’s favourite foods.

  “The prodigal niece,” Jonathan had teased – but even he had expressed excitement at the prospect of seeing his sister again. It had been a year since he had travelled to England to spend time with her. “Imagine us all being together under the one roof again?” he said and Áine had beamed.

  “It will do my heart good,” she said – and we all hoped that it would.

  But as July neared its end, there was a change in Áine. To tell the truth, I think both Jonathan and I tried to ignore it, or minimise it.

  “It’s just a bad day,” Jonathan said, when he visited towards the end of the month to find Áine more confused than usual. “She was out in the sun too long yesterday. We should have been more careful.”

  “I’ll make sure she gets well hydrated today and it will do her no harm to spend a day resting,” I told him. “Try not to worry.”

  Áine wasn’t having it though. “I don’t need to rest. I’ll have plenty of time for resting when I’m dead and gone. There’s the sun shining outside and you want me to stay in this house?”

  “We all need to take it easy from time to time,” I told her. “And you want to be in your best form possible for Emma coming to visit, don’t you?”

  She had looked at me and smiled. “Emma is coming?”

  I ignored the sinking feeling in my stomach, that feeling that came when she forgot something big, something that had been almost the sole topic of conversation for the last few days.

  “Yes,” I said softly. “Emma is coming. In two weeks’ time. We’re going to have a big family dinner.”

  “Well, I’d better rest then,” Áine said. “I don’t want to be unwell when she gets here. She’ll need me.”

  “She sure will,” I said as Áine stood up and allowed me to guide her back to her bed.

  She lay down, asked me to pull the curtains and then asked for a glass of water and some paracetamol. Once she had her tablets she drifted off and I was able to come back downstairs, call Jonathan and tell him she was settled.

  “It was mention of Emma’s visit that did it,” I told him and he laughed.

  “Poor Emma won’t know what hit her. She’ll be killed with kindness when she arrives. I must warn her Áine will be in full-on auntie mode.”

  “Do you think everything will be okay with them?” I asked, aware that Emma still carried a degree of hurt at her aunt’s relationship with her father.

  “I think so. I think the passing of time might have softened Emma a little – and, besides, I have her well warned. Áine doesn’t need upset now and Emma is mature enough to realise the truth of their relationship.”

  “I hope so,” I said.

  “You will keep a really close eye on Áine today?” he asked.

  “I promise,” I answered. “And I’ll keep you updated.”

  He thanked me and went back to work and I allowed myself to sit down with a cup of tea and relax.

  I’m not sure how I didn’t hear her on the stairs, or how I didn’t hear the front door opening. But nonetheless the door was open when I left the kitchen half an hour later to go and check on her. The sight of the open door didn’t overly alarm me at first. I figured I mustn’t have closed it tightly when I arrived earlier and that the soft summer breeze had forced it open. I pushed it closed and went upstairs – and it was only when I saw that Áine’s bedroom door was open, the door that I could very clearly remember closing, that I started to feel uneasy.

  The uneasy feeling was replaced with full-blown panic when I saw that Áine was no longer in her bed – and yet I found myself temporarily frozen to the spot. It was as if my brain went into go-slow mood, trying to process what I could see and what it meant. The shock of adrenalin as I realised Áine must have left the house, and I didn’t know when, or where she was headed, almost winded me. My head spinning, I turned and ran from the room, hoping that I was wrong. That she had simply gone to the bathroom, or that I would find her in the living room in front of the TV, or in the garden soaking up the sun we had blamed for her being out of sorts that day.

  As I ran in and out of each room my hope faded and my anxiety grew. I grabbed my mobile and ran into the street. Perhaps she had only just wandered. Perhaps she would be there, in the street, and my panic would be over. I ran along the length of Temple Muse, I ran into the beautiful private gardens. I called her name with the panic normally reserved for frantic mothers hunting for wandering toddlers. With each shout of her name, my voice became higher – more strained, more panic-filled – and to my horror tears sprang to my eyes. I tried to blink them away to swipe the screen on my phone to call Jonathan. I won’t lie – my heart was pounding at how he would react. Would he be angry with me? Would all his feelings for me mean nothing when pitted against his feelings for his aunt and the sickening reality that she had gone missing on my watch?

  When his phone went directly to answerphone, I called his office number. Trying to keep my voice as calm and collected as possible I asked to speak to him, only for his secretary to tell me he was in a meeting and wasn’t to be disturbed.

  “I’m sorry but I really must insist that you get him for me,” I said. “I’m his – his aunt’s carer and it’s about her. It’s really quite urgent.” As I said the words my voice began to shake and as I waited for him to come I felt all the contentedness of the last few months slide away.

  “Georgina, what is it?” His voice was panicked.

  “She’s wandered off,” I said. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened. She was sleeping and then when I went to check she was gone, the door was open. I’ve checked the house, I’ve checked the street. I’m not sure what to do.”

  I could hear his sharp inhalation of breath. “Go to the house. Go there and wait in case she comes back. Check it again. Check every room, check the garden. Check it all. I’ll drive around and look for her.” He barked the instructions at me, and then the phone disconnected.

  I stood in the middle of the beautiful gardens of Temple Muse – the gardens I had once longed to walk through – and I cried.

  Pulling myself together, I returned to the house. I looked in every room – but half-heartedly. I knew she wasn’t there. I could feel it. I thought of how I had sat down, allowed myself a break to drink some tea and how in that time she had slipped out. In her room, I noticed the clothes she had been wearing that morning were still draped over her chair. Her slippers were gone, her dressing gown too. My poor, lovely, proud and clever Áine was out there, wandering the streets in her nightclothes. Jonathan, the man I had allowed myself to start to fall in love with, was angry with me. I was angry with myself and I felt so completely paralysed by a sense of helplessness that I cou
ld hardly breathe. I couldn’t go out and wander the streets in case she came back – so all I could do was wander from room to room and listen to the ticking of the blasted grandfather clock at the bottom of the hall and wait for Jonathan to call me and tell me he had found her, safe and sound. I don’t consider myself religious but I prayed, and prayed hard, that she would show up, soon, and that all this would just be one of those blips that passed and that our lovely summer could resume.

  Two hours had passed with no word from Jonathan when I saw a car pull up outside. Out of it stepped two uniformed police officers and I felt my body crease in half in preparation for the body blow that was about to come.

  Chapter 31

  1965

  As much as the days were filled with fun, Áine found herself looking forward more and more to evenings when the air would cool just a little and the children, tired from their day’s playing, would fall into a deep sleep. It was then that Áine felt truly alive – as Jack poured wine, they ate the home-baked bread and home-churned cheeses they had bought in the village earlier and spent hours getting to know each other. Áine had been shocked at how little she knew of her brother-in-law – but then Charlotte had no sooner fallen in love with him than they had disappeared off to a new life together. Áine had only seen him when he had his best salesman face on – trying to sell himself to Rosaleen as a good husband for her daughter or to Áine as the kind of man who would always provide for her beloved big sister. But the more she learned of him, the more Áine realised that those aspects of his personality were all bluff and bravado. Deep inside he was a man who was happy with the simpler things in life – who craved a family he could provide for and who was striving to make a positive impression on the father who had always told him he would amount to nothing. She had cried as he told her of his childhood – with a heartless father, heavy with his fists and light on emotion. His mother was too scared, or too selfish or too something to take any action when his father had rained down beating after beating on him – for supposed indiscretions he still didn’t understand to this day. He had left home as soon as he could – worked his way up in the merchant navy and later worked his way through the ranks of the wine trade. But while he had found success in work, he had not found an ounce of love in his life until he met Charlotte.