Still You

by Claire Allan

  “Well, it is,” I said, standing up and moving away from. “And I’m sorry you’re hurt – but we can’t go back.”

  “But the girls … us … everything?”

  “The girls will always be our girls. And us, maybe we’ll be friends – but no, Matthew – everything has moved on. You moved on first – now let me.”

  When he left – which he did without saying another word – I heard my phone beep and lifted it to see a message from Jonathan.

  Áine is sleeping well now. Sorry for earlier. She gave me a scare. IT WASN’T YOUR FAULT. Am staying overnight. C U in the morning?

  I curled up into a ball on my sofa and cried until my throat was raw.

  As I had watched the police officers walk up the path earlier that day I had feared my legs would go from under me. What would they tell me? That she had walked out in front of a bus? That she had taken a bad fall? That she had collapsed?

  It was only when I caught sight of her frail features peeking out from the back window of the police car that my heart started to settle.

  “Is this the home of Áine Quigley?” a young police officer asked.

  “It is,” I replied. “She wandered off. She has dementia.”

  He looked at me with sympathy. “She was found in a distressed state at St. Claire’s Primary School. Luckily there was a caretaker there who remembered her from her teaching days.”

  “We’ve been worried sick. Her nephew is out looking for her. I’ve been waiting here in case she came home.”

  He nodded at the car and a female officer helped Áine from the car and guided her up the path. She looked mortified.

  “I know it can be difficult,” the young officer said. “Does Mrs Quigley have a social worker? Perhaps there is more help you could get?”

  I didn’t want to tell him I was the ‘more help’.

  “Georgina,” Áine sobbed, as she neared me. “I went to get Emma from school. But when I got there it was all closed. I don’t understand . . .” Her face creased with fear and embarrassment. “Have I made a fool of myself again?”

  “No, no, of course not,” I said, guiding her through to the living room and sitting her down. The police officers were standing expectantly in the hall when I went back out to them.

  “Thank you so much for returning her to us.”

  “You’re welcome. My grandmother went this way,” he said softly. “Take care of her. She’s a nice lady.”

  “She is,” I said, wishing them well as they left before grabbing my phone to call Jonathan and tell him she was okay. The relief in his voice was palpable and he told me he would be straight over. Áine was still distressed and I sat beside her, trying to soothe her.

  “I’m in my nightclothes,” she whispered. “What must people think? And poor Emma. Poor Emma will be waiting.”

  “Emma is in England,” I said softly. “She will be here in two weeks. Remember?”

  She nodded that she did, but I could see enough confusion on her face to know that she didn’t know what to believe, or who to believe any more – so I simply held her to try and give her some sense of the here and now.

  When Jonathan arrived he ran straight to her – and I moved aside. I couldn’t read his face – not beyond the relief he felt at seeing his aunt.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, after telling him where she was found. “Jonathan, I’m so, so sorry.”

  He looked at me – his face unreadable.

  “You should go home,” he said.

  “I want to stay. I want to make sure she’s okay. I’ll put on a pot of tea.”

  “No, Georgina,” he said firmly. “Go home. Just go home.”

  I knew there was no point in arguing – I was surplus to requirement and, face blazing with shame, I left.

  I climbed into my car, drove home, closed the curtains and crawled into my bed for the afternoon. But I didn’t sleep. Every scary possibility of what happened, what could have happened and what it all meant ran through my mind over and over again.

  When Jonathan sent that text my mood changed – but still I felt conflicted. I felt relieved of course that Áine was okay. I felt grateful for his apology. But I felt like an outsider – someone who was not part of their inner circle. For all Jonathan’s talk of how things were going between us, of how his feelings were growing, of how he trusted me, there was a clearly a part of him that didn’t trust me. And I wondered if he ever would.

  Still, I put on a brave face when the girls came home from Sinéad’s – and told them I was going to bed early with a sore head rather than have them ask questions about why I looked dog-rough.

  When Sinéad called to ask if everything was okay, I bluffed my way through our chat. Everything was just hunky dory, I said. I just felt as if I was coming down with something – and I would be fine. I didn’t tell her about the day I’d had, or that Matthew had called around. I knew she would be knocking on my door in three seconds flat if I did – and I just needed to some peace and quiet.

  I couldn’t even bring myself to text back to Jonathan when he sent a second message an hour later, just to check if I had seen his first message and ask if I was okay. I switched my phone to silent – keen to avoid the rest of the world – and I went to sleep.

  Chapter 33

  1965

  Áine watched as her mother walked into the kitchen, her face white – with fear? With rage? With disgust? Áine couldn’t tell. She could see her mother try to find words – try to think of questions – try to make sense of things.

  “I’m not sure what you saw.” Jack’s voice broke through the deafening, loaded silence.

  “I didn’t see anything,” Rosaleen stuttered. “Your child – your daughter – on the other hand has just come running up into my bedroom half out of her wits. She told me her mammy was back – she told me her mammy was back because she saw her daddy kissing her mammy in the kitchen …” Her voice shook the whole time she spoke. “I told her of course that her mammy couldn’t be back and perhaps the wee pet was dreaming, but she told me again how she had seen her daddy kissing her mammy in the kitchen. She was adamant. She asked me was her mammy a ghost? She asked me were we being haunted? She’s up there now, cowering, waiting for me to come back – and I thought,” she looked from one of them to the other, “I thought when I came down here to check for ‘ghosts’ there wouldn’t be a being about – and I could go back up and tell her that it was okay and that she should come in and sleep beside me …” Her voice broke. “What I didn’t expect to do was to come down here to find you two together. Tell me,” she said, staring directly at Áine, “please tell me that Emma was seeing things. That nothing happened. Please tell me you were not dishonouring your sister – and her not a full year dead yet – by …” She broke into sobs as she pointed at Jack.

  And Áine swore she could feel any strength she had ever held in her legs seep out through her body. Feeling limp – feeling horrified and trapped – she slumped into a nearby chair while Jack stood – looking as horrified as she felt.

  “It’s not what you think,” Áine muttered.

  “Oh God!” Rosaleen wailed, grasping at her chest as if Áine’s words had physically wounded her. “Oh God, you can’t do this! You can’t just step in where she stepped out.”

  “It’s not like that,” Jack said.

  Áine felt shame overwhelm her. Was her mother right? Was it wrong?

  “Well, what is it like, Jack? Let me ask you because this is what it looks like for me – that you two have no respect for my Charlotte. That you are carrying on – where her children can see you. That when people find out – and they will find out – they will think of you both in the same light as I think of you. That you are shameful! That she deserved better.”

  Áine had never seen such spite her mother’s eyes before or heard such spite her voice.

  “Look, Rosaleen, I know this is a difficult time –” Jack started.

  “Apparently you don’t.” The spite had left her voice as q
uickly as it had started. “Apparently it’s a more difficult time for some of us than others.”

  But Áine would have preferred the spite, she thought, over the grief, over the sadness, over the disappointment.

  “Jack, I want you to leave this house now. If it weren’t for the children, I wouldn’t want to see sight of you again for as long as I live. Charlotte did everything for you – everything for both of you. She didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve any of this.”

  “Rosaleen, please let me explain … please …” Jack said.

  “Don’t ‘Rosaleen’ me. Don’t ever say my name again.”

  “If I can just go and see Emma … just speak to her?”

  “What and hurt her more? No, Jack – you get out now!”

  Rosaleen’s voice was getting louder and Jack, keen to not make a bad situation worse, looked at Áine and mouthed ‘Sorry’ before making to leave.

  Áine wanted to beg him to stay. She wanted to say they could make Rosaleen understand – if she knew how much comfort they got from each other, and how much they genuinely loved each other, how they hadn’t betrayed Charlotte, how they had fallen in love as they shared their grief for her … but she knew that Rosaleen was in no form for listening. She had been in no form for listening to anyone for weeks.

  She nodded at him, tears sliding down her face, and she tried to hold herself together as he walked down the hall – as she heard Emma call out to him – and him answer only with the closing of the front door. Emma’s call turned into a wail – one which Áine desperately wanted to copy. Rosaleen wasn’t far from wailing either – and was rocking, her arms around her body, and sobbing as if her heart had broken all over again.

  “I’ll go to Emma,” Áine said, standing up. “I’ll go and talk to her. I’ll calm her.”

  Rosaleen continued her keening as Áine stood up and wiped the tears from her eyes before making her way upstairs to talk to a very confused little girl who had believed, for just a few moments, that her mammy had come back to her – and who was trying to understand why her daddy had just walked out.

  The wee girl was sitting on her granny’s bed, her knees tucked in under her chin in her nightgown. Her eyes were red from crying and Áine thought she had never seen such a pitiful child in her life before.

  Emma looked around at her aunt, rubbed at her eyes roughly and said: “Was that my mamma? I was sure I saw my mamma. Is she not really dead? Was she just hiding from us? Why would she do that?”

  Áine crossed the room and took the child in her arms, aware that the truth was going to hurt her precious niece. She had never meant to hurt anyone. They had never meant to hurt anyone. They had tried to be so careful. Maybe if they had just avoided each other altogether … but, when she thought of the comfort he gave her …

  “Sweetheart,” Áine started. “Sweetheart, no, that wasn’t your mammy. Your mammy is still gone, pet. She would never have left you unless she had absolutely no choice, pet. You must know she loved you more than anything in the whole world.”

  “But, I don’t understand,” Emma said, burrowing closer to her aunt. “I saw Daddy kissing someone. I know I did. It wasn’t a dream. I know it.”

  Áine took a deep breath, trying to push her mother’s reaction out of her mind. “That was me, darling. Your daddy was kissing me. I know you might be confused by that – but Daddy and I have become good friends.”

  “But Daddy loves Mamma,” Emma said, pulling away and looking up at her aunt. “Why was he kissing you?”

  “It’s a grown-up thing, sweetheart,” Áine said, feeling increasingly uncomfortable at the whole situation. Jack would know how to deal with it better. Jack would probably put it better.

  “But you’re not my mamma,” Emma said, her confusion turning to anger.

  Áine felt the words like a slap. “I know, sweetheart,” she answered. “I’m not your mamma. I know that.”

  “Why are you kissing my daddy then? That was Mamma’s job. You can’t take Mamma’s job!” Emma’s face was screwed up in anger now – but she was still crying, tears of a confused little girl coursing down her cheeks.

  “Daddy and I … we have become good friends,” Áine repeated, her cheeks blazing and tears pricking again at her eyes.

  This was all turning nasty. The tender, genuine, real feelings she had shared with Jack. The feelings that he had offered her some sort of salvation and comfort at a time when she felt lost. It wasn’t wrong. She hadn’t been trying to step into Charlotte’s shoes. She hadn’t. But as she saw her mother arrive at the bedroom door, her face set like stone, and as she watched Emma get up and run over to her granny, run sobbing into her arms, she felt like she had just betrayed them all. What had felt so right now felt so wrong. It felt so sordid. She blushed to her core as she thought of just how passionately she had been returning Jack’s kiss when Emma saw them. She thought of how much she wanted him and how she had come so close to losing her senses altogether and giving in to her desire for him. She couldn’t speak – she was struggling to breathe. She wanted to tell her mother and her niece that she hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, but she could see neither was ready or able to listen to her. She wanted to explain how slowly they had fallen in love. She had wanted to explain just how innocent it had all been. She wanted to tell them that she wasn’t and never could try to be Charlotte. This was not about Charlotte.

  Most of all perhaps she wanted to run after Jack – and get him to hold her, to kiss her on the top of her head, to wrap his strong arms around her and tell her that they had done the right thing and that this wasn’t the end. Of all the losses she had endured in her life – this one, if that was what it was – would be one that she didn’t know if she could recover from. Not on top of everything else.

  Feeling defeated, she walked past her mother and Emma without speaking. She knew whatever she said now would only make things worse – and, that aside, she couldn’t trust herself to speak a word without breaking down.

  Chapter 34

  Present Day

  For the first time since that horrible first day, I did not look forward to going to work in Áine’s house. I didn’t feel enthused. I didn’t look forward to a day chatting with a woman I was fast considering a friend as well as a client. And I certainly wasn’t looking forward to seeing her nephew. Perhaps it was churlish of me to feel stung – he had apologised. I knew he was stressed, and while I worked with Áine every day I knew I could never be as close to her, or hit as hard by the pain of her condition as he was. But yet, I did feel hurt. The reality that he was my boss and that he considered I had let him down, hit me sore.

  I was tired still when I dressed and was grateful the girls were still sleeping. I wasn’t in the mood for them to ask questions about why I was in bad form. The warm day felt more cloying than warming and when I reached Áine’s I felt sick with nerves.

  As I parked the car I saw Jonathan walk towards me. He looked worn out and a wave of sympathy washed over me.

  “I’m sorry,” he said as I stepped out of the car. “I tried to call last night, I sent messages. I know I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have told you to leave.”

  I looked at him, feeling tears pricking at my eyes again. “I didn’t hear her leave,” I said. “She was sleeping. She was sound out.”

  “I know. I understand,” he said, reaching out to me, taking me into his arms.

  I allowed myself to sink into his hug, knowing that we both needed the comfort.

  “I was scared. I was so scared … when she gets worse … I need to talk to you, Georgina. I need to explain.”

  I looked at him, waiting for him to tell me what he needed to say.

  He took a deep breath. “Come inside,” he said, taking my hand and leading me in.

  As we walked in I could hear Áine talking in the living room – to the TV no doubt.

  “She’s still unsettled today,” Jonathan explained. “She’s out of sorts. I’ve given her tablets, and some paracetamol because she com
plained of her head again. She had settled down … but …”

  I popped my head in the door to say hello. I was surprised to find that Áine wasn’t talking to the TV as I had expected, but instead rambling to herself. “Emma is coming,” she whispered to no one in particular. “I’ve been planning for it. I have a bedroom ready for her and everything. Nice clean sheets. Towels. Her teddy bears. I couldn’t find her teddy bears. Maybe I’ll look again.” She got to her feet.

  “It’s okay, Auntie Áine, I’ll look for you if you want,” Jonathan said, his voice resigned.

  Áine turned to look at him and me, her expression startled. “You wouldn’t know where to start,” she said. “I know what I know. Come and see. Everything is ready.”

  I felt my heart sink and a quick glance at Jonathan showed that he was struggling with the pain of the situation. Áine stood and walked determinedly out of the room and up the stairs. All we could do was follow her to a bedroom at the back of the big house.

  “This is the room we slept in when we were children,” Jonathan said. “When we first came here.”

  Áine opened the door and walked in, and Jonathan and I followed her.

  The room, as I feared, was cold and dark. Two bedframes stood, without mattresses let alone bedding. Boxes, sealed and dust-covered, stood against the wall.

  Áine looked confused. Before she even spoke, I felt Jonathan squeeze my hand and I squeezed back, trying to will him strength.

  “Oh, Auntie Áine,” he said, letting go of my hand and moving towards her.

  I expected Áine’s usual reaction to times of confusion. I expected her to realise things were off kilter. I prepared myself for her to be upset. I prepared to try and help her find an anchor to combat her disorientation and to reassure her.

  But she turned on me, her eyes flashing. “What did you do? Did you come up here and wreck it all? I had it ready. I had it all ready. Everything was perfect. Pyjamas and teddies and pictures of Charlotte and everything was ready. What did you do?”