Finding Alison

by Deirdre Eustace

  ‘Shit!’ The word came out louder than she had meant it to, as the strap of her bag snapped, its contents spilling and clattering to the polished floor. ‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’ she hissed through clenched teeth, her frustration boiling as she squatted to the floor, her hands reaching in what seemed ten different directions at once to stem the roll of lipstick, loose coins, William’s tablets she had collected earlier from the chemist and all the other useless paraphernalia she burdened her shoulder with each day.

  ‘Alison?’ The soft voice had the effect of almost turning her to stone. Her hands hovered a moment in mid-air before – refusing to lift her head in reply – she returned to refilling her bag.

  ‘Let me help you with . . . ’ The creak of a knee as Kathleen squatted down beside her.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Alison barked. She could feel the heat of Kathleen’s body beside her, that so familiar fresh-washed smell of her uniform somehow managing to enter her, squeeze her heart.

  ‘I know, but just . . . ’ Both their hands reached for the car keys at the same time, Alison snatching hers away as if it had been scalded before turning her eyes to meet Kathleen’s.

  ‘I said I’m fine, okay?’ Her eyes burned into Kathleen’s, their deep green an ocean of tears she was trying to keep in check.

  ‘Maryanne took a small bit of chicken and veg at dinner,’ Kathleen risked, holding her ground. ‘I think it’s the thought of Hannah coming that . . . oh Alison . . . ’

  Alison turned her head, tried desperately to turn her whole attention to gathering up the contents of her bag, unable any longer to hold the tears that coursed her cheeks now. The warm grip of Kathleen’s hand on her shoulder caused her whole upper body to shake as she hunkered back, covering her face with her hands.

  ‘Aw, don’t worry about Maryanne, she’ll be fine, honestly. She’s just got a bit down in herself, that’s all. Come on now, you should be concentrating on Hannah and— ’

  ‘It’s not Maryanne, it’s . . . ’ Her words caught on her breath. She drew her fingers down and across her cheeks, under her nose.

  ‘William?’ Kathleen pressed a tissue into her hand. Eyes closed, Alison nodded, scrunching the tissue tight in her fist.

  ‘Not good?’ Kathleen encouraged, her hand moving again to Alison’s shoulder.

  ‘This afternoon . . . there was something about . . . a change, I can’t explain . . . ’ She opened her eyes, arched back her neck and swallowed against her tears. ‘Susan says she’ll sit with him while I go to the airport but . . . ’

  ‘But you don’t want to leave him?’

  ‘No, but Hannah . . . I can’t not be there.’

  ‘I could always— ’

  ‘No!’ The word was as sharp as a blade, slicing them apart. Alison pulled away, gathered her bag and made to stand.

  ‘Alison, please!’ Kathleen rose with her, held out the comb and the hair slide, the little blue pocket diary she had gathered from the floor. ‘I’m not asking for friendship. Please, just let me do this one thing for you, for William.’

  Her lips clamped and her head held high, Alison straightened her back, shook back her hair and made towards the door. Sean in her bed, a voice in her head reminded her. Sean entering her, getting her pregnant when he had feigned sleep in his own bed at home so often when she tried to get close to him.

  ‘It’s a long drive to Cork – and your mind won’t be on the road,’ Kathleen persisted, coming up behind her. ‘I’m finished here in another half an hour, I could be on the road by six.’

  Alison stopped, bowed her head, resting her chin on her clenched right hand. Every last piece of her strained to be with William, needed to be with him, knew she should be with him. Much as she had fought against it, the stark reality was there, written so plainly on the lifeless grey of his face, the leaving in his eyes.

  ‘Hannah wouldn’t know what to think,’ Kathleen started, braver now, standing before her, searching out her eyes, ‘if you met her at the airport in that state! She might think you didn’t want her home at all. Come on, let me collect her. Let me do this one thing. You get yourself a rest, spend some time with William – you’ll be in much better form for her then, when I drop her off.’

  ‘But she would think I was . . . I couldn’t not be there for her again.’

  ‘Again? And when haven’t you been there for her? For Hannah, for Maryanne. Come on, Alison – you’ve given them your life! Time to cut yourself a bit of slack.’

  Alison shook her head, checked her watch. Almost five fifteen.

  ‘No point in wasting time standing here,’ Kathleen urged. ‘I’ll tell Hannah that Maryanne’s been poorly with a bug and you had to stay with her. She’ll understand.’

  Alison relaxed her shoulders, let out the sigh that seemed to have been holding them there, tight. Would Hannah really care if her mother wasn’t the first face she saw when she came through Arrivals? Her heart would probably burst with joy at the sight of Kathleen . . . and maybe it would be good for Hannah to spend a few hours with Kathleen, to remind her of how close they’d been, how good Kathleen had always been to her, maybe it would help to cushion the blow when she learned the truth about Jamie, about her – their – dad. Hannah would still be home to her before midnight – and this way she’d be rested and less stressed herself. Better able to show Hannah the strong, in-control mother she had promised herself she would be, that she could be. That she was. ‘Well, I suppose . . . ’

  ‘Go on,’ Kathleen placed an encouraging hand to the small of her back, ‘get yourself home. I’ll finish up here, get ready for the road.’ The tight bud of hope in Kathleen’s chest unfurled a little, feathering her with its warmth. ‘What time’s the flight due in?’

  ‘Nine. I’ll text you the flight number.’ Alison moved towards the door, then turning: ‘It would be a real treat for Hannah if Jamie went along.’

  A wave of hot pleasure gathered and broke around Kathleen’s heart. ‘The hounds of hell wouldn’t keep him away,’ she beamed.

  ‘Thanks,’ Alison half-smiled, bending her head towards the door.

  Arriving back home within minutes, she thanked Susan, threw the post onto the hall table and skipped straight to the bedroom. William lay in a deep sleep. She wouldn’t disturb him. She would shower first and then make something for them both to eat. She kissed him softly on the lips, slipped silently from the room.

  * * *

  The sweet, subtle smell of her called him back – that heady redolence of warm, freshly rained-upon earth that she always seemed to carry about her. He opened his eyes slowly against the evening sun, the soft hum of the shower drifting to his ears. She was home. And she had been to him. He touched a finger to his lips, could still almost taste her there, the soft warmth of her, the promise.

  ‘Alison,’ he mouthed her name, conjuring her image: the flaming coils of red hair loose around her girlish face, picking out the fire, the light in her eyes; that little dotted pathway of freckles across her nose, her cheeks; the full, ripe lips that seemed always to mould and cling to the pressure of his kiss; the white delicacy of her exposed neck; her body, long and lean, the outward span of her hips, taut, lustful; the pressure of her naked breasts against his chest, skin soft as the softest velvet; the warm, dark comfort of her secret places. His whole body ached for her – her beauty, her comfort, her love.

  He imagined her smile now, the shyness of it when they’d first met, how she had seemed almost embarrassed to share it; and then, in these last months, her wild abandon as she threw back her head, lost herself to laughter. The sorrow in her; the joy. All those contradictions: the young girl, the mother; the loner, the confidante; the fear in her, the utter determination; her vulnerability and her steely strength; the fierce pride and almost crippling insecurity. All those tiny things that made up the whole, the individual, the spirit – the woman that summer had seen emerge. Emerge and redeem him.

  Eyes wide, he fixed on her now, his laboured breath whispering her name as he fought to chase the
darkness, the emptiness, everything in him straining towards her, willing her to come to him, to lie beside him, to hold his hand. To release him.

  * * *

  Alison straightened the neck of her new shirt, smoothed its ruffled hem at her hips. She towelled and spritzed her hair and stood back from the mirror, head held to one side as she turned from left to right, appraising her reflection. She wanted to look good for Hannah, wanted to look as young and alive and full of optimism as she felt deep inside.

  She grabbed her post from the hall table and, crossing to the kitchen, flicked on the cooker switch and ran her thumb under the seal of the brown envelope. The solicitor’s compliment slip was paper-clipped to the document detailing William’s catalogue of work. She folded the pages neatly back into the envelope. She didn’t want to even think about it for now. She would put it away safely until . . .

  She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath. No more tears today, she instructed, reaching for the second envelope. Her heart skipped, recognising her own handwriting on its face. Could it be? She took another deep breath, held it, her hands trembling as they tore at the envelope.

  She bit down on her lip in utter disbelief, her heart racing, her eyes wide, flying back and forth across the page. She read it through a second, a third time in case she had got it wrong. But the wording was short and to the point. They had enjoyed the chapters she had submitted and would be interested in reading the remainder of the manuscript with a view to offering her a contract. What? A contract? An actual contract for her manuscript – for her and William’s story?

  ‘Okay, steady,’ she instructed aloud. It was nothing definite. Not yet. But a real publisher had read her first three chapters and wanted to see more. Alison let out a loud, ‘Yes!’ She clutched the letter to her breast, a rich warmth coursing her veins. This was it! She could feel it. She gazed out the window, cupped a hand over her wide smile. A triumphant sun burst through the bank of cloud, silvering the sea with its dazzling brilliance. From its perch high in the whitethorn tree, a lone blackbird nodded towards her.

  This was her new beginning.

  ‘William! William!’ Her heart full to bursting, she raced down the hall.