by Natalie Hart
“My god!” Emma said. “I had no idea it had such a romantic history.”
“He asked me to look after it, and show it to people so it wouldn’t be forgotten.”
Emma felt immobile. She was stunned by this, or captivated, she didn’t fully know. This was more than she could imagine for her life.
Patrick reached into his jacket and pulled out a little bag. “It might be a little soft, but I thought you might like this,” he said. “We haven’t eaten since this morning.”
He handed her some dark chocolate, a really expensive brand. She opened the wrapper of the bar and broke off a square before passing it back to Patrick. He took some of his own and placed it in his mouth. Emma felt the dark, bitter sweetness on her tongue; the crush of cocoa and the smooth, powerful taste of a chocolate she could never justify buying for herself.
“The tagine?” Emma asked.
“Daniel’s father,” Patrick said. “He was dying of cancer when I first moved here. Daniel and Peter weren’t living together yet. But they were both looking after the farm. Daniel’s father, Dan Senior was too ill. He smoked sixty a day all his life. He couldn’t eat, or refused to anyway. He couldn’t keep his traditional dinners down.”
“The tagine—“ Emma started.
“Daniel, Daniel junior was one of my first clients. He needed help getting the farm’s profits up. His father’s illness had been costly but they only cared for making him comfortable, the money came second. I helped with the business, got them some new contracts, but they were only worried about Dan not eating. I brought him a tagine one night.”
“And he wolfed it down.”
“It was the smell, it was like nothing he ever had before. He’d never tasted spices like that. In his final week I cooked it for him every night.”
Emma could see Patrick’s face sadden. He couldn’t have been in Ballyhane for very long at that point, and it would have been soon after his own father’s death. Straight away he had done so much for people he barely knew.
Patrick put his arm around Emma and drew her in tight. She rested her head on his shoulder and they sat in a shared silence until it was almost dark. Stan seemed to have understood what was happening; he rested his head on Patrick’s lap. Emma hoped Patrick knew how much of a difference he made, not just for Daniel and Peter, but the difference he was making for her.
“We should go back,” he said. “It’s getting dark.”
Walking back to the house they held hands. Emma didn’t expect it, but he reached his fingers into her palm and clutched onto her small hand. His callused touch was rough on her skin. His grip tight. She felt completely natural around him. She didn’t know if she was smiling, but she felt at rest, like everything fit together. Not just their hands held between them.
“I think I will take that cottage,” Emma said as they arrived back at Patrick’s house. Stan’s tongue hung out and he was panting from his walk.
“Are you going to stay for the night?” Patrick asked.
“Not tonight, I want to collect my things over the next day or two. I’ll be back soon.”
Patrick put his arms around Emma, and held her tight. He reached his hand through her hair, smoothing it back from her forehead and placing it gently behind her ear. She looked into his eyes and saw the quietness there. The gentle ease of a man who knew his place in his world. A man who was showing Emma her place in this little village she knew could someday be her home.
Emma’s mouth parted, the very tip of her tongue gently brushing against her top lip. Patrick’s eyes lit up. His mouth was dark, his lips chapped from his time in the sun that day. Emma wanted to soothe them. She wanted to graze her tongue across the evidence of his outdoor life.
He stared into her, she felt completely exposed. Not vulnerable, not at risk, but loved for and longed for. She imagined the ragged stubble from his face brushing against her soft and nightly moisturised skin. He moved into her, his eyes keeping contact the whole way.
His lips touched hers and formed the shape of a deep and satisfied smile. She fell into him, his touch strong and soft, like his soul. Her lips parted, but there was no sign of his tongue, not yet. Her mouth softened his dry skin then his tongue touched hers. Emma still looked at him but felt her eyes close. She rested into his arms, feeling her body give way to his steady hold.
This was the moment, all that had been between them was now manifest. His hand cupped her face, his rough skin scratching love against her cheek. She moved her arms to his head and dragged her hands through his hair, dry and short, and touched by the sun.
He broke away. Emma wanted more, but he turned and rubbed Stan’s head, “Come on, Stan,” he said. “We’ll see Emma again soon.”
He walked inside and Emma was left standing on the rocky gravel of his driveway. She couldn’t move. He hadn’t said goodbye, he hadn’t told her how much he cared for her, he hadn’t said a word. He didn’t need to. She remembered to breathe.
***
Patrick let the foam head settle before topping the glass up to the brim. He felt he deserved a beer, the day had been tough. Daniel put on a brave face but he knew the isolation was getting to him. He didn’t want to burden Peter, to put all his worries on his husband so he had opened up to Patrick. Patrick did what he could, he tried to get Daniel to talk to Peter, to really tell him what was going on.
Daniel said Peter knew what was happening, but there was distance between them. Patrick knew they loved each other but a marriage and a mother’s death in so short a time would strain anyone. Patrick really hoped Emma could help them. She was confident their inheritance would be handled.
He knew she was good at her job from all the research he had done on her. Her old boss had given her a glowing endorsement. His only complaint was she pushed too hard, he asked Patrick to make sure she didn’t get too caught up in any new business venture. She had to care for herself.
Patrick set his beer down next to his laptop and opened up the screen. He logged into Skype and sat in silence, waiting. His face was stony. His beer brought him no ease. He’d have another after this one. He’d have to go back to the city to get more soon.
Five minutes passed and nothing. Patrick felt his muscles tense, then he saw her log in. Her face lit up his screen as he accepted the video call.
“Hey babe!” He smiled.
“You look really happy!”
“I am really happy, I’m talking with you.”
“You don’t always look so pleased,” she said.
“I’m always pleased to see you, Maia.”
“How’s Stan? Does he miss me?”
“He misses you almost as much as he misses treats.”
“Is his diet working?”
“He’s not very happy about it.”
“Is he moping?”
“No, he made a new friend so that cheered him up.”
“Is it Peter’s dog? Are they finally in love?” She really stressed the love, like only a nine year old obsessed with princesses could.
“No, not Missy. She’s a new friend for me as well.”
“Ooooh!”
“Stan sniffed her out, she passed his approval.” Stan lifted his had a smidgeon on hearing his name.
“Did he drool on her?”
“As soon as he met her!” Patrick said.
“She must be really nice. Will I get to see her when I come over?”
“Maybe. Anyway, it’s late, you should be getting ready for bed.”
“I don’t have school tomorrow, we’re on summer holidays.”
“That doesn’t matter, you need to grow up big and strong to help me here.”
“When am I coming to visit?” Maia asked.
“I don’t know yet. I’ll talk with your mother soon.”
“She’s been really busy, her new boyfriend is an ass.”
“Don’t call anyone an ass, Maia.”
Patrick’s stomach tensed hearing Maia say ‘boyfriend.’
“What about a donkey?”
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“Donkeys are fine, but not people.”
“Will you get an ass for your garden?” She giggled.
“Time for bed, Maia,” Patrick said.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Bye,” the look in her eyes lifted Patrick’s soul as she clicked off her webcam.
Fucking Janet! The thought of her with yet another man. Goddamnit!
He slammed down his glass spilling beer between the keys of his laptop.
Chapter 5
Emma’s night was strange. She spent a lot of time facing indecision over what she’d bring to Ballyhane. She knew she needed her office things; laptop, calculator, files, printer and scanner, the little data-fob Revenue gave for access to their online system. The problem was when it came to her stuff, not the office stuff. At times she felt like packing everything up and moving her entire home to Ballyhane, but she knew that would be crazy. At other times she just wanted to pack one small suitcase, but that wouldn’t be realistic.
Eventually she decided that practicality would have to decide what to bring. Clothes appropriate for a country life, spares of everything in case she was exposed to inclement weather, she didn’t think she’d need her make up so she only packed the essentials, but she knew she’d need plenty of moisturiser and skin care products.
By the end of the night she was sweaty and had a large pile assembled by the door. Office equipment took up a third of the pile, the rest was made up of clothes and a few luxuries. It was only after she inspected everything to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything that she realised she’d need to find a way to fill her spare time down there. She doubted the internet connection was good enough for Netflix and Patrick didn’t have a TV.
She hadn’t found the time for it lately, it was all stuffed in a drawer but she decided Ballyhane would be perfect. She poked around and found her box of art pencils, her pad of paper news-sheet and some coloured pastels. She’d make time to draw down there. There was brightness in the sky right until 10pm and she knew she could sit outside with a blanket and draw the surrounding hillsides.
She looked for the blanket her grandfather had quilted, it was packed tightly in a cupboard and taking it out brought up so many memories for her. She reminisced about the days when her grandfather, like many older men had no qualms about knitting, crochet, sewing and quilting. For them it was a practical skill, buying things off the shelf was so much more expensive.
Her grandfather had learned from his youth when he worked with fishing boats. Long days at sea, and nothing to fill your few hours of rest apart from eating and talking with the other men. Eventually they’d begin to get on your nerves so you’d retreat to some quiet time knitting a jumper, or repairing your clothes. Her grandfather quilted the blanket for her sixteenth birthday, each panel representing a memory of her childhood.
She decided she’d go see him tomorrow, and her grandmother. Her mother was first on the list though. Emma had to fill her in on all her great news.
Emma was sticky from her exertion and washed herself down with a cloth; she didn’t want to sleep on wet hair and her apartment only had a shower. It’d be a less comfortable sleep but she’d shower in the morning.
As Emma woke from her rest and rose out of bed she felt a little hesitation gnawing at the back of her mind. She tried to pin it down and she guessed it was just nerves at such a big change. She didn’t know what would happen with Patrick. That kiss after their walk had held so much between them, but there was also the business. And she’d be sleeping in a cottage only seconds from his house, a cottage he owned and she was a guest. She’d even have to shower in his bathroom. It was a strange beginning to a new relationship. They hadn’t even discussed if this was a relationship, but Patrick was a quiet man. She knew he’d just let things come as they were and be at ease with that. She decided she’d have to nail him down for a serious talk.
Emma left the pile of her belongings by the door. She’d load the car later. For now she just wanted to tell her mother the good news. This was all good news.
***
“So you’re starting a new life in the country and leaving your mother to the built up suburbs of the city.”
“I’m sure you can visit, Mam,” Emma said.
“You know I don’t drive, how will I get down there?” Her mother said.
“I’ll drive you, you can stay the night.” Emma wasn’t sure if Patrick was ready to meet her mother, but it was doubtful she’d actually want to come down to Ballyhane.
“Where would I sleep? You’re already filling all the beds down there?”
“You can sleep in my bed,” Emma said.
“While you get up to filthy behaviour in his?”
“Mam! Jesus. You’d be in the bed with me!”
“There’s nothing wrong with filthy behaviour. You have to get to know if he’s right for you before my big day.”
“It would be my big day, and I’m not even thinking of that.”
“There’s nothing wrong with enjoying yourself,” she said. “You worry too much.”
“I’m worrying less now I have some business. I met my first clients the other day.”
“What were they like?” Mary asked.
“Lovely people, and Patrick is good friends with them. They’re very young though.”
“You have a good head on your shoulders, I’m sure you can help them.”
“That’s the thing, how do I balance my business life down there with what’s happening with Patrick?” Emma asked.
“Didn’t I tell you you worry too much?” Mary said. “And you worked too hard at your last job.”
“Not that it saved me,” Emma said.
“This will be good for you, you have a man you like down there, and he likes you which always makes things easier. You’ll find your way.”
“I’m a little scared,” Emma said. She hadn’t realised it, but speaking to her mother it dawned on her. She could open up to her and now she could admit how daunting this all was.
“Are you cycling anymore? What about painting?”
“No, my front wheel bent in a pothole and I don’t have the time to get it fixed.”
“You’ll have plenty of time for yourself if you make time for yourself,” Mary said.
“I’ll draw down there. I’ll bring my pencils.”
“Buy yourself some new paints too, treat yourself and make sure you use them.” She said.
“I’ve never painted, Mam. It’s always been drawing; with charcoal, pastels and pencils.”
“Well now’s the time to learn, plenty of views down there. Push yourself to have some fun.”
“Please, Mam,” Emma said. She knew her mother cared for her but she just needed some reassurance.
“Ok, let’s go for a walk into town, Jenna could probably do with a break from Anthony, the baby is teething and a toddler is always a handful.”
Emma loved Anthony, he was adorable. When he was learning to walk he’d fall back on his butt, and laugh at the padding the nappy provided. He’d bounce up and down on the spot.
They knocked on Jenna’s door, she was only 24 and she already had a three year old and a two month old. Emma knew her mother wanted grandchildren, and it didn’t look like Emma would be providing any soon so she looked after her neighbour’s kids any chance she got.
“You’re looking tired Jenna,” she said. Me and Emma wanted to know if you’d let us to take little Anthony for a walk into town.
“Oh god, Mary! You’re a lifesaver. I’ve been trying to get the baby to sleep for an hour and Anthony is wrecking the place.”
“He’s at that age, bundles of energy until he gets tired, then he’s too cranky for a nap.”
Jenna had the buggy by the door already, and called for Anthony. He bounded out to them and handed his mother a little plastic tractor.
“Aunty Mary and Emma are going to take you for a walk,” she said. “Will you promise to be good for them?” He shook his head,
he had no intention of behaving.
“Make him walk for as long as you can manage. If he tires himself out let him sleep on the way back but not too much. I’d like him in bed early tonight.”
“I know the routine well,” Mary said to Jenna. Emma’s mother looked at Emma and smiled.
“Is that why we had so many walks when I was young?” Emma asked. She felt she’d figured out a big trick played on her childhood. Mary and Jenna exchanged a look that told Emma they thought she’d just come down with the last shower of rain.
“Put your jacket on Anthony! We don’t want you getting a cold.” The toddler struggled getting into his coat as he wiped his sleeve against his nose.
Emma spent most of the walk chasing after him. As they arrived in the city centre the little man was very good about holding her hand, and waiting for the green man before they crossed at the traffic lights.
“Would you like some new crayons, Anthony?” Mary asked.
“Yes!” He shouted.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, new crayons,” he said. Then finally, “Please.” It seemed like a well won battle to get the ‘please’ out of his mouth. Emma couldn’t help but think his stubbornness was far too cute.
“Let’s go!” She said. The toddler jumped up on down on the spot as his grip on Emma kept firm.
They walked into the art supply store. They had a few kid’s play sets but they mostly dealt in supplies for artists who needed the best. Emma realised her mother buying crayons for Anthony was really a ploy.
“I’ll find the crayons and you pick out some paints and brushes for yourself,” she said. Emma knew it was coming.
“Ok, but you’re not paying for them.”
“You have to let me get you something. A new job, and a new home in the country?” She said. “I want to buy you something.”
“You only work part time, Mam. I’ll get them for myself now you have me here.” Emma said.
“Let your mother treat you, it’s the only joy she has,” Mary said.
“You spend every Saturday night dancing in the pub, and play poker on Tuesdays. You have plenty of joy without wasting your money on me.”
“You wouldn’t deny an old wo—“
