The kids went to bed early, but Mae and I stayed up a little later. The brevity of our time in the cemetery and Evie’s confession made us both reluctant to touch on any serious subjects and giddiness set in. So we poked fun at our neighbours or passersby from the comfort of our garden chairs.
I look at Pops’ urn, which I’ve placed on the table beside me. Ringside seat. I know it probably sounds macabre, but it doesn’t feel like that to me. I take it out and look at it a lot. Speak to it too sometimes when I’m alone. I don’t know – it just makes me feel close to him. Taking a swig from my bottle of beer, I carefully edge my forefinger under the envelope flap and read my father’s words once again.
Vanilla and apples, sandalwood. Oh I remember, Pops. Burberry perfume; I’d recognise it anywhere.
I look at the urn and shake my head. For fuck’s sake, Pops. Horse riding! Are you off your head? I swig another gulp of my beer and wish my father were here so I could give him hell about organising that for us.
‘Here’s to you, Pops,’ I say, turning to toast his urn. I drink, never taking my eyes off him. I finish the rest of my beer in one long, satisfying gulp. The cold, bitter lager tastes like elixir as it hits my throat, my tongue. I’ve not had a sneaky beer in the afternoon in the longest time. I might just have another.
I don’t remember dozing off, but I must have after that second beer, because a cold hand is prodding my side, rudely interrupting my slumber. ‘Dad, wake up!’
I can’t believe I did that. What a lightweight. Two mid-afternoon beers and I’m dozing off.
‘Hey, Jamie. All okay?’ I say, sitting up.
‘What’s Pops doing here? Did you open a letter without me?’ Jamie demands.
‘Where’s the gals?’ I ask, dodging his question.
‘On their way. They walk too slow for me. I can beat them in a race even if I hop on one foot,’ Jamie brags.
I laugh at this and stick the kettle on for a cuppa. My mouth feels like sandpaper. A few minutes later, we sit down around the small Formica table and I read most of the letter to them.
‘I’ve always wanted to go to the Loire Valley,’ Evie says. ‘There’s a chateau there, the Chateau d’Usee, which is said to have inspired Sleeping Beauty’s castle. Can we go there?’
‘Course we can,’ I tell her.
She starts to Google the Loire Valley straight away. I nudge Mae, nodding towards Evie. She’s not frowning, that’s an improvement on the past twenty-four hours.
I look at the urn. Back of the net, Pops.
‘I want a black horse. One that goes super-fast,’ Jamie declares.
Mae looks at me with a dirty big grin on her face. ‘Bet you do too.’
I pick up Pops’ letter and read out his words, ‘Try something new and, you never know, you might find yourself growing wings and flying. Yeah, flying alright, landing with a big fat kerdump right onto my big arse!’
And even though she throws a cushion at my head, with surprising accuracy, Mae is laughing.
We decide to try the restaurant at the chateau for our last meal. Both Mae and I feel lethargic. Her from the sun, me from my sneaky beers. All reports from fellow campers are in its favour. And the fact that we can just stroll there, with no faffing about with a taxi, is a plus too.
‘Are we eating local food only tonight?’ Jamie asks. Oh, don’t mention the war, son.
‘But with my chips.’ I feel brave and decide to make a joke. I peek at Mae and am elated that she’s smiling.
‘The whole point of the courageous palates was to have fun. Alright?’ Mae says to us. ‘How about that, in each new place we go to, we eat local once? Then the rest of the time we can eat whatever we want. As long as the odd vegetable is included.’
‘We could try to be a little more adventurous, though,’ I say. ‘We’ll be back home eating the usual stuff soon enough. I think I might see how courageous that palate of mine is tonight. Maybe try some frogs’ legs or something!’
‘Gross,’ ‘Cool,’ Evie and Jamie say at the same time.
Mae is giving me one of her unfathomable looks again. Like she can’t quite work me out. I feel the urge to grab her and pull her in close, to leave her in no doubt about how I feel. I look at Pops’ urn and think of the advice he gave me before he died.
‘Stop being so goddamn careless with the woman you love. You need to start paying more attention to her.’
Pops was right. Time to stop being so careless. ‘I think I’ll go take a shower. Jamie, come on, buddy, you too.’
But before I stand up, I lean in towards my wife and kiss her, right on her lips. While the kiss lasts only seconds, I make sure it counts. It’s strong and I put in as much passion as one can while leaning over two kids and a small plastic table.
I can hear Jamie giggling, but I ignore him. This is serious and no time for messing or children. I pull away and look into her eyes. I whisper to her, ‘Your hair, it’s gotten long. I like it, Mae. You look like you did when we met. I’ve been meaning to say it for a long time. I should have told you before, but I’m saying it now.’
It was kind of awkward and had I planned my speech, I would have made it perfect. But at least I said it. As I stand up, I feel a mix of giddy relief that she didn’t pull away and bravado for being spontaneous.
‘Thank you,’ she says, putting her hand to her hair again in that way she does when she is unsure of herself. She never could take a compliment. She looks startled. I know I’ve surprised her.
I walk away with speed. The moment seems perfect and I’m nervous that if I stick around something will happen to make it less so.
Jamie and I grab our wash bags and a change of clothes for this evening and head over to the showers. When we get back, Mae and Evie have left to get ready too. I look down at my attire – my uniform of late, blue jeans and Converse, with a t-shirt. Feck it! I run into our bedroom and root through my cupboard stuffed with clothes and pull out my faded denim shirt. It’s at least twenty years old. But it’s got history for Mae and me. I’ve always called it my ‘lucky’ shirt and I could do with some of its magic tonight.
If this shirt could talk! Ha! I wore it the night that Mae and I had sex for the first time. The back of my car. Romantic, eh? I’ve not thought of that night for a long time, but now it feels like it happened but a moment ago. Sitting in the back row of the cinema, how cliché, but we did. We snogged all the way through. God, it was good. By the time we got to the car, we were both at the point where we couldn’t just kiss each other goodnight and leave it at that. I’d all sorts of plans to whisk her away to a posh hotel for our first time. But instead, we drove to the beach, parked up and pulled the levers on our seats, so that they were horizontal. And in that unconventional, less-than-perfect setting, we had the most mind-blowing sex I’ve ever had.
Fuck. I’ve got to stop thinking about that night. I squirm as my jeans start to feel uncomfortable. But I’m jubilant with the feeling. It’s as if the further we go from home, the more I start to feel like me again.
Changed, Jamie and I sit outside Nomad waiting for the girls to return. The summer sun is getting low, but it’s warm, with a slight breeze. I’m tempted to grab another beer, but hold off.
Soon enough Mae and Evie arrive back. I try to look nonchalant, but despite good intentions, a goofy smile drops onto my face when I notice that Mae is wearing a dress. And heels. And lipgloss. She’s made an effort.
Get in!
‘Nice shirt,’ she says to me.
‘Nice dress,’ I reply.
I lock Nomad up and we head over to the restaurant. It’s busy, but there are lots of familiar faces there, including our friends the Americans. Jamie runs over to them and hugs them all, like they are family. They ask us to join them, which elicits whoops from our son. He’s really taken a shine to them and the feeling appears mutual. Food and drinks ordered, all without a mention from anyone of palates, courageous or otherwise. And for the first time since we arrived in France, it feels like we are on
holiday. You know that feeling when you start to feel relaxed and you’ve left all your cares at home? Everyone, even Evie, is sporting a hallmark grin.
The restaurant sports benches as opposed to chairs and Mae and I sit beside each other – close. I can feel her thigh against mine. She feels close to me, but just outside my reach. I feel like I’m twenty again.
I join in the conversation, laugh at Fred’s jokes, chat about Ireland and where we live, but all the time all I can think about are Mae’s thighs. After dinner, we all wander into the bar and there is music on. Mabel pulls out a box of the game Jenga from her handbag, like Mary Poppins. ‘We’re addicted to it,’ Mabel tells us. ‘It’s really quite compelling.’ Nods from Fred, Joan and Don confirm this.
The kids are soon coerced into a game with them, albeit Evie being a bit more reluctant. She has her head fixed onto her phone, which is beeping continuously.
‘Turn that off!’ I say to her. ‘It’s rude.’
‘I’m just chatting to Ann. She wants to know where we’re going to next,’ Evie moans.
‘Five minutes, then put the phone down,’ Mae says and Evie nods, giving us both a dirty look.
Bloody teenagers. Where did my lovely daughter disappear to, who was always throwing herself into my arms? These days I’m lucky to get a word out of her, never mind a hug.
‘I’m good at this, aren’t I, Dad?’ Jamie boasts, giving me another dig.
‘Oh, we’ve got a cocky one here!’ Fred jokes. ‘You’ll not find a steadier hand than mine, though. Jenga champion right here.’
‘You joining in?’ Mabel asks us, then gets distracted. ‘Oh would you look at that move from Evie!’ Mabel says with approval. ‘Nicely done, dear.’
I see an opportunity here and it’s that kind of day, so I seize it. ‘You know, I’ve eaten so much tonight, I wouldn’t mind a walk. If I can persuade my wife to join me, we might leave you to your Jenga battles for a few minutes?’
Mabel looks at us both and leans in to whisper, ‘Oh I remember what it’s like always having kids around. You both go have your walk, but don’t be in any rush to get back. I think this Jenga game could go on for at least an hour. We’ll take good care of the children, you have my word.’
‘Mae?’ I ask, and hold my breath. What if I’ve misread the signals and she says no? If she chooses a pile of wooden blocks over me, I give up.
Her hand moves up to her hair again, ‘I don’t think I can think of a single thing that I’d like more.’ She glances at the kids, ‘Be good, you two.’
The children don’t even look up from their game, concentration at a premium, and mutter with a distracted, ‘Bye.’
We make our way through the busy bar and I wonder how soon I can pull her into my arms and kiss her. As we leave the building, I reach for her hand and I try not to whoop when she takes it. We walk in silence, holding hands, and I wonder if she feels like I do now.
As in a horny teenager.
‘I remember the first time you wore that shirt,’ Mae says.
‘You said I looked sexy,’ I say.
She stops, turns to me and says three words that undo me, ‘You still do.’
I pull her into my arms and I kiss her, slowly at first, in some attempt at tenderness. But she pushes her body in tight to me and our kiss changes. She bites my lip, lightly, and our tongues collide.
In that kiss, the world around us stands still. I know that in real life, Hollywood moments rarely happen. Things are a lot messier than the images we see on the big screen. But this kiss, well, it is the real deal. We pull apart and wordlessly walk towards Nomad. I fumble for the keys and somehow manage to open the door without dropping them.
I wonder, should I say something? Mae is silent, but I don’t want to mess this up. ‘I know things have been weird between us lately …’ I begin.
Mae silences me with another kiss. ‘Don’t speak. Not now. There’s time for that later.’
My wife, my heart, walks towards our bedroom, pulling her dress over her head in one fluid moment that takes my breath away.
Chapter Twenty
MAE
‘That was unexpected,’ I say, stretching lazily. I’d forgotten what sex felt like.
‘That was amazing,’ Olly replies, nuzzling my neck. He looks jubilant, like he’s climbed Everest. And I suppose, for him, he has.
It was quick, messy, but nevertheless very good. Even so, it feels strange to be lying naked beside my husband. Shyly, I sit up and reach for my clothes. I freshen up in the small bathroom, then get dressed.
‘We don’t have to go back yet, do we?’ Olly asks. ‘We’ve only been gone half an hour.’
‘Let’s have a drink outside,’ I say, and grab two beers from the fridge. A few minutes later Olly is beside me and we sit in silence.
‘I miss that,’ Olly says.
‘Me too.’
‘We’re good at it too,’ Olly says in such total seriousness that it makes me giggle.
I want to say to him that just because we had sex doesn’t mean that we are okay. It was sex, nothing more. But he looks so goddamn pleased with himself, I am loath to spoil the mood.
‘I’m sorry things have been so strained between us,’ Olly says.
I should tell him how I feel. I should tell him how miserable I’ve been for nearly a year now. I should tell him about the kiss with Philip. I should tell him that I’m not sure who we are any more. I should tell him that I’m scared, that we are not going to make it. So many things I should tell him.
‘Tell me about the perfume,’ I say instead. Should have, could have, would have. To hell with it, there’s lots of time to talk about us.
Olly looks at me, puzzled by my change in conversation.
‘I really want to know. Pops said you both smelt the perfume?’
Olly sighs and closes his eyes for a moment. ‘A nurse was wearing Burberry perfume that day in the hospital. It reminded Pops and I of Mam. I bought her a bottle of it on the day she died. For her birthday.’
‘I know that there’s never a good day to die, but on your birthday, that’s particularly cruel,’ I murmur.
‘I’d recognise the scent anywhere,’ he says and looks down into the neck of his beer bottle. ‘When … when it happened, that smell kind of infused its way into my brain. I used to spray it every day in the house. Made me feel close to her.’
I say nothing. I want to give him the chance to talk. He rarely shares anything about the day his mother died. I know it’s such a painful time for him that he prefers to avoid it. Of course he talks about her, about all she did for him, God knows he does that a lot. But he rarely mentions the actual events around her death.
‘You know, there aren’t many things that you know for sure in life. But one thing I knew for sure back then was that my mam’s main ambition in life was to make me and Pops happy.’
‘And that’s how it should be,’ I say. I decide to ignore the question in my head. Do Evie and Jamie feel that surety of love?
‘I’d noticed her lingering over an advert for a new perfume in her magazine – called Burberry. Her hand caressed the page and her face looked – well it looked yearning. Yes, that’s a good word for it. I ripped the page out of the magazine when she was finished. I decided there and then that I was going to get her that perfume for her birthday. I enlisted Pops’ help and he agreed it was a fine plan. He said he would give me extra pocket money for doing odd jobs around the house to help pay for it. “This kind of perfume don’t come cheap, lad. It’s the good stuff.”’
I laugh at Olly’s near-perfect impression of his father.
‘Pops made me work hard for my wages. I cleaned windows. I washed his car. I weeded the garden. I mowed the lawn. Then finally, when I emptied my piggy bank and handed over my savings to him, he declared that I had saved just the right amount. A plan was hatched that when he was next up in the “big smoke” – he would buy the perfume.’
Oh, Olly. I reach over and place my hand over his and squeez
e it.
‘Pops came home one night and winked at me. We snuck into my bedroom and he presented me with a little bag from Clery’s. I can still remember the weight of it in my little hands. I didn’t sleep all night, I was so excited waiting for her birthday. Had I known what fate had planned for us all that day …’
He stops and stands up.
‘I bet she loved it.’
His face breaks into a smile as he remembers, ‘Pops often said to me that on that birthday, her last one, I made Mam happier than he’d ever seen her before. I’m sure that’s not true. But even so, I’m grateful to be up there amongst her best moments. I do know that when she opened the pink wrapping paper she gasped. A proper exclamation of surprise, not the fake ones that parents do to please their children. I thought my face would break from the smile that took root there. I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she kept looking at the bottle, then at me and then at the bottle again. I wanted to tell her that I’d bought the perfume all by myself, from my own money, but that seemed awkward and boastful. Pops had that covered, of course, and threw in before I could say a word, “He’s been saving up for months. Every penny came from his hard work doing jobs for me. He’s a good lad.”’
Mae smiles at this. ‘Pops always did the right thing. He never got it wrong, did he?’
‘I remember feeling like I was ten foot tall under his praise and my mam’s smile. And the look of awe and gratitude on her face made me feel so proud. It was such a perfect moment. You know how sometimes when you are so happy you feel like crying? Well, it was one of those moments, but she hugged me so tight, she stemmed my tears. She could always do that. Little did I know that, later that day, I would cry a river, with no more Mam to dam the flow.’
I want to try to take away the pain that is etched on his face. ‘You were a good son. She was lucky to have one so thoughtful as you.’
‘I loved her,’ he shrugs.
‘And she loved you. That’s obvious with every story you’ve ever told me about her.’
‘We better go back.’ Olly looks at his watch, ending the conversation. ‘Pesky kids. Tell you what, why don’t you sit here, enjoy your drink and I’ll go get them?’
The Things I Should Have Told You Page 16
