If Only You Knew

by Claire Allan

  She watched as Hope sat down opposite her and waited for her to tell her, in the way Karen would have, that she needed to take a chill pill.

  “Oh, that’s great,” Hope said with a genuine warmth that more than took her by surprise. “You’re a star. We’ll be flying ahead at this stage. And I know I was a bit of a wet blanket yesterday evening and I’m sorry for getting drunk when it was probably you who needed to sound off.”

  “I was glad of the distraction,” Ava said honestly, “but I’ve had some time to think this morning and I think I’ll be okay with my . . . situation.”

  “That’s brilliant,” Hope said, reaching across the table and holding her hand. “Babies are good things and I’m sure you’re a wonderful mother.”

  Ava shrugged again. She loved her daughter and she did her best most of the time. She did lose the head from time to time – especially when she was tired which was pretty much around the clock these days – and she did have very limited patience with Barbie dolls and jigsaws. But Maisie seemed, mostly, happy and contented. Was she a wonderful mother? Maybe not. But maybe she was good enough.

  “I’ve been thinking too,” Hope said, sitting back. “Now it is entirely possible that I am still a little drunk and that I may have taken leave of my senses but I feel inspired here. The letters – the note last night and the rings . . . and how Betty wasn’t afraid to go for what she wanted . . . I’m going to go for what I want.”

  “Which is?” Ava asked, her mind filled with images of Hope confronting this Dylan friend of hers or slipping arsenic into his girlfriend’s tea.

  “I’m not entirely sure,” Hope replied. “But I tell you this, something is going to change. I’m thinking of maybe, I don’t know, travelling again. Staying with Dylan and Cyndi is bound to get uncomfortable and they won’t want me there under their feet indefinitely. Can you imagine it? Me? The permanent third wheel? Having my nose rubbed in it every day? Did I tell you about the feet? For the love of God, they have their fecking feet on Facebook!” She pulled a face as if she might vomit and it took Ava a split second to realise, for sure, that this was to express her disgust at the feet picture and not as a direct result of her banging hangover.

  “Yes,” Ava nodded. “You told me about the feet. You made up a song about the feet. To the tune of ‘Mysterious Girl’ by Peter Andre. It was around that time I slipped the bottle out of your hand.” Smiling at the memory and enjoying the blush on Hope’s face, Ava laughed.

  “You see! There you have it, the very reason why I need to make a big difference and change my life. Otherwise I will become the madwoman who sits alone rocking in corners singing bad 90s pop songs and crying about the one who got away. I could be a pretty fecking twisted Miss Havisham for the new millennium. And nobody wants to be that.”

  “I don’t know,” Ava answered. “It has a certain ring to it.”

  “It might do,” Hope said. “But long term, will it make me happy? Travelling might, or at least it might give me a little more time to think about what it is I do really want. I did use to write a travel column – that year Dylan and I travelled around the world – I thought maybe I could give that a go again.”

  It sounded brilliant and Ava felt a tiny surge of jealousy rise up in her. Hope could do that, she had that freedom. She could just decide to go travelling. She could just up sticks and change her life whenever she wanted. The world was her oyster. She wasn’t answerable to anyone but herself and she didn’t have a mortgage over her head to worry about. That must feel good.

  “Good for you,” she said. “It sounds brilliant.”

  Hope grinned back at her. “It does, doesn’t it?”

  Chapter 19

  The smell of the freshly percolating coffee normally would have sent Ava into a caffeine-craving frenzy. Without even tasting the dark, rich, hot liquid Ava would imagine it sliding down her throat, warming her to her very core before giving her that little kick of energy that got her through many a morning in front of a very hyper classroom. Her coffee break had long been the highlight of her morning and nothing was quite as enjoyable as a freshly brewed coffee to wash down a pastry in a quaint little coffee shop.

  Except things were a little different that morning. Standing at the door of the patisserie in the village the smell assaulted her nostrils as if someone had just left a dirty nappy right at her feet. Which was mildly ironic given that the reason for her sickness was going to end up in a dirty nappy.

  “Smells divine, doesn’t it?” Hope said from behind her oversized sunglasses which she wore even though it wasn’t all that sunny. “If they could wire me up to that damn percolator and infuse the stuff through a drip in my arm I would die a happy woman.”

  “Hmmm,” Ava muttered. “Can we sit outside? Downwind perhaps? Or around the corner?” She grimaced and reached to a chair to steady herself. Oh, she had forgotten the special joy that was morning sickness – and she cursed it for stealing away that joy which came with her morning coffee. What was the advice these days anyway? Could she even drink coffee? Or was it now on the big fat no-way-José list?

  Sitting down, she asked Hope to bring her a glass of water, with ice in it. Nothing more, nothing less.

  “You look about as bad as I feel,” Hope said sympathetically, “but at least I got to enjoy a rake of Betty’s finest wine first.”

  “Believe me,” Ava said wryly, thinking of how she let her guard down with Connor after a few drinks, “alcohol played a strong enough role in how I got into this mess. Trust me.”

  “I’m still ashamed,” Hope said.

  “Oh please. We’ve all done it. Got a little pissed. And it had been a strange day.”

  “Maybe today will be calmer?”

  “Oh God, I hope so,” Ava said, thinking that calm would be lovely. She just wanted to get on with doing what she needed to do with Betty’s belongings.

  There was a lot she wanted to ask Jean-Luc and she wasn’t entirely sure what to do next. When everything was packed up – sorted and stored in boxes – what would happen next? How would they sell it? Would they even want to sell it? This was not a situation she had dealt with before and they sure as hell didn’t make a handbook for how to deal with an eccentric aunt’s last wishes. She was starting to feel as if she knew Betty – really knew her – and she was starting to feel attached to her, fond of her and reluctant to let go. Silly really, considering they had only met that one time . . .

  She watched as Hope returned with a glass of iced water and a coffee in a white cup on a tray with two croissants. “I thought we could use something to eat.”

  Ava looked at the croissant and her appetite soared back with a vengeance – another joy of the first trimester she had forgotten and she cut into the crumbly pastry before her, slathered it with butter and took a bite as if she hadn’t been fed in a month. It was only when she was two bites in and Hope was taking the first sip from her coffee cup that she realised she was in all likelihood making a complete gulpen of herself. Puttingthe croissant down, she forced herself to sit back, sip from her glass and count to ten, slowly, before taking a deep breath and going in for another bite. She tried to stop herself eyeing the food like a vulture eyes its prey and reminded herself that while she was here to get a bite to eat she was also here to conduct business and come face to face for the first time with Jean-Luc – who Hope had described that morning as a “quare bit of stuff”.

  Ava wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to think of him as a ‘quare bit of stuff’ – she preferred to keep her senses about her and remind herself that he was the man tasked with making sure they did everything they needed to do with Betty’s belongings and who would oversee them clearing out her house for the last time.

  Manners, she reminded herself. At all times, manners. She watched Hope take a small bite of her own croissant and she swore to God she felt herself start to drool. She should have eaten a bigger breakfast. Come to think of it, she had eaten a bigger breakfast – bacon and eggs (runny ones even though sh
e knew she shouldn’t) and three rounds of toast drippingwith butter. She would be the size of a house before the week was out – but at least that would give her an opening gambit for telling Connor. “Hey, pet, see how I’ve put on a pile of weight? Well, there will be more to follow . . .” She shoved those thoughts to the back of her head as she figured a respectable enough break in her eating had taken place to allow her to resume.

  She was only interrupted again when Hope kicked her under the table and looked across to where a man was approaching. Mid-forties, beige cargo pants, white shirt opened just that little bit to reveal the most delicious tuft of chest hair, salt and pepper hair, a fine stubble and that wrinkle around his eyes that Hope had waxed lyrical about the previous night while under the influence of the wine. This had to be Jean-Luc and the way in which Hope stood up, brushed the crumbs off her trousers quickly and extended her hand, confirmed that this was indeed the person Ava had been speaking to via email for the last two weeks. She watched as he leaned toward Hope, kissing her on each cheek before turning to direct his attention at her – which made her feel a little bit silly and definitely more than a little coquettish. Once again she had to remind herself she was a respectable married, grown-up woman who had shared a number of sensible conversations with this man and who was there to do very sensible things and not to be all flirty. And besides she was pregnant. And in love with her husband. And she feared Hope might, despite her love for her best friend, stab her square in the forehead if she turned into a mega-flirt with the very handsome man in front of her.

  “Ava!” he said in a deep strong French accent. “You . . . you look so like her. I was not expecting that.” He looked to all intents and purposes as if he had just seen a ghost and she was momentarily floored.

  Finding her voice, she said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet you yesterday.”

  “It is okay,” he said. “I was only calling in for a moment and we can talk today. Can I bring you ladies a coffee or something to eat?”

  Ava’s stomach grumbled and she was tempted to order another croissant, or a jambon or three jambons, but she decided against it.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” she said as Hope said the same.

  Then they watched, a wicked glint on each of their faces as he walked away to get his own coffee.

  “I told you,” Hope said, with a wink. “I told you he was a quare bit of stuff!”

  “And definitely not at all like Gerard Depardieu,” Ava said, craning her neck to see him again.

  “Not a bit.”

  “And you’re sure him and Betty? They never . . .?”

  “Oh God no,” Hope laughed. “He was very clear that they were friends. I wonder why she didn’t just get him to sort through her things.”

  “Would you want him sorting through your smalls?” Ava asked, then paused, thought about it, and said, “On second thoughts, don’t answer that.”

  Jean-Luc returned with his coffee and sat down. He sipped from his cup and looked at both of them for a second before he spoke. “This is all a little strange, non?”

  “Yes, well, it certainly was unexpected. I’m almost ashamed to say I didn’t know my aunt very well,” Ava said. “I only recall meeting her once.”

  “Betty was always quick to form an opinion of someone,” Jean-Luc replied. “She considered herself a very good judge of character. So if you had Betty’s respect then that is enough of a recommendation for me.”

  “Hope says you saw her shortly before she died?” Ava asked, nodding in the direction of her cousin who seemed to be staring intently at Jean-Luc’s, forearms, which admittedly were exceptionally strong, muscular and tanned.

  “I saw her the day before. I was not there when she died – that was how she was. She never made a fuss. I think maybe she waited on purpose until she was all alone to slip away. I sat with her at the hospice the day before and we talked. She was very fond of you. She said she wished she had told you to your face. It was one of her regrets. Not speaking to you again face to face. She was so fond of you.”

  “That’s nice to hear,” Ava said, blushing. She watched as he sipped from his cup again. There was a feeling of expectation in the air – and she felt herself wait for him to speak as if he held the key to this entire strange scenario.

  “It is true,” he said eventually. “How are you finding the house? Is it too much work?”

  “No,” Ava said truthfully. “It has been fine so far. She ran a tight ship. We just want to make sure her most prized possessions are looked after. We hope to bring some items back with us to Ireland. And we wondered about her study. There are many books. Do you know if the new owners would like them or if there is somewhere we could donate them?”

  “I’m sure the new owner would be happy with whatever you choose to leave behind but there are a number of nursing homes which would be only too happy to take them off your hands. Perhaps I could take them for you? Or we could visit the hospice where Betty passed away? As for whatever you wish to take home with you, Betty left provisions for anything you need or want to be shipped back.”

  “She was very good,” Ava said, touched by her aunt’s kindness.

  “Yes,she was. One of a kind, as you say.” He smiled as he spoke, a warm smile that seemed to start in his eyes before moving to his mouth.

  Ava could definitely see why Hope had been so smitten.

  “It feels strange to divide her stuff and decide its fate,” said Ava. “And to sell it? Are you sure that is what she wanted?”

  He nodded. “She was adamant. She wanted you both to have something for your efforts, be it some money made from her belongings. And she wanted you to experience the markets. It could make a good day out?”

  Ava looked atHope who was still enraptured with Jean-Luc’s arms. “I don’t know,” she said. “Hope? It feels strange to sell her things on.”

  “It is what Betty wanted,” Jean-Luc soothed her.

  “But it’s a bit soon,” Hope piped up, breaking her silence. “It feels disrespectful.”

  “Please, ladies, don’t think of it that way.”

  Ava sat back and thought of what he was saying and couldn’t help but feel Hope was right. It was one thing to go through Betty’s prized possessions and put away items which meant a lot to her, but to sell them on, in the hope of making some sort of profit, that made her feel strange. And guilty. And a little sick. Although, in fairness, the sickness could have been a resurgence of the morning sickness.

  “The market is on Saturday,” Jean-Luc said. “I know someone who sells such old furniture, pictures, antiques. I will leave it with you and you can let me know if you want to go.”

  “Could we go anyway?” Hope piped up. “I remember the market from my previous stay. I’d love to go again.”

  “Mais oui,” Jean-Luc said with a smile. “Please, ladies, let me know if there is anything I can do at all.”

  Ava very determindedly looked away from Hope, afraid if their eyes met for even one second she would combust into schoolgirl giggles.

  “We will,” she heard her cousin say coyly.

  It was at that moment that the little devil on her shoulder squeaked that this would be the perfect time to interfere that little bit.

  “Actually,” she said, glancing at Hope, “my cousin here is a travel writer. She is considering writing a piece about Provence but, as you know, it has been a long time since she was here and she doesn’t know the area all that well. I’d take her around but, well, I’m pregnant and need my rest and I’m worried she will have a lot of time on her own while I’m napping. Maybe, if you’re not terribly busy, you could show her around?” She glanced at Hope who looked as if she could combust at any moment.

  “Of course,” he said softly. “I could be free tomorrow afternoon.”

  “But we have so much to do!” Hope said, looking at Ava who did a good job of ignoring her pointed stare.

  “We’ll get loads done today and then you can see the sights tomorrow,” Ava said. �
��You’ll want to get this whole new you off to a flying start, won’t you? The first article in your return to form? What better place to start!”

  Hope smiled, although her eyes indicated she might just kill Ava later. Ava was used to that look – it was the look Karen would give her when she volunteered them to take a spin around the ball pool with the kids. She had become adept at ignoring the look from Karen and she sure as hell was going to ignore it from Hope right now.

  Chapter 20

  The study at the back of the villa was perhaps Hope’s favourite room in the house. It was, perhaps, her favourite room in the entire world. As she sat, legs crossed on the warm wooden floor, sorting through a pile of books she had liberated from the tall whitewashed bookcase beside the large sash window which faced onto Betty’s prized herb garden, she felt a sense of calm envelop her. The room was blissfully peaceful, and light and airy.

  “If I had a room like this I’d be the most successful writer in the universe,” she said to Ava, who was sitting, feet curled under her, on the large floral sofa which faced a desk and chair, neatly stacked with books, letters and sheaves of paper.“I might also be a fecking big recluse though,” she continued. “Because I would never leave and, in fairness, I know it would be a poor show for a journalist never to leave her office. But God, this room is lovely.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” Ava said, looking up over her glasses and away from the paperwork she was sorting through.

  “Beats my home office anyway. Well, I say home office. I have a desk in the box room at the front of the smallest terraced house in Belfast. There is woodchip on the walls and my storage system is more of the ‘big pile of crap in the corner’ than chic whitewashed bookcases against pale blue walls. I have a rattley radiator and the hum of the traffic outside to keep me company and little else. The view is definitely less appealing and less fragrant than a herb garden. Once – and this is a joy – I looked out and saw a man throw up in the street. It put me right off my vegetable soup, I can tell you.”