The Book of Love

by Fionnuala Kearney

  ‘Yeah,’ Hannah’s expression was dubious. ‘A few major American firms think so too.

  ‘We’re different.’ Lydia smiled. ‘Small premises, a narrow bar at the window with six stools maximum. Our idea is get them through the door for their takeaway coffee – always cheaper than the Americans’, by the way – give them a free mini-muffin, yes free, but what keeps them coming back is we sell the best coffee. We really do.’

  Despite herself, Erin found herself thinking about it.

  ‘Come on, Erin, it would be fun. Join the world of the flat white, espresso, cappuccino, mocha latte, you know you want to. Do it for three months and if you hate it, no hard feelings. You could be part-time, work mornings, some days from home. I know you want to be around for the kids after school.’

  And in that moment, Erin decided to do something she rarely did. She agreed. She agreed to go and work for Lydia for the next three months at least without thinking about it, without analysing it, without measuring up the pros and cons. She just breathed deep and nodded.

  Minutes later, she was nursing the one glass of celebratory champagne she’d allowed herself when Hannah blurted, ‘There’s something I need to tell you guys.’

  Erin noticed an immediate twitch on her friend’s scarlet-painted mouth.

  ‘Now seems like a good moment,’ Hannah took a deep breath.

  ‘What?’ Lydia stared.

  ‘I’ve met someone, no one you guys know. We’ve been seeing each other a short while.’

  ‘Someone at work?’ Erin asked. Hannah worked as a croupier in a five-star London hotel casino.

  ‘Someone through work,’ she said.

  ‘Name, date of birth, physical details please,’ Erin counted out on her hand.

  ‘Girls, I haven’t known him very long.’

  ‘He must have a name,’ she said.

  ‘Walter, Walt,’ Hannah replied, rubbing a spot on her arm.

  Lydia giggled. ‘Walter? That’s it, he’s seventy-five, isn’t he, that’s why you’ve said nothing?’

  Erin could sense Hannah’s discomfort. ‘She’s only teasing,’ she said. ‘How old is Walt?’

  ‘He’s thirty-six.’

  ‘A bit older than you then.’

  Hannah nodded.

  ‘Do we get to meet him?’ Lydia asked. ‘I’m not sure I’ve ever known you to be quite so coy about someone.’

  ‘He lives in Brighton.’

  ‘Nice,’ Erin nodded. ‘I’d love to live by the sea. Does he work in London?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay, this isn’t right.’ Lydia grabbed Hannah’s hand. ‘Why haven’t you told me, told us, about him before?’

  ‘I just don’t want to jinx it, Jesus!’

  Erin’s instincts immediately fired up as her friend’s discomfort increased and snippets of recent conversations she’d half had with Hannah came back to her. ‘He’s married, isn’t he?’ she whispered.

  Hannah whipped her head around to them, was just about to deny it when her face crumpled. ‘Please, it’s not what you think.’

  ‘Does he have children?’ Lydia asked quietly.

  ‘No. No children …’

  ‘Jesus, Hannah. A wife …’ Erin watched Lydia’s hand cover Hannah’s and Hannah toss it off as if she’d been scalded.

  ‘Don’t judge me,’ she snapped. ‘I love him. I’ve tried not to, but I love him.’

  All the other sounds in the busy wine bar – the buzz of people talking, the clatter of plates from behind the open pass at the restaurant end, the distant ring of a telephone – everything quietened but for the sound of Erin’s own voice.

  ‘No judgement, Hannah,’ she said, but inside she thought she was. She found herself wondering if his wife knew, whether this was some awful arrangement they’d agreed to live with or worse, if she knew nothing about it at all. But, in the years she’d known Hannah, a time when she’d seen lovers, and two relationships, come and go, Erin had never heard her friend use the word ‘love’. She looked at her glass, almost empty and though she knew she shouldn’t, she filled it one more time.

  ‘Definitely no children?’ Lydia asked again.

  Hannah shook her head. ‘Definitely not.’

  ‘You say you love him. How does he feel about you?’ Lydia asked. ‘You said you haven’t been with him very long—’

  ‘It’s been six months. He feels the same.’ Hannah said the words very slowly and swallowed visibly.

  ‘Six months?’ Lydia folded her arms, unimpressed.

  ‘We love each other,’ Hannah repeated.

  ‘What’s love anyway?’ Lydia’s tone was curt, and Hannah replied instantly.

  ‘It might not be the same for you and me.’ She sought Erin’s eyes. ‘I find myself thinking of him all of the time when I’m not with him. And all the time we’re not together I wish we were. He makes me smile as soon as I see him, I mean just catching sight of him makes me smile and then when we’re together we laugh a lot.’

  Erin looked away.

  ‘I miss him when he’s gone,’ Hannah continued. ‘Sex with him is just …’ She began to cry, tears that Erin could see needed to be cried, shared, with them, her friends. ‘I realise now I just shagged other men and they shagged me. With Walt, I’m making love to the man I want to be with, it’s like being home.’

  Hannah grabbed both Lydia’s and Erin’s hand. ‘Please, I need you guys to understand.’

  Despite herself, despite struggling with a hundred ‘buts’, Erin found herself thinking, sounds like love to me.

  9th May 2002

  Dear Dom,

  It doesn’t seem like four years since she died; since she was bouncing on my knee, yet today when I closed my eyes and thought of Maisie, I felt that the picture I have of her in my head is fading. I had to focus hard to remember the arch of freckles around her nose, her tiny pursed lips … I know our focus is on our blessings, you and me and the twins but I don’t ever want to forget her, Dom.

  We don’t ever really talk about her, do we? And we’ve absolutely never talked about that night, have we? The twins being born so soon after made sure we had to get on with things. But, that night, it was you who found her and I don’t think I’ve ever told you how grateful I am that I was at least spared that. And you dealt with everything afterwards while I fell in a pregnant heap. I’ve never thanked you for taking care of everything back then – thank you, Dom. I mean it.

  Will you tell me that you’re alright? Sometimes, I wonder …

  You’re the one so in control while I’m the blubbering fool buoyed up by pills, but are you? Are you in control or are you just bloody good at pretending you are?

  For example, earlier, you and I were just chatting, avoiding all talk of the anniversary tomorrow (where I’ll go to church with the twins like I always do and you’ll … what will you do, Dom? What is it that you do on 10th May to remember her?) so we were talking about Hannah when suddenly you were tying your trainers and gone – off on another 10K run. I was left drowning in the conversation that we almost had!

  I love Hannah. And I’m not judging her. I really don’t think I am. I do believe she’s in love with this guy, but it doesn’t make what she’s doing right. I suppose I’m just not sure how it’ll all end for her (meaning I know marriage and kids were always what she talked about wanting) and in the meantime how’s it going to affect the friendship group? Anyone Hannah loves, we have to welcome, right?

  I’m confused. Genuinely. And I’d really like to talk to you about it without you changing into running gear while I’m trying.

  I’d ask you what you’re running away from if I thought you’d answer me. I think you’re afraid. What are you afraid of, Dom?

  This has turned into a bit of a rant. I didn’t mean it to be. I just wanted to reach out to you. Let me know you’re alright. Let me know we’re alright?

  And Dom, I love you, because when you come home from your run, all sweaty and just wanting a shower, you’ll look at the mirror in t
he hall and sigh loudly. You’ll grab the neon post-it with your name on it and scrunch it up. You’ll want to toss it on the floor and swear at me under your breath, but you won’t. You’ll reach in the drawer, and then you’ll write something in here too.

  I know you will.

  Erin xx

  10th May 2002

  Darling Erin,

  I’m not like you, my love. It’s because of this we work. You’re the yin to my yang and all that bollocks. I know you like these pages, but, to be honest, I just find it silly. But I’ll try my best, for you.

  I really am alright. Of course, I miss and grieve for our beautiful little girl but as I said, we’re different.

  The only thing I’m afraid of right now is your need to forensically delve into things. And see, I come from the school that says if you go looking for something, you’ll find it!

  So, my fear is more that if we try and take things apart too much to see how they work, that maybe they won’t fit back together again.

  Love you mightily.

  Dom xx

  P.S. Hannah and this bloke she’s seeing. Why are you even thinking about it? It’s her business and it will never last, so we need never worry about whether he’ll fit in with us or not.

  P.P.S. And so you know, I’m just running to keep fit!

  P.P.P.S. Every year on Maisie’s anniversary, I make a phone call. I never have any idea, until the day, who I’ll be talking to, or if I’ll be talking to anyone. It’s something I do since you and I were first in contact with the local SIDS group about doing some fundraising. I try and find out if there’s someone who recently lost a child to SIDS and whether they’re happy to talk. And I talk to them. If they want. That’s what I do when you go to church.

  11th May 2002

  Dear Dom,

  I love you because you talk to a stranger about their pain and probably really help them through a dark time. I hate that you can never really share yours with me.

  I get it. I just hate it.

  Erin xx

  15. Erin

  THEN – December 2003

  ‘Boy, am I glad to see you.’ Erin held onto her father at her front door.

  ‘Hey! I love it!’ Fitz touched her shorter hair. ‘What made you do that?’

  Closing the door, she took his coat, never getting the chance to reply.

  ‘Hello, mate.’ Fitz bent down and lifted Jude into his arms. ‘You’ll be too big for me to do this soon!’

  ‘Rachel’s just getting her pyjamas on,’ Erin said. ‘Do you mind reading their bedtime story while I get ready?’

  ‘Sure.’ Fitz lowered the boy. ‘Sorry I’m a bit late, the traffic was crazy – got stuck near the big M&S. Thousands of people buying last-minute presents and sprouts …’ He shuddered and laughed aloud. ‘Nasty little green things!’

  ‘Grandad!’ Rachel peered her head around their bedroom door. ‘Do you know it’s only one more sleep until Father Christmas comes?’

  ‘I do! Have you been the best girl?’ Fitz dropped himself to her level, to her enthusiastic nodding.

  ‘Jude was horrible to Mummy though.’

  ‘What?’ he said. ‘I don’t believe that.’

  Erin sighed as her father’s eyes landed back on Jude. ‘He doesn’t like my haircut,’ she explained.

  ‘She looks like a boy,’ Jude said.

  ‘Never!’ Fitz laughed. ‘Your mummy is far too pretty to look like any boy I know. That gorgeous smile and see those lovely green eyes.’ He offered a hand to Jude. ‘Come on, let’s get you two into bed and I’ll tell you the story of Oz and the Emerald City that’s just the same colour as Mummy’s eyes. She needs to go and get ready now.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed the words to her father and went into the bathroom where her clothes hung on a hanger on the back of the door. She turned both taps on the bath, knowing there was little time for a soak but needing one to ease the tension in her body. After pouring some salts in the water, she sank into it, conscious of the low laughter coming from the children’s bedroom. Fitz would have them immersed in the land of Oz while she immersed herself in her watery real life for a few precious minutes.

  Erin kept her head above the waterline and practised some deep breathing techniques she’d learned in a book. She had done everything. The ‘to-do-before-Christmas list’ at the Bean Pod office had been completed; every invoice had been tallied, every order for the new year made, and the papers for Lydia’s next business premises had been lodged with the solicitors. All the presents were wrapped and stored safely away from any risk of the children finding them. All she had to do was put them under the tree when she and Dom got back that night. Christmas day dinner tomorrow was at Sophie and Gerard’s, so she had nothing to worry about there. And tonight, Fitz was here to look after the kids while she and Dom joined their friends for the monthly pub quiz at the Coach and Horses.

  She flinched at a knock on the door.

  Dom’s voice. ‘It’s me, I’m home. Just changing – you okay?’

  ‘Yep, I’ll be out in a minute.’ She could have stayed there another hour, but she opened her eyes and looked at her outfit. Black jeans and a black sparkly top that Hannah had given her last Christmas. A night out was just what she needed – glad rags, makeup on, a few drinks, not too many that she’d forget Father Christmas, but just enough to unwind and have a laugh. With the doctor’s help over the last few months, she’d managed to cut her medication to such low levels that they were both hopeful the new year would mean she could consider cutting it out altogether.

  Standing, she shivered and wrapped herself in the towel she’d placed on the heated rail. As she dried herself, she caught sight of her reflection in the full-length mirror. Definitely not a boy. She tilted her head, raised her breasts a fraction with both hands. Not bad. Not as pert as they had once been, but not bad. Turning to the side she patted her flat stomach. No six pack but not bad either. She slipped into the only matching black underwear she owned, hesitated a moment and then put her ankle boots on before mussing her hair, tweaking it into the shape it had been hours earlier when leaving the salon. Erin smiled, gathered her clothes and left the bathroom.

  ‘Wow!’ Dom stared at her as she walked into their bedroom and shut the door. ‘Shit, your hair. Wow!’

  She stood there, all six-foot of her in heels, her hands on her hips, and watched each emotion cross his face. A wide-eyed lust for a gamine stranger, then shock that the stranger was her. ‘You look …’

  ‘I look good,’ she interrupted. ‘I feel totally knackered, but I look good.’

  From the other side of their bed he seemed to appraise her head to toe. ‘You look hot.’

  ‘You like it?’ She touched her head.

  Dom came around to her and put his hands on her waist, stared at her face. ‘I love it. Makes your eyes brighter.’ He kissed her gently. ‘Now, get dressed before I throw you on the bed and shag you senseless.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Jude hates it, told me I look like a boy,’ she said as she pulled up her jeans. ‘He’s been making weird faces at me all afternoon.’

  ‘He’ll forget about it tomorrow morning.’ Dom began to sing softly about Santa Claus comin’ to town.

  ‘Go and rescue Dad while I throw on some makeup, will you?’ she nudged him as he brushed his lips against her neck.

  ‘Easy access to your beautiful neck, Mrs Carter. Love it.’

  Minutes later, Erin joined him and the children. ‘Be good for Grandad,’ she told them.

  ‘Or Father Christmas won’t come,’ Rachel said gravely.

  ‘Yes, he will.’ Jude said.

  Erin’s eyebrows arched. ‘Nope,’ she said. ‘Not to naughty children.’

  ‘He always comes,’ Jude replied. ‘And I’m a good boy.’

  She smiled and leaned in to him in the bottom bunk. ‘You’re the best boy in the world.’ Erin felt her son’s arms wrap tightly around her neck. ‘I miss your hair, Mummy,’ he whispered as she inhaled the soft scent
of baby shampoo from his.

  ‘I’m still your mummy, just with shorter hair,’ she kissed his cheek.

  ‘Maybe tomorrow I’ll like it,’ her son offered, and she could feel Dom’s smile behind her back.

  ‘Night, darling,’ she said before standing and grabbing hold of her daughter in the bed above.

  ‘I like it today,’ Rachel whispered into her ear.

  ‘I’m glad,’ she tucked Rachel in. ‘And you’re the best girl in the world.’

  ‘I am,’ she agreed, and Erin smiled at her small, serious face. Behind her, Dom had left the room.

  ‘You both need to go to sleep really soon,’ she said backing out towards the door.

  ‘Mummy, how long will you and Daddy be?’ Jude had turned towards her.

  ‘Not long. We’ll be back very soon.’

  ‘Are you going out with Aunty Lydia and Uncle Nigel?’

  ‘Yes. And Hannah too.’ Hannah, Erin knew, would be alone – with Walt, the man she still claimed to be in love with, at home with his wife over Christmas.

  ‘To the pub?’

  Erin grinned. ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you’ll be back before Father Christmas comes?’

  ‘Of course.’ Her hand was on the door handle.

  ‘You’re not allowed see him, else he won’t leave presents.’

  ‘We’ll be home way before then.’

  ‘Okay. But what if Rudolph doesn’t eat the carrot? Will he …’

  ‘Jude, go to sleep,’ Rachel called down from the top bunk.

  Erin felt Dom appear at her shoulder.

  ‘Sleep, now, both of you,’ he said. ‘Night, night.’

  She closed the door gently.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Or we’ll be here all night.’ She took the coat, gloves and scarf he handed her, glanced back at the bedroom door. There was always a moment, just before she would leave the children, a moment where she felt she should stay; a split-second where Maisie’s death would wrap itself around her like a shroud, a feeling that time had taught her to consciously shed.