Kitabı oku: «A Part of Me and You», sayfa 4
Chapter 5
Shelley
‘I’ve been calling you all morning, darling,’ says Eliza, my mother-in-law, when I answer my phone on the way into the village after lunch. ‘Are you driving? Can you talk?’
‘I am driving but you’re on loudspeaker,’ I tell her. I’ve been avoiding her calls all morning but now that I hear her familiar voice I wish I’d answered earlier. Maybe I’d have avoided the meltdown that has caused me to be thirty minutes late to take over from Betty, my assistant, at Lily Loves.
‘It’s okay to cry today,’ she tells me and I nod as I drive, feeling tears prick my eyes again. ‘Cry every day if you feel like it. It’s all part of your healing process. The colour blue is good for you today, darling, that’s what I am feeling. Look out for it today. It will be good for you. Look out for someone connected to the colour blue who crosses your path.’
‘I’m on my way to work,’ I tell her. ‘Did Matt tell you to call me? Please Eliza, I don’t want any fuss today. I need to just try and get on with things and keep busy. It’s the only way I can cope.’
I pass no remarks on the colour blue she refers to. Some of Eliza’s mystic words of wisdom are of great comfort, but some can’t get past the cynic in me and I push them away to the back of my mind.
‘Do whatever you have to do,’ says Eliza and she pauses for a few seconds. ‘You’re going to be okay, Shell. It’s all going to be okay. I am praying for you every day and I am sending light and healing. Positive energy is coming your way and don’t ever forget that.’
I roll my eyes and try not to give her a smart answer, but I don’t feel like it’s going to be okay no matter how much Eliza prays every day. No matter how many chakras she tries to clear or clean, no matter how much energy she sends, and no matter how many candles she lights for me, I don’t think I will ever be okay again. Apart from Matt, I have no one and nothing in my life to live for and I sometimes worry that even he isn’t enough.
‘Thanks for the call,’ I tell Eliza, wanting to end our conversation now as I approach the village. ‘I really do appreciate it.’
‘There are good things coming for you real soon,’ she says and I take a deep breath.
‘Do you really think so?’ I ask her, before she can hang up. ‘I hope there are, Eliza because I don’t think I can cope with living like this anymore. I need some hope. I think I’m ready for some hope if I could only get a sign.’
‘The colour blue, I tell you,’ she says to me. ‘You’ll see the signs when you are ready, Shelley. Look, would you like me to pop by later? We could go to the Beach House for dinner?’
I know she means well and I know Matt means well but how many times do I have to tell them that I can’t bear to face the world? I want to go to dinner, I want to walk with my head held high, but today I can just about manage to go to work, maybe visit the grocery store afterwards and go home, in that order.
‘I don’t think so, Eliza,’ I reply, not wanting to sound ungrateful but I know she will understand. ‘I’m not really up to much today but I do appreciate the offer, you know I do and I will keep looking for those signs. I’m ready to grasp any glimmer of hope that comes my way.’
‘Okay, well when you’re ready you know where I am,’ she says. ‘Now, keep those positive thoughts to the forefront. You’ve come such a long way, whether you feel like it or not. Your light will return soon, I just know it will. Your mother is close today. She is sending angels your way. And blue.’
‘I’ll try and stay positive,’ I tell her. ‘Have a nice day, Eliza. Goodbye.’
I hang up and sigh, but despite my nonchalance, I really do appreciate her call. Eliza may just be telling me what I need to hear when I need to hear it, but it all helps and at this stage of my deep grief I would try anything. Anything, that is, that doesn’t involve leaving my shop or my home, which doesn’t give me too many options, does it?
I park the car alongside the edge of the pier and the sight of the fishing boats all lined up in their usual places makes me smile a little inside. I like familiarity and after thirteen years in this little place, I can finally call it home – though a part of me will always long for my mother’s embrace back north where I grew up, but that’s no longer within my reach. I never meant to settle here, or to stay any longer than a summer break but then I met Matt and the rest is history.
I make my way to my shop, my safe place where I can distract my mind with idle small chat to customers and sorting out new stock and choosing items from flea markets and online distributors to meet the fashion demands of my colourful clients. Again, the smell of its interior – a faint hint of coffee mixed with frankincense (recommended by Eliza for its healing powers) – fills me up and gives me the strength to keep taking one day at a time.
Terence, my delivery man is running a day late which never happens but it only serves to distract me. Soon, I’m on my third coffee of the afternoon and I’m trying with all my might to concentrate on a celebrity magazine to take my mind off this day which is dragging despite my attempts to keep busy. Maybe I shouldn’t have opened up this afternoon after all. I should have gone away for the day, somewhere new for a change of scenery, but I honestly can’t remember the last time I ventured any further than where I am standing right now in my shop.
The bell rings as a customer enters and I bolt up and try to smile a hello at the lady who’s just entered. She browses around the rails near the door like most people do when they come in to Lily Loves. It’s a real treasure trove of colourful, retro pieces and I treat every item of clothing like it’s made of gold. My customers are the only contact with the outside world I choose to have these days, apart from Matt.
This isn’t a local though. She is a tourist for sure and I need to make sure she feels welcome.
‘Hello there,’ she says in a very distinctive brummie accent. ‘What a day!’
‘Is it still raining out there?’ I ask her. She is my only customer of the afternoon so far and I’m glad to see her, but I’ll stick to my small talk as usual. I feel safe talking about the weather, clothes and jewellery but I’d die if she struck up a real conversation outside of that.
She nods and shivers in reply and then gets on with her browsing, much to my relief, so I go back to my magazine where I’m now reading about a woman who shed nine stone, only for her husband to dump her. Nice.
‘Do you have this dress in any other sizes?’ the lady asks eventually and I spring back into business mode, eager to talk about what I know best. ‘I seem to have forgotten how changeable the weather is here in Ireland and I packed all wrong.’
I can see that, I want to say, but of course it isn’t my place to comment on her outfit.
She is around my age, maybe a little bit older, and has the most beautiful warm smile. I feel bad that I have to tell her that the dress she has chosen, made of a pale green, light wool with a high neck and long sleeves, is the last of only three sizes I took in for the summer collection. She doesn’t seem as disappointed as I am though and goes back to the rail and continues to search.
‘I’d really have loved that one but just my luck …’ she mumbles to herself as she flicks through the rows of dresses on the rails at the far end of the shop. ‘Red is my colour, I’m told, yet I always choose green.’
‘I have a similar one in yellow if that’s any good?’ I suggest, but then we both giggle as she points at her hair which is a few shades lighter than yellow. She shrugs.
‘I’d look like Big Bird,’ she says. ‘I should’ve packed a different wig for my trip instead of trying to pretend I’m a sexy blonde. I’ve never been blonde in my life! In fact I’ve dyed my hair so many times down the years I don’t even remember what my natural colour is now.’
I nod nervously when she tells me it’s a wig, and go back to my stool and my magazine by the till, my out-of-practice social skills tripping me up at the idea of discussing anything other than my safe topics with this stranger.
Thankfully though, she isn’t bothered by my non-answer but I turn up the background music in the shop just in case, and try and focus on the reality TV stars who now look up at me from my magazine.
My eyes dart across to her every now and then though as she browses. She is holding a favourite of mine, a royal blue wrap-over jersey dress that skims the knee and I want to tell her that it would suit her very well, but I’m afraid of her indulging me with her own sad story. I need positive thinking today. I daren’t open the flood gates and talk about Lily and I know that is exactly what would happen.
‘Can I try this on?’ asks the lady. ‘I need something to wear that isn’t shorts and a t-shirt or a floaty skirt that you could spit through. What on earth was I thinking? That’s what I get for coming here in a hurry.’
I point her to the changing rooms and just as I’d predicted, the dress fits her like a glove and brightens up her pale face no end.
‘It suits you. It really does.’
‘I suppose it does,’ she says, admiring her reflection in the mirror. ‘How much is it?’
‘Sixty euro,’ I tell her. ‘But I can do it for fifty-five?’
She is just about to reply when Terence arrives at the door, pushing it open with his backside like he always does, his hands laden with cardboard boxes full of delights that I can’t wait to get my hands on.
‘Sorry Shelley! Better late than never, love,’ he says. ‘I got stuck at the hospital yesterday. Did you get my text?’
I glance back at my customer but instead of responding to the price, she has disappeared back into the changing room so I focus on Terence and the delivery while I wait for her return.
‘I didn’t get your text, but not to worry,’ I say to him. ‘I thought you’d traded me in for the big game today.’
Terence sets the box of goodies on the floor and wipes his hands, damp from the drizzle outside, on his trusty black jacket.
‘I’m going to try and catch some of the second half from my armchair at home,’ he tells me, handing over the delivery receipt and pointing out where I need to sign. ‘You’re my last delivery. I always save the best to last.’
I look up and he gives me a wink and a knowing smile.
‘I’m doing okay,’ I say to him, wincing as I write the date on his copy of the receipt. ‘Just don’t talk to me too much about it. Talk about the football match. Or the weather. Horrible weather for July, isn’t it? Where on earth is our summer?’
The lady with the blonde wig is out of the changing rooms now and without looking my way, she hangs the dress back where she got it, gives a casual wave in my direction and slips off out through the door. Strange. I was sure she was going to take it.
‘Awful weather altogether,’ says Terence. ‘I have a bet on that Galway will do the business, but I think that’s my heart more than my head talking. What do you think?’
‘Eh?’
I look past him out on to the street where I see her scuttle away in the light drizzle, her handbag her only shelter from the rain.
‘The match?’ says Terence.
‘Oh yeah. The match. Let’s hope we can do it,’ I mumble back at him.
‘Look after yourself today, missy,’ he tells me and since he knows me so well by now he leaves it at that. I walk him to the door, unable to resist a peep outside into the damp, drizzly day. I see the woman with the wig shuffling past a few diehard fans in Galway football jerseys out for their half-time smoke before she makes her way down the road past Brannigan’s.
I see tourists every day, all year round here in this town but there’s something about her that has caught me, in a good way and I wish I had engaged with her more. I wish I had the courage to talk to people, especially other women, properly. You know, make friends again. Socialise. But I always get stuck. I get too afraid of opening up to people who would rather not hear of my troubles. Everyone has troubles of their own, I suppose, and who would want to hear about mine?
Chapter 6
Juliette
‘I forgot my purse,’ I say to Rosie who has made herself at home on the sofa in the cottage that will be our home for the next seven days. ‘How on earth could I do that? I got to the shop and tried on the most gorgeous dress then realised I didn’t have my purse with me. Have you seen it anywhere?’
‘The wi-fi here is so bad,’ says Rosie, totally ignoring what I just said. ‘I’m going to go off my head with boredom here. Where is this place anyhow? Bally-go-backwards or somewhere? I can’t even find it on Google Maps.’
She is snapchatting or doing whatever it is that teenagers do on their phones, recording and sharing their every move, and her nonchalance to reality and the fact that I cannot find my purse is making me irritable.
‘Rosie, have you seen my purse anywhere?’ I ask more directly. ‘I went to that nice vintage shop on the corner to buy something warm and it’s not in my handbag. Rosie?’
She swings her long legs off the sofa and grunts as she walks to the sideboard in the living area and hands me my purse from inside her own handbag.
‘Are you losing your memory or something?’ she asks me. ‘Like, duh! You gave it to me in that pub earlier to pay for the drinks and told me to keep it safe ‘til we got to this place. You always forget stuff and then act like it’s my fault! I don’t want to be here! I am so bored already!’
I take the purse from her and put it in my bag, bewildered at what has just happened. I don’t know what has shaken me more – the fact that I genuinely don’t remember giving her the purse or the way she just spoke to me. Rosie never speaks to me like that, ever. We have never raised our voices to each other and I certainly don’t want it to start happening now.
‘Rosie, this is a beautiful place and I know it’s raining and the wi-fi might not be what you are used to, but I want this to be special for us. We haven’t had a holiday together in such a long time.’
‘What are you on about? We went to Salou last year. And why do we even have to go on holiday in the first place? What’s the big rush to go on holiday?’
‘Yes, you, me and Dan went to Salou last year,’ I reply. ‘I mean just you and me. I have so much planned for us over the next few days and I really want us both to enjoy it. Please don’t ruin it before it begins.’
She slumps down on the sofa and puts her nose into her phone, giggling at whatever her latest message is which stings me to the core. She is ignoring me and I don’t like it one bit.
‘Rosie?’ I say to her. ‘Rosie, will you listen to me? I’ve gone to a lot of effort to bring us here. I’ve made a—’
‘Don’t tell me, Mum, you’ve made more plans that you won’t see through,’ she mutters. At least she was half-listening but again, her words hurt. I’m really not used to this.
‘I’m going to the shop to get my dress and I really do hope your attitude changes while I’m away, Rosie.’
It is on the tip of my tongue to tell her that I am trying to make our last days together perfect. That I’m not going to be here for much longer. That I am dying. That it’s not just any holiday, but our very last holiday. But I bite my tongue and leave her to her snapchatting. I know exactly when and where I am going to break the news to her.
It’s in my plan for the week ahead, of course.
Shelley
Matt calls me for the second time this afternoon just as I’m putting the finishing touches to the mannequin in the window. I’ve dressed it in the most beautiful, glitzy gold fringed dress that arrived in Terence’s delivery. I cradle the phone under my ear to speak to him as I pin the waist in to fit my so-called size 10 model.
‘The town must be buzzing today,’ Matt suggests. ‘You know, with the match? Any idea of the score? I thought I’d call you first to check in before I looked it up.’
‘Sorry, I have no idea,’ I tell my husband, only half-listening as I admire my efforts at dressing the window. This has always been one of my favourite parts of retail and I was told more than once that I had a flair for it. ‘Hopefully we win.’
‘You say that like you really care,’ laughs Matt. ‘Shelley, the football fan. Anyhow, I’d better get back to my client. He’s a moody sod, old Bert. I was thinking if we do win, maybe you should go for a drink tonight to take your mind off things? Call one of the girls like you used to? Though I’d say there will be plenty of action around the village whichever way the result goes. It’s not often we get so far in the Championship so we may as well join in. What do you think?’
I gulp at the very thought of it.
‘What?’
‘A drink? Tonight?’
‘I … I couldn’t, Matt,’ I stutter. ‘You know that I couldn’t go out tonight, not if Galway won the world championship. No way. Not tonight.’
His silence irritates me slightly.
‘Are you still there?’ I ask.
‘Yes, of course I’m still here,’ he says. ‘Look, forget I mentioned it. I just think sometimes it’s good to keep busy and distracted. I know it’s working for me and you’re doing well at work, aren’t you?’
‘Doing well?’
‘Shelley, I’m trying my best here. I’m stuck in Belgium and missing you like crazy and this is killing me to be away today of all days but I hate the thought of you sitting at home alone tonight. Please do something. Don’t be on your own. A drink with friends won’t change things and crying at home on your own is never going to bring her back!’
That hurt. I know I shouldn’t be sitting home alone all the time, I know he is right, but I am absolutely heartbroken at his suggestion that anything I do or don’t do might make me think she is coming back. How could I celebrate a stupid football game today? How could he even think of such a thing?
‘I have to go. Sorry. Chat to you later, bye Matt.’
‘Shell?’
‘Bye.’
I hang up and jump when the doorbell sounds as a customer enters. I look up, and just as I had anticipated, it is the lady with the wig again – only this time she doesn’t look as glamorous as she did before.
‘Is everything okay?’ I ask her, breaking my own rules around overstepping the mark when it comes to conversation that doesn’t involve fashion stock or clearance sales. ‘You left in a hurry earlier.’
‘I’d like to buy that dress, please,’ she says to me, flustered. ‘I can’t believe I haven’t brought proper clothes with me. I can’t believe I’m here … and I can’t really afford to go shopping and let’s face it, I won’t get much wear out of it but just … I’ll take the dress.’
And at that she bursts into tears.
Juliette
‘I’m so sorry for all this,’ I sniffle, handing over my debit card as the unaffected shop lady packs my new dress into a very fancy paper bag. ‘It’s not like it was a big row or anything, it’s just the thoughts that it triggered, you know, it got to me and I haven’t let anything get to me so far. Not this time. This time I was meant to be strong. That’s why I’m here. To be strong. For her. To do the right thing. For her.’
I am rambling to a stranger and the poor woman is as white as a sheet behind the small counter as she hands me the very trendy bag.
‘You know, I got some gorgeous new stock in just after you left,’ she tells me, as if on autopilot. ‘Some really nice stuff so if you want to come back again and try on more, you’re very welcome. I can do discount so don’t worry about price. No point you shivering on your holidays.’
‘I can’t come back again. There’s no point me buying a lot of nice clothes, not now,’ I tell her. ‘I don’t have time to wear them.’
Was she not listening to a word I said? Maybe it’s a good thing she wasn’t. Maybe that’s how she was trained, you know, to be professional and not indulge in anything more than small talk with strangers. Just take the money and run and all that. Maybe I shouldn’t be ranting and raving like this to someone who has no idea of why I am here or what little time I have left.
‘Okay, well the dress you chose really suits you,’ she says, tugging at her hair. ‘I’m glad you came back for it. It’s very you. It suits you. It suits your hair, I mean, your wig. Sorry! I’m not thinking straight. Thank you. For your custom.’
Apart from her annoying hair fiddling, she is almost robotic and I feel like shaking her by the shoulders. A dying woman has just broken down in front of her two eyes and she is too wrapped up in her new fucking stock to notice.
I open my mouth to let it all out but then I look into her eyes and I see they are totally glazed over with tears, and the agony in her eyes runs through me, sending shivers down my arms and into my fingertips.
‘You’re not okay yourself, are you?’ I ask her and she hands me a tissue, again mechanically like she is trying to block me out. I wipe my nose and dab under my eyes. I wasn’t stupid enough to wear that cursed mascara again this time.
She shakes her head and keeps glancing at the window, at the door, as if in fear of someone coming in and seeing her.
‘I’m fine, but thank you,’ she says to me. ‘You said red was your colour. There’s a lovely red—’
A stray couple of tears escape from her eyes, causing her to stop and take a breath. She doesn’t wipe them. She tries again.
‘There’s a lovely size twelve—’
‘Oh for goodness’ sake,’ I reply. ‘Forget the size twelve red whatever it is you are trying to sell to me, please. You’re not okay at all, are you?’
She shakes her head again but still purses her lips in defiance.
‘Thank you very much … for your custom.’
She nods and I’m waiting for her to say ‘have a nice day’ like it’s rehearsed in her script but she doesn’t so I leave her to it. She evidently isn’t as prone to public breakdowns in front of strangers as I am.
‘You are very welcome,’ I reply and then I say it for her. ‘Have a nice day.’
I slip off my sandals and damp shorts and lie on top of the bed in my room that overlooks the harbour of Killara, and I breathe in the sea air that creeps in through the open window of our cottage. The blue dress from the vintage boutique hangs on the wardrobe door at the far side of the room and I wrap a tartan blanket over me to lessen the chill of the breeze.
I close my eyes, listening to the sounds of the early evening in this little hidden gem of a place that once changed my life, and I wonder if he is out there, somewhere, walking the streets or on the boats, totally unaware that his own flesh and blood is so close to him, she too unmindful to the history of this village and her deep connection to it.
‘You’re way out of my league,’ he told me on the night we met, looking up under dark wavy hair and I laughed in reply. There was no way I was out of his league. I knew well that he must have had women drooling over his every word. I remember his dark brown eyes, under knitted eyebrows that made me go weak at the knees … though that may have had something to do with the cocktails and vodka Birgit and I had consumed before we bumped into him at the bar. If only he knew what he left behind when he walked away the next morning.
And speaking of the outcome of our very quick encounter, my reminiscing doesn’t last long before I’m interrupted by a raging ball of hormones that knocks once on the door and then enters, hand on hip.
‘I thought you said we were going for dinner soon?’ she says, and I don’t know whether to laugh or shout at her newfound stinking teenage attitude.
‘We can go soon, yes, I was just about to get changed,’ I tell her. ‘Is it still raining?’
She rolls her eyes as if I have just asked her something as obvious as what my name is.
‘Of course it is still raining. It’s lashing out there. I really don’t know why you brought me here. Is there a McDonald’s nearby? I’m starving.’
‘Starving?’ I say to her in reply. ‘Do you mean that in a literal sense because I highly doubt you are “starving”? You can’t be starved after the lunch we had earlier.’
‘Okay then, I’m just bored and I eat when I’m bored. Is there a McDonald’s or even a Subway or a KFC?’
‘No, Rosie, there is no McDonald’s here, not one Big Mac in sight for miles and miles and isn’t that wonderful?’
Her eyes screw up and her face twists and I swear I barely recognise this person in front of me. Who on earth kidnapped my darling daughter and left me with this devil child?
‘How does anyone actually live here? It’s like the middle of nowhere!’ she pants. ‘They don’t have proper wi-fi and have you seen the TV? It’s like something from the 1980s.’
Ancient history then, obviously.
‘You haven’t even seen the place properly yet,’ I remind her. ‘We’ve only just got here. Give it a chance.’
But Rosie is ready with her next complaint.
‘And does it always rain in Ireland? Every time I look out that window it’s pissing down. Does it rain every day?’
‘No, not every day, Rosie.’
‘I heard it does,’ she says. ‘I Googled it, after waiting ages for the page to load up and it said to expect four seasons in one day. So does that mean it might snow later tonight? Wonderful!’
‘Well, it doesn’t rain on Wednesdays,’ I try to joke but again she looks at me like I’m the one from another planet. ‘Look, give me twenty minutes and we’ll go and explore and see if there is any part of this village that appeals to you at all, no matter about the rain. You seemed to like that young barman earlier?’
‘Mum, don’t be so gross. I just kind of liked his accent. Now, please, I’m starving.’
‘Okay, okay, I will be twenty minutes,’ I tell her again. ‘Can you wait that long or will you die of boredom in the meantime?’
She lets out a deep sigh.
‘Can I go for a walk while I’m waiting?’
‘In the rain?’
‘Yes, I can take an umbrella. There are two by the door. Or maybe I’d be safer in one of the wetsuits in this weather.’
I pause, wondering if I should let her go wandering alone and then I realise that we really are in the middle of nowhere and it is broad daylight and I suppose I should encourage any glimmer of enthusiasm that she shows for our stay.
‘Be back in twenty and take your phone in case you get lost,’ I say, knowing that this too might be the most ridiculous suggestion in the world to make. ‘Don’t go far. Just along the harbour.’
‘I’ll hardly get lost when there’s nothing here!’ she sulks back and at that she is gone, leaving me with the slam of not one door, but two, as she makes her way out onto the harbour pier.
I savour the silence when the door slams shut. She is so full of anger, I just know she is. I want to protect her so much but I am tired, too tired to talk too much about anything after such a long day. I need to keep going though; I came here to spend time with Rosie so no matter how much she is grating on me this evening, and as much as I would rather crawl under the duvet than go out for dinner, I need to keep going.
In the meantime, I rub my throbbing temples and relish in this moment I have to myself. Twenty minutes apart won’t kill us. At least I hope not.
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