Chapter Five
It’s a strange winter. The short days blend into one, a pattern of up early and bed late as I balance my work on the farm with college and the flurry of activity that always comes at this time of year.
Three weeks before Christmas, the various festive drawings Rachel and I made as children are carefully taken down from the attic and taped to the walls.
The shelves fill with biscuit tins and sweet treats that catch the eye every time we enter the room, and Mam starts checking the fruit cake every night in case it needs more brandy.
One cold, dark evening with a million stars overhead, I help Dad pick out a tree and we carry it back to the house for all of us to decorate.
I barely have time to sit down most days, but I still go to the discos.
Still take my lessons. Still wait for the right moment even though I can no longer think about it without getting nervous.
It doesn’t help that the weekend before the last dance of the year, Mrs Fallon barely opens the door before she starts berating me. “You’re late.”
I’m not, but I just nod as I hand her the groceries and step inside.
“I’m out of coal,” she continues.
“I’ll get you some more.”
“I’ve already ordered some,” she says, exasperated. “Where are you going?”
I turn, confused. “To the front—”
“No,” she cuts me off. “We’ll get to that later. I’ve other things for you to do first.”
“But—”
“But? We don’t say that word in this house. But.”
I press my lips together as she starts grumbling and wait for her to close the door, but my frustration fades into curiosity when she heads for the staircase.
I’ve never been upstairs before.
I always assumed it was off-limits, but now I follow her up, the soft red carpet leading me all the way the to the landing, where a dozen doors stand closed. She opens one halfway down, revealing what must be her bedroom.
The first thing I note is that it’s massive.
Easily the size of two in my house. A giant bed takes up the space, its covers neatly made.
The curtains are open, the weak sunlight streaming through, but the air is stale and musky and all I can think about is how my mother would take one look at the place and open all the windows.
Mrs Fallon aims straight for the wardrobe, opening the door to reveal a row of old-fashioned men’s clothing. Suits and shirts and woollen coats. I even spy a tuxedo, and I must not hide my apprehension very well because she takes one look at me and barks out a laugh.
“I won’t make you dress like your grandfather, if that’s what you’re worrying about.” She taps her cane on the slim shelf above. “Get that box. Be careful.”
I take it out, laying it on the bed as directed. Her arthritis seems bad today, and it takes her a second to get the lid off, but she manages it eventually, putting it to one side before unwrapping the tissue paper.
Inside is a small bottle, dark brown and chunky.
Cologne.
“Here now,” she says, uncapping the lid. “That was my husband’s.”
She thrusts it into my hands, and I balk. It’s probably the most expensive thing I’ve ever held.
“I can’t,” I begin, but she just scowls.
“Of course you can. Give it a spray. But I’m warning you now, it’s probably gone off.”
I keep waiting for her to take it back, to laugh and explain what’s happening, but she just stares at me, and I have a feeling I’ll anger her even more if I don’t put it on.
The thing is I’ve never sprayed cologne before. I have no idea what to do. So of course I do it wrong, pointing the nozzle at my chest.
“What are you doing?” she snaps, and I freeze. “Didn’t your father ever teach you anything? Hold it away from you. Away.” She grabs my arm and physically arranges my hand about five inches from my body. “Just do your neck for now. It looks like we’ll have to work up to your wrists.”
I don’t think I’ve ever felt more self-conscious in my life, but I do as she says, scrunching my eyes shut as I try not to cough at the warm, slightly spicy scent that fills the room.
I wait for the air to settle before I open them again, and when I do, I find Mrs Fallon watching me with a strange look on her face.
“There now,” she says, after a long second. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
I hold it out to her wordlessly, but she just flaps her hand at me.
“It’s yours,” she says. “What use do I have for it? Take it.”
“But—”
“It’s a gift! Haven’t you ever gotten a gift before?”
“Not one this nice,” I tell her truthfully, and she doesn’t seem to know what to do with that.
“Well, you might as well go the extra mile if you’re going to risk making a fool of yourself,” she says, a little flustered as I put the bottle back in the box. “Now what?”
She eyes me warily when I turn to her.
“I want to dance,” I say, holding up my hands.
“Gotten awfully confident, haven’t you?”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know that!” She makes a disgruntled noise, but her hand goes to mine in a now-familiar way, and I don’t wait for her instruction as I lead her in a simple box step. My feet don’t falter once. It doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Been practicing with the cows?” Mrs Fallon asks.
“Only because the sheep are terrible.”
Her lips disappear as she presses them together, the only sign that she’s amused.
“Well, you’re not as bad as them,” she says graciously.
“Does that mean you think I’m ready?”
“No. But I think you won’t fall flat on your arse, which is more than I can say for some people.”
“That’s all I can probably hope for,” I say, raising my left arm to signal a turn. She moves instinctively, graceful even though her movements are slow, and for a moment, I think I almost catch a smile.
“You’ll do just fine,” she adds, only slightly reluctantly, and doesn’t correct me once as she lets me turn her around the room until she gets tired.
*
That Friday, we’re nearly an hour late by the time we arrive at the hall. Rachel managed to stain her favorite dress and spent twenty minutes trying to get it out before spending another twenty picking something new.
It doesn’t help my nerves. I dress normally because I’ve no other option but spray the cologne Mrs Fallon gave me before wrapping it in a towel and hiding it under my bed.
I have a fear Mam will find it, which is ridiculous, because she rarely goes into my room.
But if she found it, she’d probably think I’d stolen it.
Of course, as soon as I spray it, I realize I have to avoid her anyway in case she notices, so I walk around the barn twice before I return to find Rachel waiting for me impatiently at the gate.
I keep expecting her to comment, but she says nothing, which then makes me worry that she can’t even smell it, and I put it on wrong or now I just smell like the barn, and we’re almost at the school by the time I tell myself to cop on and stop worrying about nothing. Colleen might not even be there.
Except that I want her to be there. I always do.
Since it’s the last dance of the year, someone – Dessie, most likely – has made an effort.
For all the complaining he does about us, he takes his job as village DJ seriously.
I think he secretly wants us to have a good time, and so the Halloween decorations have finally been taken down, replaced by sparse yet sparkly tinsel.
He must have raided the local primary school as well, because childish drawings of Christmas villages and Santa Claus decorate the bare brick walls.
“Hold on.” Rachel turns to me as soon as we step inside, readjusting my collar as Darlene Love plays overhead. “I’ll try to distract Patricia,” she adds, and pats me on the shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.
I let her be and look for Colleen.
It doesn’t take long. Like there’s something in her that calls to something in me, my gaze is drawn to the bottom of the hall, to where I quickly find her standing with some friends.
And this time, I know it’s up to me to make the first move. So I do, keeping my eyes on her and only her as I skirt the wall, edging closer and closer. Her back is to me, but one of her friends glances over and nudges her.
The moment our eyes meet she immediately whirls back and there’s a whispered conversation before the gaggle of friends disappear, leaving as soon as I reach her side.
“Hi,” she says, sounding a little breathless.
“Hello.”
She glances down at her outfit, only to pull at her long sleeves, annoyance flashing across her face. “Sorry,” she says. “They keep twisting.”
She’s worn the dress before but has added a matching brown belt tonight.
The skirt ends just above the knee and her hair hangs low down her back, the wispy bits around her face starting to curl from the heat.
It gives her a wild look. Like she’s just stepped in from the hills, appearing from another world.
But I don’t know how to tell her that. How beautiful she looks right now. How she always does.
“You look really nice,” I say instead.
“Oh. Thanks!” She smooths her hands over the front. “I should have taken the sleeves up. They bothered me the last time I wore it as well.”
“At Halloween.”
She looks startled. “Yes. I didn’t think anyone noticed.”
I did. The words get stuck on my tongue. Tied together in a knot.
“I wanted to work in a clothes shop when I was younger,” she continues when I don’t respond. “But I don’t think I have the imagination for it.”
“Imagination?”
She smiles. “I can cut and sew okay if I’m given some instructions, but I can’t think of them myself.
I’m not an artist. I like clothes though.
I’m always reading Mam’s magazines. I’ve got dozens of them under my bed.
Do you like clothes?” Her lips clamp shut as soon as she asks the question, and she looks away as if not expecting an answer.