Chapter 43
CHAPTER 43
Maura
First things first, I run a warm bath for Josie. I pour in a whole bottle of bubble bath, fetch some fresh towels, and set out some clean clothes. I leave her to it and heat some stew and slice some brown bread. When she appears in the kitchen, my heart skips a beat. She’s wearing one of my summer dresses. It’s a little too big on the hips, but with a belt it will be fine. The fabric brings out the blue in her eyes and, all cleaned up, with straight black hair that falls almost to her waist, she barely looks her fifteen years.
“Hungry?” I ask.
She nods.
I join her at the table and pick at my stew. I’m still full after Bewley’s, but Josie dives in and doesn’t look up again until her bowl is empty and her plate is clear.
“Yummy,” she says. “It tastes just like my ma’s stew.”
I hear the turn of a key in the lock and I know Christy is home. Josie looks as nervous as I feel.
“It’s just my husband,” I say. “You’ll like him. He does some amazing card tricks.”
“Hello, darling,” Christy calls from the hall. “What’s for dinner? You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had. Two sets of twins. Two. I could eat a horse.”
The ajar kitchen door swings wider and Christy’s head cocks to the side when he spots Josie at the table.
“Oh, hello,” he says, ever the perfect gentleman. “And who do we have here?”
“This is my cousin. Josie.”
The lie makes my throat feel funny, like it might close over, and my palms are sweating.
“Josie. Josie,” Christy says, racking his brain. “Can’t say I recall you mentioning a Josie before, sorry, darling.”
“We haven’t been that close, really. A bit of an age gap. But Josie is here in town and we’re getting reacquainted. Aren’t we, coz?”
Josie smiles shyly, and she doesn’t chance words.
“Well, aren’t you a pretty young lady,” Christy says. Josie’s face scrunches when she hears the compliment and I’ve a horrible feeling her father’s friend may have told her similar. Christy makes her nervous.
“Why don’t you go upstairs and freshen up before dinner?” I suggest, desperate to get him out of the kitchen.
Christy examines Josie with his eyes narrowed and she sits as straight as a poker. “Related on your mother’s side of the family,” he says.
“Mm-hmm.”
He claps his hands as if he’s delighted with his detective work. “I knew it. She’s the spitting image of your ma.”
I sigh, beyond relieved.
“Will I make you a drink while you’re upstairs?” I say. “Whiskey, maybe? Or a gin and tonic. I got that new gin in town. The one with the red label that you like.”
Christy walks over to me, kisses me on the cheek, and leans over my shoulder to fetch a slice of brown bread from the center of the table. “Music to my ears. Gin, darling.”
“Gin. All right. Sure.”
Christy straightens up and takes a bite of the bread. “Lovely to meet you, Josie,” he says. “I look forward to getting to know you better when I wash the hospital off me.”
Josie doesn’t make eye contact. She keeps her head down and doesn’t lift it again until he leaves the room.
“It’s all right,” I say. “He’s a nice man.”
My own words sting. I hate myself for the lie. But Christy is a nice man. To everyone else. He will be kind and a good host to Josie and right now, that’s all that matters.
Christy eats his stew in front of the television. Josie and I join him in the sitting room. Slowly she finds her voice, and after a while, we chat and laugh. Christy enjoys the banter and good fun of a teenager in the house, and for a split second I wonder if this is what family life might be like for us. But when Christy picks a stray bone out of his bowl and glares at me as if I did it on purpose to try to harm him, I’m painfully reminded that I am fantasizing.
Christy asks how long Josie will be staying and she is unambiguous when she says, “One night.”
Her optimism concerns me and I quickly add on a couple of more nights for good measure. “And if she stayed longer, that would be fine, wouldn’t it?”
“Of course. Of course,” Christy says, without hesitation. “Family is welcome any time.”
By 9:30 p.m., tiredness has crept into every part of Josie. I show her to her room, tuck her into bed as if she were my own daughter, and tell her she can stay as long as she likes. Weeks, months, however long she needs to. She can stay. And I dare to hope that she does.