Chapter Thirty-Four
Enya exhaled into the cool winter morning and plonked the three weighty shopping bags by her front door, flexing her chilly palms, which carried the imprint of the handles, before fishing inside her handbag for her key.
It had been twenty-six weeks since Aiden and Iris had married, and it had passed quickly.
It felt like mere days ago that she’d been feeling anxious, trying to imagine her son married to Iris, and trying to get her head around the fact that Holly Hudson was having a baby.
Now she was feeling anxious about Holly’s due date and when the baby, her first grandchild, would actually arrive.
She thought, not for the first time, about Dominic, still in her phone as HCK, the lovely man who had bashed her door on that day long ago.
Iris’s lovely dad, who had, eight weeks ago now, finally moved from The Mount into his flat in the marina to be near his beloved boat Foula Girl and was, according to Iris, in his element, as he read guidebooks and nautical charts, planning eventually to escape the worst of the British winter by port hopping around Europe, sampling wine, eating local food, getting a tan, and generally enjoying life.
Iris spoke about it with a certain solemnity, her mouth a little wobbly, and Enya got it, knowing how her own parents’ bickering had taken a toll on her and they were still together.
Trish had, according to Aiden, found a thousand reasons why Dominic had to stay a little longer, a fact that was as sad as it was desperate, and not for the first time Enya felt nothing but empathy for the woman.
She knew more than most how hard it was to let go.
‘He’s gone, Enya.’
‘I think he might want some water; his mouth looks...’
‘He’s gone, my love. He’s at peace.’
‘I’ll sit here for a while... in case he needs anything.’
Enya was, however, happy for Dominic, even though they weren’t in touch; it sounded like a nice way to live, the planning for his great adventure, and she too had found the ingredients to living a happy, fulfilled life.
She read a lot, walked a lot, and worked three days a week in the bookshop on the High Street, impressing the customers and staff alike with her knowledge of growing dahlias, her proficiency at photocopying, and the speed with which she could complete the Rubik’s cube.
Aiden and Iris had settled into married life.
As a couple, they seemed invincible! It was as if they had known each other for a lifetime, so easy were their interactions, so in sync their pace and habits.
It seemed her son had taken her advice, laying strong foundations on which his marriage was to be built: with open and honest communication and love, always love.
To be in their company was a reminder that sometimes you needed to be brave, to cast a stone, cause a ripple, to effect the necessary change.
Easy to say, but a whole lot harder to observe when human emotion lay at the heart of such a decision.
In the wee small hours, she often wondered how Trish would feel if Enya followed her deepest desire, how Aiden and Iris would.
No matter how she sliced and diced it, it all felt too risky, when the ripples of their lives had only just dissipated and the water was, for the time being, calm.
And she was happy! Better. Untroubled by the panic attacks that had so thrown her off course.
Iris continued to display her smart, quiet confidence, which was as endearing as it was impressive.
The kind of attitude that would only help when it came to navigating the choppy waters of step-parenting and effectively, inadvertently, finding yourself in a marriage of three.
The young couple were still living in the annexe at The Mount, a situation Enya didn’t see changing any time soon, their lovely home with the incredible view that changed over the seasons.
Trish relied heavily on Iris. And according to Aiden, fluctuated between feeling angrily abandoned by Dominic’s relocation but also wildly relieved at times, as if happy to live without the stress of their strained existence. She had also stopped drinking and was concentrating on her fitness.
Enya wished her well, knowing herself what that feeling of abandonment was like, remembering how angry she’d been at Jonathan, and how much it had hurt.
It was also clear that she might have been a symptom of Dominic’s unhappy marriage, but was not the root cause.
For the Sutherlands, the waning, the distance, and the slow erosion of their connection to the point where they had lost momentum and were idling, these things had occurred long before he had inadvertently bashed her car door one sunny summer day.
‘Morning, Enya!’
‘Oh, morning, Maeve!’ She felt the hint of a blush to have been thinking about HCK at all, not that Maeve had ever professed to have or displayed any mind-reading skills, but still. ‘All okay?’ Her neighbour was on the path between their two houses.
‘It’s so bloody cold, not yet midday and it’s freezing!’ The older woman narrowed her shoulders and pulled her woollen scarf closer around her neck.
‘Really? Cold, you say? Well, strike me down! And here’s me in my string bikini and sarong!’
She smiled and nodded. ‘’Tis a bit.’
‘Holly’s due date then.’
‘Yes, it’s come around quickly, hasn’t it?’
Enya was pleased to be able to chat to Maeve with such ease.
The frostiness that had settled in around the time that Aiden had met Iris, when Enya had rather unforgivably showered the old lady’s patio with cat turd and litter, had thawed considerably.
To the point where to chat like this on the path, or in the High Street, meant anyone looking on would not suspect there had been any awkwardness at all.
Time, it seemed, helped to heal old wounds and life did indeed go on.
Sadly, it wasn’t the case when it came to Phil and Jenny.
She and Jenny acknowledged each other with a civility that spoke of reticence on both sides.
It was a great shame to have lost the comforting ease of a lovely, lovely friendship that had meant funny texts, shared laughter, and someone to chat to when her day was less than full.
She missed it, missed her. Knowing her friend would find it funny to hear of her dating disasters.
The blind date at the local bistro where ‘Call me Maurice!’ had spoken at her for two very long hours, mainly about his love of golf, his favourite golf courses, the best weather for golf and how he’d finally improved his swing.
And Scott, who had turned up to the park, where the plan was to walk around the lake with his very large dog, Boomer, in tow.
A dog who curled its lip any time she approached, barked at the birds who were simply minding their own business and, as a finale, did a very large turd on the footpath.
It was at this point, as Scott turned to inform her that he’d forgotten the poo bags, that Enya gave her excuses, took the short cut, and made her way home. Never to see Scott or Boomer again.
Phil did his level best to ignore Enya. If they happened to be in the street at the same time, he would employ obvious, almost comical diversion strategies, designed to suggest he had no idea she was there.
These included paying close attention to his phone, as if what was on the screen was of the utmost importance, whistling loudly and looking in the opposite direction, flinging his car keys in the air and concentrating hard on catching them, and – quite possibly her favourite – engaging with any stray cat, dog being walked, or bird resting on a hedge, other than be forced to acknowledge her presence.
She thought he might have got on well with Scott.
Every time Phil ignored her in this way, she wondered what Jonathan would make of it.
This behaviour from the man who had been his chum, the one he had eaten breakfast with before a beloved rugby match, the one he shared beers with at every summer barbecue, the one who, every time he appeared on their doorstep in his police uniform, would see her husband yell:
‘No need for physical violence, put the cuffs away! I’ll come quietly!’ or ‘They’ve finally caught up with me, Ens! Take the money and run!’
She knew Jonathan would find the whole thing disappointing, as did she.
It had been her quiet belief that Phil’s hostility would thaw, that he would eventually become tired of having to work so hard at ignoring her, thought there might be an event, a catalyst, whereby he would simply let down his guard and they could all relax a little, but no.
She had tried initiating conversation, waving from the car, smiling as she walked past, but nothing, it seemed, was going to be enough to wind back the clock on their friendship.
‘And she’s living back at her mum and dad’s.’ Maeve drew her attention, nodding her head towards their neighbours’ house.
‘Yes, much better for when the little one arrives and nice for Jenny to have them both so close.’ Enya found a smile and showed it widely.
Maeve took a step closer and lowered her voice. ‘Holly told me that Aiden said he’d pay for her to stay in the flat if she wanted, pay for her to be there with the baby, but that she’d prefer to be back home. Easier for her to set up her little business and save.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
She didn’t want to discuss the detail with the woman, who was, it seemed, already remarkably well informed.
Holly had mentioned, during one of their catch-ups over tea, that Maeve was always full of the most probing questions.
It had become less odd, opening the door to the girl without Jenny barrelling in after her, laughing at something and nothing.
Enya couldn’t be prouder of the girl. The business she was setting up with Columbus, the lovely American, was already showing promise.