Chapter 64
64
“There’s movement in her legs and some sensation,” Brigit said, over the phone. “Everyone’s ‘cautiously positive.’?”
“This is good news,” I said. “Really, really good news.” Wasn’t it?
“Time will tell.” Brigit sounded so tired. “But listen, can you stick around in M’town until the end of June? We could really do with you.”
Three months was longer than I’d expected but a combination of compassion and a swollen ego made me agree. Three days later Claire drove me back, with a carload of my possessions. It was only a week since the fire, the longest few days I’d ever lived through.
As promised, Rionna’s cottage was a gem—the furnishings were beautiful, the Wi-Fi was indeed a wonder and the ever-changing view of the sea was mesmerizing.
But it was outside the town, a little further from the main drag than I’d realized. Which wouldn’t matter if I had a car but Mum hadn’t let me borrow her shiny new one because “look what happened the last time.”
However, Rionna’s cottage came with a bicycle. Four, in fact. “Mine” was yellow, had daisy stickers along the handlebars and a deep wicker basket on the front. The thought of cycling into town in the sunshine, my hair streaming behind me, to buy freshly baked bread and just-picked tomatoes, appealed greatly.
Claire had elected to stay for my first night. But when we cruised into Main Street looking for kicks, most of the restaurants, even some of the pubs, were dark and silent. The un-poxy pizza place had a sign saying it would reopen on Holy Thursday but several others gave no information at all.
“What the hell?” Claire said. “It was so fun last weekend! Is it not like that all the time?” Her tone implied that, as a native, I should have answers. “We’ll have to go to the Broderick for toasted sandwiches.”
“No, Claire, no, please. I don’t want to see Kilcroney.”
“Building bridges, babes. Got to be done.”
Fuck it. She was right.
Lyudmila was at reception. “Where’s Courtney?” Claire asked.
“Night off. Watching Ireland’s Fittest Family with Teagan and Grinner. You want toasted sandwich? Go on inside. I will do.”
Claire and I were literally the only people in the lounge. Then, holy smoke, here came Kilcroney, carrying a small table.
“Anna. Claire.” He was neither friendly nor unfriendly, just business as usual. “Keeping well? Good.”
It was done now, meeting him for the first time since all the drama, and it had been fine. Maybe we actually could all move on from this?
“Let’s text Courtney!” Claire was looking for a night out. But Courtney had enough going on without Claire Walsh pouring drink down her throat then bundling her into a taxi to go dancing in Galway.
“No. Courtney’s mid-crisis.”
Claire was shocked. “So we just…go back to the house ?”
“Yes. Sorry.”
That night, between Rionna’s quality sheets, I dreamed I was running through a deserted hotel, looking for Joey. Up and down stairs, along corridors, I was pushing open doors, searching rooms, all of them empty. He was gone and gone forever. I woke up, desolate.
I got back to sleep but woke again, to the sound of rain thundering onto the roof, loud enough to wake the dead. I wondered if Hal was up on the cliffs, dancing around in his pelt, drinking bottles of port, seeing as it was perfect weather for it?
It was a relief when it was finally time to get up.
Downstairs, Claire was situated at the window, watching askance as torrents continued to fall. “Now that’s what I call rain!” Her tone was bright. Too bright. Then it all fell apart. “I didn’t sleep a fucking wink. What’s the story with the weather? Fuck’s sake, should we start building an ark? So lookit, I’m going to head home.”
“Already?”
“Yeah, you know…My hair doesn’t thrive in this weather.”
“Oookay.”
She grasped me by the shoulders and said, “You are a brave, amazing, resourceful woman and I have enormous faith in you.”
…What does she mean?
She’d picked up her LV wheelie and when she opened my red front door the racket of the rain was remarkable. “ Every faith!” She darted into the deluge, slung her case onto the back seat of her car, then got behind the wheel.
Rolling down the window, she did a U-turn that had the brakes squealing. Calling, “In awe of your courage, babes!” she was gone.
Oh. Well. Fine. I texted Courtney, Vivian, Ike and Lenehan that I was back, put on Talking Heads, then set about unpacking. Home is where I want to be. After hanging up my clothes, putting my books on the bookshelf and unfurling my rug onto my new bedroom floor, I dared to glance out of the window. Christ alive… we’re in for nasty weather…
I replaced two of Rionna’s prints with pictures of my own, immediately swapped them back to Rionna’s because hers were nicer, then sat on the exceedingly comfortable couch, staring out at the sheets of rain, thinking, This is not my beautiful life.
Nobody had returned my texts. I’d ring Jacqui! The thrill of being able to just pick up the phone to her would take a long, long time—if ever —to feel unremarkable. Which was when I discovered I had no coverage. This was…inconvenient. Still, I had Wi-Fi, so I WhatsApp’d her. Then I did the M’town people, in the hope that their Wi-Fi would work long enough for them to read my messages. Transmit the message to the receiver. Hope for an answer someday.
Feck this, no more Talking Heads: they were narrating my life in a way I didn’t like. Silence was safer.
…Why were no cars passing by? Where was everyone? I should go into town, see who I’d bump into?
…It was only then that I understood what “not having a car” meant, when the weather was this bad. That’s what Claire had been telling me.
I was alone in this house, with no phone signal, unsure of how far I’d have to go before I found another living human. I was…trapped.
Trapped was a big word, though. Histrionic.
But also apt .
I could do nothing but dwell on things. Too much had taken place, too much loss and love, Joey and Jacqui, the Kearneys and Rose, Queenie, Hal…I hadn’t landed yet on solid ground.
Thoughts of Joey just would not stop. Knowing that he and I would never work triggered spikes of panic—I’d have given ten years of my life for things to have played out differently.
Even at his most narky and me at my most cautious, we’d had something, even if it was just sexual chemistry. But for a long time I’d known there was more to him than just bad-tempered hotness. We’d brought out a tenderness in each other.
The scar tissue from old hurts had us stymied, though. And wishing wouldn’t change anything.
My phone beeped and I threw myself at it. Jacqui! At work, I’ll call later.
Good. Great. Thank God. Wait now…? Far out to sea, the sky appeared to brighten. Astonishingly quickly, the rain stopped and the sun appeared, shining sheepishly. You’re forgiven, you’re so forgiven! Zipping myself into Margaret’s anorak, snapping a bicycle clip onto my shin, I hit the road.
It had been a long time since I’d cycled a real bike but as they say…except it wasn’t true: riding a bike is not like riding a bike. Balancing was much trickier than when I was fifteen. I was grateful I didn’t have an audience.
Considering I used to be such a whiz on the Peloton, real cycling was surprisingly hard work. Huffing and puffing, my thigh muscles on fire, I made slow progress. But the Applegreen forecourt at the edge of town was in my eyeline when out of nowhere, a new deluge began, this one accompanied by a blustery wind. Trying to control my bike was like trying to persuade a skittish horse to attempt Becher’s Brook. I literally could not move forward. The bike wobbled all over the road, only happy when I fell off.
Drenched, I had no choice but to return home. With the wind behind me, I got to the house in seconds, so there was that.
A couple of hours later, the steady downpour tapered off again, then stopped. The light cleared and the sun broke through, all smiles. There was every chance that nature was playing the same cruel trick as earlier, but, edgy with cabin fever, I stuck my bicycle clip back on and once more ventured forth. Just as I passed the halfway mark, the downpour began again, heavier, wilder and blowier than before.
Back indoors, having used the last of the towels, I knew that nothing, not even Saharan-style heat and aridity, could lure me from the house again today.
I’d give it another go tomorrow.
Seriously, though, you could go mad from this.