Chapter 4
NEXT MORNING, AS THEY WERE PACKING FOR THEIR Connemara weekend, it started to snow in earnest, huge flakes whirling and tumbling to the ground. By lunchtime every surface was white, and radio reports were predicting several more inches before nightfall.
They had no option but to put off the trip, at least until they saw what the following day looked like. Lydia phoned all her wedding guests in turn, to find everyone had either landed home in Dublin or was well on the way, the snow having trailed them across the country.
‘Hunker down,’ Brona told them. ‘This is not stopping anytime soon. Stay in your cosy apartment and wait for another long weekend. I’ll talk to you before the new year.’ It was two days away.
The following morning the entire country was blanketed, forcing businesses to close, making roads and pathways treacherous, leaving remote rural dwellers trapped at home and causing the cancellation of many social gatherings.
Cut off from the rest of the world, Lydia thought.
Marooned with her new husband. It was like the snow was falling especially for them.
At lunchtime on New Year’s Eve, she rang Brona. ‘It’s a winter wonderland here,’ she said. ‘We’re tempted to build a snowman, but it’s too cosy inside. Damien has to pile on layers just to refill the fuel basket and top up the bird feeders.’
‘You were lucky,’ Brona said, ‘getting the wedding in just before. I presume he’s not working tonight.’
‘He was supposed to be, but the restaurant is closed, not that he’d have been able to get into the town, even if it was open – the roads are completely blocked. We’re going to have a nice dinner and champagne by the fire.’
‘Same here. Happy New Year, Liddy.’
‘Happy New Year, Bro. I’ll think of you at midnight.’
‘I doubt it – you’ll be too busy canoodling.’
‘I fear you may be right. Love to Shaun.’
And a few hours later, one year ended and another began, as snowflakes continued to drift dreamily earthwards.
The thaw finally set in on the third day of January, six days after the wedding. By lunchtime snow had turned to slush, causing everything outside to drip, bringing drivers cautiously back into their cars, amid warnings of icy conditions prevailing in sheltered areas and on minor roads.
In the afternoon Lydia rang Susan.
‘Happy New Year,’ Susan said. ‘Did you survive your first week of wedded bliss? Presume your cute little honeymoon didn’t happen.’
‘No – but it was lovely to be marooned here. We lit the fire and watched black and white films, and ate too much. Happy New Year to you – and happy birthday. Is your party still on tonight?’
‘It sure is – I hope you’re still coming.’
‘I am. Tom’s going to drop myself and Marian over, and Damien will pick us up.’
‘Lovely. See you then.’
Damien hugged her as he left for work. ‘No chatting anyone up at Susan’s.’
‘We’ll see. I need to keep you on your toes. Love you.’
‘Love you.’
Later, waiting for Marian and Tom, she flicked on the news and caught the Lotto results. We didn’t win the Lotto again, she texted Damien. A joke: they never bought tickets.
His response was a sad face emoji. Busy.
The roads were clear, but snow was still lodged in the hedgerows. Susan lived at the end of a short cul-de-sac of detached redbrick houses. Happy 21st Birthday, a banner above the front door proclaimed, next to a big bunch of balloons.
‘All the hardware had to offer,’ Susan told them cheerily when she answered their knock, glass in hand. ‘A girl can dream. Come on in, warm up. Thanks for chauffeuring, Tom.’
The room was open plan, all the living spaces in one. People milled about, none of whom Lydia recognised apart from Andrew, in conversation by the kitchen island with the only other man. A Hosier song was playing. Without Damien by her side, she was glad to have Marian there.
‘Happy birthday,’ she told Susan. ‘I brought you wine – all I had at my disposal with the snow, I’m afraid.’
‘No need at all, and thank you. Get a drink from Owen – he and Andrew are bartending.’
Owen turned out to be Susan’s husband. Crew-cut blond hair, outdoorsy complexion, shorter than his brother-in-law.
‘Good to meet you,’ he told Lydia. ‘We were a bit worried when we heard you were from Dublin – we have to be careful who we let in.’
She laughed. He sounded as gregarious as Susan. ‘I’ll try not to disappoint.’
‘You’re already disappointing us,’ he said. ‘We hear you’re vegetarian. That didn’t go down well with the butcher, let me tell you.’ Shooting Andrew a glance.
‘Who did you hear it from?’
‘Susan. She tells me everything I need to know. Is it true?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Pay that man no heed,’ Andrew said. ‘My sister is a bad influence on him. What are you drinking?’
‘Red wine, thanks, and the same for Marian.’ Again she noticed the dark rim around the irises. ‘You’re not twins, are you?’ she asked him. ‘You and Susan?’ That would make it his birthday too.
He shook his head as he filled two glasses. ‘I’m older and wiser. Your wedding snaps are ready, by the way. I was thinking of calling by Chance House tomorrow to collect the school furniture, if it suited. I could bring the snaps. It would be evening, after work.’
The furniture had sat in the dining room since the wedding.
Over the snow days that had followed, she and Damien had taken down the lights, stripped the tables and boxed everything up again.
They’d folded the furniture and stacked it by the wall, ready for collection.
She’d been hoping Andrew would show up before the workmen returned.
‘That would be great, thanks. I’m sorry Damien doesn’t have the wherewithal to return it to the school.’
‘It’s no bother with the van.’
‘About this vegetarianism,’ Owen put in. ‘We’ll have to arrange an intervention. I’d say Damien will help – and you’ll come along, Andrew.’
‘Wouldn’t miss it,’ he said, deadpan.
‘I didn’t know,’ she said, ‘that only meat-eaters are allowed to live here. Damien never mentioned it.’
Owen looked shocked. ‘We’ll have to have a word with him too so. He’s forgetting the rules.’
‘Come away from this nonsense,’ Marian said, drawing Lydia across to a group and introducing her – and right away she became the centre of attention. She was the unknown quantity, and everyone wanted to find out more.
‘Tell us how you planned a wedding in a few weeks.’
‘It’s so great you’re doing up Chance House. When will it be ready?’
‘Is it true you’ll be teaching yoga there?’
‘Do you miss Dublin?’
‘How did you get into yoga?’
‘Where did you and Damien meet?’
Every so often her wine glass was topped up, either by Andrew or Owen.
Slices of pizza appeared, and she avoided the pepperoni and ham and stuck to the margherita.
When the pizzas were gone, a giant chocolate cake was produced.
Lydia joined in the ‘Happy Birthday’ chorus, Susan blew out the candles, and slices were passed around.
She’d forgotten the fun of a house party, couldn’t remember the last time she’d been at one.
She felt buoyed up, optimistic about the future.
It looked like it would be easy after all to create a new band of friends here – not that any of them would ever replace Brona, or the rest of her Dublin crew, but it would be good to feel a sense of belonging in her new neighbourhood.
When there was a break in the music she crossed to the kitchen sink and filled her empty wine glass with water.
She didn’t want a fuzzy head next day, not when she and Damien had planned to celebrate their one-week anniversary with a drive up the coast for lunch at a remote but very popular restaurant.
As she set down her glass she smothered a yawn and checked her watch – and was amazed to see that it was past half eleven, a lot later than she’d expected him to show up.
She rummaged in her bag for her phone – should have checked it sooner. He’d probably left a message telling her he was delayed – but there was no message. Strange.
He was taking his time on the roads, watching out for icy patches, being careful – but all the same she felt uneasy. It wasn’t like him not to let her know.
She stepped from the room to the hall where it was quieter. She tried his number and listened to his phone ringing out. Where was he?
Just then she heard a toilet flushing and Marian emerged from the bathroom, pink-faced and happy. ‘He’s fine, I’m sure,’ she said, when Lydia told her. ‘He might have been delayed at work. He’ll have an explanation when he arrives’ – but the knot of dread was tightening inside Lydia.
The doorbell rang, startling them. Marian reached across and opened it – and they saw Tom standing there, a figure in a high-vis jacket a little way behind him.
Something was wrong with Tom’s face. The colour was gone from it, and he was blinking too quickly, his mouth slack.
‘Tom?’ Marian said quickly. ‘Is Jack OK?’
He seemed not to hear her. He looked instead at Lydia. He moved his mouth but nothing came out.
‘Damien?’ she asked, her voice sounding too high, sounding like someone else’s, her insides dissolving. ‘It’s not Damien, is it?’
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. She felt her heart give a painful leap, and another.
She began to shake, her hands suddenly icy.
‘No,’ she said, in the same unfamiliar voice.
‘No, no, no, no, no,’ reaching blindly for Marian as her legs threatened to give way, as the blood rushed from her head, as the guard behind Tom hurried past him to grab her before she hit the floor.