Chapter 22
22
ICEBERG! RIGHT AHEAD!
Becca
‘Do you think we should go back?’ Laura asks. ‘I know she was sleeping but I don’t want to leave her alone all evening.’
Still sore that she didn’t join us on the beach, I shrug. She chose to be alone. We might as well let her enjoy it. Of course I immediately feel guilty for being annoyed at her and try to make myself feel better. ‘If I know Niamh like I think I know Niamh, she will be appreciating a little time alone. God only knows she gets little enough of it,’ I say.
And it’s true. She’s generally either surrounded by feral teenagers at work, or by feral teenagers at home. (And I’m allowed to call them feral teenagers because I love them with all my heart.) I used to tell myself Niamh had it great – the chatter and constant company must be brilliant. She has a house that is constantly busy and filled with love. I’d think of them all around their dinner table at mealtimes, while I was sitting on my sofa eating my Marks and Spencer ready meal for one, with Daniel giving me the mega sad eyes, hoping I’d take pity on his forlorn fizzog and share my food. After the boys left, there were entire days when Daniel was the only creature I spoke to and it made me sad. At first.
But then I’d come to appreciate my quiet, still life and adapt to a house now largely empty of the clatter and bang of my own feral teenagers. There’s a special kind of joy in going to bed only to get up the following morning to find the kitchen hasn’t been raided and left like a war zone overnight. There’s a comfort in not having to do at least one load of washing each and every day of your existence – knowing full well you’re washing clothes that you folded and left on your teenager’s bed just hours before. Yes, it’s an adjustment but it’s not all bad. It’s nice to not feel responsible for feeding and clothing multiple people each and every day. Niamh doesn’t get that chance. Niamh doesn’t get to enjoy and appreciate silence.
‘So I think we let her enjoy the peace and quiet for a wee bit,’ I tell Laura. ‘Let her catch her breath.’
‘You’ve noticed it too?’ Laura looks at me.
I raise an eyebrow. Laura has a quick look around. We’re still sitting amid the group of around twenty other women, chatting and singing. ‘Let’s talk over here,’ she says, nodding towards a patch of unclaimed sand just outside of the glow of the bonfire. I follow her, already anticipating what she will say. That Niamh is very grumpy? That she’s hard work these days?
‘She’s not quite herself, is she.’ Laura says just after we sit down. ‘And look, I know I was absent for a long time, but I still know what it looks like when a person is spiralling. She’s either much too happy – almost manic and doubling down on being the wacky friend – or she’s… well… a bit…’
‘A bit get-drunk-on-the-way-to-a-wellness-retreat?’ I offer.
‘Well, yeah. I obviously had a drink too,’ Laura says. ‘But I didn’t get wasted on Fanta and vodka. It’s not really her, is it. I can’t help but feel as if we’re walking on eggshells around her.’
She’s not wrong. Niamh is a tricky customer at the moment. I can’t help but feel as if something is just off-kilter with her and between the two of us.
‘I know she doesn’t think her HRT is particularly effective,’ I say. ‘She said she’d go and see the doctor again but I don’t know if she has.’
‘She’s probably been too busy with everything that has been going on with Jodie. It’s a lot to deal with,’ Laura says, as if I don’t know it’s a lot to deal with. I’m living with the impregnator, after all. I’m coping with a nineteen-year-old who is half excited and half absolutely shitting his pants about it all.
Laura must guess what I’m thinking from the look on my face. ‘I’m not saying you aren’t dealing with it too, but it must be different when it’s your daughter. Don’t you think? All those hormones for one thing. The combination of pregnancy hormones and menopause hormones…’ She widens her eyes before making a ‘BOOM!’ gesture with her hands.
‘I suppose,’ I say. ‘Adam’s hormones are mostly stable, at least. And at least some of the time Saul is out of sight and out of mind – which is probably the only way I survive without worrying myself to death over him.’
I feel guilty, again. Something I’m becoming increasingly good at. I hadn’t really allowed myself to think too much about how Niamh was dealing with all this, or what was going on in her life because my own has been so full of late. Have I been too obsessed with thinking about my big shot with Grace or my budding romance with Conal to really pay attention to how my friends are? I can admit my focus regarding the pregnancy has been on Adam and what he’s going to do, and the impact it will have on Saul, to give too much thought to how Niamh is coping.
Because Niamh is just one of life’s copers. Or at least she was. I think to how she reacted when she thought she was pregnant herself last year, how she became almost hysterical before she had even taken a pregnancy test, and I wonder how on earth it didn’t register with me that something was very much wrong.
‘The thing is, you know Niamh,’ Laura says. ‘She doesn’t ask for help. She’s always been so stubbornly independent. I think we have to tread very carefully.’
‘You’re not wrong,’ I say as the fire crackles and starts to collapse, stick by stick, just a little in on itself, each time sending sparks into the sky. It’s quite beautiful.
But given that the fire is dampening down and no one is adding any more driftwood to it, I don’t imagine this ‘ceremony’ will go on for much longer.
We’ve mingled, introduced ourselves to our fellow goddesses and listened intently as Peggy introduced her small but mighty band of facilitators and support staff. We’ve held hands in a circle and welcomed the ‘spark which will reignite our fire’ into our souls.
Yes, it was low-key, and possibly even high-key, cheesy. I’d had to stifle a laugh for fear I’d descend into the kind of giggles that only come at the most inappropriate of moments. If Niamh had been here she would absolutely have laughed too and we’d have been done for. Thankfully Laura was taking it all incredibly seriously and I didn’t humiliate myself.
But now, everyone seems so chilled out, sitting on blankets and rocks and watching the flames lick the sky. The guitar player has moved on to ‘With or Without You’ by U2 and I’m warmed by memories of before Bono turned into a bit of a gobshite. I notice a few people yawning, stretching as if to make a move and go back to their own little piece of yurt-y heaven.
‘This is really lovely, isn’t it?’ Laura says, breaking through my quiet contemplation. ‘I don’t even think I realised how much I needed this until just now. Thanks so much for inviting me along, Becca. I know you’re not obliged to and we’ve not reconnected that long…’
‘Don’t be an eejit,’ I say softly, with a smile. ‘Of course you were getting invited along. Kitty would’ve haunted me from beyond the grave if I’d left you at home.’
Laura rests her head on my shoulder. ‘I wish she’d haunt me sometimes, you know. I wish I’d see a robin redbreast or a butterfly or even a white feather and think “Aye, there you are, Mammy. Thanks for letting me know you’re home safely.”’
I nod. I know exactly what she means. ‘I was the same after Daddy died,’ I tell her. ‘I went to sleep every night saying, “You’d better bloody show up in my dreams!” but he didn’t. Not for ages. But I feel him near me now. I mean, not all the time because that would be a bit ick. I don’t want to feel his ghostly presence when I’m having a wee, for example. But he’s been there, just at times when I need a bit of extra reassurance maybe; I swear I can hear his voice.’
‘I’d give anything to hear my mum’s voice again,’ Laura says.
‘It’ll come, love. For now, I know this sounds stupid, but try not to think about it too much. You’ll drive yourself mad.’
‘You mean I’m not already a bit mad?’ She raises her head, and an eyebrow.
‘I think we probably all are. Here’s me about to expose my inner thoughts in a national magazine, and there’s Niamh getting full drunk on the way to a wellness retreat and acting very out of character. You’re in good company.’
‘I think I’m in the best company as these things go,’ she says and rests her head back on my shoulder. ‘So… speaking of company. And given our ongoing policy of not allowing elephants to spend any time in any room with us, what’s happening with Conal? But before you answer, please be aware that if your answer involves sex stuff, then you can keep that to yourself. I’m very happy for you but I don’t want to think of my brother in that way.’
I laugh, of course, then tilt my head and rest it on hers. ‘I’m not sure there’s much to tell. Things were going well. Really well. We’d been out a few times. Chatted a lot. Kissed a bit.’
‘No sex talk!’ Laura laughs.
‘There is no sex to talk about! I’d have let you and Niamh know in unspecific ways if there had been. I mean it’s been a long time. If and when it ever happens again it will be an event of note.’
‘A great day for the parish!’ Laura teases.
‘Indeed! But we’re not there and I don’t know that we will be. When the boys came back for Christmas that obviously made things a little awkward and, being honest, I didn’t want to rush it. I want to feel comfortable and confident. But then, of course, the big baby bombshell?—’
‘—the situation ,’ Laura reminds me.
‘Yes, the big baby bombshell situation arose and he’s been giving me a bit of space to focus on supporting Adam. Then we were supposed to take the dogs for a walk, but he got caught up in work. So we rearranged, but then my mum needed help with her shopping and apart from occasional WhatsApp chats where we promise to meet up again, we’ve become a bit like ships that pass in the night.’ A wave of sadness washes over me. Unlike the Unexpected Waves of Sadness that have been so characteristic of my menopause, this one is real, and justified. I don’t want to be just a ship that sails past Conal O’Hagan. When I was with him – when we could devote time to each other – I remembered the person I used to be. Only he made me feel like a new, improved version of my old self. And my God, I loved it when he took my hand in his. There’s just something about the size and strength of a good man’s hands that makes me weak at the knees, you know? He made me feel cared for. Cherished. And I know we’re supposed to be strong, independent women who do not need a man and I do not need a man but I’d like one. This one. I liked the way he teased me, but never with malice. He made me take life less seriously. I liked the way he listened and asked questions and didn’t just turn every conversation back to him. I like how he cares for his family. And his dog.
I liked how he kissed me. I’d forgotten the power that existed in a good kiss. How he brushed my hair behind my ears and cradled my face in those big manly man hands, tilting my head upwards so that I was looking at him as he looked down at me. The soft brush of his lips, the delicious scratch of his stubble, the warmth of his mouth. I close my eyes for just a second and enjoy the tingle of pleasure that always comes with remembering how he kisses.
‘Well, you just have to make sure you don’t pass in the night,’ Laura says, hauling my dirty mind right back to the here and now. ‘The thing is, I know my brother and he’s a good man, Becca. He really is. I say that with sincerity. But he, like most men, I suppose, can be thick as champ sometimes.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, he’s not very good at reading signals. If you want to progress with him then you need to be more than a ship that sails past in the night. You need to be there, all lit up like Christmas.’
I can’t help but laugh.
‘No! Actually. Wait. You need to be a bloody iceberg!’
‘You know icebergs aren’t traditionally very good for ships, don’t you? You’ve seen Titanic ?’
She laughs and sits up to look me square in the face. ‘I have and here’s the thing, in that particular incident, it didn’t end well for the ship. But no one ever forgot the iceberg.’
I think there’s a point in there somewhere that might just make sense.
Niamh is asleep by the time we get back to the yurt. She’s curled on the left side of the bed and bundled up in the blankets like a burrito. She has, very kindly, already folded down the sofa bed and made it up so that all Laura has to do is change into her pyjamas and climb under the covers.
We move about the yurt in the dim light, doing our very best to make as little noise as possible – although part of me wants to accidentally-on-purpose give Niamh a little nudge and wake her up just to ask if she’s okay.
Thankfully, I have wit enough about me to know that if I wake her from her sleep now she is very unlikely to feel okay, and in turn she’s very likely to ensure I don’t either. So I let her sleep as I go to brush my teeth and wash what little make-up I was wearing off my face. This is the first time I wish I hadn’t handed my phone over to Peggy. I’d love to be able to send Conal a message. Then again, I’m tired and emotionally wrung out from all our chatting and worrying about Niamh and trying to think about icebergs. Any message I send would probably not do my cause any good.
I take a deep breath. Morning will come soon enough and I have, in a moment of utter madness, agreed that the three of us will do a sunrise dip. I’m already regretting it, and low-key worried this could be what finally pushes Niamh over the edge. But at the same time, we kinda knew what we were signing up for and I do want this article to absolutely knock the socks clean off Grace and let her know she made the right call when she took me on.
Sixteen-year-old us would also totally think we’re badasses for doing it. How cold can it really be anyway?