Chapter 37
37
MISSION IMPOSSIBLE
Conal O’Hagan used to fancy me? It seems absurd. Back then he was the cool big brother who would tell us to stop screeching along to Madonna, or roll his eyes if we spent more than five minutes in his company. It always felt as if we were an irritation to him. I certainly didn’t get any ‘I fancy you’ vibes.
I’m sure I’d have remembered if I did, given that, as Niamh reminded me, I did kind of fancy him too. But back then I also saw him as totally and utterly unattainable – like Fox Mulder was unattainable, and Robbie Williams was unattainable – mostly because it felt like we annoyed his very existence.
‘Wise up!’ I tell her, even though I secretly hope it’s true. ‘I was just his wee sister’s geeky friend.’
‘It seems you were more than that,’ she says in an almost whisper. ‘Not that I knew it at the time. But Mum told me, during one of our long chats near the end.’
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I have to suppress a little shiver. If I believed in ghostly matters I would swear Kitty O’Hagan was in this room now weaving all of this together in that unique way she had of making things right.
‘I made sure we talked about everything in those last weeks,’ Laura says. ‘And as you know, my mammy liked to talk. I was supposed to be comforting and nursing her, but I think she was giving me a lifetime of mammy advice and experience to carry me forward. I think she always knew that you and I, and Niamh, would talk again one day. She would tell me that I would have people – friends – around me to hold me up when she was gone and so I wasn’t to be scared.’
I’m filled with a sense of love and admiration for Kitty and immense gratitude for her faith in our friendship. But there is also a heavy feeling of sadness and guilt that it took her passing for Laura and me to finally talk again – that she never got to see us reconcile and know for definite that Laura would be okay. And that it took her passing and the reconnection with Laura for me to finally sit down and really examine my life and the decisions I’ve made along the way.
‘I was hurting back then,’ I tell her, and Laura looks genuinely confused.
‘When Mammy was dying?’ she asks with a raised eyebrow.
‘No, sorry,’ I mumble. ‘My brain is just jumping all over the place.’
‘I think we know where your brain is jumping and it involves my big brother,’ Laura says. ‘Which is sort of quite weird, if I’m being honest.’ She smiles to let me know it’s not really all that weird – that this a safe space and even though things have been tough, there is still the potential to mend this friendship once and for all. That we still understand each other. That we can still joke together and know each other’s sense of humour and each other’s boundaries.
‘Very funny,’ I tell her. ‘But no, I meant then. The big “then”. When Simon left. I felt like such a failure. I was embarrassed we couldn’t make it work, and ashamed to be heading for divorce and I, I don’t know, I was unreasonable and I wanted someone to choose me and…’
‘You were in an impossible position,’ Laura says and I freeze.
‘I’m pretty sure that’s what I’m supposed to say to you,’ I tell her but her words settle in my bones. I had been in an impossible situation. Simon and I had to break up – for our joint benefit and for our boys’ benefit. It would have been unfair to keep limping along in something that was dead and rotting. If we hadn’t split, the things that were wrong between us would have started to eat away at what positives we had created. They would have eaten away at the people we were. But that didn’t make breaking up an easy decision. We both knew it would throw a bomb into the lives and dreams we had. There was no way around that. No escape from it. That’s why I’d never had the courage to make that decision. It was why Simon had to make that decision for me. For us.
I knew that breaking up was the right thing to do but wished it didn’t have to change absolutely everything.
‘I wish I’d handled it differently,’ she tells me. ‘I’ve no idea what I would’ve or could’ve done differently, but I wish I knew, and I wish I did it. It was just a horrible situation and I’m so sorry that you were hurt.’
‘Well, I’m sorry you were hurt,’ I tell her. ‘It must’ve been awful losing Niamh and me like that too. That was brutal. It was awful of me. I was so selfish and cruel and childish.’
She gives a small smile to show we’re still friends, but she can’t hide the tears that snake their way down her cheeks, and which she tries to wipe away discreetly.
‘I think we all went through a lot,’ she says with a tremor in her voice. ‘And we’ve all missed a lot. It’s been quite the eventful ten years.’
‘I’ve missed you,’ I say and mean it – from the bottom of my heart, I mean it. ‘I don’t want to do another ten years like that.’
‘Me neither,’ she says. ‘I want to have fun again, you know. If it doesn’t sound too cringey I want to make memories again. Good ones. With stupid dance routines, and embarrassing celebrity crushes. I want to go on a girls-only holiday. I want to take up new hobbies – trendy ones. Not just crochet.’
‘But the crochet could come in handy for your dodgy scarf empire,’ I tease and she laughs.
‘True,’ she says. ‘Okay then, I want to take up new hobbies, as well as crochet.’
‘Atta girl,’ I say, and take a sip from my mug of tea. Dear me, but Conal makes the perfect cuppa. This could be the start of something beautiful.
‘So we’ll be friends again?’ she asks.
‘Yes please,’ I tell her. ‘Wait until I tell you what Niamh and I are getting up to next. You can join in if you want?’
‘Ooh,’ Laura says as she sits forward in her chair. ‘What is it?’
‘Well, we’re going to the doctors and we’re going to get us some of the best HRT the NHS can provide. Patches, pills, tablets, pessaries – whatever’s on offer.’
She smiles. ‘I’m going to have to sit this one out,’ she says, a little sadly. ‘With mum’s history, you know, I’ve decided to swerve HRT and try some natural options. I am more than willing to be our group hippy and fill you in on complementary methods of supporting menopausal women. I’ve done a lot of research these past few years.’
‘God, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about your mum and the breast cancer risk,’ I say, my face blazing.
‘It’s fine,’ she says, reassuring me. ‘I don’t have the brCA gene so I’m really just being extra cautious. And you know, it’s quite fascinating to learn about natural remedies and how other cultures approach it. So I’m good.’
‘I’m glad,’ I say. ‘I’m embarrassed to say I’m pretty ignorant about it – except that I know it is messing with my head a bit. You know, all this getting older carry on. And Niamh, she’s finding it very tough.’
‘It is tough,’ Laura says. ‘But do you know what helps?’
‘Gin?’ I offer.
She laughs. ‘I hear that can help, for sure. But what has helped me is reading about the Mayan culture and how they view it. Mayan women believe menstrual blood is imbued with a certain power and wisdom. Because it’s so closely connected with the creation of life, they believe that having their period allows them to tap into their shamanic and healing powers. So when a woman reaches menopause, her body holds on to that powerful and life-giving blood which ushers her into her wise woman years.’
‘So the menopause makes us extra witchy and powerful?’ I ask, one eyebrow raised.
‘Exactly!’ Laura says. ‘So bring on the wise woman years.’
‘Witches assemble!’ I cheer.
‘Would you two ever stop your screeching and carrying on?’ I hear Conal say, before he pops his head around the door and I see he is smiling.
Why have I never noticed before now just how sexy his smile is?
By the time I get home I am exhausted, and sore, and most likely dehydrated from all the crying. The cup of tea Conal made was good, but it wasn’t that good. I have cried more today than I have since the weeks after my dad died.
As Daniel snakes his way around my legs, doing his very best to make sure his body is touching mine at all times, I run a tall glass of water at the sink and drink it all in one go before filling it again. Daniel looks up at me as if to say I’ll regret this when I have to get up seventeen times in the night for a wee, but I’m confident that my haggard husk of a body will hold on to what moisture it can so that it’s able to continue doing all the things a body should do.
My house is quiet. The kind of quiet I used to long for. There’s just the gentle hum of the fridge, the ticking of the kitchen clock and the occasional ‘boof’ of disgust from the dog who is raging that I’m not feeding him chicken or ham from the fridge. He’s definitely starting to get a little demanding – then again I have perhaps been lavishing too many treats on him since Adam and Saul left for university.
‘There are no more treats tonight,’ I tell him. ‘But I promise I’ll get you a Jumbone tomorrow if you’re good.’ I swear he shrugs in a kind of ‘it’s a deal’ gesture and pads away from me towards the bottom of the stairs. Clearly, he has decided he wants tomorrow to come as quickly as possible so a good sleep will make that happen.
As I’m finishing my water, I look to where the time capsule is still resting on the worktop, the lid sitting loosely on the top.
I can’t help but go and have another nosey through it. Those were such innocent times, and no, things hadn’t worked out the way we thought they would, but we are still here. We are all speaking again. Life has kept us weaving in and out of each other’s stories. Maybe that’s as much as any of us can hope for.
Finishing my drink, I rinse the glass and sit it on the drainer before making my way upstairs, much to Daniel’s delight. Of all the things that were on my to-do list at the start of the day, I appear to have ticked off some of the bigger items. For now, I’m going to climb under my duvet and get a good rest before round two with the GP appointment Hunger Games in the morning.
I’m plugging my phone in to charge when it beeps to life with a message from an unknown number. I click to open it, half expecting it to be some dodgy scam about a parcel that couldn’t be delivered or the like but it isn’t. It’s something altogether more pleasant.
Becca, it’s Conal. I hope you don’t mind that Laura gave me your number. I just wanted to check you were okay after earlier? You were so upset. Look, I’m fifty years old and that means I’m beyond playing games. That’s even more the case after Mum passing. Life is too short to drag the arse out of things. So I’m just going to say this. I’d very much like it if I could take you out for a drink sometime. If that’s something you would like, just say the word.
It’s a long time since I squealed with excitement. But that’s what I do. I can’t hold it in. I let out a little, high-pitched yelp as I feel my nerve endings fizz. My body floods with endorphins and dopamine and, yes, a little desire too. I think of Conal and how he hugged me. It wasn’t just the warmth of his body that felt so good. He offered the full sensory experience. He knew just how tight to hold me. He knew just how to soothe me with his words. He knew that I needed that soft brush of his lips on the top of my head. He looked, and felt, and smelled delicious and manly and yes, I want to learn what it’s like to kiss him. I want to know what he tastes like too. I shiver with pleasure at the thought then squeal again when I realise that I don’t feel scared of it. I don’t feel like I want to run from him. I want this. I want him. I reply:
I would like that very much indeed
My cheeks are already hurting from smiling so widely. I feel like getting up and dancing around the room when my phone pings to life again with a smiley faced emoji and a message asking if I am free on Friday night.
While my internal soundtrack starts blasting ‘I’m Free’ by the Soup Dragons, I reply with a smiley face and a winking smiling face to show that I too have no interest in playing games and that I am, indeed, free.
Grinning, I hug my arms around myself. I did not have scoring a date with Conal O’Hagan on my to-do list but here I am, having done it. And I already know he likes me. I’d call that a win of epic proportions.