Chapter 20
TWENTY
DECLAN
Declan was worried his mother would give him the third degree about the impressive black eye he was now sporting.
He considered cancelling today as she would probably only worry if she saw it, but then again, he hadn’t visited her in a while.
But the connections he’d made with his neighbours gave him a good feeling about this visit going better than some of them had.
His mum was feeling a little better these days, although of course you never truly got over the death of a child. But at least she was able to manage a smile from time to time and find some happiness in her day. He had Norman, who had moved into the bungalow next door, to partly thank for that.
Norman had been a real tonic to his mum when, in all honesty, Declan was at the point where he had no idea how to deal with her. Norman, a smiling, grey haired seventy-five-year-old had befriended her and Declan thanked God that he did.
It took a while, but the drinking gradually stopped, and a glimpse of his old mother was revealed.
The house would appear a little tidier and fresher whenever he called over, as previously Declan would visit every Friday after work and give the house a good going over, as well as placing the empty bottles in the recycling bin.
He had tried to talk to her, soothe her, even suggesting days out to give her a change of scenery, but to no avail.
He remembered the argument they had a few years after his sister’s death when he had called over.
The house had smelt stale, and he’d flung the windows open as his mum sat at the kitchen table in her dressing gown drinking gin and singing loudly to a song on the radio, the sink piled high with dishes.
They had rowed then, him telling her that if she wanted to kill herself then there were quicker ways to go about it.
He couldn’t imagine what she must have gone through, especially when he had to go away for a while too, but she couldn’t spend the rest of her life stuck in this soul-destroying hell.
She had thrown him out then, the shattering sound of the glass she was drinking from hitting the kitchen door as he left.
Declan wondered how long his mum could go on, but there had been no reasoning with her.
And then along came Norman, like a gift from above. Kind, patient Norman, who invited his mum to sit in his pristine garden on sunny days, drinking tea and talking about his plants. He was a good listener and over time it would appear she had something to live for once more.
Looking back, Declan realised she had been locked in grief, despite him selfishly wondering why he had not been enough of a reason for her to want to carry on.
It had taken a stranger without any emotional attachment to restore the balance a little.
Norman had encouraged his mum to talk about her daughter, Kelly, and over time she was able to once again display the photographs that she had ripped from the walls, unable to look at her daughter’s face.
Norman was a great guy, steadfast and reliable, and with a cheeky sense of humour.
Declan was pleased his mum was recovering, although he knew it was still one day at a time.
She would never be truly happy, he knew that, but she was managing to at least find some joy in her life, and he was grateful for that.
He still felt angry when he thought about the boys who went after his phone, and it frustrated him that his reactions were not as sharp as they used to be. A couple of years ago he would have anticipated the situation, every nerve of his body tuned in ready for fight or flight.
That morning, having never baked a cake in his life, Declan carefully followed the recipe and was shocked when it appeared to turn out okay.
At least it looked that way. Half an hour later, having drizzled the lemon icing over the top, he took a tentative bite of a thin slice to sample it.
He nodded to himself, savouring the lemony tang. It tasted surprisingly good.
He cut off two more slices – he didn’t need to take the whole cake, after his mum telling him she was watching her sugar – so popping the slices of cake onto a plate, he headed across the landing.
‘Thought you might like to try my effort, since you lent me the cake tin.’ He presented the cake to Jess.
‘Oh, so we are the guinea pigs, to make sure you don’t poison your mum?’ she teased.
‘I’ve eaten some, and I’m okay. Although, actually, aargh.’ Declan put his hands around his throat and staggered just as Maisie appeared.
‘Are you alright?’ She frowned at him.
‘Yes, just having a joke.’ He recovered himself as Jess shook her head and laughed.
‘Declan has brought us some cake.’
‘Yummy,’ said Maisie, eyeing the sponge.
‘What are you up to today, then?’ Declan asked cheerfully.
‘Not a lot. I have a bit of shopping to do, then we are going to the park later; we usually run into some of Maisie’s friends from school.’
‘Sounds nice.’
‘Is it today you are going to see your mum?’ asked Jess.
‘Yeah, but I’m not sure what she will say about this,’ said Declan, pointing to the purple bruising around his eye. ‘I don’t want her worrying.’
‘Well, it’s a nice enough day to wear sunglasses, although it might seem a bit odd wearing them indoors. I could help you disguise it if you like,’ she offered.
‘Really? That would be great, if it’s no trouble.’
‘Not at all. Come in.’ Jess invited him inside, thankful she had just tidied up.
Declan followed her into the white painted hall, the walls adorned with black and white photos of her and Maisie, before entering the lounge that was neat and stylish, with grey painted walls, a large burnt-orange sofa and plants dotted about.
The room felt minimalist but made cosy with cushions and throws.
Overlooking the window was a small light-wood dining table with two chairs, where Jess invited him to sit down.
‘I’ll be back in a tick,’ she said, before returning with her make-up bag.
‘This should do it.’ She shook a bottle of concealer and searched in her bag for a make-up brush.
As Jess leant in close, dabbing at his eye, he could smell her perfume and feel the warmth of her body.
He closed his eyes as she dabbed with a sponge, losing himself in a daydream where she was in his arms and he was about to kiss her.
She took her time, with small strokes and finally a dab with a make-up sponge.
He was disappointed when she had finished, and he opened his eyes.
‘That should do it.’ She handed him a small mirror, and to Declan’s astonishment, the bruising was invisible.
‘Wow, that’s impressive. You should be a make-up artist,’ he commented, examining his reflection in the mirror.
‘I did actually do a course,’ Jess told him as she put away her things. ‘But things don’t always work out the way we expect them to, do they?’
‘You can say that again,’ agreed Declan, thinking of his life and the unexpected direction it had taken. ‘But it’s never too late. Surely there are part-time courses?’ he asked.
‘Maybe when Maisie is a little older.’ She put her make-up things away, before offering him a drink.
‘No, thanks, I’d better be off. And thanks for this.’ He pointed to his cheek before taking a deep breath. ‘Maybe we could grab a coffee another time, though?’
‘I’d like that.’ Jess smiled and Declan felt like punching the air. He thought of how he almost took a tenancy on a building a few streets away, and how he might never have met Jess. Maybe everything really did happen for a reason.