Читать книгу A Part of Me and You - Emma Heatherington - Страница 11

Juliette

‘I forgot my purse,’ I say to Rosie who has made herself at home on the sofa in the cottage that will be our home for the next seven days. ‘How on earth could I do that? I got to the shop and tried on the most gorgeous dress then realised I didn’t have my purse with me. Have you seen it anywhere?’

‘The wi-fi here is so bad,’ says Rosie, totally ignoring what I just said. ‘I’m going to go off my head with boredom here. Where is this place anyhow? Bally-go-backwards or somewhere? I can’t even find it on Google Maps.’

She is snapchatting or doing whatever it is that teenagers do on their phones, recording and sharing their every move, and her nonchalance to reality and the fact that I cannot find my purse is making me irritable.

‘Rosie, have you seen my purse anywhere?’ I ask more directly. ‘I went to that nice vintage shop on the corner to buy something warm and it’s not in my handbag. Rosie?’

She swings her long legs off the sofa and grunts as she walks to the sideboard in the living area and hands me my purse from inside her own handbag.

‘Are you losing your memory or something?’ she asks me. ‘Like, duh! You gave it to me in that pub earlier to pay for the drinks and told me to keep it safe ‘til we got to this place. You always forget stuff and then act like it’s my fault! I don’t want to be here! I am so bored already!’

I take the purse from her and put it in my bag, bewildered at what has just happened. I don’t know what has shaken me more – the fact that I genuinely don’t remember giving her the purse or the way she just spoke to me. Rosie never speaks to me like that, ever. We have never raised our voices to each other and I certainly don’t want it to start happening now.

‘Rosie, this is a beautiful place and I know it’s raining and the wi-fi might not be what you are used to, but I want this to be special for us. We haven’t had a holiday together in such a long time.’

‘What are you on about? We went to Salou last year. And why do we even have to go on holiday in the first place? What’s the big rush to go on holiday?’

‘Yes, you, me and Dan went to Salou last year,’ I reply. ‘I mean just you and me. I have so much planned for us over the next few days and I really want us both to enjoy it. Please don’t ruin it before it begins.’

She slumps down on the sofa and puts her nose into her phone, giggling at whatever her latest message is which stings me to the core. She is ignoring me and I don’t like it one bit.

‘Rosie?’ I say to her. ‘Rosie, will you listen to me? I’ve gone to a lot of effort to bring us here. I’ve made a—’

‘Don’t tell me, Mum, you’ve made more plans that you won’t see through,’ she mutters. At least she was half-listening but again, her words hurt. I’m really not used to this.

‘I’m going to the shop to get my dress and I really do hope your attitude changes while I’m away, Rosie.’

It is on the tip of my tongue to tell her that I am trying to make our last days together perfect. That I’m not going to be here for much longer. That I am dying. That it’s not just any holiday, but our very last holiday. But I bite my tongue and leave her to her snapchatting. I know exactly when and where I am going to break the news to her.

It’s in my plan for the week ahead, of course.

Shelley

Matt calls me for the second time this afternoon just as I’m putting the finishing touches to the mannequin in the window. I’ve dressed it in the most beautiful, glitzy gold fringed dress that arrived in Terence’s delivery. I cradle the phone under my ear to speak to him as I pin the waist in to fit my so-called size 10 model.

‘The town must be buzzing today,’ Matt suggests. ‘You know, with the match? Any idea of the score? I thought I’d call you first to check in before I looked it up.’

‘Sorry, I have no idea,’ I tell my husband, only half-listening as I admire my efforts at dressing the window. This has always been one of my favourite parts of retail and I was told more than once that I had a flair for it. ‘Hopefully we win.’

‘You say that like you really care,’ laughs Matt. ‘Shelley, the football fan. Anyhow, I’d better get back to my client. He’s a moody sod, old Bert. I was thinking if we do win, maybe you should go for a drink tonight to take your mind off things? Call one of the girls like you used to? Though I’d say there will be plenty of action around the village whichever way the result goes. It’s not often we get so far in the Championship so we may as well join in. What do you think?’

I gulp at the very thought of it.

‘What?’

‘A drink? Tonight?’

‘I … I couldn’t, Matt,’ I stutter. ‘You know that I couldn’t go out tonight, not if Galway won the world championship. No way. Not tonight.’

His silence irritates me slightly.

‘Are you still there?’ I ask.

‘Yes, of course I’m still here,’ he says. ‘Look, forget I mentioned it. I just think sometimes it’s good to keep busy and distracted. I know it’s working for me and you’re doing well at work, aren’t you?’

‘Doing well?’

‘Shelley, I’m trying my best here. I’m stuck in Belgium and missing you like crazy and this is killing me to be away today of all days but I hate the thought of you sitting at home alone tonight. Please do something. Don’t be on your own. A drink with friends won’t change things and crying at home on your own is never going to bring her back!’

That hurt. I know I shouldn’t be sitting home alone all the time, I know he is right, but I am absolutely heartbroken at his suggestion that anything I do or don’t do might make me think she is coming back. How could I celebrate a stupid football game today? How could he even think of such a thing?

‘I have to go. Sorry. Chat to you later, bye Matt.’

‘Shell?’

‘Bye.’

I hang up and jump when the doorbell sounds as a customer enters. I look up, and just as I had anticipated, it is the lady with the wig again – only this time she doesn’t look as glamorous as she did before.

‘Is everything okay?’ I ask her, breaking my own rules around overstepping the mark when it comes to conversation that doesn’t involve fashion stock or clearance sales. ‘You left in a hurry earlier.’

‘I’d like to buy that dress, please,’ she says to me, flustered. ‘I can’t believe I haven’t brought proper clothes with me. I can’t believe I’m here … and I can’t really afford to go shopping and let’s face it, I won’t get much wear out of it but just … I’ll take the dress.’

And at that she bursts into tears.

Juliette

‘I’m so sorry for all this,’ I sniffle, handing over my debit card as the unaffected shop lady packs my new dress into a very fancy paper bag. ‘It’s not like it was a big row or anything, it’s just the thoughts that it triggered, you know, it got to me and I haven’t let anything get to me so far. Not this time. This time I was meant to be strong. That’s why I’m here. To be strong. For her. To do the right thing. For her.’

I am rambling to a stranger and the poor woman is as white as a sheet behind the small counter as she hands me the very trendy bag.

‘You know, I got some gorgeous new stock in just after you left,’ she tells me, as if on autopilot. ‘Some really nice stuff so if you want to come back again and try on more, you’re very welcome. I can do discount so don’t worry about price. No point you shivering on your holidays.’

‘I can’t come back again. There’s no point me buying a lot of nice clothes, not now,’ I tell her. ‘I don’t have time to wear them.’

Was she not listening to a word I said? Maybe it’s a good thing she wasn’t. Maybe that’s how she was trained, you know, to be professional and not indulge in anything more than small talk with strangers. Just take the money and run and all that. Maybe I shouldn’t be ranting and raving like this to someone who has no idea of why I am here or what little time I have left.

‘Okay, well the dress you chose really suits you,’ she says, tugging at her hair. ‘I’m glad you came back for it. It’s very you. It suits you. It suits your hair, I mean, your wig. Sorry! I’m not thinking straight. Thank you. For your custom.’

Apart from her annoying hair fiddling, she is almost robotic and I feel like shaking her by the shoulders. A dying woman has just broken down in front of her two eyes and she is too wrapped up in her new fucking stock to notice.

I open my mouth to let it all out but then I look into her eyes and I see they are totally glazed over with tears, and the agony in her eyes runs through me, sending shivers down my arms and into my fingertips.

‘You’re not okay yourself, are you?’ I ask her and she hands me a tissue, again mechanically like she is trying to block me out. I wipe my nose and dab under my eyes. I wasn’t stupid enough to wear that cursed mascara again this time.

She shakes her head and keeps glancing at the window, at the door, as if in fear of someone coming in and seeing her.

‘I’m fine, but thank you,’ she says to me. ‘You said red was your colour. There’s a lovely red—’

A stray couple of tears escape from her eyes, causing her to stop and take a breath. She doesn’t wipe them. She tries again.

‘There’s a lovely size twelve—’

‘Oh for goodness’ sake,’ I reply. ‘Forget the size twelve red whatever it is you are trying to sell to me, please. You’re not okay at all, are you?’

She shakes her head again but still purses her lips in defiance.

‘Thank you very much … for your custom.’

She nods and I’m waiting for her to say ‘have a nice day’ like it’s rehearsed in her script but she doesn’t so I leave her to it. She evidently isn’t as prone to public breakdowns in front of strangers as I am.

‘You are very welcome,’ I reply and then I say it for her. ‘Have a nice day.’

I slip off my sandals and damp shorts and lie on top of the bed in my room that overlooks the harbour of Killara, and I breathe in the sea air that creeps in through the open window of our cottage. The blue dress from the vintage boutique hangs on the wardrobe door at the far side of the room and I wrap a tartan blanket over me to lessen the chill of the breeze.

I close my eyes, listening to the sounds of the early evening in this little hidden gem of a place that once changed my life, and I wonder if he is out there, somewhere, walking the streets or on the boats, totally unaware that his own flesh and blood is so close to him, she too unmindful to the history of this village and her deep connection to it.

‘You’re way out of my league,’ he told me on the night we met, looking up under dark wavy hair and I laughed in reply. There was no way I was out of his league. I knew well that he must have had women drooling over his every word. I remember his dark brown eyes, under knitted eyebrows that made me go weak at the knees … though that may have had something to do with the cocktails and vodka Birgit and I had consumed before we bumped into him at the bar. If only he knew what he left behind when he walked away the next morning.

And speaking of the outcome of our very quick encounter, my reminiscing doesn’t last long before I’m interrupted by a raging ball of hormones that knocks once on the door and then enters, hand on hip.

‘I thought you said we were going for dinner soon?’ she says, and I don’t know whether to laugh or shout at her newfound stinking teenage attitude.

‘We can go soon, yes, I was just about to get changed,’ I tell her. ‘Is it still raining?’

She rolls her eyes as if I have just asked her something as obvious as what my name is.

‘Of course it is still raining. It’s lashing out there. I really don’t know why you brought me here. Is there a McDonald’s nearby? I’m starving.’

‘Starving?’ I say to her in reply. ‘Do you mean that in a literal sense because I highly doubt you are “starving”? You can’t be starved after the lunch we had earlier.’

‘Okay then, I’m just bored and I eat when I’m bored. Is there a McDonald’s or even a Subway or a KFC?’

‘No, Rosie, there is no McDonald’s here, not one Big Mac in sight for miles and miles and isn’t that wonderful?’

Her eyes screw up and her face twists and I swear I barely recognise this person in front of me. Who on earth kidnapped my darling daughter and left me with this devil child?

‘How does anyone actually live here? It’s like the middle of nowhere!’ she pants. ‘They don’t have proper wi-fi and have you seen the TV? It’s like something from the 1980s.’

Ancient history then, obviously.

‘You haven’t even seen the place properly yet,’ I remind her. ‘We’ve only just got here. Give it a chance.’

But Rosie is ready with her next complaint.

‘And does it always rain in Ireland? Every time I look out that window it’s pissing down. Does it rain every day?’

‘No, not every day, Rosie.’

‘I heard it does,’ she says. ‘I Googled it, after waiting ages for the page to load up and it said to expect four seasons in one day. So does that mean it might snow later tonight? Wonderful!’

‘Well, it doesn’t rain on Wednesdays,’ I try to joke but again she looks at me like I’m the one from another planet. ‘Look, give me twenty minutes and we’ll go and explore and see if there is any part of this village that appeals to you at all, no matter about the rain. You seemed to like that young barman earlier?’

‘Mum, don’t be so gross. I just kind of liked his accent. Now, please, I’m starving.’

‘Okay, okay, I will be twenty minutes,’ I tell her again. ‘Can you wait that long or will you die of boredom in the meantime?’

She lets out a deep sigh.

‘Can I go for a walk while I’m waiting?’

‘In the rain?’

‘Yes, I can take an umbrella. There are two by the door. Or maybe I’d be safer in one of the wetsuits in this weather.’

I pause, wondering if I should let her go wandering alone and then I realise that we really are in the middle of nowhere and it is broad daylight and I suppose I should encourage any glimmer of enthusiasm that she shows for our stay.

‘Be back in twenty and take your phone in case you get lost,’ I say, knowing that this too might be the most ridiculous suggestion in the world to make. ‘Don’t go far. Just along the harbour.’

‘I’ll hardly get lost when there’s nothing here!’ she sulks back and at that she is gone, leaving me with the slam of not one door, but two, as she makes her way out onto the harbour pier.

I savour the silence when the door slams shut. She is so full of anger, I just know she is. I want to protect her so much but I am tired, too tired to talk too much about anything after such a long day. I need to keep going though; I came here to spend time with Rosie so no matter how much she is grating on me this evening, and as much as I would rather crawl under the duvet than go out for dinner, I need to keep going.

In the meantime, I rub my throbbing temples and relish in this moment I have to myself. Twenty minutes apart won’t kill us. At least I hope not.