‘It is actually,’ he says to Ben. ‘It was mine when I was a kid, but I haven’t been up here with it in over, I’m guessing, around twenty-five years.’
No harm to Aidan and his touching moment of nostalgia, or the fact that this was all my idea in the first place, I’venow decided there’s no way I’m sailing down the hill on a lump of wood or plastic that could land me God knows where.
‘Who did you come up here with?’ asks Ben. ‘Did you have a brother? I wish I had a brother.’
I roll my eyes in apology at my son’s inquisitive nature, but Aidan is all ears, and to be honest I’m shocked that he has broken his silence. Maybe coming here was a good idea for that reason only, even if I fear for my life at the prospect of flying down the hill in the snow.
‘I wasn’t lucky enough to have a brother or sister, but I always wanted one,’ Aidan says to Ben, crouching down so he is around Ben’s height. ‘I’d come here with my dad and I noticed just today that he’d written our names on the back. I’d no idea he ever did that.’
He flips over the sledge again, and I see his father’s name, Danny Murphy, and the date ‘Winter 1990’ written in black marker on the back.
‘My daddy is in heaven,’ says Ben. I close my eyes briefly. ‘He went there when I was six but I’m ten now.’
When I open my eyes, I see that Aidan has placed his hand tenderly on Ben’s shoulder.
‘I’m really sorry to hear that,’ he says to my son. ‘But can you imagine the fun he is having up there now that Mabel is in heaven too? I bet they’re having a great party and they’ll be watching over us today having fun in the snow.’
I gulp and have to look away, realizing that Aidan and my son have a lot more in common than I would ever have imagined. They both suffered the loss of their dad at an incredibly young age, and witnessing this very unexpected moment between them chokes me up inside.
Ben nods and plonks down onto his sledge, ready for action, his cheeks rosy from the cold and his eyes sparkling in anticipation.
I meet Aidan’s eye and blink a thank you to him for being so compassionate with my boy, trying as I do to recall the story of Aidan’s own life that Mabel once told me. He suffered through his childhood without his parents, just like I fear Ben has without a father figure in his life, and for a very fleeting moment I’ve been given a reminder of just how much he is missing out when I see Aidan strap him onto his sledge.
‘Look, I have to admit we’ve never done this before,’ I confess, feeling once more a bit silly for suggesting we come here and then having to watch on like a clueless idiot while Aidan takes over. ‘I’m not sure I’m even brave enough to sit on a sledge never mind ride on one, but I’ll have fun watching.’
Aidan stands up and shakes his head.
‘No, no, come on Roisin,’ he says, showing a spark of enthusiasm in my company at last. ‘I know every lump and bump on these fields, so you’ll just have to trust me, but there’s no fun in watching. Don’t worry. You’ll love it.’
He catches me glancing at his jacket which I’m almost sure I recognize.
‘I got this in the vintage shop in the village,’ Aidan says to me as he goes back to make sure Ben is well strapped in. ‘One of the reasons I turned the idea of doing this down was a lack of suitable clothing, but a drive around the village solved that problem. I couldn’t believe it.’
‘Oh really?’ I say, delighted that he has found Truly Vintage, a little huckster of a store that has fast become the pride of our village.
‘Yes, so I have to take back some of my earlier comments about Ballybray,’ he admits, looking up at me as he speaks. ‘There’s a lot more life than there was when I lived here. There’s a decent coffee corner in the vintage shop too and I see the pub does a good pizza. It’s all a far cry from the tumbleweed village I grew up in.’
He laughs nervously, standing up now and fixing the very smart jacket, which isn’t some tattered hand-me-down, but a chic piece of clothing Camille had picked up on a recent trip to Dublin. I remember admiring it when it came in to the shop.
‘That would be down to my boss, Camille,’ I tell him, delighted to hear he has found my place of work. ‘She sure does know her stuff. It’s a fantastic place.’
‘You work there?’ he says, his eyes widening.
‘Yes, all thanks to Mabel who, for want of a better word, “hounded” Camille, exaggerated how wonderful I was ateverything from serving coffee to styling mannequins, and the rest is history. I’ve been there a few years now. I absolutely love it.’
When I say out loud what I do for a living, as modest as it may be, I realize how far I’ve come in the past few years. I really do enjoy my job and I adore spending hours dreaming of how these beautiful once-loved items of clothing took their first step to a new home. Were they outgrown? No longer suitable? Or has the former owner passed on? Moved away? I could spend my days making up imaginary stories about their provenance.
I go to tell him so as enthusiasm bubbles through me.
I am just about to go full fashionista on how Camille says I’ve an eye for spotting a big seller and how I’ve grown our social media following by almost 5,000 likes through my photography and quirky captioning, but then I hear a voice in my head telling me not to. This voice hasn’t made its way there in such a long time, and it makes me stop in my tracks.
‘Shut up, Roisin! No one cares about your fascination with old stuff!’I hear Jude echo in my mind.‘Just throw it out! It’s rubbish. I told you, I won’t live in a house with clutter. If you keep hoarding stuff, Roisin, I’m outta here for good and I mean it. You’re not a second-hand teenager on the scrapheap any more. It’s old and it’s used. Let it go.’
So I don’t share my enthusiasm with Aidan at all.
Instead I question myself for even wanting to do so inthe first place. What would someone like Aidan Murphy care about my passion for my job in what is essentially an upper-class second-hand clothes store? My world is hardly comparable to his big city life and million-dollar lifestyle. He only bought the jacket out of convenience and because he doesn’t have his own with him and he wouldn’t have had time to go to the nearest designer outlet.
I feel my pulse race and my skin crawl with anxiety. This is exactly where Mabel would have told me to straighten up and be proud of what I do, but I can’t, so I look for Ben. I look for a sense of familiarity.
