‘Yes, I think it should,’ I reply, feeling a most welcome rush of excitement at what might lie inside.
I’d recognize Mabel’s handwriting a mile off, but there’s no way I’m telling Mickey what’s been going on with her messages. As much as I like to see him and chat with him over coffee on a Monday, to tell anyone around here that I’m getting messages from a lady who died nine months ago would spark off the most colourful rumours. The whole village would soon have wind of it and before I’d catch my breath, I’d be branded some sort of lunatic, with Chinese whispers declaring that Mabel was still alive and kicking somewhere.
As much as I love village life here in Ballybray, I also know when to keep my own business to myself, apart from Camille of course, who has been on this journey with Aidan and me from the beginning. She has witnessed my mood dipping lately, a mixture of missing Aidan so badly as the distance between us becomes more and more frustrating, and lack of sleep as I burn the midnight oil trying to build up my little side-line business that I’ve put so much effort into.
I put the envelope from Mabel in a drawer behind the counter and go back to arranging a selection of my brand new beeswax candles, aptly named Simply Mabel, and acollection of glazed blue dishes, on an upcycled green-painted dresser as I wait to get the go ahead from Aidan to open up the small envelope to see what’s inside.
‘So, no big cinema viewing required this time,’ he says when he eventually responds to my message by video call. He’s been so busy at work lately that our phone calls have been short and to the point, and to be honest sometimes filled with tension as the reality of being apart for such a long spell really kicks in.
‘Not this time, it seems,’ I tell him, taking a few steps back to admire my display to make sure all is as I want it to be. ‘Do you think that looks OK, or should I put the candles on the top shelf?’
I switch the camera on my phone to let him see what I mean and we both agree they would be much better on the top row by themselves rather than scattered on each shelf like I have them now. The Simply Mabel range of locally sourced beeswax candles with organic wicks and fine navy trim complements the accompanying set of handmade dishes, all of which were thrown in my spare room. I’d found a gas burning kiln online, which I’m storing in Mabel’s garden shed for now, and my little enterprise is growing right before my eyes, even if my eyes need matchsticks to stay awake most days because of it.
‘Congratulations, Roisin,’ says Aidan. ‘They look amazing. I just wish I was there to celebrate with you.’
I can only sigh and wish for the same, knowing it justisn’t possible to be together for every little milestone in our lives over the summer. Most of our conversations these days are laced with the same desires. When Aidan’s company was nominated for a huge contract that will be allocated at a ceremony in November (his final, final commitment to them, I’m assured), I wished I could be there to celebrate as he toasted the prestigious shortlist announcement. When Ben celebrated his eleventh birthday in early August, Aidan wished he could be there to join us and give him his present in person instead of sending him one from afar – a very generous gift of a full set of riding gear, including a black hat, navy jodhpurs, a back brace, boots and fleece jacket, which made Ben cry with delight. I recorded his reaction on my phone, our main line of communication, and sent it to him, but it just wasn’t the same.
‘Thank you so much, Aidan! This is the best present ever!’ Ben had said in his message. ‘I really hope you come back home to us soon. I miss you.’
And although we are still buzzing from our amazing time together, and we’re all keeping busy with our own commitments, there are days when the frustration of being so far apart can almost be too hard to handle.
I miss his hugs. I miss his smell. I miss holding him and kissing him. I seem to switch from telling myself how lucky we are to have found each other, to wanting to punch the wall at how unfair it is that we’re so far apart.
‘It’s still early days, so try to stay positive,’ Camille assuresme when I’m having a particularly bad day. ‘Just imagine the next time you see him, how good it will feel. And keep making plans. You always need something to look forward to or else you’ll crack up.’
On my birthday I got a hamper of goodies and a huge bouquet of flowers delivered to the door, but you can’t hug a bunch of flowers, can you? A bunch of flowers doesn’t talk back or dine with you or make love with you in the night. I thanked him politely of course, knowing he meant well, but the disappointment ate at me for longer than it possibly should have and it took me a while to get over it.
‘I feel like I’m the other woman,’ I tell him frequently.
‘Don’t say that,’ is his usual answer. ‘You know how much I’m trying to sort my whole life out. Stay with me.’
But then there are times when I’m filled with hope and excitement as I realize that our time together can’t be so very far away now that a few months have passed and we still have Mabel’s summer message to look forward to.
‘So, open the envelope!’ Aidan tells me now, when I’m finished showing off my display of candles. ‘I’m itching here. Come on! Let’s see what Mabel has in store for us this time.’
Camille gives me the nod from her stool in the nook to take Mabel’s message upstairs, so I do that and as I climb the narrow wooden stairs, I feel with every step I take a little lift in my mood as some hope returns. The aching I have for Aidan when we’re apart is nothing that I’ve everfelt before, the fear I have that it will all go wrong lingers always, but the excitement at the thought that this message might be the nudge we need to finally get together again is even more powerful.
I pull a beanbag from the corner of the room into the centre so the stream of light falls right down on me, warming my soul as I open the envelope, but when I do, my hand goes to my mouth and I can hardly speak.
‘What is it?’ asks Aidan, from the phone I’ve propped up on the floor. My mouth is dry with shock and I shake my head, wondering once again how Mabel could have planned this all in so much detail as she was facing up to her last months in this world.
‘She’s sent us airline tickets?’ I say, blinking back my utter disbelief. I pull my sweater over my head as it’s much too warm in the heat of the attic room to take this all in. ‘There’s a letter with them too. I’ll read it aloud.’
‘Airline tickets?’ asks Aidan, a rising panic in his voice. ‘Tickets to where exactly? Where is she sending us? I can’t go too far at the moment with work, and the next few weeks are crucial so I can’t—’
‘Calm down, calm down, they aren’t for you,’ I tell him, clutching the tickets to my chest as if I’m holding a winning lottery ticket.
‘What?’
‘They’re for me and Ben!’ I explain, fingering the tickets and checking the date, which is in just two days’ time, myeyes wide as saucers as I try to take this in. I panic for a moment, wondering and hoping that our passports are in date as we haven’t had the need to use them for so long. In fact, Ben’s only trip abroad in all his young lifetime was a weekend in London to visit Jude’s sister, and coughing up for that almost put Jude over the edge.
‘What’s going on, Roisin? Where does Mabel want you to go?’
I feel like creating a dramatic pause for effect, but I can’t hold it in.
‘If Mohammad can’t come to the mountain, the mountain will come to Mohammad!’ I say, unable to resist teasing it out just a moment longer.
I expect Aidan to cop on, but he looks truly puzzled.
