I sort out clothing rails that don’t need sorting. I replace price tags that don’t need replacing. I make coffee I don’t even drink. I ask Camille questions about stock that I already know everything about. I want to prolong the moment, I want to savour it, knowing I’ve still got it all to look forward to because as soon as I’ve watched it (it’sanother DVD for sure) I fear that I’ll plummet again into a deeper darkness than I’m already feeling.
When I get home I find myself staring out through the rear window into the garden, thankful now that I finally gave in to the enthusiastic gardener and had the grass cut, to see patches of gold, red and amber leaves covering the grass like a patchwork blanket. I’m going to miss this place a lot, and I have moments when I wonder if I’ve made the right decision to move on, but I also know that the longer I stay here, the more I’ll hold on to memories from a past that can’t ever form my future. My lessons here have been learned. The pain I feel being in this cottage without Mabel or Aidan next door is simply too much to bear.
I gulp back a whirlwind of emotions as I picture him at his table at his big event next week, standing up as his name is undoubtedly called for the contract award that would attract him the publicity in his field that he deserves, and also give him the freedom afterwards to walk away from his recent past, if that’s what he still intends to do.
And then I stare at the envelope that holds Mabel’s final message, knowing that I’m going to have to bite the bullet and call him. I lift my phone and I hold it to my ear, waiting for him to answer.
‘Roisin,’ he says with the same urgency as he always does these days when I hear him say my name. ‘How are—’
‘Mabel’s message is here, Aidan,’ I tell him quickly, not answering his casual conversational question and speakingbefore he tries to chat any more. ‘It’s the last one of course, and it’s another video message for us both, so if you want to call over, we should probably watch it together like she’d want us to.’
‘Oh God,’ says Aidan, his voice reflecting the fear I also feel at hearing from her for the last time. ‘It’s bittersweet, but I guess we both knew it was coming. Have you already had a sneak peek? Tell the truth.’
He laughs, winding me up like old times.
I stall. ‘Of course I haven’t,’ I tell him, a bit nipped that he thought I would, even though I know he’s making fun. ‘I wouldn’t watch it without you, Aidan. I’m not that hard-hearted.’
He laughs at the term ‘hard-hearted’, and I do too as it brings back memories of that very first day we met outside Mabel’s house in the snow last winter.
Hearing his voice makes me gulp back a choking sadness as I know that the end of Mabel’s messages will probably mean the end of our friendship. We’ll no longer have these reasons to hook up and chat, and my heart sinks into my stomach at the reality of never hearing from him again when he goes back to America this time. The house has been sold, mine is on the market, and now that we’ve got this far, the thought of the future is dim and I’m wondering what the hell I’m doing all over again.
‘Well, just call over when you can and we’ll see what she has to tell us for this last time,’ I say to him. I hope andpray that Mabel’s final message will give me the guidance I so desperately need, yet know that seeing her for the last time is going to be a killer blow, and I’m not sure I’m totally prepared for it.
As I arrange my living room now once more for our final viewing, reorganizing the furniture again for old times’ sake, it’s really kicking in just how much I’m going to miss the rhythm of each season and how much Aidan and I have held on and waited for each of Mabel’s messages.
I think back to the first one in winter where she told us to lean on each other, to keep in touch in her memory, to do something that makes us feel alive, and to rest our hearts. She left me the dress that I’ve still never worn and a photo to remind Aidan of the look of love. In spring she spoke of the importance of truth and how we should always say how we feel before it’s too late, which led of course to our wonderful time together in Breena, to the mysterious truth that has still never been told, and to Belfast where we admitted we were falling in love. And then in summer, she sent Ben and me on a surprise vacation to New York where we had such fun following in her footsteps, exploring her home city, until being there ultimately ruined everything about my relationship with Aidan and caused the unbearable pain I’ve been suffering since. I can’t imagine where she is going to guide us on from here.
Aidan knocks on the door within minutes, with Ben at his heels.
‘I was wondering where you’d got to,’ I say to Ben, feeling ever so guilty that I hadn’t known his exact whereabouts. ‘I hope he isn’t holding you back, Aidan.’
Aidan steps inside and I try to ignore the thumping beat of my heart and how it hurts so badly to be so near to him and yet so far.
‘We’ve had a really good chat actually,’ says Aidan, looking up at me with eyes that I could almost fall in to. ‘We’re going to do our best to stay in touch, and I’ve promised Ben that should I have to rob a bank, I’ll take him on a helicopter ride one day very soon.’
Ben slides his hands into his pockets and looks at the floor.
‘And I told Aidan that I’d much rather get to spend Sundays on the beach playing ball or Frisbee withhimagain than a helicopter ride any day, andthatdoesn’t cost a thing.’
I can’t answer that and neither can Aidan, so we make our way into the sitting room while Ben disappears upstairs, refusing again to take part in anything to do with Mabel’s messages.
‘You look lovely,’ Aidan tells me as I put the DVD into the player, fumbling clumsily with the remote control as I feel his eyes on my body and the longing for him that engulfs me no matter if he’s near or far.
‘You don’t have to say that any more,’ I remind him,determined not to make this exercise any more emotional than it already promises to be.
I sit down on the sofa a few feet away from him, eager now to get this over and done with, as I know it’s going to be painful, and I try to convince myself that I’m ready to move on even though I have adored this little place I’ve called home for five years.
Teapot Row will always be special for so many reasons.
The grey woollen rug on the floor was chosen by Ben one day when he decided it would make the room cosier and I bought it for him even though it didn’t exactly match the decor I had in mind. The retro fringed pink lamp in the corner was taken from a winter sale at Truly Vintage, the bottle-green sofa is worn with fingerprints, and its arms are a bit tattered and torn, but it’s the place where I sat and talked to Aidan for hours on end. It’s the place he soothed me and held me tightly on so many nights back in spring where I felt I was finally in the arms of someone I could always trust. I will miss so much about this beautiful little cottage, and I will leave it with bittersweet joy and a heart full of memories.
‘Oh Aidan,’ I say, lost in a haze of sentimentality and sorrow for how things have turned out.
‘What’s wrong? Are you OK, Ro? You look a bit—’
‘I’m fine, I guess I’m a bit overwhelmed that this is it, you know,’ I say to him. ‘I’m just hoping I can make it through this without totally collapsing. I know that’s not your problem. Sorry.’
My breathing is shallow and the rush of fear and frustration that engulfs me actually makes my body ache for him. Seeing his face never fails to move me, and I can’t help but smile when our eyes meet. Like a chain reaction, he smiles too. I look at his blue eyes, his dark lashes, his full mouth, his white smile, and the longing I have from deep inside I fear will never go away.
