‘Absolutely, Aoife. It’s a tough one. I can see Jane’s dilemma. She has a man who seemingly wants to spend the rest of his life with her, but is it for the right reasons? Is it a proposal of convenience and practicality rather than the fact that he is in love with her?’ I ponder aloud. My mind strays to Callum once again.
‘We women need a bit of romance,’ Aoife muses on air.
‘I think it’s more than just the romance.’ I warm into the subject. ‘For a lot of people, it’s about feeling desired, valued, a sense of belonging.’
A flashback of Callum sitting in Aoife’s chair ploughs into my headspace at a hundred miles an hour:If you don’t have it in the beginning, you’re not going to find it in your laundry basket ten years later.He’d unearthed the crux of it. No wonder the ratings went through the roof. The unnerving clarity of the memory catches me off guard, raising rippling goosebumps on my exposed arms.
‘We’ll take some music while we assemble some advice for Jane. We’d love to hear from the listeners at home, anyone that may have been in a similar situation. This is Kygo, Whitney Houston with “Higher Love” on Ireland Today.’
‘Call him, text him, visit him – do something, please, Abby. I’ve never known you to be so desperately miserable,’ Aoife urges, with one hand on her small swelling bump.
Candice waves from the window. Her hawk eyes study the two of us briefly, and I force the jolliest smile I can muster. Today’s T-shirt reads, Kiss It, Before You Miss It.
I wonder if there’s a conspiracy. Everywhere I look, every single thing reminds me of Callum. Yet I hadn’t given a single thought to Sean, or any other Patrick for that matter, since the blackest day of my life, the day Callum walked out.
Aoife makes me a coffee from the Nespresso machine in the corner of our studio while I scan the incoming messages from listeners with advice for Jane. Jane’s a fake name, too coincidently generic.
‘What’re they saying?’ Aoife squints over my shoulder as literally hundreds of messages flood the screen of the iMac.
Take it when it’s offered. I’ve lived alone for the past twelve years, loneliness is a killer.
Jane should tell him to ask properly or piss off.
Jane should go with her gut instinct, it’s never wrong.
Romance isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, you need to marry your best friend.
Welcome to the real world, Jane. Life isn’t like the movies.
Tell him to sling his hook. You’re worth more, Jane!
The phones are ringing off the hook next door, the tech team sift through callers looking for opinions that might add value to the show. I sip the scalding liquid and consider Jane’s dilemma rationally and impartially.
Communication’s the main problem here. If Jane had sat her man down and explained to him what she had explained to me in her email, then she’d more than likely receive her answer – if what they had was enough.
Why do humans avoid talking to the ones that we have the issues with? And instead, seek validation from external sources? But we do, it’s programmed into us.
The thick fog of my own ignorance thins, parting the thunderous clouds that hover over me since Callum left. Clarity dawns painfully on me.
Communication is my problem, not just Jane’s. I should have openly expressed my concerns the night that Mrs Boyle died, however daft they may have sounded. Callum would have talked some sense into me. We could have laughed them off together. Instead, I let them fester, unable to voice my irrational fears, resulting in them multiplying into something that I couldn’t see past.
Why did I seek validation when it came to mine and Callum’s relationship, from anyone, when I’d always previously believed that we determine our own futures? I never believed in fate before, so why had I started? Fear is the answer. I didn’t trust my own judgement because I’d missed any clue of Sean’s unexpected departure. It was easier to shun him now, hide behind Esmerelda’s predictions and use that as the reason not to get any more involved and risk the momentous hurt of life without Callum. I pushed him away purely so I could be in control of the pain inflicted on me, because I was the one inflicting it. Distancing myself was the only way I could take control of the situation, similar to the way in which I distanced myself from Carrick on Shannon when Sean left.
All Callum had seen was the increasing distance between us. He’d obsessed on my ex having a ‘Patrick’ in his name, which admittedly, I’d considered, but that was before I’d seen Sean again and reinforced that I no longer had any feelings for him.
My head hurts from the force of brutally decoding my erratic emotions.
Ten seconds left on the song, and I have the first live caller on hold. I exchange an amused glance with Aoife. The live callers are wild cards. They can go either way.
‘Hi and welcome back to Ask Abby. Who do we have on the line?’ I attempt to sound breezy, despite my internal duelling emotions.
‘Call me B. You know, for the purpose of privacy,’ a deep masculine voice echoes over the line.
‘Ok, B, do you have a similar story? Or perhaps you have some advice for Jane?’
A low chuckle reverberates, and he pauses for a second before he begins. ‘My story’s a little different. I knew from sixth class who I would marry. Thankfully, she felt the same. We’re married ten years next month and have two kids.’
‘Congratulations.’ A rare story in these days, it was one that I thought I’d have been telling.
