Chapter Three
Behind Mary was the shape of a man coming into focus. ‘Mr Power to see you, Tabitha.’ Green cotton jacket, smart jeans. I’d read his CV that the department had sent over as though it held secrets or a code to something and then after all these years of not knowing anything and there it was, in black and white, jobs, experiences, volunteering, interests. A whole life. He’d put downIrish poetry and drama and climbing as his interests. The latter must have been a Californian thing. He mentioned some places I’d only half heard of – Yosemite, Sequoia and Joshua Tree. But climbing? I’d tried to imagine this new Red, this climbing Californian Red.
Over the years, it had become increasingly difficult to remember anything, even the colour of his eyes, the shape of his face orhis height. But now here he was. Indisputably, unmistakeably Red. I would have recognised him anywhere. Hair greyer, but face the same, though more tanned, slightly lined, but the look in his eyes, the shape of the mouth, his ears! - hadn’t changed. More handsome, if that was possible. Being older suited him.
‘Hello Tab.’
He was taking me in as much as I was absorbing him, as though we werelooking for clues to see what was left of each of us, the selves we had left behind.
His accent a little changed by all those years in America, but the way he said my name.Tab. The way he lingered on the ‘a’, resting on the ‘b’. No one else said it like that, they rushed through it.
And more than anything, I found I wanted to touch him, to make sure he was real, if his arms felt as strong asthey used to... And to hear him say my name again.Tab. In my ear. Just for me.Tab.
‘Red, great to see you!’ I held out my hand, smiling broadly. ‘So, you’re back…’
He shook my hand, briefly. ‘Actually I’ve been back for six months now,’ he said, sounding as nervous as me, which was almost a relief, that he wasn’t totally immune to the past, that I wasn’tnothing.
‘Dad… my father’s been illso I came home and… well, decided to stay on for a while.’
His father had practically adopted me as a long-lost daughter ‘Christy? How is he?’
‘A stroke. He was trying to pretend that he was grand that I needn’t come home. He’s recovering though. Hobbling around, still doing too much. Organising meetings, shouting at the news, writing his poetry. His usual vices.’ And then he smiled at me forthe first time. ‘On the mend, in other words. I’ve been bringing him for walks down the pier. Well,shufflesalong the pier. Takes us an hour just to get to the bandstand.’
For a moment our eyes locked. We used to meet at the bandstand and then walk along the pier, arms wrapped around each other, deep happiness passing back and forth, only needing the other to ignite and spark. He looked away.
‘That’s good to hear, that he’s on the mend.’
‘If he stops giving out to the television, it’ll do him and his heart the world of good.’
‘Just keep him away from politics,’ I said. ‘Let him watchHome And Away…’ I paused. ‘Is that still on?’
Red smiled. ‘I have no idea. It should be, that’s all I will say.’
‘It’s probably gone. Like all my old favourites… Dynasty, Dallas, Dukes of Hazard…’We had immediately fallen back into the way we used to talk to each other. The one thing I had forgotten entirely. We never used to shut up.
‘Anything not beginning with D?’
‘Falcon Crest?’
He laughed. ‘You were never a soap addict.’
‘Well, maybe Christy and I should get together and become one. Save both of us.’
He was looking at me, curiously. Was he as surprised as I was? I had imaginedfar more awkwardness, unresolved anger.
‘Would you like to sit down and we… we can go through things?’ In a moment, I had changed the mood to polite formality again. Red pulled out the chair in front of my desk, hands folded on his lap. No ring, I noticed.Notthat it was any of my business. And yet… and yet.
‘The department have already interviewed you,’ I said. ‘So, we don’t need to go throughyour CV…’
‘Ten years teaching in elementary school in the US,’ he said. ‘Drama and English. Once I got my papers, that is. Before then, it was a few years of bar work. There were the obligatory painting and decorating years.’ He smiled at me. ‘Most of us Irish have those. And the year spent cooking in an Irish bar. Definitely put me off fried breakfasts.’
‘What kind of school did you teach in?’I wanted to know everything. Where did he live, did he like it there, was he ever homesick, had Ireland changed much… had he ever thought of us?
‘It was in East Bay,’ he said. ‘Amazing school. I learned more from the pupils than I think I ever taught them.’
‘Like what?’
‘Life lessons really,’ he said. ‘About how education is more than just learning, it’s about arming yourself for the battleyou are going to face when you have no one rooting for you. Nothing we were taught in teaching college.’
