‘You can’t buy it in Boston?’ Their eyes met for a moment. ‘I would have thought you could,’ she finished.
‘You can. And I do. But the water’s different. The milk’s weird. It’s never… you know that perfect cup of tea, you never get one of those. It’s always dishwatery and never…’
‘Golden?’
He laughed. ‘That’s exactly the word! Golden. The perfect cup of tea. Well, that’s completely unachievable in Boston.’ His face was suddenly the same as it used to be, relaxed and open. ‘Jet lag. It’s always bad when I fly home…’
Home. So Ireland was still home.
‘I’ve heard it’s bad… jet lag. Flying west… east…’ She smiled at him. ‘Can’t think properly at this time. And I don’t have your excuse.’
‘East.’ He half-smiled back.
‘It must be torture,’ she said, still smiling back at him.
‘You get used to it. You can drink more coffee. But it’s…’ He looked rueful now. ‘But yes, it’s torture. It’s the curse of the Irish expat, you miss tea and all the small things, or the things you thought were small actually turn out to be the things you loved most about your life.’ He smiled at her. ‘What’s your excuse? Did the children wake you?’
‘Children?’ She was confused. Which children? Did he mean Nessa’s? ‘No, I just woke up. Too much to think about.’ She glanced at him. ‘You must be happy your brother is getting married…’
He nodded. ‘He’s happy. And Niamh is really lovely.’ He smiled at her.
‘And everyone else well? Your mother?’
He looked suddenly startled. ‘She…’ He stopped. ‘She died. I wanted to tell you… I thought of telling you because you…’ He stopped. ‘I don’t know why I wanted to tell you but… I thought you’d… understand.’
Rosie’s heart went out to him, suddenly so completely aware of his pain, his hurt, those early years of grief where the whole world is turning normally and you want it all to stop so you can try to catch up. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss…’ She remembered how much he adored his mother and how often he’d spoken of her. ‘How are you doing?’
He shrugged. ‘Keeping on. No choice. But sometimes I forget she’s dead and go to call her. Or I think about a film and want to tell her to go and see it and all sorts, what she would think about various political situations. I want to hear her opinions. And then I remember…’ He sighed. ‘She was ill for a while, before she died. I flew back and forth, straight into Cork. So we had time together. Not enough…’
‘There’s never enough.’
‘No. But thank God for technology. We had breakfast together every day on video call. Well, hers was lunch, mine was breakfast. And we played online chess together. We never finished our last game. Which is just as well, as I was losing.’ He smiled again. ‘Anyway, you know how it is. And I’m glad Seán is happy because we need happiness in our lives.’ He nodded at her. ‘And you’re well? The family? Your father?’
She nodded. ‘Dad is out in the garden pretty permanently. And very happy. Nessa lives next door. The hotel is going well.’
‘That’s great to hear.’ He hesitated. ‘Rosie, look…’ He stopped. ‘I wanted to say sorry. I’ve wanted to say sorry for ten years now.’
She didn’t say anything, just waited for him to speak.
‘It’s one of those things that still has the power to jab me awake at night. Or I can just be getting on with my day, and then I remember…’
‘What do you remember?’
‘How cruel I was. In the airport.’ He looked at her. ‘Perhaps… perhaps you’ve forgotten?’ He looked almost hopeful.
‘I haven’t forgotten.’
‘Now I might be able to explain more. But there was so much going on then. And I couldn’t see a way forward. And I think I panicked.’
Rosie laughed. ‘I wasn’t expecting you to marry me!’
‘No, no, of course not. I wasn’t suggesting that. It was just that I panicked about me. And what I needed and nothing added up.’
What did he want? Absolution? Forgiveness?
‘I’m glad you’ve moved on,’ he said.
‘Of course I have. It’s been ten years.’ She sounded more annoyed than she actually felt. He was looking pained, as though it had burdened him.
