She busied herself with the fetching of cups from the cupboard of her unimpressive kitchen of her clearly inadequate home. The sound of men laughing came from the hallway and for a split second, as she sometimes did, she was relieved that Jonathan was finally home. He’d take over from here, maybe organise a greenhouse tour.
But of course, it wasn’t Jonathan. This realisation one that never got any easier, the fact that he was never coming home.
‘Here he is!’ Trish shouted, as if Aiden were a special guest they’d all been awaiting. Her son stood tall for sure, and it was nice, they clearly approved and quite right too, he was lovely, and Iris was lucky, as of course, no doubt, was he.
With the stack of saucers nestling in her hand, she was about to place them on the counter, figuring if she couldn’t impress her guests with the vastness of her palatial home, she could at least treat them to tea from her grandmother’s vintage china, which only ever saw the daylight on special occasions.
It was as she looked up that Enya was torn as to whether she should scream or faint, deciding neither would be a good look when trying to appeal to Iris and her family, although it would be a story to tell her grandchildren, no doubt.
Chapter Thirteen
The two things happened simultaneously.
The china slipped from her fingers, clattering down on to the countertop, where she could see instantly that at least one saucer was now cracked in two. That wasn’t, however, what caused the breath to stop in her throat. Aiden stood beaming widely with his hands on his hips, standing in her kitchen, next to none other than HCK.
‘You are . . .’
She stared at him, wondering how he had found her, how she might possibly explain the arrival of the stranger to these guests on this special day and, more importantly, what would she say to Aiden? How, how could she justify the fact that this married man who she had met only briefly, and not by design, had found her home! And was here! Here, at this of all moments!
But of course, no explanation was necessary as her brain caught up and it all became horribly, horribly clear. She said nothing, waiting to see how he reacted.
‘Dad!’ Iris rushed towards the man and pulled him into the kitchen. ‘This is Enya, Aiden’s mum.’
‘Enya.’ He held out his hand, the way he said it almost with a sigh as if he, like her, the night before she had found out his name, might have been trying to guess hers. He set the tone, clearly notrevealing that they had met, once, and spoken briefly on the phone. ‘I’m Dominic.’
‘Dominic.’
This the first time she would say his name to his face. She held his hand, and he shook it, gently. It was a confusing moment of contact that was as warming as it was awkward. She wondered if she were imagining the whole thing, the horror of holding his hand and feeling the visceral leap of want in her stomach, as his beautiful wife stood close by. His beautiful wife to whom he was evidently still very much married... his duplicity sickened her.
A loud banging on the edge of the wall gave them all a start. They turned to spy the elderly woman with a face like thunder.
Maeve stood on her patio, staring in. Her neighbour didn’t wait for a greeting but launched into a loud and clearly considered monologue while they all stood transfixed by the septuagenarian with a litter tray in her hands.
‘I don’t know what’s going on with you lot at the moment, I really don’t. First I hear that Holly Hudson is having a breakdown, all because that wally of a son of yours has done the unthinkable—’
‘He’s not a wally.’ This Enya addressed to the parents of the girl who her son, the wally, was all set to marry.
Maeve carried on as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Then the next thing I know, I hear a bang, and someone has thrown shit and this cat toilet into my garden! It landed on my patio. If you think I’m touching those turds, you’ve got another thing coming. I like that cat, I do, but I’m not touching that! Heartbroken she is, bloody heartbroken.’
‘The cat?’ Dominic, it seemed, was having trouble keeping up.
‘No, Holly Hudson.’ Enya had turned and spoken curtly to him over her shoulder, unable to control the intense thrill she felt at no more than the sight of him, a reaction as instinctive as it was unwelcome. His married status put him firmly out of reach and shewas now cloaked with remorse and guilt as his wife was none other than the beautifully coiffed and ever so slightly house-proud Trish. He smiled at her, as if taking the opportunity to do so while the rest of the gang were focused on Maeve while she spun her cat turd tale. Enya looked away, mortified, beyond mortified, and wishing she could run away.
‘You were always such pleasant neighbours, quiet. But since Jonathan died, God only knows what’s going on in here! It’s not the first time I’ve had to deal with her turds.’
‘Holly Hudson’s?’ Dominic inappropriately quipped.
‘No, the cat,’ Enya snapped before turning back to Maeve. ‘I’ll come and clean your patio. I am sorry, Maeve.’
‘Well, I’m glad you all find it so amusing.’ Maeve thrust the litter tray into Enya’s hands. ‘And as for you, young man,’ she pointed a gnarled finger in Aiden’s direction, ‘you’ll regret it! Mark my words, you’ll regret it and I hope that when you do, Holly has run off with someone who deserves her.’ Maeve turned on the spongey heel of her slipper and made her way back down the path, muttering. Enya couldn’t quite make it out but was sure it was something about the ability to ride a bike.
The fact that Maeve seemed to have joined Jenny and Phil in the chorus of disapproval was a blow, and she felt further weakened by the prospect of interacting with any of them, wanting in that moment to hide away in her ice den. Forever.
‘Are you okay?’ Aiden’s concerned tone was at once welcome and reassuring; suddenly, she didn’t feel quite so outnumbered, while inside she raged with loneliness and fretted that this might be her life from now on, her whole life, spent in this limbo, hiding in her quiet, cold place.
It was only when she turned that she realised her son was speaking to Iris, who he now held in a close embrace, clasping her pretty head under his chin as if she had been in mortal danger andnot just slightly embarrassed by their ranting neighbour’s speech. Enya fought the desire to cry. And in fairness to Maeve, no one should have to contend with patio turds, or any other kind of turds for that matter, launched into their garden on a summer’s day.
‘Do you know what I think?’ Trish asked loudly. ‘I think we all need a little drinkie!’
