‘No, Quincy, I’m not.’ She drew breath. ‘The truth is, it’s what I do, what I’ve always done, since losing your dad.’ This she felt the easiest lie, because it was rooted in truth and was, in short, nearly as exposing as the fact that Iris’s dad had been hiding out of sight. It was everything she had feared and suspected might happen, Aiden and Iris falling out over the glasses that she and Dominic were drinking from; she could only imagine how much more intense their row, how horrible the outcome if they knew the finer detail,how much it would undermine their trust in her and Dominic. The irony wasn’t lost on her as she continued to lie to her son. ‘I place two mugs next to the kettle and I ask him if he wants toast to go with his coffee in the morning. I put two mugs down and ask him if he wants a biscuit with his afternoon tea. And I fill two wine glasses and for the seconds it takes me to pour, I imagine him sitting opposite me at the table or next to me on the sofa, and in that brief time, everything is restored.’
‘That’s really . . .’
‘Really what?’
‘Sad, Mum. It’s really sad.’
The thickening in her throat confirmed that it was. Worse was her son’s kindness, his empathy when she didn’t deserve it, not when she wasn’t telling him the whole truth. That and the fact that they were talking about the day Jonathan had disappeared and she missed him, missed him so much!
‘I guess it is. I’ve never mentioned it because I don’t want you to worry. Because despite everything, I’m doing fine. I really am. In fact, I’ve decided to do better – I’m okay! I never want you to hold back on living your life because you’re worried about me. That would be the worst thing. But yes, you got me! Two wine glasses.’
Enya pushed her feet on to the patio, trying to stay grounded, trying to calm her flustered pulse. She braced herself for any questions.
‘Well, that explains it.’
‘Yes, it does.’ She reached for her book, hoping that might be the end of the conversation.
‘Can I ask you a question?’
‘Of course.’ She rested the book on her chest.
‘Are you lonely?’ His expression was almost tortured, and it made her heart swell, his love, his concern. It was true what she hadsaid to Trish, he was a lovely human. The loveliest. And he deserved nothing but an honest response.
‘Yes, I am. Not all the time. I’m not cloaked in it, or preoccupied with it, but when it strikes, I feel it acutely. Particularly recently, when I’m not only still grieving for your dad, but I’ve lost Jenny and Phil, Holly too in some ways. Maeve ignores me. You are understandably preoccupied, and I tend to spend most of my time trying to justify the actions of others. My job ends soon and the plan to go into business with Jen is now dust. So yes, I get lonely, and it’s not a nice feeling.’
‘When does it strike, of an evening when you’re by yourself? Because I can make sure that I’m here more—’
‘No, no love,’ she cut him short, ‘but thank you for saying that, for offering. That’s exactly what I’m talking about when I say I don’t want you to hold back in living your life. You don’t want to have to come and babysit me of an evening when you should be out having fun. You’re not responsible for me and I don’t want you to feel that you are. And actually,’ she paused, ‘that’s not when I’m loneliest. It’s more when I’m in a crowd and your dad’s not there. When I go supermarket shopping and realise I don’t have to consider what I’m going to make for him or buy enough for two, or a million other little things that remind me he’s gone.’
‘God, that’s really—’
‘Please don’t remind me how sad it is, I know it’s sad! Death is supposed to be sad, isn’t it? I think you’d be more worried if I were doing star jumps!’
She felt the desire to cry, not only in recognition of how sad she was at times, but because somewhere, deep down, she felt that Dominic, the Handsome Car Klutz himself, might just be the answer to her sadness, her loneliness, and yet it was not to be, could not be.
The novel fell open at a random page and she studied it intently.
‘I just want to say three things,’ her son began.
‘Goodness me, Aiden, can’t a woman read in peace?’ She smiled; it was easy, she realised, to mask in this way.
‘Apparently not.’ He stared at her. ‘The first thing I want to say to you, Mum, is that you have a lot of life ahead of you, and if you did want to see someone or date someone or even make a new friend, that would be fine, more than fine, it would be good. It’s been three years and,’ he swallowed, ‘Dad would want you to be happy. I know he would.’
‘Thank you.’ She felt her throat tightening with barely disguised emotion; this permission, almost a suggestion, was generous and mature.
‘The second thing is that you’re holding your book upside down.’
She quickly turned it the right way and felt the burn of embarrassment on her cheeks, smiling at her lovely son. ‘And the third thing?’ she asked curtly to try and deflect, as was fast becoming her MO.
‘Who’s Quincy?’ he asked, with a look of utter confusion.
Enya climbed from the tepid bath and slipped into her pyjamas. It wasn’t late but clothes felt like too much effort on this sultry night. Her cotton PJs and light dressing gown were just the ticket.
She stopped halfway down the stairs at the sound of voices floating along the hallway, Aiden’s for sure, and a female voice. Iris, of course. She smiled; it sounded a lot like the choice between cerise and tangerine was back on. She’d leave Angela to calm down a bit and then text her good night with a smiley emoji. That should do the trick.
It was therefore a surprise when she entered the kitchen to see Holly sitting opposite Aiden at the kitchen table – a lovely surprise. Whether it meant they might rekindle what was lost or it was simply the two restoring bonds that would help them co-parent, it could only be a good thing. She breathed deeply, comforted by the familiar, relieved that they were being civil, thankful that it was not another drama-laden scenario, as she needed a rest from it all.
‘Holly’s popped in.’ Her son sat back in the chair and folded his arms.
