‘You mean I’m not already a bit mad?’ She raises her head, and an eyebrow.
‘I think we probably all are. Here’s me about to expose my inner thoughts in a national magazine, and there’s Niamh getting full drunk on the way to a wellness retreat and acting very out of character. You’re in good company.’
‘I think I’m in the best company as these things go,’ she says and rests her head back on my shoulder. ‘So… speaking of company. And given our ongoing policy of not allowing elephants to spend any time in any room with us, what’s happening with Conal? But before you answer, please be aware that if your answer involves sex stuff, then you can keep that to yourself. I’m very happy for you but I don’t want to think of my brother in that way.’
I laugh, of course, then tilt my head and rest it on hers. ‘I’m not sure there’s much to tell. Things were going well. Really well. We’d been out a few times. Chatted a lot. Kissed a bit.’
‘No sex talk!’ Laura laughs.
‘There is no sex to talk about! I’d have let you and Niamh know in unspecific ways if there had been. I mean it’s been a long time. If and when it ever happens again it will be an event of note.’
‘A great day for the parish!’ Laura teases.
‘Indeed! But we’re not there and I don’t know that we will be. When the boys came back for Christmas that obviously made things a little awkward and, being honest, I didn’t want to rush it. I want to feel comfortable and confident. But then, of course, the big baby bombshell?—’
‘—thesituation,’ Laura reminds me.
‘Yes, the big baby bombshell situation arose and he’s been giving me a bit of space to focus on supporting Adam. Then we were supposed to take the dogs for a walk, but he got caught up in work. So we rearranged, but then my mum needed help with her shopping and apart from occasional WhatsApp chats where we promise to meet up again, we’ve become a bit like ships that pass in the night.’ A wave of sadness washes over me. Unlike the Unexpected Waves of Sadness that have been so characteristic of my menopause, this one is real, and justified. I don’t want to be just a ship that sails past Conal O’Hagan. When I was with him – when we could devote time to each other – I remembered the person I used to be. Only he made me feel like a new, improved version of my old self. And my God, I loved it when he took my hand in his. There’s just something about the size and strength of a good man’s hands that makes me weak at the knees, you know? He made me feel cared for. Cherished. And I know we’re supposed to be strong, independent women who do not need a man and Ido not needa man but I’d like one. This one. I liked the way he teased me, but never with malice. He made me take life less seriously. I liked the way he listened and asked questions and didn’t just turn every conversation back to him. I like how he cares for his family. And his dog.
I liked how he kissed me. I’d forgotten the power that existed in a good kiss. How he brushed my hair behind my ears and cradled my face in those big manly man hands, tilting my head upwards so that I was looking at him as he looked down at me. The soft brush of his lips, the delicious scratch of his stubble, the warmth of his mouth. I close my eyes for just a second and enjoy the tingle of pleasure that always comes with remembering how he kisses.
‘Well, you just have to make sure you don’t pass in the night,’ Laura says, hauling my dirty mind right back to the here and now. ‘The thing is, I know my brother and he’s a good man, Becca. He really is. I say that with sincerity. But he, like most men, I suppose, can be thick as champ sometimes.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, he’s not very good at reading signals. If you want to progress with him then you need to be more than a ship that sails past in the night. You need to be there, all lit up like Christmas.’
I can’t help but laugh.
‘No! Actually. Wait. You need to be a bloody iceberg!’
‘You know icebergs aren’t traditionally very good for ships, don’t you? You’ve seenTitanic?’
She laughs and sits up to look me square in the face. ‘I have and here’s the thing, in that particular incident, it didn’t end well for the ship. But no one ever forgot the iceberg.’
I think there’s a point in there somewhere that might just make sense.
Niamh is asleep by the time we get back to the yurt. She’s curled on the left side of the bed and bundled up in the blankets like a burrito. She has, very kindly, already folded down the sofa bed and made it up so that all Laura has to do is change into her pyjamas and climb under the covers.
We move about the yurt in the dim light, doing our very best to make as little noise as possible – although part of me wants to accidentally-on-purpose give Niamh a little nudge and wake her up just to ask if she’s okay.
Thankfully, I have wit enough about me to know that if I wake her from her sleep now she is very unlikely to feel okay, and in turn she’s very likely to ensure I don’t either. So I let her sleep as I go to brush my teeth and wash what little make-up I was wearing off my face. This is the first time I wish I hadn’t handed my phone over to Peggy. I’d love to be able to send Conal a message. Then again, I’m tired and emotionally wrung out from all our chatting and worrying about Niamh and trying to think about icebergs. Any message I send would probably not do my cause any good.
I take a deep breath. Morning will come soon enough and I have, in a moment of utter madness, agreed that the three of us will do a sunrise dip. I’m already regretting it, and low-key worried this could be what finally pushes Niamh over the edge. But at the same time, we kinda knew what we were signing up for and I do want this article to absolutely knock the socks clean off Grace and let her know she made the right call when she took me on.
Sixteen-year-old us would also totally think we’re badasses for doing it. How cold can it really be anyway?
23
THE CASE OF THE FROZEN VAGINA
Sweet baby Jebus and all the saints and angels in heaven.
It’s cold. So very, very cold. It was bad enough when the water hit my ankles, and I have had to remind myself to both inhale and exhale with every forward step, but I am now at the point of no return. With the next step this icy-cold Atlantic water will reach my ‘area’.
I’m aware that men experience a certain degree of shrinkage in extreme temperatures as their body tries to protect more sensitive areas.
I don’t think we women have anything like that to protect our sensitive areas, but I swear my entire vulval region is doing its best to stay as far away from the cold water as possible.
