‘Because they’re emotionally draining.’ Toni plonked herself down into a chair.
Daphne blinked in confusion. ‘Peopleare emotionally draining.’
‘He would probably agree with you on that.’
‘Hmph,’ was Daphne’s only response at first. ‘I didn’t get the impression that he didn’t like Cilli. He even carried him back to the shop for a plaster when he hurt his knee at the rock pool.’
‘He what? Did it bleed?’
‘Yes, a little,’ Daphne asked, her tone mystified now.
‘And Gabri still carried him? And let him follow him around this afternoon at the hotel?’ If Toni was barely keeping her own trauma below the surface in the face of the sentimentality of the wedding, how had Gabri managed to swallow his and spend time with Cillian?
‘What is all this about, Tone? I want to give you your privacy, but?—’
Toni snorted, cutting her off. ‘You also gave me condoms – and maybe ideas – and that’s what I get for listening to my mother.’
‘It sounds like you had the ideas all by yourself. I just don’t know why you thought the elaborate ruse with your “girlfriend” Gabri was necessary. Did you think I would judge you?’
‘I—’ Toni began in her defence, but the truth was too embarrassing to admit, even to the woman who had watched all of Toni’s legendary performances as Sporty Spice when she’d been Cillian’s age. ‘It wasn’t a ruse. I thought hewasa woman!’ she eventually blurted out.
At least that silenced Daphne for a few moments, her mouth dropping open like a blossoming flower in a time-lapse video.
‘But the fact that I have to explain myself just shows what an awful idea it was to sleep with him,’ Toni continued emphatically. ‘I deluded myself into thinking he was a woman for a year, but the bigger delusion was thinking I could have that week without emotional consequences. My whole damn life is an emotional consequence!’
As usual, there was nothing Daphne could say to that. Toni, the widow, the conversation killer. If there was a twinge of guilt that perhaps she’d used her situation to end the conversation on purpose, she felt sorry enough for herself to allow it.
When Daphne finally spoke, all she said was, ‘Well, I’m glad I gave you those condoms.’
The boy was quiet today – the kind of quiet that drilled holes in a person.
He’d seen them coming from the beach that morning, Cillian’s bucket full of treasures and his stringy hair wet. When Daphne had tried to direct him away and limit the interaction to a stiff greeting, the imaginary foot that had been pressing on his chest since yesterday evening had dug in again.
Toni didn’t want flowers. That’s what she’d said. Whether she’d meant the heat-of-the-moment statement for him, spoken when she was obviously upset, he couldn’t be certain, but he needed to pull back from all of this – from her and her family. He needed some of the boundaries she was able to erect so solidly around her own heart.
But the boy…
Instead of boundaries, he had insisted he didn’t mind Cillian’s company and he got himself an assistant as he began work on the arch in the function room at the hotel. A very quiet assistant, who obviously had a head full of racing thoughts and no intention of voicing them, which strung Gabri even tighter.
‘I’ve got most of the flowers back in my cool room, but the foliage will keep until tomorrow,’ he said, mostly to fill the silence. Cillian was more interested in the wooden construction at the base of the arch that Gabri would need to cover. ‘This is eucalyptus. It has a strong smell.’
Gabri held it out and Cillian sniffed it, but wrinkled his nose.
‘Why is this covered in sponges?’ Cillian asked – a relief to Gabri’s jangled nerves after all the silence.
‘Flowers wilt very quickly when they’re out of water,’ he explained. ‘Many florists use a special foam that soaks up water and can hold the flowers in place. It works well, but then you have to throw away the foam and it’s full of microplastics. Do you know what microplastics are?’
The boy shook his head.
‘Ehm, they’re not good for the environment – or people. Anyway, the sponges don’t hold as much, so I’ll have to give water several times tomorrow, but these will compost.’
‘Are microplastics bad for baby turtles?’
‘Perhaps not as bad as larger pieces of plastic waste in the ocean,’ Gabri answered as he slipped the next eucalyptus twig into the wire encasing the base of the arbour. ‘Turtles sometimes get caught in floating trash and they can’t get free.’
That was the wrong thing to say. Cillian’s eyes were huge with alarm as he turned them on Gabri. He had no idea how Toni dealt with this every day.
‘Many of the turtles survive,’ he insisted, backtracking far too late.
