I nod again. How could I ever forget?
‘Well, it turned out I was pregnant, Rory. I didn’t know at the time, and when I realised, I… well, I didn’t tell them. My parents. I knew they’d make me get rid of it, and even though you’d dumped me, I couldn’t bear the thought.’
She’s making a huge effort to keep her voice even, to not let those tears fall. Her fingers are clenched up into fists, and she’s not looking at me. I’m glad, because I’m not doing so well on the tears front. She was pregnant, and alone, and believed as I did that she’d been abandoned. That I’d left her.
‘What happened?’ I ask, watching her try to control her emotions. ‘To you – to the baby?’
‘I happened. I wasn’t looking after myself. I was barely eating. I wasn’t washing, or leaving my room, or functioning in any real way at all… I was broken. There were all kinds of things I should have been doing. Getting medical care, taking vitamins, having check-ups. But I was a child myself, and I knew none of that – I just knew that part of you was still with me. That part of you would always be mine. Until it wasn’t.’
I close the gap between us, take her hands in mine. She lets me, and her head lolls against my shoulder. The tears are coming now, and I wonder how long it’s been since she talked about any of this – if she ever really has.
‘It was horrendous, Rory, all of it. I went to hospital, on my own, because I was in pain and bleeding. I didn’t let them tell anyone, and they had to respect that, because I was technically an adult. I was maybe four months along, and I still don’t really know why I lost the baby. Like I said, I wasn’t looking after myself. They told me, in the hospital, that it wasn’t my fault… that sometimes these things just happen, especially in a very young mum, but I never quite believed them. Even when I was older and researched it myself and saw that they were right, I think I still blamed myself.’
‘You were eighteen, and your heart was broken. None of it was your fault.’
Jesus, I am so angry now – at my own mother, at the three dead adults who assumed they were doing the right thing, interfering with our lives. What would have happened if they hadn’t? If we’d run away together to Bonnie Bay?
I have no clue, but really, it couldn’t possibly have turned out as badly as it did. Especially for her – for this incredible woman, who has carried this pain inside her for so very long. No wonder she wasn’t ready to just jump straight in. No wonder sheoverreacted when she saw Catrina and assumed the worst – it was the most sensitive of subjects. The one thing likely to cause her the most suffering. I’ve been angry with her about a note on a pillow, when she’s had to deal with all of this?
‘I’m so sorry, Rory,’ she mumbles, choked with emotion. I draw back, hold her face between my hands. Kiss away her tears.
‘There’s nothing for you to be sorry for, Jane. Nothing.’
‘But I am sorry! It was your baby too. It was your loss, even though you knew nothing about it…’
No, I think. By that stage I was back in Dublin, smoking weed and causing trouble, sabotaging my own life and wallowing in self-pity. All of it was so damn unnecessary. Why couldn’t they have just left us alone? We’d have made mistakes, for sure, but none of them could ever have done this much damage to us both. I wasn’t there to help her through one of the worst experiences of her life – she did it all by herself, and couldn’t even reach out to her parents for support. There was no grief counselling, no confiding, no dealing with it. She was a child who lost everything, and she was all alone.
We cling to each other, there in the sunlight in this familiar place – as ever, in our own bubble. This time, one of grief. We stay like that for maybe a minute, maybe an hour, it is impossible to tell. All I know is that I never want to let her go again – but I also need to respect her decision. To work with her, and to learn to accept it if she says this isn’t for her. If our future together will always be overwhelmed by the past.
She pulls away slightly, grabbing tissues from her always grandly stocked bag. She passes me one, laughs as we dab our eyes. ‘God, look at the state of us… I should have told you. It just all moved so fast, didn’t it? The shock of seeing you again, then finding out what really happened. Beth leaving, us, um, getting close again… falling in love again.’
‘I’m not sure I ever fell out of love with you, Jane. Not really. But yes, it was fast. It was glorious and confusing and wonderful – but now I understand a bit better. How you must have felt, carrying that secret.’
She nods, meets my gaze. ‘I should have told you. I wanted to, but something always held me back. Part of me wondered if you’d resent me for it. Part of me wondered if there was any point, putting you through that pain, when there was nothing you could do about it? I should have known, though, that it couldn’t stay buried. It couldn’t just go away – it was always holding me back. And when I saw Catrina and you, and imagined you having a family with her… well. It was too much, and I ran. I’m sorry for that too. I really am rubbish at communicating. I think I’ve been on my own too long.’
‘You and me both. I’ve been so busy being angry with you, I didn’t stop to think about why you’d reacted like that. Selfish arse, like most men.’
She shakes her head, frowns. ‘No. You’re not like most men, Rory Callaghan, so don’t be down on yourself. I just… I don’t know what I want. Well, I do know what I want. I’m just not sure I’m capable of it.’
‘Do you love me?’ I ask, my heart racing as I wait for her reply. She blushes slightly, looks away.
‘Yes,’ she finally says. ‘Absolutely I do. That’s the one thing I am sure of.’
‘Okay. Well that’s a promising start. I love you too – with absolutely every fibre of my being. But I also know that none of this is simple. That we’ve run before we can walk. That there is a lot for us both to figure out… but if you’re willing to try, then I’m still all in, Jane. Still yours. We can take it as slowly as you like. I will never push for more than you’re willing to give, and I will always be honest with you. Here, Bonnie Bay, wherever – even if we’re apart, we can find a way to be together.’
She trembles a little against me, and I hold my breath waiting for a reply. I should be saying more. I should be expressing myself better.
‘How… how would it work?’ she asks, her voice a whisper, her fingers holding on to mine.
‘I don’t know exactly. But I think it could. How about we start with something simple? I can drive you home.’
She grins, and it is a joyous thing to see that she still can. ‘You drove here? I assumed you were on the train!’
‘Nah. I just suggested the station for dramatic effect.’
She shakes her head. We both know it’s not that straightforward – that being here again, in this place, means something. It’s the place where it ended, and perhaps it could be the place where it begins again.
‘What happens after you drive me home?’
