This Year's For Me and You, page 9
‘Rishi, can you give me a hand?’ he asks. They disappear into the kitchen, and then a few minutes later he and Rishi come back out with a huge casserole filled with beef and red wine stew, served with roast potatoes and salad.
‘Hopefully the stew will be OK. I wanted to make something fancier …’
Everyone clamours at once that it smells delicious, which it does.
‘Listen, you’re never going to hear me complain about getting stew,’ says Patrick.
‘I had to rush it a bit more than I wanted to,’ Vik says, as he takes a bite. ‘Oh, God. I’m really sorry.’
We all take a bite and exchange glances. ‘It’s … I mean, it’s a little chewy, but that’s … all good. It adds interest,’ I offer.
‘Yes. What you want in a stew,’ says Patrick, ‘is a good … crunch.’
This makes me laugh; we’re all laughing by now, even Vik. He hands out more crusty bread, and we all assure him that this, with the sauce from the stew, and the roast potatoes, is perfect. Melanie also offers around some of her mushroom dish, though we all say we can’t take it off her as she’s the only vegan here.
‘That’s one of the things that Pablo won’t miss about me,’ she remarks. ‘He’s a typical Argentine – loves his steak.’
‘Is that why you guys broke up then?’ Rishi asks. ‘Ow! Sorry,’ he adds, Sibéal having clearly kicked him under the table.
‘No, it’s fine, honestly,’ Mel says, smiling. ‘Don’t worry, Shib … I don’t mind talking about it. He just wasn’t happy here in the UK, but I didn’t want to move either. So it was easier to go our separate ways.’ She looks down at her wine glass. ‘And also … it was devastating, obviously, when Hannah died. And I just felt like I was turning to him for support and he couldn’t give it to me. That was the beginning of the end really.’
Vik says, ‘I’m sorry, Mel.’
‘It’s OK. Honestly, it made me realize life’s too short. Too short to be unhappy.’
Sibéal nods. ‘It really is, isn’t it? That was actually part of why we did this.’ She puts her hand on her stomach. ‘I mean, we thought we were done with two: a boy and a girl, done and done. Rishi was all booked to have the snip and everything.’
‘Babe,’ Rishi murmurs.
‘But then I thought … I’m not done, I want more, I want another person to love. And Rishi felt the same, so we went for it.’ She looks at Vik. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying it, Vik. I just miss her so much.’
He nods. ‘No, I get it. You’re right: life is short. That’s why I wanted to go for it with the house. I needed a purpose. I want to restore it and hopefully turn it into something the local community can use too. I know she would have liked that.’ He looks around the table, smiling, though his eyes are bright with tears. ‘It’s nice to know, actually, the effect she’s had. You were saying something along the same lines, Pat, weren’t you?’
Patrick, who’s been listening intently, looks startled. ‘Me? Well, yeah, I suppose so. I don’t want to …’ He makes a ‘this isn’t about me’ gesture. ‘I know a lot of you were closer to Hannah than I was. But I’ve known her all her life – she was friends with my little sister, and she really was like a little sister to me, or a cousin. So, yeah, it was devastating. And it did make me reassess what I wanted. Hence my career change.’
‘What career change?’ asks Mel.
‘Oh, I’m going to quit my job – and open a garden centre. Back in Dublin. And do some garden contracting on the side.’ He looks self-conscious. ‘It’s going to be a challenge – I’ll have a lot to learn, but, like Mel said, life’s too short.’
I look at him, feeling my assessment of him shift. He doesn’t sound perfect or smug any more; he sounds grief-stricken and confused, just like the rest of us.
Then I realize everyone has turned to look at me. I don’t have anything to add. No life changes, no new baby or new career; compared to the others, I feel as if I’m trapped in amber. ‘Me? I haven’t made any big changes,’ I say, clearing my throat. Then I add, ‘But everything’s changed anyway.’ I blink a tear away, as Sibéal leans over to give me a hug. Vik gets up, looking worried, and says, ‘I don’t want to make you all miserable – let’s take a break. Mel, will you help me bring in the pudding? It’s a vegan chocolate cake. Hopefully more successful than my stew.’
After we’ve eaten our pudding, we all go into the drawing room for more wine. The floodgates have opened and we’re all feeling emotional; I don’t know if I can stand it, but I also just really want to talk about Hannah. And Vik obviously feels the same, suggesting that we each share a memory of her.
We all look at each other, obviously nobody wanting to be the first. The silence goes on a beat too long until Sibéal says, ‘Oh, God, I’ve got so many, but they’re totally inappropriate.’
Everyone laughs, the tension broken, and Vikram says, ‘That sounds perfect. Seriously, have at it.’
Shib says, ‘I do have a nice one. I remember Hannah was the first one on the dance floor at our wedding. Rishi, do you remember that?’
‘Yes! We had finished our first dance, and it was that cringey moment when we were standing there wanting people to join in, and nobody wanted to be first.’
‘Until Hannah got up,’ says Sibéal. ‘I remember she was wearing this long red dress, sort of flamenco-looking? I don’t know where you were, Vik, probably the bar, but she just dragged someone else up, I forget who, and soon we were all dancing.’
We’re all smiling at the memory, which is especially vivid to me, even if the others have forgotten: I was the someone else.
‘That was Hannah,’ says Vik. ‘She was always the first on the dance floor, and the last to leave it. I remember she used to ask me which shoes –’ He stops short and I hold my breath, but then he smiles. ‘She used to ask me which shoes, and I used to say, it doesn’t matter; they’ll be off by eight p.m. anyway.’
We all laugh, but it’s a bit of a knife edge; I can feel the palpable relief from everyone that he was able to say it without breaking down. ‘How about you, Mel?’ he asks.
‘Sure,’ says Mel. ‘One random thing I remember is from when Hannah and I were doing our make-up together – on that trip to Barcelona, do you remember, Celeste? She gave me such a good tip, which was when you’re doing heavy eye make-up, you should do the eyes first and then do your foundation. That way you can mop up any residue from the eyes and it won’t ruin your base. I remember it because Hannah was such an artist in everything she did. She was the same with her drawings – it all looked so effortless but you knew there were dozens of drafts. So now when I do my make-up I always do my eyes first. Sorry, is that really superficial?’ She looks worried. ‘I know there are so many more important things. But I think of her every time I do my make-up.’
‘So do I,’ I say.
I have to take a deep breath to compose myself. I remember that trip too. I was engaged to Eddie at the time, and I remember trying on wedding dresses in a shop there. It wasn’t my hen party – that was just dinner and drinks in London – but it makes me think of that time with sadness. It’s not that I miss Eddie, but I miss that time, when life was so carefree.
‘I’ve got a good one,’ Rishi says suddenly. ‘I remember we had that pub lunch with you and Hannah in Liverpool Street, Vik. And we were talking about that girl from Hannah’s work, who you had met too, Sibéal. And you were asking how she was.’
‘Oh yes, and Hannah got out her phone and texted her right away,’ says Sibéal.
‘Yes,’ Vik says. ‘She said that if ever she thought about getting in touch with someone, she would contact them right away, while she thought about it. She said it was better to send one quick text than to spend six months never getting around to the perfect message.’
‘That’s a good one,’ Mel agrees. ‘That’s how she had so many friends, of course. And it’s like the drawing really. It looked effortless, but she really worked at her friendships; they were so important to her.’
‘How about you, Celeste?’ Vik asks gently. ‘You must have lots.’
I do. I was going to tell them about how Hannah and I walked the Camino de Santiago pilgrim trail together in Spain, and had a terrible day where we had nowhere to buy lunch, and Hannah shared her one packet of M&S salt and pepper cashew nuts with me. My overriding memory is not the hunger or exhaustion but how much we laughed. But Mel’s words about how important Hannah’s friendships were have got me, and I know that if I start speaking I’ll burst into tears, and then it will be all about me, which is not what I want. So I just shake my head.
‘I’ve got one actually,’ says Patrick. ‘I knew Hannah growing up, as I said – we were neighbours. And I remember one summer I decided to have a party while my parents were away …’
He continues his story, which is about Hannah and his sister insisting on joining in, but I can’t concentrate on it. I feel so ashamed that I can’t contribute one simple story, when even Vik has done it. I don’t want to start crying in the middle of Patrick’s memory. So I say quietly to Mel, beside me, ‘Just getting a drink of water – I’ll be back in a sec.’
I walk out of the room, appalled at myself. What is wrong with me? I pause on the stairs at the sound of a voice below.
‘Celeste? You OK?’ It’s Mel.
‘Oh, I’m fine. Be back in a sec – don’t wait for me,’ I manage to say.
Safely in my room, I look at my phone; it’s five minutes to midnight. I should hurry downstairs so that I’m there for the count. But I can’t; I’m frozen to the spot. I stay sitting on my bed, letting the minutes go by until I hear them shouting loudly downstairs: ‘Ten … nine … eight … seven …’ And shortly after: ‘Happy New Year!’ This finally breaks me, and I give into a year’s worth of tears all at once, as silently as I can. Then I wash my face and come downstairs where they’re all getting ready to go outside for fireworks.
The others have presumably noticed my absence, but they don’t make any remark, for which I’m grateful. It’s time for the fireworks and I’m also thankful for the distraction as we all pull on coats, hats and scarves, with quite a bit of clattering around due to the darkness and alcohol. Outside, the cold air and the stars make me feel a bit better momentarily.
‘Has anyone seen Sigmund?’ Vik says. ‘Oh well, he’ll just have to cope. OK. Here we go!’
There’s lots of shrieking, as he lights the first one. Then we turn and watch the rocket fire up in the night sky, exploding and shedding its trail of red, yellow and pink, then followed by more: blue, green, white and purple, circles and starbursts and arcs of colour. The smell of cordite and damp earth sets off memories, of Halloween and New Year’s parties gone by, and of Bonfire Night in Hannah’s shared house in Clapton.
‘I’ll get the champagne. Wait: there’s no more clean glasses!’ says Sibéal. I remember that she’s allowing herself one glass of champagne at midnight, as a treat.
‘I’ll wash some up,’ I say quickly.
I slip inside and head to the dining room, where all the candles are still burning merrily. I blow them out, then bring in a trayful of glasses to wash. Finding my black sweater in a corner, I pull it on, thinking that at least this way I’ll save Mum’s dress from washing-up splashes.
I’m rinsing my first pair when I hear footsteps behind me. ‘Celeste.’
It’s Patrick. He’s carrying some empty glasses and dishes from the dining room, obviously having had the same thought as me.
‘Are you OK?’ he asks.
I’m about to say, ‘I’m fine,’ but it would be such a patent lie that I just shake my head instead. He says, ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been so concerned for Vik; I hadn’t really thought what it must be like for you. I know you were her best friend. And you always had New Year’s together.’
I’m shaking my head, because I don’t want this to be about me; I don’t feel I have any right to be in such a state. I wasn’t a relative or a partner like Vik; I was just a friend. But his tone has pushed me over the edge and the tears are sliding down my face now.
‘Hey,’ he says. He steps closer and puts his arms around me, drawing me towards him. I can feel the rough wool of his coat under my hands, as I breathe in his outdoorsy smell: woodsmoke and wine, and fireworks. His chin is resting on my head. I give in, for a moment, to the comfort of his presence and I find myself holding him tighter – before I realize this is getting a bit too intimate and disengage myself.
Our faces are close together, under the kitchen lamp. He’s looking startled, as if thinking the same as me: what just happened exactly?
‘Um, do you want to come outside?’ he says in an overly bright and friendly tone.
‘I’ll be out shortly!’ I say in the same bright voice. ‘You go ahead. Take these!’ I hand him some glasses and a bottle of champagne.
After hesitating for a minute, he goes back outside, closing the back door quietly behind him. I’m simultaneously relieved to be alone and achingly lonely. I wonder if everyone is drunk enough that I can go to bed without anyone noticing.
Then I hear a voice. ‘Celeste? No wallflowers at this party.’ It’s Vik, closely followed by Sibéal. He comes up to me and holds out his hand. ‘Give me those rubber gloves. And have another drink.’ Sibéal hands me a glass of champagne.
‘Get that down you, and then come back out. We’ve got more explosions coming,’ says Vik.
Sibéal gives me a huge hug, and murmurs in my ear, ‘Out of this darkness will come a great light.’
‘What she said,’ says Vik.
I start laughing despite myself, deeply touched that he’s being so brave – and that they both came for me. It’s a timely reminder that I’m not alone in this; I’ve still got friends. ‘I’ll grab my coat,’ I say, and I follow them both outside.
Later, just before I fall asleep, I find myself thinking back to the aftermath of that first-ever New Year’s party – the morning after. I had crashed out on Hannah’s bed fully clothed, and I had probably only been asleep for a few hours when she shook me awake.
‘Celeste!’ she said. ‘Me and Clodagh have had a brilliant idea. We’re going to take a boat out to Dalkey Island and light a fire there. The first day of the Millennium. Are you in?’
I wasn’t even sure if I was fully compos mentis yet, or if this was part of my dream. But it didn’t matter. Hannah’s excitement was infectious, and I loved the idea of visiting Dalkey Island, which I had glimpsed from the shore so many times.
‘I didn’t even know you could go there,’ I said, as we went downstairs.
Hannah looked at me in surprise. ‘Of course you can! You just need a boat. Clodagh’s got one … She’s gone home to get the key. She’s just across the road – come on.’
But Clodagh, when she came out of her house, was closely followed by her older brother Patrick and another guy, presumably a friend of theirs who had crashed at their house; nobody had been able to get a taxi anywhere, I remembered now.
‘You don’t have to come with us,’ Hannah told Patrick. ‘We can handle the boat.’
Patrick just shook his head with a grin. ‘You can do what you like, but Clodagh’s not drowning herself on my watch. I’d never hear the end of it.’
We walked down to Bulloch Harbour, where Patrick led us to a small motorboat high up on the slip. We had to push it into the water and then jump in, and my feet were predictably soaked. But it didn’t matter. The boat zipped off, and soon we were in another element, bouncing over the waves towards the island, which was lying to the east, its two ruined towers illuminated by the rising sun. We tied the boat up to a long wooden pier and got out; Patrick turned to give me a hand out but I smiled and jumped right past him, feeling too free and independent to need any help at all.
Hannah had already walked up the little beach to greet one of the wild goats that were the island’s only inhabitants. ‘Sorry I don’t have anything for you, kiddo,’ she said. ‘How about here?’ she said, turning to the rest of us.
‘Fine,’ said the guy who wasn’t Patrick, unrolling a bag of firewood. Hannah produced firelighters and matches from her pocket. We all watched the flames take light and I felt a solemn thrill at the idea that this was the first fire of the Millennium to be lit here. Clodagh produced blankets and a thermos flask of coffee and some plastic mugs, and we all drank; I had only just started drinking coffee and had been dubious about it, but now I finally understood why people loved it.
‘Isn’t this the best?’ Hannah said to me later. The others had gone to explore the ruined church up the hill and see if they could see Wales, but she wanted to stay on the beach, watching the city wake up across the water. We huddled together under a blanket, our cheeks as cold as seashells, and watched the sun rise. It was marvellous, filling up the whole eastern horizon and casting a pink and golden wash on the hills and mountains of Dalkey and Killiney, and on Bray Head far off to the south.
‘I love this place so much,’ she said. ‘When I was little, I used to dream of coming here and staying for a few months. I thought I could live off the land or catch fish.’
‘Well, maybe you could,’ I said – not because I thought it was feasible but because I could imagine Hannah doing anything she wanted to.
She laughed. Then she said, ‘Thanks for coming tonight. Last night. It was really, really fun.’ She turned to me. ‘Let’s do it again next year? Not a party but … whatever I’m doing, you can do. If you want?’
‘Same,’ I said. We clinked our plastic together, and I felt a moment of pure joy as I watched the sun rise, on the first day of the new Millennium, with my new friend.
10
January
New Year’s Day. My first without Hannah. I’ve been dreading this for so long I had almost expected some kind of catastrophe or natural disaster to occur, like the ones we anticipated back in 1999. But, just like then, the world hasn’t ended and I’ve lived to see another dawn. It’s a cold grey dawn this time, but I can still see someone moving outside at the edge of the lawn. I wonder for a second if Vikram has a burglar before I recognize Patrick, up even earlier than me.
