Quiet Types, page 30
How exactly had Shay managed to turn him around?
“Merry Christmas, Maggie,” he greeted warmly.
“Merry Christmas, Eugene,” I replied.
Eugene sat in the back seat, carefully holding a casserole dish covered with foil on his lap. I glanced at it curiously.
“My roast potatoes,” he explained. “I make them every year. The secret is to put a spoonful of baking soda in the water when you’re par boiling the potatoes. It makes them extra crispy.”
“Oh, I’ll have to try that,” I replied.
When we reached Ross and Dawn’s house, their son, Ryan, was outside cycling up and down the street on a brand-new mountain bike. He wore a bright blue helmet, and Ross stood by the door, tired bags under his eyes and a cup of coffee in hand as he watched his son.
“Those kids had you up at the crack of dawn to open their presents, eh?” Eugene said when we emerged from the car.
“4 a.m.,” Ross replied with a slightly haunted expression. I bit my lip to hide my amusement.
Eugene clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s a worthy sacrifice.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Ross grimaced, and Eugene barked a chuckle. “Hello, Maggie. Good to see you again. Shay,” Ross continued.
“Hi, Ross,” I said while Shay signed a hello before his fingers slid through mine, his palm warm as Ross motioned us into the house. I glanced in the living room as we passed by. It looked like a tornado of gift wrapping and cardboard boxes had hit it. The little girl, Shauna, sat on the floor in her pyjamas, happily engrossed in her new toys.
Dawn was in the kitchen preparing the dinner. She looked decidedly put together, given her children had her up at four and she had to cook a meal for seven people. The only sign of stress was a thin sheen of sweat on her brow, which she quickly wiped away before pulling me into a hug.
“Maggie, I’m so glad you could make it. We’ve missed you at Sunday dinner these last few weeks.”
“Thank you for having me,” I said, noticing her keen attention going to Shay where he stood on the other side of the room with his dad and brother.
Dawn’s voice lowered. “I heard about what happened with Nigel. I take it that whatever trouble was between you and Shay has been sorted.”
“Yes, all sorted now,” I said, and she looked pleased.
“Good, because Shay’s an amazing man. As you probably know, we’re all very protective of him, but I think he’s finally found someone who truly deserves him.”
She gave my shoulder a squeeze, and a tendril of emotion rose forth. I barely knew Dawn, so for her to believe I was worthy of Shay meant a lot. There was no doubting he was worthy of me. He was the best person I’d ever known.
Eugene joined Dawn in the kitchen with his casserole dish, and they both proceeded to fawn over how golden and crispy the roast potatoes had turned out that year. I went to sit by Shay, who wrapped his arm around my waist just as the front door opened and slammed shut.
Heavy footfalls sounded towards the kitchen before Rhys appeared. He looked even more haggard than Ross, his normally put together appearance dishevelled. His clothes were rumpled like they were the same ones he’d worn the day before.
“Rhys, I thought you and Stephanie were having dinner with the Balfes,” Eugene said, clearly surprised by his nephew’s appearance.
“Change of plans,” Rhys grunted as he went straight to Ross and Dawn’s drinks cabinet. He searched through the selection before seizing a bottle of expensive-looking whiskey. Twisting off the cap, he brought it to his lips and took a long swig. It appeared to have already been opened, but still.
“Care to explain why you’re guzzling down the whiskey I was saving for New Years?” Ross asked in concern. It was a question every person in the room wanted to know the answer to.
Rhys raked a hand through his dark hair. “Stephanie and I called off the engagement last night, and before you start asking questions, I don’t want to talk about it. I probably won’t want to talk about it for a while, and right now, that’s all I have to say on the matter.” A pause. “And whatever I drink, I’ll replace.”
We all stared at him silently. No one expected him to reveal such shocking news, and certainly not Shay, it seemed, whose expression displayed his surprise. I wondered if he was a little bit relieved, too, given he’d never been Stephanie’s biggest fan.
“So, we’re not even allowed to ask why?” Dawn ventured carefully, her eyebrows rising.
Rhys shook his head. “No.”
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” she went on. “We’ll certainly respect your wishes not to talk about it.”
She sent him a soft, compassionate look I suspected made Rhys uncomfortable, given the way he bristled. Eugene stepped forward, giving his shoulder a firm pat. “But we’re here if you ever do want to talk about it.”
Rhys grunted and took another swig of whiskey before sitting down at the table. Slowly, as his family began to talk of other, more mundane topics, the tension in him seemed to subside, and dinner was an easy-going affair. Still, I felt awful for him. I couldn’t imagine how painful it was to call off an engagement on Christmas.
Later, after Eugene dished up large bowls of trifle for everyone, I sat in the living room watching the kids so Dawn and Ross could go upstairs for a nap. Shay and Eugene were taking care of the cleanup in the kitchen, and Rhys sat in an armchair, broodily flicking through television channels. I left him to his quiet channel surfing, sensing he was in no mood to talk.
Shay appeared in the doorway then, his gaze soft when he saw me sitting on the floor and taking part in a very detailed game of Barbies with Shauna. She was an adorable kid, and I didn’t mind at all. Actually, I was very invested in the storyline she’d come up with. It was a love triangle with Barbie at the centre. Her affections were torn between clean-cut Ken and the bad boy wrestler action figure I presumed she’d stolen from her brother’s toy collection.
Shay glanced at Rhys, signing something that looked like.
You good?
Fine, Rhys signed back gruffly.
I interpreted Shay’s next question as, Sure you don’t want to talk about it?
Rhys’ only response was a glower, and Shay held his hands up.
Fair enough.
Leaving Rhys to his brooding, Shay joined me on the floor, and we sat with the kids until Ross and Dawn woke from their nap looking much more rested. Shay decided to leave the car with his dad so he could walk with me back to my flat. I loved how quiet it was, barely a soul outside as we strolled hand in hand through the empty streets. Christmas day was the only time of year the city was this quiet. It felt peaceful. Silence was a comfortable state of being for me and Shay. We could sink into the noiseless pleasure of each other’s nearness, no need to utter a single word.
I was almost regretful to break the quiet, when a little bit into the walk, I asked, “So, what did you say to your dad?”
Shay shot me a questioning look.
“Well,” I continued. “You obviously said something to him. He was nothing but smiles and kindness with me all day.”
Shay’s phone emerged from his pocket. “He’s always been nothing but smiles and kindness with you,” he typed.
“Right, but the last time I saw him, he was telling you to be careful and take things slow with me. Advice you obviously didn’t heed, so what changed?”
He didn’t respond right away, then finally he began to type. “I told him I was in love with you, and you were in love with me. He was also there to witness me slaving over your painting all week. It was like I was possessed, determined to finish it. Dad said you were obviously very special to me because he’d never seen me so engrossed in a painting before.” Shay paused, tilting his head down at me, his voice quiet and sincere. “I told him you were the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”
My breath caught as I stopped walking, pushing down the swell of emotion that filled my chest. “Do you really mean that?” There was a catch in my voice.
Shay slid his phone back in his pocket as he stepped close and signed, Yes, I really mean it.
Air got trapped in my lungs and I had no words when he palmed my cheek and pressed a hard, meaningful kiss to my lips. When he withdrew, I finally found the words I wanted to say.
“I want to spend the rest of my life with you, too.”
***
To my dismay, Shay had to go back to work on the twenty-seventh. It was probably for the best though. I was in serious need of groceries, and my flat could do with a spring clean. I spent the first half of the day running errands and doing chores. At lunch time, the buzzer for my flat sounded, and I wondered who it could be.
I peered out the window and saw Mr Cole.
What on earth is he doing here?
We agreed to keep in touch, but I hadn’t expected to see him again so soon. Pressing the button to let him in, I then went to open my door.
“Well, isn’t this a cosy little spot,” he declared when I welcomed him inside. “You know, Jim and I lived in a place like this when we first got together. I’ve just been hit with a wave of nostalgia.”
“I’m sure your house is far more comfortable than a flat this small,” I said, still curious as to why he was there. “It’s good to see you. Were you in the neighbourhood?”
“No, actually,” he said, patting his coat pocket. “I came to—” His words fell off when he turned and saw Shay’s painting. He stood there, staring at it for almost a full minute. I didn’t know if his silence was a good thing or a bad thing.
“Maggie,” he breathed finally. “Is this you?”
I scratched self-consciously at my wrist. “Uh, yes. Do you like it?”
“It’s stunning. But I thought you didn’t like to be painted or have your picture taken. Wait, is it a self-portrait? Please don’t tell me I’ve had an artist far greater than myself cleaning my house all these years?”
Mr Cole thought Shay’s art was better than his own? I mean, they were both incredibly talented, and yes, I did prefer Shay’s work, but I thought that was simply because I was in love with him. My love painted everything he did with a rosy glow.
“No, no,” I responded quickly. “This is my boyfriend’s work.”
“Ah, yes, I can see it now. Definitely drawn from a lover’s gaze.” My self-consciousness returned because the picture was rather intimate, my naked back on full view.
“Can I ask your boyfriend’s name? I’d love to see more of his work.”
“His name is Shay Riordan, but he doesn’t really share his art. It’s a private creative outlet for him.”
Mr Cole nodded. “Understood. Well, please let him know I’m interested if he ever does decide to share his work. You have my contact details. Tell him to give me a call. Oh, and before I forget the reason I came in the first place.” His hand went into his pocket, removing a small white envelope. I peered at it when he handed it to me.
“I didn’t get a chance to give you this,” he said. I opened it and found about five hundred euros in clean, crisp notes. “Just a little token of mine and Jim’s appreciation for your loyalty over the years.”
“I can’t accept this.”
He waved me away. “Of course, you can. Buy yourself a few outfits for that swanky new office job of yours. Now, might I trouble you for a cup of tea?”
I smiled at him. “Thank you. Now that you mention it, I could do with a new wardrobe.”
“See. It’s all working out. Now, go put that kettle on before I die of thirst.”
I grinned and did as he requested.
Later that evening when Shay showed up after work, I fretted over whether to tell him about Mr Cole’s visit. His art was a sensitive subject, especially because the reason he stopped doing it for so many years was all tied up in his mother’s passing.
I cooked some spaghetti for dinner and only drummed up the nerve to mention Mr Cole after we’d finished eating.
“I had an unexpected visitor today,” I said, drawing Shay’s attention. I proceeded to detail the visit and Mr Cole’s reaction to his art.
Shay was silent for a moment before his attention went to the painting. He stared at it for so long I thought maybe I’d upset him, but then he typed, “I forgot how this felt, but you reminded me.”
“Forgot how what felt?”
“To have my work appreciated, to see it affect others in a positive way. When I was a kid and my parents would take me to an art gallery, I’d see people looking at the images with awe in their eyes. The art let them experience a moment of something higher, almost spiritual. That was when I decided I wanted to be an artist. I wanted to create things that made people feel that same awe, but I lost it somewhere along the way. You’ve given that back to me, Maggie.”
“Well, I’m glad you think that, but anyone would be able to appreciate the brilliance of your work, Shay. I’m not special.”
“I disagree.”
I smiled at that and began collecting the plates to bring to the sink. “Does this mean you’ll consider calling Mr Cole?”
“Maybe,” he typed, stopping me when he caught my wrist and pulled me onto his lap.
I squealed. “What are you doing?”
Showing you how special you are, he signed before his lips captured mine, and I forgot all about the dirty dishes, allowing him to do just that.
Epilogue.
Shay
Six months later
You’d think the fact that several more of my paintings had just sold that morning would lessen my nerves, but no, I was a ball of pent-up stress. It all had to do with the ring burning a hole in my pocket for the last month.
I planned to propose to Maggie, but there was never a right time.
I’d taken the plunge and called Alan Cole. He talked me into showing him my portfolio, and then he talked me into featuring several of my paintings at an exhibition his gallery was putting on. It surprised me when most of them sold on opening night for a decent sum. Not the kind of money I could retire on or anything, but certainly enough to make life more comfortable. Enough for a small wedding … if I ever drummed up the nerve to ask Maggie to marry me.
Our new living arrangement had made our lives hectic the last few weeks. When her neighbour, Bob, found out we were searching for a place for the two of us to move in together because Maggie’s flat was far too small, he offered a solution. He lived in the two-bedroom house next door all by himself and didn’t need that much space. So, he suggested we do a swap. Maggie and I rent his house from him, while he rents Maggie’s smaller flat. After a few days of mulling it over, we finally agreed to the deal.
Dad took a while to get his head around the whole thing. I’d lived with him my entire life, and it was a big change not having me there anymore. But I promised him we’d be over every Sunday for dinner, plus Thursday night takeaways, and he came over to ours on Mondays to watch TV. I thought it was a good arrangement, and Maggie seemed happy with it, too.
It was impossible not to notice the change in her. She’d gone from being alone most of the time to now always having someone around. I thought it might take some getting used to, but she seemed to thrive on the company. Being with me meant spending lots of time with my family, but Maggie relished the new routine. It was just another of the many reasons why I loved her.
And for me, being with Maggie meant having her younger siblings in my life. Every few weeks, we took them out for the day, somewhere fun, and that time, we’d chosen to take the train to Bray and go to the beach. I’d become attached to them and was weirdly emotional when the eldest, Vivi, expressed an interest in learning sign language. That prompted the other three to want to learn, too, so I found myself teaching them bits and pieces whenever we had time. They still had a long way to go and would probably need to attend proper classes at some point, but for now, we at least had a basic means of communicating.
It was the middle of summer, and the weather was good, so the beach was crowded. The kids had just run out for a swim while Maggie and I lay on towels soaking in the rays. I had an idea to suggest we hike up Bray Head, and when we reached a spot with a sufficiently romantic view, I’d get down on one knee and pull out the ring.
I wanted to marry her with every fibre of my being, but I had no idea if the feeling was mutual. We’d never spoken of marriage, and it was one of the few things I didn’t know Maggie’s opinions on.
She wore sunglasses as she leaned on her elbows, keeping an eye on the children as they splashed around in the water.
“They’re so carefree,” she said quietly. “It makes me happy to see them like that, to know it’s possible.”
You gave that to them, I signed, and it was the truth. Sure, their foster parents kept a roof over their heads, but Maggie was the one who remembered birthdays and school trips. She bought them new shoes when the ones they had were worn out and paid for school supplies. She was the one who listened if they were upset or had a problem and offered help or solutions. To be honest, I was amazed by her. They were only her half-siblings, but she seemed to have an endless well of energy and love when it came to looking out for the children.
“Oh, I don’t know about that. Ken and Delia—”
Are fine, but they don’t love those kids like you do.
Maggie turned her head to me as she removed her sunglasses. I no longer had need of the text to speech app on my phone. Her sign language had come on in leaps and bounds. Our conversations were pretty much effortless nowadays, and I adored watching her sign. Everyone had their own style, but Maggie’s slim, elegant hands made something functional into an art form.
“I do really love them,” she said, her voice catching a little.
I know you do, baby, I signed before leaning in and capturing her lips with mine. I kissed her slowly, blood pumping as she gave a little sigh, her tongue sliding into my mouth. I wasn’t sure what came over me when I suddenly broke the kiss and pulled her up to stand.
“Shay, what’s going on?” she asked as I lowered to one knee, and her hands went to her mouth with a gasp.
