Again, Rachel, page 48
‘Like what? Go on, Rachel, tell me.’
This was what we used to do when we’d shared an apartment – construct beautiful futures for each other.
‘… Okay,’ I said. ‘I’d go to London, where I’d befriend some posh old lady, living in a grace-and-favour apartment, whatever they are. She has a giant stash of fabulous vintage handbags – Chanel, Hermès, Goyard, more Chanel …’
‘And she gives them to you?’ Brigit gasped.
‘Ah now. This is a fantasy but nothing is that easy.’
‘I have it! She’s down on her luck, I don’t know, a dispute with her son, or something. You propose that she sells some of the bags –’
‘– but she’d be mortified by going along to the local designer exchange, so I’d set her up online, running the whole show, loading the images to the site, setting up her PayPal account, dealing with all the admin –’
‘Colm could help, if you had any IT issues –’
‘That’s handy, thanks. So the old lady –’
‘What’s her name? Some posh thing. Persephone?’
‘Perfect. So Persephone would be impressed. But she doesn’t want to pay me –’
‘She’s stingy? Posh people are often stingy.’
‘Well, no, she’s skint. Because of the dispute with the son. But she gives me one free handbag in exchange for every ten I sell.’
‘Ah, not ten, Rachel! Every eight.’
‘Let’s make it seven. Six, then. And I’d always take a Chanel.’
‘I cannot believe there was a time when labels mattered to me …’
‘You’re an evolved being, Bridge –’
‘– but I’m still happy for you.’
‘Anyway, at some stage, Persephone will die and I don’t want to be sad …’
‘Maybe she wasn’t very nice? She hated the Irish? Only let you into her apartment because she thought you were Scottish?’
That made me laugh a lot. ‘Then I’d discover she’d left me all the unsold bags in her will. I’d feel a little guilty. Although I did go to her funeral –’
‘– the only person other than her chiropodist –’
‘But I’d own fifty Chanel bags and how could I be anything other than gloriously happy. Bridge, I will be fine!’
Back at the house, after a short savage downpour, the sun came out again, the whole world appearing squeaky clean.
‘Now would be a good time to ring Luke,’ Brigit said. ‘Before the next shower.’
It was eleven in the morning in Denver but Luke answered, seeming smiley and delighted. ‘Hey.’
‘I thought you might be out horse-riding,’ I said.
‘Nope. Sitting here all morning waiting for your call.’
I laughed. ‘Here’s Bridge for you.’ I passed her my iPad.
‘Luke.’ Her voice was weepy. ‘I’m so sorry about your mum. I sent a card to your brother’s address … you got it?’ Tears were flowing freely down her face. ‘Oh, I’m fine,’ she said, and now she was laughing. ‘Just an attack of nostalgia. It’s so nice to see you. You’ll always be my favourite seventies throwback.’
‘Setback,’ Luke replied.
‘Paperback.’
‘Hunchback.’
Brigit barked with laughter and replied, ‘Horseback.’
‘Niiiiiiiiice,’ Luke said.
‘You should come visit. Some weekend when Rachel’s here. We’ll have a reunion. We’re middle-aged now, that’s what middle-aged people do. Reunions. Will you come? Seriously?’
‘Brigit!’ I stood up, and took the iPad from her.
‘Sorry about that,’ I told Luke. ‘Don’t mind her.’
‘So I’m not invited?’
God, at times all of this ‘light-hearted’ banter was so draining. At times it actually made me sad. ‘Take it up with her. So? Would you like a tour of the changes here?’
‘Yeah. Great.’
Crossing the uneven, bumpy land to the converted cowhouse, I showed him around, then took him along the boundary line.
‘What about our lake?’ He asked. ‘Do you have time to go there?’
Abruptly, Kallie’s hints about her life-changing good news popped into my head and punctured any remaining positivity.
I didn’t want to reminisce about the magical lake because, although it was where he’d asked me to marry him, in the end we’d got divorced.
Unable to fake light-heartedness, I said, ‘It was only our lake briefly.’
‘Okay.’ Luke also seemed dispirited. ‘Talk soon.’
87
My mood stayed low. Almost as soon as I got back from Brigit’s another photo of Luke popped up on Kallie’s Insta. Elbows resting behind him, on the top bar of a high gate, he was in jeans, a plaid shirt and sunglasses. Next to him were two giant horses and the caption was, ‘Always my happiest, hanging out with these sexy animals.’
It wasn’t a posed shot, Luke was looking away. But still.
‘It’s ambiguous,’ Claire said. ‘She might have taken a sneaky shot of him, like the mad bunny-boiler yoke she is –’
‘Claire, she honestly isn’t –’
‘Look. Why don’t you just grow up and ask him if they’re still together.’
Because if he was, I didn’t think I could bear it.
‘At least she hasn’t done any more of that “Good news coming soon, send me your thoughts and prayers” bullshit,’ Claire said.
But the very next day, up Kallie pops on her stories, all glee and sparkle. ‘Hi, guys! Oh boy! I need all of your positive energy. I’m super sorry I can’t tell you guys yet! Just trust me that fin-al-ly there’s a lot of good stuff maaaaybe happening. A lot, a lot. It’s super-hard to not tell you but I gotta do this the right way.’
After watching it another nine or ten times, I was no better informed. Would she be putting this up on her stories if she was talking about moving in with Luke, knowing that Luke might see it?
Maybe Luke wouldn’t see it, though? He wasn’t on Instagram.
Oh my God, I was so tired from all the uncertainty. Maybe Claire was right and I should just talk to him.
But I did nothing about it. It was far nicer to exist in an imaginary place where all things were still possible.
About a week later, on a warm June night, Luke texted. Sorry if this is a bad time. Can you take a quick call? FaceTime? X
Barely able to hit the keys, I replied, FaceTime me right now x
Moments later, my iPad starting bing-bonging. ‘Luke?’
‘Wanted to run something by you. In a few weeks’ time, I’m coming to Dublin. Just for two days, I’ve a couple of meetings. I’d love to stay longer but I need to get back. Would you have time – Could we … see each other?’
I took a breath, caught up in several conflicting thoughts. On the surface, this was a tangible opportunity to demonstrate our transition to friends, to discover that that one night together had been genuinely healing.
But while we remained separated by seven thousand kilometres, Luke and I were suspended in a fact-free bubble where I could fantasize about us being together again and nothing could contradict me.
When we met in person, the either/or would have to stop.
‘What dates?’ I asked.
‘Monday the ninth of July, I have to fly back the eleventh.’
‘Oh.’ There was a sudden sinking feeling, which was also a relief. ‘I’ll be in Transylvania.’
‘Transyl-what?’ he said. ‘The Dracula place?’
In my head, I heard Quin’s voice. Rach, this fucking hayseed! This is the guy you think you want?
‘There aren’t actual vampires, Luke. It sounds more exciting than it is, but I can’t get out of it. Long story, Quin and I booked months ago, with our friends Taryn –’
‘Hey. It’s okay. Calm down. I’ll get you next time I’m in town.’ Then, ‘Vampires, eh? The best I could give you was the redneck Riviera.’
‘But it was beauti–’
‘Stop.’ He was gentle. ‘I was kidding. We’ll talk on her anniversary.’
88
‘The bootees she wore in the hospital.’ I held up the minuscule socks to the camera. ‘A lock of her hair.’ Taking care, I produced items from Yara’s memory box, all of them so fragile and precious. A sheaf of photographic paper turned up. ‘Every one of her scans. And remember this?’ The rabbit mobile for above her crib. ‘And these? The satin ballerina slippers you bought her, remember?’
‘Oh, God, yeah.’ His voice was choked.
‘Luke, you could have taken some of these when you left.’
He shook his head. ‘I already felt too guilty. I had my share of her ashes, it was enough.’
‘Have you done something with them?’
‘Not yet. I’m still waiting for the right place.’
‘I don’t know if you remember but the nurses took impressions of her feet. A few years ago, I got a jeweller to reproduce them. Look.’ I displayed two tiny silver versions of Yara’s beautiful little feet, sweet and weighty in the centre of my hand.
‘Oh God.’ Luke looked teary.
‘I’ll get a pair made for you! And copies of the scans. I’ll post them as soon as they’re done. It might be a while, though. The jeweller took around two months to make these.’
‘Thanks –’
‘No, Luke, thank you. It’s … I appreciate having someone to share this day with.’
‘What have you done other years?’
‘Worked in the garden. Got out the memory box. Cried.’ I half laughed. ‘You know yourself. You?’
‘Saddled up Shadow, went to the mountains. Being out there, in the vast emptiness, I guess it puts things more in perspective.’ Then, ‘What sort of person do you think she’d have been?’
‘Like you, I’d have hoped. You’re so good at being content – well, you were. Maybe you’re different now?’
A long silence followed. ‘God, I don’t know how to answer that.’
‘You don’t seem dissatisfied? Narky? Always looking for better?’
‘… I’m not always looking for better. If I have something good, I’m grateful.’
‘There you are, then. You know, Luke, I didn’t want her to be like me. I was worried that she’d be an addict.’
‘But if she was, she was. People have to go their own path.’
‘I didn’t want her to go through the pain of it. And I didn’t want to cause you any more worry, you’d already been through enough with me.’
‘Hey.’ His voice was gentle. ‘It wasn’t that bad.’
‘Oh, don’t. I caused you so much misery that you ran away to Denver.’
‘You couldn’t help it.’ Luke seemed distressed. ‘I was thinking … Maybe next year you and I could meet in New York? In Brooklyn?’
It felt as if a hundred daggers had been plunged deep into my lungs. ‘Luke, I absolutely couldn’t …’ It hurt to take a breath. ‘Honestly, that’s the saddest thing I can think of. Being back there with you, where we’d once been so happy …’
‘Sorry.’ He was alarmed. ‘I thought it might help.’
‘I’m okay. Really. But those years, before it all went wrong … It sort of horrifies me that I didn’t know it, at the time, how ridiculously happy I was. On my deathbed, I’m sure it will stand out as the best part of my life.’
‘Same,’ he said. ‘We had no clue how blessed we were.’
Tentatively, I asked, ‘What was it that made it so … special?’
After a thoughtful pause, he took a breath. ‘Not the obvious stuff. I fancied you, Rachel, I always fancied you, you know that, but it wasn’t about fireworks. It was the opposite. What you gave me was … I guess the word is relief. Remember as a kid if you lost your dad in a crowd, just for a moment. You start freaking out – then you’d spot him. Remember that, like, whoosh of relief?’
There was a lump in my throat.
‘Other people like drama – look at Joey. Actually, don’t. Dude’s a train-wreck. But you calmed me.’
‘I did? That’s very …’ It was difficult to speak. ‘But now that you’ve said it … Whenever I saw you, before my brain even registered it, my soul was going, “Everything’s okay because Luke’s here.” You’re quite … moral. More, I guess … inflexible than some? I always knew where I was with you. I loved it.’
Luke had been an uncomplicated man and with him, I’d walked towards safety again and again.
‘Weren’t we lucky?’ he said.
‘So lucky.’
‘Don’t cry that it’s over –’
‘– smile because it happened.’ My voice faltered.
‘About “that night”.’ He hesitated over the words. ‘You were right about it being healing. I’d come a long way anyway, but I feel more, I guess, peaceful now.’
‘Me too. Losing Yara, it’s always there, like a … a spiky ball of torn metal, in my flesh. It’s part of every decision I make and every relationship I have. But recently it’s got … smoother? Smaller? I’ll always love her, but her loss is starting to fold into my story.’
‘We’ve a lot to be thankful for.’
That was the right way to look at things.
‘Enjoy Transylvania,’ he said.
89
I did enjoy Transylvania.
Sort of.
Taryn and Timothy were gas company, the hills and lakes were stunning, the people and food were delightful but I experienced two parallel versions of everything. One was the reality, but in the other I was accompanied by an invisible hologram of Quin, who offered opinions, thoughts, contradictions and directions.
Every step I took, every bite of food I ate, he was with me.
So much so that, on the second last night, lying on the strange sheets, in a strange guest house, in a strange, beautiful land, I got up out of bed and, suddenly certain I was doing the right thing, sent an email, asking if he’d meet me when I got home.
I was blurry about what exactly I hoped for – maybe just to check that he was okay? – but, feeling calmer than I had in a while, I slept well. The next morning I lunged for my phone, hoping he had replied – but there was nothing.
It was still early though – maybe he hadn’t woken yet.
On that day’s hike, as we moved in and out of coverage, I kept checking. Still no reply from him. He could be away working. Sometimes his job was so intense that everything else got parked.
But by the time my plane landed at Dublin Airport, I had to face it: I wasn’t going to be hearing from him.
Deflated and confused, I was no longer sure that that was even what I wanted. I felt as if I missed Quin more in Romania than in Dublin – which made no sense, other than to demonstrate that, over three months on, I still hadn’t a clue what was right for me.
It wasn’t all bad, though. Since marking Yara’s anniversary with Luke, there was definitely a deeper healing. The loss had softened and all of my bitterness towards him had evaporated.
There were even fleeting moments when what I secretly called My Important Thoughts and Feelings shrank down to nothing. Looked at in a cosmic sense, my life wasn’t remarkable or important, it simply was.
In those glimpses, everything appeared exactly as it should be: beautiful and bad; painful and good. Wanting things to be different would change nothing. I’d been given what I’d been given and my only job was acceptance.
… But there were other times when I went on Kallie Lampart’s Insta, poring over every post, looking for clues about Luke and her.
I had an ally in Claire, which wasn’t necessarily healthy. This became clear the day after my return from Romania, at Molly’s birthday tea party. Claire, in a performatively over-starched “garden party” type of dress, greeted me with cucumber sandwiches and a cheery, ‘Three weeks since the last photo of him and a horse!’
‘What’s this now?’ Helen’s antennae had pricked up. She lumbered towards us, her hand on her lower back, as if she were two years pregnant instead of fourteen weeks.
‘Nothing.’ I was hasty. She had nothing nice to say about Luke. Ever.
But, too late, Claire was explaining, then Helen was scrutinizing Kallie’s grid.
‘Costello doesn’t like having his photo taken, that’s obvious,’ she said. ‘But there’s nothing here to say they’re not together. This Kallie is a Tragic who’d post a shit ton of “Me and my gal pals out drinking strawberry daiquiris” whenever she gets dumped –’
‘You know nothing about her,’ I protested.
‘I’m only pregnant,’ Helen declared hotly, ‘not blind! The evidence here says she’s still Costello’s girl.’
The thought made me want to cry. ‘They’re probably out on his deck,’ I admitted. ‘Smoking hash, dancing to the Doobie Brothers, having a great old time.’
‘The Doobie Brothers?’ Helen was already googling. ‘Who are they?’
Next thing, her phone was playing ‘Long Train Runnin’’, attracting startled looks from across the garden.
‘Fuck, yeah!’ Helen was in stitches. ‘I can so see Costello out there, grooving away to this shit.’
Don’t say that. Please.
But later, when almost everyone had left, she took me aside. ‘I shouldn’t have said Costello is still with that Tragic. I was trying to be tough for you, but that wasn’t what you wanted?’
‘Well, I –’
‘Thing is, I … yeah … tend to hold a grudge.’
No kidding.
‘You say you relapsed and it wasn’t his fault he left you. That’s too complicated for me.’
‘Okaaaay.’
‘Here’s the facts: I enjoy grudges, I don’t like giving up on them. But even though I’m an excellent private investigator, I can’t be sure what’s going on with the pair of them. Those photos could be misleading. Rachel, I … I apologize.’
An apology from Helen was quite the event. But it made no difference because I was accepting it was time for me to move on.
The man of my fantasies wasn’t the current real-life Luke, but a different one from long ago, before I’d got pregnant, before I’d relapsed, before life had twisted and reshaped us into less innocent versions of ourselves. The irony was that the Luke I was hung up on wouldn’t have slept with me, not while he had a partner.
