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  “Auntie Áine, please say you will go?” Emma had said.

  “Yes, please say you will take us?” said Jonathan. “You’ll love it. And I’ll be able to pick up some of my toys that I didn’t bring last time.”

  “Sure why don’t we all have a think about it?” Áine said, knowing that she was well and truly sunk.

  “It won’t be long until they see me again,” Jack said, breaking into her thoughts and bringing her right back into the moment – cleaning the kitchen with not another being near them.

  “No, I don’t suppose it will.”

  “And we must get organised for your trip. It will do you no harm to get some sunshine on your face.”

  “I get enough sunshine on my face here,” Áine laughed. “In my own garden here.”

  “The sun is Italy shines warmer and brighter and there are plenty of lovely gardens too – although my garden isn’t lovely. It’s a wasteland. It’s fair to say your sister didn’t share your talent nor do I.”

  “No, Charlotte never was interested in the garden, except to sit on the step and pull her skirt up to catch the sun on her thighs. Mother used to tell her she was indecent.”

  There was a silence then between them – only the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall and the occasional creak of the floorboards to disturb the uncomfortable thoughts which were swirling around Áine’s head.

  “I suppose I had better go,” Jack said eventually. “I have packing to do tonight if I want to get back in the morning to say goodbye to the children. I thought I might take them for an ice cream before I leave. Maybe you would join us? It would seem strange to do something without you – and besides you seem to have a calming influence on the children.”

  Áine was torn between wanting to tell him he was well able to manage his own children without her – and wanting to spend just an hour more with him before her life returned to its humdrum routine of work, home and little else.

  “Yes, of course,” she found herself saying. “But yes, you really should be off. It’s getting late.”

  She sensed a reluctance in his demeanour but he turned to leave all the same, stopping briefly as he reached the front door. He opened his mouth as if to speak and she felt her stomach tighten with expectancy. Instead, however, she watched as he shook his head gently, gave her a soft smile and bade her goodnight.

  It was later as she sat on the back step, the smell of the lavender from her herb garden filling the evening sky, that she allowed herself to close her eyes and imagine for just a moment what it would have been like if he had kissed her. Would it have made her a bad person? Was she betraying Charlotte? She didn’t think so – she had never, ever found herself attracted to Jack in all the years he had been married to her sister. In fact, his gregarious personality had often grated on her – but she had seen a softer side to him in recent months and most definitely over the past week. She had seen him play with the children, feed their imagination with wild and wonderful stories, kiss better their bruises and make them laugh in a way that neither she nor her mother could ever dream of.

  His manner was not the only thing she had noticed, of course. She had noticed the wrinkles by his eyes. She had noticed his tanned arms and strong hands. She had noticed the fullness of his lips and to her shame, as she sat on the back step, breathing in the lavender and nursing her cup of tea, she imagined what it would feel like to have those lips on hers. The thought was enough to make her gasp. She knew his touch would be softer than Lorcan’s had been. She knew that his kiss would be sweeter. She knew, instinctively, that it would feel completely different – that she would feel completely different. But what would Charlotte say – if she could see? If she knew? What would her mother say? Would she take one of her turns and tell her she had let herself down? And the children – how would they react? What scared her most of all though was how she would feel herself – when all was said and done. Would she feel crushed with guilt – or would a world she never thought possible open up before her? Áine looked up to the sky. The night was clear and full of stars.

  “Charlotte, I hope you understand,” she whispered before going back inside, pouring the rest of her tea down the sink and heading to bed.

  Present Day

  Áine showed me a picture the next day. A picture she had of a younger version of herself with a handsome man, with familiar features I had seen echoed on his son’s face. They were smiling at the camera and sitting close, shoulders touching.

  “I don’t talk about Jack but perhaps I should,” she said. “But not everyone understood, so it was something we kept between us. It made it a little more exciting, I suppose,” she smiled, but there was a sadness there. “It wasn’t conventional – but it worked for us. And if you were to ask me if he was the love of my life, I would say yes. Did I feel strange about it? I did – I still do at times, and guilty. Charlotte loved him so much and he loved her. I wonder, when all this is said and done, will I see him again? Will he be with her in the next world? But he was worth it.”

  She was twisting her hands again, her memories starting to overwhelm her. I put the photo back into the box she had taken it from. “Life is too complicated sometimes, isn’t it?”

  Áine nodded. “It is, it sure is.”

  We made more tea, treated ourselves to a chocolate biscuit and sat opposite each other at the kitchen table.

  “I’m sure I was going to clean these presses out one of these days,” she said as she sipped from her cup.

  Chapter 29

  1965

  There were touches of Charlotte everywhere. Reminders of her. Photographs of her and the children on the sideboard, paintings she had done on the walls. Her potions and creams still sat on the vanity unit in the bathroom and a pair of her shoes still peeped out from under the settee. She was in every room – her spirit echoing across the tiled floors, down the halls and into the garden.

  Áine had found it particularly hard to walk out onto the terrace. She knew this was where her sister had died – where all the energy which filled the other rooms in the house simply ceased to exist. She wondered where it had gone. Had it floated away into the sky, soaked into the ground, was it still buzzing around her now? She sat on one of the patio chairs and looked at the pool, which was now drained and looking sad in the baking sunshine.

  “I’m going to fill it again,” Jack said as he sat beside her. “I know Charlotte would be cross about that. I know she would think I was wasting a perfectly good resource and that the children should be allowed to run about and dive in when they felt too hot, but it feels wrong. Just knowing she was there – not really knowing how long she was there.”

  “It must have been awful,” Áine said. “Finding her. I’m sorry if I never said that. I’m sorry if I was too wrapped up in how I was feeling to say that.”

  “I don’t think I would have registered it anyway,” he said with a sad smile. “I was quite good at being wrapped up in how I was feeling too. But yes, it was awful. But at least it was me. At least it wasn’t the children. I’ve found comfort in that, strange as it sounds.”

  It didn’t sound strange at all – Áine knew she would do anything she could to protect those children. They were hurt and damaged enough – she could not imagine how much worse their pain would have been if they had witnessed their mother floating face down in the pool. A shiver ran through her as that image crossed her mind.

  “There were many happy memories here too,” Jack said. “I’m trying to remind myself of that. I’m trying not to remember just that one bad time. There were so many good times. Charlotte loved it here. I think she spent more time out here, basking in the sun, reading, playing with the children, drinking wine, than she did inside. She said she never felt more at home than she did out here. I try to remember that. To make myself come and sit here and understand just what drew her to this garden so much.”

  Áine shaded her eyes against the sun and looked around the terracotta terrace, letting the heat seep into her and en
joying the silence. “It’s a wee bit of heaven on earth,” she muttered.

  Of course Áine had to have the full tour of the house, paying particular attention to the children’s room. Both Jonathan and Emma had been beside themselves to be reunited with their own beds, their own toys and a wardrobe of summer clothes which would get little or no wear in a cold and drizzly Ireland.

  “My favourite dress,” Emma had trilled, slipping on a white broderie anglaise sundress and twirling around. “I’ll need new sandals, Daddy. My feet have grown a whole size.”

  Jonathan was found, less noisy but nonetheless as happy, sitting on the floor of his room, his favourite books spilled out in front of him.

  “Mammy used to read these to me but I don’t remember the stories any more. I’m going to read them all again. Can you help me? And can I take them home with me – I mean, back to Ireland? Can I bring them back to Granny’s?”

  “Of course you can, pet,” Áine said, sitting down cross-legged beside her nephew, “and if you want I can help you read some of them now.”

  “I’ve done a lot of reading practice in Ireland, Auntie Áine, I think I will be able to read some of these all by myself. If I get stuck on a big word though, I’ll ask for your help.”

  “That’s a very sensible approach, Jonathan,” Áine said, ruffling his hair. He smiled up at her and turned his attention back to the books before him. “I’ve missed these,” he said softly. “I do like being with you and Granny. But I like it here too – with my things.”

  “Oh, pet, I know. It’s always nice to have our own things around us. We’ll make an effort to take as much back as we can.”

  “Do you think Daddy will have us back here soon?” he asked, his eyes wide.

  Áine took a deep breath. She knew it was better to be honest with him than to have him continue living with the hope that things could change imminently.

  “I don’t know for certain, pet, but no, I don’t think that you’ll be coming back here to live soon. Your daddy is a very busy man – and he loves you very, very much so he wants to make sure you are looked after the very best that you can be. He can’t be here all the time – and I don’t think he wants strangers minding you. I know it’s tough, Jonathan, and that you need to be brave. But we, Granny and I, we love you and your sister very, very much and we will do everything we possibly can to make sure you are happy always. And Daddy has promised solemnly –”

  “Crossed his heart and hoped to die?”

  “Crossed his heart and hoped to die,” Áine nodded, “that he will come and visit you all the time and you will come here for holidays all the time.”

  Jonathan nodded, and sniffed. “Auntie Áine, I think I want to read my books on my own for a little while now.”

  Áine kissed him on the head and stood up to leave the room. Her heart was so filled with love for her nephew in that moment that she realised she really, truly, never did want him to go back to live in Italy.

  It was inevitable. Áine knew that. Each time Jack had visited they had grown a little closer and had started to relax with each other. They kept their distance while in Ireland – it was rare they would have time away from either the children or Rosaleen and, Áine supposed, each of them was fighting their own battle with their conscience. It was unspoken between them – but it was as obvious as if it were all they talked about. So as soon as Áine set foot on Italian soil she knew it was only a matter of time. When she walked around his house – the house he had shared with her sister – she was only more certain. She had told herself, when she sat on her back step at home looking at the stars each night, that she would find some peace there. She would know – she would feel Charlotte and she would know. It had comforted her to feel such calmness in that house. While Charlotte looked down from the walls at her, each picture was smiling. Her sister was the greatest believer in taking whatever you could from life whenever you could. Charlotte would have been delighted to see Áine here at her kitchen table, cooking at her range, drinking wine in the Tuscan sunset. Charlotte would have wanted her to be happy – and she would have wanted Jack to be happy.

  They would have to be careful, she thought. They would have to be sensitive to the children, to Rosaleen. They would have to be sensitive to each other. Her heart beat a little faster at the thought that something so wonderful could come out of something so totally awful.

  “They are asleep,” Jack said, walking into the kitchen. “I think Jack was asleep before his head even hit the pillow.”

  “That will be all the excitement and all the travelling. It’s been a long day.”

  “Don’t feel you have to stay up to keep me company,” he said, his eyes cast downwards.

  Was it possible that Jack – he who had always shown so much bravado – was shy? Then again, she was aware her own hands were shaking a little.

  “Well, let’s enjoy this supper first. The travelling has made me hungry as much as anything.”

  “It smells good,” he said.

  “It’s only an omelette,” she said. “Don’t get too excited.”

  “Anything I don’t have to cook myself gets me excited,” he laughed. “It doesn’t come naturally to me. I’m much more of an eater than a cooker.”

  She served his omelette onto a plate and handed it to him. “Well, eat this then.”

  He put the plate down and reached for the wine bottle. “Shall I pour some more?”

  She shook her head. “I fear if I drink any more I will be quite drunk,” she giggled. “I’m definitely not used to drinking wine. It has gone to my head.”

  “Well, we can’t have that,” he said, sitting down at the table she had set for them and waiting for her to join him.

  “I’m happy to see you here,” he said. “It’s nice to have some brightness about the place again. Even seeing the children here – seeing them smiling. It does my heart good.”

  Áine blushed, sat down and looked at him, feeling emboldened by the wine. “Are the children the only thing to do your heart good?”

  He looked at her and reached across the table, tentatively, so very gently touching her hand. “No, of course not. I never thought …” he said, his voice breaking. “I never thought, nor even wanted to have feelings like this again. They say you only really get one love – and make no mistake, Áine, I loved your sister with every part of my heart. But yet I’ve found myself looking forward to each of your letters. I’ve found myself feeling elated at the thought of seeing you again and having you here … I wondered if I would feel it was wrong. But it doesn’t. It feels right. It does feel right, doesn’t it?”

  Áine nodded, slipped out of her chair and stood in front of him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him, his head resting on her chest. Áine was aware he was shaking a little – just as she was aware that she was too. She tenderly touched his hair.

  He looked up at her and got to his feet, lifting his hand to her cheek and tipping her face towards his. “Is it okay if I kiss you?” he asked, his breath soft on her face.

  She couldn’t answer, so she just nodded and closed her eyes as she felt his lips on hers.

  His kiss was all she had thought it would be – tender and soft but determined too – as if kissing her was the only thing he wanted to do in the world. He kissed her in a way Lorcan never had. In a way no one ever had before and she felt the hurt and pain of the last year melt away.

  She wasn’t sure how long it was before they pulled apart, but when they did neither of them spoke for a time. There didn’t seem a need. They just looked into each other’s eyes in an unspoken moment of understanding that something had changed and things could not go back to how they had been.

  There would be time for the conversations they needed to have later. There would be time to deal with the rest of the world later – just for now, in the kitchen, with nothing but the sound of the cicadas outside and the ticking of the clock on the wall, there was only time for them to enjoy letting go of loneliness.


  Present Day

  “Mammy, how’s Áine? Did you take her to the doctor’s?” Sorcha’s face was filled with concern as we sat together and ate dinner that night. She had wanted to call over to Áine’s after school and I had told her that we had an appointment – which had sent her into a spin I hadn’t expected.

  “She’s fine, pet,” I said. “As fine as she can be. We’re going to try some new medication and we hope that will help her.”

  I didn’t tell her that the doctor had been quite honest though – the new drugs, antidepressants to try and stem the confusion and upset – might not make a big difference. It was impossible to say. Alzheimer’s, he reminded us, was degenerative and different in every person. If the antidepressants didn’t help, we could try antipsychotics, the mention of which made Áine pale.

  “I’m not crazy,” she said, a look of defeat on her face.

  “It’s just the name for a group of drugs which may help,” the doctor had offered. “Try not to get hung up on words.”

  “But it’s getting worse?”

  “Without a series of tests, it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to make a comment at this stage,” he said.

  “But your opinion?” Áine asked.

  He nodded slowly. “It does seem to be progressing. But again, try not to worry too much. For some patients this disease moves very slowly. In others, it can move in fits and starts – things can appear to worsen, but they can settle again.”

  “And for others, it’s quicker?” she asked.

  “There’s no way to know how this will progress with you, Áine,” he said.