Finding Alison Page 13

  She squeezed Alison’s hand and, rising from the table, searched out a tissue from her bag. ‘Come on, dry those eyes before that pretty face turns into a sponge,’ she encouraged, smiling, as she draped an arm around Alison’s shoulder. ‘Life goes on, Alison, hard as it might be. It really is up to you to decide what to make of it.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Alison half-smiled, cursing her weakness as she sensed Kathleen’s withdrawal, her frustration. ‘And you’re right’ – her words caught on an involuntary in-breath. She dried her cheeks with the backs of her hands, patted her nose with the tissue. ‘It is up to me and I can’t let every bit of senseless gossip I hear drag me back there. I won’t.’ She shook her head. Kathleen was right. Sean was gone. Gone. Nothing that Alison or any loose tongue in a shop could say or do would bring him back. She straightened her back and, while everything inside her was grasping at the tail of that new determination she had almost let slip, another truth slipped forward, startling her: she no longer really wanted him back.

  ‘And promise you’ll learn to listen to no one but yourself.’ Kathleen’s voice was soft with understanding. ‘You’re the only expert on your life, Alison, on what you want it to be. Nobody else.’

  ‘I know, I know. And I really do want to have myself sorted when Hannah gets home. I do. And I will.’ The conviction in her own words told Alison she was already part way there.

  ‘Good for you. So, how is our little London bird?’

  ‘She’s loving it, absolutely loving it and really, I have you to thank for—’

  ‘Stop!’ Kathleen held up both hands in protest. ‘The first thing you have to do is learn to take a little bit of credit. You’re doing a wonderful job with Hannah. I know how tough the going can be when you’re doing it all on your own.’

  ‘How’s Jamie?’

  ‘Jamie is busy – with summer camps and fishing and friends. Honestly, I hardly see him these days and when I do he’s exhausted.’

  ‘No more wet beds, then?’

  ‘All over, thank God, but you know . . . ’ Kathleen paused, widening her eyes in emphasis. ‘I can’t understand this. You know how he adored Rob, right?’

  Alison nodded.

  ‘Thing is, he never even asks about him.’ Her head shook in incredulity. ‘I mean, never. Like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to disappear out of our lives. Strange, yeah?’

  ‘Kids have a great way of just getting on with their own thing, don’t they? Sometimes I think we make problems for them, worrying about things that they’re completely oblivious to.’

  ‘Well, isn’t Jamie a case in point? I mean, it’s quite obvious now that he couldn’t care less whether Rob moves into my bed or up to the moon, and all that worrying I did!’

  ‘So, are things back on track with Rob then?’

  ‘We’ll see. This last month’s been a real roller coaster. But being with him again on Saturday night, well, it just felt so natural, so . . . just so right.’ Kathleen’s whole face lit up with the memory.

  ‘There’s your answer then. Go for it!’ Alison was glad she’d at last seen sense. Poor old Rob was patient, but Kathleen’s will could test a saint.

  ‘As I said, we’ll see.’

  Saturday night had been fantastic, but Kathleen had been gob-smacked when Rob had kissed her goodnight at the door, mumbling some excuse or other about an early start the next morning. Sunday? In all the time she had known him Rob had never left the bed till after twelve on a Sunday. All those flowers and balloons and texts and can’t-wait-to-see-yous and then running off like a frightened schoolboy. Exasperated, Kathleen had nursed a bottle of wine herself that night, Jamie away at a sleep-over and the empty house folding in around her. And with each glass came a new question: had Rob gone off her? Had she left him waiting too long? And then of course the biggie: had he found someone else?

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Men!’ Kathleen put on a wide smile. ‘They must be the strangest species.’ Alison has enough on her plate, Kathleen decided, the chat and advice she had come for could wait. ‘Listen, I’d better go collect Jamie from camp. So, you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine, honest,’ Alison smiled, and she meant it. ‘Thanks again, you’re the best.’ She linked her arm in Kathleen’s as they walked to the door.

  ‘So, what exactly is the story with your man up on the cliff?’ Kathleen had a glint in her eye as she opened the front door. ‘May Reilly’ll kill me if I leave her without any gossip.’

  ‘You’re the secret spy in their camp, aren’t you? You’re a weasel, Kathleen Carroll, a fake!’

  ‘My cover’s blown!’ Kathleen threw her arms in the air. ‘C’mon, who is he? Give me the sordid details.’

  ‘There aren’t any, honestly,’ Alison laughed. ‘He’s fifty-four, for Christ’s sake, Kathleen, and hardly an Adonis.’

  ‘Where’s he from?’

  ‘Dublin, but he’s been wandering around Europe for years.’

  ‘Oh. Doing what?’

  ‘You know, I don’t know. I never thought to ask him. He’s just a nice guy, you know, easy to talk to . . . ’

  ‘Probably a dirty old man who goes around the country seducing vulnerable widows!’ Kathleen’s eyes were wide with mischief.

  ‘Stop it, Kathleen, he’s not anything like that,’ Alison laughed. ‘Anyway, I haven’t seen him in days. He could have moved on, for all I know. Now, come here,’ she threw her arms around Kathleen, ‘thanks again, you’ve been great.’

  ‘Anytime, and remember, keep them fuelled with talk – I’m enjoying the break from the spotlight.’ She stepped out through the door. ‘Aha! Speak of an ass!’ Kathleen nodded towards the mouth of the drive and the two dogs bounding down to the gate to welcome William. Alison felt a tiny jump inside her chest.

  ‘Great guard dogs,’ Kathleen smiled. ‘I’ll go.’ She kissed Alison on the cheek. ‘Don’t want word going out of a threesome!’

  ‘How are you?’ Alison smiled, standing back from the open door.

  ‘Good. You not on terms with the beach? Haven’t seen you there for days.’ William stepped into the sunlit hall. He hadn’t been in this part of the house before and his eyes widened in amazement. Not a sign of the sea anywhere. The wooden floors reflected the rich yellow walls. And what walls. All along them was a most beautifully scripted calligraphy in a deep plum ink.

  ‘Wow, yours?’ William asked, moving past her to read the inscriptions.

  ‘Yeah, I took a night class, years ago.’

  ‘And the writings?’

  ‘Mine too.’ Alison, embarrassed, was glad of the telephone’s ring. ‘I’ll just get that, come on in.’ She hurried past him into the kitchen.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Hannah? Oh, it’s great to hear you. Everything all right?’ She pulled a chair over under the phone.

  ‘Fantastic, Mum – and you?’

  ‘Good, I’m good. What are you up to? Are you enjoying it?’

  ‘Oh, Mum, I love it! Everything’s so fast and alive and so not Carniskey! Claire was so right, you wouldn’t believe all the stuff I’ve learned about the gallery, I love it there!’

  ‘That’s brilliant, Hannah.’ Alison smiled at the rush in her daughter’s voice, at the hint of London already in her accent. What that girl wouldn’t do to be like her aunt Claire.

  ‘And you should see the clothes Claire’s bought me, Mum, they’re bang on trend and—’

  ‘Hannah, you have your own money. Make sure you’re paying your way.’ Alison picked up on the old defensiveness creeping into her voice. She didn’t want to argue with Hannah or lecture her. ‘I’m so glad you’re enjoying it, sweetheart. I miss you so much – so do Tilly and Tim. They sniff around your bedroom door every morning to check if you’re back.’

  ‘Aw, give them a hug for me. You should see the gear on the dogs over here, Mum – jumpers, jackets, jewels in their collars, the lot! So, what are you up to?’

  ‘Busy, actually
. I get my women’s column stuff out of the way early every week and I’m working on a couple of stories, I’m really enjoying it.’

  ‘Looks like you’ll have to send me away more often then.’ Hannah smiled. Mum sounded good. Lighter, more alive or something. Aoife might have been right after all.

  ‘I didn’t send you away— ’

  ‘Relax, Mum, just kidding. So, isn’t there something you’ve forgotten to tell me?’ Hannah pressed her lips together to stifle her laughter.

  ‘What? How do you mean something to— ’

  ‘I had an email from Aoife, she told me your news.’

  ‘News? What news are you talking about?’

  ‘I hear you have a new friend. Male? C’mon, Mum, spill the beans!’

  ‘That’s utter nonsense! Has Aoife nothing better— ’

  ‘Come on, Mum, tell me – is he cute?’

  ‘Hannah, there’s no such thing.’ Alison kept her voice low, aware of William just down the hall. ‘Unless she’s talking about a visitor that I’ve chatted to a few times. Honestly, you can’t breathe around this place!’

  ‘What’s his name? What’s he like?’

  ‘William. And he’s over fifty and I have absolutely no interest— ’

  ‘Why are you whispering, Mum?’ Hannah cut in. ‘Oh, he’s there, isn’t he? I knew it!’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Okay, Claire. Coming!’ Hannah called. ‘Gotta go, Mum, I’ll let you get back to your friend. Oh, and remember to smile and take that cross look off your face.’

  ‘Hannah!’

  ‘And let your hair loose. It suits you much better. Oh, wait till I tell Claire— ’

  ‘Hannah, don’t you dare . . . ’

  But she was gone. Alison was left holding the phone in her hand, a mixture of puzzlement and amusement playing on her face. Who would have thought that the local grapevine could reach all the way to London! There was nothing like that between her and William. She knew that. He knew that. What they had was more . . . Oh, she couldn’t find a word for it, but it certainly wasn’t romance. But she had to smile at Hannah’s girlish excitement – and her new-found confidence. At the huge contradictions in the little girl who seemed to be turning into a woman overnight. How she missed her. She took a deep breath, replaced the phone and rose from the chair, a great sense of liberation rising with her. It didn’t matter what anyone around here thought. She’d had enough of pretending, of hiding out and hurting. The time had come to start being herself again, to start living.

  ‘I’m just about to put something on for tea, will you join me?’ Alison called down the hall to William.

  ‘Thanks, I’d love to.’ William stood engrossed in the words before him. Some were just single words, shouting their own message. Others strung together and whispered sentences. Others still stretched to form verses, poems. He was taken aback by their rawness, their questioning, the life that pulsated behind them.

  ‘Looks great,’ William smiled, taking a seat, ‘I hope I’m not intruding.’

  ‘Not at all. It’s nice to have some company for a change. That was Hannah on the phone.’ Alison poured two glasses of wine.

  ‘How’s London treating her? Mmm, this is good,’ he nodded, tasting the scampi.

  ‘Sounds like she’s having the time of her life,’ Alison nodded. ‘But she’s still managing to keep an eye on me.’ She stole a shy smile across the table. ‘Seems she had an email from a friend in the village – telling her that her mum had a new man!’ Her cheeks pinked.

  ‘Well,’ William’s smile was slow, disconcerted. ‘Has she? Is that where you’ve been these past few days, entertaining the new mystery man?’ William teased. The little niggle of jealousy caught him by surprise.

  ‘No,’ Alison laughed. ‘They’re talking about you!’

  ‘Me? Well, I hope you set the record straight and told her you were just doing your bit for the community, care of the aged and all that?’

  ‘I tried, but Hannah seems quite taken with the idea. Probably thinks it would be a nice distraction, keep me off her back. And if you want to know, I’ve been holed up here, shielding myself from the speculations of the masses.’ She told William about the shop and the conversation she’d overheard between Theresa and Joan.

  ‘Looks like we’re causing quite a stir about the place.’ His eyes smiled right through her. ‘But why let it bother you? Why hide away? We enjoy each other’s company. Should it matter what anyone else thinks?’

  ‘I know, I know, but it’s just that, well, I suppose I’ve lived here so long. Came here as Sean’s girlfriend, then his wife. That’s how I’m seen by everyone. Like I’m not a person in my own right. And I suppose over the years I’ve come to see myself as they see me. As they judge me.’

  ‘Do any of them try to know you, as yourself?’

  ‘Kathleen, the girl that was just leaving as you arrived, she’s great. The best. Other than her, I suppose I’ve never really given anyone else a chance. I think I’ve always been afraid that they wouldn’t approve, find I didn’t fit in or something.’

  ‘That’s a bit unfair on them – and on you. Anyway, why do you feel you need to fit in? Surely there’s room for a little difference, even in a place this size?’ William’s eyes followed her as she lifted the plates to the sink, lit a cigarette and sat again.

  ‘I suppose it’s the need to belong, isn’t it? When Sean was here, I felt I was part of the place. Being his wife, I belonged here. Now, a lot of the time I feel like an outsider, you know, like the place is not really my home, that I have no right to be here. It’s stupid, I know. But I feel if I act the way they’d like me to, if I’m the person they expect me to be, then I’ll be accepted. And there’s this huge pull inside me. This longing to belong and, at the same time, this fight to be myself. To be true to me. Do you know what I’m talking about?’

  ‘Only too well,’ William nodded. ‘I think this hunger that we feel – to fit in, to be approved of, to belong to somebody or some place – it’s what causes most of the pain and confusion in our lives.’ He sipped his wine, his eyes and his thoughts for a moment far away. ‘I wasted a lot of years searching for that.’ He looked into Alison’s eyes. ‘The end of that search is what allows me the freedom that I have now. You see, I don’t believe we belong – not to this world, not to anyone or anywhere in it. And that hunger, that longing we feel, is the cry of the soul. A cry for the home it came from. And the more we try to soothe it with attachments to people, places, cars, houses, money – all the jewels this world offers – then the louder it howls.’

  ‘So, how do you stop it?’ Alison sat forward, elbows on the table, that same frown of concentration rippling her brow.

  ‘That’s it, you see. We don’t. At least, that’s my belief. You let yourself feel the hunger, see where it draws you. In that stillness, it loses its shyness and it speaks to you.’ He paused, then asked, ‘What is it that you do, Alison, that allows time and the whole world and all those questions to slip away? When do you lose yourself?’

  Alison didn’t have to think about it: ‘When I write.’ Her answer was almost a whisper. ‘Then there’s nothing in the world but me and the page. And a beautiful, comforting quiet. I don’t mean when I do Eugene’s stuff, but when I just write, not knowing what’s going to come out on the page. It’s like . . . it’s like I’m a different person. Like the world and all the stuff that goes on in my head stops and I can just . . . ’

  ‘Be?’ William offered, nodding. ‘And that, I think, is the closest that we’ll ever get to belonging in this world.’ They sat in silence for a moment, each digesting the conversation.

  ‘So, do you write much?’

  ‘That’s just it. I never seem to find the time. There’s always something else that needs to be done. And I get so frustrated!’

  ‘The cry of the soul,’ William smiled. ‘What you’ve written in the hall. They’re beautiful. Raw and real. They have soul.’

  ‘They’re my frustration walls,�
� she laughed. ‘I write there when I’m angry. Or hurt, or lonely. Or just confused. By the time I’m finished I’ve usually worked out whatever it was that was bothering me.’

  ‘Why don’t you send your work out? You have a real talent.’

  ‘Oh, don’t think I haven’t tried. Poems, short stories. But they come back time and again with the same old few lines. “Sorry, not successful on this occasion”, or something about it being too dark.’

  ‘You’re just hitting the wrong market. Ever thought of concentrating on something bigger?’

  ‘Like a novel?’ she smiled.

  ‘Ever considered it?’

  ‘In my dreams.’ Her smile was wistful now. ‘The one dream that has held fast since childhood was having my very own book on the shelf, with my name on the cover. Something that I had given to the world. Something that I could pass on to Hannah.’

  ‘So?’ William quizzed, ‘what’s holding you up?’

  ‘Oh, I’m afraid I’ll start and won’t finish. Or worse, that I’ll finish and I’ll fail, that no one will want it.’

  ‘There you go again! Pre-judging your audience before you’ve even written the first word. Don’t think of the audience. Write what’s in your heart. A dream that has lasted all those years surely deserves a chance, yeah?’

  Alison nodded. She felt a warmth stir inside her, as if her dream was smiling, having been voiced. ‘Come on,’ she smiled. Rising from the table, she reached and took a picnic basket from the top cupboard.

  ‘Where are we going?’ He eased himself up from the table.

  ‘Grab some wine!’ She packed cheese and crackers from the fridge, a fat candle in a round, storm globe. ‘The beach. I’ll just get us some towels to sit on.’ Her words trailed behind her down the hall. William laughed out loud. He loved that almost wildness in her, that spontaneity – the spur of the moment change, those little bursts she could make at life.