Page 22 of Secrets in the Snow
‘I probably take that view for granted,’ I confess, marvelling once more at the beauty of the village I now call home. ‘But seeing those tracks now just reminds me of all the joy that can be made in such a simple place. There we were yesterday, leaving our secret memories in the snow, and soon they’ll melt away, never to be seen again.’
We stand there for a moment in the stream of sunshine which sparkles with dust, shoulder to shoulder, both lost in grief, both blinking back the sadness in our eyes, and I recognize the deep pain that runs in the same direction through our veins.
‘I’m so glad you convinced me to go sledging yesterday,’ says Aidan. ‘It’s nice now to look back at how we did that in her memory.’
I glance across at the bags of Mabel’s clothes, knowing it’s now or never.
‘So, shall we do this then?’ he asks me, taking a deep breath.
I can only nod at first as the thought of it once more overwhelms me.
‘Stepping stones, I suppose,’ I reply, unable to hide how I’m just a little bit breathless right now. ‘Every little thing we do these days is another step forward to life without her, and another thing that she wanted us to do.’
‘That’s it,’ he says, and so we make our way to the centre of the room where we sit on the floor and make a start.
I pull the first bag of clothing towards me, my stomach in a tangle of nervous jitters at the thought of what lies inside.
I close my eyes.
‘Oh, I can actually smell her perfume,’ I say, feeling my eyes well up a little already. ‘I hope she knew how comforting that smell was to me on days when I really needed her.’
I look up at Aidan apologetically. We haven’t even started yet, and I fear I’m going to be an emotional wreck.
‘You really loved her, didn’t you?’ he whispers, his own eyes etched with pain and regret. ‘You know, I did too, and being here is reminding me of how happy I was in those days. Maybe it’s why I can’t wait to get away again. Everything I loved here is gone.’
I pause with my hands resting on the top of one of the bags of clothes, holding on to this moment where Aidan has finally opened up to me on what being in Ballybray really feels like for him. It isn’t as suffocating or small perhaps as he pretends it to be, and maybe, just maybe, being here is much better for him than he realizes.
I want to remind him of Mabel’s words to him, of howconcerned she felt about him, and how she told him to take stock of his life by taking some time out.
‘You know something, Aidan?’ I say to him. ‘Mabel may have seemed meddling sometimes, and I know life in a small village can be suffocating to someone who is used to the anonymity of city life, but what I know about her is that she was rarely wrong in her advice.’
For once, he is all ears.
‘That’s why I wanted to do exactly what she said in her message yesterday, even though getting up and out of the house was the last thing on my mind,’ I continue. ‘It helped me so much, it helped Ben, and I think it helped you too.’
‘It did I suppose, yes,’ Aidan says as he opens the other bag of clothes in front of him with great trepidation. ‘It reminded me of some happy times that perhaps needed to be reawakened.’
‘I’m glad it did,’ I tell him, lifting out the first item. ‘Now, let’s see what she has in store for us this time.’
12.
‘Well, if this scarf could only talk!’ I swoon half an hour later when we are still having so much fun rummaging through Mabel’s bag of memories. ‘Oh, the stories it would tell!’
I swirl Mabel’s turquoise, brown and white silk London headscarf around my neck and pout like a movie star, reminding me of the eternal influence of Bridget Bardot in Mabel’s wardrobe.
‘She always had that little touch of sophistication that money can’t buy,’ says Aidan.
Both of us have been completely overwhelmed, but are now enjoying immensely how we can relive so much about Mabel by sorting out her clothes. We have separated everything so far into two piles – one that will stay here at Truly Vintage, and another that we’ll recycle at the nearby clothes bank in town.
‘You’ve a real eye for this stuff, haven’t you?’ says Aidan, looking on as I handle each item, giving them the care and attention they deserve.
I fold the silky headscarf carefully, knowing it will be snapped up by some eagle-eyed shopper in a heartbeat.
‘I have to admit, a lot of clothes aren’t made like they used to be,’ I say to him, ‘but the way we dispose of everything without a second thought frightens me sometimes. My late husband Jude was a prime example. A lot of our disagreements came from a vast difference in opinion on what I wore and how I looked.’
I close my eyes tightly in instant regret. I didn’t want this to be a time when Jude would creep into our conversation, and I’m sure that Aidan doesn’t need or want to hear my tales of woe about the man I married and couldn’t wait to escape from. It’s the first time I’ve mentioned him in Aidan’s company, and my face flushes with remorse.
‘I’m – I’m sorry to hear you lost your husband so young,’ says Aidan, just a little bit awkwardly. ‘I didn’t want to mention it until you did, but it must have been tough on you. And Ben, of course.’
