Page 95 of One More Day
I feel hot, and the thought of eating makes me nauseous. I push the food I’d prepared so carefully around my plate and for the first time since I got here, a wave of claustrophobia and panic sweeps over me, making me catch my breath.
‘I – I distracted him, Charlie,’ I confess, feeling real pain in my chest when I say it out loud. ‘I put my hand across and took his when he was driving. I mean, who does that? Why did I do that? He took his eyes off the road for just a second and he was smiling because I did that but then—’
Charlie stands up from the table and comes around beside me.
‘Rose, it wasn’t your fault,’ he whispers so gently, and this time I do look him in the eye. ‘I hope you already know that, but if it helps, I will tell you again: it wasn’t your fault. You have been to hell and back, and I am so sorry for your loss, but you are going to be OK. You really are.’
‘But—’
I look out through the kitchen window into the bright night sky, a stark contrast to the usual darkness in these parts, all those tiny snow crystals reflecting the light of the moon. I think of the lighthouse, standing tall and strong as waves crash against it and chaos unfolds around it.
I know Charlie is right. I’ve always known this, but it’s a comfort to hear it from someone else right now.
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ he says, direct, but with a softness.
‘I think my dad blames me. I’d had a few drinks before we left the house and he thinks I was being giddy and silly, distracting Michael when he was driving.’
Charlie closes his eyes.
‘Has your dad said that to you?’
I shake my head.
‘He’s never said those words?’
I shake my head more.
‘Rose, you have created a narrative that may not exist. You need to find out if that’s what your dad really believes, or if it’s what youthinkhe believes. Does that make sense?’
I look up into Charlie’s eyes and nod slowly. That makes more sense to me than anything I’ve ever heard before.
‘I know it doesn’t often feel this way, but we have control over our thoughts – we can choose how we speak to ourselves in our minds. Thoughts are just thoughts. Once you learn to control your thoughts, they no longer control you. You should talk to your dad, because his take on the situation might be far kinder than your mind has told you it is.’
‘Yes,’ I mutter in response. ‘Yes, that makes total sense. Thank you. I’m sorry I ruined our first proper meal together.’
‘You haven’t,’ he replies with a smile. ‘Now, deep breaths and let’s finish eating your culinary masterpiece, then we’ll watch some more trashy TV on the sofa. But we can also talk about it more, if you want to.’
‘Trashy TV on the sofa sounds good.’
‘Thank you for being so brave and honest,’ he replies. ‘Today was perfect.’
‘It was.’
‘And right now,’ he continues, ‘I think you are even more wonderful than before, Rose Quinn. And that’s pretty wonderful, believe me.’
Two Days to Christmas
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Charlie
Rose and I spend the morning hiking through the base of the snowy Glenveagh Mountains with Max and George, taking in the views and sharing stories and snapshots of our lives.
We take selfies, we drink tea from a flask, and then we finish our day with a hearty lunch in the village of Kerrykeel, where oysters and Guinness are served to us with crusty bread in a cosy booth made for two. We also talk a lot more. Rose opens up about the night Michael died and the aftermath – how she ran to Dublin, a city so bustling she could almost feel invisible as she hid away from reality.
‘We all grieve in different ways,’ I remind her. ‘That was what you needed to do at the time.’
I talk about Rebecca and no matter how much I try to ignore it, the pain of being away from her at this time of year is almost too much to bear. I need to stand up to Clodagh about the once a week contact and insist that Rebecca and I should be able to talk more often.
