Page 71 of One More Day
‘Oh no.’
‘Let’s not even make it seem like a secret to her,’ he whispers. ‘That way, she won’t feel the need to get in touch with anyone if there’s no big agenda.’
‘Thank you.’
‘It’s the best I can come up with,’ he shrugs. ‘I said I wouldn’t tell a soul and I won’t. You know I’ll always go that extra mile for you, Rose.’
He holds my gaze.
‘It was nice seeing you here today and it’s good to know you have my back,’ I say with a light smile. ‘One day I’ll repay you for your kindness, I promise.’
He scrunches up his face, drains the last of his hot chocolate and throws his cup into the bin.
‘I’d better go and get ready for the big clean up,’ he says, and then he saunters off, taking a tiny piece of my heart with him.
Thank goodness for family. Rusty’s as close as I’m going to get to my own this Christmas.
I make it back to the cottage before Charlie does, which is a relief as I can’t be bothered awkwardly skirting around each other, and after a walk with George and Max in the forest, I take my time getting ready for the evening which I plan to spend eating something nice at the Lighthouse Tavern before it gets busy, followed by a few drinks with the locals, and an early night.
Rusty’s words earlier about going home were like a knife in my heart. It’s one thing avoiding calls and blocking the whole ‘going home’ option from my own mind, but hearing it from Rusty has taken it to a whole new level.
My parents are in their mid-seventies now, my niece and nephew are growing up fast, and I know I can’t hide away forever when it comes to family gatherings at this time of year. I would have an excuse if I lived in a different country, but I don’t. And here I am, closer geographically than I’ve ever been at this time of year since Michael’s accident and the pain and grief that followed it.
I take out my phone, check it for messages and put it away immediately in case I’m tempted to listen to or read any recent correspondence from my family. Their efforts have simmered as the days have passed, which I’m grateful for, and I can just imagine them wondering where I might be on my impromptu holiday to escape Christmas.
Sarah will hedge her bets on somewhere hot, like the Canary Islands, but only because she likes the sun and would probably choose it for herself.
Mum will wrack her brain trying to work outwhoI might be away with as well as where I’ll go. She’ll delve deep intothe possibility of old school friends from over twenty years ago, or the nice girl, Patricia, who I met at university and who moved to London never to be heard from again. Or she’ll hope and pray that I’ve laid the ghost of Michael to rest and have met a decent man in Dublin who has taken me to Paris or Rome in some happy ever after.
Dad, on the other hand, will keep out of it all, saying ‘it’s up to Rose what she does and who she does it with’, and then an argument will blow up as to how that attitude didn’t exactly work out in anyone’s favour this time two years ago. And he’ll say I shouldn’t have had a few drinks before we left that night, even though Michael was sober and driving. And Mum will say it was supposed to be a celebration. And didn’t Michaelbringme the champagne? And didn’t everyone have a glass knowing what was coming? And that it was an accident. It was an accident.
I leave a note for Charlie on the whiteboard in the kitchen.
I’ve walked Max and George both. Have a good evening.
Then I put on a floaty red maxi dress, funky flat gold boots and a light sweep of lipstick, feeling the urge to get dressed up just a little bit. When I know the dogs are safe and happy inside, I lock the door and head to the pub where a glass of red wine and a tasty dinner has my name on it.
Despite this never-ending inner claw at my gut, the freedom and pace of life in Donegal is sinking into my bones.
And when I allow it to settle there, it feels so good.
Should I go for the seafood chowder again, or try out the fish and chips? Or the macaroni cheese?
Now I know that I’m probably going to be staying here for Christmas Day, my mind is totally focused on food glorious food and how I can fit in a festive feast, even if I don’t have anyone to share it with.
‘I’m going to have to go for the chowder again,’ I say to the waitress who served me up the same here less than twenty-four hours ago.
‘It’s very popular so I’m not surprised,’ she says, taking my order down with pen and paper. There are no fancy tablets here like I see in Dublin restaurants, which is strangely refreshing. ‘I love your dress by the way. Red is your colour.’
‘Thank you,’ I smile. ‘That’s very kind of you to say so.’
As the days roll by, I really am beginning to relax here now. I’m glad I visited the lighthouse when I did. I’m glad I let out all that emotion early in my trip. I feel a lot lighter for it, pardon the pun.
And now that I know I’m here for the duration, I’ve decided that by hook or by crook, I’m going to make sure I eat well in the run-up to Christmas, or what’s left of it. So when the chowder arrives, I savour every single second of it.
It’s a delicate golden colour with chunks of salmon, prawns, mussels and cod. The homemade wheaten bread soaks up the buttery juices and, just like yesterday, it’s a delight to see some baby boiled potato chopped up in there too. I’m in food heaven. It’s full of garlic and goodness, its warmth hitting the bottom of my stomach. I close my eyesand savour every flavour. There’s simply nothing like seafood when you’re so close to the Atlantic.
‘Everything OK?’ asks the nice young waitress. ‘Can I get you more bread?’
