Page 76 of Things We Never Said
Irvine laughs. ‘That’s funny,’ he says. ‘I valued that place yesterday. 4A, was it?’
Sean frowns. ‘No, actually. 3F.’
‘Ah,’ Irvine says. ‘They’re two-beds on the third floor, are they not?’
‘That’s right,’ Sean says, suddenly intrigued. ‘So how much is 4A going for?’
Irvine laughs again and fiddles with his tie, which provokes, in Sean, an unexpected shudder of disgust. ‘Aye,’ he says, ‘that would be telling. It’s not even been listed, I don’t think.’ He pulls a business card from his pocket and writesBonnie Fleetwoodon the back. ‘I just do the valuations, but you can give Bonnie here a call. It should be in your price range. Well, if they listen to me it should be, at any rate. Anyway, I’d better be off. I’ll get this typed up and posted to you by Wednesday, OK?’
Despite his aching legs, Sean goes jogging again that evening, and it seems to do him good because on Sunday morning he wakes up feeling calmer. It’s as if he has managed to place Catherine, Jake and even this damned house in a box labelled ‘The Past’. It’s probably only temporary respite, but that is at least something.
He makes a pot of coffee and opens theGuardianwebsite on his laptop. ‘Let’s have a calm day today, shall we?’ he mumbles as he opens the kitchen cabinet and pulls out the box of muesli. He has exhausted himself with his own anger, he realises. But then his eyes stray to the shoebox, there, on the top shelf. And it’s Sunday, of course, isn’t it? Is he going to listen to another tape? Does he have any spare capacity for further sordid revelations? He hears Maggie’s voice, saying,They’re not doing you any good, you know.
‘No, Mags, they’re not,’ he mumbles, answering her out loud as he stares at the box. ‘You’re right. They’re not doing me any good at all.’
He reaches for the box. He looks down at it in his hands. He traces the curve of Catherine’s handwriting with his eyes, and his lip curls. And then, after less than a second’s hesitation, he exhales deeply and strides to the back door.
Outside, in the wet, cold garden, he lifts the lid on the wheelie bin. He holds the box over the opening and hesitates anew. ‘Freedom,’ he says, forcefully, as if trying to convince himself. And then he drops the box into the void.
He swallows with difficulty, then peers down into the darkness and sees that the box has landed straight, has fallen intact. The envelopes and tapes and photos of his life with Catherine have remained inside. He thinks of the photos, photos that feature not only Catherine’s life, but his and his daughter’s, too.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ he mutters as he reaches down to retrieve it. He shakes his head and places it on top of the bin. ‘Take your time,’ he tells himself. ‘You’ll know when you’re ready.’ And then he picks it up and walks back indoors.
Despite everything, the fact of not listening to this week’s tape leaves a gap in Sean’s life that he struggles to fill. The box of envelopes plays constantly on his mind, but he remains steadfast. He’s unsure, for the moment, if he’ll ever be able to listen to the remaining tapes. For now, at least, it’s an impossibility.
Finding nothing of interest on the television that evening, he phones April for a chat instead. ‘Time to concentrate on the living,’ he murmurs as he dials her number.
April is in fine form. She tells Sean that her morning sickness, which she has never even mentioned before, is now over. She tells him excitedly that she is only going to work for another six weeks before going on maternity leave. They have painted the lounge and she’s going to do the bedroom once she’s off, she says. She refuses Sean’s offers of help, reminding him that Ronan is at home all day working if she does need another pair of hands. ‘But you can buy us a crib once the monster arrives,’ she tells Sean. ‘How does that sound?’
‘That sounds lovely,’ Sean says. ‘I’d be proud to.’
April is just about to wind up the conversation when Sean says, ‘Can I ask you a serious question, Little Daughter?’
‘Sure, Big Daddy. Fire away.’
‘How do you feel about your room here?’ Sean asks tentatively.
‘My room?’
‘Yes.’
‘How do Ifeelabout it?’
‘Yes. How attached to it are you, I suppose? To still having your own room here, I mean. Be honest.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ April says. ‘A bit. Not much, I guess. But a bit. Why, are you thinking of getting a lodger to keep you company?’
Sean laughs drily. ‘No, no, nothing like that. I just ... I mean ... look, it’s early days, OK? Very, very early days. And I’m really only just beginning to think—’
‘Oh God,’ April interrupts. ‘You’re moving house, aren’t you?’
‘No ... look ... Yes ... I might be, perhaps. But only if you’re OK about it. And as I say, I’m really not even at the beginning of anything yet.’ Sean hears her sigh deeply, causing him to prompt, ‘April?’
‘Oh ... I knew this was coming,’ she says. ‘Of course I did. I even discussed it with Ronan a few weeks ago.’
‘You did?’
‘Yeah. And we both agreed that it makes sense, that it would be good for you, that it would be healthy, I mean. We both see that you need to move on with your life at some point. And part of that is ... part of that has to be moving out of that house. There must be so many memories tied to the place, Dad. I don’t know how you stand it.’
