Page 100 of Things We Never Said
‘The little girl? My friend?’
Cynthia nods. ‘They were camping, too. With blankets. Not even sleeping bags. We had a villa, of course, but they were camping. She stayed with us the whole time, really. We dressed her and fed her. It was hardly surprising that she didn’t want to go home.’
Sean covers his mouth with one hand as he moves the photo closer with the other.
‘Show me another one,’ Cynthia says. ‘We’ve done that one.’
‘OK,’ Sean replies. ‘But just ... these dungarees she’s wearing. In the photo. Were they mine?’
‘Of course they were yours,’ Cynthia replies. ‘Whose do you think they were? They were too big for her. We had to roll up the bottoms, but she still kept tripping over.’
Sean chews his bottom lip as he tremblingly pulls another photo from the envelope. ‘Is this her, Mum?’ he asks, putting a different photo of five-year-old Catherine before her eyes. ‘Is this the little girl?’
Cynthia frowns at the photo. ‘Well, how should I know?’ she says.
‘Please look, Mum,’ Sean pleads. ‘Just for a moment. Just for me. It’s important.’
Cynthia frowns at her son as if he’s perhaps a little crazy, then returns her gaze briefly to the photo. ‘I don’t know,’ she says, in a petulant tone of voice. ‘It might be her, it might not be her. Why are you asking me all these questions, anyway?’
Sean sighs and lowers the photo. He runs his hand across his face. ‘Right,’ he says, despondently. ‘Right, it doesn’t matter.’
‘A terrible slattern, though. An awful woman. She was drunk most of the time.’
Sean’s eyebrows twitch skywards. ‘Who was?’ he asks urgently, suddenly hopeful again. ‘The little girl’s mother?’
Cynthia nods. ‘A very vulgar woman, she was. Always drinking beer and burping. And giving you money for chips all the time. We didn’t want you eating chips. We wanted you to eat proper food.’
‘Chips?’ Sean repeats, starting to smile.
‘Yes, chips. There was a chip shop near the campsite. A fish and chip shop, actually. But all they ever seemed to eat was chips. Your father wasn’t happy.’
‘But we ate a lot of chips? Me and the little girl?’
‘Yes. Oh, she was nice enough, I suppose, but the mother, Winnie or Wendy, I think. Yes, that’s right. Wendy. Windy Wendy, your father used to call her. She was a horrible, vulgar woman, always drinking and swearing and eating her horrid chips. Imagine growing up with a mother like that! Lord knows what happened to the girl. The poor little sod.’
Sean barely makes it to his car before he collapses into tears, before he allows himself to slump onto the steering wheel and weep.
He weeps first for his mother, who remembers a fish and chip shop from over forty-five years ago, but can’t remember why she’s in a nursing home today. He weeps for Catherine, who is gone, who he now knows he has loved since he was seven years old. And, finally, he weeps the hottest, angriest tears of all for the fact that it’s now too late to tell her that, for the fact that she’ll never ever know the biggest miracle of their lives together.
He had known all along, he now sees. Not for the reasons he thought he knew, but yes, he had known all along. Finding the photo at Catherine’s mother’s house hadn’t been the origin of the thought, he finally understands. It had been merely a convenient peg to hang the thought upon. Because deep down, yes, he had known. He had always known that they were fusional, that they were meant to be together and that their meeting in Dreamland had been somehow more than mere chance.
Once the tears have faded, he sits, feeling numb, and stares blankly at the misty windscreen.
The final riddle of his life with Catherine has been resolved, and perhaps only now can he truly say that he knew her. He’s overcome by a momentary wave of gratitude for that simple, yet majestic privilege. He’d been right when he told Catherine that no one ever knew anyone else – not really. And she had heard him and saved that gift of knowing until the very end. And it’s a huge gift – perhaps the biggest gift of all.
He’s just drying his eyes on the car cloth when his mobile, in the door pocket, buzzes.
He sniffs as he glances at the screen for the first time today.Missed calls: 8,it reads.Incoming call: Ronan.
When Sean arrives at the hospital, the first person he sees is Maggie.
She’s standing out in the cold sunshine sipping coffee from a plastic cup. ‘Sean!’ she exclaims. ‘God, they finally got through to you, did they?’
‘Yes,’ Sean says. ‘Bloody phone was on silent. And how did you manage to get here before me?’
Maggie shrugs. ‘Myphonewasn’ton silent,’ she says. ‘Go up and meet him. He’s beautiful. I’ll be up in a minute.’
‘He’s here? It’s all over?’
