Page 45 of Postscript

‘I have a house viewing tonight.’

He leaves it up to me.

I look at the scars on my wall that had been hidden beneath our happy, smiling, wrinkle-free glowing faces. I sigh.

‘Can you put it back up?’

‘Indeed. But I suggest hanging it on one nail. I don’t trust drilling it back into the holes, and I don’t want to make new ones,’ he says, rubbing his fingers over the enormous gashes.

I give up on the ironing and watch as Richard hammers in a nail and then hangs the photo in the alcove, back where it was. Gerry and me, heads together, beaming. Posing by the sea on Portmarnock beach, across the road from the house I grew up in, beside the Links Hotel where we had our reception. Gazing into each other’s eyes. Mum and Dad beside us, Mum grinning, Dad caught mid-blink, the only one where he didn’t have his eyes closed. Gerry’s parents too, his mum’s stiff smile, his dad’s awkward feet. Sharon and Denise as bridesmaids. The same archetypal photos from so many wedding albums all around the world, and yet we thought we were special. We were special.

Richard steps back and surveys his work. ‘Holly, if you’re worried about balance, you could leave Gabriel’s photograph out on the mantelpiece. It would be considerably easier to make that amendment than the former.’

I appreciate his suggestion. He cares. ‘Me cuddling up to two different men, Richard; what would that say about me?’

I wasn’t really looking for an answer. It was implied in the question, but he surprises me.

He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his forefinger. ‘Love is a tenuous, rarefied thing. Something to be prized and cherished, displayed for all to see, not hidden away in a cupboard, or to feel ashamed of. The photographs of both men would perhaps say to others – not that you should bother your mind with those thoughts – that you are considerably fortunate to have the indubitable honour of safeguarding the love of not one, but two men in your heart.’

He goes to his knees to tidy the contents of his toolbox.

‘I have no idea who you are or what you’ve done to my brother, but thank you, strange being, for visiting us here and departing these wise words from the shell of his body.’ I hold out my hand to him, professional, businesslike. ‘Please be sure to return him to his original state before you leave.’

He gives me one of his rare smiles, his solemn face creasing, and shakes his head.

Later that night, when I’m in bed, I hear a smash. With Gabriel’s phone number ready to dial, terrified the house has been broken into, I grab my crutch, intending to use it as a weapon, and try to make my way quietly downstairs in the dark, which is difficult and turns out to be clumsy and noisy as the crutch whacks against the wooden bars of the banister. By the time I’ve reached the bottom of the staircase, I’m sure my sleuthing has been audible from the end of the street. Heart pounding, I flick the light switch in the living room.

Turns out the photographer knew what we didn’t. His flimsy string wasn’t strong enough to carry the weight of his heavy frame and glass. Gerry and I lie on the floor covered in broken glass. Gerry and I are all dolled up, me covered in layers of make-up, posed, with limbs placed at awkward but meaningful angles. My hand on his heart, ring on display, his eyes looking into mine, our family surrounding us. If I was to do it all again, I wouldn’t do that. We were more real than that, but it wasn’t captured.

Then there’s Gabriel and me, relaxed, laughing, hair blowing across our faces, more natural, frown lines and freckles visible. Our photo is a selfie with an indistinct background. I chose to frame it because I liked how happy we look. He beams at me from the mantelpiece, and seems to snuggle me more closely, smug at his win.

19

Of all the areas in the shop, the trinket display is my favourite. It’s an old drawer unit that Ciara found, a chunky old-school dresser with three wide heavy drawers and on top stands a discoloured mirror that is so covered in black spots you can’t see your face. I love this unit, and chose it specially for the trinkets. The top of the unit contains pieces, the first drawer is pulled out slightly and also displays items, the second drawer a little more and the bottom drawer all the way out, so that it dips because of the weight and sits on the floor. The owner said her mother used the bottom drawer as a cot for her babies. This is the section children are drawn to, but nothing is of any significant value – not that we know of, anyway – and usually items are priced at twenty euros or less. My favourite pieces are the pillboxes, compact mirrors, jewellery boxes and decorative spoons, along with the hair-slides and brooches which are specific to this area and not to be placed in the jewellery section. A new arrival perfect for this trinket display is a jewellery box that I discover wrapped up in newspaper, in a cardboard box. It is mirrored, the lid is embellished with crystals, emerald, rubies and diamonds, of the costume variety. Inside is a velvet insert with sections for individual pieces, where some of the jewels that have fallen off the top sit snugly. I give a gentle tug and the velvet insert lifts, allowing it to be used as a box.

‘What you got there, magpie?’ Ciara interrupts my thoughts. Today she is dressed as a 1940s glamour puss, all red lipstick and a black-netted head veil, a shoulder-padded dress that squishes her boobs up the V-shaped neck, a leopard-print belt sucks her waist in and sends her hips oozing out. She wears this with floral print Doc Martens.

I lift the box to show her. She examines it, leaving fingerprints where I’ve already cleaned it.

‘Pretty.’

‘I’m going to buy it,’ I say quickly, before she suggests keeping it.

‘OK,’ she hands it back.

‘How much?’

‘Work overtime tonight for free?’ she asks hopefully.

I laugh. ‘I’m going for dinner with Gabriel. It’s been a while, so I’m not cancelling.’

‘OK, well if you can’t work tonight, you can’t have the box.’ She pulls it away as I dive clumsily for it.

‘Ow,’ I wince, hurting my ankle in the process.

She dangles it higher in the air.

‘I’m going to report you for employee bullying.’