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7
Six Months To Go and Counting…
Iris felt decidedly thrown when she reached Soldier Hill House to find Georgie there before her. She’d been so looking forward to having the place to herself. She’d have stayed in London for a while longer if she’d realised that coming here meant being holed up with her older sister for longer than she needed to be.
‘Oh, it was easy for me – all I had to do was tell them I wanted a sabbatical and shutting up the apartment just meant switching off the lights. The management company will take care of the rest,’ Georgie said smugly as she took the flowers Iris had stopped off to pick up on the way.
‘Lucky you.’ Iris tried and failed not to sound begrudging. It was hard not to feel a bit hard done by when she thought of her whole life being boxed up in the attic, sorting through her belongings and the memories they stirred up before she left London. In a fit of crazy abandon, she’d decided to rent out the house. She’d handed in her notice at work and left a message on Myles’s answer machine that she was taking a bedsit nearby to get herself together. She’d had to de-personalise their modest little semi before renting it out, and so all her mementos and knick-knacks were now tucked away. The most difficult part turned out to be finding a tenant who didn’t look as if they might be doing crystal meth on her kitchen table while she was away.
The truth was, apart from her previous employers – who had quickly found her replacement – no-one else in London had a notion she was here in Ballycove. Very different no doubt to Georgie’s situation – Iris imagined her sister having a big send-off from her colleagues at work. Her bosses probably begged her not to go and they most likely couldn’t wait for her to get back again. What a difference to her own lacklustre exit – some cake in the break room and a card only signed by a handful of people! Sometimes, Georgie made it even easier to resent her – not that Iris didn’t feel that she hadn’t already got good cause.
‘I’m sure it’ll all be there when you get back, and there’s nothing to stop Myles sorting out anything you forgot,’ Georgie said without realising the irony in her words.
‘Did you hear from Nola?’ Iris asked, both to change the subject and because surely if they all arrived early they could talk to Stephen and see if the six months of hell could kick in immediately.
‘Oh, yes, that’s right, she’s really likely to ring me for a long heart-to-heart,’ Georgie said sarcastically.
‘Well, if you’d been a half-decent sister to her all those years ago…’ The words flew out before Iris could stop herself, and she braced herself for the oncoming storm.
Georgie snorted. ‘I did try to help. It’s hardly my fault if Nola didn’t want to take me up on my offer. And that’s rich coming from you, anyway. You were the one with the cosy semi – remember?’ Georgie’s colour rose.
‘Yes, well, she didn’t do to you what she tried to do to me!’ Iris shot back, reddening as well.
‘It’s a bit late now to change what happened. Anyway, everything worked out well enough for her in the end,’ Georgie said, almost under her breath.
*
It was dispiriting, taking all of those familiar items from London out and placing them in her childhood bedroom. When Iris had her inheritance after this purgatory, she would buy a whole new wardrobe before winning Myles back, she decided as she folded her warmest jumpers and squeezed them into the bottom drawer.
It was early evening by the time she emerged from her unpacking and there was no sign of Georgie about the house. There was fresh soup on the stove and someone had picked up a Vienna roll, so she settled down for an early dinner at the kitchen table alone, enjoying the familiar sounds of the old house around her. Georgie must have gone out for a walk along the beach, which suited Iris perfectly. She would sit here for a while, collecting herself after the last few weeks’ upheaval and then amble down to the village supermarket to pick up the little essentials she hadn’t bothered to pack, like toothpaste and shampoo.
It was a pleasant walk to Ballycove along the little lane where small clumps of snowdrops still pushed through the sleeping hedgerows. Overhead, the sky was sheathed in a silky grey layer and it was hard to call if there was sun or snow on the way. Iris figured she’d settle for either at this point. She walked slowly, savouring the sound of small birds rustling in the bare hawthorns broken up only by the fitful call of a seagull far out over the sea beyond.
In spite of herself, Iris had found when she was home for her father’s funeral, that she still loved the village. It was a charming place to live, with the town stretching from the Atlantic’s edge, hemmed back by a thick barricading wall and rising up to the gothic-looking church at the top. The village was made up of a zigzag of narrow streets etched out of the land and sheltering a small square in the middle. In the winter months there were no holidaymakers to witness the ravages of storms that hit the coast; the villagers had its ferocious beauty all to themselves. Iris wasn’t sure it was any of this that she was beginning to fall in love with at this late stage, as much as it was its familiarity. At every turn there was a recognisable face with an easy greeting and a welcome that she knew with certainty was genuine.
In the shop, she was served by a girl who probably hadn’t been born before Iris left Ballycove all those years ago, but still her easy manner let Iris know she was one of their own. How had she not appreciated this sort of thing back then? All she’d wanted then was to leave here and the arguments she’d had with her sisters to prove them all wrong and live what had seemed to be an exciting new life in London with Myles. She could see it now: she’d been running away, not just with Myles, but maybe from the truth of who he really was. She hadn’t wanted to face it then, but maybe now she could admit to at least some of the faults Georgie had been so eager to point out. In hindsight, she’d been right all along, he was a womaniser and he had spent his whole life looking for the free ticket to an easy life. Iris had been so immature. How times had changed – these days the nearest she got to Myles was checking into the pregnancy app she’d impulsively downloaded when he first told her about Amanda and the pregnancy.
As far as the app was concerned, Amanda was in her first trimester. Somehow, Iris knew, she’d have to figure out how to uninstall it – the last thing she needed was that ticking away like a time bomb, reminding her of what Myles had to look forward to and all she had to regret.
When she left the supermarket, she decided to turn back into the village, rather than just walk directly to the house. After all, what was there to go home for, apart from stilted conversation with Georgie and the feeling that she had to walk on eggshells to avoid a flare-up? They had six months to fall out, no point starting just yet if she could help it. Instead, she sat in the square, but after a minute or two, she could feel the chill air of the sea biting against her spine. Then a first large drop of rain fell, catching her cheek, and she looked up to see that the sky had darkened ominously. On the other side of the square the hotel was open. She could wait out the shower before making the journey home again.
Like the village, the hotel had managed to retain its old-world charm, but beneath the pretty printed fabrics on the sumptuous sofas, the deep pile of the rugs, the heavy scent of very expensive coffee and behind the warbled glass of the glittering windowpanes, the place had been completely refurbished. Apparently, people travelled from far around for its top-class restaurant. Certainly, everything shone as if an army of cleaners went through the place every five minutes. She could have put her make-up on in the reflection from the brasses on the front door. A smart youngster took her order and explained that it might take a minute. They were expecting a wedding and as usual guests had arrived hoping for a room, but the hotel was impossibly small, so there was a little mayhem trying to get them sorted.
Iris didn’t mind in the slightest. She was quite happy to sit in her window seat and watch the wedding guests in their finery settle down to a day of celebration around her.
Her tea with complimentary biscuits arrived fifteen minutes later. The manager of the hotel himself brought it, apologising profusely for the delay.
‘I know you, don’t I?’ she said, not quite able to place him, but he was oddly familiar.
‘Ted Rowland,’ he said easily. ‘We were at school together.’
‘God, Ted,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘It’s lovely to see you again.’
‘And you. I was so sorry to hear about your dad.’ He shook his head. ‘I’d have come to the funeral, obviously, but we were away on holidays.’
‘Anywhere nice?’ she asked, because he certainly had a good colour compared to what she remembered of the pasty boy who sat behind her at school.
‘Corfu.’ One word, but his dazzling smile told her what a great time he’d had. ‘Never easy, getting time off here, but you have to make the effort while the kids are young, don’t you?’ He shrugged. ‘And of course, the wife works in the parish office, so there’s that to juggle too…’
