I sat there, not knowing what to say, certain though that any explanation may be redundant and I didn’t want to try and excuse or to explain away what I’d done. I needed to feel his pain, his sadness.
‘Tab,’ he said, quietly. ‘There is one thing, though. Why did you marry Michael? I’m sorry. That sounds rude, I know it does and it’s none of my business. But I knew you once and, going by that, I just don’t get it. I mean, you’re the daughter of Nora. And you marry a Progressive Conservative.’ He stopped. ‘I know I shouldn’t ask, but it never made sense. None of it did and then you marry someone like Michael Fogarty. When Dad wrote and told me… it made me think that I didn’t know you. And that was really difficult. But maybe I didn’t. And maybe you’re happy now and you made all the right decisions and then that’s good. But reassure me, tell me that you’re happy.’
He was looking at me intently, puzzled, curious. When I didn’t answer immediately, he broke away and stared out to sea.
‘Tab, it’s none of my business. But I’ve never come up with an answer. Not…’ he gave an awkward smile, ‘that I’m so amazing. But I thought we were amazing. And so…’
‘I know. I thought we were too.’ I let his words and his feelings soak into me, hearing every word, every nuance. His loneliness and pain. His disappointment. I’d felt it too but mine was a different story. I needed to hear his.
‘And as soon as I saw you again, I involved myself in your life. Like I used to. It was just instinct, wanting to be there, taking care of you. The protest, me tackling you about it when I’d been in the school for less than twenty-four hours and you being so gracious by my intrusion. And then calling round to give that book to Rosie because I felt so worried about you. Both of you. It’s crazy.’
‘Red…’
‘Being back here is a mistake. I know that now,’ he went on. ‘I thought we could be friends because there was so much I still liked, the way you try and make people laugh. The way you play with your hair. Your beautiful face…’ He looked at me again. ‘I thought I could do it. I would take anything, any crumbs you would give me. You were all I thought about for all those years and from that first moment I felt that same pull towards you, stronger than ever, and I didn’t know what to do, to ignore it, to ignore you or try to find a way of being close to you. As a friend. I wanted to. I wanted to so much… And here I am now, still lonely, still on my own and I get nothing. Again.’
‘Red, please…’ I was trying to process everything. He still cared about me? He felt the same way? But I couldn’t say how I felt because what would he say when I told him about my miscarriage. How angry would he be then?
‘Forget it Tab,’ he said. ‘My fault. All of this. My messiah complex, think I can sort everyone else out and not look after me. You’d have thought I might have learned something in the intervening years. But it seems not.’
‘Red…’
‘I missed you, Tab. More than anything. More than tea. More than Irish chocolate.’ He didn’t smile. He meant it. ‘More than watching the Irish soccer team play an international. More than Dad. I missed you. But I can’t do it. I’m not coming back next term, I don’t even know if I’ll stay in Ireland.’
‘Me?’ The full force of my action hit me. His words didn’t just permeate, they fused themselves to my cortex. He had loved me?
‘And I still do,’ he said. ‘All the time. You know at Clodagh’s party? I was standing there, chatting to you, acting as if we could do this, be friends. I was enjoying myself. I like being with you Tab. Always have done. But then it hit me. Again. That love, full force, full on love. I mean, I can’t do this… I can’t. I don’t want to be friends with you. I want everything.’
‘Red, I’m sorry…’ I feel the same, I wanted to say. I feel exactly the same. I love you too. But how could I say it when I was married. I couldn’t say it. My throat dried up and I sat there, slightly stunned.
He turned to me. ‘How can I begin anything new with all of yesterday within me? Leonard Cohen wrote that and it was all I could think about for years… I couldn’t move on because I was still consumed by you.’ Angry and furious now, he went on speaking, ‘I didn’t want to become bitter,’ he said. ‘It took all my strength, is taking all my strength, not to be angry and bitter. But I think I am losing that particular battle.’ He stood up, hands pushed into his jeans pockets. ‘I tried. I thought that I was over it enough. But… it’s hard, you know?’
And he stood up and walked off, leaving me sitting on the bench as seagulls circled overhead. I didn’t call him or run after him. I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know where to begin, so I just watched him walk away.
Before
‘I’ll see you in three months,’ Red had said. We couldn’t stop kissing each other at the departures gate. ‘Will you be all right?’
‘Yes, fine,’ I said. ‘I told you. I’ve got so many things to do and then I’ll come and join you.’
‘I don’t know how I’m going to survive without you.’
‘Me too.’ Our foreheads were pressed together, our lips nearly touching. ‘I love you Tab,’ he said.
‘And I love you,’ I said. And I did love him. And I never stopped.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I deserved that. Being abandoned on a bench. It was the least he could do, the least I deserved and, after taking a moment to gather my emotions, I walked home. But as soon as I’d said hello to Rosie, there was a knock on the door belonging, I was sure, to Red. I was ready now to talk, really and truly about everything, to open up to him… to try to explain. I felt a sublime gratitude to whoever or whatever was owed it that he hadn’t given up on me. But it was Clodagh, crying, her mascara and make-up was running down her face.
‘I’ve been dumped. Sacked. Booted out. Removed from office. My contract was not renewed. It’s been renewed every three years for the past fifteen and now…!’
‘What do you mean? Who’s done this?’
‘Max. The tiny, miniature bastard. Personally. And. Professionally. Personally, I can deal with. Professionally, I am livid. Bridget is taking over the reading of the news.’
‘What? But she’s not a journalist…’
‘No. But she’s popular. People want to see her. More than they want the news. My services are not required.’
‘What happened?’
‘So, I’m standing in his office, ready for our standard contract renewal chat but Max tells me I am no longer needed or wanted on the six o’clock news and that Bridget is going to be reading it because, and I quote, a monkey could read the bloody autocue and someone else can write the copy, and then he says that this won’t affect our personal relationship and, at that point, I laughed and said it bloody well did.’
‘Clodagh, slow down and start at the beginning.’
She breathed in. ‘First of all,’ she said. ‘Do you have any cake?’
‘What kind? I have coffee and walnut, mini rolls and baklava. Which would you like?’
‘All of them.’
This was serious, I thought, as I watched Clodagh systematically demolish the sugar smorgasbord.