moment she knew he had been so angry with her and hated her. She wished all her memories were of the good times but the bad times kept coming back to haunt her. They had all been such a waste.
And nobody had told them that they were short on time.
There were her happy days, when she would walk around in a daydream with nothing but a smile on her face, catching herself giggling as she walked down the street when a joke of theirs would suddenly pop into her head.
Then she would fall into days of deep dark depression; then finally build up the strength to be positive and to snap out of it for another few days. But the tiniest and simplest thing would trigger off her tears again. That was her routine. It was a tiring process and most of the time she couldn’t be bothered battling with her mind. It was far stronger than her body.
Friends and family came and went; sometimes helping her with her tears, other times making her laugh. But even in her laughter there was something missing. She never seemed to be truly happy; she just seemed to be passing time till she waited for something else. She was tired of just existing; she wanted to live. But what was the point in living when there was no life in it. These questions went through her mind over and over again till she reached the point of not wanting to wake up from her dreams that felt so real.
Deep down, she knew it was normal to feel like this. She didn’t particularly think she was losing her mind. She knew that people said that one day she would be happy again and that this feeling would just be a distant memory. It was getting to that feeling that was the hard part.
She read and reread Gerry’s letter over and over again, analysing each word and each sentence, and each day coming up with a new meaning. But she could sit there till the cows came home trying to read between the lines and guess the hidden message. The fact was that she would never really know exactly what he meant because she would never speak to him ever again. It was this that she had the most difficulty trying to come to terms with.
Now May had gone and June had arrived, bringing bright long evenings and beautiful mornings. And along with these sunny days June also brought clarity. There was no hiding indoors as soon as it got dark, no lie-ins until the afternoon. It seemed as though the whole of Ireland had come out of hibernation, taken a big stretch and a yawn, and suddenly started living again. It was time to open all the windows and air the house, to free it of the ghosts of the winter and dark days, to get up early with the songbirds and go for a walk and look people in the eye and smile and say hello instead of hiding under layers of clothes with eyes to the ground while running from destination to destination, ignoring the world. It was time to stop hiding in the dark and to hold your head up high and come face to face with the truth.
June also brought another letter from Gerry.
Holly had sat out in the sun, revelling in the new brightness of life and nervously yet excitedly read the fourth letter. She loved the feel of the card and the bumps of Gerry’s handwriting under her finger as it ran over the dried ink. Inside, his neat script had listed the items that belonged to him that remained in the house, and beside each of his possessions he explained what he wanted Holly to do with them and where he wished for them to be sent. At the bottom it read:
PS. I love you, Holly, and I know you love me. You don’t need my belongings to remember me by, you don’t need to keep them as proof that I existed or still exist in your mind. You don’t need to wear my sweater to feel me around you; I’m already here … always wrapping my arms around you.
That had been difficult for Holly to come to terms with. She almost wished he would ask her to do karaoke again. She would have jumped from an aeroplane for him; run a thousand miles, anything except empty out his wardrobes and rid herself of his presence in the house. But he was right and she knew it. She couldn’t hang on to his things for ever. She couldn’t pretend to herself that he was coming back to collect them. The physical Gerry was gone; he didn’t need his clothes.
It was an emotionally draining experience. It took her days to complete. She relived a million memories with every garment and piece of paper she bagged. She held each item near to her before saying goodbye. Every time it left her fingers it was like saying goodbye to a part of Gerry all over again. It was difficult; so difficult – and at times too difficult.
She informed her family and friends of what she was about to do and although they all offered their assistance and support time and again, Holly knew she had to do this alone. She needed to take her time; say a proper goodbye because she wouldn’t be getting anything back. Just like Gerry, his things couldn’t return.
Despite Holly’s wishes of wanting to be alone, Jack had called round a few times to offer some brotherly support and Holly had appreciated it. Every item had a history and they would talk and laugh about the memories surrounding it. He was there for her when she cried and he was there when she finally clapped her hands together, ridding her skin of the dust that remained. It was a difficult job, but one that needed to be done. And one, that was made easier by Gerry’s help. Holly didn’t need to worry about making all the big decisions, Gerry had already made them for her. Gerry was helping her and, for once, Holly felt as though she was helping him too.
She laughed as she bagged the old, dusty cassettes of his favourite rock band from his schooldays. At least once a year Gerry came across the old shoebox during his efforts to control the mess that grew inside his closet. He would blast the heavy metal music from every loudspeaker in the house just to torment Holly with its screeching guitars and badly produced sound quality. She always told him she couldn’t wait to see the end of the tapes, but now the relief didn’t wash over her as she once hoped it would.
Lying in a crumpled ball in the back corner of the wardrobe her eyes rested upon Gerry’s lucky football jersey. It was still covered in grass and mud stains, fresh from its last victorious day on the pitch. She held it close to her and inhaled deeply, the smell of beer and sweat faint, but still there. She put it aside to be washed and passed on to John.
So many objects, so many memories. Each were being labelled and packed away in bags just as they were in her mind. To be stored in an area that would sometimes be called upon to teach and help in the future. Objects that were once so full of life and importance but that now lay limp on the floor. Without him they were just things.
Gerry’s wedding tuxedo, his suits, shirts and ties that he would moan about having to wear every morning before going to work. The fashions of the years gone by, the eighties shiny suits and shell tracksuits bundled away. A snorkel from their first time scuba-diving, a shell that he had picked up off the ocean floor ten years ago, his collection of beer mats from every country they had visited. Letters and birthday cards from friends and family sent over the years. Valentine’s Day cards from Holly. Childhood teddies and dolls put aside to be sent back to his parents. Records of bills, his golf clubs for John, books for Sharon, memories, tears and laughter for Holly.
His entire life bundled into twenty refuse sacks.
His and her memories bundled away into Holly’s mind.
Each item unearthed dust, tears, laughter and memories. She bagged the items, cleared the dust, wiped her eyes and filed away the memories for safe-keeping.
Holly’s mobile began to ring, disrupting her thoughts, and she dropped the laundry basket onto the grass under the washing line and ran through the patio doors into the kitchen to answer the phone.
‘Hello?’
‘I’m gonna make you a star!’ Declan’s voice screeched hysterically on the other end, and he broke into uncontrollable laughter.
Holly waited for him to calm
