a long holiday after Christmas.
But that was then and this was now. George went to Australia alone. She might as well accept it. Her family were all gone. She was the lone keeper of memories and secrets that seemed to matter years ago, but were meaningless now.
Elise. Luca. George. How she missed them all with every fibre in her body. Rea longed to return to that sweet sleep of dreams, but this time she didn’t want to wake up. She was of no use nor ornament to anyone any more. Her body felt alien to her and she had become a prisoner in her own home.
Enough was enough. She was ready to die. If she just willed it, maybe her body would just give up. She moved to the couch in her living room and lay down, closing her eyes.
The shrill ring of the doorbell startled her. It was eleven am, maybe it was the postman. He’d be doing his round by now. ‘I’m in no humour for company,’ she thought. Her curtains were still drawn, so whoever it was could feck right off. Hopefully they would assume she was still in bed.
The smell of her overfull, rancid bins reminded her that it might be bold Louis Flynn, the Scarlet Pimpernel himself. She seeks him here, she seeks him there and if she finds him, she’d seek his arse and give it a good kick. She skipped along the hall, kicking the air as she went. It cheered her up a little.
She made a cup of tea and wondered if you could order online a potion that would kill you. You could get most things delivered door to door in under forty-eight hours. It was a sin to even think such a thing. Ah, but look where being good all her life had gotten her.
Rea pulled open her curtains, thinking that if she let some light into the house it might help her mood. The girl from next door was walking by. God, she was as pale as a ghost. Moving slowly, like she was in pain. Her eyes followed her until she stopped and leaned against a tree. Then she turned back towards her house again.
A few minutes later she saw her heading up her drive. She’d never come to her door before and for the life of her, she couldn’t work out why she was walking her way now. Was she cross that she called the Gardaí? She straightened her back up, ready to do battle if she needed to. Someone had to fight for this girl if she had no want to do so for herself. She watched the young woman, waiting for her to make her move. She kept looking over her shoulder every few seconds. Her face was pinched with fear. A kid on a skateboard whizzed by, the wheels rattling on the path. The poor woman near jumped out of her skin.
The poor pet. What a way to live. Taking a deep breath to steel herself, Rea opened the door. She stood back as a blast of warm June air hit her in the face.
Well, she’d best see what she wanted. Maybe dying could wait.
STELLA
Her side had turned purple. Still tender to touch, but at least she was up and walking again. The pain kept at bay with the help of paracetamol. Matt had spent the past couple of evenings working late, electing to eat out. She knew he was keeping out of her way until things smoothed over. He’d work late for a few weeks or so, then he’d arrive home with gifts. Flowers, jewellery, clothes, vouchers for spa trips. Words would drip from his mouth, lies, telling her that he’d never lay a hand on her again. And as the bruising disappeared, the ugly reminder of a brutal marriage, they’d start to move forward, pretending that it never happened.
Three days had passed since his last attack and today she’d managed to get dressed. But Stella was restless. She wasn’t physically able to do much, but days spent lying in bed or on the couch had tormented her. She liked to be active.
When the doorbell rang, she jumped, yelping at the sound. She peeked through the front window and saw the An Post van parked outside. Pulling her mother’s comforting cardigan around herself, she forced a smile on her face, opening the door to Richie. He was a terrible gossip, loved passing on news about all of the neighbours.
‘Howya missus?’
‘Hello.’
‘Would you take a parcel in for number 72? No answer. She’s in there alright, but the curtains are closed. She must be still asleep. All she ever does, if you ask me.’
‘Happy to take it,’ Stella tried to interrupt, but he was on a flow.
‘Could be weeks before it gets back to her again, if it goes to the depot. You know how she never leaves the house. An awful situation to be in, the poor old thing. Ain’t natural.’
‘It must be terrible,’ Stella concurred.
‘And George, her aul’ fella, well he was the salt of the earth. Never missed giving me a bottle of Powers every Christmas. He was sound as a pound. But sure, how could he stay, with her as mad as a bag of cats?’
Stella was torn between cutting the postman off from gossip and her natural nosiness to hear more.
‘I’m sure she’s not mad. Who knows what goes on behind closed doors?’ Stella wasn’t sure why she felt the need to stick up for her neighbour, but she did.
‘Right you are there. Sure, what with the business with her childer and all, near ten years ago, I’d say now. Some families have it rough. Would drive anyone crazy.’
Now Stella felt uncomfortable. She wanted to know what happened to the ‘childer’, but the conversation had gone into gossipy territory. Time to end it. ‘Presume I need to sign for this?’ She reached over and used the stylo to sign the digital screen. ‘There you go, I’ll make sure she gets it.’
‘Cheerio missus.’
She waved goodbye and closed the door, looking at the name on the parcel. Mrs Rea Brady. She recognised the labelling; it was from Amazon. It certainly felt like books. She’d drop it over later on.
Her phone beeped. A text from Matt.
Working late. Will eat out. Love you. Matt x
She wasn’t sorry or surprised to receive the text. She was finding it increasingly difficult to be in the same room as him. In fact, she was finding it hard to be here, in this house. She needed to get out, feel fresh air on her skin. A walk to clear the cobwebs, her mam would say. She grabbed her keys and phone, shoving them in her bag and stepped out onto Derry Lane, grabbing Rea’s package as she went.
Right or left? She turned right and headed inland, passing the gardens of her many neighbours. Each with pristine cobble lock drives, with rose bushes and cherry blossom trees. Most of the drives were empty, cars scattered all over the county, while their owners did the nine-to-five ritual of old. Stella heard the dull roar of an aeroplane and looked up at the blue skies. She scanned the clouds till she saw their white trail criss crosses as they made their final descent to Dublin airport.
Where had they been? Was that the answer? Book a flight and disappear into the big wide world. She’d done it before, backpacking anonymously for years on her own. At first she enjoyed it. She made temporary friends wherever she went, but was careful never to get too close to any. She preferred to rely on herself; a loner. But loneliness began to creep in and the more she travelled the more isolated she felt.
She should never have come back. She could be single, out there, exploring the world. Yes, with a dull ache and a wound that would never heal.
