. er . . . She met a guy. You know Melora – she’s mad keen to get married,’ Alison rallied, determined to keep the news of her
changed circumstances a secret.
‘Tell her to stay single. Believe me, you never have one second to yourself when you have a husband and children,’ Olivia retorted.
‘But you’re happy, aren’t you?’ Alison looked at her sister, surprised by the vehemence of her response.
‘I suppose I am, but it’s a bit wearing looking after my lot, holding down a job, and minding the parents and Uncle Leo. Being single has a lot going for it.’
‘Oh!’ murmured Alison. She felt Olivia had thrown a barb. She often told Alison that she had a charmed life, but no one had
begged
Olivia to get married and have children or
to stay at home in Port Ross, that was
her
choice, thought Alison resentfully. If Olivia knew how things
really
were with Alison right now, she might not be so quick to whinge to
her.
‘Ah, don’t mind me,’ Olivia said, a bit shamefaced, after a few moments of silence. ‘I’ve just been worrying about the party, wanting to be sure it will turn out
OK. I’m really glad you’re here, it takes the pressure off.’
‘It’s only a party, and it’s only family. If things go wrong, they go wrong, and nothing’s going to go wrong, I’m sure – and if it does we’ll sort
it,’ Alison said reassuringly, realizing that her older sister had been under a lot of pressure.
‘I know we will.’ Olivia smiled at her. ‘Frig it, whatever happens, let’s enjoy it, we’re lucky to have Mam and Dad still with us to celebrate.’
Two minutes later they turned a bend and came on to the coast road. ‘Oh, look at the sea. Isn’t it fabulous?’ Alison rolled down her window and inhaled deep lungfuls of salty
air. The waves were tumultuous, grey-green whitecaps crashing against the shore. ‘Oh, it’s good to be home,’ she exclaimed, as some of the stresses and strains of the past few
weeks seemed to lift and float away far out to sea. JJ was right: she should rest and relax and go back to New York ready for action in the New Year.
‘I’ve an idea,’ she said impulsively as they drove through the village towards their parents’ house. ‘Why don’t I stay in the car, and when you go inside
I’ll ring and pretend I’m in New York – but you pick up because my Irish number will come up on Mam’s caller ID. And then I’ll knock on the door.’
‘
Brilliant
idea!’ Olivia enthused, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Her sister looked tired, and the lines around her mouth and eyes had deepened, Alison noted with a dart of dismay. The first telltale signs of middle age were making their appearance. There was
a smattering of alarming grey hairs in her sister’s chestnut bob, and dark circles under her eyes.
Olivia was forty now, incredible as it was, Alison reminded herself as they drove through the quiet fishing village where they’d grown up. Two women in rain macs walked into the
butcher’s, and an elderly man struggled to let his umbrella down before entering Nolan’s to get his paper. A couple sat in the small coffee shop having breakfast. Otherwise, the street
was deserted on that wet, windy Saturday morning. They passed the road that led to the pier where fishing boats rocked up and down on the waves and seagulls hawked and squawked, circling a small
trawler that was unloading its catch. A green fishing net, caught against a bollard, flapped in the wind. The rigging in the masts of the boats jangled, making its own music, and the wood in the
trawlers creaked and groaned as they rocked against the quay. It was the sound of home, thought Alison, as memories came flooding back,
The house looked as she always remembered it: an ivy-clad dormer bungalow with neatly clipped privet, a weeping willow in the centre of the garden and polyanthus and pansies in the well-tended
flowerbeds under the windows making a defiantly colourful stand against the gloomy
changed circumstances a secret.
‘Tell her to stay single. Believe me, you never have one second to yourself when you have a husband and children,’ Olivia retorted.
‘But you’re happy, aren’t you?’ Alison looked at her sister, surprised by the vehemence of her response.
‘I suppose I am, but it’s a bit wearing looking after my lot, holding down a job, and minding the parents and Uncle Leo. Being single has a lot going for it.’
‘Oh!’ murmured Alison. She felt Olivia had thrown a barb. She often told Alison that she had a charmed life, but no one had
begged
Olivia to get married and have children or
to stay at home in Port Ross, that was
her
choice, thought Alison resentfully. If Olivia knew how things
really
were with Alison right now, she might not be so quick to whinge to
her.
‘Ah, don’t mind me,’ Olivia said, a bit shamefaced, after a few moments of silence. ‘I’ve just been worrying about the party, wanting to be sure it will turn out
OK. I’m really glad you’re here, it takes the pressure off.’
‘It’s only a party, and it’s only family. If things go wrong, they go wrong, and nothing’s going to go wrong, I’m sure – and if it does we’ll sort
it,’ Alison said reassuringly, realizing that her older sister had been under a lot of pressure.
‘I know we will.’ Olivia smiled at her. ‘Frig it, whatever happens, let’s enjoy it, we’re lucky to have Mam and Dad still with us to celebrate.’
Two minutes later they turned a bend and came on to the coast road. ‘Oh, look at the sea. Isn’t it fabulous?’ Alison rolled down her window and inhaled deep lungfuls of salty
air. The waves were tumultuous, grey-green whitecaps crashing against the shore. ‘Oh, it’s good to be home,’ she exclaimed, as some of the stresses and strains of the past few
weeks seemed to lift and float away far out to sea. JJ was right: she should rest and relax and go back to New York ready for action in the New Year.
‘I’ve an idea,’ she said impulsively as they drove through the village towards their parents’ house. ‘Why don’t I stay in the car, and when you go inside
I’ll ring and pretend I’m in New York – but you pick up because my Irish number will come up on Mam’s caller ID. And then I’ll knock on the door.’
‘
Brilliant
idea!’ Olivia enthused, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Her sister looked tired, and the lines around her mouth and eyes had deepened, Alison noted with a dart of dismay. The first telltale signs of middle age were making their appearance. There was
a smattering of alarming grey hairs in her sister’s chestnut bob, and dark circles under her eyes.
Olivia was forty now, incredible as it was, Alison reminded herself as they drove through the quiet fishing village where they’d grown up. Two women in rain macs walked into the
butcher’s, and an elderly man struggled to let his umbrella down before entering Nolan’s to get his paper. A couple sat in the small coffee shop having breakfast. Otherwise, the street
was deserted on that wet, windy Saturday morning. They passed the road that led to the pier where fishing boats rocked up and down on the waves and seagulls hawked and squawked, circling a small
trawler that was unloading its catch. A green fishing net, caught against a bollard, flapped in the wind. The rigging in the masts of the boats jangled, making its own music, and the wood in the
trawlers creaked and groaned as they rocked against the quay. It was the sound of home, thought Alison, as memories came flooding back,
The house looked as she always remembered it: an ivy-clad dormer bungalow with neatly clipped privet, a weeping willow in the centre of the garden and polyanthus and pansies in the well-tended
flowerbeds under the windows making a defiantly colourful stand against the gloomy
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