eyes. Was she regretting her decision already? Too late now. His resolve was as fixed as the markings on a new coin.
‘It won’t be easy,’ she said. ‘Eleanor will be furious.’
‘I’ll deal with her. What we’ve decided to do is none of her business.’
‘We’ll tell the children when they’re all together at Christmas?’
‘We will.’ A claw sharpened with guilt scraped against his chest.
‘Do you think we’ll have phantom pains when we separate?’ she asked. ‘You in your mews. Me in my cottage.’
‘Phantom pains are possible,’ he replied. ‘For a while, anyway… until we get used to being apart.’
‘I hope we don’t end up hating each other.’
‘Impossible,’ he reassured her. ‘I’ll always love you.’
‘And I’ll love you.’
Declarations of love… what a way to end a marriage. They loved each other once with passion. Now they loved with affection. A world of difference existed between loving someone and being in love, overwhelmed, besotted, crazed with yearning, giddy, and delirious.
T he trees lining the pavements of Bartizan Downs were bare now and the black branches had the clenched arthritic look of winter. It was dark when he and Nadine left for Tõnality in the mornings and dark when they returned in the evenings. Ravens crouched like a menacing army on the rooftops. Beady eyes and cruel beaks, their feathers sleek as oil as they rose in black, clamorous flight, heading to roost in distant trees in the Malahide Demesne.
Poverty and the downfall of a family, Rosanna used to say. Harbingers of doom, that’s ravens for you.
Chapter 14
Nadine
T he twins , their peachy skin bleached by the chill of an Irish winter, are the first to arrive home. They radiate energy and purposefulness in their tight jeans and runners, ribbed tops showing off their flat, muscular stomachs. Ali, wrapped in faux furs and Uggs, follows a day later. Brian arrives late on Christmas Eve. He’s grown a beard and his hands feel abrasive, as if clay has lodged deep in the pores.
Our house emerges from its tomblike silence. It’s filled with voices, laughter, music, the clatter of footsteps, phones ringing. My family are happy to be together again. They seem possessed of a manic but joyous energy as they wrap presents and dash in and out from each other’s rooms to borrow wrapping paper, gift tags and glitter bobbins. They play CD’s of Christmas carols and outdo each other in their choice of gaudy festive jumpers. How will they react when we tell them? How have they not picked up on the nervousness between myself and Jake? When they were younger they could sense a shift in our moods by holding a finger in the air. These days, I suspect, we’d need to attack each other with axes before they’d notice.
For years the seating arrangement around our table on Christmas Day never changed. Four generations gathered together, the six of us joined by Eleanor, Rosanna and my uncles, Donal and Stuart. This year Donal, my father’s brother, is the only one of the older generation to join us. Stuart, my mother’s brother, is remaining in London. Six months ago he was diagnosed with cancer. He’s positive and upbeat, convinced of a good outcome, but his chemo has been tough so he’s staying close to home with friends. We’ll miss our beloved Rosanna and Eleanor – who always endured rather than enjoyed this noisy and often boisterous family meal – is spending Christmas in Wicklow with friends from First Affiliation. I tried not to look relieved when she told us. The dreaded moment postponed.
Presents are exchanged on Christmas morning. No squabbles, sulks or disappointed silences. Each gift is judged to be the perfect one. Brian gives us pieces of pottery. I receive a decorative ceramic box from his new Willow Passion collection. It’s shaped like a heart, the lid split down the middle in a gentle curve. Can he possibly suspect… but, no. His eyes are guileless as he waits for me to comment
‘It won’t be easy,’ she said. ‘Eleanor will be furious.’
‘I’ll deal with her. What we’ve decided to do is none of her business.’
‘We’ll tell the children when they’re all together at Christmas?’
‘We will.’ A claw sharpened with guilt scraped against his chest.
‘Do you think we’ll have phantom pains when we separate?’ she asked. ‘You in your mews. Me in my cottage.’
‘Phantom pains are possible,’ he replied. ‘For a while, anyway… until we get used to being apart.’
‘I hope we don’t end up hating each other.’
‘Impossible,’ he reassured her. ‘I’ll always love you.’
‘And I’ll love you.’
Declarations of love… what a way to end a marriage. They loved each other once with passion. Now they loved with affection. A world of difference existed between loving someone and being in love, overwhelmed, besotted, crazed with yearning, giddy, and delirious.
T he trees lining the pavements of Bartizan Downs were bare now and the black branches had the clenched arthritic look of winter. It was dark when he and Nadine left for Tõnality in the mornings and dark when they returned in the evenings. Ravens crouched like a menacing army on the rooftops. Beady eyes and cruel beaks, their feathers sleek as oil as they rose in black, clamorous flight, heading to roost in distant trees in the Malahide Demesne.
Poverty and the downfall of a family, Rosanna used to say. Harbingers of doom, that’s ravens for you.
Chapter 14
Nadine
T he twins , their peachy skin bleached by the chill of an Irish winter, are the first to arrive home. They radiate energy and purposefulness in their tight jeans and runners, ribbed tops showing off their flat, muscular stomachs. Ali, wrapped in faux furs and Uggs, follows a day later. Brian arrives late on Christmas Eve. He’s grown a beard and his hands feel abrasive, as if clay has lodged deep in the pores.
Our house emerges from its tomblike silence. It’s filled with voices, laughter, music, the clatter of footsteps, phones ringing. My family are happy to be together again. They seem possessed of a manic but joyous energy as they wrap presents and dash in and out from each other’s rooms to borrow wrapping paper, gift tags and glitter bobbins. They play CD’s of Christmas carols and outdo each other in their choice of gaudy festive jumpers. How will they react when we tell them? How have they not picked up on the nervousness between myself and Jake? When they were younger they could sense a shift in our moods by holding a finger in the air. These days, I suspect, we’d need to attack each other with axes before they’d notice.
For years the seating arrangement around our table on Christmas Day never changed. Four generations gathered together, the six of us joined by Eleanor, Rosanna and my uncles, Donal and Stuart. This year Donal, my father’s brother, is the only one of the older generation to join us. Stuart, my mother’s brother, is remaining in London. Six months ago he was diagnosed with cancer. He’s positive and upbeat, convinced of a good outcome, but his chemo has been tough so he’s staying close to home with friends. We’ll miss our beloved Rosanna and Eleanor – who always endured rather than enjoyed this noisy and often boisterous family meal – is spending Christmas in Wicklow with friends from First Affiliation. I tried not to look relieved when she told us. The dreaded moment postponed.
Presents are exchanged on Christmas morning. No squabbles, sulks or disappointed silences. Each gift is judged to be the perfect one. Brian gives us pieces of pottery. I receive a decorative ceramic box from his new Willow Passion collection. It’s shaped like a heart, the lid split down the middle in a gentle curve. Can he possibly suspect… but, no. His eyes are guileless as he waits for me to comment
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