abandon and ignore her in her final years, why he didn’t come to visit, knowing she was ill for months, why he had turned his back on the woman who loved him like a second mother, just the way she loved me.
‘I guess when your days are numbered, all sorts of notions go through your head,’ I tell him, holding the envelope once more and doing my best to remain neutral and diplomatic. ‘We talked a lot about death over the past few months. She had no fear of dying even though it was staring her in the face, and I thought she’d told me all she’d wanted to, so I have absolutely no idea what this is about.’
We stare some more, and then I push the envelope across the table towards Aidan. I catch his eye, wondering how surreal this moment might be for anyone looking on right now. Here we are … me – a widowed, single mum with so much emotional baggage it almost makes me slouch sometimes and who’d come to this village to find solace from a life of trauma, and Aidan Murphy, a married man of great fortune and style, who’d escaped his own many years ago to make a life of huge financial success away from his own pain.
We are worlds apart in every way, from the shiny Merc that sits outside adjacent to my battered old pick-up truck, his designer clothes to my vintage second-hand dress, and his life of glamour to my humble struggles. We have simply absolutely nothing in common except the love of an old lady who for some reason wants to push us together in some sort of quest from beyond the grave.
And wedged between us is the fact that neither of us can feel any connection to each other at all.
‘Open it,’ says Aidan, handing me the envelope in a tone that suggests he is used to doing things his way.
I almost give in, but for some reason it doesn’t feel like it’s my place to do so.
‘You’re her real family,’ I say, pushing it back towards him. ‘Your name is first on the label.’
He runs his fingers under the neck of his shirt, bites his lips, and looks me right in the eye. He curls his lips and smiles for the first time since our hasty introduction.
‘You’re feisty, just like Mabel said,’ he tells me, tearing open the envelope while holding my gaze.
I can’t answer as I inhale deeply, waiting to see what might lie inside. I can feel her breath in the air. I can hear her voice in my ear. I can smell her perfume all around me, and most of all I can feel the intensity of Aidan Murphy’s hypnotic stare.
He pulls out a silver DVD and my eyes divert towards it.
‘She’s left us a video message?’ Aidan says in disbelief. ‘God no. I can’t watch this. It would be far too—’
‘Soon,’ I say, interrupting him before he says what we’re both really thinking.
Sore may have been a better word in Aidan’s case. It’s sweet of Mabel and it’s surprising, but I do agree that it’s also going to take a lot of courage and strength to watch her talking directly to us when she’s not with us any more, especially when one of us mightn’t like what she has to say.
My own heart thumps at the thought of watching it. I’m totally lost for words and the idea of hearing her voice again, addressing me directly with whatever it was she wanted to share at this stage fills me full of wonder and disbelief at her doing this all behind my back. Mabel and I had made a pact that we’d never have any secrets. It was all or nothing between us. My mind races at the thought of what might be coming next from her.
‘Yes, soon,’ says Aidan, standing up before I can suggest we see this through right now. ‘I’ll leave it with you. I hope whatever she has to say brings you comfort and closure.’
My face falls into a frown.
‘But you mean?’ I stutter, looking up at him. ‘You mean you’re not going to watch it at all?’
He puts his hands in his pockets and shakes his head. He swallows so hard I see his Adam’s apple move and, if I’m not mistaken, I think there might be a hint of tears in his weary eyes.
‘No, I’m not going to watch it at all, Roisin. Look, I’m really sorry,