Secrets in the Snow - Emma Heatherington Page 0,40
back into the brown canvas bags he had brought them in some moments later. His hair is dishevelled, as though he’s just up out of bed, and I feel as if I’ve just run up the steep hill at Warren’s Wood without stopping. I can feel a faint river of sweat trickle down my cleavage, and Aidan’s brow is dotted with tiny little glass beads. I’d forgotten how warm it can get in the attic storeroom, especially with the heat blasting at this time of year.
Camille’s interruption with her offer of coffee was perfect timing and it burst the hazy bubble and pulled us out of the fog of memories we had become so lost in.
‘It’s another little step in the right direction,’ I say, agreeing with Aidan wholeheartedly, now that my nerves have settled and a shot of caffeine has taken the edge off the intensity of our reminiscences. ‘It was a lot less painful than I thought it might be. In fact, dare I say it, I quite enjoyed it, despite my fears.’
‘Same,’ says Aidan, as he helps me to gather up our empty cups and picks up his jacket. ‘It was nice to hear your stories about Mabel. I enjoyed your company, Roisin, once again. Thank you.’
I swallow hard and lead the way down the narrow wooden staircase, gripping the hand rail for fear that I might fall as my legs wobble after sitting for so long.
I feel a pang of guilt when I think of his wife so far away, unaware of the intense moments we just shared locked away for over an hour together, bonding over memories and stories, but then I remind myself that there’s nothing wrong with enjoying someone’s company.
Aidan enjoyed my company today, just like Camille does when we work together, or like Mabel did when we’d talk and talk for hours on end. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that and I don’t need to look into it any further.
And I’d enjoyed his company too. A lot. Yes, I had and I’m not afraid to think it. I do my best to control my rollercoaster emotions of guilt and fear that I’ve done something wrong as I take the last few steps and breathe to overcome my overactive mind.
‘I hope I didn’t bend your ear too much on my trip down memory lane,’ he says to me as we approach the door of Truly Vintage on his way out. His next mission is to take the rest of Mabel’s clothes, stuff that didn’t make it into the shop’s collection, to a recycling centre or a charity store who may have use for it. ‘I’ve a habit of talking way, way too much when I get started.’
‘It’s an Irish thing,’ I jest, shrugging my shoulders. ‘I bet you’re a lot quieter back in New York, but when you come here you let loose and let all that Irish charm run free.’
Back in New York with your wife, I almost add, but I don’t, and then to my surprise Aidan fills in that gap for me. He scratches his head.
‘Rachel would disagree wholeheartedly that I’m quiet in New York if you told her that. She has reminded me on numerous occasions when I should be keeping quiet instead of rabbiting on. That’s her expression, not mine.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really. Let’s just say that my wife never did quite grasp the ins and outs of the Irish culture and her experience of how we like to talk and talk and talk is a bit mind-blowing for her,’ he tells me.
Do I detect a hint of bitterness or resentment in his voice? Or is it rather the whole classic ‘she just doesn’t get me’ excuse that so many are known to make when a relationship takes a dip?
‘She would have given my grandmother a heart attack with her absolute refusal to live anywhere other than New York,’ he continues. ‘And to think my grandmother thought Mabel was a threat all those years ago.’
Ouch. There are so many things running through my head right now, and I don’t even recognize my own voice when it comes out. It sounds like a pathetic squeak and is at least three octaves higher than usual.
‘Well, Mabel surprised you all, so maybe Rachel will too?’
He stares at me now, and I catch my breath.
‘She won’t. Believe me, she won’t.’
There’s so much more I’d love to ask him, but I don’t seem to have control over what is going to come out of my