If You Could See Me Now (10 page)

“Ah, there she is, the very woman herself,” boomed the singsong voice of Joe. “No doubt spittin’ feathers for her coffee.”

“Morning, Joe.”

He made a show of checking his watch and tapping the clock face. “Bit behind time this morning, aren’t we?” He raised his eyebrows at her. “Thought maybe you had a bout of the summer
flu. Seems like everyone’s got it this week.” He tried to lower his voice but only succeeded in lowering his head and raising his voice. “Sure didn’t Sandy O’Flynn come down with it right after disappearing the other night from the pub with PJ Flanagan, who had it the other week. She’s been in bed all weekend.” He snorted. “Walking her home, me arse. I’ve never heard such nonsense before in my life.”

Irritation rose within Elizabeth; she didn’t care for tittle-tattle about people she didn’t know, especially since, as she knew, for so many years her own family had been the subject of all the gossip.

“A coffee, please, Joe,” Elizabeth said crisply, ignoring his rambling. “To take away. Cream, not milk,” she said sternly, even though she had the same every day, while rooting in her bag for her wallet, trying to hint to Joe that she hadn’t time for yapping.

He moved slowly toward the kettle. To Elizabeth’s utter annoyance, they only sold one kind of coffee. And that was the instant kind. Elizabeth missed the variety of
flavors that she used to get in the cities she traveled on business; she missed the smooth, sweet-tasting French vanilla in a Paris café, the creamy full-bodied
flavor of hazelnut cream in a bustling café in New York, the rich velvety masterpiece of the Macadamia nut in Milan, and her favorite, the Coco Mocha-Nut, the mixture of chocolate and coconut that transported her from a Central Park bench to a sun-bed in the Caribbean. Here in Baile na gCroíthe, Joe
filled the kettle with water and
flicked the switch. A café with one measly kettle and he hadn’t even boiled the water. Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

Joe stared at her. He looked like he was going to say—

“So what has you so late then?”

That.

“I’m
five
minutes
later than usual, Joe,” Elizabeth said incredulously.

“I know, I know, and
five
minutes could be
five
hours for you. Sure don’t the bears plan their hibernation on your time?”

That made Elizabeth smile, despite herself.

Joe chuckled and winked. “That’s better.” The kettle clicked as it boiled and he turned his back to make the coffee.

“The coaches delayed me,” Elizabeth said softly, taking the warm mug from Joe’s hands.

“Ah, I saw that.” He nodded toward the window. “Jaimsie did well to get himself out of that one.”

“Jaimsie?” Elizabeth frowned, adding a splash of cream. It quickly melted and
filled the top of the cup. Joe looked on with disgust.

“Jaimsie O’Connor. Jack’s son,” he explained. “Jack, whose other daughter Mary just got engaged to the Dublin boy last weekend. Lives down in Mayfair. Five kids. The youngest was arrested there last week for throwing a wine bottle at Joseph.”

Elizabeth froze and stared back at him blankly.

“Joseph Mc Cann,” he repeated, as though she were crazy for not knowing. “Son of Paddy. Lives up in Newtown. Wife died last year when she drowned in the bog. His daughter Maggie said it was an accident, but sure weren’t the family suspicious on account of the row they’d being having about not letting her run off with that troublemaker from Cahirciveen.”

Elizabeth placed her money on the counter and smiled, no longer wanting to be a part of this bizarre conversation. “Thanks, Joe,” she said as she made her way to the door.

“Well, anyway,” he concluded his rambling. “Jaimsie was the one driving the coach. Don’t forget to bring that mug back,” he called to her and grumbled to himself, “Takeaway coffee; have you ever heard something so ludicrous in your life?”

Before Elizabeth stepped outside, she called from the door, “Joe, would you not think of a getting a coffee machine. So you can make
lattes
and
cappuccinos
and
espressos
instead of all this instant stuff?” She held up her mug.

Joe crossed his arms, leaned against the counter, and replied in a bored voice, “Elizabeth, you don’t like my coffee, you don’t drink it. I drink tea. There’s only one kind of tea I like. It’s called Tea. No fancy names for it.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Actually there are lots of different types of tea. The Chinese—”

“Ah, be off with you.” He waved his hand at her dismissively. “We’d all be drinking tea with chopsticks and putting chocolate and cream in our coffees like they’re desserts, if you have your way. But, if you’re at it, why don’t I make a suggestion too then, how’s about you buy yourself a kettle over there for your office and put me out of my misery?”

“And out of business.” Elizabeth smiled and stepped outside.

The village had taken a big stretch and a yawn and was wandering sleepily from its bed to the bathroom. Soon it would be showered, dressed, and wide awake. As usual, she was one step ahead of it, even if she was running late today.

Elizabeth was always the
first
in; she loved the silence, the stillness that her office brought at that time of day. It helped her focus on what lay ahead before her noisy colleagues rattled around and before the major traffic
hit the road. Elizabeth wasn’t the chatty, giggly type. Just as she ate to keep herself alive, she spoke to say only what she had to say. She wasn’t the type of woman that she overheard in restaurants and cafés, chuckling and gossiping over what someone said someday about something. Conversations about nothing just didn’t interest her.

She didn’t break down or analyze conversations, glares, looks, or situations. There were no double meanings with her; she meant what she said at all times. She didn’t enjoy debates or heated discussions. But, sitting in the silence of her small office, she supposed that was why she didn’t have a group of friends. She had tried to be involved before, especially during her college days with her attempts to settle in, but just as she did then, she would quickly tune out of the mindless nattering.

Since childhood she hadn’t pined for friendship; she liked her own company and liked her own thoughts, and then later in her teens she had Saoirse as a distraction. She liked the orderly way in which she could depend on herself and manage her time more effectively. When she returned from New York, she had tried to host a dinner party in her new home with the neighbors. She thought she would try a fresh beginning, try to make friendships like most people did, but Saoirse as usual burst into the house and in one fell swoop managed to offend every single person at the table. She accused Ray Collins of having an affair, Fiona Conway of having a boob job, and sixty-year-old Kevin Smith of looking at her in a sexual way. The result of Saoirse’s ranting and raving was a crying nine-month-old Luke, a few red faces at the table, and a burned rack of lamb.

Of course, her neighbors wouldn’t be so closed-minded as to think that a member of her family’s behavior was Elizabeth’s fault, but she gave up after that. She didn’t desire their company enough to be able to cope with the embarrassment of having to explain and apologize all the time.

Her silence was worth more to her than a thousand words. In that silence, she had peace and clarity. Except during the night, when her own jumbled thoughts would keep her awake, sounding like a thousand voices jumping in, out, and interrupting each other so much that she could barely close her eyes.

She was worried about Luke’s behavior right now. This Ivan character had been hanging around her nephew’s head for too long. She had watched Luke all weekend walking, talking, and playing games by himself. Laughing and giggling as though he was having the time of his life. Maybe there was something she should be doing. With Edith away, she couldn’t even witness his odd behavior and deal with it in the wonderful way she always succeeded in doing. Perhaps Elizabeth was supposed to automatically know what it was. Once again, the mysteries of motherhood escaped her and she had no one to ask for advice. Nor had she any example to learn from. Well, that wasn’t strictly true—she had learned what
not
to do, a lesson just as good as any. So far, she had followed her gut instinct and had made a few mistakes along the way, but overall thought Luke had turned out to be a polite and stable child. Or maybe she was doing it all wrong. What if Luke ended up like Saoirse? What had she done so wrong with Saoirse as a child that had caused her to turn out the way she was? She groaned with frustration and rested her head on her desk.

She turned on her computer and sipped at her coffee while it loaded. Then she went to Google, typed in the words “imaginary friend,” and hit search. Hundreds of sites came up on her screen. Thirty minutes later she felt much better about the Ivan situation.

To her surprise, she learned that imaginary friends were very common and not a problem as long as they didn’t interfere with normal life. She was relieved to learn that imaginary friends were a sign of creativity and not a sign of loneliness or stress. Although the very fact of having an imaginary friend was a direct interference with normal life, it didn’t seem to be an issue with the online doctors. Site after site told her to ask Luke what Ivan was thinking and doing, as it would be a positive way of giving Elizabeth an understanding into what Luke was thinking. They encouraged Elizabeth to actually set a place for their phantom dinner guest and that there was no need to point out that Luke’s “friend” existed only in his imagination.

But even so, this was going to be difficult for Elizabeth to accept. It went against everything she believed. Her world and the land of make-believe existed on two very different planes and she found it impossible to playact. She couldn’t make baby noises to an infant, she couldn’t pretend to hide behind her hands or give life or a voice to a teddy, she couldn’t even role-play at college. She had grown up knowing not to do that, not to sound like her mother for fear of her father getting mad. It was instilled in her from an early age, but now the experts were telling her to change all that.

She
finished the rest of her cold coffee and read the
final line on the screen.
Imaginary friends disappear within three months, whether or not you encourage them.

After three months she would be more than glad to see the back of Ivan and return to normal life again. She
flicked through her calendar and circled August with a red marker. If Ivan wasn’t out of her house by then, she’d open the door and show him the way herself.

Chapter Eight

Ivan spun around in the black
leather chair at the reception desk outside Elizabeth’s office. He could hear her in the other room on the phone, organizing a meeting using her boring grown-up voice again. But as soon as she hung up the phone, he heard her humming his song again. He laughed to himself; it definitely was addictive, once you got the tune in your head there was very little you could do to stop.

He twirled himself ’round in the chair faster and faster, doing pirouettes on wheels, until his stomach danced and his head began to throb. He decided that chair-spinning was his absolute favorite. Ivan knew that Luke would have loved to play the spin-the-chair game, and on picturing his sad little face pressed up against the car window from earlier that morning, his mind drifted and the chair slowed. Ivan wanted so much to visit the farm and Luke’s granddad looked like he could do with a bit of fun. He was similar to Elizabeth in that way. Two boring old gnirobs.

Anyway, at least this separation gave Ivan time to monitor Elizabeth so he could write a report on her. He had a meeting in a few days and would have to give a presentation to the rest of the team about who he was working with at the moment. Gut instincts had led him to decide to stay with Elizabeth in her office instead of making his way back to Luke, which was the usual routine of best friends. A few more days with Elizabeth to prove that she couldn’t see him would be enough and then he could get back to concentrating on Luke.

Maybe there was something he was missing with him, despite his years of experience.

As Ivan’s head began to get dizzy, he put his foot down on the
floor
to stop. He decided to leap from the whirling chair so he could pretend he was jumping from a moving car. He rolled dramatically across the
floor
just like they did in the movies and looked up from where he was lying in a ball to see a teenage girl standing before him openmouthed, watching her office chair spin out of control.