Pack Up the Moon (24 page)

at nine. We drank wine although Anne stuck to weak beer. Everyone was helping out, setting the table, sorting out some music, stirring sauces and filling glasses, while bumping into one another. It was a definite case of too many cooks. I got my jacket and decided to go for a cigarette.

I sat on the bench outside looking out into the darkness

with only my fag to light the way. I heard footsteps behind me and my heart skipped because I knew it was

Sean.

“I thought you’d given up,” he said.

I smiled while he sat. “I did,” I answered, exhaling. “You’re watching me fall off the wagon.”

He smiled. “Mind if I join you?” he enquired and I wanted desperately to kiss him.

I handed him a cigarette instead. We smoked silently

although I was having a full-scale conversation in my

head.

Sean, how’s your fag? Oh good. Listen, by the way, I love you and I’d like to shag here and now.

We sat in silence.

Then he asked me what I was smiling at.

“Nothing.”

We returned to silence. I started to feel the pressure. I needed to say something, anything to start a conversation. The tension was thick in the air. I couldn’t think of anything, which was ridiculous — we’d been friends for years. I kept wondering why he wasn’t talking and wishing that he’d speak, but he just smoked. It was getting weird so I decided just to open my mouth and say the first thing

that came to mind and to hell with the consequences so I

did.

“Happy New Year, Sean.”

He looked at me. “It’s only half nine.”

I smiled. “I know,” I said and took a drag out of my cigarette, wishing I could smoke quicker.

This was too hard. I was a coward. I didn’t have the courage of my convictions. I was weak and I was scared. It was funny, I had no real idea that I was in love with Sean until last night and now suddenly the prospect of

losing him was sickening. Sean had told Clo that he was in love with me, but he was drunk and it was over a year ago. Maybe he’s moved on — that’s why he’s going to London. London was Sean’s Chinese girl! I’d blown it, left it too late. He was going to London and I had missed the boat. Saying something now would be stupid. It would just make things difficult and it could definitely ruin our

friendship. It hadn’t even been two years since John died. By the time we finished our never-ending cigarettes I had

decided things were best left as they were. We walked down the path to the house and he put his arm around

my shoulder.

“You look sad,” he said.

I smiled at him and hugged him close. “I’m not sad. I’m happy to be here,” I answered. I felt his warmth and I wanted to tell him after all.

*

We ate dinner and drank wine. Anne even managed a glass or two. We moved into the sitting-room. It was raining outside. Richard had lit a fire. The TV was muted and the stereo sang. Sean sat beside me and I felt like the whole room was waiting for something to

happen. He didn’t notice. He was busy scribbling in his notebook. Anne asked what he was doing. He told us he had an article to write for the following Tuesday and he

was taking some notes. Clo chastised him for being a nerdy swot. She couldn’t believe it was thirty minutes to midnight on New Year’s Eve and he was working. He defended himself by noting his articles were always a

great conversation piece, while conveniently ignoring the fact that the conversations invariably ended up in

arguments.

This time, he needed to define the modern woman. do laughed. “Easy. A great date, a shit housewife.” We laughed and agreed she was right.

He grinned and took it down. He looked up at me. “What about you, Em? If pearls, high heels and a duster

defined women in the fifties, what describes women in the nineties?”

It was a good question. I was unsure of my answer. He looked up from his notepad.

“Well?” he said.

“Do you want the glossy magazine answer?” I knew he always wanted the glossy magazine answer.

He grinned and nodded.

“OK,” I began. “Cosmopolitan leads us to believe that the modern woman works hard, pays her own bills, carries her own condoms, isn’t adverse to a one-night stand. She can cook, fix a flat tyre, do the splits, give birth in a pool without the benefit of painkillers, retain the figure of a well-endowed sixteen-year-old well into her sixties, is an uninhibited lover, a football fan, has a large music collection and enjoys lewd jokes.”

The others were laughing while Sean was scribbling

wildly and I wondered why he didn’t just read Cosmopolitan. He looked up after a minute.

“What do you say?” he asked.

“She’s free,” I answered without thinking.

Clo broke into “Working on the Chain Gang”. The others joined in, but Sean just smiled and nodded his head while I sat thinking about what I’d just said.

I’m free.

He asked Anne, if she could pick to live the life of any female TV character, who it would be.

She thought for a minute, sloshing her beer and grinning widely. “Lois Lane.”

He asked why, although it seemed pretty obvious to the rest of us.

-Superman,” she nodded, grinning. She didn’t need to say anymore.

Clo nodded her head in agreement, before noting that she’d like to be Pamela Anderson in Baywatch and Tom

supported her choice enthusiastically. I said Dana Scully. However, when Clo pointed out that she was overworked, had a gross job, no boyfriend and was always in a crisis, I briefly wondered about my mental health and quickly

switched to Jasmine Bleeth, Pammie’s friend in Baywatch. Clo gave me the thumbs-up.

Richard turned up the TV. It was five to twelve. I was sitting next to Sean.

Christ.

I briefly considered lighting a cigarette, but I didn’t want Anne to know I was still smoking. Suddenly everyone was smiling at each other and yelling out the countdown. My bladder throbbed and I feared I would pee. All roared a collective “Happy New Year!” Anne and Richard kissed and held one another. Clo and Tom were sinking into the chair together. Sean and I smiled at one another.

“Happy New Year, Em,” he said and my heart stopped, making it difficult to respond.

He smiled and pulled me into him and I swear it kick

started my heart. I was buzzing like a teenager, but then he kissed my cheek and pulled away.

“Happy New Year,” I mumbled and we stood there awkwardly, waiting for the others to pry themselves apart. After that we listened to eighties music and got drunk.

Clo and Anne followed me to bed. They were troubled that I had not taken advantage of the New Year’s kiss with

Sean as discussed and agreed upon earlier that day. I

apologised for being pathetic. Anne was sympathetic, but Clo was having none of it, telling me to take my head out of my arse, which now was becoming a common theme. I whined that there was nothing I could do about it.

Clo grinned knowingly. “Of course there is, you can go to his room.”

Anne nodded her head in agreement. It was after three, but my protestation was falling on deaf ears. Clo reminded me unnecessarily that we were driving back to

Dublin the next day and time was running out. She and Anne walked to the bedroom door.

“It’s now or never,” Anne said.

“Amen,” Clo bowed her head.

Noel had mentioned he was thinking about going to

New Guinea during our Christmas Day phone call. I briefly wondered whether or not he had made it there but

had forgotten him by the time they had closed the door

behind them. Alone in a dark room, I was faced with a decision that could potentially lead to the worst

humiliation of my life. I could just go to his room and tell him or go to bed and let him go.

Suddenly I realised I had no choice. I had to tell him or I’d go insane. The only thing I had to do was work up the courage so I moisturised, washed my teeth, put on lip balm and stood leaning against my door for a really long time. It was the threat of neck cramp which moved me in the end.

I got to his door and I was in a state, but I knew there was no turning back so I knocked really loudly.

“Who’s there?” he said.

He sounded awake. I hadn’t counted on him being terribly alert.

“It’s Emma,” I managed.

The door appeared to open instantly. He said, “Hi,” and I said, “Hi.” I told him I needed to talk. He let me in. The curtains were open and a half moon peered through

the glass. I adjusted my eyes to notice the curtains were floor length. The window was a patio door, which led to a private patio, which overlooked the water. It was really beautiful. I walked over and opened the patio door. He smiled.

“It’s a great room.”

I couldn’t believe it; I didn’t even have an en-suite. He followed me out onto the patio. I was staring at the love seat positioned beside the potted plants.

“I don’t have a patio,” I moaned.

He smiled. “Did I show you my en-suite?” he said, almost laughing.

Then he showed me into his private bathroom behind

what appeared to be a wardrobe to the unsuspecting tourist. It was plush, the bath was round and it smelled like Coco Chanel. I couldn’t fucking believe it. Here was Sean staying in the Ritz while I was down the hall in the bloody

Holiday Inn. While I was contemplating Anne being a dirty bitch, Sean was waiting for me to give him a reason for my visit. So when I finally recovered from the indignity of being given a dodgy room, I followed him back into his idyllic one. He sat on the bed and I sat beside him. The injustice forgotten, I was forced to deal with the issue at hand. My heartbeat increased; my muscles tensed. He asked if everything was all right, while looking at me weirdly. I assured him I was fine, but my insane hysterical grinning probably left him with some doubts. As the

seconds passed he began to look scared for my sanity. This was not the strong start that I’d hoped for, but I persevered. This was the moment I was going to tell him I loved him. I exhaled and let it out.

“I don’t want you to leave,” I said.

Damn, I meant to say I love you.

I hadn’t stuck to the plan and this was new territory. His mood changed and he looked at me intensely. “Why?” He sounded a little hoarse.

I momentarily prayed he wasn’t coming down with a

cold and then I answered him as honestly as I could manage. “Because I’d really miss you.”

Damn, damn, why can’t I just say it?

I wanted to look away, but his gaze held mine. His eyes were moist and wide and sad. His mouth was soft and inches from mine. He was wearing nothing more than a tracksuit bottom and although his eyes riveted me I could

feel the closeness of his chest. Jesus, I was weak for him.

“Why, Emma?” he asked.

I love you.

“Why would you miss me?” he challenged.

“Because …” My voice left me.

“Because what?” he asked urgently.

“Because I love you,” I said a little too shrilly. Yet still, at last I’d said it. I think I exhaled.

“You love me?” he repeated sceptically.

I nodded in agreement because it was true.

He smiled. “You? Love me?”

“Yes,” I agreed.

“Not just as a friend?” he queried.

“No, not just as a friend,” I confirmed.

He leaned in closer. “How long?”

I answered honestly. “A long time.”

He smiled. “I love you too,” he said grinning.

And then we were kissing and oh and my God the boy

could kiss. And then we were touching and it didn’t feel weird — instead it felt good, really good, too good to explain. I don’t remember a single thought that entered my head. I just remember the most intense sense of bliss. We managed to get naked with surprising speed and dexterity. It was as though we already knew each other intimately. No head-banging, no awkward fumbling, no misplaced hands. It was as though we fitted somehow.

He was lying on top of me naked when he asked, “Are you sure?”

I looked up at him. “Yeah,” I agreed-, laughing.

I pulled him to me and he was laughing and then we

were kissing again and he was inside me and oh my God

the boy could…

Afterwards we lay in the round bath in Sean’s

impossibly cool Coco Chanel-smelling bathroom, naked and warm.

“What are you thinking?” he asked when he caught me smiling.

“What took me so long?” I said.

He laughed. “You’re slow.”

It made me smile because he was right. I was slow but then nobody’s perfect. We talked all night, lying in one another’s arms, about the past and about the future. He told me he wasn’t going to London and I was so happy

that I cried.

The next morning we got breakfast in bed. Richard,

Anne and Tom had kindly got up early especially to bring

us eggs. We hugged onto the sheet having only slept twentyfive minutes, startled and feeling pretty naked while they grinned wildly and said things like, “Good on you!” and, “We figured you’d have worked up an appetite!”

It felt like at any moment one of them would whip out

a camera and yell, “Cheese!” And then they were gone and we were looking at each other freaked out and then we

were laughing and I felt sixteen.

Chucky, a Homecoming and the Cow

It was a crisp cold day in January, grey except for a laser-like light beam that penetrated the earth through a

clearing in the clouds. The ground was dry and hardened by the cold that crept through even the thickest of

clothing. My hands were blue under my bunched-up sleeves. I walked past the gates and meandered through the line of graves that led the way to John. My nose hurt and I could feel the skin around my lips chapping. I quickened my step and vowed to say what I had to and

leave. I reached my destination minutes later, but found that on this ungodly cold morning I was not alone. John’s mother, Patricia, was cleaning the headstone. I momentarily thought about hiding, but her eyes met mine and I was caught.