PS, I Love You: A Novel Page 11

  Holly moved over and sat on the high stool opposite Richard and struck up a conversation.

  “You enjoying yourself?”

  He looked up from his drink, startled that someone had spoken to him. “Yes, thank you, I’m having fun, Holly.”

  If that was him having fun Holly dreaded to think what he looked like when he wasn’t.

  “I’m surprised you came, actually, I didn’t think this would be your scene.”

  “Oh, you know … you have to support the family.” He stirred his drink.

  “So where’s Meredith tonight?”

  “Emily and Timothy,” he said, as if that explained it all.

  “You working tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” he said suddenly, knocking back his drink, “so I best be off. You were a great sport tonight, Holly.” He looked around awkwardly at his family, debating whether to interrupt them and say good-bye but eventually deciding against it. He nodded to Holly and off he went, maneuvering his way through the thick crowd.

  Holly was once again alone. As much as she wanted to grab her bag and run home, she knew she should sit this one out. There would be plenty of times in the future when she would be alone like this, the only singleton in the company of couples, and she needed to adapt. She felt awful, though, and she also felt angry with the others who didn’t even notice her. Then she cursed herself for being so childish, she couldn’t have asked for more supportive friends and family. Holly wondered whether this had been Gerry’s intention. Did he think that this situation was what she needed? Did he think that this would help her? Perhaps he was right, because she was certainly being tested. It was forcing her to become braver in more ways than one. She had stood on a stage and sung to hundreds of people, and now she was stuck in a situation where she was surrounded by couples. They were all around her. Whatever his plan was, she was being forced to become braver without him. Just sit it out, she told herself.

  Holly smiled as she watched her sister nattering away to Daniel. Ciara was nothing like her at all, she was so carefree and confident and never seemed to worry about anything. For as long as Holly could remember, Ciara had never managed to hold down a job or a boyfriend, her brain was always somewhere else, lost in the dream of visiting another far-off country. Holly wished she could be more like her, but she was such a home-bird and could never imagine herself moving away from her family and friends and leaving the life she had made for herself here. At least she could never leave the life she once had.

  She turned her attention to Jack, who was still lost in a world with Abbey. She even wished she could be more like him; he absolutely loved his job as a secondary school teacher. He was the cool English teacher that all the teenagers respected, and whenever Holly and Jack passed one of his students on the street they always greeted him with a big smile and a “Hiya, sir!” All the girls fancied him and all the boys wanted to be like him when they got older. Holly sighed loudly and drained her drink. Now she was bored.

  Daniel looked over. “Holly, can I get you a drink?”

  “Ah no, it’s OK, thanks, Daniel, I’m heading home soon anyway.”

  “Ah Hol!” protested Ciara. “You can’t go home so early! It’s your night!”

  Holly didn’t feel like it was her night. She felt like she had gate-crashed a party and didn’t know anyone there.

  “No, I’m all right, thanks,” she assured Daniel again.

  “No, you’re staying,” Ciara insisted. “Get her a vodka and Coke and I’ll have the same again,” she ordered Daniel.

  “Ciara!” Holly exclaimed, embarrassed at her sister’s rudeness.

  “No, it’s OK!” Daniel assured her. “I asked,” and he headed off to the bar.

  “Ciara, that was so rude,” Holly gave out to her sister.

  “What? It’s not like he has to pay for it, he owns the bloody place,” she said defensively.

  “That still doesn’t mean you can go around demanding free drinks …”

  “Where’s Richard?” Ciara interrupted.

  “Gone home.”

  “Shit! How long ago?” She jumped down from her seat in a panic.

  “I dunno, about five or ten minutes. Why?”

  “He’s supposed to be driving me home!” She threw everyone’s coats into a pile on the floor while she rooted around for her bag.

  “Ciara, you’ll never catch him now, he’s gone far too long.”

  “No, I will. He’s parked ages away and he’ll have to drive back down this road to get home. I’ll get him while he’s passing.” She finally found her bag and legged it out the door yelling, “Bye, Holly! Well done, you were shite!” and disappeared out the door.

  Holly was once again alone. Great, she thought, watching Daniel carrying the drinks back to the table, now she was stuck talking to him all by herself.

  “Where’s Ciara gone?” Daniel asked, placing the drinks on the table and sitting down opposite Holly.

  “Oh, she said to say she’s really sorry but she had to chase my brother for a lift.” Holly bit her lip guiltily, knowing full well that Ciara hadn’t even given Daniel a second thought as she raced out the door. “Sorry for being so rude to you earlier as well.” Then she started laughing, “God, you must think we’re the rudest family in the world. Ciara’s a bit of a motormouth; she doesn’t mean what she says half the time.”

  “And you did?” he smiled.

  “At the time, yes,” she laughed again.

  “Hey, it’s fine, just means there’s more drink for you,” he said, sliding the shot glass across the table to her.

  “Ugh, what is this?” Holly wrinkled her nose up at the smell.

  Daniel looked away awkwardly and cleared his throat. “I can’t remember.”

  “Oh, come on!” Holly laughed. “You just ordered it! It’s a woman’s right to know what she’s drinking, you know!”

  Daniel looked at her with a smile on his face. “It’s called a BJ. You should have seen the barman’s face when I asked for one. I don’t think he knew it was a shot!”

  “Oh, God,” Holly said. “What’s Ciara doing drinking this? It smells awful!”

  “She said she found it easy to swallow.” He started laughing again.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Daniel, she really is ridiculous sometimes.” Holly shook her head over her sister.

  Daniel stared past Holly’s shoulder with amusement. “Well, it looks like your friend is having a good night anyway.”

  Holly swirled around and saw Denise and the DJ wrapped around each other beside the stage. Her provocative poses had obviously worked.

  “Oh no, not the horrible DJ who forced me to come out of the toilet,” Holly groaned.

  “That’s Tom O’Connor from Dublin FM,” Daniel said. “He’s a friend of mine.”

  Holly covered her face in embarrassment.

  “He’s working here tonight because the karaoke went out live on the radio,” he said seriously.

  “What?” Holly nearly had a heart attack for the twentieth time that night.

  Daniel’s face broke into a smile. “Only joking; just wanted to see the look on your face.”

  “Oh my God, don’t do that to me,” Holly said, putting her hand on her heart. “Having the people in here hear me was bad enough, never mind the entire city as well.” She waited for her heart to stop pounding while Daniel stared at her with an amused look in his eye.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, if you hate it so much, why did you enter?” he asked carefully.

  “Oh, my hilarious husband thought it would be funny to enter his tone-deaf wife into a singing competition.”

  Daniel laughed. “You weren’t that bad! Is your husband here?” he asked, looking around. “I don’t want him thinking I’m trying to poison his wife with that awful concoction.” He nodded toward the shot glass.

  Holly looked around the club and smiled. “Yeah, he’s definitely here … somewhere.”

  Sixteen

  HOLLY SECURED HER BEDSHEET ONTO the washin
g line with a peg and thought about how she had bumbled around for the remainder of May trying to get her life into some sort of order. Days went by when she felt so happy and content and confident that her life would be OK, and then as quickly as the feeling came it would disappear again, and she would feel her sadness setting in once more. She tried to find a routine she could happily fall into so that she felt like she belonged in her body and her body belonged in this life, instead of wandering around like a zombie watching everybody else live theirs while she waited around for hers to end. Unfortunately the routine hadn’t turned out exactly as she hoped it would. She found herself immobile for hours in the sitting room, reliving every single memory that she and Gerry had shared. Sadly, she spent most of that time thinking about every argument they had had, wishing she could take them back, wishing she could take back every horrible word she had ever said to him. She prayed that Gerry had known her words had only been spoken out of anger and that they had not reflected her true feelings. She tortured herself for the times she had acted selfishly, going out with her friends for the night when she was mad at him instead of staying home with him. She chastised herself for walking away from him when she should have hugged him, when she held grudges for days instead of forgiving him, when she went straight to sleep some nights instead of making love to him. She wanted to take back every moment she knew he had been so angry with her and hated her. She wished all her memories could be of the good times, but the bad times kept coming back to haunt her. They had all been such a waste of time.

  And nobody had told them that they were short on time.

  Then there were her happy days, when she would walk around in a daydream with nothing but a smile on her face, catching herself giggling as she walked down the street when a joke of theirs would suddenly pop into her head. That was her routine. She would fall into days of deep dark depression, then finally build up the strength to be positive and to snap out of it for another few days. But the tiniest and simplest thing would trigger off her tears again. It was a tiring process, and most of the time she couldn’t be bothered battling with her mind. It was far stronger than any muscle in her body.

  Friends and family came and went, sometimes helping her with her tears, other times making her laugh. But even in her laughter there was something missing. She never seemed to be truly happy; she just seemed to be passing time while she waited for something else. She was tired of just existing; she wanted to live. But what was the point in living when there was no life in it? These questions went through her mind over and over until she reached the point of not wanting to wake up from her dreams—they were what felt real.

  Deep down, she knew it was normal to feel like this, she didn’t particularly think she was losing her mind. She knew that people said that one day she would be happy again and that this feeling would just be a distant memory. It was getting to that day that was the hard part.

  She read and reread Gerry’s original letter over and over, analyzing each word and each sentence, and each day she came up with a new meaning. But she could sit there till the cows came home trying to read between the lines and guess the hidden message. The fact was that she would never really know exactly what he meant because she would never speak to him ever again. It was this thought that she had the most difficulty trying to come to terms with, and it was killing her.

  Now May had gone and June had arrived, bringing bright long evenings and the beautiful mornings that came with them. And with these bright sunny days June brought clarity. There was no hiding indoors as soon as it got dark, and there were no lie-ins until the afternoon. It seemed as though the whole of Ireland had come out of hibernation, taken a big stretch and a yawn and suddenly started living again. It was time to open all the windows and air the house, to free it of the ghosts of the winter and dark days, it was time to get up early with the songbirds and go for a walk and look people in the eye and smile and say hello instead of hiding under layers of clothes with eyes to the ground while running from destination to destination and ignoring the world. It was time to stop hiding in the dark and to hold your head up high and come face-to-face with the truth.

  June also brought another letter from Gerry.

  Holly had sat out in the sun, reveling in the new brightness of life, and nervously yet excitedly read the fourth letter. She loved the feel of the card and the bumps of Gerry’s handwriting under her finger as it ran over the dried ink. Inside, his neat handwriting had listed the items that belonged to him that remained in the house, and beside each of his possessions he explained what he wanted Holly to do with them and where he wished for them to be sent. At the bottom it read:

  PS, I love you, Holly, and I know you love me. You don’t need my belongings to remember me by, you don’t need to keep them as proof that I existed or still exist in your mind. You don’t need to wear my sweater to feel me around you; I’m already there … always wrapping my arms around you.

  That had been difficult for Holly to come to terms with. She almost wished he would ask her to do karaoke again. She would have jumped from an airplane for him; run a thousand miles, anything except empty out his wardrobes and rid herself of his presence in the house. But he was right and she knew it. She couldn’t hang on to his belongings forever. She couldn’t pretend to herself that he was coming back to collect them. The physical Gerry was gone; he didn’t need his clothes.

  It was an emotionally draining experience. It took her days to complete. She relived a million memories with every garment and piece of paper she bagged. She held each item near to her before saying good-bye. Every time an item left her fingers it was like saying good-bye to a part of Gerry all over again. It was difficult; so difficult and at times too difficult.

  She informed her family and friends of what she was about to do, and although they all offered their assistance and support time and again, Holly knew she had to do this alone. She needed to take her time. Say a proper good-bye because she wouldn’t be getting anything back. Just like Gerry, his belongings couldn’t return. Despite Holly’s wishes of wanting to be alone, Jack had called around a few times to offer some brotherly support and Holly had appreciated it. Every item had a history and they would talk and laugh about the memories surrounding it. He was there for her when she cried and he was there when she finally clapped her hands together, ridding her skin of the dust that remained. It was a difficult job but one that needed to be done. And one that was made easier by Gerry’s help. Holly didn’t need to worry about making all the big decisions, Gerry had already made them for her. Gerry was helping her, and for once, Holly felt like she was helping him too.

  She laughed as she bagged the dusty cassettes of his favorite rock band from his school days. At least once a year Gerry came across the old shoe box during his efforts to control the mess that grew inside his closet. He would blast the heavy metal music from every speaker in the house to torment Holly with its screeching guitars and badly produced sound quality. She always told him she couldn’t wait to see the end of those tapes. The relief didn’t wash over her as she once hoped it would.

  Her eyes rested upon a crumpled ball lying in the back corner of the wardrobe—Gerry’s lucky football jersey. It was still covered in grass and mud stains, fresh from its last victorious day on the pitch. She held it close to her and inhaled deeply; the smell of beer and sweat was faint, but still there. She put it aside to be washed and passed on to John.

  So many objects, so many memories. Each was being labeled and packed away in bags just as it was in her mind. To be stored in an area that would sometime be called upon to teach and help in future life. Objects that were once so full of life and importance but that now lay limp on the floor. Without him they were just things.

  Gerry’s wedding tuxedo, his suits, shirts and ties that he would moan about having to wear every morning before going to work. The fashions of the years gone by, eighties shiny suits and shell tracksuits bundled away. A snorkel from their first time scuba diving, a shell that he picked fr
om the ocean floor ten years ago, his collection of beer mats from every pub in every country they had visited. Letters and birthday cards from friends and family sent to him over the years. Valentine’s Day cards from Holly. Childhood teddies and dolls put aside to be sent back to his parents. Records of bills, his golf clubs for John, books for Sharon, memories, tears and laughter for Holly.

  His entire life bundled into twenty refuse sacks.

  His and her memories bundled away into Holly’s mind.

  Each item unearthed dust, tears, laughter and memories. She bagged the items, cleared the dust, wiped her eyes and filed away the memories.

  Holly’s mobile began to ring and she dropped the laundry basket onto the grass under the washing line and ran through the patio doors into the kitchen to answer the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m gonna make you a star!” Declan’s voice screeched hysterically on the other end and he broke into uncontrollable laughter.

  Holly waited for him to calm down while she searched her brain and tried to figure out what he could be talking about. “Declan, are you drunk?”

  “Maybe jus a li’l bit, but that’s completely irrevelant,” he hiccuped.

  “Declan, it’s ten o’clock in the morning!” Holly laughed. “Have you been to bed yet?”

  “Nope,” he hiccuped again, “I’m on the train home now and will be in bed in ’proximately three hours.”

  “Three hours! Where are you?” Holly laughed again. She was enjoying this, as it reminded her of when she used to call Jack at all hours of the morning from all sorts of locations after misbehaving on a night out.

  “I’m in Galway. The ’wards were on last night,” he said, as if she should know.

  “Oh, sorry for my ignorance, but what awards were you at?”

  “I told you!”

  “No you didn’t.”

  “I told Jack to tell you, the bastard—” He stumbled over his words.

  “Well, he didn’t,” she interrupted him, “so now you can tell me.”