As Clarabel Jones curled the ribbon on the present she’d just wrapped for her niece’s twenty-first birthday, her mobile rang. Her hand stilled and her heart squeezed as she stared at the device like it were a ticking bomb. Even without glancing at the screen, she knew who it would be. Almost two years since their divorce and Rob still hadn’t got the message she didn’t want him in her life anymore.
With a heavy sigh, she put down the scissors and abandoned the present. If she didn’t answer he’d only try again, or worse, show up on her doorstep. The hairs on the back of her neck rose and she turned slowly towards the front of the house they’d shared for almost twenty-five years as if he were already standing there banging on the front door for her to let him in. Today, tonight, was hard enough as it was.
A tear for what could have been slid down her cheek and she swiped at it angrily as she snatched up the phone. ‘Hello, Rob.’
‘I didn’t see you at the cemetery today,’ he slurred, already obviously liquored up.
‘I went yesterday.’ Even as she said this she was annoyed at herself for feeling the need to justify herself. All these years later her heart was still in pieces, and she didn’t need him making her feel worse.
‘I see.’ Was that judgement in his tone? ‘How are you?’
How do you think I am?
She took a deep breath. ‘I’m fine, Rob. What about you? How’s your mother?’
‘Can I come round? You’re the only one who truly understands about Laura. We should be together today of all days.’
At the hurt evident in his voice, she felt herself breaking, her resolve wavering. There were times in the past when they had managed to comfort each other through the grief. Times when she’d thought maybe their marriage had a chance of recovering, of surviving. After all, who could possibly understand her heartbreak better than him?
But those times were rare and more often than not he’d turned to a bottle instead. He was going to end up one of those sad, lonely old men who lived on cereal and biscuits (or worse, tinned pet food) and who stunk of body odour because no one ever reminded them to have a shower. Her heart squeezed at the thought, but Rob wasn’t her responsibility anymore.
She couldn’t, she wouldn’t, give in to the guilt.
‘No, you can’t. I’m going out, but even if I wasn’t, you wouldn’t be welcome here. You need to stop calling me, Rob. I don’t want you in my life anymore.’
Silence greeted her declaration. She wondered if he’d finally get the message or if tomorrow he’d have forgotten this conversation.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked eventually.
She should have hung up, but she’d always found cruelty difficult. ‘It’s Aoifa’s twenty-first birthday so I’m going out to celebrate.’
She waited for the snide remark—about how she could possibly go to a party today of all days—but it didn’t come.
‘Where is it?’
‘Oh, some restaurant in the city,’ she lied, because she wouldn’t put it past him turning up off his trolley and ruining Aoifa’s big birthday bash.
‘Say happy birthday to her for me then.’ His words didn’t sound sarcastic but sometimes it was hard to tell.
‘I will. Thank you. Now, I’m sorry but I’ve got to go.’
‘Can I call you later?’
‘No. Goodbye, Rob.’ And then she disconnected the call.
As Clara went back to garnishing the present, she glanced longingly into the living room at the TV. The urge to curl up on the couch and watch some mindless movie was strong—and no one would blame her if she did—but she knew she’d feel better if she went out. Besides, she loved her niece dearly and wanted to celebrate her birthday with the rest of her family.
It wasn’t Aoifa’s fault she shared her birthday with the anniversary of her cousin’s death.