Sundays have always been my favourite day of the week, but I’m fast coming to realize that summer Sundays spent outside the beautiful town of Ardara are going to be even more special.
Waking up to the sweet sound of silence, as opposed to the hum of traffic and horns in city life, then taking it easy over a locally produced breakfast on the deck where the sun hits your shoulders is the stuff of dreams and I inhale every moment.
‘I’ll get some more coffee,’ I say to the three pale faces before me.
Sophie and Harry vow to leave after breakfast, but each are nursing hangovers from hell so a delay is inevitable. All four of us are still full of giddy laughter about different parts of the night before, with the highlight being Jack’s attempt at stand-up comedy after too many gin and tonics. It meant the only person who understood his jokes was him, due to his fits of hysterics every time he tried to reach a punchline.
‘My jaws are sore laughing,’ says Sophie, as she attempts to tackle the sausage, egg and bacon on her plate. ‘I wonder how much longer we can get away with acting like teenagers on the weekends. I mean, if some of your patients heard the shite you come out with at the weekend, Jack Malone, they’d run a country mile!’
Jack seems to agree. ‘I’d run a country mile from me on any given day, never mind the weekends,’ he jokes. ‘Ah, we’ll all grow up someday, especially when we have our twins, isn’t that right, Charlotte?’
I roll my eyes at the ongoing joke we have between us about starting a family, but I do feel a pinch of pressure now when it’s mentioned. It’s assumed to be the next step in life after marriage, isn’t it, but just like Sophie, I don’t know if I’m ready for it yet.
‘Triplets,’ says Harry. ‘That would put manners into all of us. A good old set of Irish triplets each.’
Sophie almost chokes on her breakfast. ‘Triplet boys,’ she says, ‘just to make it even more craic. Yes, that’s what we need to stop these Sunday hangovers. Gosh, my mother would think she’d died and gone to heaven if we’d even just one baby, never mind three. She’s still dropping hints like a punch in the face every time I see her.’
Jack and I exchange a knowing glance. ‘Marjorie is the same,’ he says, referring to his own mother. ‘She’s itching to hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet and makes no bones about it. We just ignore her, don’t we, Char? We’ll do things at our own pace in our marriage and not how others think we should. God, my head is banging!’
I bring him over an Alka-Seltzer and he touches my arm and smiles at me in appreciation. I have to say, one of my favourite things about living with Jack is how we always know when the other one needs a bit of looking after, and we do little things to show we care. Like the many times I’ve been crucified with period pains and he’ll bring home a load of chocolate, fizzy drinks, crisps and sweets, knowing I need to binge on the sofa watching telly while he cooks dinner. Or at more serious times, like when he recently arrived home from work after one of his patients, a young single parent called Jenny, had tried to take her own life and it had floored him. I knew he needed quiet comfort and no stress, so I ran him a bubble bath and lit the fire, then gave him some space to get his head around it.
Marriage can be hard work, but it’s also extremely rewarding and I know that what Jack and I have here in our lives is what a lot of people dream of.
‘This place is so deceiving from the outside, isn’t it!’ says Marjorie Malone in a voice that would break windows as she examines every room a few hours later. There’s simply nothing like an unexpected visit from the in-laws to ruin any given Sunday, is there? ‘Would you look at that view, Dad!’ she continues. ‘It’s like something out of that comical old John Wayne movie, The Quiet Man! And so much space for children to run around safely and not have to worry about traffic like we did when ours were young.’
Jack makes a face behind her back at her very obvious mention of babies and I try not to laugh. He loves his mother dearly, but she really has no idea of how to be subtle.
‘You won’t get much trouble from the neighbours, anyhow,’ says Jack Sr. ‘Ah, this is my idea of heaven, it really is. It’s just a slice of perfection. Well done, you two. You work hard and you deserve such a beautiful home.’
I often forget what Dr Malone Sr sounds like as he doesn’t really get much opportunity to speak when his wife is around, but one to one he’s a very kind, gentle soul and I can see where Jack gets his exceptional bedside manner in his job from. He certainly learned from the best.
‘Who fancies the pub, then?’ asks Jack, eager to give his parents something to do rather than skulk around the house passing comments, and to our surprise they agree. ‘We could grab a bit of a late lunch when we’re there. Come on, my treat.’
We walk for just over a mile past fields full of sheep and cows, scarecrows and strawberry fields and I feel like pinching myself to think that this utter tranquillity is on my doorstep. Jack’s father is right, we have worked hard to own our first home in such a beautiful place and, as annoying as Marjorie can be, it’s lovely to have visitors to share it with.
‘Jack, Charlotte, so good to see you!’ says Peter the barman when we stoop under the low red door into the darkness of the little country pub. ‘Nice to see some new faces too. You’re all very welcome.’
We decide to make the most of the lasting fine weather with a drink in the beer garden at the back of the pub, where we revel in the wonderful atmosphere that always greets us here. Traditional Irish music lilts in the background, couples, families and groups of young singles enjoy a lazy Sunday afternoon drink and even Marjorie seems to enjoy it as she laps up the view with some people-watching.
‘Everyone is so friendly around here,’ says Jack to his parents. ‘I think we’re going to love it here.’
‘I already do,’ I tell him, and he takes my hand under the table.
Marjorie orders a coffee as she is designated driver for the afternoon and manages to get another poke in when I opt for a glass of white wine.
‘I suppose you may as well enjoy lazy Sundays like this while you can,’ she guffaws, watching every mouthful I take. ‘My Caroline has her hands full running after her twins day in, day out. She probably wouldn’t remember the last time she got to kick back and relax like this during the day, but then she is just so committed to her children! She had them young too, in her twenties, so she has still the energy to enjoy them.’
Ouch. My eyes widen in Jack’s direction for help.
‘Caroline texted me to say her big weekend with the girls is coming up soon,’ he says quickly, coming to my rescue. ‘You know the one she takes every six months or so? It normally takes them all a week at least to recover when they head off to – where is it again? Marbella? Long way to go without the children for someone so dedicated, but she deserves a break like the rest of us. We all have to live life how we choose to ourselves, don’t we?’
I have to excuse myself to use the bathroom to avoid the look on Marjorie’s face but, as always, Jack knows how to floor her, hook, line and sinker when she starts. To my relief, by the time I get back his parents are already talking about how they really need to go soon.
‘Chill out for a while,’ Jack says to them. ‘What’s your hurry? I thought you were going to have some lunch?’
Jack Sr rolls his eyes and finishes his pint of beer. ‘God forbid that we’d leave that damn cat for a whole afternoon!’ he says to us, swallowing his drink like he’s swallowing nails. ‘I swear our Tiddles has more say in what we do every day than I do! It’s time I took up golfing again.’
I feel sorry for Jack’s dad a lot of the time. In fact, seeing the two of them together is a gentle reminder of how lucky we are that Jack and I are so compatible. He makes me laugh, he knows when to push me and when to back off, and I still get a rush when I see him every evening when he comes in from work.
Marjorie looks around, trying desperately to get another jibe in before she leaves but she’s struggling as there really isn’t a lot to ridicule around here. The staff are a delight, always greeting us by name and making us so welcome to the community, as are the nearby villagers who have gone way beyond the call of duty to let us know where they are if we need anything. Everyone we met on our short walk down the hill to the pub had a smile and a wave, which is a far cry from the anonymous city life that Marjorie is used to. It’s killing her not to have anything negative to say, I just know it. I’m so glad she is leaving. Truth is, I can’t bloody stand her and never could.
‘Early start tomorrow?’ she says to me as she puts her Burberry clutch bag under her arm. ‘I’m sure the children are much more disciplined at Holy Trinity than they were at St Patrick’s. Much easier on the head after a busy weekend, yeah?’
Boom, she got me after all. Boy, I’m so glad to see her go.
‘She reminds me of the parents at school,’ I tell Jack as we stroll back up the hill towards the cottage over an hour later, our hangover well settled with the hair of the dog. ‘Always looking down on me, always reminding me how I’m not one of them. I’m different, I’m working class, I don’t really belong but they’re giving me a chance to try and fit in because of …’
He stops in his tracks.
‘Because of me?’ he says, looking very offended.
‘Yes. Because of you and your family,’ I tell him. ‘They accept me, or tolerate me should I say, because of the fact I’m Doctor Jack Malone’s wife. There’s no way I’d have even got an interview at Holy Trinity had I still been plain old Charlotte Taylor who grew up in Loughisland on a housing estate and you know it, Jack.’
He shakes his head, his forehead creased into a furrow. ‘No, Charlotte, please don’t ever say that!’ he pleads with me. ‘You got the job in Holy Trinity because you were the best candidate for it, not because of anything to do with me or my parents. Don’t think that way, it’s not true.’
I may be a little tipsier than I thought because I can’t stop now. I’m on a roll.
‘I hate it there, Jack,’ I say, falling into his chest now. ‘I totally hate it and I’d give anything to be back in St Patrick’s singing my songs to children who appreciate me, instead of stuck-up little brats who would rather give snide comments on my clothes than show me some respect. I hate it.’
Jack looks like I’ve stabbed him in the heart, but I had to say it. I can’t go on pretending any more, even though it had been his idea I went for the job in the first place and I hate to hurt him. It was a step up the ladder, that’s for sure, but it hasn’t turned out that way for me inside. I want him to tell me it’s not worth all this stress, I want him to tell me to jack it in and be myself, the type of teacher I used to be, the type of person I am deep inside.
‘You’ll—’
‘Don’t say I’ll settle in, because I don’t think I ever will,’ I say to him, hoping for him to support me so badly. ‘I dread every day in that school, you’ve no idea how much I do. I love everything about our life, absolutely everything apart from my job.’
He lifts up my chin and looks into my eyes. ‘And my mother,’ he says with a smile. ‘You couldn’t possibly like her either?’
I manage to laugh through my tears. ‘OK, I’ll admit I’m struggling to like her too, but that’s not a new thing and I can cope with her from a distance.’
He tilts his head to the side and kisses my hair, making me feel better already. It’s moments like this that I’m so glad I have Jack to lean on every day.
‘Come on, let’s go home,’ he says, putting his arm around me. ‘We’ll have a good chat tomorrow when we’re perfectly sober and after we’ve had a nice early night. We’ll make some plans because there’s no way you’re working in a job if you hate it that much. Life’s too short. But in the meantime I have plans for you this evening, Mrs Malone, and I can’t wait to get you home.’
There’s no way you’re working in a job if you hate it that much.
I couldn’t have asked for a better response. Jack knows me, he loves me and he has my back on every decision I make.
I get a whoosh of butterflies in my tummy, longing already to be snuggled up beside him in our kingsize bed with its cool linen sheets and cosy, duck down duvet. So I push the dread of work tomorrow to the back of my mind for now and we stroll up the hill at our leisure, me leaning into him, loving the familiarity of his smell and the feel of his jumper.
I will give it another week in that school, and then I’m making up my mind once and for all. Jack’s right – life’s way too short for feeling this sickness in the pit of my stomach every Sunday evening and I don’t need to keep going through this hell.
‘Are you sure there’s nothing else bothering you?’ he asks me as he turns the key in the front door. ‘You would tell me if there was, wouldn’t you Charlotte?’
‘Of course, I would,’ I tell him honestly. ‘It’s just the job. I’ll give it one more week and we can talk about it then.’
It’s just the job.
Isn’t it? Yes, of course it is, I convince myself, but deep in my heart I’ve an awful inkling that things mightn’t be as secure in my life as they seem on the outside. I don’t like this feeling at all. It’s like a gut-wrenching anxiety that when things seem too good to be true, they probably are.
Is it Matthew? Has something happened to him in Galway? Or Emily? I hope it’s not Mam or Dad – or what if something happened to Jack? I feel like a beautiful bird, gliding along a beautiful lake but beneath it I’m paddling for all I’m worth and no one can see it. It’s like a fear in the pit of my stomach, like I’m waiting for all I have to go belly up just like my life did on the day of Matthew’s accident. It’s like I’m preparing myself for the next trauma, whatever that may be.
I know my life is perfect to the outside world, yet my mood is slipping and I don’t know why.
It’s probably the hangover kicking in again, I repeat in my head like a mantra. Things will be easier in the morning.