Read The First Time I Said Goodbye for Free Online Page B

smoothness of the liquid as it slid down my throat.
    “Grand job,” he said. “I have a Rioja that is just out of this world.” He opened the bottle with ease and poured two rather large glasses.
    We had worked quite well together. I hadn’t wanted to come across as a bossy American, nor did I want him to think that he had to wait on me hand and foot. To be honest, having felt like a spare wheel for most of the day, I was delighted to do something practical. When my mother had said that the jetlag was finally catching up with her and she was going to have a quiet night in, I had been glad of it. I had been even more glad of it when Sam came in from work, announcing he was going to make me a decent welcome-home dinner with not one hint of an egg-and-onion sandwich or slightly stale cupcake.
    The car journey around the rest of Inishowen had been fraught with tense moments. When I arrived back at the car my mother had adopted the same stoic stance as she had at Dad’s funeral. Her arms were crossed, her eyes straight forward.
    Dolores had plastered on a forced smile as I approached the car. “Salt fair gets in your eyes,” she said, glancing quickly at my mother and back.
    I decided just to pretend I knew nothing of their conversation even though I was dying to ask them what it was all about. What part of my mother’s past did she want to relive again? Why should she leave the past in the past? Surely Dolores had not been telling her she should be well over my father so soon after his passing? I had a feeling she was the kind of woman who would speak her mind but surely she wouldn’t be that lacking in compassion?
    My mother thawed a little as we drove. She even occasionally tried to include me in her reminiscences. She pointed out the beach they used to visit as children – the shorefront at Buncrana which seemed to them like the most exotic place in the world. But she would drift off into her memories and Dolores engaged in a game of births, deaths and marriages, listing off the fates of each of their acquaintances from their younger days – names that meant nothing to me but had clearly meant a lot to my mother in her time.
    By the time we were back at Sam’s – and Dolores had made us yet another cup of tea and filled us with yet another soggy scone – I found myself wilting. It wasn’t as if I didn’t want to be there – Ireland certainly had its charms, but a day crammed in the back of a small car while tensions ebbed and flowed between my mother and aunt had not been the best of fun.
    “We’ll get some time, just me and you, tomorrow,” my mother whispered as she left. “Maybe we could hire a car? See the place in comfort?”
    I kissed her cheek and wanted to tell her it would all be okay, that we always had each other, but Dolores was already hauling her down the pathway, telling her she was going to make her a “good old Derry stew” for dinner.
    After they left I allowed myself a thirty-minute lie-down on the bed – now dubbed ‘the most comfortable bed in the world’ – and attempted once again to call Craig. He didn’t pick up at work, nor did he pick up his cell so I left a semi-garbled message about how sorry I was for not getting in touch sooner, that I was fine, that Ireland was strange but lovely – and I added a quick “I miss you” at the end even though, if I was honest, I didn’t really. Not much anyway.
    By the time Sam came back I felt a great deal brighter, my power-nap having done me a world of good, so while he browned the steak mince for the lasagne I chopped the onions and mushrooms. While he made his sauce, I prepared a salad. He was easy to chat to. I felt somehow safe in his company, which was nice. I hadn’t felt safe for a long time – not with everything that had been going on at home.
    As we worked he apologised several times for his mother. “I know she can be a bit full on. She has been so excited by your mum’s visit – it’s all she has talked about