Semi-Sweet (45 page)

“Will you have a bit of lamb casserole?” she asked. “I made it this morning. It won’t take long to heat up.”

“That’d be grand,” he said. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, his suitcase on the floor beside him.

“Tom,” she said, and then stopped. He didn’t move. “I want you to know that I don’t blame you.”

On the last word, her voice broke, and he stepped across and put his arms around her. She dropped her head onto his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she wept. “I was horrible to you, and you didn’t deserve it.” The words she’d wanted to say all afternoon spilling
out now.

“Shh,” he said, rocking her gently. “Don’t feel bad. You don’t need to feel bad, Alice, love. You were angry, I understand
that.”

“But you didn’t mean it,” she cried into his shoulder. “You didn’t mean what happened.”

“No, I didn’t mean it,” he said quietly.

“And I treated you like a murderer. I acted like you killed that child deliberately.”

“Shh,” he said again, holding her. “Don’t cry, love, it’ll be all right.”

It would take time for them to heal; she couldn’t expect it to happen all at once. The accident would always be with them,
the death of a child forever on their consciences. But standing there in the kitchen, with his arms around her, she began
to feel hope.

Tonight she’d feed him and sit by the fire with him afterward. They might switch on the telly to get the weather forecast,
and she’d say something about the fact that they were calling this July the wettest on record. They’d be careful with each
other, mindful of what had gone before.

He’d probably comment on the freshly painted walls. They’d look at Ellen’s latest photos. She’d tell him the roses seemed
to be coming along better now. She might show him the last gas bill, see if he thought they should question it.

She wouldn’t ask how the past month had gone. She’d bring him up to date on what had been happening in the neighborhood, but
she wouldn’t mention the crash outside Stephen and Geraldine’s house the other night. She wouldn’t talk about early retirement,
or her plans for a move away from Clongarvin. Not this evening, not yet.

And if, when they were putting up the fireguard and locking the front door, he happened to ask if she’d consider moving back
into the bedroom, she’d say yes, she’d like that.

“Let’s begin by going back over the scales,” Vivienne said, “and then we’ll move on to the tune.”

Adam placed his right hand on the keys.

“No,” she said, “your thumb on middle C.”

“Middle C, got you. Here?” he asked, sliding everything one space up.

Vivienne sighed. “Did you practice?”

“Of course I did,” he said. “I mean, I meant to. It’s just that Wally’s keyboard is a bit different, so it puts me off.” He
did his best to look ashamed. “Sorry. Maybe you could show me again.”

Vivienne placed her fingers on the keys. “This note here is middle C. Remember, it’s ‘do’ in the key of C.” She played up
the scale, moving her fingers gracefully over the keys, and back down again.

She wore a dark gray trouser suit, and a burgundy ribbon gathered her hair loosely at the nape of her neck. It was all he
could do not to drop his head and kiss the pale, freckled skin there.

“Pay attention,” she said softly, and he realized she could see him out of the corner of her eye. He switched his gaze back
to the piano and watched her fingers as they traveled up and down the scale several more times.

She’d moved in a little from the edge of the bench this evening. Another couple of lessons and their thighs would be almost
touching.

“You make it look so easy,” he said.

“It is easy,” she answered sternly, “if you practice.”

“I will,” he promised. “Honest. Swear to God. Let me try now.”

She wasn’t blushing as much. She smiled a little more, even if her smile was still tiny. She looked at his face when she spoke
to him. She responded to comments, instead of just answering questions.

It was three weeks to his birthday. It might just be long enough.

I
call it Saucy Salmon Pizza,” the birthday boy said, bringing out the main course.

“I thought the chicken wings were all we were getting,” Hannah said. “I stuffed my face.”

“I couldn’t help noticing that,” Adam answered. “But knowing you as I do, I’m fairly confident that you’ll find some space
for the pizza.”

Hannah turned to Vivienne. “Should I hit him now,” she asked, “or wait till he’s brought the dessert out?”

Vivienne smiled. “Maybe wait,” she murmured.

“Bloody right,” Wally said. “The dessert is what I came for.”

And Hannah’s smile, when she looked at him, made him want to walk around the table and grab her.

“You and your sweet tooth,” she said.

“Me and my sweet tooth,” he agreed, and he wondered if she was remembering, like he was, the day he’d walked into her shop
to claim his free cupcake. Knowing then that he wanted her. Knowing before then, long before then.

But in the end it had taken a concussion and a broken wrist to bring them together. It had taken his taxi careening into the
streetlight to get her to look at him properly, just before he lost consciousness.

“What have you done with the pizza wheel?” Adam was rummaging in a drawer. “It was always here.”

Wally watched as Hannah got up and crossed the room. She wore the blue top she’d been wearing that night—he remembered the
lace at her wrists when he’d come to in the ambulance. She’d been sitting across from him on some kind of bench, her hands
at his eye level. He’d traveled cautiously from them to her face.

Grandpa’s chair is on the wall,
he’d said, and instantly she was crouched at his side, ignoring the ambulance attendant’s order to stay where she was.

She’d put a palm lightly on his chest.
Are you okay?

You have a yellow shop,
he’d answered, and for some reason this made her eyes fill with tears, and he’d drifted off again as she’d raised a blue
sleeve to her face.

She was gone the next time he woke, his head thumping, his wrist throbbing. He was on a trolley in a tiny cubicle, and he
wondered if he’d imagined her earlier.

Was there a girl here before—I mean a woman, with dark hair?
he’d asked a nurse, who was steering an empty wheelchair through the cubicle’s narrow doorway.

I didn’t see anyone, dear,
she’d answered, pulling his sheet down none too gently.

Hey, watch it,
he’d protested weakly.
I’m nearly naked here.
Someone had replaced his clothes with a blue garment that stopped long before his knees began.

The nurse hadn’t batted an eyelid.
Seen it all before, dear. Come along, now. We must get that wrist of yours to X-ray and check out that head.

They’d kept him in overnight because of the concussion, but when he woke the following day, his mother and Vivienne were standing
at his bedside.

I didn’t know you knew I was here,
he’d said.

We were here last night,
his mother had said, bewildered
. Don’t you remember?

No. How did you find out what happened?

Someone I know,
Vivienne had said, her color rising.
You crashed outside his friend’s parents’ house. He called and drove us here. We had this exact same conversation then.

Did we? Did you meet Hannah?

Who’s Hannah?
his mother had asked.

She sells buns. She has a chair on the wall in her shop. She came in the ambulance.

Silence, while they both digested this information doubtfully.

You’re still a bit mixed up,
his mother had said then, and Wally had felt too weary to explain.

He thought it strange that even though he had no memory of meeting them the night before, he remembered Hannah in the ambulance.
He remembered the band of blue lace at her wrist, how her eyes had filled with tears as she’d looked at him.

He’d dropped in to the yellow shop two days later,  pushing the door open with his good hand.

She’d gone delightfully pink when she saw him.
You’re okay,
she’d said.
I rang the hospital and they’d told me you’d gone home.

He’d thrust the bunch of violets across the counter.
This is to say thank you for looking after me.

She’d taken the flowers, going pinker.
There was no need,
she’d said.
I did nothing, really. I just went with you in the ambulance.
She’d hesitated.
It seemed…a bit mean to send you off on your own.

And you got your friend to call to my mother’s house.

Well, Adam’s learning piano from Vivienne, and I knew she lived with your mother, so I just thought it might be better if
someone they knew called to tell them, rather than a guard or the hospital.

That was good of you.

She’d smiled.
Actually, as it turns out, I did Adam a big favor. Your mother thinks there’s nobody like him now.

Why would he want my mother to think well of him?
he’d said, confused.

Because,
she’d murmured, burying her face in the flowers,
he’s got a soft spot for Vivienne.

Ah.
He’d said, rubbing a hand across his face.
I see. That explains a lot.

Is your wrist broken?
she’d asked.

’Fraid so—that’s the end of my playing the keyboards for a while. Not to mention driving a taxi.

Oh, poor you. How’ll you manage?

I’m back in my mother’s house till the plaster comes off. I don’t have to lift a finger, and my meals are all served up to
me.
He’d grinned.
It’s a tough old world.

But your car—it must be a write-off.

He’d shrugged.
Like they say, nobody died. Things’ll sort themselves out. They generally do. I had good insurance.

That’s something, I suppose.
She’d paused, then added, going pink again,
You didn’t have to, you know.

I didn’t have to what?

Break your wrist.
She’d stuck her face into the flowers again.
To get my attention.

It was a bit extreme, wasn’t it?
Wally had laughed and rubbed his face again.
The least you could do, really, is go out with me now.

Hannah had tilted her head to one side.
I suppose I owe you that much
.

She got him, that was the thing. She understood his silly jokes, she forgave his chronic unpunctuality, she teased his total
ignorance of fashion and tolerated his utter uselessness with money. He was himself with her, and she got him.

She called him sweetheart. She was soft and round in his arms. Her kiss, when it finally moved from his cheek to his mouth
after three dates, was delicious.

And this, Adam’s birthday party, was their fifth date. And she was becoming frighteningly important to him.

With an effort he switched his attention to his sister, sitting opposite him. “All right?”

He didn’t need to ask. Look at her, blooming after years of crippling unhappiness, when he’d felt powerless to help her, when
she hadn’t known how to help herself. Looking so different in the green dress that caught the color of her eyes.

Blushing deeply in the backseat of their taxi on the way over when Adam’s name had been mentioned.

He’s just a friend,
she’d murmured, turning away from him to look out the window.

I know that,
Wally had answered.

The green eye shadow had been a disaster, and when she’d scrubbed it off with a facecloth—which had taken ages—it had left
the skin around her eyes all blotchy. She should have learned her lesson with the lipstick. And her hair never looked right,
no matter how long she left the conditioner in or how carefully she blow-dried it. Easier to tie it up and forget about it.

Except he’d said he liked it down.

She wasn’t a bit sure of the dress. The sales assistant wouldn’t leave her alone, went on about Vivienne’s figure, which as
far as Vivienne could see was nothing to write home about. And size eight feet, when most women took a five. So mortifying
anytime she needed shoes.

And it’ll be dead easy to take it up a bit,
the girl had said, when it had never occurred to Vivienne to make the dress any shorter. But she’d gone ahead and bought it,
and her mother had actually admired it when Vivienne showed her.

Nice and bright,
she’d said.
Smartens you up.
Which was really as good as it got from her mother.

And now, halfway through her second glass of wine, the fear of dropping something or spilling something didn’t seem to matter
quite so much anymore. And the knot in her stomach she’d had all day had practically vanished, so she could enjoy the food
instead of forcing it down.

She supposed she was a bit merry, not used to drinking wine—or any kind of alcohol, for that matter. She suspected that she
might feel a little worse for wear in the morning. But who cared, with no music lessons on a Sunday?

She smiled across the table at her only adult pupil, remembering how sick she’d been at the thought of phoning him, how she’d
been sure she was actually going to throw up as she’d dialed the number on his business card. How she’d forced herself to
stay on the line until he answered, how she’d hardly been able to get a word out, so terrified she’d felt.

But incredibly, it had worked. He’d agreed to come back. She’d taken the initiative, and things had gone the way she wanted
them to go. And now here she was, on her first-ever date at twenty-nine years of age.

Just a small little get-together, nothing fancy,
he’d said.
Wally’s coming.

He’d made it as easy as he could. He’d made it impossible for her to say no. Not that she’d wanted to say no.

Not that she hadn’t been terrified at the thought of it all the same, even with Wally there. But now that she’d loosened up
a bit, she was beginning see why people went out on dates.

In fact, she was quite prepared to try it again sometime.

They ate the salmon pizza, and the raspberry ice cream that followed. They blew out the thirty-two candles on the giant peanut-butter
cupcake that Hannah had made. They raised their glasses and wished Adam a happy birthday.

And later, when Wally and Vivienne had left in a taxi, Adam ignored Hannah’s mild protest and refilled their glasses.

“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” he said, “and we have to toast you for being daft enough to open a shop in the middle of a recession.”

She smiled wearily, easing her feet out of her shoes and leaning her elbows on the table that was still littered with plates
and glasses. “Yes, that was very sensible, wasn’t it?”

“And for reaching the seven-month mark, still solvent—not that I ever doubted you—and still in one piece.”

“Just about.”

“And for putting up with me and Kirby for the past six months.”

“Yes,” she said. “That was very difficult.” She lifted her glass. “To us,” she said, “who love each other madly and who thankfully
might not have to marry each other after all.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

They finished the wine and cut another two slices from the birthday cupcake. They made a halfhearted attempt at the washing-up
and put Kirby out for the night. Hannah closed the windows, and Adam bolted the doors.

And then they went upstairs to bed.