Always You

‘And we’ll never hear the end of it if we are,’ said Becky, rolling her eyes.

Lewis came over and held up fingers, as red and stiff as a cooked lobster. ‘My hands are cold, Mum.’

Sarah smiled indulgently. ‘No wonder, sweetheart, when you refuse to wear gloves.’ She put her arm around him and kissed his coarse hair.

‘Last one back to the car’s the loser,’ cried Becky and she set off across the shingle followed by the children.

By the time they’d all made it back to the car and driven the short distance to the Londonderry Arms Hotel in the middle of Carnlough village – where good home cooking was the order of the day and attracted clientele from the length and breadth of County Antrim – they found Aunt Vi and Dad already seated at a table by the window.

‘Thank goodness, you’re here at last,’ was the first thing Aunt Vi said from behind steel-rimmed glasses, her right hand splayed on her sternum like a starfish, her lined face full of anxiety. ‘We were getting worried.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Sarah, peeling off her scarf. ‘Lewis, don’t leave your coat lying there on the floor. Put it on the back of a chair. That’s a good boy.’

‘Come and sit by me,’ Dad said to the boy, patting the seat beside him. ‘Molly, pet, you sit on the other side.’

Sarah and Becky shed their outdoor things and filled the two remaining seats beside their aunt, who was still bristling with annoyance.

‘Sorry Aunt Vi,’ said Sarah again. ‘We didn’t mean to be late. We were on the beach. We lost track of time.’

‘That’s okay, love,’ said Dad, staring wistfully out the window, with eyes the palest shade of sky blue. ‘Your Mum used to love walking on the beach here.’

Sarah smiled at him warmly, taking in his white dentures and thinning white-grey hair. His gnarled hands lay motionless on the table – the skin across his knuckles was wrinkled and papery. An old man’s hands.

Becky said softly, ‘Yes, Dad, I remember. We used to take a run up the coast most Sundays in the summer. We’d get an ice cream and eat it over there, on the harbour wall.’ She pointed through the window to the limestone harbour constructed in the 1850s. The white stone had weathered, tinged now with a golden yellow, reminding Sarah of another childhood treat.

‘Do you remember Yellow Man?’ she said, referring to the brittle honeycomb toffee that had been one of the highlights of ‘a day up the coast’.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Becky. ‘I loved that stuff when I was little.’

Aunt Vi jumped into the brief lull in the conversation. ‘All I’m saying is that you should’ve phoned.’ She glanced at the mobile phone poised squarely on the table in front of her, like a reproach. ‘Or texted.’ Despite the fact that she cut a decidedly old-fashioned figure with her steel grey hair scraped back in a bun and a stern black roll-neck, adorned only with a simple gold locket, she was surprisingly up to speed when it came to cutting-edge technology.

Becky said, ‘Who’s for a drink?’ and caught the eye of a waiter.

Sarah lowered her voice and said patiently, ‘We were only ten minutes late, Aunt Vi.’

The children chattered excitedly to Dad and Aunt Vi said, folding her arms across her chest, ‘Ten minutes is a long time when you’re waiting for someone. Anything could’ve happened for all we knew.’

Dad looked up sharply. ‘That’s enough, now, Vi,’ he said gently.

Aunt Vi unfolded her arms and pushed up the bridge of her glasses and soon everyone was distracted by ordering drinks and food.

‘Well, Molly, you’ll be moving up to the high school after the summer,’ said Becky, when the waiter had left.

‘I hope she’s not in the same class as those nasty girls,’ said Aunt Vi under her breath. Sarah hoped so too. Lately, some girls in her class had been picking on Molly.

‘I can’t believe you’re growing up so fast,’ said Becky. ‘Next thing we know you’ll be a teenager!’

Molly sat up straighter in her chair and beamed. ‘Mum says I can cycle to school and back every day.’

‘Even in the winter?’ quizzed Aunt Vi. ‘When it’s dark?’

Sarah bit her tongue, reminding herself that Aunt Vi couldn’t help herself. She’d moved in shortly after their mother died – and with her came a new era of curfews and surveillance on a par with the secret service. Dad, stricken with depression, had pretty much let Vi take charge of the running of the house and the raising of his daughters. Sarah didn’t blame him for it – he’d done the best he could.

And, on the whole, Aunt Vi had done a good job, certainly the best she knew how, considering she’d never married or had children. There was no doubting Vi’s love for Sarah and Becky, nor her compassion – she had given up her job as matron in Coleraine hospital to help her brother raise his two motherless daughters.

‘Lots of kids cycle to the high school, Aunt Vi,’ she said cheerfully. ‘She’ll have good lights and a helmet and a fluorescent vest for when it’s dark. And she’s done her cycling proficiency.’

Molly nodded vigorously and a look of genuine fear crossed Aunt Vi’s face as she gazed upon her great-niece. Sarah felt a wave of compassion for her. ‘Honestly, Aunt Vi, we wouldn’t let her do it if we didn’t think it was safe.’

After they’d eaten, Dad gave the children two pounds each and they went off in search of Yellow Man. It wasn’t long before they came running in, clutching bags of mustard-yellow toffee that shared a close resemblance in appearance, if not in texture, to natural sponge.

‘We just saw Daddy!’ cried Lewis.

‘With Raquel,’ said Molly, breathlessly.

‘Where?’ said Sarah, glancing at the door.

‘In Daddy’s car,’ said Lewis.

‘They waved but they didn’t stop,’ added Molly.

Inside, Sarah bristled. How could Ian drive past his own children without pulling over, if only for a few moments? That would be down to Raquel, of course. She had no time for Molly and Lewis.

‘I can’t stand that woman,’ said Aunt Vi; Sarah shot her a warning look. She was no fan of Ian’s new wife either but, for the children’s sake, she tried to hide it.

Dad asked to see the hoard of Yellow Man and pinched a bit out of Molly’s bag, which resulted in lots of loud laughter and good-humoured recriminations.

‘She’s so common,’ mouthed Aunt Vi to Sarah over the noise.

Sarah leaned across the table to Aunt Vi and said quietly, ‘Like it or not, Raquel’s their stepmother now. We all have to make the best of it.’

Her aunt snorted. ‘Some stepmother. She’s never there half the time they’re at their Dad’s. Honestly, Sarah, I don’t know what Ian ever saw in that woman.’