Gemini Rain (4 page)

‘But that wasn’t how you had planned it, was it?’ questioning her reflection trying to force back that sharp feeling rising in her throat
she closed her eyes for a minute to try and stop the tears from forming
yet again
. 

Continuing with her make-up she could
just barely
hear
the
voices downstairs busy in their work making her think of another morning, another world ago when the voices throughout her parents house was one of excitement, of bridesmaids panicking because the dressmakers hadn’t arrived yet. A frantic father and a calming mother attempting to fix his bow tie while she casually, no intentionally informed Lauren that the order from the florist was wrong. The telephone was constantly ringing which led to one of the caterers stating that she wasn’t an answering service and promptly unplugged the phone cable.

Whi
le all the bedlam surrounded Lauren
the hairdresser whispered in her ear, ‘
in
all my times doing weddings I’ve never seen such a calm bride, you’re enjoying every minute of this aren’t you?’ 

Lauren coyly smiled, yes she was enjoying the pandemonium her special day was causing and confidently dreamt of how perfect her marriage was going to be – coming back to the reality of present day she sarcastically dismissed that thought, ‘Yeah right!’.  

There was no panic now
,
no excitement from the voices below
which only enhanced
her feeling of loneliness, is this how she would feel in the future?
The future
, it made her whole body shudder. ‘Oh Christ Lauren cop on,’ rubbing her forehead hard, ‘just stop it you know what you’re going to do!’

Quickly finishing, she put on her
sharp
black
Hugo Boss
suit and
Dune
court shoes glancing one last time in the mirr
or checking all was in order Lauren
turned leaving the room
and
hoping to leave those qualms and apprehension
s
behind.

The other bedrooms were now empty and silent so she followed the trail of voices coming from below, while descending the expected happened as the level of sound lowered matching her decent down the stairs. Even though she couldn’t see them the feeling of eyes turning in her direction was immediate, a wave of nausea rose from her stomach to her throat. They were all in the kitchen making preparations for the afternoon, Lauren couldn’t face those eyes so
head bowed down
she turned in the direction of the sitting room knowing
Emma
and Keith would be there watching television, keeping out of everybody’s way.

Lauren
and Peter
’s home was exteriorly designed similar to the other large houses within the small estate of forty upper middle class residences - typical 5 bedrooms detached with garage, but inside the builders gave the option to each new owner of how they would like their interior styled. Just before the start of the
Irish
boom in the building industry the top builders and architects were trying to outdo
one another with new ideas. Then
with houses at their highest prices ever
in 2006
,
the
saving of space to build as many houses as the planning laws would allow
(and of course increase profit -
one never knows when the bubble will
burst
!) was the main theme of those crazy
day
s
.

So Lauren opted for an open plan with the American Ash stairs being the central point of her home sweeping up to the surrounding bedrooms and bathrooms, the house looked and smelled new even though it was n
ow eleven
years old. While the furniture expressed a modern and chic taste it was something people would expect to see in an expensive show house rather than a home, even the light beige suede sofa and matching armchairs looked smooth and untouched like the day Lauren purchased them two years ago.

The sitting room was designed simply in pastel shades and with thanks to her cleaner Mrs. Bridges, it smelled clean. Last night Lauren just sat in the kitchen in a comatose state with her brother-in-law Pat trying to spark up some conversation with her, Mrs. Bridges and
Debbie
slaved to make the place even cleaner than it was.

Her love of timber was elegantly aired throughout the house, teak sheeted doors, parquet flooring and of course that stairway, it was a typical expression of Lauren – I love it just don’t overdo it in case I get bored.

‘Hello you two, have you eaten yet?’ The children turned to their mother quickly running to her.

‘It’s this morning, isn’t it Mammy?’
seven
year old
Emma
anxiously asked even though she already knew the answer.

Lauren knelt down hugging them both, ‘There there, it’s going to be all right you wait and see. Be good for Mammy and soon it will be over and we can get back to normal, okay.’ Hugging them she knew the last three days, no the last three months was a mixture of confusion and anxiety for them but holding her children Lauren somehow found determination to face the day ahead.

‘
But will it ever return to normal
’
she questioned herself,
‘
should I let it slide back to the way it was, that was normal to us?
’
Once again her thoughts rolled on to the future. 

She was concerned that the children would not
understand the irrevers
ibility of their father’s death
she doubted if they even realize
d
the universal nature of death.  Her doctor briefly told her what to look out for when she expressed her concerns to him yesterday - Depressed mood, poor appetite or overeating, insomnia, low energy, low self-esteem, poor concentration, feelings of hopelessness. Would the changes she was proposing only expediate the process for them or perhaps be s
omething of a deterre
nt
, something to take their little thoughts away from their missing daddy, tha
t empty void now in their small
world
.

Interrupting
Lauren’s
thoughts the woman who knocked on
Lauren
’s bedroom door
earlier entered the
living
room, ‘Would you like something to eat? The car will arrive in 20 minutes, there’s plenty of time.’

‘No thanks,
Debbie
just a cup of coffee and a cigarette,’ she started smoking again three months ago. ‘I don’t think I could eat - not yet anyhow,’ the thought of having cereal or toast made her stomach churn yet again.

‘But you’ve got to eat something, it’s going to be a long morning,’ her sister-
in-law softly insisted, she understood
how Lauren was feeling but felt the need to emphasize the importance of being strong, fainting through hunger wouldn’t be a good start. 
Debbie
was so worried, she could see the puffiness and dark circles around her friend’s eyes but she also didn’t w
ant to push her too much. Gentle
persuasion
she hoped
was the call for today.

Lauren’s mother Patricia then arrived with a tray of coffee, toast and cigarettes. ‘Sit and eat,’ was her stern greeting, ‘We can’t have you collapsing half way through the morning, can we?’

Debbie
’s head turned sharply to Patricia but then she felt Lauren’s ha
nd resting on her arm making Debbie’s
anger go into hibernation one more time, perhaps for the hundredth time in the past three days.
‘
How
these two women could
be related,
’
Debbie
shook her head as she retraced her steps
towards the kitchen.

Not wanting to acknowledge the continuing presence of her mother Lauren quietly sat down picking up the coffee cup then reaching for the cigarettes. The children, never ones to miss the chance of nourishment ate the toast, silently watching cartoons until the car arrived.
Emma quickly side-glanced her Mammy as she lit her cigarette,
‘
she never smoked in the house before
,’
she thought,
‘
I don’t like the smell and Keith said so too. 
When will she start going outside again I wonder, when will she ever stop again, I don’t like her smoking
,’
Emma decided to talk to Auntie Debbie later to see if they could make a plan to save Mammy.

The drive to St. Canice’s church was familiar with the limousine smoothly moving through the mixture of large private semi red-brick and small Dublin Corporation grey housing estates, then past the girl
’
s primary school stuck between the houses and the main shopping areas. It didn’t take long before the entourage glided silently up the hilly drive to the large imposing granite church.

Thinking
it was strategically built there
with
the church overlooking
the different housing estates to remind its minions that thi
s was what Ireland was built on,
Lauren felt that domination was now just bricks and mortar as more and more people were choosing rather than fearing. As one of her atheist friends put it, ‘like any dictator or powerful institution, the Catholic Church is leaving behind its beautiful buildings and statues – monuments to a power that was.’

Even though Lauren believed this
to be partly true
, she also had her own ideals ensuring her children attend weekly services, carrying out the normal traditions of a Catholic family. ‘When they grow up, like me they’ll make their own choice,’ she would argue, ‘to inflict my own opinions on them would be exactly what the
C
atholic
C
hurch and many other faiths did for years.’   

Once inside
the church
Lauren fe
lt like she was watching a play -
an act floating above the larger than expected congregation.
‘
Yes, I am dreaming, this just doesn’t feel like the real thing
’
, she thought. After the hour-long service people came forward to shake her hand, the
ir faces passing
quickly with everyone re
minding her of the past near 11
years, of events both happy and sad she shared with Peter.
Well
el
e
ve
n
and a half years if you include our brief courtship, Lauren smiled at the memory. Looking
around the church ‘I
got married in this church, what a happy, exciting day that was
’
, but then she realised ‘my life
is in this church - m
y
own
christening, communion, confirmation, marriage and even my
children’s christening and now
my husband’s funeral -
Shite, what a way to sum up your existence!’ It gave her some slight
self-assurance
that maybe, just maybe her decision for the future was the right one, f
or herself and more
importantly now for her children.

The stream of people was never-ending with some either patting or rubbing the top of
Emma
and Keith heads.
Emma
who was getting ever so slightly miffed because people were messing up her hair, held up her hand as high as their chests so they would get the hint. Lauren couldn’t help but
smile at the vanity of her seven
-year-old daughter, she was becom
ing so grown up and concerned about her looks already
, later this year she’ll be eight, then eighteen then maybe with a family of her own, it truly goes by too quickly
.

Somehow the long procession of people finished and as they left the church th
e early and extremely rare spring
sunshine warmed Lauren’s face preparing her for the final goodbye.

The final goodbye, thinking back over the past three months,
‘
how many times did you tell Peter to leave and get out of your life?
’

The black limousine crunched on the gravel as it drove through the gates of Glasnevin cemetery. Noticing another funeral taking place, the tears,
the
people packed tightly together, supporting each other.  Lauren shuddered looking away from the cortège protectively toward
s
her children.

Pressing a button down to open a window of the limousine, she could hear the leaves on the trees whispering their usual banter. Remembering back to her grandmother’s
funeral when Lauren was just a child, her dad reassured her that it was just the whispering of
the souls of the people buried there just having a chat to each other so nob
ody would feel lonely. But
Glasnevin graveyard felt very cold and lonely
today
.
‘
Why the hell does a graveyard always feel so cold when the sun is shining,
’
her thoughts wandering in every direction as she quickly closed up the
limousine
’s
window.