If You Could See Me Now (6 page)

Elizabeth pulled her dressing
gown tighter around her body and secured it at the waist. She tucked her long legs up underneath her body and snuggled down into the oversized armchair in the living room. Her wet hair sat tower-like on the top of her head, twisted in a towel; her skin smelled fruity from her passion fruit bubble bath. She cradled a fresh cup of coffee, complete with splash of cream, in her hands, and stared at the television. She was literally watching paint dry. Her favorite house makeover show was on and she loved to see how they could transform the most run-down rooms into sophisticated, elegant homes.

Ever since she was a child, she had loved giving everything she touched a makeover. She passed the time spent waiting for her mother to return by decorating the kitchen table with scattered daisies, sprinkling glitter on the welcome mat by the door, causing a trail of glitter to garnish the dull stone
floors of the bungalow, decorating the photo frames with fresh
flowers, and sprinkling the bed linen with
flower petals. She supposed it was her
fix-it nature, always wanting something better than she had, never settling, never satisfied.

She also supposed it was her own childish way of trying to convince her mother to stay. She remembered thinking that perhaps the prettier the house, the longer her mother would remain home. But the daisies on the table were celebrated for no more than
five
minutes, the glitter on the doormat quickly trampled on, the
flowers by the photo frames could not survive without water, and the petals on the bed would be tossed and
float to the
floor
during her mother’s
fitful night’s sleep. As soon as these were tired of, Elizabeth would immediately start thinking of something that would really grab and take hold of her mother’s attention, something that she would be drawn to for longer than
five
minutes, something that she would love so much she would get an overwhelming feeling of being unable to leave it. Elizabeth never considered that as her mother’s daughter, she should have been that something that her mother wished to cling to.

As she grew older, her love for bringing the beauty out in things grew as well. She had had much practice with that at her father’s old farmhouse. Now she loved the days at work when she could restore old
fireplaces and rip up ancient carpets to reveal beautiful original
floors. Even in her own home she was always changing things, rearranging and trying to improve. She strove for perfection. She loved setting herself tasks, sometimes impossible ones, to prove to her heart that underneath every seemingly ugly thing there was something beautiful.

She loved her job, loved the satisfaction it brought, and with all the new developments in Baile na gCroíthe and the surrounding nearby towns, she had made a very good living out of it. If anything new was happening, Elizabeth’s company was the one they all called. She was a
firm
believer that good design enhanced life. Beautiful, comfortable, and functional spaces were what she endorsed.

Her own living room was about soft colors and textures; suede cushions and
fluffy carpets; she loved to touch and feel everything. There were light colors of coffees and creams and just like the mug in her hand they helped clear her mind. In a world where most things were a clutter, having a peaceful home was vital to her sanity. It was her refuge, her nest, where she could hide from the problems outside her door. At least in her home she was in control. There, unlike in the rest of her life, she allowed in only those whom she wanted, she could decide how long they should stay, and where in her home they could be. Not like a heart, which let people in without permission, held them in a special place she never had any say in, and then yearned for them to remain there longer than they planned. No, the guests in Elizabeth’s home came and went on her command. And she chose for them to stay away.

Friday’s meeting had been vital. She had spent weeks planning for it, updating her portfolio, creating a slide show, gathering magazine cut-outs and newspaper write-ups of the places she had designed. Her whole life’s work had been condensed into a folder book in order to convince these people to hire her. An old tower stood high on the mountainside and the original plan was for it to be knocked over to make space for a hotel. It had once protected the small town from approaching attackers during Viking times, but in Elizabeth’s opinion, she couldn’t see the point of it remaining there today, as it was neither pretty nor of any major interest. When the tour buses packed full with eager eyes from all over the world passed through Baile na gCroíthe, the tower was rarely mentioned. No one was proud of it nor interested in it. It was an ugly pile of stones that had been neglected to crumble and decay, which by day housed the village teenagers and by night housed the village drunks, Saoirse having been among both of them.

But as soon as it came time to knock it down, many of the townspeople had put up a
fight to prevent the hotel from being built, claiming the tower had some sort of mythical and romantic story behind it. A story began to circulate that if the building were knocked down, all love would be lost. It grabbed the attention of the tabloids and soft news programs and eventually the developers saw the opportunity for an even bigger goldmine than expected. They decided that they would keep the tower standing and instead build the hotel around it, leaving the tower as a historical piece for their courtyard and that way keeping the love alive in the Town of Hearts. There was suddenly a huge rush of interest from believers all around the country wanting to stay in the hotel to be near the tower blessed by love.

Elizabeth would have driven the JCB through it herself. She thought it was a ridiculous story, one created by a village afraid of change and intent on keeping the tower on the mountain. Despite the talk of the tower, she was excited about the prospect of a hotel being built, as the job of designing its interiors would be perfect for her. It would be a small hotel, but one that would provide employment for the people of Heartstown. Better yet, it was only a few minutes from her home and she wouldn’t have to worry about being away from Luke for long periods of time.

Before Luke was born, Elizabeth used to travel all the time. She would never spend more than a few weeks in Baile na gCroíthe and loved having the freedom to move around and work in different counties on various projects all the time. Her last big project brought her to New York, but as soon as Luke was born that had all ended. When Luke was younger, Elizabeth couldn’t continue with her work around the country, never mind around the world. It had been a very difficult time trying to set up her business in Baile na gCroíthe and trying to get used to raising a child again. She had no other choice but to hire Edith, as her father wouldn’t help out and Saoirse certainly hadn’t any interest. Now that Luke was older and settled at school, she was discovering that
finding more work around her within commuting distance was becoming increasingly difficult. The boom development in Baile na gCroíthe would eventually settle and she constantly worried whether the work would eventually dry up completely.

Having to walk out of the meeting on Friday should not have happened. Nobody in her office could sell her abilities as an interior designer better than she could. Her employees consisted of Becca and Poppy. Receptionist Becca was a timid and extremely shy seventeen-year-old who had joined Elizabeth in her transition year while on work experience and decided not to go back to school. She was a hard worker who kept to herself and was quiet around the office, which Elizabeth liked. Elizabeth had hired her quickly after Saoirse, who had been hired by Elizabeth to work there part time, had let her down. She had
more
than let her down and Elizabeth was desperate to get someone in quickly. To tidy up the mess. Again. Keeping Saoirse near her during the day as an attempt to help her on her feet had only succeeded in driving her further away and knocking her right back down.

Then there was twenty-five-year-old Poppy, a recent graduate from Art College full of lots of wonderfully impossible creative ideas and ready to paint the world a color she had yet to invent. There were just the three of them in the office, but Elizabeth often called on the services of Mrs. Bracken, a sixty-eight-year-old genius with a needle and thread who ran her own upholstery shop in the town. She was also an incredible grump and insisted on being called
Mrs. Bracken
and not Gwen, out of respect for her dearly departed
Mr. Bracken,
who Elizabeth didn’t think had been born with a
first
name. And
finally there was Harry,
fifty-two years old and an all’round handyman who could do anything from hanging paintings to rewiring buildings, but who couldn’t understand the concept of an unmarried woman with a career, not to say an unmarried woman with a career and a child not her own. Depending on people’s budgets, Elizabeth would do anything from instructing painters and decorators to doing it all herself, but mostly she liked to be hands-on and do the job herself. She liked to see the transformation before her very eyes and it was part of her nature to want to
fix
everything herself.

It wasn’t unusual for Saoirse to have shown up at Elizabeth’s house that morning. She would often arrive drunk and abusive and willing to take anything that she could get her hands on—anything worth selling, of course, which automatically excluded Luke. Elizabeth didn’t even know if it was just the drink she was addicted to anymore; it was a long time since she had a real conversation with her sister. Elizabeth had been trying to help her since she was fourteen. It was like a switch had been
flicked in her head and they had lost her to another world. Elizabeth tried sending her to counseling, rehab, doctors; she gave her money, found her jobs, hired her herself, allowed her to move in with her, rented her
flats. She had tried being her friend, had tried being her enemy, had laughed with her, and shouted at her, but nothing would work. Saoirse was lost to her, lost in a world where nobody else mattered.

Elizabeth couldn’t help thinking of the irony of her name. Saoirse wasn’t free. She might have felt like she was, coming and going as she pleased, not being tied down to anyone, anything, any place, but she wasn’t free. She was a slave to her addictions. But she couldn’t see it and Elizabeth couldn’t help her see it. She couldn’t turn her back completely on her sister and, thanks to her persistence, she had lost lovers and friends. Their frustration would grow as they stood by and watched Elizabeth being taken advantage of time and time again till they could no longer be in her life. But contrary to their beliefs, Elizabeth didn’t feel like the victim. She was always in control. She knew what she was doing and why she was doing it, and she refused to desert a family member. She would not be like her mother. She had worked too hard all her life to be just the opposite.

Elizabeth suddenly pressed mute on the television remote control and the room was silenced. She cocked her head to one side. She thought she’d heard something again. After looking around the room and seeing that everything was as it should be, she turned the volume back up again.

There it was again.

She silenced the TV once more and stood up from the armchair.

It was
10:15
and not yet fully dark. She looked out to the back garden and in the dusk she could only see black shadows and shapes. She pulled the curtains closed quickly and immediately felt safer in her cream and beige cocoon. She tightened her dressing gown again and sat back down in her armchair, tucking her legs even closer to her body and wrapping her arms protectively around her knees. The vacant cream leather couch stared back at her. She shuddered again, turned the volume up even higher than before, and took a gulp of coffee. The velvety liquid slid down her throat and warmed her insides and she tried once again to be sucked back into the world of television.

All day she had felt odd. Her father always said that when you got a chill up your spine it meant that someone was walking over your grave. Elizabeth didn’t believe that but as she stared at the television, she turned her head away from the three-seater leather couch and tried to shake off the feeling that a pair of eyes were watching her.

Ivan watched her mute the television once again, quickly put her coffee cup on the table next to her, and jump out of her chair as though she had been sitting on pins. Here she goes again, he thought. Her eyes were wide and terrified as they darted around the room. Once again Ivan prepared himself and pushed his body to the edge of the couch. The denim of his jeans squeaked against the leather.

Elizabeth jumped to face the couch.

She grabbed a black iron poker from the large marble
fireplace and spun around on her heels. Her knuckles turned white as they tightened around it. She slowly tiptoed around the room, eyes wild with fear. The leather squeaked again underneath him and Elizabeth charged toward the couch. Ivan leaped from his seat and dived to the corner of the room.

Ivan hid behind the curtains for protection and watched as she pulled the cushions out of the chair while grumbling to herself about mice. After ten minutes of searching through the couch, Elizabeth put all the cushions back in place.

She picked up her coffee cup self-consciously and made her way into the kitchen. Ivan followed closely on her heel; he was so close that strands of her soft hair peeking out from under the towel wrapped around her hair tickled his face. Her hair smelled of coconut and her skin of rich fruits.