The Anniversary by Roisin Meaney

Author:Roisin Meaney
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: FA, FIC044000
ISBN: 9781473643048
Publisher: Hachette Books Ireland
Published: 2018-06-27T23:00:00+00:00

Charlie

HE’D FORGOTTEN THE DEPTH OF HIS FEELING FOR THE place. As soon as he turned into the driveway, the instant he set eyes on the house, the love came rushing back, warming him like an embrace.

We’re here, he said to Chloë, and she lifted her head from a biography of Morrissey – a singer whose voice Charlie couldn’t abide – and regarded the house.

It’s big, she said, and nothing else. It shouldn’t have disappointed him – she didn’t know the house like he did, she couldn’t be expected to enthuse – but it did. He turned away from her and drank it in.

It looked precisely as he remembered it, or almost. The hydrangeas could do with a bit of cutting back, the place was crying out for a fresh coat of paint, but by and large it was the house he saw when he closed his eyes at night.

He opened his door and stepped from the car. He inhaled the glorious pure air, filled his lungs with it. This, all of this, he’d missed. His gaze fastened on the window of the green room. He hoped that was where Lily had put them so Chloë could get the sea view. He reckoned she’d have wanted to show off the house to Chloë, to let her see it at its best – and she might also have wanted to remind him of what he’d have continued to enjoy if he’d stayed with her.

He was wrong. They’re in a back room, with no view of the sea. It’s another disappointment, but a minor one. He’s here, that’s all that matters.

But he’s cold, so cold, after the swim. His hands are frozen; his teeth won’t stop chattering. You first, he said to Poll when they got back, and now, ten shivering minutes later, it’s his turn for the shower.

The mirror above the sink has steamed up. He rubs it clear with his towel and sees a tousled mess of greying hair, a chalk-white craggy face, lips a rather alarming shade of bluish-purple.

How old he looks. All those lines. When did they happen?

What does she see in him?

He turns on the shower over the bath. He peels off his sodden togs and steps in. He’d forgotten the feeble flow of the water here, but it’s blessedly hot. He stands underneath it, feeling the warmth returning slowly to his body, spreading out to his fingertips, working its way down to his toes.

When he’s fully thawed he swipes the bar of soap from the sink, humming Beethoven’s Fifth – da da da daaah, da da da daaah – and washes the salt from his skin. He’ll sleep tonight, always sleeps like a baby here.

Good to get the swim in with Poll just now, even if they didn’t do too much talking. Even if, when they did, their remarks were studied and careful. She asked about the car; he enquired after her work. The gallery was mentioned, and a film he’d seen that he thought she’d like. She told him of a recent chance encounter with a mutual acquaintance.

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