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‘Not who, what!’ he laughs and with glee points to his camper van.
I’m baffled now and figure that this Welshman must have been smoking something, because he’s not making any sense to me. I look him up and down and he appears to be sober, lucid and harmless enough, but so was Keyser Söze and look how that worked out for Gabriel Byrne.
I gesture to Mae and the kids to join me as I’m pretty certain that the brown-jumper-clad man before me poses no threat. I introduce each of them to Aled and his smile gets brighter and bigger with every passing name.
‘I’ve heard lots about you two!’ Aled tells Evie and Jamie when they stand beside me.
‘You sound funny,’ Jamie tells him, looking at him warily.
‘Don’t be rude,’ Mae scolds Jamie, but Aled just laughs.
‘Not the first time I’ve heard that, truth be told. Right, I know you must be wondering why I’m here, but one minute. Where did I put it?’
He starts patting down his jumper and trousers and then exclaims as he pulls out a white envelope, ‘Ah, here it is. I’ve a letter to give to you, Olly.’
It has my name on the front and I recognise the handwriting immediately.
Pops.
My heartbeat starts to do its loud hammer dance in my ears again. I can feel a line of sweat break out on my forehead. I’m cold, hot, clammy and can’t breathe.
I feel a hand steady me – Mae – and realise that I must have faltered for a moment. I look at the figurine of Obi-Wan Kenobi clasped in Jamie’s hand and then at the letter in Aled’s hand. Wi-Fi. Fucking Wi-Fi.
‘I think we should go inside,’ Mae says, and she leads me towards the front door, gesturing Aled to follow us. ‘It’s been a long day.
‘Evie, can you make some tea for our guest, please,’ Mae instructs, sounding posh and proper and nothing like her usual self. Evie throws her a dirty look and for a moment I think she’s going to refuse. But then she glances at me and sighs loudly, scuffing her feet as she walks out of the room. Mae then motions Jamie to go into the den to watch TV. I realise that she is also thrown by the letter and trying hard to hold it together.
‘When did he give you this?’ I demand as soon as I find my voice again. The envelope feels heavy in my hand and a faint line of moisture from clammy fingers appears on the top right-hand corner.
‘Your father sent it to me last week, Olly. He gave me specific instructions that I was to be here on the day of his funeral. He arranged with the funeral director – Mr Larkin, I believe – to call me when he died, so I could get here on time.’
I hold my breath as he explains the events of the past few days and start to sweat again. What the hell had Pops been up to?
‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ Aled said to me. ‘Your father was a proper gentleman. But he wanted to do this. He was quite adamant that I should be here today.’
‘I’m not sure I’ve ever heard Pops mention you before,’ Mae says, the kids hovering behind her. There’s no way they are missing out on whatever this is.
‘I’m sorry to say that I didn’t meet him in person. But we’ve spoken on the phone a few times. As I said, he was a proper gent and I would have liked to have spent time with him, if things were different. I think we would have got along pretty well. Maybe it’s best you read the letter. I’m sure it will all become a bit clearer when your father explains what he has done. I’ll go wait in Nomad while you do. Give you some privacy.’
Mae begins to make noises that he should stay where he is, but I usher him to the door saying, ‘Feel free to take your tea with you.’
I don’t want to be a complete dick.
Aled stands up and walks out, saying as he leaves, ‘Take your time. I’m quite comfortable out here.’ He gives me a look of sympathy and I nod back, but my attention is one hundred percent on Pop’s letter and I don’t want a stranger watching me as I read it.
Part of me wants to rip the envelope open, but there’s another part of me that’s chicken. What if this message from the grave – or urn, I suppose – has something bad in it? I shiver. Jamie and Evie have joined Mae on the couch and the three of them watch me, waiting for me to get on with the task at hand. I feel fortified by having them by my side. My family.
So steadied by that sight, with fumbling thumbs, I slowly open the envelope. The sound of paper tearing slices through the thundering silence.
I look inside the envelope and enclosed are two sheets of paper. For a moment, my vision blurs as tears sting my already tired eyes. I blink twice, then once more to focus on the words below.
Chapter Four (#ulink_6cf655a5-8ced-5d74-86c7-dafcbcbf2bab)
Dearest Olly and Mae
If you are reading this, it means that I’m gone. Ah, I’m sorry. I know you must have been through the ringer. There was only one thing worse for me than losing your mother, Olly, and that was watching you grieve and then grow up without her in your life. But grief is inevitable. So I’ll not tell you to stop crying.
This letter … I’ve found it the most difficult to write. Over the summer you’ll get to see all of the letters I’ve penned. Some were easier than others, but this first one, well, I’m struggling …
I can imagine you all sitting in the living room as you read this. Or maybe you are already in Nomad? Well, the main thing is, don’t be worrying, this is a GOOD letter. No nasty surprises, I promise you.
So was it a good turnout today in the end? Charlie Doyle had almost a thousand at his mass and I can remember thinking that it must have made his family happy, seeing how loved he was. He was a good man, in fairness, even if he had a neck like a jockey’s you-know-what. It’s over ten years since he borrowed my drill. Not that any of that matters a blind bit now, of course.
I hope you don’t mind that I organised my own funeral. I didn’t want any of you to have the burden and, if I’m honest, partly I wanted to control how I leave this world. Beth never got that chance. I always regret that we’d not discussed what she wanted. Did I do right by her? That’s weighed on my mind a lot lately. Arra, sure there’s no point worrying about that now.
Olly, all this talk about funerals sparked a forgotten memory. ‘Are you quite alright?’ Do you remember that day at your great aunt Celeste’s funeral? I cried with laughter all over again today when I thought about it. Tell the kids, they’ll like that story.
Bet you have lots of questions right now. What’s with the letters? What’s with Nomad? I’m coming to that.
All I’ve ever wanted in life was to see you happy, lad. And watching you and Mae fall in love and start your own family, well it’s been a privilege to be part of. I want to thank Mae, in particular, for letting an old fool like me live with you.
I know that these past six months have been hard. My cancer, along with sucking the life out of me, seems to have sucked the joy out of our family, hasn’t it? Don’t try denying it, I know it’s true. We used to laugh a lot in this house, but the laughs seem far and few between lately.
I can’t change the past, but I can help change what happens next. I’ve decided it’s time to inject some fun into the Guinness family.
That brings me to Aled and Nomad. Does he look like Sir Tom Jones? He sounds just like him, at least he did on the phone. Decent bloke.
Nomad is my gift to you all. Isn’t she a beauty? I’ve only seen pictures, mind you, and a video clip, but even so, I can tell she’s perfect. She’s all paid for, so don’t fret about money. And there’s a few bob extra for expenses. Aled has promised to show you all how she works before he goes. Now I can imagine that you are wondering what on earth possessed me to buy Nomad. Well, it’s simple. And the word simple is key.
Olly, do you remember when I asked you recently what did you want from life and you said to me that it had all gotten complicated lately? Well, I couldn’t stop thinking about that. I decided that I’d find a way to uncomplicate things for you.
At first I wasn’t sure how to accomplish that, but then I dreamt of the answer. Do you remember our atlas? You, your mam and I would spend hours poring over it, wondering where we’d go to next in our travels. Well, I know how to make things simple again for you all. A holiday! A long one, where you can forget about the past year and just relax. Eliminate all the stresses and complications.
Drum roll please Jamie. You are going on a trip around Europe – in Nomad – for eight weeks. You can all forget about work, school, sickness and death and just focus on being a family again.
Isn’t it great? Are you as excited as I am? It won’t be all fun, mind you! You see, Evie and Jamie need to realise that the world is not limited to Wexford. There’s a lot more out there than Facebook, Netflix or Candy Crush. I want them to see different cultures, taste new foods, watch the sunset from a new vantage point.
I need to talk to you too about my ashes. Some of them I’d like to have buried in the flowers around Beth’s grave. But the rest, bring with you and I’ll let you know where you must scatter them, in due course.
I’m going to say goodbye for now, because I’m getting tired and I’m sure you are all dying to go outside to check out Nomad. Is Jamie out the door already? Ha!
You need to get my briefcase. I’ve left everything you need in there. You’ll find a letter for each stage of your journey, with full instructions. Time to get packing Guinness Family! You leave on Friday 27th June. I wish I could go with you. But I suppose, in part, I am, or at least my ashes are! That makes me smile.
Before I go, there’s just one more thing you need to all remember. Life is short. So don’t spend it regretting what you should have said, to those you care about. If you love someone, say so! Not just with words mind, but in your actions too.
Leave nothing unsaid, you hear me?
I love you,
Pops
Chapter Five (#ulink_cad2189d-3d02-53ef-ac89-f3bc6341fcfb)
MAE
There is a stunned silence in the room, as Olly finishes reading the letter aloud. He lets it fall from his hand and the sheaves of paper float to the floor in front of him. Evie stands up and walks out, wordlessly. I contemplate going after her, but she’s back less than a moment later, placing Pops’ briefcase in front of her father’s feet. She takes a seat by his side and leans in close to him. Jamie walks over and sits on his other side and still none of us speak. They’re good kids. United, flanking their father, supporting him.
I lean down and pick up the pages and put them in their rightful order. A large tear lands on the spidery script and the ink smudges. I panic and blot it dry and then fold the letter carefully in two, placing it on the coffee table in front of us. None of us take our eyes off it. And still the room is silent, save for the distant hum of traffic on the road outside and the twitter of the sparrows that nest in the eaves of our roof.
‘Olly,’ I say. Someone has to break the silence. He looks up at me, his eyes lost and unbelieving.
‘He said he’d find a way,’ Olly replies.
I nod and my heart breaks for my husband.
‘I just didn’t expect to hear from him so quickly.’
I know Olly wasn’t trying to be funny, but this makes me smile. ‘He was always full of surprises.’
‘You know, there were gazillions at the funeral,’ Jamie states with his usual flair for drama, throwing his arms up in the air to further elaborate his point.
We all grin at that gross exaggeration and Olly says, ‘I’m not sure it was quite that much, but he got a decent turnout – more than most get.’
‘He was loved,’ I state. ‘That was evident by the huge crowd gathered. So many people from his job too. And I don’t think a single person from the village didn’t come out either. All his years on various committees …’ I add.
Olly looks down to the brown briefcase and takes a deep breath. He opens it and pulls out an atlas, staring at it, his face scrunched up, perplexed. He runs his fingers over the cover and then, with great care, opens it up, flicking through the pages one by one.
‘What is that, Dad?’ Jamie demands. ‘Let me see.’ His hands try to pull the book and Olly swats him away.
‘You know, back in the eighties, when I was a kid, there was a recession on. Much like there is now. And it had the country on its knees. But we were doing okay, thanks to Pops’ job. I mean we weren’t rich or anything, but we had a house, a car and enough money to go on a foreign holiday every year.’
‘Where did you go?’ Evie asks.
‘A lot of Europe, the US once, furthest we got to was Thailand. Mam and Dad loved to travel and explore new places. They would spend months planning where our next adventure would take us. This very atlas here, oh boy, we could spend hours looking through it. Always on the lookout for inspiration on where we could travel to next. My suggestions to go to Timbuktu were always taken into consideration. I always fancied a trip there, for no other reason than I liked the sound of it as it rolled over my tongue.’
‘Timbuktu,’ Jamie says. ‘Can we go there?’
Olly smiles and ruffles his hair. ‘Maybe.’
I look at the children and imagine if one of us were to die now, what it would be like for them. Olly was so young to lose his mum. I realise he’s spoken more about her death these past few days than he’s done in all of our marriage. He often tells us – understatement of the year – about how amazing a mother she was – but he rarely gets into the nitty gritty about what it was like when she died.
‘I thought this atlas was binned long ago. It just disappeared one day and I think the furthest we travelled after Mam died was West Cork. I suppose Pops and I didn’t feel much like going anywhere without her,’ Olly says.
‘If he kept it all these years, it meant a lot to him too,’ I say.
Olly closes the book and then reaches into the briefcase again. A bundle of letters are tied together, parcel-like, with brown string. A Post-it note is placed on the top and Olly reads it out loud, ‘Remember, each letter must be opened ONLY on the date stated on the envelope. No cheating.’
Olly’s hands shake as he tries to untie the string, so I take it from him. We huddle in close to see what it says.
‘Open me on Friday 27th June.’ scribbled on the first envelope.
‘That’s Jamie’s last day of school,’ I realise.
‘Will we open it now?’ Jamie asks, true to form, my little impatient man.
Olly looks at me for guidance and part of me wants to say, hell yes, we’re opening them all now. I want to know what Pops has in store for us. This is way too big to just sit and wait. I want to be forewarned, because off the bat, one thing I know for sure is this – I’m not going camping for eight weeks in that yoke out there.
‘We can’t open them,’ Evie interrupts, the voice of reason. ‘We have to honour Pops’ dying wishes.’
Damn it. You can’t argue with that sentiment.
Olly takes the letters from me and reties the string, placing it back in the briefcase along with the atlas.
‘We’ll do as you ask, Pops’, he murmurs as he closes the latch on the bag. Feck that! I reckon I can steam the envelopes open with a kettle. What the others don’t know won’t harm them. I look up, feeling Evie’s glare and I swear she knows what I’m thinking. Her face is full of reproach and I feel like a naughty kid, caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Okay, maybe no steaming so.
‘Hey, Dad, what was the funeral Pops was talking about in his letter?’ Jamie asks.
‘You know, I’d forgotten all about that day, until he mentioned it,’ Olly whispers.
‘What happened?’ Evie asks.
‘Yeah, tell us what happened,’ Jamie demands.
‘I remember it was a miserable day, the rain pelting down. The kind of rain that makes it near-impossible to see where you are going. At one point Pops had to pull over and park up for a bit. It took us a lot longer to drive to the church than Pops anticipated, so we didn’t have time to get something to eat first, as he’d promised me. When the mass was over my grumbles about being starving matched the grumbling noises from my tummy! Pops reckoned if we were “super-fast” we could drive to the chipper. We could then grab something to eat and beat the funeral cortege back to the graveside.’
The children were all smiles, enjoying Olly’s tale. He always had a way with words; people listen when he talks.
‘Pops was resourceful,’ I say.
He nods and continues, ‘Luck was on our side, there was no queue in the chipper and we were back in the car within ten minutes, munching on the best chips I’d ever eaten before. I can still smell the vinegary, salty mix that filled our little car.’
‘I could eat some chips now,’ Jamie sighs. ‘My stomach is grumbling too!’
‘You’re always hungry,’ Evie interjects. ‘It’s gross.’
‘Go on,’ I urge Olly and shush the kids to be quiet.
‘Well, we rushed to the graveyard and parked up. We could see the funeral car inching its way towards a grave at the back of the graveyard. So we ran, Pops using his hand to wipe the salt from around my mouth as we went. I can still remember him winking at me as we got to the graveside. We were delighted with ourselves, our bellies warm and full, no one the wiser.’
I watch grief hit my husband’s face again, as if the memory of that conspiratorial wink is too much for him to bear.
‘So you got away with it!’ Evie says. ‘Nicely played, Dad.’
‘Oh that’s only half the story. We joined the mourners around the grave. But the priest kept referring to a “he” not a “she” that had died. We both giggled at first, Pops threw his eyes up in the air. But then his face went all serious, the laughter gone. He shushed me and he gestured around the grave and I saw that there wasn’t a single person there that had been at the church earlier.’
We all gasp once more and look expectantly at Olly.
‘We were only at the wrong grave! You couldn’t make it up, but at that exact same moment, as the penny dropped, we turned around – it felt like in slow motion – and there was another funeral procession entering the main gate. Aunty Celeste’s funeral cortege, heading to the other side of the graveyard.’
