Unforgettable Embrace Page 9

  I'm a coward, that's what I am, she thought. I'm scared to get on with my life properly. I’m scared to change, scared to take a risk. I’m scared, scared, scared. I've never done anything radical in my whole entire life, she thought. I'm thirty years old and the most life-changing decision I've ever made is to break up with my long-term boyfriend. My life has been one, long cycle of predictability. There's nothing wrong with predictability, but I promised myself I'd change, do something radical, live a little, and I haven't done anything.

  I'm caught in the same old cycle, just with different characters. I break up with one boyfriend and spend the following months on a mad man hunt, trying desperately to find a replacement boyfriend. Ludicrous behaviour, she scolded herself. She was relieved that she hadn't managed to find a new man. She realised she didn't want another boyfriend, however amazingly wonderful and romantic he might have been. In fact, a boyfriend was the last thing she wanted; maybe in the future, the far distant future.

  She decided there and then to deactivate her account on Maybe Love.com. The first positive decision I've made in quite some time, she mused. She almost ran to her computer in her haste to get online. She logged on to the website, ignored her overflowing email inbox, clicked on “settings” and deactivated her account. She breathed a long, slow sigh of relief and sat back in her chair.

  She felt excited and free for the first time in a very long time. She was inspired. She grabbed a pen and paper from her desk and started writing, brainstorming ideas for her new life. She let her pen fly over her paper. She was out of control, thoughts and ideas channelling from her mind to her pen and onto her notebook. She felt liberated, happy, excited. She tumbled into bed that night exhausted, but the happiest she had felt in a very long while.

  Rachel spent the weekend reviewing the results of her brainstorming session. She spent hours dreaming and writing and adding to her ideas, planning how she would make them come true. She knew she wanted to sell the apartment. There were too many memories and ghosts of her past life there. She wanted to live somewhere fresh and new, to start creating a life and memories which were all her own, untainted by the past. Everywhere she looked in her apartment she was reminded of Tony. Most of them were happy memories, but she wanted to begin again.

  She'd always wanted to live by the sea, but work commitments never allowed that dream to become a reality, and Tony wasn't a big fan of the sea, he preferred mountains, so for convenience they had chosen the apartment close to the city. The apartment had served them well over the years, but Rachel was feeling claustrophobic within its walls. She wanted to look out the window in the morning and see the vast expanse of ocean before her, hear the crashing waves outside, breathe in the fresh sea air. She'd had enough of city life and all that it entailed; the incessant hustle and bustle, the rushing around, the noise, the traffic, the pollution, the list was endless. She found it was wearing her down, and was adding to her general malaise.

  She wanted to go to France. It had always been her dream to live and travel in France, but she had never gone for any significant period of time. She'd lived in France for six months as part of her degree programme, but most of that had been spent studying and partying. She had stuck with the same circle of Irish friends from her college class and hadn't really mixed with the other French students. She'd been to Paris on a romantic weekend away with Tony a few years ago. It had been a surprise trip that Tony had organised for her birthday. She'd fallen madly in love with the city, the people, the shops, and the general ambience. It was the definition of cool and sophisticated, in her opinion, without trying too hard, in fact without trying at all, Paris just IS cool.

  Rachel loved all things French; the books, the films, the fashion, the food, and of course the wine. She had fallen in love with France when she was twelve and a half years old, to be precise. Her French teacher was a wonderfully eccentric woman who had lived in France for many years, but who had returned to Ireland to care for her sick mother. She was Rachel's secondary school French teacher and her passion and effervescence had instilled in Rachel a love of all things French.

  She decided she needed to hand in her notice at work. It was time to leave; she'd had enough of office politics and the pettiness of the rat race. She was tired of deadlines and having to be polite to people who she didn't particularly like. It had never been her dream job anyway. She seemed to fall into it after college, but often found herself bored and unchallenged by it. She realised she'd been coasting along there for quite a while. She wanted to feel motivated and energised by her work, to make a difference, to know that her work mattered. She knew her work mattered but only to the extent that it was making somebody else richer.

  She'd had enough of it all. She'd always dreamed of opening her own business as a florist. She loved flowers and what they symbolised. It's time to get back to basics, she thought, back to nature. She decided there and then that she would write her letter of resignation over the weekend and hand in her notice on Monday.

  She knew she needed to be a lot kinder to herself. Even the Bible said “do unto others as you would like to have done unto you,” but Rachel had spent most of her life concentrating on others and making them happy. It was her time now. She had spent her life doing what everyone else did, what everyone expected you to do; studying hard, working hard, in a relationship trying to make it work, without ever really pausing for long enough to ask herself if she was actually genuinely happy and satisfied with all of her so called achievements. Many people would have been envious of everything she had in her life, but she was beginning to accept that she needed something deeper. She didn't know for sure what it was she needed exactly, but she was absolutely determined to try her utmost to find out.

  Chapter 17

  Rachel spent the next few weeks in a frenzy of activity. She had never been so busy in her life and had never felt so excited at the future, her future, all of her own making. She worked her months’ notice at Sherrington International, and was pleasantly surprised at how genuinely sad people seemed to be at the news of her imminent departure from the office. Even Bettina said she would miss her and gave her a present of home-made butter biscuits, made from her great grandmother's secret recipe. Her colleagues were eager to know where she planned on working next and couldn't quite understand that she didn't even have a new job lined up.

  “How will you live?” Susan asked her.

  “How will you fill your days?” Nancy wondered, “that's what I most hated about being unemployed was the almost endless hours in each day.”

  “Don't worry about me,” Rachel assured them, “I'll be busy, just different busy, getting a life busy.”

  Her friends thought she'd gone slightly bonkers. They didn't really know what to make of this new, free-spirited Rachel.

  “Where will you live?” Jen asked.

  “By the sea somewhere,” was the response.

  “But where?” Liz looked worried.

  “I don't know where exactly. I've got a few weeks left before I have to vacate my apartment and then I'll see where the road takes me.”

  “I wish to God I hadn't bombarded you with all those self-help books,” Liz sighed. “I think you've taken them just a tad too literally. Don't get me wrong, I'm delighted that you are out of your rut, but don't you think you've taken it a bit far?”

  “Actually, no, I don't think I've gone too far,” Rachel defended herself. “I haven't even started yet. So what, I'm leaving my job, the same job I've had for almost ten years. So what, I've sold the flat, the same place I've lived all my adult life. It's about time I made some changes, some serious changes.”

  “I'm worried about you, that's all,” Liz explained.

  “Me too,” Jen chimed in, “I feel like I've let you down, somehow, like we all put too much pressure on you to go out, find a new boyfriend, and get a new life. I know I can be pushy sometimes but I blame myself, at least in part, for the state you were in only a few short weeks ago. I'd never seen you so utterly desolate,
and I think you were under pressure and instead of reassuring you, I pushed you too much.”

  “Honestly, Jen, none of this is anyone's fault,” Rachel said. “Anyway, “fault” is the wrong word. My mini breakdown has been a blessing. It made me realise how truly, deeply unhappy I felt inside. It's given me the inspiration to want to change, and it's forced me to push through my fear.”

  “Feel the fear and do it anyway, that's what one of my self-help books advised,” Liz interjected.

  “Yes, and what excellent advice it is,” Rachel agreed, smiling at her friend, and that's precisely how she intended to live from now on.”

  Chapter 18

  “Goodbye,” Rachel whispered softly as she closed the apartment door behind her for the last time.

  She felt that she was had closed the door on her old life. Closed the door on all the memories the apartment contained. Good memories, mostly. She smiled to herself as she skipped down the steps to her overloaded car. One quick stop at the estate agent's to sign some final documentation and she would officially be homeless. Well, not exactly homeless, she was going to stay with her sister for a while and live off her share of the sale of the apartment. She was so excited she felt nauseous. She had butterflies in her stomach, something she hadn't experienced for years.

  “I can't believe I'm doing this,” she thought.

  She pulled up the drive of her sister's house around lunch time. It was such a beautiful area, especially for a house in the suburbs. “Number One, Cherry Blossom Drive” was a sweet three bedroomed semi-detached house at the corner end of a row of eight houses. The estate was lined with cherry blossom trees, which of course gave the estate its name. There was a large green area for the children to play and unobtrusive coded security gates prevented any undesirables entering the estate. Rachel typed in the code and waited impatiently for the gates to swing open. She couldn't wait to see her sister and niece and nephew. It felt like ages since she had last seen them, even though it had only been a few months since she'd visited.

  Simon was already standing by the front door, peeping out for the first sighting of his auntie. He waved ecstatically when he saw her and Rachel waved back, whilst simultaneously trying to park the car. Holly swung the door open, smiling widely, and Simon ran to give his aunt a big hug, almost knocking her over in his exuberance.

  “Hi Si, you've gotten so tall,” Rachel exclaimed, hugging him tightly. “How old are you now?” “I'm six,” the little boy announced, self- importantly.

  “You are not six, Simon, you're still only five,” his mother said from the door, where she was holding a bemused looking baby Mia, who was solemnly observing the newcomer.

  “It's so good to see you girl.”

  “It's good to see you too girl.” The two sisters hugged and smiled at each other as only sisters do.

  “How's my little munchkin woman?” Rachel gave her niece a quick kiss on the cheek. Mia was just over a year old and wary of unfamiliar people.

  “I don't think she remembers me,” Rachel said, in disappointment.

  “Ah, don't worry yourself, girl, give her half an hour and she'll be all over you like a rash,” Holly reassured her. “Cuppa tea, aunt?” Holly asked her sister affectionately.

  They referred to each other as “aunt” and “mother”, like some parents refer to each other as “mom” and “dad” in front of the children, but which often becomes a habit that is difficult to break.

  “Definitely, mother, I'm gasping.”

  “Fig rolls, aunt? Need I ask, you're a demon for the auld fig rolls, girl?”

  “Go on, mother, you know me too well,” Rachel laughed.

  “I like your hair, auntie,” Simon said, smiling up at his aunt.

  “Aww, thanks Si,” she gave him another hug. “How cute is he?”

  “I know, he's forever listening to me going on about my hair. I think my obsession has rubbed off on him. We might have a budding hairdresser on our hands,” his mother grinned, ruffling the little boy's hair.

  Holly was on a one woman mission to achieve the perfect shade of blonde hair. Her own natural hair was dark blonde, but very coarse and dry. She'd spent a fortune over the years on moisturising products and hairdressers and now had a long, flowing mane of baby blonde hair that was the envy of most women, including Rachel.

  “Speaking of hair, mother, your hair is more gorgeous than ever,” Rachel complimented her sister. “How do you get it so bouncy, but also so soft?”

  “The secret, my dear, is money, and lots of it,” her sister explained. “My latest bottle of conditioner cost me fifty euro.”

  “Fifty euro!” Rachel exclaimed.

  “Yep, it supposedly has caviar or some such fancy ingredient, but it does work miracles.”

  “Better give that teabag an extra hard squeeze, mother, I need a strong cuppa to keep me awake. I was up packing half the night packing and I'm shattered.”

  “Don't even get me started on shattered,” Holly said, “you don't have a clue what tired is until you've had children. This little madam had me awake for hours last night. She refused to sleep. I read to her, sang to her, rocked her, even took her into bed with me, but she was having none of it. She was whinging most of the night. I think her teeth are probably bothering her, so I can't be too upset, hey baba?” She squeezed her daughter's cheek who looked up at her with big, brown eyes. “The innocence,” Holly continued, “it'd break your heart.”

  Holly handed Mia unceremoniously into her sister's arms while she went off to the kitchen to make strong cups of Barry's tea. Mia and Rachel were left looking at each other, with Simon observing everything wisely from the couch.

  “Hello, gorgeous girl,” Rachel said, attempting to make friends with her little niece.

  Mia stared at her unblinkingly, with a look of contempt on her chubby face. She looked around for her big brother and gave him a big gap-toothed smile. She had the most disarming, devastating smile of anyone Rachel had ever known. It lit up her whole face in an instant and you couldn't help but smile back at her.

  Mia waved at her brother over her aunt's shoulder, as if to say “rescue me please from this imbecile.” Simon waved back at his little sister and the two of them made a game of waving and smiling at each other. Holly returned to the sitting room with two big, piping hot strong mugs of tea.

  “That'll put hairs on your chest, aunt,” she said, passing a mug to her sister.

  “Thanks, girl,” Rachel put Mia carefully on the playmat on the floor, from where she kept a watchful eye on her aunt.

  “She's got your looks down pat, anyway, mother,” Rachel teased Holly. “Look at the way she's staring at me, up and down as if to say “who does your woman think she is”.”

  “I know, she's a gas girl, I can see so much of her in me, aren't you dolly?” Holly smiled over at her daughter, who rewarded her with a devastating smile and a wave.

  “Hiya,” Mia suddenly decided she would condescend to speak to her aunt.

  “Hiya, darling,” Rachel responded in delight.

  “Hiya,” Mia said again, with a chuckle.

  “She'll be saying “hiya” all night now,” Holly said, “it's her favourite word at the moment.” The little girl crawled over to her toy phone and banged a few buttons on it. A recorded voice started repeating “hello, hello,” from the phone, poor little Mia must have said “hiya” a hundred times in her efforts to keep up with the hellos. Her aunt, mom and brother couldn't stop laughing at the determination on the baby's face.

  “She's mad for the hellos,” her mother continued. “She's a torment on the bus. If anybody gets on board she says “hiya” to them but God help them if they don't reply, she starts yelling a barrage of “hiyas” at them in a very aggressive way, it's very funny.”

  The sisters were up long after the children went to bed, catching up on each other's lives and having their usual laugh at life, like only sisters can.

  Simon woke Rachel at the ungodly hour of half past five the following morn
ing, looking for “'toons” i.e. cartoons to be switched on the TV. She crawled downstairs in a fog of sleepiness and stuck the TV on for her nephew who made himself cosy on the couch. Then she curled up in one of the large armchairs and wrapped her blanket tightly around herself. She dozed lightly, being woken intermittently by Simon's enthusiastic recommendations that Scooby Doo or Spiderman or some such cartoon was about to come on. Mia and Holly didn't surface til almost ten o' clock.

  “It's well for some,” Rachel greeted Holly as she stuck her head around the sitting room door. “I know, she's the best baby ever,” Holly agreed, kissing Mia's chubby cheek.

  “She's so good; she'd make anyone want to pop out at least three or four more kids.”

  “Hmm, I dunno about that,” Rachel said dubiously, a bit grumpy from her nephew's early wake-up call.

  “So, what's the plan for the day then, aunt?” Holly called from the kitchen, where she was busy preparing breakfast.