Fionnuala Kearney - The Day I Lost You - A heartfelt, emotion-packed, twist-filled read

‘I can’t stop,’ he says. ‘I was the one who asked her to come on that holiday with us.’

‘You feel guilty.’

He nods aggressively.

I want to tell him that he should, that it’s not my job to assuage his guilt, and that if he had kept his mouth shut that Anna would still be here with me and Rose. Instead, I tap his shoulder reassuringly as I walk across the room to the fridge. I imagine Anna trying to out-ski it. She would have tried. She would have tried hard because my daughter would have wanted to live. Every sinew in her body would have stretched to the max. I pour a large vodka from a bottle, hold it up in his direction. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten my manners. Would you like a drink?’

‘No, thank you.’ He shakes his head, angles it. ‘Is that her phone?’

I sit down, place my drink on the table beside me. ‘Yes, it is. The police had it, they’ve just sent it to Anna’s father. I can’t help feeling it has been sitting in some evidence locker, ignored all this time. I actually thought she had it on her.’ My voice drifts.

‘I gave it to them,’ he says. ‘She’d asked me to look after it while she skied.’ He shrugs awkwardly. ‘After the accident, I gave it to them, knew they’d be trying to ping it to try and …’ He’s struggling to find a way to say ‘locate her’.

I pick it up again and it’s moments before I realize I’m pressing the diamanté phone cover, my fingertips forced against the ridges, leaving red, circular marks. Her phone. I’ve phoned it, left so many messages for her. I’ve made sure her account remains open, just in case somewhere, on some parallel plane, it might be possible for her to hear my voice, to know she’s loved and missed.

‘Why?’ I ask him suddenly.

‘Sorry?’

‘Why did she give you her phone?’

‘I don’t know. Just before she left, she literally tossed it through the air at me, said, “Look after that for me, will you?” Then she was gone. The signal was dire out on the slopes.’

I’m unable to reply. I try to quell the pointed feeling I can sense in my jaw at the word ‘gone’.

‘She was always on it, constantly thumbing away. I assumed it was texting all the time. I mean, some of it was, but she told me shortly before the accident that she just used it to think into.’

I swallow some alcohol, feel the burn, then say, ‘I’m not sure what you mean?’

‘I’m not sure either; it’s just what she said.’ He shrugs, hesitates a moment. ‘You know, I think one of the reasons I came here is to tell you that she was happy. On the trip? She’d been a little distracted just beforehand, probably just work stuff, but as soon as we got there, she told me it was as if the mountain air had cleared her head. She was happy.’

‘She was?’

‘Yes. The snow was great. On that last day, the fresh fall of powder had us all excited.’ He hesitates. ‘The group weren’t supposed to leave for another thirty minutes and had they waited … I’d injured my foot the day before; the hire boots, they were biting. I didn’t go with them that morning.’

‘Anna’s a fresh-powder fiend. She’d have been itching to get going.’

He nods and I can tell from his expression he’s probably regretting the visit. What to say to the mother of the woman you possibly had feelings for; who left to go skiing with friends and never returned while you rested your leg nearby. And had she just left at the allotted time, not got overexcited by fresh-powder fall, they’d probably all be in the pub next to the office, mulling over their shared Dropbox of photos, downing beers. What to say? I can’t help him.

He stands. ‘I should probably go. I’m glad you’ve got the phone. There’ll be pictures.’

I look at my glass, just one mouthful gone. ‘I’ll drop you at the station.’

‘No,’ he says. ‘Please. Stay. I don’t want to put you out. Here, take this.’ He presses a business card into my hand, one with a handwritten personal email address. ‘If there’s ever anything you want to ask, I don’t know, anything … just call?’

Outside, I can hear the wind has risen. From the front room, the chimney hoots an owl-like sound. The rain, which had trickled twenty minutes earlier, now slaps against the kitchen window.

I crumple the card into my pocket. ‘I’ll drop you at the station. It’s starting to blow a gale out there.’

He doesn’t argue. Before I leave, I plug Anna’s phone in to charge.

‘Stay, Pug. I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

Pug trails behind us and I can hear her cry through the closed front door.

Vodka has a way of sliding down the throat. It’s like a pleasant burning sensation as it flames its way to my hungry gut. I have waited for the phone to half-charge before entering the four-digit code that I know will open it. Incorrect PIN . I try her birthday, my birthday – all incorrect. I frown at it, baffled, sure that it had always been Rose’s birthday.

I’m almost ready to throw it in temper when there’s another ring at the front door which makes me jump. Pug jerks in her sleep but doesn’t wake and I automatically look at my watch – 9:08. It’s late. I pad through the hall, as quietly as possible, and peer through the peephole, then open it so quickly that I almost hit myself in the face.

‘Nanny!’ she cries and leaps into my arms.

Sean has no choice but to let go of her hand.

‘What? Hello, gorgeous girl!’ I hug her so tight, I feel and hear her gasp.

Sean remains on the porch. ‘She wanted to come home,’ he says simply.

Rose jumps down, takes my hand and is looking back to her father. ‘Come in, Daddy. Nanny will make you a cup of tea.’

He bends down, opens his arms for a hug. ‘No, love, I won’t stay. We talked about this, remember? I explained that if you came home I still had to go back. Your grandma and granddad are waiting for me.’

She nods, releases my hand and goes to hug him. ‘Okay,’ she says.

I tell her to bring her rucksack up to her room and she obliges, practically skipping up the stairs as Sean slides her small suitcase over the threshold.

‘What happened?’ I ask, when I think she’s out of earshot.

‘She just never settled.’ He shrugs. ‘As soon as she got there, she was crying to come back. She was crying for Anna, crying for … home.’

I sigh. I have never told her Anna is dead because as far as I’m concerned she’s not. I have just nodded along with her father-inspired talk of angels.

‘And I guess she thinks of this as her home,’ he says.

I bristle. ‘This is her home, Sean. She has lived here all her life, almost all of it here with her mother.’

‘And you,’ he says, and I can’t help but think I hear a trace of resentment.

‘And me.’

‘Now’s not the time,’ he seems to hold his breath for a moment, ‘but we do need to talk about ongoing arrangements.’

My blood freezes. ‘Arrangements?’

‘As I said, now’s not the time.’ His breath hits the cold air outside in vapours.

I glance up the stairs. ‘Now’s perfect, Sean.’

‘I’m not happy with Rose living here full time.’ His hands are parked in both of his low-slung pockets. I immediately think back to Anna’s accident and how I leaned on him a lot more than usual for childcare. He, in turn, leaned on his parents.

Pulling the door closed between him and the stairs, I leave a gap wide enough to see and speak through. Somehow the best words that can come out seem to find themselves spoken. ‘Rose seems to be quite happy. Isn’t that what matters? In the circumstances.’

‘She does. I see that, but I’m her father and I need to do what’s best for her in the long run.’