Tuesday 28 June 2016

Plus One

I'm getting used to your jeep sitting there quietly in the yard, or seeing someone else driving it.  I don't listen out for your booming voice or your persistent cough.

Other rituals remain the same.  A kiss from Mam, clicking the kettle on, Monty wagging her tail, happy to see me.  I glance through the headlines on the Meath Chronicle, the Farmer's Journal, the Indo.  I pooch in the letter rack to see if there is any post for me, after all these years.  The occasional letter from the Credit Union, a polling card.

There's always cards of some sort on the fridge, Easter, Mother's Day, birthday or thank you cards. Today there's a cream coloured, heavily embossed card.  Gilt edged with italicised font.  The name of the bride confuses me first.  She doesn't sound familiar.  It all makes sense when I read the grooms name.  The son of longstanding family friends.  The friends who owned a pub.  Which meant copious amounts of fizzy drinks when we visited.  And a brown paper bag full of King crisps the day after late night visits by my parents.

And then I see 'Plus One' in the space where your name should be.  The kettle is boiling now.  Mam asks me what I want to drink.  ''I've that green tea for you...?''   She looks concerned.  I nod at the invitation, but can't speak.

Her first big event without you.

I think of my uncle, who lost my lovely aunt in her early forties, describing life without her. In his strong Northern accent, he eloquently described 'feeling like a spare prick' at weddings and gatherings over the years.  And then there was my aunt who 'never married'.  Her anxiety about the invitation that didn't include a 'Plus One', the person she had in mind to mind her bag, or break the silence when she found herself in the awkward company of strangers.

I offer to go to the wedding with my Mam, but she has already asked an aunt to accompany her.  I'm pleased.  They will skit and laugh and make terrible jokes and get through the day

knowing that you aren't there.

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