The Closet of Savage Mementos by Nuala Ní Chonchúir Page B

out while I’m here. To Salthill, maybe.’
    ‘Oh yes, they would like that very much,’ India said, looking pleased. ‘They are so fond of you and Robin, so proud. They tell everyone about their big sister and brother up in Dublin.’
    ‘Do they really?’ I felt a gush of heat in my stomach and smiled. Anthony winked at me.
     
    ‘Do you think it’s possible to ever get over losing someone? Like, really get over it?’
    ‘Possible, but difficult,’ Anthony said, and closed his eyes.
    He looks like a psychiatrist sitting there, I thought, plump and wise. Even his fireside chair had the clichéd look of the TV shrink: its high, curved back sported thickly upholstered ears that seemed to hug the sides of his head. I took a deep breath, held it, then parped it out through my lips. My father opened his eyes and raised his eyebrows, inviting me to go on.
    ‘I loved Dónal, you know, but I didn’t love him the way he loved me. We were like brother and sister. Or on-off flat mates.’ I dropped my chin to my chest. ‘I was fond of him, so fond of him, but he drove me nuts. I miss him like crazy.’
    ‘He was a good kid.’
    I looked into the fire, at the petrol blue and white flames that were trying to find a hold on the stack of turf.
    ‘It’s as if he loved me too much; he loved all the love out of the two of us and I couldn’t get a foothold, you know?’ Anthony looked at me. ‘All I know is that at some point, I gave up trying to take him seriously as a potential boyfriend. But now I can’t understand that. I don’t know why I didn’t make the effort to love him, to be with him the way he wanted.’
    ‘We don’t choose who to love,’ Anthony said.
    I lifted my eyes to his and nodded. Anthony leaned over, took my hand and pulped my fingers through his own, hurting me – he was never aware of his own strength.
    ‘Maybe I’ll find someone to love, I don’t know. I look at you and India and the boys, at how happy and content you are, and I think, “Anything is possible.” ’
    ‘It took a long time to land where we are now, Lil, a long time. Don’t forget that Verity and I went through hell. And India and I behaved badly through it all, by getting together in the first place.’ He squeezed my hands. ‘Life is long. Don’t be in too much of a rush.’
    ‘I’m not in a rush, I’m just saying.’
    I could feel the scald of tears plucking at the backs of my eyes. I didn’t want to cry in front of Anthony; he never knew what to say or do when people cried. It made him impatient.
    ‘Look, a little holiday here, away from Dublin and memories, and away from Verity, might help. We’ll only talk about Dónal if you want to. But we’re here for you, darling, India and me.’
    ‘Thanks, Dad.’
     
    ‘What are you to us?’ Alex asked, shoving his fists into his pockets when I held out my hand to him. The wind swished around my ears, throwing my hair into my eyes, and I clawed it away, peeling back the strands that had stuck to my lipstick. Tim held onto me tightly, as if afraid he would be thrown off the promenade into the churning sea.
    ‘I’m your sister, Alex. You know that.’
    ‘You’re very old to be our sister,’ he said, needling his black eyes at me. ‘You could be someone’s mum you’re so old.’
    ‘Could be, but amn’t.’ I forced a smile. ‘I’m your half sister, but that makes it sound as if I’m half a person and I don’t really like that.’
    ‘It sounds OK to me,’ Alex said, and turned to look across the bay at the low hump of County Clare. I looked at his tufty hair and the polished coffee colour of his neck. I examined Tim, his identical miniature. They are beautiful kids, I thought.
    ‘The sea is lovely, isn’t it? Wild,’ I said, smiling at the boys.
    Alex pointed across the water to Black Head. ‘Daddy drives us over to there in his car. Do you have a car?’
    ‘No.’
    Alex smirked then looked away. ‘I want to go home now.’
    ‘I don’t want to go