Two years after that, still in competition with Nigel, who had just had a son he called Matthew, she gave birth to a son of her own, whom she called Oliver. And then, three years later, she outdid her cousin once more. Nigel had just had another son he called James. Three days later Carolena had twin boys called Nicolas and Alexander.
Nigel had her beat on one thing, however. He and his first wife, Laura, divorced shortly after Matthew turned two. A year later, he married his girlfriend, Mary, whom was the mother of his youngest son, James. They divorced three years after James was born. Nigel stayed single for twenty years, dating here and there, until he met Carla, a cheeky, heavy set girl who was nineteen years younger than him and the daughter of none other than Nigel’s old rugby mate, the mega-fuck brain, Connor Stewart. Carla never wanted to get legally married, nor did she want children of her own, so Nigel bought her an old cottage in Kerry Village and the two lived happily ever after, more or less, “in sin and mortal peril”, as Oliver put it.
Ana Kaye McNeil Dickinson, Oliver and Alexander’s mother, crossed the veil the April after Nic and Alex were born. She’d developed a cough, which she ignored until she was sure she had pneumonia. Thinking she’d go to the doctor and get a shot of antibiotics, she went for a visit and was told after a battery of tests that what she had was cardiac obstructive pulmonary disease. She had a surgery to unclog an artery, but a few months later she suffered a heart attack and six after that, at the age of seventy-eight, she passed away peacefully in Edmond’s presence at hospital in Welshpool.
Oliver and Alexander didn’t take the time immediately to deal with their own feelings over her death. They were too busy looking after their father, whose heart was completely shattered over the loss. He’d been with Ana since they were twenty years old. Much like Oliver and I, she was what his life had revolved around. Being retired, he was at a loss as to what to do with himself in her absence.
“I was holding her in my arms,” He told me as we sat in his front room after her memorial service, “I used to tease her about greasing up her face. I told her she looked like a glazed ham. She‘d say to me, ‘Well, at least I‘ll always be beautiful‘. You know, she didn‘t have a single wrinkle on her face,” He sighed. “She really was always beautiful.”
“She was,” I agreed. I meant it, too. Ana never let herself go for even a day.
“You’re never ready,” Edmond told me, “I don’t think it matters how old you get. You’re just never prepared to be the one left alone.”
I took his hand and said nothing. There simply was nothing to say. I was there. It was the best I could do.
Oliver held himself together until she was buried. Eddie told us he was tired after the service and he asked to be dropped off at his house. Alex asked if he wanted company, but he shook his head. “I’m tired, Son. I need to go home and be alone.”
We hugged and kissed him and respected his wishes. Oliver and I left him off. As we were walking down the garden path to the car, my husband asked me if I would mind driving. “Not at all, Sweetie,” I replied and took the keys from him. I had only made it around the corner before he put his hands over his face and allowed himself to begin to mourn his mother. I took him home and I let him cry without even trying to stop him. Eventually, he fell asleep.
The night of her funeral there was a dreadful rain. It came down in all directions, filled the dips in the road, and made travel on the muddy paths to the cabin nearly impossible. Still, at about ten thirty that night someone was pounding on our door.
Oliver woke up and rolled out of bed and on to his feet. “What the hell? “ He rubbed his head, “Is somebody here?“ The pounding came again. Both of us hurried to the door to find his brother and Lucy huddled together under an umbrella to protect them from the storm. “Are you mad?” Oliver demanded, hurrying them into the house, “Get in here!”
“The door was locked!” Alexander shook his head as if to free an ear of water
“Really?” Ollie was surprised. We never locked our door.
They peeled off their dripping coats. They were both still in their pyjamas “Silvia!” Lucy hugged me, “Alexander had a dream!”
“What?” Oliver took a bag from Alex and set it on the floor.
She and Alex looked at each other. “OK, OK, let me explain,” Alex was grinning excitedly, “You know how you and I were so upset that we didn’t get to say good bye properly to Mum, Ollie?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I’ve been having this feeling that she’s around, yeah? Ever since she died, really, and I’ve been chatting with her. I told her that if there’s anything she wants us to do she should let us know.”
“So tonight he went to bed early because he was so damned sad,” Lucy interrupted She put her hand lovingly against his cheek, “And he woke up about an hour later and he tells me, ‘It’s in the cupboard behind the bloody cache pot!’ I had no idea what he was talking about, but he said it again, ‘It’s behind the bloody cache pot!’ and he jumped up and ran out of the house!”
“What are you talking about?” I couldn’t help but laugh at them. They seemed so excited and were making no sense at all.
“I went over to Dad’s in my bloomin’ flannels and tore into his pantry. He didn‘t wake up, thank God, because he would have thought I was mental! I pulled out that old cache pot mum had in there and behind it was Grandmum’s recipe book!”
“The one Mummy has been looking for since Grandmum died?” I asked.
“The very one!” Alexander literally jumped in place, “See, in my dream I was sitting here on the sofa-like,” He motioned to the front room, “And you,” He was looking at his brother, “And Silvia were in the kitchen. I could hear you talking. Well, through the front door comes Mum…and I mean, through the front door, she floated right through it. And she’s all smiling and looking really young and pretty and she says, ‘Xander, I found the book! It’s behind the bloody cache pot! Must have fallen, yeah?’ and then she sits beside me and pats me on the hand and she says, ‘Go get it and get over to your brother’s! Don’t mind the rain! Make what’s on page twenty-seven. Silvia has everything you need. It’ll bring back memories you’ve forgotten!’” Tears were welling in Alexander’s eyes, “And then she tells me she loves me and Lucy and asks me to tell you two that she loves you both and that she’s so proud of us all. And then she says to me, ‘I really have to go, Xan. Don’t miss me because I’m not far. Tell Oliver and Eddie you’ll all see me again in time’. And then I woke up.”
“Well, what the hell’s on page twenty-seven?” Oliver demanded with a good natured grin. He took the whole story in stride without even a question. Then again, he’d been speaking to elves since he was a child, why would it seem so out of the realm of possibility that his mother could have visited his brother in a dream?
“Let’s find out!” Lucy hugged the book to her chest, “Come on, Silvia! Let’s go cook!”
It was a simple bread. Flour, butter, eggs, sugar, brown sugar, baking soda, milk, a little nutmeg, and vanilla. We baked it for a little less than an hour and pulled it out.
“It smells good,” I held my nose over the pan.
“It says to butter it and serve it hot,” Lucy glanced over the recipe one last time. “Mummy scribbled a note.”
We sliced it and served it to the twins.
“I remember this!” Alexander said through a full mouth, “She used to make it after mass on Sundays! Before they sent us to Bennington!”
“We’d have it with chamomile tea and orange slices,” Oliver covered his face with his hands. “This is what it tastes like to be seven years old, Alex!”
“It was our favourite! Bake the bread, Mummy! We’d beg for it. And she would, she always would!” Alex wiped his eyes, “God, our mother loved us! She loved us so bleedin‘ much!”