The Book of Love. Fionnuala Kearney
empty teacup from this morning, when she’d been a single woman, sat upside down on the draining board. She took a seat at the head of the table – solid oak, country style with carver legs and a cutlery drawer at one end – it had been a present from the Carter family. They had offered to pay for a wedding; probably somewhere like Erin had dreamed of, but neither she nor Dom had wanted to accept, sensing a disapproval of Erin that was never discussed.
She ran her hand over the array of gifts. There was only one in the tall mound that she was interested in opening, one she knew Dom wouldn’t mind her getting the first look at. Fitz had wrapped it in old newspapers, bound it with blue ribbon.
The box was flat, A4 size and inside it, amongst layers of tissue paper, lay a leather-bound notebook. A bitter chocolate colour, soft nappa leather, with an opening flap like an envelope. From the point of the flap came a single strand of leather to tie around it. Picking it up, it felt lighter in her hand than she’d imagined. Her forefinger traced the embossed words on the front:
What am I?
I am The Book of Love,
The pages of truth with its light and shade.
I am Love,
And if real, I will never fade.
Opening it, a card fell to the table and on the back, her father’s handwriting:
Erin and Dom, your mother and I used to do this. I’d swear it rescued us from many sticky times so this is a ‘borrowed’ idea for your gift. I hope you use it like we did – to talk to one another – to write down whatever it is you can’t bring yourselves to say. In years to come, this book will be a place where you’ll look back and read about the things you were possibly too young or naïve to understand. Only two rules – First, don’t do it too often, it’s a route to talking about difficult things, not the only place to mention them. And second, when you write something, start and end it with love, like ‘My dearest Erin/Dom’ etc. and always, ALWAYS end it with a reminder to each other that you love each other and why e.g. ‘I love you because …’
Erin appreciated the thought in the gift but still replaced it in its box shaking her head, unable to imagine a time when she and Dom couldn’t simply say exactly what they wanted to one another.
The sound of the soft pad of his feet on the tiled floor made her turn around.
‘Come to bed, love.’ Dom, wearing striped pyjama bottoms but bare chested, rubbed one of his eyes.
‘I can’t sleep.’ From behind, she felt both his arms circle her waist.
‘It’s three a.m.’ he yawned. ‘What’s in the box?’
‘A gift from Dad.’
Dom pulled a chair up beside her, took a sip from her mug and grimaced. ‘No wonder you can’t sleep. That stuff is powdered shit.’ His head jerked towards the gift. ‘So, what is it?’
‘It doesn’t matter – just one of Dad’s hare-brained ideas.’
Dom took her hand. ‘You remember when we first met, Mrs Carter?’
She laughed. ‘It was only a year ago. Of course.’
‘Lydia’s New Year party. The first time I saw you, you were dancing, all five-foot-ten of you.’ He stroked the downy hair on her arm. ‘You were doing that weird hippy-sway-thing you do, those long limbs of yours flailing about.’
‘You called me Tree-Girl and I hated you.’
‘You fancied me.’
‘Okay, I fancied you a little. I hated the nickname.’
‘I knew I’d marry you, right then, that first moment I saw you.’
‘You did not.’
‘I did so.’
Erin cupped his stubbled chin in her hands, focused on the amber speckles in his tired brown eyes. ‘Really?’
‘Really,’ he nodded. ‘Mind you, if I’d known I’d be awake at three a.m. on my sexless wedding night, I’d have left you there, bopping away in the living room.’
‘Ouch.’
‘I’d have turned right around and never looked back.’
‘Liar.’
‘You know me so well,’ he smiled.
She stared back at the box. ‘You reckon we’ll always be able to talk to one another. Like this? Just spit out whatever’s on our mind?’
‘Sure. As long as it’s not always at three a.m. It’s been a long day, love, come back to bed?’
Erin sighed, stood up with him and slipped into the crook of his arm, knowing he wouldn’t sleep again unless she tried to.
Seconds later, when they climbed into bed, she shivered in the cold sheets. She curled her body into a foetal position, slipped gratefully into his spoon, instantly feeling his body warm hers; feeling his quiet mind soothe hers; feeling his love melt from his pores into hers, nourishing her. In the slivers of light angling through the Venetian blind, she caught sight of the third finger on his left hand where, rather than a ring, he’d had ‘Erin forever’ tattooed. His mother had almost had a coronary when she saw it. Erin had loved it, unable to believe that any man, especially this man; this man who had such passion for everything, had stamped himself as hers.
Her hand squeezed his. With her free hand, she reached back and touched his cheek, the scent of leather still lingering on her fingertips.
‘I am Love,’ she whispered.
‘You too,’ he said softly.
She smiled and closed her eyes.
THEN – April 1997
‘You’re kidding, right?’
Dom was shaking his head, his expression deadpan.
‘Yes, you are! You’re kidding,’ Erin laughed. ‘Even you wouldn’t suggest strip poker to a woman who’s nine months pregnant and who can no longer see her feet.’
She watched him as he held the tray steady in his hands, almost tripping over the small hospital bag she’d packed weeks ago.
‘What? So, I get a cup of tea and toast in bed if we play “because it’s the weekend and we can”?’
‘Yep,’ he said setting the tray down beside her. ‘And I’ll thrash you. You will be naked first.’
Erin took a bite of toast, flicked the crumbs from her flannel pyjamas, remembering the first outing of naked card games. It was only weeks after they met and they hadn’t left her room for an entire weekend. ‘I have two items of clothing on and I’m not taking them off,’ she said, but he was already pulling a deck of cards from his pocket.
‘Well, you’d better win then, hadn’t you?’
Erin groaned. ‘Dom … I—’ She felt his eyes on her.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he told her. ‘I know you don’t feel it right now but there is nothing sexier than your pregnant body having my baby. And I’m trying to keep your mind off that – the “having the baby” thing.’
Erin rubbed her tongue over her front teeth. She had morning breath. She had crumbs sticking to the creases at the edge of her lips. She’d been hoping for a lie-in, but here he was with his breakfast tray and his infectious way. She smiled, her hand held aloft for some of the cards he was already shuffling. ‘Hang onto your trousers, Dom,’ she said.
‘Won’t need to.’ He took a bite of her toast. ‘Ugh, sorry. It’s