‘Every day, from the morning after our wedding, I woke her with a cup of tea.’ He shook his head, smiling. ‘It was some time around our first anniversary that she confessed she’d hated tea. She was Italian, where was the morning espresso? But when I made her a coffee the next day, she wouldn’t drink it. Said she’d grown used to the tea after all. And in all the pregnancies, all that morning sickness, I made her an apple and ginger. And the mornings I left at the crack of dawn, she’d still want her tea, so we could sit in bed and drink together before I left. Any time I was a little late, maybe having a lie-in after a wild one the night before, she’d ask me, “Do you not love me any more, Bear Donovan?” and that was my cue, up I’d jump and get the kettle on. This is how I loved her, you see. I’m not a man for the big fancy stuff. Flowers, or jewellery, romantic gestures. But this is how a nineteen and a twenty-one-year-old clueless pair of skint eejits start building a thirty-five-year marriage. It’s not about a few grand gestures, but the millions of tiny ones, every single day. It’s making a choice, even the days you’re knackered or feeling a bit selfish or lazy, or you’re still smarting from a blazing row. It’s rubbing her shoulders when she’s had a hard day with five wee girlies. Sitting on the side of the sofa with the broken spring, so that she’s comfortable. And it’s how, when I couldn’t get out of bed to make the tea, your mother fetched it for me. And has done every day since.
‘I thank God I chose a woman I could love forever. But love is doing, more than feeling. Even when you can’t do that much any more, the bit you can do counts. Maybe you’re going to have to start doing before you know how you really feel about it.’
By the time I’d dried my eyes and blown my nose, he’d fallen asleep. I tucked a tartan blanket around his middle, tidied up the pots and closed the door on my way out.
* * *
That evening, the Donovan sisters convened in my apartment. I’d gone for a long run, followed by an even longer bath, but was still jittery and anxious and, as Orla put it, ‘even more uptight than usual’. We sat reclining on the two sofas, heads back to stop our face-packs from slipping, drinking gin cocktails through paper straws.
‘Oh, Bridget!’ Orla suddenly sat up, causing the remains of her drink to slosh dangerously close to the rim of the glass. ‘You’ll never guess who I saw in town the other night! A right blast from the past.’
Bridget, lounging beside me on the other sofa, took a thoughtful slurp of Tom Collins. ‘Was it Jake, crying into his pint about how every life decision he’d made since cheating on Emma had led him further into an abyss of premature middle-aged monotony?’
‘Well, duh. If it was him I’d be asking Em to guess, not you.’
Sofia grabbed Orla’s arm, jolting upright as she grinned so hard a blob of mask slowly slid off her face and down her jumper. ‘Not Cooper!’
Orla gave her a triumphant high five.
‘Oh, IloveCooper!’ Sofia cooed. ‘He’s like the little brother we all thought Annie was going to be.’
‘He’s older than you!’ Bridget retorted.
‘Well, you know what I mean. And what was he doing in Nottingham? I thought he’d moved to Bristol. Did you know about this?’
Bridget glanced sideways at us. She was pretending to be relaxed about the whole thing, but really –Cooper? Her best friend was back in town and she wasn’t excited about it?
‘It was Cardiff. And I didn’t at first. He’s not exactly Mr Forthcoming, is he?’
‘Have youseenhim?’ I asked, totally bemused that she hadn’t mentioned this. Bridget had been bereft when Cooper moved away.
‘He came to the awards dinner where Prof made the stupid bet.’
‘What?’
‘Actually, I don’t know how this hasn’t come up before… but Prof offered him a job and he’s been working in the department for a month and managing the compatibility project,’ she blurted out in one breath.
‘Why wouldn’t you mention this?’ Orla screeched, leaning forwards in her chair.
‘Are you still angry with him?’ Sofia asked, face scrunched up in sympathy.
When Bridget had met Cooper I’d been living in self-imposed exile in Ireland under the guise of learning the trade at my aunt Mary’s bakery, but I knew that the rest of the family loved him, and Bridget hadn’t been the only one worried and upset when he’d disappeared from her life shortly after graduation.
Bridget shuffled on her seat. ‘No, it’s nothing like that. But after four years we aren’t going to suddenly pick up where we left off. And things are different now. He’s my supervisor, for one, and you know Paolo sometimes felt a bit unsure about Cooper.’
‘If by a bit unsure, you mean insanely jealous,’ Orla snarked.
Bridget shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t feel right having a friendship that close, now I’m getting married. I wouldn’t want Paolo to have someone who he shared everything with, instead of me. Male or female. So, while it’s lovely to have Cooper back, and it’s brilliant to be working on this nightmare project with him, I’m happy keeping things chill. Friendly workmates.’
‘Ooh, does he have a girlfriend?’ Sofia asked.
‘Or a boyfriend?’ Orla added.
We had on more than one occasion discussed the potential of Cooper being gay. Personally, I subscribed to the Cooper Is In Love With Bridget And Always Has Been Theory. But, if he was in love with her, then he only really deserved her if he could pluck up the courage to tell her that, instead of running off to Wales.
‘Not that I know of. He hasn’t mentioned anyone. He’s living with Ben, our housemate from third year.’
Sofia gave her cushion a squeeze. ‘Aw, I loved how he was so shy, and would go all pink and nervous whenever we tried to talk to him. He was socute.’
