Much as they wanted this to last forever, too much lay between them for it to last; their bodies speeded-up, sighs giving way to entreaties, until the mutual explosion, her scream of fulfilment in counterpoint to his deep groan as he poured himself into her, tribute long kept, a gift he had never once considered that he would ever give to her again.
They collapsed exhausted, the intense emotions of the day taking their toll of both of them, but when Mike awoke in the early evening dusk, he was alone. The bed next to him was cold, and he knew he must have been dreaming again. Tears started in his eyes at the cruelty of the dream he’d allowed himself to accept as real, but just as he began to climb out of bed to endure another evening alone with his loss, he heard the front door slam.
His heart leaping into his throat, he grabbed a robe and ran downstairs, and there she was, still with him, as real as day, and just as beautiful, emptying a shopping bag into the fridge. She turned as he burst into the kitchen, dropping everything at his expression.
“Mikey… what…?” she stumbled as he kissed her wildly.
“I thought you were a dream… I thought I imagined you…!” he gabbled, holding and fondling her, reassuring himself that she was indeed real, that she was still here.
“Mikey, I just went to the shops! I had to throw out all that stuff in the fridge; I thought I told you never to buy all that rubbish! I only went around the corner…!” she giggled as he crushed her to himself.
“Let me go so I can make us something to eat, Mikey, stop it! You have to eat something, then you have to take me to mum and dad’s…”
That brought him back down with a bump.
“Really? Can’t we wait a couple of days?”
Lissa shook her head.
“Mikey, you’ve avoided them since the Wake; it’s been a year; you have to stop blaming dad and make up with him; you don’t need to be so angry with him anymore. I want to see them again, Mikey; I missed them so very much; please take me there, you have to, I can’t just waltz in and introduce myself…”
Mike regarded her sombre expression and realised she was right; she needed to see her parents again, even if they couldn’t know it was her. He bent down and kissed her quickly, even as he pinched her bottom.
“You’re right; let’s do this!” ”
*
Mike fidgeted outside the door; he’d had no contact with John and Brigitte in a year; until now, his towering anger with his father had kept him from coming back to this place that held only memories of loss and grief. His hand hovered over the door-knocker, reluctant to cross that bridge again. Lissa pursed her lips and knocked firmly, poking him in the side as she did so, making him grin as she found his ticklish spot all over again.
The door opened, and Brigitte stood there, her mouth an ‘O’ of surprise as Mike smiled at her.
“Hi mum…!” he began, trailing off as her eyes filled.
“Michael…!” she whispered, her hand at her throat, and then she was in his arms, hugging him fiercely. “I never thought… it’s been so long… I missed you so much…!” she sobbed into his chest, while Mike held her tight, bitterly regretting the past year he’d spent immersed in his own grief and anger, selfishly forgetting what she was going through too.
“I’m sorry mum, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he kept murmuring as he nuzzled her hair, holding her against him as she cried. Mike pulled her into the entrance hall and shut the door against the cold, still stroking her hair until her sobs died down and she was able to notice her surroundings. Her face flushed as she glimpsed the pretty girl with her son. Mike in turn grinned and gently pulled Lissa forward.
“Mum, meet Melissa Summers; this is the girl I’m going to marry. Melissa, meet my mum, Brigitte.”
Brigitte’s eyes widened as she heard what Mike said, a happy smile lighting up her face. As she finally turned to greet Lissa the light fell full on her face, and Brigitte paled, her hand instinctively crossing herself as her eyes widened in shock and she staggered back to lean against the wall.
“Mikey, can you… did you… what… oh my God, no, it can’t be …!” she stammered, tears starting from her eyes.
Lissa darted a quick look at Mike, shock plain in her face too.
“Mikey, she can see me, oh my God no, she can see me…!” she hissed, “What the hell…?”
Mike reached for his mother, intending to hug her, the only thing he could think of doing, but she shrugged him off, instead reaching for Lissa, her fingers gently stroking her face, her hair, to eventually cup her face in her hands and gently smooth her eyebrows, feeling her features like a blind person would, reassuring herself with her fingertips that her eyes weren’t lying, while tears poured unnoticed down her face.
“Lissa!” she finally whispered, looking deeply into her eyes, seeing once more her dead daughter’s calm, grey eyes. “Is it really you, have you come back to me, oh, my baby girl, how, how is it possible, how can this be? I saw… we all saw… I was there…!”
Mike flicked his eyes once more at Lissa, taking in her wide-eyed, shocked expression, the tears brimming in her glorious eyes as she stammered and blustered.
“Yes mum, it’s really me, but you shouldn’t… you really can see me? No, no, no, no, no, it’s not supposed to be like this! I was promised that only Mikey… there was a deal… it wasn’t… Mikey, help me here…”
As he watched their reunion, Mike’s thoughts suddenly fled back to the Wake, to that surreal conversation with his Great-Aunt:
“Much as they like to say otherwise, sometimes, Michael-Fionn Cormac Sheridan, ‘The Sight’ is more than just a story to cadge drinks off of American tourists on O’Connell Street! Your granny had it, your mother has it, although she denies it… and you have enough of it to make me wonder about you, oh yes…”