about the situation in Northern Ireland.
But soon he would be back with his papers, and Gabby would disappear off to her room, grateful to have had any kind of attention at all.
America
. The very word seemed to be lit up, heralded by angels singing. Everything about America seemed larger than life, exotic, magical. Her favourite films were American; her favourite film stars were American. She watched
Happy Days
and was nostalgic for a life she had never known; it was a life she was certain existed across the pond and longed to share. She was sure everyone in America was always happy; they had perfect, big white teeth; they had mothers and housekeepers who were always smiling, who paid them attention, thought everything they did was wonderful, baked them fresh cakes every day for when they got off the bus, the yellow school bus – oh how she wanted to travel on a yellow school bus! – after school.
They had one family vacation when Gabby was twelve. They went to New York, which was the most vibrant, exciting city she had ever been to, and Shelter Island, to stay with friends of her mother’s.
That was when Gabby fell in love. She started plotting then and there to make her way back. After university she knew she couldn’t live under her mother’s roof, and being a camp counsellor was a perfect stepping stone until she figured out what to do next, and how to stay in the States.
When she moved to New York, there were a few dates with dull men. Somewhere in her consciousness Gabby knew she had agreed to go out with them only to prove her mother wrong. ‘You recreate what you know,’ her mother had once said, gesturing around what even she had begun to call ‘the Madhouse’. ‘Or,’ she’d added, shrugging sceptically, ‘you go the other way entirely, but often that happens only after an intervention, years of therapy usually. I wonder,’ she’d said, fixing her gaze on Gabby, ‘which way will you go?’
‘Duh!’ Gabby had rolled her eyes. ‘I’m up in my bedroom desperately trying to find peace and quiet. I hardly think there’s any question about which way I’m going.’
‘You say that now –’ her mother had smiled knowingly – ‘but you’re a teenager. Wait until you’re out in the world. You’re going to be attracted to men who are reminiscent of your parents, whether you like it or not.’
God, no! I love my father, Gabby had thought, but I’d hate to be married to a man so distant. And as for marrying a man anything like my mother … She’d shuddered in horror.
The dull men proved her mother wrong. They were more present than her father, and more interested in her. But they were just … rather boring. Gabby would be happy to be with them for all of about five minutes, before realizing she could never spend her time with people so unconcerned about any of the things that mattered to her.
‘What are you looking for?’ other people would ask, curious about this bright-eyed English girl with the curly hair and large smile.
‘I’m looking for peace,’ she’d always say.
‘No!’ They’d shake their heads. ‘That’s not what I meant. I mean, do you want someone tall? Short? How old? Funny? What? What are you looking for?’
‘Peace,’ she’d say again. ‘Someone who makes me feel peaceful.’
Few knew what to say after that.
Elliott was what she was looking for. From the minute he started talking to her, he made her feel peaceful. It was as if she recognized him. There were no violins or halos, no bursting stars or bolts of lightning. It was simply a quiet recognition.
You
, she thought. I
know
you.
And it is peace that has been the defining quality of their relationship. Unlike her childhood, when she never felt particularly wanted, or noticed, or happy, or safe, she feels all of these things with Elliott.
They have built a beautiful life together, with beautiful children, a beautiful home.
Why on earth, Gabby thinks, as she closes the front door after the girls
But soon he would be back with his papers, and Gabby would disappear off to her room, grateful to have had any kind of attention at all.
America
. The very word seemed to be lit up, heralded by angels singing. Everything about America seemed larger than life, exotic, magical. Her favourite films were American; her favourite film stars were American. She watched
Happy Days
and was nostalgic for a life she had never known; it was a life she was certain existed across the pond and longed to share. She was sure everyone in America was always happy; they had perfect, big white teeth; they had mothers and housekeepers who were always smiling, who paid them attention, thought everything they did was wonderful, baked them fresh cakes every day for when they got off the bus, the yellow school bus – oh how she wanted to travel on a yellow school bus! – after school.
They had one family vacation when Gabby was twelve. They went to New York, which was the most vibrant, exciting city she had ever been to, and Shelter Island, to stay with friends of her mother’s.
That was when Gabby fell in love. She started plotting then and there to make her way back. After university she knew she couldn’t live under her mother’s roof, and being a camp counsellor was a perfect stepping stone until she figured out what to do next, and how to stay in the States.
When she moved to New York, there were a few dates with dull men. Somewhere in her consciousness Gabby knew she had agreed to go out with them only to prove her mother wrong. ‘You recreate what you know,’ her mother had once said, gesturing around what even she had begun to call ‘the Madhouse’. ‘Or,’ she’d added, shrugging sceptically, ‘you go the other way entirely, but often that happens only after an intervention, years of therapy usually. I wonder,’ she’d said, fixing her gaze on Gabby, ‘which way will you go?’
‘Duh!’ Gabby had rolled her eyes. ‘I’m up in my bedroom desperately trying to find peace and quiet. I hardly think there’s any question about which way I’m going.’
‘You say that now –’ her mother had smiled knowingly – ‘but you’re a teenager. Wait until you’re out in the world. You’re going to be attracted to men who are reminiscent of your parents, whether you like it or not.’
God, no! I love my father, Gabby had thought, but I’d hate to be married to a man so distant. And as for marrying a man anything like my mother … She’d shuddered in horror.
The dull men proved her mother wrong. They were more present than her father, and more interested in her. But they were just … rather boring. Gabby would be happy to be with them for all of about five minutes, before realizing she could never spend her time with people so unconcerned about any of the things that mattered to her.
‘What are you looking for?’ other people would ask, curious about this bright-eyed English girl with the curly hair and large smile.
‘I’m looking for peace,’ she’d always say.
‘No!’ They’d shake their heads. ‘That’s not what I meant. I mean, do you want someone tall? Short? How old? Funny? What? What are you looking for?’
‘Peace,’ she’d say again. ‘Someone who makes me feel peaceful.’
Few knew what to say after that.
Elliott was what she was looking for. From the minute he started talking to her, he made her feel peaceful. It was as if she recognized him. There were no violins or halos, no bursting stars or bolts of lightning. It was simply a quiet recognition.
You
, she thought. I
know
you.
And it is peace that has been the defining quality of their relationship. Unlike her childhood, when she never felt particularly wanted, or noticed, or happy, or safe, she feels all of these things with Elliott.
They have built a beautiful life together, with beautiful children, a beautiful home.
Why on earth, Gabby thinks, as she closes the front door after the girls
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