Clean it, never mind.
It was worth every scratch. Pam navigated another cluster of limb-scorching nettles. Despite itchy eyes and a streaming nose, she took a moment to admire the apple trees. After grappling with some briars, she finally reached the greenhouse.
Most of the glass had been missing for decades. Ivy, sycamore, and various weeds had woven themselves through the window frames. Tendrils climbed up the crumbling red brick façade, creating the illusion that everything was sinking into the ground.
Pam stood with her back to tallest silver birch. She took two big strides, folded her rucksack to pad her knees, then knelt. Soon she lifted a small tin from the clay.
Back home, Pam lit a candle at the kitchen table. Among the folded papers in the box, she found ‘instructions for forgetting’, took a few deep breaths, then cast the spell. Her stomach felt queasy. “I’m out of practice!” she said to Nibbles, who was sprawled out on a sunny window ledge. The cat blinked his eyes slowly in response, then stuck one leg in the air to concentrate on licking his butt.
Pam went outside to water the garden plants and keep busy. “Bless the work!” her neighbour Martin called out. “Ah, the beauties”. Pam smiled to see her friend’s face submerged in rose petals like an eager bee in pursuit of nectar. “Aren’t they gorgeous? I’ll cut one for Teresa.” Her neighbour beamed, laid one palm his chest, and stretched the other arm skywards. “My love is like a red, red, rose, that’s newly sprung in June…” Pam asked “Martin, did you get my text about the gooseberries ?” Her neighbour raised his bushy grey eyebrows in response. “Your bumper crop?” Pam continued, “I know someone who’d love to get a kilo or two from you to make jam.” A crease of confusion moved across Martin’s forehead. “My bumper crop…?.”
Just then, Ciara came bounding through the side gate. “Hey Mam, any ice cream left? I’m roasting.” She dropped her schoolbag, gave her mother a hug, then flopped down on the grass. “Howya, Martin.” Pam left them chatting. She brought some juice out to the garden. Ciara and Martin gulped it down. “What a scorcher!” said Pam. “Let’s go the beach. We’ll get ninety nines* too.” Ciara squealed with delight. Twenty minutes later they were in the car.
Usually they sang on road trips, but today Ciara was quiet in thwhile listening to Bohemian Rhapsody. As the final piano notes faded, she looked at the CD cover. “Who’s this…Queen. Wow! Gotta play them again.” They drove on, and Ciara didn’t remember any bands. Pam’s shoulders dropped a bit. The spell was working. “If only I could find someone to wipe my own memory.” she thought to herself.
After a glorious day of swimming, reading, and a few squabbles, mother and daughter packed up to drive home. Ciara fell asleep. Three months of insomnia was taking its toll, and Pam felt sad seeing dark shadows under Ciara’s eyes. All was quiet on the return journey. Trees whizzed by in a blur. Ciara would be moving to the city soon. Pam remembered taking this road once after building toddler sandcastles all day, her child’s shock of curls matted by salt and suncream, chubby legs dangling from her baby seat. “My wild, wild, baby girl” Derek had called her. He laughed with delight whenever Ciara stomped about hugging a teddy, refusing to wear more than a t-shirt even in Winter. Pam worried, and Derek hoovered. “Now”, he would say. “There’s not one thing on that floor that could hurt anyone“. Pam, who had stood on a piece of glass that cut deep into the sole of her foot while she was pregnant, could only laugh. The man who barely knew how to operate a washing machine had been transformed into Mister Hygiene by the arrival of a tiny human. Five pounds, twelve ounces, to be exact. In her teenage years, Ciara would cringe and blush tomato red at her nickname, but Derek refused to stop using it.
“Oh Derek, your wild, wild baby girl is heartbroken. And so am I.” Pam said softly to the road ahead. Tears came. Despite the constant chest pain and a lack of appetite for food, and even life itself, Pam knew she had to accept this loss. Ciara’s weight had plummeted, and her immune system was being affected. It was not a case of simply deleting memories, Pam realised: and she had no right to do that anyway. It was time to seek some counselling support.
Ciara woke up and stretched. “Aw mam, you’re crying!”. Pam brought a tissue to her face and gave a watery smile. “It’s just hay fever again”.
Back home, Ciara was hungry. “Will you grab the clothes off the line and I’ll cook us something?” her mother asked. As soon as Ciara left, Pam reached up to retrieve the tin from behind a bag of rice. She lit a candle, visualised Derek, and reversed the spell.
While they were eating, Ciara snorted through a mouthful of food. Her eyes glinted as she took a swig of water. “Hey Mam, d’ya remember that day when dad went into the chipper wearing your sarong?” Her mother grinned “The yellow one, with the sequins…yes!” Ciara giggled “A drunk fella said something nasty, but dad just smiled and gave him a little wiggle. Then the seagull poop landed on your fancy straw hat…” They were both laughing now, remembering how Derek had taken the hat from his wife’s head, put it on his own, and said “We’ll clean it, never mind. Mmmm, lovely chips.” Ciara’s eyes watered “He wore it for a week. Going shopping and everything, I was mortified!”.
From the most tender, hurt parts of themselves, their laughter surged like a wave, then turned to frothy foam at the shore of their sadness. At last, they cried together. Salty, healing tears for the man they adored. He was the wizard of their hearts.
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© Kathryn Crowley 2024.
*In Ireland, a ’99’ is ice cream, wafer, and chocolate.
Kathryn Crowley 