Echoes of Grace

by Caragh Bell

  ‘That was when I was a child,’ she said. ‘You could have introduced yourself to me a million times over the past few years. Why leave it until now?’

  Silas cast his eyes down. ‘Lots of reasons. I was afraid to approach you. You seemed so happy and successful – why would you believe me? I also didn’t want to betray Henry. I felt he would be the best person to tell you the truth.’

  She said nothing. She struggled to understand but it was difficult.

  ‘I saw all your plays,’ he said softly. ‘I was at the opening night of that last one. I thought it was your best.’

  ‘You came to my plays?’ Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘So it was you who left the bunch of fuchsias. You left them at my dressing room door.’

  He nodded. ‘I picked them from that bush outside. Again, it was in homage to your mother.’ His face relaxed as he remembered. ‘Grace and I came down here for a week at the beginning of summer. We rented a house on the other side of the island. We hired a boat and went to Schull.’ He pointed to the mainland. ‘It’s the village over there. I bought her a necklace in a craft shop. She promised me that she would never take it off. You’re wearing it now.’

  ‘The fuchsia.’ She held it up. ‘You gave her this?’

  He nodded. ‘She loved that flower. It reminded her of here.’

  ‘Maggie gave it to me for my tenth birthday.’

  ‘I know. I told her to. You see, when your mother died, Henry had her body laid out in the big house for a couple of days. Hordes of people came to show their respects. I, however, wasn’t welcome. Henry knew about our affair and didn’t want me around.’

  ‘I called to the house but he wouldn’t let me in. I was desperate to see Grace, just one last time. Henry refused and told me never to come back. He was deranged with grief. Afterwards I realised that he felt guilty for leaving her alone.’

  ‘She insisted that Daddy go to that party,’ said Aurora defensively. ‘The poor man was not at fault.’

  ‘I know that,’ he said. ‘I never blamed him for anything.’ He got up and started to pace the room. ‘Maggie left me in after dark. She understood that I had to see her.’ His face softened. ‘She looked like an angel, all dressed in white, with her hair around her face. I remember gazing at the body and wishing that it was me instead of her. She had so much to offer, so much talent and beauty. I couldn’t believe the injustice of it all. I couldn’t comprehend why she was taken. She wasn’t wearing the necklace so I asked Maggie to find it and keep it for you. I wanted you to have a link to her: a link to me.’

  ‘She never said.’

  ‘I asked her not to. I told her to give it to you when you were older. I felt it would be a connection. Grace would have loved that. You see, she wanted you so much. All she talked about was the baby. In her letters, she wrote about her excitement and love for you, Aurora. No one expected what happened.’

  She felt something clutch her heart. The injustice he spoke of assaulted her being and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. Death had taken her mother and denied her so much. Tears welled up in her eyes but she blinked them away.

  ‘You’re from Dublin, Maggie says,’ she said, changing the subject. ‘Why do you live here?’

  Silas shrugged. ‘Jess died seven years ago. The city served its purpose when I was a young man. It was vital and current, perfect for my work at the theatre. Then I began to seek simplicity: a life without emails and noise and parties. I was drawn to here. It gives me the space to write and it also reminds me of a happy time.’ He smiled. ‘I had a vain fantasy of becoming that “wise and simple man” that Yeats talked of.’

  ‘“The Fisherman”?’ she said immediately.

  ‘Exactly.’ He laughed. ‘You’re no joke, Aurora. Not many people I know are so familiar with Yeats.’ He took her hand. ‘When I met you at Bertie’s party, I was struck at how articulate and bright you were. You look like Grace but I could also see myself in you.’

  ‘The poetry?’

  ‘Yes. I was so delighted to think that you loved it as much as I.’

  ‘Did you know that I’d be there?’

  ‘Of course. Bertie sent me an elaborate invitation, covered in guns and martini glasses. I almost threw it away until I saw your name. I booked my flight straight away. It was fate, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Did you hear me sing?’

  ‘Every song.’ He ruffled her hair. ‘Dare I say it, but your voice is even more angelic than your mother’s. You took my breath away. Then I tried to talk to you but there was always someone in the way.’

  ‘Did you visit Daddy?’

  ‘The next day. I knew that there was no going back. I had to meet you again and get to know you. Despite not growing up in my presence, you were clearly mine. I could sense it the minute we talked. Gives evidence to that nature v nurture debate, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Did you upset him?’ Her large eyes filled with tears. ‘I hope you didn’t shout at him. He was so ill.’

  ‘We had a civilised conversation after the old man had calmed down.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘I could tell that he was very sick. I asked him to tell you himself. I felt it would be better. I didn’t want to turn up out of the blue and claim that you were my daughter. You didn’t know me from Adam. I felt that he owed me that. To my surprise, he agreed. He seemed tired.’

  They stared at each other with identical eyes. Even though her mind was spinning, she felt a strange peace. It was like it all made sense. All her life she had felt like an outsider, putting it down to George and Sebastian’s dislike of her mother and refusal to accept her. Then, when she moved to London, she was always deemed odd. Beautiful, talented but like a child from another time, so Laura said.

  Maybe deep down she had always known. Maybe a sixth sense was telling her that she didn’t belong. The only time she ever felt truly happy was when James was around. He was the constant in her variable life. Now, the pieces had slotted together. Sitting opposite her was her father: a man she knew nothing about. Yet that would change. He was a symbol of a new beginning and it gave her hope. Life would go on and she still had a family.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked in concern. ‘You looked so far away.’

  She nodded. ‘The past few days have been so bizarre. My poor brain is struggling to process it.’

  ‘I understand.’ He patted her back. ‘I want to show you something.’ He got up and disappeared into a back room.

  She got up and walked about, surveying the room. There was an unfinished painting of a bird propped up on an easel by the window, three books by Paul Durcan with multi-coloured tags on random pages on the table, and used mugs of coffee on the windowsill.

  Silas came back holding a piece of worn paper. ‘Read this,’ he said softly. ‘I wrote it a long time ago.’

  She took the piece of paper and unfolded it gently. It was a poem.

  Filia – Daughter

  New beginning

  New life

  But alone.

  Tiny, helpless yet powerful

  You survived

  Your birth, her death, a terrible quid pro quo

  The pain, the sorrow, the joy . . .

  Goddess of the Dawn, may you begin again

  Rejuvenation

  Hope

  Aurora clutched the page. She read it again, her eyes blurred with tears.

  ‘I love it,’ she whispered. ‘I love it.’

  He stood back, watching the emotions flit over her face. ‘I never published it,’ he said. ‘I kept it all this time and imagined your face when you read it.’

  ‘You loved me,’ she stated.

  ‘More than you know.’ He held out his arms. ‘More than you know.’

  She fell into his embrace and hugged him tightly. He smelt of turf and musk. There were no words necessary. She allowed him to hold her and she savoured it.

  ‘Is your young man still outside?’ said Silas, minutes later. ‘The poor boy must be frozen.’

  ‘Poor James!’ she exclaimed, pu
lling back. ‘I forgot about him.’

  Silas opened the door and gestured for James to come inside. ‘Excuse us, son. We got carried away.’

  James had his camera around his neck. ‘It’s quite all right. I’ve been taking shots of the landscape. This is some place you’ve got here.’

  They shook hands and Silas smiled. ‘You’re Henry’s stepson, am I right?’

  James nodded. ‘The eldest.’

  Silas ushered him inside. ‘Right, I want to cook something. You must be starving. Now, my supplies are limited but I’m sure I have enough to whip up a chilli con carne.’

  ‘We can go to the café on the pier,’ protested Aurora. ‘You weren’t expecting us. I wouldn’t dream of imposing.’

  ‘Please.’ His brown eyes were warm. ‘I’m no Jamie Oliver but I do a mean Mexican.’ He turned to James. ‘There’s beer in the fridge. Help yourselves.’ He disappeared out the back door.

  ‘All okay?’ mouthed James.

  Aurora nodded and smiled. ‘Yes. Unexpectedly, yes.’

  After dinner, Silas suggested that they go to the local pub where there was a session of traditional music. ‘I play the bodhrán,’ he explained. ‘It’s a drum that you beat with a stick.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’ve seen that on TV,’ said James. ‘Excellent.’

  There was a small crowd sitting around the open log fire when they arrived. The pub was small and dark, with pictures of Gaelic football teams on the wall. Nautical paraphernalia like anchors and compasses were haphazardly displayed on shelves.

  ‘Evening, Silas,’ said the barman.

  ‘Michael, this is Aurora and this is James – all the way from London.’

  ‘Céad míle fáilte romhaibh,’ said the barman.

  ‘A hundred thousand welcomes,’ Silas translated.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Aurora, smiling.

  ‘Guinness, Silas?’

  ‘Yes, Michael. A pint for me.’ He turned to the other two. ‘Would you like some stout?’

  ‘Sure,’ said James.

  Aurora made a face. ‘I’ll have some white wine.’

  ‘Coming up,’ said Michael.

  James pulled Aurora aside. ‘Our guesthouse is two minutes up the road. You stay here and I’ll drop our bags off and get a key.’

  ‘If you’re sure.’

  ‘Of course. Bond with him. You have so much to catch up on.’

  She watched Silas converse with the barman. He had a calmness about him that put her at ease. He didn’t try too hard nor did he expect anything. He just allowed her to be and come to him on her terms.

  There was a man playing a fiddle and another with an accordion. She watched them in fascination as they played, perfectly in tune with each other. The flames of the fire flickered and shadows danced on the walls. Sipping her wine, she waited for the reel to end. Silas had his drum under his arm and was waiting for an opportunity to join the others.

  James arrived back and picked up his pint of Guinness. ‘Cheers!’ he said, smiling, taking a long drink. When he had finished, there was white residue on his upper lip. Aurora laughed and wiped it away with her forefinger.

  Then Silas began to play.

  Aurora knew of the bodhrán but had never heard it live. Using a small stick he beat out a rhythm, his head bent down in concentration and his eyes closed. There was something primeval about it – something tribal. The fiddler played a melody and then a man on a flute joined in. The lively music resonated around the room and she felt her feet tapping on the barstool. The weather had changed since their arrival. The darkness had brought a howling wind and smatterings of rain. It only added to the warmth and comfort of the fire and she relished its cosiness.

  After a while, the musicians took a break. Silas took a huge gulp of his stout and joined Aurora and James at the bar.

  ‘There’s nothing like it,’ he said. ‘That music speaks to me like nothing else.’

  ‘I understand,’ agreed Aurora. ‘It’s the like all the magic and history of Ireland is in every note. It transports me.’

  James raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s nice but I’ve got to admit I don’t get it like you two.’

  Silas smiled. ‘It’s the Irish. The beat of the bodhrán is in our blood.’

  Cocooned in the small pub at the end of the earth, Aurora felt content. Henry’s death, Scarlett and her old life seemed to be a distant memory. She didn’t want this interlude to end.

  Silas drained his drink. ‘Will you sing?’ he asked her directly. ‘Just one song?’

  She blushed. ‘I don’t know many traditional Irish songs.’

  ‘You must have one,’ he said. ‘Come on! The boys would love it.’

  ‘Go on,’ urged James.

  ‘Oh, all right.’ She got to her feet. ‘Bear with me. I may forget the words.’

  The musicians smiled encouragingly and sat back.

  Closing her eyes, she began to sing ‘She Moves Through the Fair’. Her pure voice soared over the assembled crowd. James watched her intently. When she sang, she was mesmerising.

  When she finished, there was silence for a moment and then thunderous applause.

  Aurora curtseyed. ‘Thank you,’ she said shyly.

  Silas felt a pang. She reminded him so much of Grace. Picking up his drum, he began to tap it lightly. ‘How about a hornpipe?’ he suggested.

  The musicians nodded. Soon the little pub was full of music once more.

  James and Aurora left the pub an hour later. Silas tried to convince them to stay but Aurora refused. The trauma and stress of the funeral and their meeting had rendered her exhausted. James took her hand and they walked up the road to an old bungalow. He took out a key and opened the main door.

  ‘It’s pretty basic,’ he warned.

  Aurora shrugged. ‘All I want is a bed. It’s been a tiring few days.’

  They climbed the stairs and he stopped outside a white door.

  ‘Is this my room?’ she asked sleepily.

  He lifted her chin with his finger, his dark eyes smouldering. ‘It’s our room,’ he said. ‘I just booked one. I hope that’s okay.’

  Her pulse quickened. ‘That’s okay.’

  He opened the door and led her inside. A large double bed stood in the centre with plywood lockers on either side. Blue woollen blankets added a splash of colour and a small sink stood in the corner.

  ‘We have to share the toilet with the others,’ he said. ‘It’s down the hall.’

  ‘Others?’

  ‘Well, I haven’t seen anyone but . . .’

  She stood motionless, unsure of what to do. Her heart was thumping so loudly it rang in her ears. The last time he had looked at her like that was near the pool in Venice: the night she had gone for a swim. Crossing her fingers, she prayed that he wouldn’t get a bout of conscience again. She wanted him. She wanted to touch him and have him hold her. She didn’t want to be alone any more.

  He took off his jacket and threw it on the bed. With wide eyes, she watched him walk towards her. They could still hear music from the pub, carried over the wind. He reached out and traced her full lips with his finger. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he said in wonder.

  ‘Kiss me,’ she said urgently. ‘Please, James.’

  He cupped her face with his hands and took possession of her mouth.

  Eagerly she kissed him back, arching towards him. ‘I’ve waited so long for this,’ she moaned. ‘Please don’t stop. Please don’t run away.’

  He ran his finger through the long tresses of her hair and his hands roamed around her body. She pressed her breasts against his broad chest and he groaned.

  ‘I’ll never run away again,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I just wasn’t ready. I wanted you but I didn’t know it.’ He yanked her top over her head and gazed at her black-and-gold bra. ‘You wore this in Venice,’ he said, fingering the strap.

  ‘Yes, I did! How did you remember that?’

  ‘It was imprinted on my brain,’ he said drily.

  ‘Really? I wo
uld never have thought.’

  He reached behind and unclasped it with one hand. Then he pulled it down and let her breasts fall free.

  Immediately she reddened and hung her head in embarrassment.

  ‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ he asked in concern. ‘If you want me to stop, just say.’

  ‘Oh, no. I don’t want you to stop,’ she said fervently. ‘It’s just, I’ve never done this before and I’m not sure . . .’

  ‘Done this?’ he repeated, amused.

  ‘Been with a man.’ She put her head in her hands. ‘I’m a novice – a neophyte. Sorry.’

  He burst out laughing. ‘Borealis!’ he exclaimed. ‘Do you really think I’d mind?’

  Her eyes met his and they burned with intensity.

  ‘This makes it even better,’ he continued. ‘It makes me want to beat my chest and throw you over my shoulder.’ He pulled her close. ‘It means you’re mine.’ He kissed her tenderly. ‘I love you,’ he said gruffly. ‘You’re everything to me.’

  He lifted her into his arms and laid her gently on the bed. ‘Now, I’m not sure how good a teacher I am . . .’

  She giggled.

  ‘Or if I’ll measure up to the famous Mr. Crowley . . .’

  ‘Oh stop!’ she chided. ‘That’s not funny.’

  ‘But I’ll try my best.’ He kissed her again, more urgently this time, pressing his body against her soft frame. Lifting her knees, he wrapped her legs around him.

  Her insides melted and she urged him closer.

  ‘I won’t hurt you,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t be afraid.’