The Healer: a dark family drama

by Sharon Thompson

  ‘But where would you go?’

  ‘I don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see where the angels lead us.’

  I get up from my chair and curl my arms around her shoulders and hug her neck and head into me. ‘I love you, Violet. I do.’

  We take a few more trips to the beach and each time the weather improves. Our picnics aren’t always rained upon and we have a nice time together. Jude sometimes is with his friends and prefers their company and although Violet is jealous she comes to realise that he’s a growing boy. There is not much talk of the future or the past and the cottage seems glad of that.

  The garden likes my hands in its soil and the flowers blossom big and full. It is when I’m dead-heading the first roses that I see a familiar head of dark hair with a cap on top of it. Luca’s broad shoulders and long legs are coming around the gateway and up the lane. A small ragged suitcase is nestled under his arm and a bunch of wild flowers is in the other. He’s sweating in his thick jacket and shirt and he stops to arrange himself and wipe his brow with a handkerchief.

  I tingle. The rascal angels have not told me about him coming. I give out to them as I take off the dirty apron and gloves and fling them into the dirt behind me.

  Violet will have seen him coming from the house. There is little that goes unnoticed. Fionn is with Jane: they took the bus to the shops in the village. Violet will be writing by the window, making last preparations for the sale of Violet Cottage. We have started to pack up some belongings and furniture and she is loving making lists of things to do. She will be watching and I may be told off for what I’m about to do.

  I leap the manure pile and stride across the lawn. Luca sees me coming and sets down his case. With a jump of joy I smash into his flowers and wrap myself around his waist. His cap is knocked off as he leans over. My hands go into his sodden hair. He stinks of sweat and the long journey, but my lips meet his.

  I am finally home.

  He doesn’t get much chance to speak or gather his thoughts. I’m eating at him like he was a cream bun. The slobbering I wasn’t so keen on is very nice now.

  For a breath, he buries his wet hair and face into my neck and whispers, ‘I love you, Molly. I missed you.’ He sets me back from him and hands me the flowers, looking past me into the garden full of blooms. ‘I know you told me not to come. I know you need time, but I can’t stand waiting. No more time, Luca wait.’

  Violet is out on the doorstep, I can feel her eyes bore into the back of my head. Luca waves and moves to greet her. He kisses both her cheeks and doesn’t even notice her thin hand. ‘Oh,’ she says and stiffens at his hold of her. ‘It’s very warm today. Luca is it?’

  ‘Sì.’

  ‘Come in, please,’ Violet stands back and the cool of the empty hallway is good. ‘Tea?’ Violet asks.

  When I come back from the kitchen with the tray, Luca’s singing meets me in the hallway. I wait where I am stuck to the stop picturing him on stage and remembering how proud I am of him. He only sings one verse and Violet claps. Is she encouraging him to continue? Is she squealing a little?

  ‘Molly she sing,’ he tells Violet. ‘She sing as beautiful as she is.’

  ‘We heard that a film producer is interested in her singing too.’

  ‘He wait long time now. Like me.’

  ‘Molly has been through a lot as you know…’ Violet starts and realises that Luca doesn’t know very much at all. ‘You know that she came here as a child? That her father beat her? That she…’

  ‘No!’ Luca’s over to me in the doorway and has taken the tray. He plonks it on the good chair. ‘No, Molly not speak much.’ He urges me to sit next to him on the hard settee. He holds my hand and I like that. I don’t let go. ‘What happen?’

  ‘A lot needs to be said. I promise to tell you later. I can speak much better now. I’m not afraid any more.’

  ‘You were always brave. Like a lion,’ Luca roars. Violet giggles. ‘Fionn, is good, yes?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes. He is in the village.’

  ‘I hear there this house is for sale?’

  ‘We’re packing up to move,’ Violet says.

  ‘Where you go?’

  ‘I was going to get Jane to write. I just didn’t know what to say,’ I tell him.

  ‘Booky Mary she learn me to write. She miss you.’

  Violet must see Jane returning. She moves to get up and looks out the window, ‘That idiot Jane will give herself a heart attack or pull that poor child’s arm out of its socket.’ Off she runs to meet them both. Luca steals a kiss and I want him to steal another but voices echo in the hall.

  ‘Is the Italian here?’ we can hear Jane ask Violet loudly. ‘I saw a handsome foreigner in the village. It must be the Italian stallion. With a suitcase?’ she pants. ‘I thought he was headed this way. I came as fast as I could. Did she tell him yet that she’ll marry him? That we are all going to London? What did I miss?’

  ‘Whist, they’ll hear you.’

  Luca kisses at my hand. The glee is bouncing off the angels in the sunlight. ‘Healing hands,’ Luca says. ‘You must always heal. Do you love me, like she says?’

  ‘Yes, Luca Giovanni Romano. I do. My soul needs you.’

  Epilogue

  The nip in the breeze parts the clouds and the sun shines. I pull the collar of Fionn’s little jacket up. The boat dips and sways. It rolls now and again but she steadies herself in the waves. Violet and Jude Brady, Jane O’Shea and myself, Luca and Fionn stand tall as the boat pulls out of Dublin. Our hair is blowing in the wind and we’re standing waving at the shore. Jane has a new hat, Violet’s got Jude by her side and I’ve Fionn in my arms.

  ‘Richard is here, I can feel him,’ Violet whispers into my ear and she clutches my arm. ‘We will all follow your lead now, Molly. Let us try to be happy and together for as long as we breathe.’

  I can’t wave any more and I hand Fionn into the safe, high arms of Luca. Fionn’s blonde curls are never tangled, even in the wind. I stoke his face and he shouts, ‘Bye,’ to no-one and everyone. Someone is playing an accordion and a fiddle joins in. The tune is lively and Jane’s foot taps.

  The sun warms my face and I twirl my new wedding ring on my finger. Peggy is dancing somewhere, I can hear her laughing. I touch my belly and rub the mound of love inside it. I hum to the sea and thank the angels for living with me in the darkness and for bringing me – home.

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  Readers who enjoyed The Healer will also enjoy

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  Acknowledgments

  There’s a special magic which brings me to write everyday. I thank and love this magic with all of my heart.

  I acknowledge all those who’ve taken me this far along the writing road. Those who’ve pointed me in the right direction and brought me to this destination. Even if you’re not specifically mentioned, I am grateful for every read, act or kind word.

  Carmel Harrington, the Irish Times best-selling author, took me into her online writing group Imagine, Write, Inspire (IWI). Carmel has been with me from the start and from under her fairy H-mother wings, this has happened. Benji Bennet told me to write and let the rest happen. Thank you Benji.

  To all the IWIers Thank you for your support, encouragement and friendship. My own new online wr
iting group members indulgeinwriting.com, are the back-bone of my writing life. Thank you all so much for believing in me. Here’s to a great 2019 for us all!

  Vanessa Fox O Loughlin, who forged me on. Thank you for everything Vanessa.

  Heather Norris, Mona Deery and Aishling McMahon for their unwavering support. My family and teachers through the years who gave me a love of reading and writing. Danny McCarthy, I still cannot believe you’re no longer on the end of an email. Also gratitude to Ivan Mulcahy for his time and feedback in the early days.

  To my writing doc, Liam Farrell - thank you for supporting me and for listening still today when I ramble on about all things #WritersWise.

  To all of the contributors on our #WritersWise tweet-chats. Massive shout-out to all those who trend and chat regularly with us on #WritersWise Thursdays. To all of the other wonderful guest-hosts on our tweet-chats and on my online writing group. Huge thank you to all the literary world who give free advice and writing tips so readily.

  When I needed strength there are special women out in the internet world who kept me going, Bernadene Byrne, Mary McLaughlin, Sam Hogan-Villena and all on The Extra Special Kids Facebook page.

  I wouldn’t have continued without the guidance from my beta-readers (especially Linda Green). The encouragement from various aspiring authors and book bloggers on social media forums/events is invaluable.

  I’m forever grateful to all of the publications and literary journals who gave me readers and confidence. Also to Rachel McLaughlin, Kajsa Kinsella and Jules Mahon for allowing me onto their successful, online magazine websites to talk books or share my own writing.

  Thank you to Tracy Brennan, my wonderful agent. To the team at Bloodhound Books who believe in Molly as a character and me as a writer. I cannot thank Bloodhound Books enough for making my dream come true and big thank you to my editor, proof-reader and anyone in Bloodhound who help me.

  Music has a strong place in Molly’s world. I acknowledge the songs, ‘When Irish eyes are smiling,’ ‘Ava Maria’. Also ’Navvy Boots’ and ‘Crooked Jack’ which play through my head in the Cricklewood scenes.

  To all my friends, family and community who’ve waited patiently with me as I talked about nudges about books. For my husband Brian, you’ve helped me to write and to heal. I love you.