Margot went out into the sunshine. Swathes of snowdrops covered the ground in puddles of white and dark green daffodil shoots were already emerging out of the earth. Birdsong filled the air and inflated Margot’s spirits with pleasure, for spring was ushering in longer days, brighter light and a warm, sugar-scented breeze that gently roused the trees and shrubbery from their long winter sleep. As she walked across the lawn she was sure she could feel a deep stirring beneath her feet, before dismissing it as fancy. She smiled at her lunacy. She’d been in Ballinakelly for just over a month and she was already going mad. If she wasn’t careful she’d be seeing leprechauns next!
JP was in the border cutting back a viburnum whose winter flowers were now over. He was in a pair of yellow corduroy trousers and V-neck sweater, with a stripy scarf about his neck. Margot called to him as she approached. ‘Well, look at you!’ she said, smiling broadly.
He paused his work and returned her smile with a cheerful one of his own. ‘It feels good to be outside.’
‘It’s a lovely day. Would be a shame to waste it inside.’
‘Do you want to make yourself useful?’
‘Sure, although, I confess I’m not at all green-fingered.’
‘I used to be, a long time ago. It’s coming back to me slowly. There’s another pair of secateurs in that bag. You can help me cut back these shrubs.’
‘Why do you prune them now?’
‘It encourages growth, prevents disease, keeps the shape. Come, I’ll show you how to do it properly.’
She laughed and burrowed in the brown canvas bag for the secateurs. ‘Funny, I’d never take you for a gardener,’ she said.
‘I was many things once, Margot. I was funny, dashing, handsome – though I know that’s hard for you to believe – and accomplished.’
‘And now you’re finding yourself again,’ she added, joining him in the border brandishing the pair of secateurs.
‘Something of me. The handsome and dashing bits I fear are gone for ever.’
‘They’re not important.’
‘You don’t believe that. Not a pretty girl like you.’
‘Oh, they’re perceived to be very important in the young, but when you’re old, don’t they become irrelevant? I’d like to think that when I’m old I won’t care anymore. I’ll eat cake without feeling guilty.’
‘I don’t think you’ll ever stop caring. When you’re used to being beautiful it must be hard to give it up.’
‘We all grow old eventually. It’s life’s great leveller.’
‘Some grow old more gracefully than others,’ JP added. ‘I’ve grown old rather disgracefully, I’m afraid.’
‘Well, you’ve kind of brought that upon yourself, haven’t you?’ Margot ventured boldly. ‘You should quit smoking, you know.’ She wanted to add that he should sober up as well, but somehow that subject felt too sensitive to mention.
‘You’re right, I should. But one step at a time, eh?’
She frowned at the implication that he had already taken one. ‘Which step are you referring to, exactly?’
‘I’m happy to inform you that I’ve already taken two,’ he told her with a lofty smile.
‘Oh, really?’ She grinned cynically. As far as she could tell, his breath still smelt of whiskey as well as cigarettes.
‘I’ve taken up riding again and now I’m gardening. Little by little reclaiming the old me. One step at a time, right?’ She couldn’t argue with that. He held up his secateurs. ‘Now, let me show you how to prune a viburnum.’
* * *
It was already dark when Colm found the two of them in the library, drinking tea. Mrs B hastened into the kitchen to fetch another cup, a small but perceptible bounce in her gait. For years Colm and his father had barely spoken, the froideur almost tangible between them like a wall of ice, yet now the wall had thawed and the atmosphere was growing warm, even, as they rediscovered each other. She wondered whether Colm was better able to understand his father and his failings now because he was a man. No longer the boy who had watched his parents’ marriage collapse. The boy who knew nothing about love, loss, disappointment and grief. Perhaps he was able to stand back and judge him with detachment rather than passion because he had experienced something of the vicissitudes of life himself and had learned empathy. She wasn’t sure, but she hoped that this would be the start of a reconciliation between Lord Deverill and all his children. Perhaps eventually with Alana too.
She took the crockery down from the shelf and returned to the library, her happiness fragile due to habit, half-expecting to find them fighting like they used to. What she heard was laughter. In the midst of the laughter was Margot’s feminine tone relating an anecdote about JP, imitating his voice irreverently. Mrs B entered the room to find Colm lounging on the sofa, tears of mirth running down his face, while his father smiled with amusement and pleasure in his armchair. Margot was standing in front of the fire with her hands on her hips, committing wholly to her imitation, but carrying it out with affection. Mrs B did not want to interrupt, so she stood in the doorway while Margot finished her impression.
‘What do you make of that, Mrs B?’ said JP with a chuckle when it was over. ‘I think Margot would make a fine actress, don’t you?’
‘Oh, yes, indeed she would,’ Mrs B replied. She smiled at Colm. ‘I remember when you were a little boy, Master Colm, and you used to put on plays with your sisters.’
‘Aisling always took the best parts for herself, if I recall,’ said Colm.
‘I think you fared better than Cara,’ added his father.
‘Poor Cara usually played a cat or a mouse,’ said Mrs B, remembering with delight those innocent, carefree times before the castle walls had closed in on them.
‘At least you had siblings to play with. I was always alone,’ said Margot.
‘Well, you have a good audience in us,’ said Colm.
She gave a theatrical bow. ‘Thank you.’ And sat down. ‘What else did you do, besides putting on plays?’ she asked him.
‘We used to play billiards. Most of the time we played rabbits.’
‘What’s rabbits?’
‘Ah, rabbits!’ sighed JP with nostalgia.
‘It’s a game played round the billiard table. Usually with lots of people. The idea is to keep the white ball moving by hitting it with the black ball, which you can only roll from either end of the table. One person after another grabs the black ball, runs to the end of the table and rolls it across the velvet to hit the white and keep it moving. If the white ball stops moving, you lose.’
‘In my day, if you lost you had to remove a piece of clothing,’ said JP.
‘That’s the whole idea, Dad,’ said Colm.
Margot laughed. ‘Sounds like a lot of fun. Let’s play!’
‘What, now?’ said Colm.
‘Yes, now.’
‘I’m not sure I want to remove my clothes,’ said JP, looking uncertain.
‘We’ll play for points,’ Margot suggested. ‘It’s too cold to remove one’s clothes anyhow.’
‘I’ll go and put another log on the fire,’ said Mrs B, leaving the room.
‘I’m excited,’ said Margot, sitting down beside Colm. ‘Rabbits sounds like my sort of game.’ Then she grinned at Colm. ‘The traditional way.’
Colm held her gaze. ‘I’ve never played with two.’
‘Perhaps you should find out if it works.’ She smiled and Colm frowned. He wasn’t sure whether she was propositioning him or simply making a joke.
‘Oh, I have no doubt it will work,’ he replied, deciding to take her comment lightly. ‘I imagine it will be over rather quickly though.’
‘I’m intrigued. Hurry up, Colm, or your father will fall asleep.’
‘What! Me? I’m as awake as a sentry on duty.’
Margot noticed that JP was drinking tea. The whiskey decanter remained on the drinks tray, untouched. One small step at a time, she thought to herself.
* * *
While th
e fire crackled in the grate and the electric lights glowed warmly, Colm and JP demonstrated the rules of rabbits to Margot on the billiard table cleared of Margot’s research. Being young, Colm was quicker around the table than his father, but less skilful. Years of experience had taught JP all the tricks. Colm threw himself about the room, keen to show Margot his prowess. JP was reminded of his youth and remembered with bittersweet nostalgia the times he had raced across the room with Bertie and Kitty, and then later, when Colm was just a boy and they had played rabbits at the billiard table in the castle. Margot watched both men with fascination as their affection for one another, dormant for so long, rematerialized in the jostling for the ball and the resurgence of old, familiar patterns. ‘Ah, I remember that move!’ exclaimed Colm in delight. ‘But don’t think you’re going to out fox me, Old Fox!’
‘Age will win the day every time. It’s in the slow roll,’ said JP, letting the black ball glide across the table, just out of Colm’s reach, to brush the white one with a kiss, halting it and winning JP the point. ‘Out foxed, Young Fox!’ he declared, triumphant. Margot realized that those must have been the nicknames they had once had for each other. She wondered how long it had been since they’d used them.
‘You ready, Margot?’ said Colm, eyes gleaming with competitiveness.
‘Absolutely,’ Margot replied, rolling up her shirtsleeves.
‘You start, seeing as it’s your first time.’ He handed her the black ball then placed the white one in the middle of the table. ‘Okay, ready when you are.’
Margot took aim then rolled the ball across the velvet, hitting the white ball at an angle. Colm grabbed the black and walked calmly to the other end to hit the white ball with ease. His father hurried round to hit the white ball firmly, in order to give Margot more of a chance. ‘You’ll regret that,’ she laughed, reaching for the black ball and releasing it to merely scrape the edge of the white.
‘Ah, you know what you’re doing!’ JP roared. ‘Then I won’t be so kind next time!’
They raced around the table, scuffled at the ends, laughing all the while. It grew hot in the room. JP took off his sweater. Colm’s shirt-tails escaped from his jeans. Margot tied up her hair with a band. Their cheeks shone, their breathing grew short, the competition intensified. When Mrs B appeared to ask if they’d like supper, she stood a moment in the door frame, watching them. She never thought she’d see the likes of this again. But here they were, father and son, playing rabbits, just like the old days.
* * *
After supper, when Margot announced that she had better be getting back to the hotel, JP lifted the crystal decanter off the table and offered his son a glass of whiskey. ‘Care to join me?’ he asked.
Colm looked at his watch. It was late. ‘Why not?’ he replied and took the armchair opposite his father’s.
‘Good man,’ said JP. ‘Margot?’
‘Thanks, JP, but I think I’ll leave you both to it. I’ll see myself out.’
‘Drive carefully,’ he said, watching her go. He turned to his son. ‘Tell me, Colm, how’s the business?’ He filled his glass and handed it to him. ‘From what I hear, you’re doing rather well.’
‘Well enough,’ Colm replied. He took a sip. ‘Though I’m never going to be a rich man.’
‘But you’re doing what you love and that’s the key to happiness, I believe.’
‘It certainly is one of them.’
‘I won’t pry into the other keys. I’ll leave your mother to do that.’ JP raised his eyebrows, hoping his son would tell him anyway.
Colm lowered his glass. ‘About Mum,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose you know that she’s flying over in a few days.’
JP dropped his gaze into his whiskey. ‘No, I didn’t know,’ he replied dully. The mention of Alana had deflated his enthusiasm. It was now gone, evaporated into the air. ‘I suppose she wants to see you, and her parents. Jack isn’t getting any younger, is he?’
Colm was sorry to have ruined the evening. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you,’ he said regretfully. ‘I’ve spoiled your day.’
JP smiled bitterly. ‘You could never spoil my day, dear boy. It’s been rather magical, hasn’t it? We’re both here now, you and I, and we’re talking just like we used to. No, Alana can’t spoil anything, at least, not unless I allow her to. Drink up. The night is yet young. Let’s talk about keys to happiness. Any nice girls to tell me about?’
Colm grinned and took another sip of whiskey. ‘You said you wouldn’t ask.’
‘I lied.’
‘Ever the Old Fox.’
JP chuckled and his eyes sparkled. ‘I’m glad you still see me that way.’
Chapter 10
Margot gazed out over the horizon, to where the sea melted into the sky in a mesmerizing haze of blue-grey, and wondered whether the God that Mrs B talked about resided there, at the Gateway to Heaven, if he existed at all. A blustery wind blew off the water, racing up the bluff and through the long grasses where yellow coltsfoot and gorse grew wild, and thick grey clouds screened the sky overhead, obscuring the sun. ‘You’re very quiet,’ she said, looking across at JP. The two of them sat on their horses at the edge of the cliff. Below, waves crashed against the rocks, covering the water with foam.
JP lit a cigarette and sighed. ‘Alana is due to arrive in a couple of days.’ He shook his head and blew a jet of smoke into the gale. ‘Colm told me last night after you left. It’s rather taken the wind out of my sails.’
‘I bet it has. Will she want to see you?’
‘I doubt it. She never does. We have nothing to say to one another anymore.’
‘But the thought of her being in Ballinakelly makes you uneasy.’
‘Decidedly.’
‘When was the last time you saw each other?’
He shrugged. ‘I can’t remember. Years ago. Maybe two, maybe three, and only in passing. I avoid going into town when she’s here and I’m sure she avoids me just the same.’
He turned to face the sea again and Margot saw the tension in his profile and decided to say something positive. ‘It was fun last night,’ she ventured brightly. ‘Nice to see you and Colm getting along so well.’
‘Yes, that was a welcome change. I’m not sure what inspired it, but I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.’
‘Perhaps you just needed to spend time together.’
‘I thought I’d lost him. But last night showed me that it’s possible to reconcile. That no relationship is beyond repair if one really wants to put things right.’
‘Sometimes enough water goes under the bridge to allow one to let go of old grievances. Life’s too short to bear grudges.’
‘Fourteen years is long enough, you’d think.’
‘Since your divorce?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why don’t you try and repair your relationship with Alana? That way you’d repair it with the rest of the family too. I sense she’s the doorkeeper to your children and in-laws.’
His face twisted with aversion. ‘Fifty years wouldn’t be long enough for her,’ he said. ‘I doubt she’ll ever forgive me, in this world or the next.’
‘I’m sorry. It was silly of me to suggest it. I’m sure you’ve tried.’
He looked at her, his eyes darkened with disillusionment. ‘In the beginning we fought. Then we sulked and refused to speak to each other. Then we separated and communicated only through our lawyers. After that, it seemed we forgot how to talk to one another. A canyon opened between us and it was too large and perilous to even attempt to bridge, so we let it remain, getting wider and wider. Now she’s on one side and I’m on the other and that’s just the way it is. I suspect it will always be.’
‘Has she found someone else?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Have you?’ Margot knew that was a silly question. He was lonelier and more alone than anyone she had ever met.
He grinned bitterly. ‘Who’d want to be with me, Margot?’ She frowned, appalled by his s
elf-pity. ‘I have nothing to offer anyone.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘You’re very kind, Margot. But I’m not the man I once was. I’m a totally different person now.’
‘You can be anyone you want to be, JP. It’s takes will-power, for sure, but, like you said, one step at a time. You’ve taken up riding again and gardening, why not try to change your state of mind next? Stop seeing yourself as a victim, then other people will stop seeing you as one too.’
He chuckled. ‘You’re too young to understand what it’s like to lose everything. I envy you, Margot. You’re young and beautiful. Not a care in the world. You can go anywhere you like. You have no ties, no commitments. You can write your book in any place you choose. Your world is full of light. It’s a breeze. You have no concept of what it’s like to be me.’
Margot looked away sharply. He was making massive presumptions about her. He had no idea whether or not she had suffered. He knew nothing about her life at all. He was so consumed with his own troubles that he believed himself to have a monopoly on suffering.
Her attention was diverted by the sudden appearance of light falling in shimmering beams onto the water at the point where the sky merged with the sea, the place she imagined to be the gateway to Heaven. The sight of it was spellbinding and at once her irritation dissolved, as if the distant light was drawing her out of herself and away from her cares. ‘Look, how beautiful,’ she murmured. ‘God’s giving us a glimpse into the next world.’
The Distant Shores Page 15