The Gravity of Love

by Noelle Harrison

  I imagined the reality of walking back into the past and I wasn’t sure I could stand it. To see the house I grew up in broken. Empty decaying rooms. My mother lost from me forever. There was still a little part of me that imagined it was all still there. My mother and Josie bustling around in the kitchen, cats underfoot, my father out on the farm. If I went back then I would have to accept that was all gone forever. But maybe I could face it with you by my side.

  You looked at me without a trace of resentment, and I was overwhelmed with tenderness, and regret. If only I had been braver. I told you that I had thought of you every day. You looked doubtful, but I had to make you understand.

  ‘You’re a mother too; you know it’s true.’

  We were on our second glass of wine when the doorbell rang. My black cat Athene was curled upon your lap, the little ginger, Demeter, tugging at the frayed hems of your jeans, and it looked to me as if you had sat exactly in this spot, with the cats all over you, so many, many times before. As if we had always known each other.

  I slipped out into the hall as the doorbell rang again and put a hand to my frantic heart. I was on a high, like the old days, and yet all I had consumed was a glass of white wine with you. My daughter.

  How would Cait take this? I was sure she would think it was good. The truth eventually came out – that’s what she would say.

  I walked down the hall, Demeter now at my heels, and switched on all the lights. I wanted Cait to see the joy on my face. I wanted to hug her with all my might and tell her that something very wonderful had happened. You.

  When I opened the door, my god-daughter stood before me, looking as edgy as ever in her electric blue miniskirt, black tailcoat and purple boots. Behind her was the shadowy figure of a tall man, his face hidden in darkness. I felt a hint of annoyance. The last thing I wanted was a stranger at our family gathering.

  Cait stepped forward and hugged me. I was a little surprised as my god-daughter was not one to initiate embraces.

  ‘Prepare to be shocked,’ she whispered into my ear.

  The man stepped into the light on my porch. ‘Hello, Eva,’ he said.

  It was Lewis Bell. Older. A gentler, more humble expression upon his face than I had remembered, his thick dark hair streaked grey, yet unmistakably still that charming young designer from all those years ago.

  ‘Lewis! Is it really you?’

  I released Cait from our hug and looked for my answer in her eyes, the green of them as brilliant as two polished gems. I could tell she comprehended who this man was to her. That girl could unearth the truth of life from the deepest grave.

  As I opened the door wide and ushered Cait and her father inside to meet you, a star shot across the London night sky as if it were a sign of perfect timing. I had called you to me. And you came.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to my very special agents Marianne Gunn O’Connor and Vicki Satlow, and to my brilliant editor Emma Hargrave, along with the great team at Black & White Publishing in Edinburgh – especially Campbell Brown, Lina Langlee and Janne Moller. Much gratitude to my first readers Alison Walsh, Ila Moldenhauer, Tracey Skjæråsen, Nina Rolland and my sister Jane Birman. Thank you to my brother Fintan Blake Kelly, my sister-in-law Eimear and the Conyard family for their Mayo hospitality. Thank you to my dear friends Kate Bootle, for her editorial guidance, and Jo Southall, for first bringing me to Arizona. A mention to Kate and Rob at Bespoke Inn in Scottsdale for their hospitality during my time in Arizona.

  To all my old friends, especially Donna Ansley, Monica McInerney and Sinead Moriarty for never losing faith. And to my new friends in Scotland, especially soul sister Thalia Vazquez, my fellow cohort at Edinburgh Napier, my inspirational tutors David Bishop and Laura Lam, and my bus pal Becky Sweeney. A shout out to Aurora Writers’ Retreats, and especially to Karen Rosenstock, Vanessa Rigby and Melody Nixon. And to all my wonderful friends for their enduring support especially Ann Seach, Emma Cha’ze, Page Allen, Hege Isaksen, Elisa Bjersand and Suzy Wilson. I am thinking also of dear friends lost in the past few years – Jenny, Karen, Jason, Serge and Paula – and those who lost them, especially Cathy, Pat, Cora, Manoushka and Bernie. Their love endures.

  A huge thank you to my family. To my Aunty Joyce, for whom Joy is named, and for whom I wrote the small tribute to my late uncle Amancio D’Silva, to my mother-in-law Mary Ansley, my brothers Paul and Jed. Most of all thank you to my son Corey and my stepdaughter Helena. Love you so much! And if this book belongs to anyone it is to my darling Barry, who has fed, watered and provided shelter for this struggling writer, year after year. You are my hero!