The Beach Book Bundle: 3 Novels for Summer Reading: Breathing Lessons, The Alphabet Sisters, Firefly Summer

by Tyler, Anne

  Rachel looked at his white and angry face.

  “He sat in a chair drinking whiskey, that’s why he used a mouth rinse, it was not to hide traces of me. He sat talking about her illness, about you all. That’s what I gave him in those months, just a chair, a whiskey, and an ear for his troubles.”

  “He had plenty of ears at home if he had come there.”

  “Sure he had, but you were so young, your mother was so frail, he couldn’t …”

  Kerry’s eyes blazed at her suddenly.

  “Don’t you dare to talk of my mother, don’t bring her in casually like that … don’t speak of her.”

  “Kerry, this is absurd. You mentioned your mother, you mentioned something that has upset you in the past, I was merely telling you what it was really like …”

  “I don’t want your version of what things were really like. If it were a true version it would be fairly sordid.”

  “You are unfair to your father and to everyone if you persist in believing all this …”

  “Oh, it was all hand-holding and platonic. Don’t be pathetic, Rachel.”

  “I am not pathetic, I am telling you what is true. During the time of Kathleen’s last—”

  “I told you not to mention her name.”

  Her eyes filled with sudden unexpected tears. She turned her head away in a vain attempt to hide them.

  Kerry put his glass down on the table. “I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t trust herself to speak.

  “I mean it. I am sorry I guess I’m upset. I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

  She stood up wordlessly as if to say that his visit was over. But Kerry decided that it was not over yet.

  “Please, I said I spoke out of turn. Please?”

  He had such a persuasive way, she noticed almost dispassionately. Kerry believed that if you were charming enough in sufficient doses it would open every door. And he had usually been right.

  “I didn’t intend to come here and harangue you, I intended—”

  “What did you intend?”

  “I guess I wanted to know what was happening. Is that so bad? Things are fairly unsettled. Father has me up at the other end of the country, he’s so unapproachable, he tells me none of his plans, I hear from this side one set of things, from another side a different … It sure is a rumor factory here, isn’t it?” He grinned companionably, the shouting put well behind.

  “And what do they say on all these different sides?”

  “Oh, some say that my father is the object of a hate campaign, vandalism, slogans, mysterious happenings; others say that since the prophet Elijah there hasn’t been such a welcome appearance. Then they say that the hotel will be open on time and that it hasn’t a chance of opening; that Father’s going to marry Marian Johnson and she’s going to change her hairstyle and get some new clothes, or that he’s going to marry you and you’re going to keep all your nice clothes the way they are but change your religion … And I hear that he has hundreds of bookings from the States and that he has no bookings … So do you see why I came to have a talk in case you could set me straight on some of these issues, anyway?”

  She looked at him, and realized that he was making it all up, there was no way that people in Mountfern would confide such things to the son of Patrick O’Neill. But he was right in his summing up of the different viewpoints.

  Kerry patted the chair beside him. “Come on, Rachel, sit down and talk to me. I won’t get nasty again. Promise.”

  She sat down, knowing it was a very dangerous thing to do.

  “There, that’s better. And now have a drink. Come on Rachel, if you’re going to be an honorary Irish person you’ll have to learn to drink.”

  It was easy and comforting to sit there with him instead of sitting on her own.

  He had admitted his temper and his feelings. It was only natural that a boy should love his mother and want to keep his memories of her almost frozen in the viewpoint of the troubled teenager that he was at the time.

  Rachel sipped the drink that he mixed for her, a whiskey and dry ginger. It tasted sweet and warming, not like the wine she sometimes sipped at functions, which was bitter and alien. Here in the sunset looking across the river with the handsome boy admitting his petulant temper and smiling at her like a conspirator it was easy to sit and talk and drink the sweet, fizzy, harmless liquor.

  Kerry talked of the hotel in Donegal, how lonely he was up there and how the place seemed so remote. He often went to Derry across the border, it was exciting somehow to be in a place that was ruled by another country, to see other flags flying. Most of the people in Derry were basically Irish, he explained to Rachel, and they felt much more at home in the republic. He had met a few guys who were easy to get along with there. Rough guys, not the kind who would be welcomed with open arms in the front doors of Fernscourt, he said scathingly. Still, they were alive all through, which was more than you could say for many of the people you met in this country, north or south. Rachel took this to mean that they were able to play cards with him or point him to some kind of game down town.

  And Rachel found herself telling Kerry more than she intended to about some of the problems in getting deliveries in time and how she always tried to shield Patrick from the more troublesome side of things, partly because he had so much to think about he really could not be expected to give time to wondering why some weavers in Connemara had not been able to come up with the consignment they had promised months back. And partly because any complaining or even mild criticism always seemed like a condemnation of his decision to come back to this land and build his dream castle.

  Together they sighed amicably about the difficulties of dealing with the great Patrick O’Neill. There was none of the usual fencing between them and no hint of the flash of anger and the instructions not to speak his dead mother’s name.

  Rachel told of how Maurice, the Ryans’ missing tortoise, had been discovered in the hen house where apparently he had been living for months in total contentment. And Kerry told how he had discovered that Jimbo Doyle really was making it big on the ballad-singing circuit; he was even booked for an appearance in Donegal, which had to be the Vegas of Ireland.

  The sun sank behind the big house and the trees. The river took on its black rippling look where it seemed like a dark ribbon instead of a living, flowing thing.

  Somewhere, possibly from down near the bridge, they heard the sound of a fiddle playing, an air that sounded sad and plaintive, but all Irish airs seemed sad to Rachel and Kerry. The boy reached across and patted her hand. There were tears in Rachel’s eyes again but this time she wasn’t hiding them, they fell down her face.

  “I could have fit in here, I could have stayed and been part of it,” she wept.

  “But now you think you’ll go back?” His voice was soft, like honey.

  “I decided today I’ll have to go back. He thinks he doesn’t need me, he thinks he can manage on his own …” She let a sob come through her voice.

  “I know, I know.”

  “You can’t know.”

  “Well I do, he doesn’t need me either. He never did.”

  Rachel looked at him, tear-stained. He was so different tonight, vulnerable, understanding.

  “I think he finds it hard to express himself to you …” she began, trying as usual to build bridges.

  “I’m only his son, his flesh and blood. It shouldn’t be so very hard to express himself.”

  “He does care for you … I know.”

  “And I know how fond of you he is too. I didn’t always want to see it, I can tell you, but …”

  He looked so straightforward. Rachel felt fuzzy and a little confused, but she could see that Kerry was being genuine toward her and she wanted to reassure him that he was important to his father.

  And now Kerry was admitting that she, Rachel, was a part of Patrick too. She was certainly a little heady.

  She placed her hand on Kerry’s knee. He lifted it to admire her rings.
<
br />   “These are very beautiful,” he said softly. “Did you choose these yourself or were they a gift?”

  She saw no guile in the words. It was a question. She held her hand away and admired the topaz and the emerald.

  “Your father bought me the topaz a long long time ago. The emerald I bought myself. I have a little garnet too, but I don’t wear them all at once.”

  “No, no.” He was holding her hand and admiring the way the light caught the stones.

  “It means fidelity, a topaz,” she said dreamily “I remember that very well.”

  “Is it your birthstone?” Kerry asked interestedly.

  He was so relaxed and easy to talk to tonight, Rachel wondered why she had ever thought him prickly and difficult.

  “No, I’m Gemini—that’s the emerald.” She turned her hand in his to examine the green stone.

  “I got the emerald because of that and also because it means ‘success in love.’ I guess I wasn’t so lucky there”

  Kerry said nothing, he fingered the tie tack he always wore these days. Even when he wasn’t wearing a formal shirt and tie he seemed to have this pin on his lapel somehow.

  “My, that’s a topaz also,” Rachel realized for the first time.

  “Yes. Topaz, that’s right.” His voice seemed strained.

  “And was that a gift or did you buy it, like I bought my emerald?” She was being giggly now.

  “It was both, in a way. I paid for it to be made into a tie tack, but it was a gift, from my mother. Father gave her a topaz for fidelity also, you see. He never asked where it was when she died, I don’t know if he realizes this is where it ended up.”

  Rachel felt a sudden lurch in her stomach. “I think I’m going to be sick,” she said, staggering to her feet.

  Loretto Quinn was serving Jack Coyne next morning when Kerry appeared in the shop. He was in his stocking feet, walking lightly, and his clothes were crushed and rumpled.

  “Hi Loretto. Well hi Jack, how are things?”

  “Things are reasonable.” Jack wasn’t able to reply as quickly as usual, he was so startled to see O’Neill’s son come in casually through the back of the shop, meaning that he must have been upstairs.

  Upstairs with O’Neill’s woman.

  “So they are with me, pretty reasonable. Loretto, can I have some oranges please, perhaps half a dozen … Sorry Jack, am I cutting in ahead of you?”

  “No, please.” Jack could hardly wait to see what else the young Kerry O’Neill was ordering.

  Kerry said he’d take eggs, bread, four slices of that really great bacon—how could anyone in America think they had tasted bacon until they came to Ireland? And he’d better take a packet of those aspirin tablets too.

  He smiled at them both, punched Jack playfully, and said that the little red sports car was a dream on wheels and he thought he’d either have to buy it so that it would be his own or possibly play Jack a game of poker for it.

  Then light and cheerful he ran back up the stairs, leaving Loretto and Jack open-mouthed below.

  Rachel woke painfully. Her head was pounding and she had a sense of unreality. What could have happened to make her feel so ill? Bits of it came back to her. The whiskey, the long chat with Kerry.

  Then with such a shock that she sat bolt upright she remembered vomiting.

  Her hand flew to her throat and she looked around her wildly. The bed was rumpled. Kerry’s jacket was thrown on her chair. His shoes were lying on the floor where they had been kicked off. The other side of the bed had a little table and on the table was Kerry’s watch, his cigarette case and his lighter.

  With disbelief Rachel tried to take it in. She felt too frail to contemplate what could have happened. She wanted to lie down and pull the sheets and blankets over her poor hurt head. But she couldn’t lie down. Not yet. Not until she knew.

  As if on cue Kerry came into the room. He was wearing his shirt open, he was smiling.

  “Hi there.”

  “What … what?”

  “It’s orange juice,” he said delightedly, misunderstanding her. “I squeezed six oranges so you’ll love it. And if you feel strong enough I’m going to do you some eggs.”

  “Not eggs,” Rachel said.

  “Oh yes eggs, Rachel, they’re known to be good for you. I got some bacon but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know …”

  “No bacon.” She struggled with the words.

  “Sure sure. Well coffee anyway, after the juice.”

  He sat on the bed familiarly, too close to her she thought in alarm, and pulled back.

  She realized she was in her slip and that her brassiere was open. She realized that Kerry O’Neill was looking at her affectionately. The room seemed to swim and tilt a little.

  “Kerry, how did … how did …”

  “I got them in Loretto’s,” he said sunnily. “Oh, and I got you some aspirin too. Sip the juice first, then I’ll fix you some aspirin with the coffee.”

  “You told Loretto …?”

  “She’s really improved that little store, hasn’t she? Jack Coyne was in there, he’s an okay guy, I think. Father always says he’s a gangster but these things are relative. To some people Father is something of a gangster. But enough about him, let’s talk about you and me …”

  Rachel gave a jump.

  “… and what we’re going to have for breakfast if it’s too non kosher to fry a little bacon.” He smiled at her warmly and Rachel Fine with her drawn, lined face, her aching head and upset stomach looked up at him piteously. And knew she was somehow in his power.

  It was the last Thursday in August and Dara Ryan had returned to Mountfern.

  She felt quite different to the Dara who had left two months earlier. Older, wiser, more a woman of the world, she thought. After all she had lived in a household which had things going on under its roof that Dara would not have believed possible. She was going to look with new eyes on the clientele, male and nocturnal of the Rosemarie hair salon. She hoped she had become more sophisticated-looking. A girl she was talking to on the train told her that she could easily be eighteen, she looked much older than almost sixteen.

  Dad thought she looked older, which was great. He held her at arm’s length when he came to meet her at the station in the town. Grace and Michael had wanted to come too he said, but he had to refuse them, he needed the car for supplies.

  Dara looked around and indeed the back of their old black car was filled with boxes. Things for the café, Dad said, every day now there was more stuff being brought in. They were ready to open it for business anytime now.

  “And what kind of form is Mam in? She doesn’t get depressed too much now, does she?”

  Dara kept looking lovingly at her father; she knew that in a changing world he would remain constant. It was hard to imagine Dad in bed with anyone, including Mam before the accident, but Dara knew that he wouldn’t ever cheat on Mam like that appalling Monsieur Vartin.

  “Your mother is a marvel,” he said simply. “I don’t know where and how she gets the ideas and the energy. She’s an example to us who have the legs. She’s so delighted that you’re coming home. For ages now she’s been saying only eight days more, only six days more …”

  Dara was pleased. “Isn’t that nice, I was just the same, I hope we won’t start to fight and ruin it.”

  “Of course you will.” John was philosophic. “But not immediately. We’ll have a few days of a honeymoon period first.”

  They drove down Bridge Street. Liam White was waving, and John slowed to a stop.

  “You look different, did you have an illness?” he asked.

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Liam, that’s lovely,” said Dara.

  “No, you look foreign. Maybe it’s the air, or the food.”

  “I think she looks great altogether.” Dara’s father was partisan and proud of his dark, handsome daughter.

  “Oh, you look fine,” Liam said, as if that had never been in doubt. “The question is, will it last?”

/>   “Where’s Jacinta?”

  “Off somewhere with Tommy, she’s the only one able to get him out of the shop. His father is afraid of Jacinta.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Dara said with some feeling.

  Dara looked over at Daly’s shop. It still looked the same. People came in to buy cakes and butter and groceries. Life went on. Dara swallowed hard. Everyone else had had two months to get used to Daly’s Dairy without Maggie. Dara would too one day. Charlie was cleaning the windows, he waved his wet cleaning rag at her. The shop that used to be Meagher’s seemed to have been all done up.

  “What does Mountfern need a travel agency for?” she asked.

  “Oh, there’s amazing needs created in this place nowadays,” her father said almost ruefully.

  Dara’s eyes raked the town for Kerry.

  Perhaps he was back. Could he be running the travel agency? Would she ask Dad was he around? No, she was only minutes from home. And she had sent him a card giving the exact date of her return. There was bound to be some message from him when she got there.

  The sign was up for Ryan’s Shamrock Café. Nobody had told her it would look so big. There was a new door now in the front of the building that used to be the outhouse, the place where they had their party almost a year ago.

  The old windows had been repainted and new glass fitted. On each windowsill brightly colored boxes of geraniums stood nodding in the sun.

  Dara gasped. “I never knew it was like this … like …”

  “Like nothing on earth,” her father finished cheerfully. “Still, it might keep a roof over our heads. Now here’s your mother waiting for you.”

  Kate sat in the door of the new café. She was all dressed up, one of Rachel’s scarves draped around her, which was what designated the outfit as for an occasion. She stretched her arms out in welcome as Dara scampered from the car.

  Dara’s heart gave a little jump.

  Mam’s smile was wide and warm, but she had big circles under her eyes and she was very pale.

  Mam didn’t look at all well.

  There was huge excitement at Dara’s return.