The Legacy of Lucy Harte

by Emma Heatherington

  Dear Lucy

  I pause and look around me, wondering at first what it is I want to say, but then the words flow out and I begin to write…

  I hope you are with me now. I like to think you are from time to time…

  I’m on a train to Dublin from Belfast, in case you haven’t caught up with me yet, but I do hope you come along for the ride.

  You see, I’m on this crazy mission to find the lad you met on holiday so many years ago – Tiernan Quinn, the guitar-player who was your very first crush. It was kind of Simon’s idea that I go through with your ‘to-do’ list, so I hope you don’t mind but I’m in this really weird place in my life right now and he thinks, and I agree, that it might help me re-focus my whole direction and also do something in your honour.

  It’s a bit way out, I know.

  Chances are, had you lived on and not had that tragic accident, that your words in this book would have been something you barely ever looked at as an adult. You may even have forgotten that you wrote them. You would, no doubt, have forgotten all about this Tiernan guy, but for some reason I am going to try and do a few of the things you said you would like to do in my bid to move on with my own life and also in a bid to set you free.

  I’ve been holding on to your memory for so long now, and although I will never forget you, I guess I need to find what it is I really want in life and go get it, rather than always feeling this sense of being half alive, of always owing my life to you.

  I hope you understand and maybe, in this way, you can help me.

  It wasn’t very hard to track down all the Tiernan Quinns from Galway and, with some online searching, it’s leading me to Dublin, so here I am on a train, cross country on this magnificent wild-goose chase and it’s already so liberating and fun.

  And I think I may have found him. The power of social media, eh? It’s quite surreal to think you didn’t get to experience any of that and how we can peer into the lives of strangers, find out where they are and what they are up to, what they look like and what they work as and they don’t even know it. I bet you would have loved it.

  If and when I manage to see him (he is playing a gig tonight in a city bar) I will be subtle, of course, and try and say hello to him, just for you. If you thought he was hot back then, then I’m pretty sure he is still hot now.

  I’m sorry but I won’t be able to kiss him even if he is still hot, but I hope you understand that. I say that for my own reasons as well as the fact that he is more than likely in some sort of relationship, or even married, and also the biggest reason of all is that he would really think I am some sort of lunatic if I even suggested it. So the kissing is out, but a hello is definitely in!

  No matter if I find him or not, I’d like to thank you for taking me on this little journey to spend time with my cousin, Roisin, who no doubt will look after me like she always does and distract me a bit, which is just what I need right now.

  A lot has happened over the past two weeks and I think I’m in shock. I probably am losing the plot doing this, but hey ho. Nothing to lose and all that…

  Please stay with me, Lucy. Stay with me just a little while longer. I’m thinking of you every step of the way.

  Your friend,

  Maggie

  I put down the pen, tear out and fold the piece of paper then tuck it into the back of Lucy’s red notebook and lean back to relax, lap up and enjoy the beautiful Irish scenery on my way to the big smoke.

  Lucy

  ~ Autumn 1998 ~

  Today, I am having a party. There is no one at the party, only me and it’s in my bedroom, but I have spent the evening dancing around my room and playing my music loudly and I don’t care that Simon is mad and that I am embarrassing him in front of his stupid friends. I am also playing my new favourite song, ‘Songbird’ by Eva Cassidy, on repeat, which is annoying him so badly.

  Simon has called me three names so far since I came home from school:

  1) Loser

  2) Double loser

  3) Freak

  He called me a freak because I have decided to become a vegetarian and he thinks it’s the funniest thing he has ever heard in his entire life just because when Dad was getting pizza I asked for pepperoni, but I just made a mistake.

  I meant pineapple.

  Pineapple and pepperoni do actually sound alike and it’s very easy to get mixed up in your words when you have two brothers who act like they are going to die of starvation if you don’t hurry up and decide what toppings you want.

  I am fed up with everyone in this house. Mum is back in her room and all she ever does is be very quiet or else she cries, Marilyn never leaves these days and Dad just comes and goes and he seems very sad all the time. I just wish we could be a normal family and that I didn’t have to go to the bridge in order to get away from them all.

  I wish I could go further than the bridge right now. I would love to travel far away and let them all get on with it and I could be a vegetarian if I wanted to be a vegetarian and no one would care if I said pepperoni instead of pineapple.

  So I am not listening to them any more. I will just put on my music and dance when they annoy me. I love to dance. I am not very good at it but it makes me very happy.

  I don’t think I have any other news except that I have a new goldfish and I feel so guilty for buying him in the first place. If I feel bored and trapped here, imagine how that poor goldfish feels. He just goes round and round and round and round and I haven’t even given him a name yet. In fact he might not even be a ‘he’ and could well be a ‘she’, but whoever or whatever it is, it’s more bored than I am and that is loads.

  I have nothing more to report today, sorry (sorry to Simon or Henry if you are reading this and expecting juicy gossip).

  I think I will just keep dancing.

  Notes to Lucy Harte: *

  *Don’t ever stop dancing!

  *Throw parties! Throw a dinner party to die for!

  *Spread your wings & travel far! Don’t live in a goldfish bowl!

  We are travelling at high speed through the lush countryside of South Armagh and into the Republic of Ireland via County Louth and it’s all very green and beautiful. It’s raining lightly outside but the sun is shining through and I lean my head on the window and watch the world go by and my heart fills up with a sense of adventure.

  I have done a lot of thinking on this short train ride as I clutched Lucy’s precious note book and stared out the window onto the fleeting landscapes of my homeland.

  I need to keep dancing. I need to travel.

  I need to breathe in and live in the moment. I need to stop dwelling on what has already happened in my life, on what is going to happen, on what might happen and what might not. I need to spread my wings. It may be just a two-hundred-mile journey but I am starting as I mean to go on, as Lucy might have meant me to. I am stepping out of the goldfish bowl. I am spreading my wings. I am going to find Tiernan Quinn.

  I can’t believe I am going to find Tiernan Quinn… have I totally lost the plot??

  He could be anyone! He could be a screaming lunatic or a raging druggie or a serial killer, for all I know!

  ‘What on earth are you going to say to him?’ asked Flo. As excited as she was before about my forthcoming adventures in the name of Lucy Harte, I know she was rightly just more than a bit concerned.

  ‘I have no idea if I will even say anything,’ I tell her and that’s the honest truth. I don’t have a plan. I don’t have a clue what I am doing. I am just going along with this all and hoping that in some way it turns out okay. ‘I’m expecting nothing from this guy, whatsoever. Lucy sounds like she was a feisty wee girl, so I’m just going to go with the flow and see where it takes me.’

  I see Roisin as soon as the train chugs into the famous Connolly Station and I stand up immediately, eager to get out of the now-stuffy carriage and greet my cousin.

  She runs to me on the platform, her pink hair bouncing as she moves – it’s longer than I remember it, but i
t says it all about her wonderfulness. She has had short hair, curly hair, long hair, shaved hair, blue hair, black hair, platinum blonde and pink. A chameleon, my mother calls her. A ‘buck eejit’ says my father.

  ‘My God, you are one skinny bitch!’

  She hugs me and then looks me up and down in a mixture of envy and worry.

  ‘Really? It’s not intentional.’ I tell her. It really isn’t.

  ‘Ah the good old divorce diet,’ she says. ‘You need a good feed, missy. Are you hungry now? There’s this cool sandwich bar we could stop off at en route to my place?’

  ‘I’m mad for a glass of wine and it’s only just lunchtime,’ I confess, ‘so I probably should eat something instead. Oh it’s so, so good to see you!’

  We link arms and walk through the busy early-afternoon crowds in Connolly and out into the sunshine – the rain hasn’t reached Dublin yet – and Roisin stops to light up a cigarette.

  ‘I need to give up these bastards,’ she says, with the ciggie in her mouth. ‘I bloody well love them, though. Don’t worry, I won’t smoke in the house when you are here. I know how sensitive you are to alien shit like that.’

  ‘I’m not as sensitive to it any more,’ I remind her. ‘My heart is in perfect working order, apart from being smashed to smithereens, that is. Funny old organ, really, when you think about all it is responsible for.’

  ‘Oh, you poor love,’ says Roisin. ‘That absolute trollop Jeff has a lot to answer for. Mum told me a bit about him and his new fancy woman, so I’m all yours for the next day or two if you need to spill your guts out. Cry on my shoulder or slap me or thump me if you need to. Whatever you want. I’m well fit for it. You need to let off some steam, my darlin’.’

  I push a sandwich around my plate and make the odd attempt to nibble on it as I go through the last few weeks and months with Roisin. She is wide eyed as I drop all the revelations from the day Jeff left until the meeting at work and all about Simon and, now, why I’m here.

  ‘So you want to go to see this band, The Madd Mollies, tonight in Temple Bar to fulfil Lucy’s bucket list? Maggie, that is amazing.’

  ‘You think I’m the mad one, don’t you, never mind the Madd flippin Mollies?’ I sip my hazelnut latte. It’s from the Gods and the sugar rush is just what I need. ‘I just feel I should do it for Lucy and there’s lots of other ways her list is guiding me. I’m going to France to find the world’s tallest bridge, just for her. Does that make me a bit mental?’

  ‘I think it makes you a wonderful person and, sure, we’re all a bit mental,’ says Roisin. She is on some sort of green concoction that she claims will cleanse her liver and she doesn’t eat bread, so it’s couscous and veg on her plate. She needs to eat more, never mind me. ‘I think it’s kind of sweet and if it distracts your mind from Pillock the Prat then it can only be a good thing.’

  Exactly.

  ‘I mean, deep down, if I see this Tiernan guy then great, but if I don’t it’s no big deal, really,’ I say, trying to be all blasé. ‘It’s not as if I am here to stalk him or anything. I think it’s just a good excuse to get away for a while and to see you, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ she agrees. ‘It’s a fabulous idea. I love Lucy Harte!’

  I try and eat another bite of my sandwich. It’s actually quite good, but I’m still jittery and nervous and my stomach is in knots. ‘So, if we are going to see this band tonight I’d really love a quick peep around the shops first? I need a new outfit. Would you mind?’

  Roisin looks like she would rather eat her own insides than traipse after me round Grafton Street.

  ‘I knew you were going to say that… of course I don’t mind.’

  I stand up before she can change her mind.

  ‘Come on. I’ll treat you to something nice. It’s not often I get time to hang out with my favourite cousin.’

  Her eyes light up, but then they drop again.

  ‘I don’t expect you to treat me at all, Maggie,’ she says, lifting her handbag. ‘I just tend to avoid the shops these days. I’m on a bit of a budget with no work and all. It’s shit.’

  I feel a sense of sadness in Roisin; something I never witnessed before. She was always the strong one, the bubbly go-getter, who was bursting with life and although she still is all of that on the outside, somehow I think she might need me as much as I need her right now.

  ‘What’s a new dress between cousins?’ I say and I go and pay the bill.

  Chapter 14

  One little black dress (for Roisin) and a foxy petrol-blue cat suit (for me) later, a quick bite to eat at her apartment and a hello to her flatmate and we are rather pleased with ourselves as we make our way into Dublin’s city centre by taxi. Roisin kindly fixed my hair into a very stylish messy bun, which shows off the nape of my neck nicely and goes with my blue cat suit, which I am very, very chuffed with.

  She is looking funky and hot as hell in her little black number.

  ‘I wish I had pink hair,’ I tell her. ‘You look so cool and different and I’m just ordinary and mousey.’

  Roisin shoots me a dagger look and then laughs out loud.

  ‘If you are ordinary, Maggie O’Hara, there’s no hope for the rest of us! You’re a head-turner, now stop fishing for compliments and believe in yourself!’

  Aside from looking a bit plain beside Roisin, I am feeling great inside. In fact, I feel like I am going to see a famous Dublin band like U2 or The Script and I’m as excited as a teenager about to meet her favourite singer. It’s been a while since I got dressed up and had a girly night out and maybe it’s the Pinot and maybe it’s the company, but I’m really going with the flow and if it happens that Jeff pops into my head it doesn’t seem to sting as much. Out of sight really can be out of mind, it seems.

  We arrive at the venue, a renowned live-music haunt called The Porterhouse in the Temple Bar area and I get an instant buzz from the energy of a new city. I know Belfast like the back of my hand, but Dublin is a stranger to me and it feels great. The streets are alive, heaving with tourists, and I hear all sorts of accents and languages and get a pumping vibe from the cosmopolitan atmosphere. Roisin explains that the Temple Bar area is catering exactly for visitors and that they come from all over the world to hang out here.

  ‘In other words, when it comes to charging for drinks, the pubs know how to do it,’ she giggles, paying the taxi driver at her own insistence. ‘There’s nothing happy about happy hour around here when you look in your purse or wallet the next day!’

  ‘Oh, we have places like that in Belfast too,’ I assure her. ‘All in the name of tourism, but we’re here now, so let’s enjoy it and pretend we are on our holidays for the night.’

  A few minutes later we are inside the warmth of the bar and it’s pretty packed already. Loud music pumps through the long, narrow interior and we make our way to get our first round in. Live Tonight – The Madd Mollies is etched in colour on a huge chalkboard on the wall just above the small stage and I am proud of myself for getting here and making this happen in such a short space of time. It’s great to go to new places, see new faces and, most of all, catch up with family. I should really do this more often.

  ‘Choose a cocktail,’ I mouth to Roisin over the music and she looks back at me like a child in a sweet shop. ‘Anything you want, cousin. Pick your favourite and let’s do this in style!’

  ‘Oooh, okay then, don’t mind if I do!’ she says, gulping as she reads the cocktail menu from behind the bar. ‘Okay, I’ve picked mine already. I’ll be all sophisticated and go for a Cosmo. I can never afford these, so make sure and take a picture for my Facebook page!’

  ‘Of course,’ I reply and I order a Cosmo for Roisin and a Strawberry Daiquiri for me. Yum.

  An Italian couple are getting hot and heavy to our left and a group of French students squeeze in to our right and we are gradually pushed out towards the middle of the little floor in front of the stage, which is a blessing in disguise as we end up quite near the front – the perfect
spot for stalking.

  When the band takes to the stage about half an hour later, we are on our second round and the atmosphere has really heated up.

  Out they come onto the stage one by one and I have the perfect view. First comes the drummer, who strikes up a beat, then the keyboard player, the lead guitarist, who is a bit of a dude and, finally, the lead singer. Quite a pleasant-looking bunch, if a little scruffy in parts, but I find it rather cute, in a mid-thirties-bunch-of-men way.

  I try to remember who’s who in the band from the Facebook page to figure out which one is Tiernan and I’m guessing he is the front man, who is totally in control of the show in his white t-shirt and tight blue jeans and guitar slung across his hips. He wears a grey trilby hat over his unkempt, outgrown brown hair, has a light beard and his t-shirt creeps up as he works the mic to show a very toned and tanned midriff. He can work a crowd, for sure, and you can tell he has being doing this for quite a long time.

  He is hot; the ladies love him and he knows it.

  ‘Cead Mile Failte go Dublin!’ he says into the mic in a low husky voice and it’s enough to send a cluster of student types, who look like true groupies, into a spinning frenzy.

  As a young teenager I’d often dreamed of fronting a band – a real girl-band who play their own instruments, like The Bangles. I could always hold a tune and my early guitar and piano lessons meant that I could fiddle about with melodies of my own, which I absolutely loved to do when my parents and my brother were out working the farm. It’s one of my big regrets – not keeping up with music and writing my songs. My dad always said that being able to play music could take you anywhere in the world and now I know he was so right.

  ‘What do you think of your man?’ asks Roisin, nodding towards the stage. ‘He’s hot! Do you think he’s the one you’re looking for?’

  I shrug and move along to the music. I think of Lucy. I am dancing and I hadn’t even realised it.

  ‘He looks just like I expected him to!’ I shout back to her. ‘He looks like a bad-boy rock star and I like it! Looks like he got some real tattoos after all!’