‘I need no assistance. And I have no desire to be your heir. I shall leave you in peace.’ Michael opened the drawing room door. ‘And sir, Patrick McCarthy was most certainly my father. The best father any man could have had.’ With that, he strode across the hallway and let himself out through the front door without a backward glance. It was time to go up to Kildoolin.
He pondered what he had heard as he walked back to the road from Ballymor, along it a short way, and then turned left up the track to the village. It couldn’t be true. Kitty had sold her brooch to raise the money, as she’d said. And Thomas Waterman could not be his father. He’d always known he’d been born before his parents married but that wasn’t so uncommon. Kitty had always said Patrick was the only man for her, and that she’d known it from the moment they first met at the Ballymor fair. She must have been only fifteen when they met, and Patrick had swept her off her feet and got her pregnant, but was only able to marry her a few years later when he’d saved enough money to keep a wife and child. That was the story Michael had always believed, the story he would go on believing. That sad, broken man back there, for whom money had not bought happiness and whom his mother had hated, was nothing to him. Nothing.
Why then had Waterman been so excited to meet him, and was prepared to name him his heir? And why had he framed and hung a juvenile sketch by Michael in his hallway? He shook his head sharply as if to banish the thoughts from his mind. Waterman’s years on his own must have addled his brain and given him fancies. He was deluded; there was no other explanation. Kitty would have said he’d been touched by the faeries.
The mist was closing in as he climbed the hill to the village. The track was clearly rarely used these days but was still obvious enough, although heather and gorse were encroaching from both sides. He’d thought he could remember every twist and turn, every new vista at each slight rise, but the mist made it all look different, otherworldly, unfamiliar. It was unnerving – approaching the place where he had grown up but finding it hidden from view by the swirling white fog – right until the moment when he crested the last hill, and the end cottage loomed out of the mist. He let out the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, and carried on along the row to Kitty’s cottage.
It was all so different from his memory. Even though the village had been almost completely abandoned when he’d left, the cottages were still whole, in good enough condition that people could have moved straight back into them. Not now, though. Over a decade of neglect meant roofs had collapsed, saplings grew in doorways, shutters and doors were rotten and hanging off their hinges, birds nested in the remains of the thatch, sheep had sheltered in some, leaving their dung behind.
Kildoolin would never be inhabited again, that much was obvious.
At last he came to a halt outside the cottage he thought had been theirs. It was hard to be sure, with the entire row so dilapidated, but a quick count from the end of the row confirmed it, and the stream still crossed through the village beside it.
He stood outside for a moment, gazing at its frontage. It was smaller than he remembered, and in a worse state than many in the row. Kitty must have stopped living here many years before. The roof had partially fallen in, and the left end wall – where the chimney had been – had completely collapsed, leaving just a pile of stones. He entered the cottage, picking his way over the rubble that littered the floor. There was the old table – or what was left of it – two legs had rotted leaving it resembling a horse brought to its knees. The potato loft had collapsed – the area where Michael had slept now only a pile of rotting wood and more rubble. A blackened and dented cooking pot lay amongst the ruin of the chimney. He picked it up and gazed at it. How many meals had he eaten, cooked in this pot? How many potatoes had been boiled in it over the years? Something caught Michael’s eye where he had lifted the pot, and he crouched in the gloom to investigate. Some rotting fabric, and another blackened piece of metal – this one small, to fit in the palm of his hand, shaped unmistakably like a Celtic knot. The brooch. The brooch she said she had sold, to buy his passage. Here, still, in her cottage.
So she had lied about that after all.
What had she sold to buy the ticket? Waterman’s words came back to him. She sold me something else. No. Whatever had happened between them in the past, she would not have lowered herself just to buy him his chance in life. He owed her so much, but surely, she would not have gone to such lengths for him? Would she?
The idea of his mother with Waterman made bile rise in his throat. He flung the brooch down into the pile of rubble and stumbled out of the cottage into the swirling mist, back down the track to Ballymor. Let the faeries have Kildoolin. There was nothing there for him.
CHAPTER 25
Maria
I gave a full statement to the police later in the morning after I’d found Sammy. He’d been taken by his parents back to their caravan for a good sleep. The Gardaí were convinced that Sammy was referring to me when he talked about a lady who’d kept him warm overnight with her cuddles, and they frowned when I said I’d found him just as it was getting light.
‘I suppose the child is confused about the time,’ said one, whose name badge read ‘O’Connell’, and the other – McAteer – nodded.
‘Sure, that must be it. Poor little lad. It must all be running together in his mind.’
There didn’t seem to be any reason to press the point or tell them about my dream. Sammy was safe and well, and that was all that really mattered.
Guard O’Connell was checking his notes. ‘We need to get something done about that unsafe wall. Little boy had a lucky escape. Hey, Paulie, over here!’ He waved Paulie over. The old man heaved himself off his bar stool – the first time I’d seen him leave it since the day I arrived when he went to fetch Aoife – and shuffled across the pub floor to join them. ‘You free this afternoon? We’ve got a job for you and that tractor yoke of yours.’
They’d finished with me, so I went upstairs for a nap and to phone Dan. I felt a sudden need to talk to him and tell him all that had happened. God, if only he was here now – I knew I’d want to go straight to bed and sleep safely wrapped in his comforting arms for the rest of the day.
But the call went straight to voicemail. I checked my watch – it was midday, and he’d be at work, but he never switched his phone off. Even in meetings he’d just set it to vibrate. Very odd. I felt annoyed with him for not being there for me when I needed to talk. Maybe he’d pick up my message when he had his lunch, and would ring me back then. Perhaps his phone was playing up again.
I made myself a cup of tea and lay down on the bed for a nap, but sleep would not come. My mind was buzzing with all that had happened – reliving the moment I’d come across Sammy in the cottage when I’d thought for a heart-stopping moment that he might be dead, remembering the delicious feeling of him sleeping in my arms. My hand instinctively went to my bump, which seemed to have grown since yesterday. One day, that bump would be a young child like Sammy. It was hard to imagine, but was beginning to feel more real.
After an hour I gave up on sleep and went back down to the bar. It had emptied out. The Gardaí were gone, and Paulie was not on his usual bar stool.
‘Hi, Maria. Did you sleep? Can I get you any lunch?’ Aoife was busy loading the glass washer.
‘No, I’m not hungry after that enormous breakfast earlier, thanks.’
‘Ah, OK then. Shout if you need anything. I’ve my work cut out to clear up now. Paulie’s gone off with the Guards to see about that dangerous wall. ’Tis a fine day, not like yesterday. Sharon and Dave should have waited till today for their walk, so they should.’
‘Irish weather’s so unpredictable. I suppose they thought it might clear up – I know that’s what I thought when I set off yesterday.’ I looked out of the window. Aoife was right – the promise of a good day that the dawn had held had come to pass. Might as well make the most of it. I decided to go back up to the village and see what Paulie was doing to that cottage.
>
I went back up to my room to put on my well-used boots and pack a few things in a rucksack – water, a fleece, some chocolate and my mac, because you never knew with Irish weather. It was when I was on my way out of the pub that a taxi pulled up and, to my enormous surprise, a tense-looking Dan climbed out of the back seat and stood peering up at the O’Sullivan’s pub sign.
‘Dan! What are you doing here?’ I felt a surge of emotion run through me – love mixed with relief. I’d been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours and now here he was, my love, my protector. I no longer needed to face things by myself.
He visibly relaxed on seeing me. ‘Looking for you. I’ve obviously found the right place then?’
‘Yes, this is where I’ve been staying. It’s lovely to see you, but I’m confused – why have you come? What’s happened?’
He stepped forward and folded me into a welcome embrace. It felt as though I was home at last. ‘It’s me who needs to be asking what’s happened,’ he said. ‘You sounded so distraught last night – all that stuff about a missing child, and your mother’s email. I was worried. So I booked myself onto the first possible flight to Cork this morning. And here I am, gasping for a coffee.’
‘Come in, Aoife will make you one,’ I said, pulling him back towards the door. ‘Where’s your luggage?’
He pulled a toothbrush and toothpaste from one jacket pocket, and a pair of clean socks from the other. ‘I travel light.’
‘You certainly do.’ I just stood and gazed at him, grinning, for a moment. It was so good to see him.
‘You’re not really showing yet, are you? How many weeks is it now?’ I realised he was looking at my midriff.
‘About sixteen. There’s a bit of a bump. You’ll see, later.’
He pulled me towards him again, in a huge hug. ‘I’ve really missed you. We’ve got a lot to talk about.’
We went back inside, I introduced him to Aoife, and she hurried off at once to make him coffee and rustle up a sandwich. Dan had not eaten anything other than a banana since leaving home at five thirty.
‘So,’ he said, ‘what’s happened about that child?’
I loved that his first thoughts were for Sammy. I smiled. ‘He was found, safe and well, early this morning. He’s with his family, back in their caravan now.’
Aoife arrived with the coffee. ‘You forgot to mention, Ms McCarthy, that it was you who found him. She’s a real hero, so she is.’ She grinned at Dan. ‘You should be very proud of her.’
‘Wow! I am proud of her. Come on, Maria, tell me the full story.’
While he ate, I told him everything that had happened since I’d phoned him last night, including my dream and little Sammy’s insistence that a lady had been with him all night. ‘You’ll think I’m mad, but what if it was a ghost? The ghost of Kitty McCarthy, perhaps?’
He reached across the table and took my hand. ‘You’re right, I think you’re a little mad. Wonderful, but mad. I expect he dreamed it. Sometimes children make things up, and even come to believe their stories themselves. Especially, I would think, in a situation like poor Sammy was in. What a horrible thing to happen to him. I’m so glad he’s OK.’ He squeezed my hand. ‘And you. Thank goodness you’re all right as well. You’ve been amazing.’
He stood up and came round to my side of the table, leaned over and wrapped his arms around me from behind. ‘Imagine,’ he whispered, ‘if that was our child.’
I put a hand on my bump. ‘Doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘No.’ He was silent for a moment, holding me, then straightened up and shook himself. ‘You were off out somewhere when I arrived, weren’t you?’
‘Yes, I wanted to go back up to the ruined village. There’s a very precarious-looking wall in the cottage where Sammy was found. They’re going to bulldoze it. I . . . I don’t know why, but I felt I should be there when it happens.’
‘I’ll go with you, if you still want to? I’d quite like to see the scene of your heroism. And we can talk on the way, about . . . the other stuff, your mum’s email, how you are, all that.’
‘My pregnancy you mean?’
‘That’s the one.’
I glanced at his shoes. Trainers – they’d be all right for the walk. ‘Come on then, and we’ll go.’
*
All this exercise, up and down the track to Kildoolin, could only be doing great things for the shape of my legs and my overall fitness. This afternoon’s walk was the best yet – a perfect day with blue skies, sunshine and just enough of a breeze to keep me cool. And Dan’s company. I realised how much I’d been missing him. We talked non-stop all the way up – well, to be honest, I talked and he listened. I needed to unburden. Declan had been a good friend and confidant, but there was nothing like being able to talk to someone you’d known for years, who knew you inside and out. Was it really only a few hours ago that I’d walked up here to search for little Sammy? So much had happened so quickly. I told Dan about the wave of fear I’d felt when I saw him sleeping in the cottage; the relief when he’d stirred at my touch; the feel of his warm little body in my arms as we waited for the Gardaí and his parents to arrive; Sharon’s overwhelming relief when she enfolded her child in her arms after her night of agony.
Dan asked me all about the pregnancy – had I been sick? Could I feel it move yet? What was the due date? – so many questions!
‘Boy or girl?’ he said, as we stopped for a breather part-way up the track, and sat on a flat-topped rock.
‘What? I’ve no idea. How should I know?’
‘I wondered if you had any . . . I don’t know . . . “boy” feelings, or “girl” feelings. Or prophetic dreams, other than the one that led to Sammy, of course.’
‘No, I haven’t.’ If the truth were told, I’d spend so much effort trying to put the whole pregnancy out of my mind I hadn’t considered whether it would be a girl or a boy. Till now it had been just an unspecific foetus in my mind. A collection of cells, not a person. I tried to think about it now. ‘A girl would be nice. But then, Sammy’s so sweet, and I wouldn’t mind one like him . . .’
‘Mmm. I’d like a boy. Or a girl. Either, really. What do you think of the name Charlie, if it’s a boy? Or Andrew, after your dad.’
‘Hmm. Maybe. Perhaps Grace if it’s a girl.’ One of the names from the McCarthy gravestone, I realised.
‘That’s nice.’ Dan stood up and held out a hand to pull me upright. ‘Shall we get going again?’
We walked in silence for a while. I could not believe I’d been happily discussing baby names, after so long trying to deny that I was pregnant. It all seemed so much easier to deal with now that Dan knew and was with me.
‘I should have told you I was pregnant long before. I should have told you as soon as I knew myself. I’m so sorry, Dan.’
He stopped and folded me into his arms. ‘It’s all right. I know now.’ We kissed, long and deep, and I knew that everything was all right between us. More than all right. Being in Ireland had proved to me that Dan was my future. And Kitty had shown me I could be a mother, a good and loving one.
We’d noticed the new tractor-tyre marks on the track leading up the hill, and could hear the noise of the work at the village long before we reached it. The sound of the tractor’s engine, shouts, some laughter. Finally, we came over the little rise just before the village and could see what was going on.
‘What a view!’ exclaimed Dan, as he looked across the moors to the sea, just as I’d done on my first visit. But my attention was on the activity in the ruined village.
There were perhaps a half-dozen men, including the two Guards and Paulie sitting in the cab of his tractor. It had a kind of bulldozer bucket attachment on the front, and the Guards – O’Connell and McAteer – were directing Paulie to the precariously leaning wall beside the stream. As we watched he skilfully positioned the tractor on the other side of the stream and brought the tipped-over bucket attachment gradually down onto the wall, its leading edge tucked around the t
op of the broken wall. He eased it backwards, then drove the tractor back a little so that the wall was pulled down over the stream. There was a huge crash as the wall fell and the remainder of the cottage’s roof also fell in. A cloud of dust rose up, and when it settled all that remained of the building were two walls and a pile of rubble.
The men cheered. I felt strangely bereft. That cottage had sheltered Sammy and before that had once been someone’s home. Families would have lived there. The father digging his potato patch, tending to animals, the mother cooking potatoes in her pot while children played at her feet. Generations, perhaps, had been born and brought up here, in a life that was always hard but became impossible when the famine struck. They’d died or emigrated, but as Declan had explained to me the cottages were left standing in case someone ever came back to claim them. And although this particular one had been in ruins before, it was now beyond repair. I watched as Paulie knocked a few more parts of the wall down and levelled the piles of stones a little to ensure they were safe, until Guard O’Connell waved at him to stop. Paulie drove his tractor back onto the main track and switched off the engine, although he stayed sitting in the cab, taciturn as ever.
Guard O’Connell was touring the remaining walls, checking they were stable. As he picked his way over the pile of rubble, he suddenly stopped and crouched down, then waved to Guard McAteer to join him.
I ran over too, with Dan at my heels. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’ Guard O’Connell was crouched near the spot where I’d found Sammy. He pointed into the rubble.
‘Look, see? What’s that look like to you, Pat?’
McAteer hunkered down and peered, then began shifting some of the stones. O’Connell joined in, while I stood in what had been the doorway of the cottage, watching.
‘An animal, you reckon?’ O’Connell said to McAteer.
The other guard shook his head. ‘Sure and that’s no animal. Look – there.’ He shifted a few more stones then stood up, holding something. Dan caught hold of me and pulled me back, into his arms.
The Girl from Ballymor Page 24