by Laura Elliot
‘Stay with us while the work is underway,’ she pleaded, inventing horror scenarios of murder and mayhem.
‘I can’t.’ Eva was adamant. ‘I have so much to do and I don’t want to waste time travelling.’
Steve helped her move the caravan on site, his disapproval obvious by his silence, but he hugged Eva tightly before he left and said she was to ring him at any time of the day or night if she had a problem.
Greg rang regularly from New York. He sounded purposeful and excited. He had moved into an apartment in Greenwich Village. A ghost-free zone. He told her he missed her. His voice stammered, as if he was ashamed that his emotions could only be expressed through such inane words. She wondered how he had time for such lost emotions. He was part of the new Irish wave of immigrants who drank in trendy bars and attended poetry readings. On Stateside Review he had a certain novelty appeal. Viewers were impressed by his opinions. A new slant, an objective eye. He was a thorn in the side of right-wing Republicans. A fly in the ointment of liberalism. How happy he must be, Eva thought, pleasing no one.
She wondered how he would react if she told him the real story was here. The big exclusive, insider knowledge. She imagined him in action, lifting stones, letting the worms free. He would take her story from her and give it back to the world. Twenty-six years on, the Anaskeagh Baby searches for her roots.
Her real roots had been set deep in Ashton, a gentle place that nurtured her childhood, as if making recompense for the hard, unyielding landscape into which she had been cast. But now Ashton seemed caught in the time frame of a nostalgic postcard and those roots were loosening, their tentacles twining in new directions, linking her to a family of strangers: bound to them by blood and tears, by an ancestral history, and a secret that belonged to the foreboding headland she had last seen looming over the small town of Anaskeagh.
Part 4
Chapter 40
Beth made her way down the rocks to the small cove where she swam every morning. The sky, already streaked with crimson, promised a glorious day. Occasionally, she met Conor Grant jogging along the cliff path but this morning he’d climbed over the rocks and was watching her when she emerged from the water.
‘Morning, Beth.’ He touched his forehead in a mock salute. ‘It’s fit and well you’re looking these days.’ The sweat band across his forehead emphasised his large face and dark moustache. She’d heard he was a formidable solicitor and had no reason to doubt it. ‘I presume you’ve heard the good news.’
‘Yes,’ she replied, towelling her hair in fast, furious strokes. ‘A seat at the Cabinet table. Albert must be very pleased with himself.’
‘Humbled, Beth. And honoured. Keep Saturday night free. We’re organising a party in Cherry Vale to celebrate.’
‘We’re not free―’
‘No excuses.’ He wagged his finger warningly at her. ‘We’ve seen little enough of you and your family since you arrived. Everyone who’s anyone is Anaskeagh will be there. How would it look if those closest to my father stayed away.’ His heavy thighs juddered as he prepared to finish his run. ‘It’s going to be a great night, Beth. We’ll expect you and Stewart at eight.’
The Cabinet reshuffle had been the subject of speculation for weeks but the media clamoured with disappointment when the news broke. Apart from Albert Grant’s appointment to a newly established ministry, it was the same old faces, same old rhetoric, same old promises.
Shortly after her arrival in Anaskeagh Beth had called to see him. His old furniture showrooms in the centre of town had been unrecognisable. Conor’s law firm was located on the ground floor and the spacious upper storey where bedroom furniture was once displayed had been converted into his apartment and constituency clinic. The showrooms had seemed so large when Beth was a child. Fancy glass doors, the smell of leather and wood, the hum of fluorescent lights beating mercilessly down on the cheap furniture her aunt sold on credit to the women of Anaskeagh.
She’d tried to compose herself as the elevator moved smoothly upwards but once she’d stepped into the corridor she’d been swamped by long-forgotten sensations. The squeak of bedsprings, his hoarse, whispering threats, the dead weight of his mouth silencing her. She’d turned, ready to run, as she had never been able to run during those dark times. But now she had a family to protect and a debt to settle.
Her uncle had risen from behind his desk when she’d entered his office.
‘Beth, my dear girl.’ He’d moved towards her, his hand outstretched. ‘Home to your own at last.’
‘Yes, Albert, back at last – for better or worse.’
‘A wise move, my dear. Your husband was a lost man without you. A stressful time starting up a new company but when domestic problems are added it makes everything so much more difficult. Don’t you agree?’
‘I do indeed.’ Beth had ignored his hand and he, seemingly oblivious to her revulsion, had waved her into a chair. ‘However it was necessary to be sure that this was the right move for my family to make.’
He’d sat down and smiled at her over his glasses. ‘I’m glad you’re settling into your new home. If you’ve any difficulties with schools please don’t hesitate—’
‘Everything is under control, thank you,’ she’d interjected smoothly. ‘Lindsey is staying with her grandmother in Oldport but she’ll visit us on a regular basis.’
‘The dear child. How is she? Recovered, I hope?’
‘I think it’s important that we understand each other.’ She’d held his gaze, forcing him to glance down at his hands. ‘Lindsey has told me everything. I repeat – everything. I’ve come here for only one reason. If you go within breathing distance of any of my children I’ll have no hesitation in destroying you. Do I need to elaborate any further?’
‘Dear Beth, you never change,’ he’d said. ‘Always the cruel word. I’ll never understand how your mind works.’ His arrogance, his instant control of the situation had been as forceful as ever. He remained immune from threats, holding power through indebtedness, and she’d been acutely aware that he’d smoothed the way for Stewart. Red tape cut, strings pulled, the first tranche of funding already spent, the second tranche delayed.
‘Your daughter is a talented young lady but a mite unstable, wouldn’t you agree?’ He’d removed his glasses and dangled them from his index finger. ‘It seems highly irresponsible to leave her in the care of that old woman instead of overseeing a proper drug-rehabilitation programme for her. I’m aware that the Gardaí took a lenient view of that whole sorry affair. Just as well we have an understanding police force. A criminal record at her age would be most unfortunate.’
She’d risen to her feet, relieved to find the floor still steady beneath her. ‘I’ve nothing further to say to you, except to repeat my warning. You’ve a lot to lose, Albert. And I won’t hesitate to take you down.’
He’d called her name as she reached the door. When she’d turned he’d been behind her, his fury forcing her backwards against the wood. She’d resisted the urge to strike him. What a relief that would be, letting go and clawing out his eyes, ripping the skin from his face. But that would mean touching him and the memories had started to overwhelm her, to force her further against the wall, to break the courage that had brought her here.
‘Where is your gratitude, Beth? After all the help I’ve given your husband―’
‘Why should I thank you?’ she’d interrupted him curtly. ‘Everything Stewart achieved was done under his own steam.’
‘Then tell him not to be so impatient. He’s making a nuisance of himself, phoning the ACII and accusing them of delaying his grants package. The staff have more to do than listen to a constant flow of unwarranted complaints.’ His breath had blown faintly cold on her cheeks. He’d lowered his voice until the sound became an intimate whisper. ‘But we’re family, after all, Beth. Why do you think I invested in Della Designs―’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘How else do you think Peter expanded his factory and offe
red you and Stewart the chance to come home again?’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘I did it for Sara’s sake. I loved her dearly but she was so fragile. Such a tenuous grip on reality. She needed security to pursue her own career and I wasn’t going to see her wonderful talent wasted. Family, Beth, flesh and blood can’t be denied. I’ll do anything to protect my own.’ She’d heard him swallow. His mouth must have been dry, parched from lies. ‘Tell Stewart not to worry. The right word in the right ear is a marvellous lubricant when it comes to oiling the wheels of bureaucracy.’
He’d moved away from her. For such a heavily built man he was light on his feet. A dignified walk back to his desk, his features arranged in his poster smile, ready to greet his next constituent.
Moving back to Anaskeagh had been as tough as she’d expected, yet, under the revulsion she felt at living in such close proximity to her uncle, she was invigorated by the challenge of working with Stewart. Sometimes it seemed as if the intervening years had never happened and she was a young woman again, decisive, determined. At home and in the factory she was busier than ever, constantly on call to solve one problem after another. She had no title, insisting she didn’t want to be burdened with one. All aspects of TrendLines interested her. She needed to be accessible to everyone. It was an extension of motherhood, she thought on more than one occasion, laughing out loud at the absurdity and the truth of it.
Gail and Paul were up and dressed when she returned from the cove. No problem getting them out in the mornings. Sheila O’Donovan’s bungalow was close to the old farmhouse, where Catherine now lived alone, and the farm still held the same attractions that had once enchanted Beth. Robert moaned when she called him but he too came to the breakfast table on time, ready to begin his summer job at TrendLines.
Stewart was shaving when she entered their bedroom en suite.
‘I met Conor in the cove,’ she said. ‘He’s invited us to a party on Saturday. Big celebration.’
‘Do we have to go?’ Stewart finished shaving and slapped cologne on his cheeks.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘This is a small town. People will notice if we’re missing. The powers-that-be from the ACII will be there. Perhaps you can bang a few heads together and get some action on your funding.’
She leaned into his back to hug him before slipping off her tracksuit and turning on the shower. Sea salt had dried on her skin. She needed scalding water to cleanse her, yet, even if she scrubbed and scrubbed, she would never be able to wash him away. But she would endure, as Sara had been unable to do.
His sister had returned to Anaskeagh Head for the last time. Catherine O’Donovan had seen her standing outside the farmhouse. Her camera hung from her neck. She’d worn a long navy jumper, trousers and walking boots. But when Catherine had gone out to invite her into the house, Sara had disappeared.
‘Perhaps she was a ghost,’ Catherine had said. ‘She looked so insubstantial standing under the trees.’
No ghost. Beth believed it had been a time of confrontation. Perhaps, also, Sara had sought healing in the shadow of Aislin’s Roof. Whatever she sought she hadn’t found and Beth was here in this place of restitution, ready to avenge her memory.
Chapter 41
Eva watched from the window of Mrs Casey’s guest house as the early morning mist cleared from the headland. As birth locations went Anaskeagh Head looked starkly picturesque. But as a secure cradle for a newborn baby it could only have been advantageous if she’d been a mountain goat or one of those statuesque sheep with their long black faces.
‘Fair weather, that’s for sure once that mist blows away,’ predicted Mrs Casey, whose guest house lay at the foot of the headland. ‘We’re in for a hot summer by all accounts.’
When Eva had arrived the previous night they’d talked about Wind Fall, exchanging horror stories about guests who refused to leave by the allotted hour and stole the towels.
‘You’ll have a right hunger on you when you reach the top of Anaskeagh Head.’ She handed Eva a packed lunch as she was leaving. Eva had a sudden desire to ask if she remembered the Anaskeagh Baby but the urge died as quickly as it had arrived.
As she approached the headland the road divided into a V. She drove towards a group of houses screened by long driveways of maple trees, cherry blossom and pampas grass. This was a narrow road with an insular sense of its own importance. Notices on the gates warned of dangerous dogs and retribution if anyone dared trespass upon the spacious gardens. The road was obviously only used for residential purposes and ended in a barrier of holly and ash lashed with ivy, too thick to penetrate. She returned to her car, reversing with difficulty, and headed back to the junction, following the sign for trá.
Ice-cream kiosks on the approach to the beach were opening for business. The sand was white and gritty, crunching underfoot, and the rock face of the headland protruded outwards over the strand. Further along the beach she found the path she needed. It zigzagged easily across the headland, offering safe footholds and regular plateaux for climbers to pull themselves upwards.
A shaft of sunshine struck the red roofs of barns on the foothills and a herd of cattle moved ponderously down a narrow lane to the side of the O’Donovan farmhouse. An elderly woman followed, accompanied by a dog. Eva recognised Catherine O’Donovan. The widow had been mourning her husband when Eva had seen her at Frank’s funeral, but today, dressed in jeans and a blue sweatshirt, she looked curiously at Eva and asked if she was lost.
‘I’m hillwalking,’ Eva replied.
Catherine advised her to be careful. The mist could fall unexpectedly over the headland and confuse a stranger who wasn’t used to the lie of the land. Eva thanked her and hesitated, undecided as to whether or not she should introduce herself. Better not. One step at a time into the past.
A car approached, the wheels easing into the edge of the hedgerow to allow the cattle to pass. The driver, a younger woman, turned to speak to two children in the back seat. When the cattle had moved ahead, the children leaped from the car and attached themselves to Catherine. She handed a switch to the little girl, who waved it bravely at the rumps of the cattle but made no attempt to hit them.
Eva nodded goodbye and walked on. She had reached the end of the lane when the car stopped and the driver leaned out the window to offer her a lift.
‘My car is parked in the beach car park,’ Eva said, hesitating. ‘I was going to cut across the headland and climb down to the strand.’
‘That’ll take forever. I’m heading into town. I’ll drop you off on the way.’
‘Thank you.’ Eva fastened the seat belt and tried to relax. This woman could be her mother. On the streets of Anaskeagh she had stared, sifting them into age groups. Young, she must have been young. A teenage mother, terrified. This woman, who introduced herself as Sheila O’Donovan, had pale blue eyes and a darting gaze. She talked about her family and her job as a childminder to the two children she had left with Catherine.
Her tone sharpened when Eva mentioned the Anaskeagh Baby.
‘It’s research,’ Eva said. ‘I’m doing a thesis on babies who were abandoned at birth. The Anaskeagh Baby was an important story at the time.’
‘I wouldn’t talk too loudly about abandoned babies in Anaskeagh.’ Sheila brushed her fringe from her eyes, mousy-brown hair too limp to have ever held a curl. ‘People still have hard memories about the lies that were written in the papers. Blamed it all on us. Even though no one had a blessed clue who the mother was.’ She tried to stay silent on the subject but her resentment spilled over, the suspicions of that time, the interrogation her fiancé had been subjected to by the Gardaí. ‘Mud sticks,’ she muttered. She’d broken off her engagement for a while. But common sense had prevailed and in the end Sheila had accepted his innocence. ‘Bernard is a good man,’ she said. ‘Why should he and his brother have been singled out because the baby was left on their doorstep? Jim headed for Australia because he couldn’t cope with the suspicion.’
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nbsp; The hedgerows blurred as she picked up speed. Eva clasped the seat belt and closed her eyes. The same feeling she’d experienced in the National Library swept over her. The urge to shout the truth at this woman who obviously wasn’t her mother and resented the trouble Eva’s birth had caused. Did everyone live their lives in tandem with hidden desires? she wondered. Safely compartmentalised, safely controlled, while a tempest raged inside them.
‘Does anyone know who the mother was?’ Eva had no idea why she should sound so cool.
‘Plenty of names were bandied about, including my own, but no one really knew,’ Sheila replied. ‘Now no one wants to know.’
In the late afternoon Eva strolled around the town. She entered a gallery where tapestries, stained-glass lampshades and pottery were displayed. A far cry from Biddy’s Bits ’n’ Pieces, she thought, checking the expensive price tags. She followed the smell of freshly baked cakes wafting from the café attached to the gallery. Women relaxed after shopping, drinking coffee and buttering scones. Some looked curiously at her, nodding politely as they summed her up, a stranger in town. One elderly woman with stooped shoulders met her eyes in a startled, devouring gaze before glancing fiercely down at the table.
Paintings hung on the walls of the café. These ones had an amateurish touch, the price tags cheaper than those in the main gallery. Eva moved closer to look at them. A pier with moored boats and the headland in the background. She stopped before another painting carrying the same initials. This was a town scene, the clock tower on River Mall, its face lit by moonlight. These paintings didn’t interest Eva. She suspected they had been painted by a young hand; they lacked dangerous memories.