The Dark Beloved

by Helen Falconer

  Aoife squeezed back just as hard, pressing her nose into the familiar fluff of Carla’s threadbare sheep onesie. ‘Hey, who are you calling a fool? What about you, bicycling all this way in the middle of the night when you so totally hate the dark?’

  ‘I know it! It was beyond terrifying! I thought every sheep was a ghost and every cow was a monster, even though I don’t believe in ghosts or monsters one bit! But I just kept on going!’

  ‘And in your sheep onesie! You must be freezing!’

  ‘I am! And I’m wrecked! And I’m starving!’

  ‘Come in the kitchen, I’ll make us hot chocolate . . .’

  ‘Ah, chocolate, I haven’t tasted chocolate in so long.’

  The Facebook page had prepared Aoife to a certain extent, but it was only after she had turned on the kitchen light that she fully appreciated how much Carla had changed. It was astonishing. Even in her much-loved shabby onesie (now baggy around the middle and too short in the leg) Carla looked somehow . . . glamorous. Her hair was perfectly straight and silky and a gorgeous colour, like a sheaf of wheat. Her nails were shaped and painted. Even her dark eyebrows were elegantly shaped. ‘Carla, you look absolutely amazing!’

  With a flash of smugness, Carla checked her reflection in the window over the big stone sink. ‘Thanks – it wasn’t on purpose – just, my mam kept forcing things on me to cheer me up, like making me get my nails done and my hair dyed and stuff.’

  ‘The colour really suits you!’

  Another pleased glance at the window. ‘And I’ve lost two stone.’

  Aoife, in the middle of filling the kettle, turned to stare at her best friend again, in shock. ‘Two stone? In such a short time? Carla, that’s mad!’

  Carla’s head snapped back and her cheeks went pink; she opened and closed her mouth, then said in a strangled voice, ‘What do you mean, “in such a short time”?’

  Aoife winced, knocking off the tap. ‘Sorry. Totally forgot. Five months. I’m an eejit.’

  ‘Forgot?’ Carla’s eyes, so large in her freshly thin face, glittered. ‘Does it really seem like “such a short time” since you ran off on me without saying a word?’

  ‘No . . . I mean, yes, because . . . You see . . . Oh God, this is so complicated . . .’ She was desperate to tell Carla everything – but where to start? She reached up into the cupboard for a jar of drinking chocolate. ‘Look, let me make this first, and then I’ll explain.’

  Carla said in the same tight, unhappy voice, ‘Explain what exactly? That you were having such fabuloso fun with Shay Foley, a whole summer flew by without you noticing?’

  Aoife spun round to face her, dismayed. ‘No, of course not!’

  But Carla’s huge brown eyes were brimming with hurt and rage. ‘Because it seems like a really long time to me.’

  ‘Oh God, it must do, I’m so sorry . . .’

  ‘Sorry?’ To Aoife’s horror, Carla burst into tears: hot, desolate weeping. ‘Do you know what I’ve been doing while you were off running around with Shay Foley in Dublin or Galway or wherever you were? I’ve been in absolute bits thinking you were dead! Why do you think I lost all this weight? I couldn’t eat! Chocolate made me sad! The taste of it reminded me of all the picnics we’d ever had and would never have again . . .’

  Aoife gave up trying to make the drinks. She went to her best friend with her arms held out – ‘Oh, Carla’ – but Carla shoved her away, gulping down furious tears.

  ‘Don’t you “oh, Carla” me!’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Don’t! Every night I’ve been crying myself to sleep and then I’d dream you were alive and I’d wake up so happy and then I’d realize it was a dream and everything was horrible again!’

  ‘I swear, I didn’t realize I—’

  ‘You were missing for five whole months – and you didn’t call me one single time to let me know you weren’t dead!’

  ‘I’m so—’

  ‘Don’t try to hug me! I’m too mixed up in my head and it’s all your fault! I love you to bits and I’m incredibly happy you’re alive, but I’m really angry with you too! How could you run away with Shay Foley without telling me?’

  ‘It wasn’t like that—’

  ‘Not true!’ Carla smacked her fist on the wooden counter, making a couple of dirty teaspoons jump. ‘He came back with you! He called you from the pub last night to tell you he loved you! Did you think I wouldn’t hear about it? This is Kilduff, for God’s sake!’

  Despite her grief for Carla, warmth rushed into Aoife’s heart at the memory of that call, with the chink of glass and cheering in the background. I love you, Aoife O’Connor. (He must have finally sorted things out in his head – must have realized how crazy it was for them to be apart.) ‘Look, you’re right, but—’

  ‘Do you love Shay Foley?’

  Her heart grew hot. ‘Yes, but—’

  Carla clutched at her beautiful hair, despairing. ‘Then I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! I’ve always told you how stupid crazy I was for Killian! I told you everything about everything I’ve ever felt about him! Like as if you remotely care, him and me are still going out together . . .’

  ‘I do care, and that’s great! Carla, please . . .’

  ‘. . . but even though I love him to bits, it didn’t stop me caring about you the whole time, and driving him nuts being so miserable about you even though he’s been really nice about it, and now it turns out you were just off somewhere being all loved up with your own boyfriend and not thinking about me one bit.’

  ‘I have been thinking of you! I can explain!’

  ‘Then explain!’

  ‘I will!’

  ‘OK!’ After a few more wrenching sobs, Carla pulled a tissue from her onesie and blew her nose. Then rubbed the tip of her nose so hard it went bright red. Then sat down on the far side of the kitchen table and stared at Aoife with her newly enormous eyes – clearly hoping for the sort of explanation that would make things right between them. ‘Well, go on then.’

  Yet after all that, Aoife didn’t know what to say. She was so longing to pour it out, but there seemed no believable way to tell her story. I’m not a human like you, I’m a fairy, and I’ve been in the otherworld all summer. Insane! For a desperate moment it struck her that it would be simpler to go along with the idea that she and Shay had spent the last five months living in Dublin or Galway, and just hope Carla forgave her anyway. But no. She couldn’t allow Carla to think she cared so little about her, to have run off for so long without a word.

  ‘Look, I’m going to tell you the truth, Carl, but you’re going to have to make an incredibly massive effort to believe what I’m about to tell you.’

  Carla looked instantly, sweetly, relieved. ‘Of course I’ll believe you. When did I ever not believe anything you say?’

  ‘No, but this is genuinely unbelievable. Literally.’

  Another flash of hurt. ‘Just tell me.’

  Aoife closed her eyes and opened them again. ‘OK. And by the way, before I start – about Shay. I do really care about him. But I have not been away with him for five months. It’s been, like, literally, less than two days.’

  Carla stared at her. Then said: ‘Less than two days.’

  ‘Yes, I absolutely swear to the truth of that and I promise I couldn’t get to a phone in that time, so that’s why I didn’t tell you about him.’

  ‘OK. Less than two days.’

  ‘Yes. Now, here it is. You know how I glided over your head in the garden just now?’

  After a long pause Carla said, very cautiously, ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

  Aoife sighed. Clearly the gliding hadn’t looked as impressive as it had felt. ‘OK. All right. Never mind about that. Just give me a sec.’ She sat down opposite Carla, and tapped her fingers thoughtfully on the wood. Then made up her mind. ‘OK, how about this. Do you remember that gold locket I found in Declan Sweeney’s field, with the baby picture?’

  ‘The picture of you as a baby, you
mean?’

  ‘Yes. No. The thing is, it wasn’t me.’

  Carla frowned, confused. ‘No, but it must have been – your name was on the locket. Eva O’Connor.’

  ‘I’m not Eva.’

  The confusion increased. ‘No, but you are. Aoife is just another way of saying Eva in the west of Ireland. It’s Eva on your birth cert – you showed it to me only last year, when we joined up for the handball club.’

  Aoife rested her forearms on the table and leaned forward, meeting Carla’s eyes – holding them, willing her to believe. ‘But that wasn’t my birth certificate.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘It was Eva’s.’

  ‘But you’re—’

  ‘Carla, please don’t freak out, although I won’t blame you if you do because I know this is going to sound completely insane. The real Eva O’Connor was taken by the banshee when she was four years old, and I’m the changeling – the fairy child that got left behind in her place. My parents never told the guards, because Eva was dying when the fairies took her, and they knew that for her to be safe and cured and cared for in the Land of the Young, they had to mind me and bring me up as their own.’

  There was a profound, unbreathing silence in the kitchen, during which a passing shower of rain rattled the window. Carla didn’t freak out, but she sat with her lips pressed together, and her dark brown eyes – so large now! – grew even larger, their anxiety morphing into pure alarm.

  Aoife drew back in her chair, spreading out her hands. ‘You see what I mean about being insane?’

  Yet when Carla finally opened her mouth and took a breath, she said, ‘I’m sorry for getting so angry with you. You should have told me sooner.’

  For the second time that night, Aoife found herself utterly taken aback by the hidden side of Carla Heffernan. First her friend had proved able for Killian – and now, able for this. ‘You believe me? Carla, you’re amazing!’

  Carla said earnestly, ‘And I want you to know it doesn’t make any difference to how I feel about you – you’re still the best person I know.’

  ‘You too, Carl!’ Beaming, Aoife jumped up to spoon the chocolate powder into mugs, then stood facing the table with her hand on the kettle, waiting for it to come to the boil. ‘I can’t tell you what a relief this is! I’ve so many things to tell you that I can’t tell Mam or Dad because it’s way too scary!’

  Carla looked nervously interested. ‘Really? What things?’

  ‘Loads! I told them how the fairy world was really beautiful, but I didn’t like to tell them how dangerous it was—’

  ‘Dangerous?’

  ‘Yes, seriously dangerous, like life-and-death dangerous.’ A shudder ran coldly through her – Dorocha had stepped so vividly into her mind. Dark, menacing – beautiful. His midnight eyes. Her throat tight, she said, ‘There was this man . . .’

  ‘What man?’

  ‘He was sort of in charge of the place—’ She stopped, her hand to her mouth, feeling again the Beloved’s eyes on her; made nauseous by that cold sensation of being dragged down into their empty darkness.

  Down . . .

  Down into the waste that filled his secret being.

  Down . . .

  Down into the emptiness behind his beauty.

  No, worse: not entirely empty . . .

  Carla’s voice brought her back to the cheerful kitchen, with its ancient wooden dresser and uneven floor and big stone sink. ‘In charge? Like a doctor, you mean?’

  ‘God, no! Nothing like that . . .’ Aoife nearly laughed – it was such an incongruous image: doctor! She made an effort to shake off the fear and smiled reassuringly at Carla, who was now looking very concerned. ‘Anyway, don’t worry about it, I’m safe home now. And I’d better make this hot chocolate before I tell you anything else.’ The kettle boiled, and she poured the water into the cups. Outside the window, the rain had gone as quickly as it had arrived and the world was turning slightly pale: the very edges of the mountains a bluish-pink. Bringing the steaming chocolate to the table, she said, ‘Just, by the way, I have absolutely sworn not to say anything to anyone about this, because Mam and Dad are worried what people will think.’

  Carla nodded; she reached across and pressed Aoife’s hand. ‘Of course I won’t tell if you don’t want me too, but actually I think you’re wrong to keep it a secret, because there’s no need to be ashamed. If that’s why you’ve been away, you shouldn’t be afraid to tell people. I mean, it’s not even that bad. It’s not like believing you’re the Queen of England.’

  Slightly taken aback, Aoife said, ‘The Queen of . . . ?’

  Carla laughed a little, picking up her mug. ‘I know – crazy, right? But even Auntie Ellie is fine when she remembers to take her medication.’

  A wave of frustration. ‘Oh, I see . . .’ But then Aoife remembered how she’d thought her parents might be mad when they’d told her she was a fairy; she could hardly blame Carla for thinking she’d had some sort of nervous breakdown, like Dianne Heffernan’s fragile sister. ‘Carla, I’m not like your Auntie Ellie, I promise.’

  Carla said lightly, ‘I know, and thank God for that – that whole English thing is very embarrassing. Irish fairies is much better.’

  ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘I suppose you were found wandering around somewhere, and ended up sectioned and nobody knowing who you were? Was it Shay who rescued you?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  Carla cried fervently, ‘Oh my God, was that where he disappeared to all summer – was he searching for you? That’s so romantic, he must have such a thing for you! Oh, I’m a fool! I can’t believe I didn’t think of checking the mental hospitals myself!’

  Aoife protested, almost laughing, ‘I’ve not been in mental hospital, I’ve been in the fairy world!’

  ‘Don’t be ashamed – lots of famous people are mentally ill . . .’

  ‘I’m a fairy! I can prove it to you!’

  ‘. . . and they lead really successful lives!’

  Yet what exactly could she do to prove to Carla that she was a child of the Tuatha Dé Danann? She wouldn’t turn sixteen until next Easter, so her magic skills were only just emerging and she had very little control over them. In the otherworld, she could shoot bolts of violent power when she felt danger, when she had to protect someone – but here, safe at home in the human world, she could not feel that power in herself at all. She could open locks without keys . . . but so could ordinary thieves. If she made a deal with a human being, they were forced to keep it . . . but there was nothing obviously magical about having the gift of the gab. She had made fairy gold once . . . but like all her powers, that skill was also elusive. Although . . . Maybe if she concentrated hard enough?

  Carla asked anxiously, ‘What are you at?’

  Aoife was digging furiously around in the pockets of her hoodie – pulling out sweet wrappers and a tissue. ‘I made fairy gold before – well, fairy euros. Not that it’s much good – the old stories are true: it turns to dead leaves soon as look at it. Oh, for . . . Why does it never work when I want it to?’

  Carla sat gazing at her with tender concern – tears of pity in her eyes, as if the sight of Aoife trying to prove she was a fairy was the saddest thing she’d ever seen. ‘You don’t have to prove anything to me. I’m still your best friend. But, Aoife’ – she glanced at the window and then at her phone – ‘I’m afraid I’ve really got to go. Will you be all right left here by yourself or will I call your mam?’

  ‘No, wait! Don’t go! I swear I can do this!’ She focused harder, squeezing her eyes tight shut, thrusting her fingers into the seams. ‘I just need to concentrate harder!’

  After a long silence Carla sighed and said, ‘I’m so sorry, I love you loads and I understand now that you didn’t mean to hurt me, but I really need to be back in bed in time for Mam to wake me up for school, or she’ll take a fit and call the guards.’

  ‘Please wait—’

  ‘Sweet Jesus, where did she come from?’<
br />
  Startled by Carla’s cry and the crash that accompanied it, Aoife sprang to her feet with a cry of her own. But it was only Eva, clutching a filthy toy rabbit and wearing a T-shirt of Aoife’s which came down to her knees. The little girl had just flung open the kitchen door, whacking it off the dresser, and now she marched to the table, scrambled up on a chair and announced in a high, clear, determined Dublin accent, ‘I want Coco Pops and so does Hector!’

  Aoife could have kissed the little girl’s blonde curls – here was the evidence she needed, as large as life and perfectly on time. She had agreed with her parents to tell everyone that they were fostering Eva, and were in the process of adopting her. But Carla was not ‘everyone’.

  ‘OK, Carla, here’s exactly what’s going to prove it to you! This is the real Eva – I brought her back with me from the otherworld!’

  ‘What?!’

  ‘See, look, she’s wearing that gold locket because it’s hers. Tell Carla who you are, honey.’

  ‘Hector wants Coco Pops!’

  ‘Tell Carla who—’

  ‘Coco Pops!’

  ‘Ugh. OK, hang on.’ Aoife hurried to the cupboard for the chocolate cereal that her father had been sent rushing out to buy the evening before, when Eva had refused point-blank to eat spaghetti bolognese. She grabbed a blue-striped bowl from the oak dresser, and a tin spoon from the drawer. ‘Now, say your full name, honey! Tell Carla you’re the human child I got swapped out for!’

  ‘Hector wants a bowl as well!’

  ‘Ah Jesus . . .’

  As Aoife went back for the second bowl and spoon, Carla said softly to the little girl, ‘Who are you really, baby?’

  ‘Tell Carla, Eva!’

  Eva took in Carla’s sheep onesie with a disgusted expression. ‘I’m not a baby, I live in Dublin. Aoife found me and brought me here on holiday. And you’re a stupid sheep.’

  ‘Aoife found . . . What?!’ Carla’s eyes fled to Aoife’s, dark with horror. ‘Oh my God, what did you . . . ?’

  Eva was still glaring at Carla. ‘I like lambs but you’re a stupid sheep. I live in the house with the blue door next to the sweet shop.’