The Dark Beloved

by Helen Falconer

Her father’s green Citroën wasn’t here – one of the many surprising things that had happened while she was away was that James had found work as a carpenter again, making kitchens for two houses which had finally been sold on the empty estate. But her mother’s Volvo was parked in the driveway and so Maeve must be back from the doctor in Clonbarra. Maeve had wanted to be certain Eva had been cured by the fairies, but she was nervous of taking her to their usual doctor in Kilduff, when she had no birth certificate or documents for her ‘new’ four-year-old foster daughter. So instead she’d gone further afield to a doctor who wouldn’t know their family.

  Aoife spun into the garden, dumped her bike, took a deep tear-filled breath through her nose, shook off her sadness and entered the kitchen through the back door.

  Her mother, soft round face pale with panic, rushed to her. ‘You’re here! Thank God!’

  Alarmed, Aoife cried, ‘Mam, are you all right? Is it Eva? Was there a problem?’ But the little girl was sitting at the kitchen table, eating yet more Coco Pops.

  ‘It’s not Eva, it’s you! You weren’t here when we got back just now! Where were you?’

  ‘Oh, thank God . . . Then what were you so worried about? I just went out for some fresh air . . .’

  Maeve gave her a look that said everything about having thought for five months that Aoife was dead.

  Aoife was humbled. ‘Oh. OK, sorry. Next time I’ll leave a note. Eva, how was the doctor?’

  Eva said loudly, through a mouthful of Coco Pops, ‘He was nice and he took a picture of my insides and I’m a skeleton but Hector was invisible!’

  Maeve, smiling now, dug through a shopping bag and handed Aoife a small paper bag from the Vodafone shop. ‘As promised. We’ve put your old number on it and twenty-euro credit.’

  ‘Oh my God! The new iPhone! But that’s way, way expensive! You can’t afford it!’

  ‘Now your father’s working, we can.’

  ‘Oh, that’s so brilliant! Thank you so much!’ She was already inputting and saving Carla’s number.

  ‘I’ve got some of your favourite ice cream as well – chocolate chip. Do you want some now?’

  ‘In a moment . . .’ She was trying to open Facetime, but there was very little reception – only one bar coming and going. ‘In a minute – save me some – I’m just going out into the front garden to get some coverage.’

  When she opened the front door, a smiling young woman was standing on the doorstep, her knuckles raised to knock. She had very long, glossy blonde hair, bright red lipstick, and she was wearing a scarlet jacket and skirt with a cream blouse. For a moment Aoife couldn’t work out where she’d seen her before – but then she recognized the huge white teddy bear in her arms, and the pink Fiat parked in the lane outside the gate. It was the driver who had been asking directions from the priest – clearly, still lost.

  ‘Do you need to know the way somewhere?’

  The woman said cheerfully, ‘I don’t think so. I think I’m already here!’

  ‘No, I’d say you’re lost. Everyone who ends up here is lost.’

  ‘I’m looking for a Mr and Mrs O’Connor?’

  ‘Oh! Then actually you are in the right place. Dad’s not here, but Mam is . . .’ She shouted over her shoulder, ‘Mam!’

  As Maeve came into the hall, the woman stepped past Aoife, still smiling, cuddling the enormous bear. ‘Mrs O’Connor? I’m Deirdre Joyce. Please call me Deirdre. I’m the child welfare officer for this area, and I’ve come about the little girl.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Maeve remained standing with her hand against the frame of the kitchen doorway, not coming any further, saying in a horrified voice, ‘Child welfare?’

  ‘There’s no need for any alarm!’ The woman in the scarlet suit shifted the huge teddy bear to her left arm, and pulled out a laminated ID card which was on a chain around her neck – holding it up rather like a priest brandishing a crucifix against a vampire. ‘My only concern is the safety of the child. Where is the little girl in question?’

  ‘Why? Why do you want to see my daughter?’

  Deirdre Joyce sighed and pursed her bright red lips, and even rolled her eyes slightly – as if having to explain herself was a terrible bore. ‘This morning, Mrs O’Connor, you brought a little girl to a medical clinic in Clonbarra . . .’

  ‘I brought my daughter to the doctor – my foster daughter – for a confidential visit!’

  ‘There is no “confidential” if a crime is suspected.’

  ‘Crime?’

  ‘Everything is inter-connected now, Mrs O’Connor – computer systems, patients’ records. How do you think we keep track of you all? When the receptionist entered your four-year-old “foster daughter’s” details into their system, the computer returned hospital files on a fifteen-year-old Eva Sarah O’Connor, who also has parents called Maeve and James O’Connor, and who also lives in Kilduff! I assume this is the young lady in question, who was brought into casualty to be checked for concussion ten years ago?’ And the welfare officer cocked her head enquiringly towards Aoife, who suddenly remembered that trip to the hospital – she had hurled herself headfirst out of the ash tree in a wild attempt to ‘fly’. (She’d only been in the human world for a year, and must have still known, deep down, who she really was . . .)

  Seeing what was coming, Maeve was saying despairingly, ‘That’s right, that’s our oldest daughter, Aoife. It’s such a coincidence the girls have the same name!’

  ‘Exactly what the receptionist thought! And she thought it was even more of a coincidence that they have the same health insurance number! Which is why she contacted my department! I am here to examine the young child’s birth certificate and foster papers.’

  Maeve’s eyes met Aoife’s, dazed with horror – this was exactly what she had feared: that someone in authority would come round to check and find her two daughters had only one birth certificate between them. ‘Birth certificate . . . Foster papers . . . I’m not sure where I’ve put them – they could be anywhere. My husband isn’t home now . . . he might know where they are. Can you come back later, after we’ve had a chance to look?’

  The welfare officer smiled at Maeve in the exact same way Aoife had smiled at Sinead Ferguson in the shop – cheerful, bright, and not even pretending to be genuine. ‘My sole concern is for the child in question. If you cannot produce valid papers then I must interview her to ascertain her identity. If the child corroborates your story, you will have twenty-four hours to provide the correct documentation. Now – may I speak with the child in private?’

  Aoife had a sudden very bad feeling about this. ‘Mam, I don’t think—’

  Her mother was saying nervously, moving back against the kitchen door, ‘Eva’s got a very vivid imagination.’

  From inside the kitchen, Eva shouted, ‘Milk!’

  ‘Ah, there she is.’ Deirdre Joyce shoved straight past Maeve, pushing the door closed behind her. Her voice came through the wood: ‘Hello, little girl! Would you like to play with this beautiful teddy bear?’

  ‘Wait, stop!’ But as Aoife went to rush after the woman into the kitchen, Maeve held her back.

  ‘There’s no point interfering,’ she whispered frantically. ‘It will only look even more suspicious.’

  Aoife whispered back, equally frantic, ‘But I really don’t think you should allow her to ask Eva any questions. You don’t know what she’s going to say . . .’

  ‘It’s fine. She’s four. If she talks about the fairy world, it will just sound like a little girl making up wild stories. At least she’ll say I’m her mother, and then we’ll have a day to figure out what to do.’ Maeve clutched her cheeks in desperation. ‘Oh God, what are we going to do?’

  The warped wooden door had not quite closed, and Aoife peered nervously through the crack. Deirdre Joyce had settled into a seat beside Eva; she was holding up a mobile phone and taking a picture. ‘So you’re the lovely, clever little girl I’ve been hearing all about? Look at the camera, pet! And you�
��re having Coco Pops and chocolate-chip ice cream for your dinner – what a healthy combination, what a lucky girl you are, being so well looked after.’ She sat the huge teddy bear on the polished oak table. ‘Isn’t Mr White a beautiful teddy? He’s come all the way from Clonbarra, especially to see you.’

  Eva, busy feeding Coco Pops and ice cream to her filthy toy rabbit, glared in disgust at the enormous bear. ‘Mr White?’

  ‘That’s right!’

  ‘What a silly name.’

  ‘It’s because he’s so clean! Isn’t he lovely? What is your rabbit called? He looks like he could do with a wash.’

  ‘Hector. And Hector doesn’t like white. He likes grey.’

  ‘Ha-ha-ha!’

  ‘That’s a silly laugh. Are you a banshee? I don’t want to be stolen by the fairies again.’

  The welfare officer’s smile grew wider and slightly predatory, showing small white teeth. ‘I can assure you, little girl, I am not a banshee – I’m absolutely real.’

  Eva looked dubious. ‘The banshee was real.’

  ‘I’m not a banshee, little girl.’

  ‘I think you’re a banshee.’

  ‘What’s your name, little girl?’

  ‘You’re a banshee.’

  ‘I’m not a banshee!’ Deirdre Joyce paused, and took a deep calming breath, still determinedly smiling. ‘How do you like your new mummy and daddy?’

  Surprised, Eva said, ‘They’re not my new mummy and daddy! Mam and Da live in Dublin in the house with the blue door and my dad has black hair and I’m only here on holiday because Aoife found me and said I had to come with her!’

  Maeve, unable to stay listening to this any longer, threw open the kitchen door, crying, ‘I can explain! She doesn’t understand!’

  Eva cried gleefully, ‘In Dublin, Mam was skinny!’

  ‘I can explain . . .’

  But Deirdre Joyce was already on her feet, whipping out her mobile, triumphantly punching buttons. ‘There’ll be plenty of time to explain, Mrs O’Connor. If at all possible, I will arrange an emergency hearing for early next week.’

  ‘What?’

  The woman said into the phone, ‘Put me through to the Gardaí station in Clonbarra . . .’

  ‘No, don’t – this isn’t what it looks like!’

  Deirdre Joyce turned her back, one hand covering her other ear. ‘Mrs O’Connor, let me make this call in peace.’

  Maeve seized her arm. ‘She’s my daughter! I mean, my foster daughter! You’re making a terrible mistake!’

  ‘Let go of me, Mrs O’Connor. Clonbarra station? I need to arrange safe transport for a child.’

  ‘No! Don’t take her away again! I can explain!’

  Eva, realizing that something had gone very wrong, started to cry, and Maeve swept her weeping daughter up into her arms (‘Everything will be fine, sweetie!’), clinging desperately to the child as if she thought it was the last time she might ever hold her. ‘Please, Deirdre, listen to me!’

  Standing trembling in the kitchen doorway, Aoife could feel herself going cold inside; her vision darkening. Something was happening to her . . . Her fairy power . . . Ice pouring into her veins . . . Hands hurting fiercely . . .

  The woman in the scarlet suit was saying loudly: ‘Clonbarra station? Deirdre Joyce, child welfare officer. Put me through to Chief Inspector Delaney, please. Yes, I’ll hold.’

  And now Eva was reaching out her arms to Aoife, over her mother’s shoulder, her little face twisted with panic. ‘Don’t let that lady take me!’ (The coal-eyed banshee in her blood-red cloak, demanding that Aoife hand over the human child. Come with me, sheóg . . .)

  ‘Ah, Chief Inspec—’

  ‘You can’t take her!’ Aoife’s power burst out of her in a violent uncontrolled shock-wave, hurling the woman screaming headfirst into the ceiling, whirling around in spread-eagled circles, shrieking dementedly like someone on a roller coaster, while Maeve, also screaming, backed up against the dresser with Eva clutched against her, staring up in terror at the demonic vision.

  ‘Banshee!’ howled Eva, pointing.

  With one more convulsive twist, Deirdre Joyce crashed onto the table on her back, sending the milk jug and Coco Pops flying, and lay there silent, eyes closed, the back of her glossy perm resting in Eva’s bowl of ice cream. The big white teddy toppled to the floor.

  Eva instantly stopped crying and shouted indignantly, ‘Mam! She’s lying on Hector! Make her get off!’

  ‘Oh my God . . . Oh my God . . .’ Maeve was breathless and panting and terrified. ‘Oh my God, is she . . . ?’

  But already Deirdre Joyce was sitting up, tenderly holding the back of her head. Her nose was scratched red by the broken light bulb; all the buttons had come off her jacket and her phone was in pieces across the floor. ‘What happened?’ She took her hand from her head and looked in astonishment at her palm, now sticky with ice cream. ‘Why am I here?’

  Maeve, still flattened against the dresser, found her voice and gasped hopefully, ‘I don’t know why you’re here! You just came in and took a bit of a fit! Can’t you remember anything?’

  ‘A fit? But . . .’ Deirdre Joyce was looking around now, and finding herself among broken crockery covered in Coco Pops and ice cream. A moment later, her face cleared and eyes bulged, and she jabbed her forefinger at Maeve. ‘You know well who I am and you attacked me!’ Leaping off the table, she rushed for the door, shrieking at Aoife, ‘Let me out! I am the child welfare officer for this region! My office knows where I am!’ She tried to push past, but Aoife, still shaky from the violent discharge of her fairy power, gripped the doorframe and stood firm. The ice was seeping into her blood again . . . No, don’t use it. You could have killed her. You’re not in the otherworld now. Different rules.

  ‘Let me out!’ Deirdre Joyce was shrieking in her face. ‘That child is not safe with that woman! I have to call the guards!’

  Aoife said, through gritted teeth, ‘I can’t let you do that . . .’ Yet how could she stop this woman, in a world where people like Deirdre Joyce held all the real power? And then it came to her, with sweet relief. ‘Unless you promise me not to call the guards.’

  Deirdre Joyce blinked and jerked back her head, looking utterly amazed at Aoife foolishness. ‘Yes, fine, I promise!’ she cried untruthfully. ‘I won’t tell anyone! I wasn’t going to anyway!’

  Aoife said hastily, ‘No, I mean, say “It’s a deal.”’ (Dave Ferguson had said It’s a deal and then he’d had to sell Aoife the cream vintage BMW – for fairy gold.)

  Deirdre Joyce nodded so hard, drops of ice cream flew from her blonde bob. ‘It’s a deal! Now let me out!’

  ‘No, wait, let me think . . .’

  The woman looked terrified again. ‘You said you’d let me out!’

  ‘I will, it’s a deal, but . . .’ While she was about it, she might as well sort out the whole thing in one go. ‘And promise me you’ll write in your report that Eva Sarah O’Connor is my parents’ fully and completely adopted daughter and everything is in order.’

  ‘Yes! Yes!’ The welfare officer beamed with relief. ‘Just as soon as I get back to the office! The quicker you let me out the quicker I can write my report!’

  ‘Then say “It’s a deal”!’

  The woman squealed: ‘It’s a deal!’

  ‘Thank you.’ Aoife stood back and she raced hysterically down the hall and out across the garden, where the rain was now bucketing down, to the little pink Fiat at the gate, jumped in, did a screeching three-point turn and roared away, bouncing furiously over the potholes.

  When the noise of the engine had been swallowed to nothing by the hiss of the downpour, Aoife closed the front door and went smiling back into the kitchen. Maeve was standing in exactly the same place, against the dresser, her face sheet-white, Eva still clutched in her arms. ‘Mam, it’s all right now, she’s gone.’

  Maeve didn’t move – rather, she flinched further back. She said in a trembling tone, ‘Oh God, what are we going to t
ell the guards, oh God, this is a nightmare . . .’

  Aoife, who had been about to hug her mother with relief, stopped where she was. ‘Oh, I see – no, it’s grand. She made a deal not to tell them.’

  ‘Of course she did – that’s the only way she thought she could get out of the house alive!’

  Aoife said patiently, ‘I know that, but she can’t go back on it, trust me. If a human makes a deal with a fairy, they can’t change their mind. And she’s also going to write in her report that Eva is adopted, so you can totally relax now! Seriously, Mam, trust me on this. I swear to you. It’s OK.’

  Maeve stared at Aoife for a long, long moment, her arms still tight around her human daughter. Then her shoulders relaxed very slightly, as if maybe she was able to believe what her fairy daughter was saying to her. But tightened again as she burst out: ‘But that woman. What happened to her? She flew right up in the air! And then . . .’ She stared wildly up at the shattered light fitting dangling from the plaster. ‘She actually broke the bulb!’

  ‘I know – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do it – it just burst out of me when I thought she was going to do something to hurt Eva . . .’

  (Eva squeaked, ‘Put me down! I want Hector!’)

  Maeve hugged the wriggling child fiercely to her chest, caressing her soft blonde curls. ‘But you could have killed her. When she fell on the table, I really thought she was dead . . .’

  ‘She was grand! And everything’s fine! Mam?’ She needed Maeve to stop staring at her in that way. ‘Mam?’ She also needed her mother to stop holding Eva so tightly, and cringing against the dresser as if . . .

  As if it wasn’t only the welfare officer that was the threat. As if the human child needed protecting from the fairy child. The alien child.

  Aoife’s heart twisted.

  ‘Aoife! Where are you going?’

  ‘Out.’

  ‘No! Come back!’

  She leaned over the handlebars of the bike, flying along under the falling leaves. She wanted Shay. She had to talk to Shay. Only he would understand what it was like, not to truly belong in this world – not to be human. She had his phone number! Letting the bike drift into the side of the boreen, into a gateway, she pulled her new iPhone out of her hoodie, and took out the crumpled paper with his number.