So many fairy mothers neglect their children. But your mother brought you everywhere with her, even when she went to walk in the surface world to wash her hair in the soft water of the bog pools – and there you would age a day every time. In the end she stopped bringing you to the surface. She was right. She was immortal. Why would paradise need a second queen? It would only make trouble.
If Dorocha was telling the truth, the queen had never intended Aoife to grow up – nor to find her powers. Strange thought. Her fairy mother, although fond of her, had wanted her to stay a powerless child for ever. She reached down to brush Eva’s short curls back from her forehead. ‘Wouldn’t you like to be old enough to go to school, with all the other little girls? My friend Carla has a sister your age and I’m sure she’d love to meet you.’
Tilting back her head, Eva looked up Aoife with pale, ice-blue eyes. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Zoe.’
‘Is she going to grow up?’
‘She is.’
‘Will she be a doctor?’
Aoife said, surprised, ‘Maybe. Why a doctor?’
‘Doctors are nice.’ And Eva went back to watching cartoons, Hector tucked comfortably under her chin.
Back up in her bedroom, Aoife opened the drawers of the press until she found the clothes she was looking for – neatly folded away in drawer of their own, along with her school books.
‘You’re in your school uniform!’ Maeve was in the hallway as Aoife came down the stairs, on her way to the back room with a cup of tea in hand. She stared up at Aoife in open surprise – she herself was still in her blue paisley dressing gown, hair an unbrushed mess. ‘I didn’t think you’d want—’
‘Why not?’ Aoife hopped down the last two steps, school bag in hand. ‘I’ve got to go back to school sometime. No point sitting around and doing nothing all day while everyone else gets on with their lives. If I’m going to act normal, the sooner I start, the better.’
Her mother winced guiltily. ‘Oh, Aoife . . . Just let me get dressed and wake your dad to mind Eva, and I’ll drive you and we’ll talk. And you need a packed lunch—’
‘Already done. Mam, don’t fuss, I’ll take the bike.’ She went to the coat hooks, where her school coat had clearly hung all summer – another little shrine to her memory, when her parents had thought she was dead. She pulled on the washed-and-pressed jacket and shouldered the bag of books.
‘Aoife . . .’ Maeve was between her and the door.
‘Mam, I really need to get going.’
With a sudden pounce, and a rather wild look in her blue eyes, Maeve seized both of Aoife’s hands. ‘Look, I’m sorry how I kept on acting like the guards were going to come.’
Aoife stood looking down at her mother’s hands, so tightly intertwined with hers – Maeve’s plump and pink; her own slender and pale. ‘It’s fine.’
‘Darling, look at me.’
She did. Her mother’s eyes were so like Eva’s, and were now filled with tears.
‘Darling, I’m so grateful to you for saving Eva from that woman and I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you about the deal.’
Smiling now, Aoife managed to extricate one of her hands so she could unlatch the door. ‘Really, don’t worry about it.’
Still keeping a tight grip on the other hand, Maeve said, ‘And I’m so glad I have a fairy for a daughter, and I’m so sorry I didn’t trust you and got stupid and frightened. I’ll learn. You’ll have to show me everything you can do.’
There was a warm, pleasant feeling in Aoife’s heart. ‘Mam, everything’s fine – don’t worry about it.’
Maeve squeezed Aoife’s hand very tight before finally releasing her to the day. ‘I love you, my fairy daughter. I really do.’
The autumn morning had barely yet broken when she left the house – the sky still a sickly yellow-grey, and the fields dully glimmering with last night’s rain. The fairy road was a silvery strip of dew, running up Declan Sweeney’s steep and stony field.
Fetching the bike out of the shed, she checked the tyres. They were bald already, after only a day’s use – she had to stop riding so fast: they’d burst on her soon like the last pair. But once outside in the lane, she threw her leg over the saddle, and despite her best intentions sprinted wildly all the way to the Clonbarra road, flying over the potholes. Then slowed to a less entertaining, human pace, through Kilduff, left at the shop and up the hill to school.
She heard Lois before she saw her, the girl’s voice high and trembling with excitement:
‘You don’t understand, I just knew – it was like we had an instant connection – oh my God, he was pure gorgeous.’
Aoife stopped dead where she was, her school bag half off her shoulder. Where Lois was, so would be Sinead. Aoife looked carefully round the corner. By the grey metal lockers, a group of girls were clustered around Lois Munnelly – they were out of her line of sight, but she could see them reflected like ghosts in the steamed-up windows, beyond which the increasingly heavy rain poured into the school courtyard.
Jessica was saying anxiously, ‘I still don’t think you should have let him into your house, not if you didn’t know him.’
‘But it was like I knew him.’ Lois’s voice was dreamy and soft. ‘Even though we’d never met before.’
Sinead said, ‘Well, what was he doing in your garden?’
‘He’d been walking the fields between our house and the mountains checking on all the old stone things on the way because he was a . . . Oh God, what did he say he was? Something with a really long name.’
‘Psychopathic lunatic.’
‘No! Beginning with “A”.’
‘Axe-murderer.’
‘Stop.’
Jessica said helpfully, ‘Archaeologist?’
Lois’s reflection nodded vigorously, tight black curls bobbing. ‘Something like that.’
‘How old was he?’
‘Twenty? Not even. Anyway, it started raining, and he asked to come in, and I made him a cup of tea while it stopped, and he wanted to know all about me, and who did I like at school, and what I do with my friends, and I told him about the boring old Halloween disco—’
Sinead’s voice protested in alarm – or mock alarm, ‘God’s sake, Lois, what are you at? It’s like one of those teenage snuff movies – he’s going to come in a mask and hunt us down and kill us all one by one.’
‘Stop! And then, when the rain eased up, he said he had to go on, he had a meeting in Kilduff, and we had a laugh about it being bad luck to leave by a different door than he came in by, but he went out of the front door anyway and went off down the road towards Kilduff, and he was looking back at me all the time and waving . . .’
Jessica and Jessica’s best friend Aisling sighed at the same time: ‘Aaaah!’
‘I know, it was so romantic.’
Sinead said, ‘Well, if you run off with some weird guy, at least send us a postcard to let us know you’re still alive.’
‘Excuse me! I’m not some careless slut like Aoife O’Connor, thank you very much . . .’
Aoife found her own arm suddenly and forcefully linked. She was being dragged away down the corridor by Carla, who was hissing at her, ‘What are you doing here? You need to be at home resting.’
‘You did say see you tomorrow . . .’
‘I meant after school! You’re not well enough for this! Surely to God your parents would let you stay off until after the Halloween break?’
‘But that’s ages away.’
‘What are you on about? It’s next week!’
‘Oh . . .’ Of course it was – this was October, and that explained the plastic spiders in the shop, and the witch-hat fascinators. If she’d stopped another day in the otherworld, she’d have missed Christmas. (Terrifying to think: if she’d been gone a few months, she’d have missed her whole life here.)
Carla said, ‘I really don’t think this is a good idea, but if your parents are cool with it – look, just stick tight by me and don’t mind anyone or get stre
ssed out. I’ve told everyone it was just a nervous breakdown, but you might hear a bit of—’
‘Really, it’s OK. I don’t care what people like Sinead are saying.’
‘If she gives you a hard time, I’m going to punch her out.’
‘Do not! I can fight my own battles.’
As she continued to hurry Aoife along the corridor, Carla said kindly, ‘No you can’t – you’re in a highly fragile state and I’m going to look after you. Come on, maths is first lesson.’
‘Hang on, I need to go back and put my books in my locker.’
‘You don’t have a locker any more.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Because you were dead, that’s why! Dead people don’t get lockers! You’ll have to drag your bag around with you until they sort one out. Anyway, your books will be the wrong ones now – we’re not doing junior cert any more.’
‘Aren’t we? Oh, of course—’
‘Aoife! Hey, Aoife!’
The shout came from a group of little kids Aoife didn’t recognize. She craned to look back at them, puzzled. ‘Who are that lot?’
‘Nobody. First years.’
‘Oh, sweet, they’re so small!’
‘Yay, small like head lice.’
‘Aoife and Shay, sitting in a tree, kay eye ess ess eye en gee!’
‘See what I mean? They’re so much cheekier now than we were back then. Where is Shay, by the way? Is he coming in today as well?’
‘I think so.’
Carla slowed her pace and looked at her searchingly. ‘You don’t know? He wouldn’t leave you to do this on your own. You surely told him you were coming in?’
‘No . . .’ She had thought about texting him to say she’d be there – because where could be the harm in seeing each other across a crowded classroom? But she had stopped herself in time. It’s not fair to keep on tugging at him.
Carla was looking at her even more closely, with deep concern. ‘Is everything OK between you? You haven’t split up already? I thought you were mad in love with each other . . .’
Aoife said, blinking back tears, ‘We are . . .’
A deep voice cried, ‘Well, look who’s back!’
‘Pay no attention.’ Carla picked up the pace again, hustling Aoife past a group of tall, lanky boys who were swivelling their heads to stare at her. She didn’t recognize them any more than she had recognized the first years. The boy who had shouted out was six foot tall and heavily spotted, with greasy brown hair, and she’d never seen him before in her life . . .
Although a moment later, she realized that in fact she’d known him for ever: he was the butcher’s son, Lorcan McNally. It was just that the last time she’d seen him, he had been extremely short and extremely fat. And now she realized she knew all the other lads as well – they were all from her year – but it was really confusing because they had grown so tall and skinny, seemingly overnight. That was what happened when you went away for a couple of days in the teenage growth-spurt years and came back to find five months had passed.
And there was Shay! So tall, with cropped black hair. Turning now to see what the others were looking at . . . She realized suddenly how much she’d prayed he would be here . . .
It wasn’t him. It was Killian’s cousin Darragh Clarke, standing a good fifteen centimetres taller than when she had seen him last. He peeled away from the group of gaping, grinning boys and came towards her, inserting himself in her and Carla’s way. ‘So, what’s the story?’ Not only had he grown, his voice had dropped an octave since she’d last heard him speak.
Carla tried to drag Aoife past him. ‘I’ve told you, and she doesn’t want to talk to you!’
He blocked their path, resting his hand against the wall. ‘Easy, tiger, I’m not going to steal your cub. So, Miss O’Connor, what happened?’
‘She’s in a fragile state and she doesn’t want to talk about it!’
Darragh leaned in closer. ‘I hear Shay Foley is taking your break-up so bad, he’s dropped out of school so he never has to see a certain gorgeous girl again.’
‘They haven’t broken’ – Carla’s eyes slid sideways to Aoife and her sentence faded to a question – ‘up?’
Aoife was unable to speak – she felt breathless and sick, like she’d taken a punch to the gut. He was so desperate not to see her, he’d dropped out of school?
Darragh was laughing. ‘Oh dear, didn’t Aoife tell you? Quite a habit with her, isn’t it, keeping secrets from her best friend? Well, in the interests of openness and transparency, let me help: John Joe brought Lorcan’s dad a trailer-load of lambs for slaughter this morning and told him Shay’s jacked in lessons to work on the farm.’
Carla’s expression hardened. She said grimly to Aoife, ‘Toilets.’
‘Good stuff.’ Darragh nodded cheerfully. ‘Get the full story out of her, and then I’ll get the full story out of Killian after he gets it out of you.’
‘Look, I know you’re not well and you’re not totally responsible for everything you do, but are you determined to make me look like a complete idiot? Why didn’t you tell me you’d finished with him?’
Aoife leaned against the bathroom wall with her hands over her face, trying not to cry. ‘I didn’t finish with him. I love him.’
‘Then why is he so miserable he doesn’t even want to see you?’
‘It’s complicated . . .’
‘Oh God . . .’ The anger melted out of Carla’s voice. ‘Don’t cry. Did he dump you? The bastard! I’m sorry. Here . . .’
‘He’s not a bastard, he’s just trying to do the right thing.’ Aoife mopped her eyes with the length of toilet roll Carla had pressed into her hands, and blew her nose. ‘Crap, I can’t believe he’s dropped out of school.’
Carla gave her another length of the roll. ‘What do you mean do the right thing? What’s happened between you? Tell me.’
‘I can’t – you’ll just think I’m being mad again.’
‘Tell me!’
Aoife cried despairingly, ‘OK, it’s because his mother was a lenanshee, and so is he. If a lenanshee falls in love with you, and you with them, they can destroy you entirely, you end up living out your dreams really fast and then—’
Carla interrupted, with a catch in her voice, ‘Yes, I know what a lenanshee is.’
It was Aoife’s turn to be taken aback. ‘You do?’
Carla leaned against the basin, arms folded, eyes lowered to her shoes. She said quietly, ‘Old John McCarthy is always going on about his nephew’s wife being a lenanshee. He said it’s her fault his nephew is wasting away doing nothing but writing poetry, because she’s a lover from the otherworld, and once the lenanshee has a grá for you, you’re doomed to do great things then go to an early grave.’
Aoife agreed eagerly, ‘Yes, he told me that too – I didn’t believe it until . . .’
Carla raised her eyes to her, damp with sympathy. ‘But Doctor Burke says Andrew McCarthy has multiple sclerosis.’
‘Oh.’ Aoife’s heart sank again.
‘Seriously, Aoife, you can’t do this to Shay Foley. You can’t be after breaking up with him . . .’
‘I didn’t!’
‘. . . just because you’ve got it in your head he’s a lenanshee. Try to remember the fairy thing is all in your—’ The school bell blared out from speakers set high in the wall. Carla sighed and picked her books up off the basin. ‘Come on, we’ll talk about this later. Miss O’Shea is a luna— Sorry, I mean, she gets very cross if anyone’s late.’
But instead of following, Aoife turned to the mirror over the sink, sadly pushing back her tear-sticky hair. ‘You go on. I want to wash my face, I’m a mess.’
Carla hesitated behind her – clearly reluctant to leave a mentally unbalanced Aoife unattended; clearly worried about being late for maths. ‘Be quick, I’ll wait.’
‘No, go.’
‘I don’t want to leave you—’
‘Go on, I’ll be grand.’
Carla sighed, givi
ng in. ‘OK, OK, just don’t go wandering off anywhere. I’ll save you a seat. Be quick.’ The door swung shut.
Aoife splashed her blotched face with cold water and fixed her long red-gold ponytail. No point walking around looking like a mess, however she felt inside. Although hopefully by now everyone would be in class, and she could slip out of school without being seen.
The clouds had burst as she hurried across the teachers’ car park to the bike shed. Now a solid grey downpour was rattling the corrugated-tin roof. Sitting beside the bike rack on an upturned blue plastic milk crate, waiting for the weather to pass over, she got out her phone and texted Carla:
sorry had to go home, I call you after school
Then sat staring at the screen for a while – but of course, Carla’s phone would be turned off in class. She texted Shay. She didn’t want to tug at him. But she couldn’t leave things the way they were.
don’t drop out. I wont come near u. i wont even look at u.
Again, she sat staring at the screen. Again, nothing.
Outside, the downpour was getting heavier, thundering on the corrugated tin, dripping in long silver streams through holes in the rust. The school building was almost invisible through the curtain of water pouring from the sky. Aoife turned up her school coat collar against the cold; she rested her elbows on her knees; she tried not to listen for the beep of an incoming message from the phone in her pocket. If Shay was out on the bog, he might be out of range. Or maybe he was sitting on the tractor, thinking about her text, deciding whether or not to answer . . . A cold drip fell on her neck, bringing her back to where she was – a leaking bike shed in the school grounds. Shivering, she moved the crate into a drier corner at the far end of the bike rack, then zipped open her school bag to dig out her packed lunch. However bad she was feeling, the amount of calories she needed to consume these days was absurd – her metabolism must be racing since her powers had started to develop.
She was halfway through her second ham sandwich when Killian hurtled into the bike shed on his blue racing bike – no longer bright brand new, like the last time she’d seen it, but battered, muddy and scratched. He swung in a wide skittering circle, jumped off, tossed his bike into the rack beside Aoife’s, scowled out at the rain – his school coat was soaked – and finally noticed Aoife sitting in the corner, trying but failing to be invisible (clearly, not a power of hers). He caught his breath loudly, silver-grey eyes widening with surprise.
The Dark Beloved Page 7