Finding Alison

by Deirdre Eustace

  ‘Alison, he’s here now if you want to—’

  ‘No, Susie, I haven’t time. Tell him that article’s ready, but I haven’t been able to email it as the broadband’s down again. I’ll drop it to the office before twelve on Friday. Thanks.’ She hung up, not waiting for a reply. ‘Right, that gives me today and tomorrow.’ She heaped two spoons of coffee into her mug and poured in the scalding water. Sitting at her desk in the window, she punched the computer to life.

  * * *

  As soon as he saw Tra na Leon, William had known he’d found the perfect spot. Two giant lion rocks guarded the secluded bay and out beyond the glimmering blues and greens, the horizon slept. The cove could only be reached by a mile-long dirt track up off the main beach at Carniskey. Waterlogged and overgrown in places, it wouldn’t encourage many visitors. The thick gorse bushes and high rock crops on the left lent ideal shelter to his old camper van. Yes, this was the place.

  Without reason or prompt, his mind wandered again to the figure he’d seen on the beach this morning. There was something about her, something around her that, even from a distance, drew him like a magnet. Gazing out towards the horizon, William squinted as the sun suddenly burst from behind a cloud, setting the sea a-dance with a flood of silver lights. He opened the camper door and stepped inside. Clearing a seat beside the small table, he opened his sketch book.

  * * *

  Kathleen dried her hands on the dishcloth, leaned her elbows on the counter top and gazed out through the kitchen window. She laughed out loud as she watched Jamie thunder towards the goal posts at the foot of the garden and in his enthusiasm fly arse-over-head, missing his goal chance completely. He shook his head, his dark curls dancing as he straightened, his cheeks ablaze with dented pride as he raced to retrieve the ball. That was her Jamie, her little dynamo, bursting with energy and enthusiasm and always ready to have another go.

  And that’s why his bedwetting really confounded her – at seven years of age and completely out of the blue! Every other morning for two weeks now, and she was no nearer to sorting it. She’d tried several tacks: making little of it; avoiding his room in the morning so that he could at least go to school without the humiliation of her seeing the dreaded dark patch; teasing him out, approaching the subject in a thousand different ways but always with the same result: silence and that sideways head-hang of shame that tore at her.

  She watched Joe O’Sullivan now, tramping down the lawn with his two left feet, Jamie corralled in one corner of the goal, crouched and ready. Good old Joe. It was only in the last two weeks that he had begun appearing at the school gate again at day’s end. That whole break-in business had really taken its toll on him. What had those guards been thinking to even entertain for one second the notion that Joe could be somehow involved? Sure he’d been seen hanging around outside Maryanne’s place, but that had always been his way when Sean was alive and, God help him, he had continued it ever since, probably thinking he was keeping an eye on the old lady, doing it for Sean. Sure what would the guards know anyway, she thought to herself, throwing her eyes up to heaven, and none of them even from the place. Joe wouldn’t harm an insect much less the Maryanne he adored! Fools. More in their line to get the finger out and find the real culprit.

  Although Joe was now thirty-three, like herself, following a fall at the pier when he was just five years old his mind had not developed beyond childhood. Most people looked on him with pity, or worse still as a source of fun. ‘The Trout’ they called him, his full, wet mouth always open as if in constant wonder at the world. Rob had had a quiet word with a few of the ringleaders, had taken to accompanying Joe to the local football matches, to the odd pool game at the hall on the quay, and under the wing of his new ‘best friend’ Joe’s confidence had swelled. Typical of kind-hearted Rob, she smiled, no wonder she had fallen so hard for him.

  Rob. His name drew a smile as she skipped to the patio door. That was the effect he had on her: he made her skip rather than walk, made everything in her world bigger, brighter, better. They’d been together a year now – give or take a few weeks – and Kathleen had been more than happy with the way things stood. Truth be told she had never dared dream that life could be this good again. So why couldn’t Rob just have left good enough alone? Why all of a sudden was he so bent on upping it a notch and insisting on them living together?

  And what kind of selfish stupidity had made her broach the whole subject of them moving in together with Jamie? All she was doing was teasing it out for herself, she could see that now. It had been thoughtless and unfair to land something like that on the child when she herself hadn’t even known her own mind. Hadn’t and still didn’t, she sighed, wondering if she was putting the bed-wetting down to her mention of Rob moving in only because it suited her. Because it gave her an excuse, an out-clause, meant she didn’t have to be the one to make the decision, at least not yet.

  It had been more than a struggle at times, raising Jamie single-handed, securing this home for them; always striving to be upbeat and positive, to prove to the world that she wouldn’t be defeated, that she could make it. And she had. She was proud of herself, proud of the young boy Jamie had grown into. And it would be wonderful at this stage, with Jamie growing up so quickly, to have someone to share it all with, all of it, even the everyday humdrum stuff. But it worried her how clingy Jamie had become in the last weeks, going quiet if she said she was going out, not wanting a babysitter – what was all that about? Hannah had been babysitting for the past six months and they’d always got on like a house on fire – she was so good with him, like a real big sister. A tug of guilt pulled at the corners of her mouth – she really had intended to call on Alison, but things just seemed to have gotten in the way all day. All day and every day since she’d promised to call last week. She’d give her a buzz, definitely, first thing after dinner.

  ‘Jamie, Joe, dinner’s up!’ she called, holding the door open for them as they sauntered up the length of the garden, Jamie looking up into Joe’s open face, his hands flying and diving in his attempt to explain something. And Joe, his head as always bowed and tilted to the side, that old bleached blue corduroy cap defying gravity and staying put on the side of his small head. Kathleen smiled. Jamie adored Joe. All the children did. She supposed he was their ideal – a grown-up but with a mind like their own who hadn’t forgotten the magic of laughter, the wonder of life. Jamie looked up as they neared the door, smiled at her, that big wide smile that never failed to pierce her heart – his father’s smile.

  ‘Hungry?’ She ruffled his hair as he passed through the door. He would always be her first consideration, her Number One Man, and it was only natural that he would be a little jealous of Rob – someone else competing for his mother’s attention for the first time in his young life. Everything was fine, it seemed, while Rob was on the outside, but she could see how the idea of him moving in with them could be making Jamie anxious. And she could see, too, that despite his tender age, there was wisdom in his thinking. No matter what promises Rob made to her, to them, no relationship came with a guarantee. The past had taught her that. Was she prepared to gamble all she had struggled for? Prepared to hand Rob her trust, her space, her child? And was she prepared for the other option: losing the first real relationship that had mattered to her in over eight years, a relationship she had built so slowly, so tentatively?

  * * *

  Six o’clock. Alison turned off the computer and stretched her aching back. She glanced guiltily at the laden ashtray. Stuffing the cigarette pack and lighter into the desk drawer, she opened the window and, grabbing the ashtray, headed out the back door to the bin. Soon. She’d quit again soon. She did it before, she could do it again. As soon as Maryanne was out of the woods and she had secured a steadier income, she’d quit then – and for good this time. She opened the bottom press in the kitchen. Her daughter’s appetite was growing alarmingly – along with her tongue and opinions. At almost fourteen, her long black curls and fiery brown eyes danced
with passion and opinion on everything from meat-eating and religion to sex and the unnaturalness of monogamy. A twin personality to her aunt Claire in London, the two were as close as Alison and Claire had been growing up. Alison cringed at the thought of the next dreaded phone bill. ‘I’ll ring Claire, she’ll know’ was Hannah’s mantra every time she had one of her many ‘crises’.

  ‘What the hell would I know?’ Alison muttered, her head stuck in the cupboard searching for pasta. While she appreciated the bond between her sister and daughter, Alison couldn’t ignore the little green tickle of envy that feathered her heart every time she thought of them. It was easy for Claire to be all glamour and sophistication, living the high life in her arty circle in London. Hannah didn’t have to witness her going through the day to day drudgery of scrimping to get by, having to make do and go without. Putting up with a job she hated and a lecherous boss that scanned her body every time he complimented her on an article – the thought of Eugene Dalton’s bulbous nose and that permanent leer on his fat, wet lips made her squirm. But, as Claire was always quick to point out, there was nothing to stop her upping sticks and moving too. But oh no, she had to stick with her girlish heart and tether herself to this no-man’s-land where the grey sky stoops to kiss the wet ground in a love affair that lasts eight months out of every twelve.

  Claire had moved to London a year before Sean was lost and, though she was loathe to admit it, Alison believed that the loss of her aunt had cut Hannah deeper than that of her father. Two years ago they had both gone to visit Claire in London when Alison’s father had moved over there to live with her. Alison would never forget her daughter’s tears at the airport. Claire had begged Alison to sell up, move over to London with them, and Hannah could not comprehend why her mother would prefer to return to Carniskey. On the drive home from the airport Alison had tried to explain to her daughter her need to be near Sean and the sea that had been his whole world. Hannah’s reaction had stung her to the core and Alison would never forget the fire in her young daughter’s eyes when she’d spoken: ‘He’s dead, Mum! Dead! And you might as well be, too! I hate you – and I hate him!’

  ‘I’m back!’ Hannah closed the front door with the force of a north-east gale and dropped her school bag in the hall, dead centre.

  ‘In here!’ Alison called. ‘Dinner’s just about ready.’

  ‘I’m not hungry – I’m goin’ to my room for a while.’

  Alison followed her down the hall. The bedroom door slammed in her face. Knocking lightly, she opened the door as Hannah set the CD player – and the walls – pounding.

  ‘You okay?’ Alison risked, taking in her daughter’s puffed eyes.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll be up in a minute.’

  ‘I’m just walking down to check the post box.’ Alison knew better than to risk asking questions. ‘Come and have something to eat then, okay?’

  Grunting a reply, Hannah flung herself among the clothes, magazines and childhood teddies that littered her single bed. Lying on her side, she watched her mum stride down the driveway. Why does she always have to keep her head bowed? Hannah’s sigh was laced with irritation. It’s like she’s afraid the whole world is watching her, like she’s ashamed or something! Alison’s red ringlets were coiled and pinned tightly at the back of her neck. She could even be pretty, Hannah considered, if she’d just let her hair loose, take that permanent worried look off her face.

  On the school bus home, Danny Ryan had said her mother was crazy. Said someone had seen her talking to the sea last Friday night and dancing with herself in the beam of the moon. ‘Danny Ryan’s an asshole,’ she spat. Still, it would be nice if Mum were a little more normal and didn’t stick out so much. It’s like she does it on purpose, she thought, like she hates this place and everyone in it and wants them to hate her right back! She rolled over onto her back. Why would Mum never considering leaving, then? She’d leave in the morning herself if it weren’t for Peter O’Neill. Peter O’Neill. Aoife had got it all wrong about him and Pamela Forde. They were probably just talking, there was no law against that. Hot nettles stung the backs of her eyes. She hated Pamela Forde, with her big fat arse. Biting down hard on her bottom lip, she cut the music and rushed to the bathroom to splash her face with cold water.

  ‘Hannah, there’s one for you, from Claire!’ Alison called from the kitchen. She opened the brown envelope addressed to herself, knowing even before she pulled out the slip of paper accompanying the manuscript what it would say. God, she was losing her touch. This was the third story in a month that had been sent back. So, what had they to say this time?

  ‘ . . . too dark and uncompromising for our publication . . .’ Jesus, did any of them live in the real world? Life wasn’t all pink ribbons and happy-ever-afters. Surely even those duped by the myth of a Celtic tiger had woken up to stark reality by now. Alison balled up the paper, shot it into the bin. She slapped the pasta up on two plates. If this continues, I’ll have to start looking for a real job. Sell my soul to some multinational – if there are any of them left.

  ‘Oh, Mum, she wants us to come over!’ Hannah, devouring the letter, stuffed her mouth with a forkful of pasta.

  ‘Slow down, Hannah, I thought you weren’t hungry.’

  ‘She wants us to visit this summer. Oh, it’d be so cool – can you imagine Grainne White’s face: “Are you going on holiday this year, Hannah? Dad’s takin’ us to Marbella for two weeks.”’ Hannah imitated the high-pitched boast to a T. ‘“Yeah, Grainne, me and Mum are off to London – and we don’t need a man to fund it, so stick that up your ar—’”

  ‘Hannah, please!’ Alison could barely stifle the laugh. ‘Anyway, I thought you and Grainne were great friends?’

  ‘Please, Mum, less of the great. She’s okay, but she keeps rubbin’ it in, you know, about money and stuff.’

  ‘No, I don’t know, Hannah. How do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothin’, Mum, keep your hair on. Sooo, come on, are we goin’? Please?’

  ‘Oh, Hannah, you know it’s out of the question.’

  ‘We did it before.’

  ‘Yeah, and your grandad footed the bill. Honestly, Hannah, where do you think I’d find the money?’

  ‘It can’t be that much.’ Hannah tsk’d. ‘And I’m sure Claire would . . . ’

  ‘Don’t even think about asking her.’

  ‘Yeah, but she’s loaded. I’m sure she’d be—’

  ‘Hannah, you heard me. I said no, it’s not happening.’

  ‘So, this is it then, is it?’ Hannah flung the letter down. ‘Stuck in this bloody place for the whole summer?’

  ‘Less of the bloody, please, Hannah. This place was good enough for your father all his life.’

  ‘Yeah, and look what it did to him,’ Hannah muttered into her plate.

  Ignore it, Alison warned herself, feeling her heart quicken. The subtle suicide jibes had been an almost constant at Hannah’s school until the day an exasperated Alison had burst into the classroom and confronted Hannah’s classmates head on. Another fatal mistake that had earned her the moniker ‘Alison in Cuckoo-land’ and had totally humiliated the child.

  ‘It’s only a holiday,’ Hannah risked into the silence. ‘It’s not like we’re talking about a world tour. Everyone’s entitled to a holiday.’

  ‘Entitled?’ Alison gibed, widening her eyes. ‘God, this “because you’re worth it” generation has an awful lot to learn. Things don’t just fall into your lap, Hannah, whether you feel you’re “entitled” or not. The world doesn’t work that way. Things have to be worked towards, earned.’ Conscious of sounding derisive, Alison lightened her tone. ‘Besides, happiness isn’t something that has to be chased after, you can have it, right here,’ she shrugged, attempting a conciliatory smile.

  ‘Yeah? Just like you?’ Hannah sat back in her chair, head cocked to one side in defiance. ‘Happy, happy, happy,’ she jeered, eyeballing her mother across the table.

  ‘You can drop it right now, Hannah.’ Keeping
her voice even, Alison gathered her plate and moved to the sink. ‘I’m not doing this.’ If there was one thing she had learned in the last few months, it was to walk away before things escalated between them, before words were spoken that couldn’t be unsaid. ‘It’s your turn to wash up – I’m going down to the beach for a walk.’

  ‘Oh well, surprise, surprise.’

  ‘Oh grow up, Hannah. There are more people in the world than you, you know. People who would love if their only problem was whether or where they were going on holiday! Your nan, for starters. When were you planning on visiting her?’ Alison tugged open her desk drawer, grabbed her cigarettes and keys, her temper rising with every thud of her heart. ‘And maybe you should stop milking Claire and try earning some money of your own for a change, maybe then you’ll understand how far it stretches! You won’t even babysit for Kathleen any more – what’s that all about?’

  Hannah, red-cheeked, made no reply, just scraped back her chair and slouched towards the hall.

  ‘Don’t you walk away when I’m talking to you . . . Hannah!’ Her blood boiling, Alison stomped down the hall behind her, checking herself as the bedroom door slammed in her face. Fists clenched, she took a deep breath. ‘Stay away from that phone – and get your homework done.’ She grabbed her jacket from the back kitchen and immediately the two dogs sprang from their beds. ‘Stay!’ Alison commanded, her anger ready to spill.

  The beach was deserted. A heavy mist draped the horizon and only a few scavenging gulls kept the waves company. She didn’t bother with a coat, didn’t feel the bite of the wind as she strode to the right of the pathway and onto the sand. Her eyelids felt hot and heavy, like the rock lodged in her chest – a great lump of sadness with a sea of anger and frustration crashing around it, yet unable, in all this time, to remove even the tiniest grain.

  The tide was halfway out, the tall rock standing in just a skirt of shallow water. She leaned against it. This was the spot. This was where Sean had first kissed her on that, her second summer in Carniskey. She would never forget the magical mixture of excitement and embarrassment as they had sought each other’s lips. She closed her eyes now and tasted again the salt and the sun on his lips. She drew a deep breath, remembering her mother that summer, that anxious look on her face every time Alison went out. ‘Remember last autumn, Alison, remember the agony of the postman’s visits?’ But Alison had explained that Sean had lost her address. Had believed that Alison wouldn’t even remember him when she went back to her life in Dublin. Alison knew by her mother’s raised eyebrows and the slow shake of her head that she wasn’t as easily convinced. But then, Sean hadn’t kissed her. Hadn’t whispered to her in the dunes how he’d seen her face for months in the water. How the leaves and the rain – and even a part of the cliff at Tra na Baid had fallen when she’d left. And how his heart had tumbled with them.