by Cathy Kelly
‘I want to find out who it was with, even though his friend said it was over, he’d ended it and was terrified I’d find out. That was probably what killed him, not worrying over the store, for all that it’s in trouble…’ She knew she was babbling but Star didn’t look surprised. She seemed to be following this strange narrative perfectly.
‘Does it matter now who she is?’ Star asked.
Ingrid knew the pure rage had burned off her, but she still wanted to know.
‘Yes, I think so–’
‘Well then, that’s what you have to do.’
Unusual, Ingrid thought. Most people–well, people like Marcella–would have a counter-attack to explain why it wasn’t a good idea, along the lines of But what good will it do you? Star let you think for yourself.
‘Just one more thing before I make us tea: did Babe tell you about my gift?’
Ingrid shook her head.
‘It’s magic in my hands, let me try on you.’
She sat beside Ingrid and took Ingrid’s cold, tense hands in hers.
Star closed her eyes and let herself connect to Ingrid’s heart and soul. Images rushed past her and, through years of practice, she made herself slow them down so she could concentrate on each frame. A younger Ingrid cradling a baby in her arms, staring at the tiny being with such intensity and love that they made a little cosmos all by themselves. Complete. There was another child, and the cosmos was made of up three heartbeats: Ingrid and her two children.
There was no sign of David yet. Star wasn’t surprised. She’d seen this many times in women’s pasts, the women who were completed by their children, and the ones who weren’t, the ones whose heartbeats were always twinned with their man.
There was Ingrid holding David in a tangle of sheets, and Star was proud that she didn’t feel jealousy at this. She had made her peace with that past many years ago.
Sometimes she saw unusual objects in the images, and now she saw a crescent moon, druidic symbol of female strength. Ingrid was strong, strong enough to stand at her husband’s graveside and know she had to keep going, strong enough to keep going no matter what she’d learned. A man was in the stream of pictures: short, grey-haired, with a clunky gold watch he kept waving around on his animated hands, and wearing a loud navy striped suit. He was important to Ingrid, although Star couldn’t see why. But he helped her. He held Ingrid’s hands and she was crying with relief, but they weren’t lovers, it was a strange, tenuous link, but important.
‘Do you know a man who likes navy striped suits and has a big gold watch; short, not much hair?’ Star said, still holding Ingrid’s hands.
Ingrid’s face showed instant recognition.
‘That sounds like David’s old friend, Jim Fitzgibbon. He’s the one who told me it was over with this girl.’
A woman came into view, young, with long fair hair and the innocence of another age. The lover. She was in the picture and then flitted out, far away. It was odd, but the woman appeared beside the girl Lena had brought out here, Claudia…Star fitted the pieces of the puzzle together in an instant. This was what she’d felt the day she took Claudia’s hands. Someone close to her, her sister perhaps, who was connected to David. But it was only a weak connection, like a faint silk thread that dissolved briefly.
Then David himself appeared and Star could almost feel him sigh with relief.
David. She’d loved him so much and, since he’d died, she hadn’t felt any peace from his spirit. But she felt it now. Peace and calm. He was looking into her eyes, his spirit connecting with hers. In the vision, his hands were reaching to Ingrid’s. That’s where he was happy, with Ingrid. The girl with the pale hair wasn’t the one he loved, she was like a will-o’-the wisp who appeared and then disappeared.
Star tried to let that knowledge flow back into Ingrid.
Sorry, my love.
On the seat, Ingrid felt the oddest sensation in her body, like a melting calm of acceptance.
Star let go.
‘How did you do that?’ said Ingrid, sitting back against the cushions, exhausted.
‘I let you access what’s in you, Ingrid,’ Star said. ‘It’s not hocus pocus, it’s what all people used to have. Our connection with the spirituality of the earth, whatever you want that spirituality to be. It’s probably very strong in me today because of my connection with David, my old connection.’
‘I’m sorry I accused you of still seeing him,’ Ingrid said.
‘It’s all right, I loved him. I’ll always love him.’
Her words winded Ingrid.
‘I don’t say that to upset you, but it’s how I’ve felt for years.’
‘But–’ Ingrid couldn’t get a handle on this. ‘Why didn’t you do something about it?’
‘David left me. He loved me too and still, he left me. You don’t choose who you love, otherwise we’d all be mad about Nelson Mandela and nobody else.’
They both laughed.
‘It’s strange, but I felt him saying sorry,’ Ingrid admitted.
Star thought about how to explain what she’d seen.
What would you say, Mama? she silently asked Eliza.
That was more of the magic of Bluestone Cottage: the magic of place. Both the druids and white witches understood the power of sites or ruins where great knowledge had lived, and in this cottage, where Bluestone women had used their wise, gentle magic to help the local people for three hundred years, there was huge, benevolent power.
Not the whole truth, Eliza Bluestone’s spirit let Star know. Enough to help her because she needs to go away from here with her strength recovered.
‘I saw someone else,’ Star said slowly. ‘A woman, a young woman, and she was in the distance in my mind. David was beside you, holding on to you, telling you he loved you and only you.’
Ingrid felt her eyes brimming with tears but none fell. She wiped them with her sleeve.
‘He’s sorry?’
Star nodded. ‘You felt it too. He loves you and he wanted to say sorry.’
‘This other woman–’ Ingrid began. ‘My friend is supposed to be finding out who she is, because I want to know.’
‘Seeing the woman won’t bring you any more peace,’ Star stated. ‘I know that. It will only hurt. Your curiosity will hurt you far more. Leave it alone, he’s at peace and you can be too.’
Ingrid looked down at her hands, examining them. ‘I know you’re right,’ she said. ‘I felt it, felt everything you described. How did you do that?’
‘I don’t like to pontificate but modern religions take away our power over ourselves. We are divine creatures and we have our own power. I can harness it, that’s all.’
Ingrid wanted to ask more but she had the feeling–a very strange feeling for a woman who made her living by asking the question ‘why’–that she shouldn’t ask any more. This was about belief and now, after what had happened, she believed.
Through some strange miracle, she’d felt David say sorry. She couldn’t tell anyone about this, nobody would believe it. That Ingrid Fitzgerald, with her logical, precise mind, would let another woman hold her hands and help her feel, in a completely indescribable way, what had really happened in the past with David. And yet that was just what had happened.
The Ingrid of a year ago would have shrugged and disbelieved. Now, Ingrid felt grateful to Star for sharing her gift with her.
‘Shall I make us tea?’ Star asked.
‘I’d love that,’ said Ingrid, getting to her feet. She began to walk around the room, touching some of the beautiful objects. ‘I want to know all about you and this place. There’s such a wonderful feel to this house.’
Star smiled. ‘There’s three hundred years’ worth of women’s hearts beating here,’ she said. ‘That’s the magic.’
Epilogue
Ingrid walked through the store, breathing in the smells and seeing the sights that made it so magical. It was Halloween and, in honour of the day, orange and black decorations covered the store, with bats
and witches whirling up above, and pumpkins sitting on many counters. Star would laugh when she saw it all, Ingrid knew.
Halloween was really Oíche Samhain, according to Star, a pre-Christian harvest festival where the veil between the worlds lifted and spirits could roam as they pleased. Star often talked to her about the pre-Christian traditions and Ingrid found it fascinating. She’d told Star she ought to write a book about what she knew.
‘What I know has to be passed down person to person,’ Star said, and Ingrid had grown quiet.
She felt sad that Star had no beloved daughter to follow her, although Natalie Flynn went to see her a lot, and seemed to be like a daughter to her. But perhaps the magic only came from a true genetic link.
Star had known Natalie’s mother and she’d kept a lot of her things: books, clothes, jewellery. Natalie seemed to love going there and listening to stories about her mother. Molly had visited Star, too, with Natalie.
‘You won’t tell her, will you?’ Ingrid had said on the phone when Molly mentioned she was visiting Star’s house with her friend.
‘Of course not,’ Star had said. ‘That’s yours to tell, if you wish to.’
Ingrid had no desire to. It was the last issue she’d worried over: whether to tell Molly or Ethan, who’d returned from his travels now, about what had really gone on in their father’s last few months. She’d finally come to the conclusion that it wouldn’t help them in any way to know about it. Why tarnish their image of David? It might be harder for them to forgive him than it had been for her. And she had forgiven him.
The peace she’d felt at Star’s house had stayed with her. She didn’t feel rage or anger, just a sadness that he’d died without him ever telling her. Love wasn’t the clichéd never having to say you were sorry: it was compromise and moving on. She understood that now.
It was hard to believe that it was over six months since David had died. In one way, it seemed longer. Yet in another, he felt only a heartbeat away.
She’d said so to Marcella on the phone that morning.
‘He would be so proud of what you’ve managed to do,’ Marcella said.
‘I hope so,’ Ingrid said. ‘Now, you. How’s Italy?’
Marcella and Lorcan were on honeymoon in Italy after a small registry office wedding. The speed with which they’d gone from getting back together to getting married had stunned everyone, but Lorcan was firm that he wanted to be married.
Ingrid thought he was gorgeous and exactly the sort of strong character that a woman like Marcella really needed.
‘Fabulous. I want to move here, but Lorcan says their plumbing is totally different, so it’s a no-go.’
‘Are you ready?’ said a voice behind Ingrid now.
It was Star, carrying a folded-up tapestry with her.
‘I’m ready,’ said Ingrid, hugging her. ‘Is this it?’
‘Yes.’
The two women took the escalator together up to the café where Ingrid had arranged to talk to the entire staff of Kenny’s at ten past six, when the store was closed. It was six now, just enough time to look at the tapestry.
Molly, Ethan and Natalie were already in the café, sitting at a table having lattes.
Star laid the precious tapestry out on the table beside them.
Ingrid had commissioned it: a picture of the front of the store with David just visible as a figure leaning out of his office window. Made in the warm golds and ochres of the shop front, it was a beautiful work of art.
‘Fantastic,’ said Molly admiringly.
‘It’s beautiful, Star,’ said Ingrid. ‘You are a genius.’
Charlie, walking by with Shotsy, who was carrying their tray of coffee for her and tea for Charlie, stopped to admire it too.
‘How fabulous,’ she cried. ‘I love it.’
Star smiled at her. ‘I know you, don’t I? You’re Charlotte, Kitty Nelson’s daughter.’
Star had never seen Charlotte up close, although she’d recognised her with Kitty at David’s funeral.
Charlie knew she had assumed the usual slightly wary look she did when people mentioned Kitty to her. But she shook it off. Things were different now. She wasn’t Number Two Daughter any more–not in Kitty’s mind and, more importantly, not in Charlie’s mind. ‘Yes,’ she said, smiling. ‘I’m Charlie Fallon.’
‘Star Bluestone,’ said Star, and grasped Charlie’s outstretched hand.
Visions of sadness swept by in a rush to be replaced by such love, love for a tall man and love for a skinny teenager. And in the background, in Charlie’s arms, was a baby girl with a shock of bright auburn hair.
Her eyes instinctively went down to Charlie’s flat stomach. Charlie saw it happen and paled, shaking her head to show that nobody knew. Nobody except Brendan, Mikey and the doctor so far.
Star leaned forwards to whisper. ‘Congratulations, my dear Charlie,’ she said. ‘True motherhood is a great gift. One of the best of all. You have that gift in abundance, lucky you. Not everyone,’ she paused meaningfully, ‘has it. I haven’t met your mother for years,’ she added. ‘Give her my best.’
Charlie felt as if she was sleepwalking as she followed Shotsy to a spare table. The woman had seen everything in an instant. And then the glimmer of a smile began on her face. She’d said Charlie had the gift of true motherhood. She did. Charlie knew that she did. And she appreciated that gift above all others.
‘You’re not going all healthy on me, are you?’ asked Shotsy, putting Charlie’s tea in front of her. ‘Drinking tea instead of coffee?’
‘If I tell you this, you’re not to tell anyone, OK?’ began Charlie.
As the café filled up, Star stood beside Natalie.
‘Do you want to come to me for dinner later?’ she asked.
‘No, I’m meeting Rory, he’s coming to pick me up,’ Natalie said, and she glowed. ‘We’re going out with Anna and Dennis to the pasta place down the road.’
‘What about Lizzie?’ asked Star, who remembered Natalie telling her about her childhood friend.
She knew how distressed Natalie had felt over Lizzie’s obvious drinking problem–Des had been anxious that when Natalie heard about her mother’s alcoholism she’d have been devastated. But Natalie had handled it well. ‘Mum recovered,’ she said. ‘That took huge courage.’
‘Rory and I were at a party with her and the gang a week ago,’ Natalie said.
Lizzie had got terribly drunk at the party, and the next day, Natalie had gone round to Steve and Lizzie’s house, sat down on an armchair–with Lizzie lying, groaning with a hangover on the couch–and said: ‘Lizzie, you’re my dear friend and it breaks my heart to see you like this. You must be going through absolute hell, thinking nobody knows about your drinking and hating yourself.’
Lizzie had gone white and Steve was bent over with his head in his hands.
‘She won’t listen to me,’ he said.
Lizzie had said nothing but just sobbed.
‘I don’t want to tell you how to live your life, Lizzie, but I think you need help.’ She got up and put all the alcoholism and rehab literature she’d collected on the coffee table in front of Lizzie. ‘I’m going now, but if you ever want to talk about it, I’ve got a story about someone really special who was just like you, and recovered. My Mum. I’m so proud of her and what she did; she showed you can leave rock bottom and find happiness.’ She bent down, kissed Lizzie and left.
Star beamed as Natalie told her the story. ‘You sound just like your mother, there,’ she said proudly. ‘Talking of which, I found this. It was on the floor of the attic. I didn’t open it.’
‘This’ was a dusty, yellowed notebook with an elastic band holding it shut. She handed it to Natalie who took it reverently.
Natalie: advice! was written on the outside.
Natalie stroked the notebook as if it was the Rosetta Stone.
‘I just have to look at this,’ she said to everyone, and rushed off to find a quiet place. Ingrid was about to speak, but Natalie needed t
o know what her mother had to say to her.
‘It’s been a tough six months for us all,’ Ingrid said, looking down at the sea of faces watching her. ‘We all miss David so very much.’
Beside her, Ethan snuffled and Ingrid saw Molly put a discreet arm around him. He was like his father, she thought fondly, hated anyone seeing him get upset. ‘And we would miss Kenny’s if anything happened to it.’
The mood of the crowd changed subtly and Ingrid could sense the tension.
‘But we’re not selling. I’ve brought you all here tonight to tell you that Kenny’s is here to stay. We have a new investor.’
At this, Eric Johannsen emerged from behind her, looking every inch the urbane financier. ‘Let me introduce you to Eric Johannsen, who is now a shareholder in the company and promises that Kenny’s, far from being sold, will be the one doing the buying out of other stores!’
The crowd roared. Ingrid had seen the crowd dynamic in action before. It was like a wave, a wave that lifted the mood until everyone was shouting with delight.
‘Your store, your jobs are safe,’ Ingrid said, when the sound died down. ‘I’ll let Eric talk to you for a moment.’
She moved aside and while Eric spoke briefly about the great plans for Kenny’s, she went to stand behind Molly and Ethan to kiss both their heads.
‘David would be proud,’ whispered Star.
‘I think he would,’ Ingrid murmured, smiling.
She looked at the store, her store, and felt huge pride in it. Thanks to her, this place was still going, would still be a haven for both the customers and the people who worked there. David had created a big family and he’d left it to her to take care of, and that, she could do.
In a small office on the fifth floor, Natalie found peace. She slammed the door shut, sank on to a chair and carefully opened the notebook.
Darling Natalie,
I’m not here for you and that’s the worst thing ever. I would give up years of my life to be there for you, but I don’t have any to give. It’s scary the things you don’t have any choice about. You get to pick hair colour or where your flat is and pointless things you think are important, and you have no choice in how long you live with your beloved baby and husband.