That Summer at the Seahorse Hotel
Page 25
“Sweet child,” he whispered. “I could easily adopt that one. Her parents have no idea what they’re missing.”
Mia sat up. He was ghostlike before her, mouth drawn down in pain.
“You’d have liked children, wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t think many men think about that until they have a partner,” he said. “Besides, I had you.”
“You did.” She took his hand. “You’ve been a wonderful father to me, the best.”
“Not at all.” Archie shrugged, but his eyes moistened. “I loved you, it was easy. You were a gift, what way we’d have ended up without you, I dread to think. You kept us together, stopped us from killing each other.”
Mia looked hard at the man sitting on the bed. “I still wish I knew who my father was.”
Archie glanced away. “You know I’ll never say. I disagree with your mother and her vow of silence on the matter but I’d never betray her. I did what I could.”
He started to cough. She passed him a tissue.
“Do you know who he is?” Mia had never been this direct.
Archie chose his words carefully. “I can’t say.”
She had no choice but to accept his loyalty to another.
“It will be harder with you gone and me not knowing,” Mia told him, but she would not ask again.
“Sure, everything will be harder without me, amn’t I a fabulous fellow altogether?” He patted her hand.
“The one and only,” she said. “Subject closed.” The phrase he had used when she was little.
He pressed her hand to his mouth. “Goodnight, child of my heart.” And then nodding at Pearl. “We’ve always had a special little girl in this house, history has a habit of repeating itself, especially in this family.”
He was coughing again as he left.
SEA CHANGE
“Here you are! Need a hand?”
Dawn was breaking as Mia stood at the old jetty. It looked more rickety than ever, splintered wooden struts leaning out towards the sea. Archie looked up in surprise.
“I thought you’d still be in bed, it was late when I left you.”
“I know, I’m sorry I put you on the spot when you came to say goodnight, I was wrong to do that, it’s just ...” She climbed on board.
Archie placed his hands squarely on her shoulders; she was wearing a fleece, hair stuffed into a cap, ready for sea. She looked up into his usually bright grey eyes, today they were flat, like dull steel.
“Mia, it’s time to go your own way, leave whatever you imagine the past to be, behind. Time not to give a flying fuck about anything or anyone.” He lifted her chin and looked deep into her eyes. “Time to be the person I know you are. Warm and lovely, and full of piss and vinegar. Stop doing what other people want you to do, stop being who you think you should be, be you and fuck the begrudgers!”
They started to laugh, it had always been Archie’s ‘flouncing out’ speech, he did a good flounce, did Archie. His deep cackle became a cough and Mia saw dark blood spot his lips as he turned away.
“Where are we headed?” she asked, going to check the fuel.
“Leave that.” Archie raised a hand. “Darling one, do you mind if I make this trip alone? I need a bit of space … you know how it is.”
“Oh.” She was winded. “Will you sail?” He seemed frailer today, he might not be able to handle Banshee alone, even though the winds were light and the sun was soft.
“Thought I’d motor out a bit and see how I go. A little tack back from the island might be fun.”
The fenders were in, the soothing putt, putt of the engine signaling all was ready for departure. Mia climbed back onto the jetty, freeing the stern line, she held it in both hands, not quite ready to let go. Archie took his position at the wheel, pulling up the collar of his sailing jacket, captain’s hat at the obligatory angle.
“What time will you be back?” She grew anxious.
“What?” He pushed the throttle up.
“What time?”
“Later. Let go now. Time to cast off,” he told her.
Reluctantly she threw the line aboard.
“Promise you won’t be too long?” she said. He started to speed up as he pulled away. “Promise?” she shouted.
“I promise,” Archie replied, looking straight ahead, as the boat pushed further and further out into the water. “Goodbye, now.”
Mia bent to tie her deck shoe, then stopped. Standing up slowly she could feel her skin prickle as every hair on her body stood to attention, her pulse started to race, her heartbeat building to a thud at the base of her throat. No, no … NO!
“Archie, wait!” she called. “Archie, wait for me, wait!” He had to turn round, he must come back. “Archie, Archie!” she yelled, jumping up and down on the jetty. He motored on. She leapt from the wooden platform, charging full speed along the beach.
“Archie come back, come back!”
Frantic, she ran into the sea, suddenly up to her waist in water, she was shouting, shouting and waving wildly. She tried to swim but her clothes, her hair, held her back, dragging her down and she was coughing, spitting out sea and sand, gasping for air.
But Archie would or could not hear, he was already halfway to the island, the low charcoal clouds blurring his eyes as he heard again the low pitiful wail, a siren call, over and over; the sound of a soul being crushed, as real as the first and the last time he had heard it.
She was standing at the shore, grey mist hovering above the water, the waves morose. Only the moon lit the scene, a shiver of silver across the sea to the island, Phoenix Island, where ‘the dark one’ was, where they had taken him.
She wrapped the red kimono around herself, straining her eyes in the dusk, desperate for a glimpse of him, of anything living.
“Did you hear that?” she suddenly asked. She had been inconsolable. Archie was standing a respectful distance behind.
“What?” He lit one of the French cigarettes they all seemed addicted to, a shared decadence.
“That sound, like wailing, coming from the island.”
He kept staring ahead. “It could be a whale, alright.”
“So close to the coast?”
“Sound travels a long way.”
She heard it again. “It’s so mournful, like it’s lost its soul.”
“They’re solitary creatures, it’s calling out for a mate.”
“I can’t bear it, how come I’ve never noticed it before?”
“Maybe you’ve never heard it before. They say you have to hear it with you heart.”
“Who says that?” She turned to glare at him. He could see in the moonlight her beautiful face streaked with mascara like scars.
“Leela, she says the whales mourn those lost at sea, reminding us not to forget them.” He flicked the cigarette butt into the ocean.
“We’d remember them better if they hadn’t been drunk in the first place and lost the bloody boat.” She swept past him, striding off along the shore.
“Fenella, come back, let’s go in, it’s getting cold.”
But Fenella ignored him and walked on.
Archie knew she was referring to her father, lost at sea. A drinker and a gambler, he had won the boat in a poker game and lost it in the storms a month later, the reason the family had been taken in by the Fitzgeralds in the first place. He turned to follow her. The sound came again. He stopped. Sometimes whale song sounded just like a man in agony, as if his very soul was being pulled from his heart through every pore in his skin.
Archie shuddered, that weird French tobacco was giving him the horrors. He pulled up his collar, for a second the wind dropped and this time he heard a different sound, not a wail but a cry, a pitiful agonising cry. He knew what the sound was. It was the sound of a man, a man being beaten to within an inch of his life. Christ, he needed a drink, and turning on his heel went to find the whiskey he and Humphrey had hidden in the summerhouse.
“Archie, Archie! For God’s sake do something!”
Archie froze.
It was not a fish. It was a body. Fenella.
Archie could not move. One thought, one despicable, hideous thought flashed across his mind. Maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe Fenella and the baby dying is the best outcome of all. She loved another. The child was not his. Best they were dead.
“ARCHIE!”
It was as if a gun had gone off and grabbing a weapon he flew, flew like the wind, his feet pounding the sand, his lungs bursting for air to join Humphrey flailing like a madman at the thugs stoning Fenella at the water’s edge, her blood turning the froth of the waves a pretty shade of pink as it shimmered about their feet.
“Aargh!” Archie yelled, twirling the stick with the foxes head like a shillelagh, whirling like a dervish in the midst of them, landing blows left, right and centre.
A couple of them made a half-hearted attempt at throwing a punch but once Humphrey got a good hold of one, the others scuttered off towards the town, leaving their colleague to his fate.
Humphrey pulled the sodden balaclava off his captive. He had taken a blow, his face covered in blood.
“Who put you up to this, you bastard? You’ll do time, I tell you. Beating a pregnant woman, you’re nothing but scum.” The youth, no more than a boy was trying to pull away. Humphrey looked into his face. “Hey, don’t I know you?”
A moan from the shore.
“Quick give me a hand!” Archie shouted and seizing his chance the attacker broke free, running for his life to catch up with his cohorts. Humphrey went to help Archie pull a semi-conscious Fenella out of the water and as he did he remembered who that little bastard was. His name was Dominic Driscoll. Fancied himself as the local gangster. Whatever he was up to, he was being paid for it and Humphrey had a pretty good idea who the paymaster was.
“Let’s get her into the house,” Archie said, as Fenella started to cough, coming round.
“We’ll have to go back to the island.” Humphrey told him, lifting Fenella upright. “Once those gurriers tell Monsignor Whelan the plan didn’t work he’ll make mincemeat of Gregory. He seems determined someone’s going to die tonight.”
They were carrying her now, Mrs Fitzgerald was running towards them, arms outstretched.
“Shame it isn’t him doing the dying.” Archie gritted his teeth, saying a silent prayer of thanks that Fenella had been saved after all.
Archie had swung Banshee out past the rocks and around the far side of the island. He looked back, the shore no longer visible. The weather was changing rapidly, the way it did here, cloud had covered the sun, the sea mist thickening to a fog. He steered the boat closer, straining to see if the Look Out Post was still there, he wanted to remember, remember everything before it was all swept away and buried at the bottom of the sea forever more. A fitting resting place for all the sadness.
Minutes later he and Humphrey were running back down the beach.
“Start the engine.” Humphrey pushed the boat into the inky water, the moon slid a sliver of light across the bay, the wind building to a howl. They sat low in the boat, driving it on, fighting against the tide beating them back. By the time they reached the island, the wailing had stopped.
“He could be dead.” Archie searched for the torch, straining his ears above the gale.
“Come on, I know a short cut.” Humphrey strode along the track, breaking off to scrabble up the rocks. Archie tried to keep up, Humphrey was lean and strong, scaling the cliff like an ape. They reached a ledge just beyond the seminary wall, Humphrey hauled Archie up, jagging his knee on the stone.
“Aargh!”
“Quiet,” Humphrey ordered. They could hear moaning, Humphrey flicked the light ahead; the sound was coming from a small hut on the far edge of the cliff, the old Look Out Post. They started running towards the hut. Humphrey kicked the door open as Archie flashed the light inside.
“Oh God!” He dropped the torch in fright, the bloodied mass of heaving flesh in the corner could have been a monster. “Gregory, is that you?”
The man was lying on his side, his back ripped into shards of bright pink strips, blood oozing from the gaps in his skin.
He lifted his head, one eye closed, lips split open.
“Don’t try to talk,” Archie said, untying the thick leather straps holding him fast.
Humphrey was at his wrists, slicing the rope with his penknife.
“He’s been lashed with a birch,” Humphrey whispered. “I bet I know who was beating a confession out of him.”
One of the monks saw the light in the Look Out Post.
He fumbled in his habit and taking out a whistle blew hard. The Monsignor was not quite through the gate, he waved at the monk and together they raced towards the hut.
Humphrey told Archie to cover Gregory and as the priest came through the door Humphrey pounced, bringing him down.
The Monsignor kicked out, catching Humphrey on the shin, he stumbled. The older man was nimble, back on his feet he lunged at Humphrey. Archie jumped up landing a punch, the Monsignor swung round kneeing Archie in the balls as groaning, he fell back.
Suddenly a roar like a beast and Gregory was on his feet, he grabbed the Monsignor from behind, crushing him in his embrace until something cracked, the man in black let out a scream, his collarbone smashed. Drained, Gregory staggered back releasing the man who, clutching his shoulder pushed past, out into the night. Humphrey’s long stride soon caught up. He ran ahead trapping the man between the hedge and the wall, Humphrey turned to face him, eye to eye.
“My shoulder, it’s …it’s broken,” the Monsignor hissed, eyes blazing at his tormentor.
“You’ve been beating my friend, you evil bastard.” Humphrey took hold of the priest’s jacket and started dragging him back. His hat fell to the ground, Humphrey kicked it away. “Now it’s our turn.”
Back at the hut, Gregory was leaning against the door, Archie propped him up.
“Help! Help!” called the Monsignor. “Someone help me!”
“You’re wasting your breath,” Archie told the Monsignor. “Your lackey ran off.”
“Now,” Humphrey pulled the man in front of Gregory. “Is this the man who beat you?”
Gregory lifted his head, looked through a slitted eye and nodded.
Humphrey handed him a piece of wood. “Your turn,” he said.
Archie stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Gregory, taking his weight.
“Go on, man. Your turn.” Humphrey repeated. Gregory shook his head, dropping the piece of wood.
“Hey, what’s going on there?” A shout from the wall, they looked up, the Monsignor took his chance and broke free running as fast as he could. Humphrey caught him at the cliff edge and holding him by the scruff, glared into his face.
“You’re not getting away with this, not this time,” he snarled. “We’re going to report you, you fucking sadist.”
“Leave him,” Gregory slurred, then louder. “Leave him.”
“Are you mad?” Archie was shocked. “He would have left you there all night, you’d be dead.”
“A confession at the very least,” Humphrey said, hauling the priest to the edge. A dog bark. A flashlight. Someone was coming.
The Monsignor started to struggle, the arm beneath the smashed collarbone swinging at his side, useless.
“Confess, then I’ll let you go. Go on, admit you beat him, I’ll set you free.”
They could hear footfall through the undergrowth.
“Confess!” roared Humphrey.
“Go to hell!” yelled the priest with such force Humphrey released him. The edge of the cliff crumbled away. He slipped, grabbing for the ledge as he fell. Humphrey saw the terror in his eyes and lunged forward, reaching for his hand. Too late, the Monsignor dis
appeared. Scrambling as close as they dare, Archie flashed the light below. A sheer drop. No sign, no sound … just the wind.
The dog barked again.
“Where’s the boat?” Archie asked, knowing Gregory had stolen one that very day to escape with Fenella. He pointed in the direction of a tiny bay.
“Come on,” Humphrey led them downwards. A gust of wind landed something in their path, Archie’s torch outlined the Monsignor’s hat. He stopped and kicked it off the cliff into the sea.
Archie was about to give up on the tiller, it was pretty useless now anyway. He could feel the undercurrent dragging Banshee towards the rocks, it was time for a last drink, a final smoke. Time to let go, he had so little future left, better to spend what time he had in the past.
He heard a sound above the deep hum of the storm. A fog-horn. It was a small tender, one of the coastguards’ speedboats.
“Ahoy! Is that you, Archie?”
Archie grabbed the tiller, slamming Banshee into reverse.
“Aye, Jimmy, it is. Just heading back. It’s getting too wild out here for a pleasure trip.”
“Good man, I was just going to advise that. Need an escort?”
“No thanks. Best go and see if anyone else is in trouble.” On cue the coastguards’ radio gave out a call.
“Will do. Safe back now, quick as you like. And I’d put your life vest on if I were you, it’s mighty squally.”
“I will, of course.” Archie waved him off, swinging Banshee round as best he could. He and the boat were both struggling against the tide. As soon as the coastguard was out of sight he turned everything off and went below. He had not quite finished remembering yet.
“What are you doing there?” He was back in Galty House striding along the landing, jeans covered in mud, shirt soaking wet.
Bernice jumped back, startled. “She can’t go. She’ll never come back, we’ll lose her, the baby, everything.”
“You’re the one going on about the disgrace of it, the scandal it would bring on all of us.”