by Cathy Kelly
One beautiful, sunny March morning, Danae walked Lady high above Avalon, in the grounds of the old ruined abbey with the small stone graves that she used to find so tragic. As Lady bounded along, Danae realized that she had merely been projecting her own personal tragedy on to everything around her. She didn’t know the stories of the people buried here, whether they were famine victims, whether they had lived long, happy lives. She simply didn’t know. Nobody did.
Her own life had convinced her that their circumstances must have been sad, because sadness was all she’d known. Now joyfully, she felt free of that sadness.
She thought of all those years ago, sitting on the fire-escape step of the shelter and being told that it would be all right. Only it hadn’t been all right at all, because later that same day Antonio had found her. He had almost succeeded in killing part of her soul that day, but now it was well again. The shriveled heart was beating again, ready to open, ready to welcome happiness in.
Avalon seemed changed, now that she looked at it with a different eye.
The people in the town were her friends. When she walked down the main street people said, “Hello, Danae, how are you?”
She was no longer Mrs. Rahill, the kind but distant lady behind the plexiglass in the post office; she was Danae, a woman they liked, a woman they would talk to, a woman they would invite into their home for coffee or dinner or to attend one of their parties.
And it was all thanks to Mara, and her refusal to let Danae shut herself away from the world.
Lady began running off toward Avalon House. It was very much a building site now, Danae thought, as she began to walk around it. Lady was forever dancing in and out of the scaffolding, but after having been called back so many times she now understood that she had to keep away from the house itself.
The landscaping was taking shape. There were two wonderful young men doing it all and Danae had spent many hours, at Cashel’s behest, talking to them about the kind of plants that really thrived up here. She knew so much about gardening on the hill at the end of Willow Street, where the sea breeze blew in.
Even the house itself seemed changed. Before, it had been lonely. That wasn’t the case any more. There was joy coming from every brick, as though the old house was exuding contentment at being loved again.
But what made Danae happiest of all was the love she could see between Rafe and Mara. They were so close, so happy. There was laughter and joking every time they were together, along with mutual respect and true tenderness. Mara had chosen wisely.
“It’s thanks to you, Danae,” Mara said one evening as the two of them sat in front of the fire, Lady at their feet. “If I hadn’t come to Avalon, I’d never have met Rafe. I’d have gone off to New York or London or somewhere, convinced that all men were pigs, nobody was to be trusted, and thinking that it was all my fault for not having changed myself enough to be lovable. When actually all I needed was someone who would love me the way I am.”
“And I’ve you to thank,” said Danae, “for letting me out of the prison I’d made for myself. Without you, I’d have faced Antonio’s death alone and probably would have watched the funeral from a distance, so Adriana couldn’t have come to me and said what she did.”
“Danae, you let yourself out,” said Mara firmly.
Danae thought about that as she walked around the back of the house, where a little Victorian knot garden was being constructed by the two landscape gardeners.
“Isn’t it coming along nicely, Danae?” one of the gardeners called her. They loved her to look at their work, approve of it and tell them how well they were doing.
“Absolutely fabulous! Boys, I don’t know how you do it so quickly,” she said, and they both beamed with delight at her. “You’ll have to come in for a cup of tea later, when you’re finished. You must be frozen.”
“That’d be great,” they said.
Danae walked on. Adriana’s graveside gift had been huge, lifting the burden of guilt Danae had carried for so long, but Mara had also given her a precious gift—the gift of letting people in, of understanding that friends mattered. People mattered. Community mattered. And she mattered to other people. She’d never seen that before.
It hadn’t been easy, taking the plunge. She’d spent so long avoiding anything that might involve socializing with strangers, terrified that they might start asking questions, wanting to know more about her, that the prospect of going out and meeting people seemed completely overwhelming at first.
If it hadn’t been for Mara, she never would have signed up for the course at the community center. Even though she’d been drawn to the idea from the moment she spotted the notice decorated with swirling Celtic symbols in the window of the convenience shop. A six-week course on Celtic and pre-Celtic Ireland, with lectures by noted historians on Irish myths and legends, as well as the saints and gods and goddesses who had played a part in shaping Ireland’s culture. She’d always been fascinated with the old Irish myths in school and once thought it might have been interesting to study them in college, but there had been no college for Danae and dreams of studying history had been put away. On the spur of the moment, she’d written down the phone number for the course.
“What do you think?” she’d said to Mara later that day as they shared a coffee in Lorena’s Café. “It might be a complete waste of money, I mean . . . I don’t know.”
“You’re not going to find out unless you try,” said Mara. “Give it a go.”
Danae had laughed. That was Mara all over: give it a go. She’d give anything a go.
“But I’m not like you,” she protested. “I can’t drift into something and make friends instantly. I mean, I like the idea of studying this, but . . .”
“But what?” said Mara. “What’s the worst that can happen? You’re going to sit in a room with lots of like-minded people and listen to somebody talk. You don’t have to ask any questions afterward. There’s no rule about asking questions. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. Take the odd note, look interested—that’s all there is to it. Simply go along. Just be.”
Just be, thought Danae. What sort of being did that mean? For years, she’d been afraid of being. For so many years she’d been afraid of Antonio and his rages, afraid to move, afraid to breathe the wrong way in case she’d upset him. And then for eighteen long years in Avalon, unable to shake off the habit of fear, she’d carried on being afraid to move, hardly able to believe that she had a new life.
Now, she was part of a community, with friends and a life and warmth from whatever divinity was up there. She was failing them by not living a life.
“You’re right,” she told Mara. “I’ll book it tomorrow.” And she did.
The course had proved to be fascinating, sparking off something in Danae that she hadn’t known existed. The first session, she hadn’t opened her mouth, nodding shyly at the other course participants: a mixture of men and women, some of them people she recognized from the post office, others she didn’t. But by the second week, when they moved on to the story of Brigid, she was full of energy, full of excitement, asking questions, writing things down. Engaged in it. Part of the whole thing. By the time the tea break came, she was sitting with a group of women, chatting wildly, telling them she hadn’t done any nighttime study ever, that this was her first time.
“Oh, me too,” said another woman. “I was terribly nervous. I was afraid to say anything.”
And Danae had laughed and said, “Snap!”
“Weren’t we daft!” said the woman, whose name was Sally. “I mean, what were we afraid of?”
“Appearing stupid,” said another woman, Norah.
“I was thinking I might sign up for the next course as well,” revealed Sally. “It’s all about family genealogy. They teach you how to do the research, go back and discover your roots. You could do it as a job. Lots of people are tracing their ancestors these days.”
“That might be interesting,” Danae said. Ancestors had never b
een something she’d given much thought to. Her family, the past, had been too painful to want to dwell on it. But there were lots of other family members she knew nothing about: grandparents, great-grandparents and beyond. Who knew where they’d come from, where they’d lived, what they’d done?
“I think I’d like to do that,” she said to Sally.
Browsing the board, she’d seen one other notice that got her attention. It was an appeal for volunteers to rattle collection boxes for the local women’s shelter:
. . . DOMESTIC ABUSE CAN AFFECT ANYONE. DOESN’T MATTER HOW MUCH MONEY THEY HAVE, WHERE THEY LIVE, WHAT THEIR JOB IS. IT CUTS ACROSS ALL AGES, SOCIOECONOMIC GROUPS AND RACES. WE NEED HELP RAISING FUNDS. OUR GOVERNMENT SUBSIDY HAS BEEN CUT. IF YOU WANT TO HELP, PLEASE CALL . . .
Danae had ripped off one of the tiny bits of paper at the bottom with the phone number. She’d kept it in her pocket for days, feeling it sometimes, wondering if she had the strength to ring. She thought back to the shelter and Mary, the woman who’d helped her. Mary in the red dress, who’d been so kind. Mary had been beaten by her husband too. So badly that she’d almost died, and yet she’d turned around and given back to women like herself. Danae wasn’t sure if she had the strength to do it now. But one day she would, one day in the future. She’d learned so much, it was only right to give a little something back.
Kitty’s class in school were making Valentine cards. There was much giggling whenever Kitty’s classmate, Julia, came around to play, much muttering about big red hearts and crepe paper and what they were going to say.
“They’re supposed to be secret, you know. You don’t write who it’s from,” Tess overheard them saying and then they shut up and giggled frantically when she came back into the kitchen.
“I didn’t hear anything,” said Tess, “not a thing.”
“Mum,” said Kitty, “do you think Zach will get lots of Valentine’s cards, because all the girls really like him even though he’s going out with Pixie?”
“I’d say Pixie will carve their hearts out with a spoon if they do,” said Suki, who was cooking dinner.
Tess glared at her.
“Sorry,” said Suki. “I forget sometimes . . .”
“How do you carve someone’s heart out with a spoon?” asked Kitty, interested.
“I was joking!” said Suki. “I meant carve the way you carve a name on a tree with something, perhaps a spoon . . . ?”
“Nice save,” said Tess, grinning.
It was definitely interesting, having Suki around.
Suki adored spending time with Zach: the two of them had always shared a special closeness. And she loved to babysit Kitty, encouraging Tess to “go out and date people!”
“I don’t want to date people,” Tess told her.
“Well, go out anyhow,” Suki said. “I’ll be heading back to the States for my book tour soon enough. Take advantage of free homegrown babysitting while you still have it.”
Suki’s book was brilliant, Tess thought—and so did everyone at Box House Publishing. The reception had blown Suki away—and Melissa, who was honest enough to admit it. Somehow, through all the tough months, Suki had written some of her best prose, and she’d managed to strike a topical note that captured everyone’s interest.
They’d already lined up a twenty-city tour for Suki, and all the major chat shows wanted to book her.
Suki was jogging every day to get in shape.
“Television adds pounds,” she said. “I need to get my waist back—I can’t be seen on TV without a waist!”
“Hey,” said Tess, “hello! Haven’t you recently written a book about how it should be okay for a woman to age in a womanly manner and not in the manner of a fifteen-year-old model?”
“Yes,” Suki said. “I have. It’s hard to break the habit of a lifetime, though.”
“You look beautiful, Sis,” said Tess, smiling at her sister with love.
Suki smiled. “And so do you, honey.”
The best news of all had been the spate of deals with foreign publishers, which had meant that she’d been able to lend Tess the money to keep Something Old going.
“You’ve always been there for me,” Suki said. “It’s nice to be able to do something for you for a change.”
“My sister got five Valentine’s cards last year. She’s thirteen,” said Julia thoughtfully. “I hope when I’m thirteen I get six, so I can beat her because she was boasting and I didn’t get any . . . well, except for that one from my mum and dad, and that doesn’t count.”
“My dad always gives Mum one,” said Kitty, “and he gives me one too. I like that. It must be horrible to get none.”
“Oh, I think we’ll all survive if we don’t get Valentine’s cards,” Tess said, smiling. “Now girls, have you done your homework?”
“Nearly everything, Tess,” said Julia. “Except sums. I hate sums.”
“Me too,” said Kitty, anxious not to be left out. If hating sums was where it was at, she was going to hate sums too.
“Girls, you’re both fabulous at sums! Honestly, you’re so clever,” Tess said, automatically going into the “tell children how wonderful they are and then they’ll like schoolwork” mantra.
Eventually the girls settled down to do their sums while Tess checked the rest of their homework, her mind half on the subject of Valentine’s cards. Back when they were at school, Suki used to get scores of them. Some would be stuffed into her school bag when she wasn’t looking. Or left in her desk in her form room. She’d been so blithely uninterested in them, whereas Tess, who’d never got any except from her father—one he’d signed—would have loved to get Valentine’s cards.
“Suki’s seven years older, so she’s bound to get more cards than you,” Anna Reilly had explained to her. “Don’t worry, pet. When it’s your turn, you’ll be getting tons of them. You’re going to be beautiful. You are beautiful.”
“Thanks, Anna,” said Tess, although she didn’t really believe her. Suki, with her full cheekbones, her pillowy lips and that slanted way she had of looking at people, was beautiful. Men flocked to her. Men and boys. Tess didn’t have that. She knew. Even at twelve, she knew.
After dinner, Suki tidied up and Tess drove Julia home. The two little girls sat in the back of the car and chatted nineteen to the dozen, as if they had to stretch out these last few minutes of being together. “Thanks for having her,” Julia’s mother said when they dropped her off. “Was she good?” she added, ruffling Julia’s short, dark hair.
“She was fabulous, as usual,” said Tess. “They’ve both done their homework—you need to sign her homework notebook—and they ate their dinner too, although not much of the cauliflower.”
“Bleuch,” said Julia.
“Bleuch,” agreed Kitty.
“No, cauliflower doesn’t go down too well here, either,” said Julia’s mum.
“Can I stay up a bit late and watch telly, Mum?” wheedled Kitty as they drove home through the town.
“No,” said Tess, “you know you’re always tired after you’ve had someone over to play. And it’s only Thursday night. Tomorrow is a school day, after all.”
“Oh, Mum.”
It was at that moment that Kitty and Tess spotted them: Kevin and Claire, walking across the pedestrian crossing holding hands. Claire was visibly pregnant now, her belly swollen to a melon-sized bump. The rest of her looked exactly the same: long slender legs encased in her skinny jeans and flat Ugg boots. Her pretty cardigan-type thing swinging out behind her. Why were young people never cold? Tess wondered for a moment. For the drive to Julia’s house, she’d put on her anorak. She hated the cold. But then Claire had the extra central heating of a baby inside her.
“Look, Mum, look, Mum! Can we stop, can we stop?” said Kitty delightedly. “Aw, beep the horn or something.” They were three cars back from the crossing and it had started to flash orange, meaning that the cars could pass. Kevin and Claire were on the other side of the road.
“No, darling,”
said Tess hurriedly, “we can’t stop really and we don’t have time and plus . . .” she searched her mind desperately, “you are going to be seeing Dad and Claire on Saturday so we’ll give them a beep of the horn and a wave and we’ll keep going.”
“No. I want to stop,” said Kitty mutinously.
“Darling, we don’t have time. I’ll beep and you wave.”
She gave the lightest beep of the horn, hoping that neither Kevin nor Claire would look around. And yet they did, caught sight of the car and waved energetically, Claire beaming the happy smile of someone who was utterly content. Tess smiled and waved back, feeling like the biggest hypocrite in the world. She took a right turn up a road she wouldn’t normally go. It was probably a longer route to their house, but she didn’t care. She just needed to get out of the town square quickly. Halfway up the road was the McMillan card shop, an orgy of red in advance of Valentine’s Day.
“Oh, look at the shop, Mum,” said Kitty delightedly. “Can I get a card for Claire? She’d love it.”
“It’s closed. It’s quarter past six,” Tess said.
“Can we go tomorrow? Please, please? I’ll use my pocket money.”
“Of course, darling,” she said. “If you want to, we’ll go in tomorrow.”
Tess could remember when Kitty wanted to give her Valentine’s cards. When making Tess a big “I Love You Mummy” Valentine’s card had been the biggest thrill. Now she wanted to buy one, with her own pocket money, for Claire. Tess swallowed back the pain, the loneliness, the sadness. Cashel came unbidden into her mind. Why did she keep thinking of him? Suki was driving her mad, saying that he was around the town, staying in the hotel a lot and very involved in the house.
“Stop meddling, Suki,” begged Tess. “I don’t want any pain in my life anymore.”
“It’s not like you to give up,” Suki had said naughtily.
Tess had sent the necklace Cashel had brought off to be valued and her diamond expert had been cautiously optimistic.
“These days you can never tell till the auction, but I think you could be on to a winner here, Tess. This could be real money.”