Jamie has found his sunken treasure.
Once we go back to the shore, Jamie throws off his snorkel and jumps up and down, delighted with himself. ‘I found the treasure. Look, I really did!’
‘Pretty cool, little bro,’ Evie says.
‘You did good,’ I whisper to Olly.
‘What?’ he replies with a wink. He planted the gold pot. I know he did. He made one of our son’s dreams come true. And I love him for that.
We are all hungry after our swim and head to the restaurant, sitting outside under a canopy, with blue seas and skies as our canvas.
‘Lots of courageous dishes here, Mam,’ Evie says, pointing to the menu.
I order black-squid risotto and Olly a dish called brudet, which turns out to be a spicy fish stew. Jamie tries the local sausages, but they turn out to be way too spicy. Thank goodness for chips! Evie tucks into a tuna-fish salad, which is her new favourite thing to eat. I call to the waiter and ask him to take a photograph of us, with the sea as our backdrop. I don’t think I’ll ever forget this moment, but in case I do, I want a snapshot.
‘Look at us,’ I say to them all, showing them the digital image. ‘Have you ever seen a happier, more good-looking bunch?’
We all laugh at this, congratulating ourselves. I flick back to the first picture taken of us in Bayeux, on our first week. We’re on the beach and Fred took it for us. We are unrecognisable as the same family.
White faces and limbs are now brown and glowing. Scowls and frowns are replaced with smiles and laughter. Hunched shoulders are now relaxed. And hurt and fear now banished, with only love and strength in the faces of us all.
The Guinness family.
Chapter Forty-Three
Dear Olly and Mae
Here’s a little song to set the mood for today’s letter. Do you know it?
When the moon hits your eye
Like a big pizza pie, that’s amore
When the world seems to shine
Like you’ve had too much wine, that’s amore
You’ve guessed it from the clue, right? Week eight. Who would have thought it? Your final week and it’s goodbye to sunny Croatia and hello to …
Dean Martin gave it away didn’t he? You’re off to Italy. Lake Como, to be precise.
Apart from George-Clooney-watching and taking in the beauty of the lakes, there’s an important job I need you to do for me there. Your last challenge and I know it’s going to be tough. But you guys are strong now, right?
Beth and I had our honeymoon at Lake Como. The week we had there together was one of the most perfect weeks of my life. There’s something about the lakes that has an old-world elegance. You’ll see it yourself soon, but it looks like a film set, with the fancy villas and hotels on the hilltops above the lake.
I remember telling Beth that Lake Como was the perfect destination for her. Because she was like a film star to me. Elegant, beautiful, breathtaking. She wore a pretty dress every day of our honeymoon and would have given Grace Kelly a run for her money.
Beth joked that we were in Italy’s romantic Ring of Kerry. And that made me smile. We were a million miles away from Ireland, or so it felt. Then one day, Beth wanted to go for a picnic, so we asked our hotel for help. They packed a fabulous hamper for us and sent us to Punta Spartivento, which literally means ‘the point that divides the wind’. Isn’t that wonderful?
Sitting on a blanket, our picnic laid out between us, I felt like we’d stepped into a Renoir painting. There we were in the shadow of the Swiss Alps, gazing out at the still lake. I can remember saying to Beth that if this was as good as it gets, I’d die happy.
I told her that day that she was my world. And she was at that time, until you came along, Olly, making my world a bigger and more beautiful place.
As I get closer to dying, I am getting more reflective on my life. Memories keep coming back, like a tag team, replacing one another, over and over. Happy and sad times.
But that day on that picnic was pretty much one of the happiest in my life. So I want to go back to that spot one more time. Beth and I are part of its story, part of the fabric that makes it so special. We planned to go back with you one day, Olly. But we never did. I regret that.
So will you do one more thing for your old Pops? Will you bring me back to that spot and say your goodbyes to me there? Scatter my ashes in the point that divides the wind. Try not to be sad, try to be happy for me. Because I know I’ll reconnect with my Beth there. I have faith.
Before I go, I want you all to know that each and every one of you has given me so many happy memories. I’ve lived a good life, the best life, because I’ve had you with me. So thank you.
I hope this adventure has been a good experience for you. I hope you realise that you have something special. All that matters is family, each other. Hold that tight when everything else gets crazy in life.
Olly, my son, my heart. I’ll see you again one day. You can bank on that. Be happy, lad.
Mae, Evie, Jamie, be happy, love one another, okay?
For the last time,
Goodbye,
Pops x
Chapter Forty-Four
OLLY
It took a while for me to find the perfect spot at Punta Spartivento. I left Mae and the kids at our campsite enjoying the sunshine. I walked for hours along the shores of the alpine lake, searching. As Pops said, it was a breathtaking location, a cascading ribbon of blue lakes, surrounded by the Swiss mountains.
I felt the weight of responsibility to find the right place to release Pops’ ashes to the wind. I tried to put myself in Pops’ and Mam’s shoes all those years ago. Where would they have laid out their picnic? I tried to look at likely spots through their eyes. With their hearts full of love and romance, I’m quite certain they would have wanted somewhere private, away from prying eyes. Because my mam was not the type for public displays of affection.
So I avoid the main picnic spots along the lake. Instead I trek up small walkways, towards a lighthouse until, finally, I see it.
On our last day in Lake Como, we walk up to fulfill Pops’ last challenge. We’re a sombre group, silent the whole way.
‘This is it,’ Mae says. ‘Wow, it’s breathtaking. You’ve chosen well.’
The view from this vantage point is dazzling. The distant Alps are softly silhouetted against the early-morning sky. It’s early, as I want to take no chances of any interruptions from passersby. I feel it’s unlikely that there are any trekkers out and about at six a.m.
Jamie is holding Evie’s hand, both with eyes wide. I know that this is incredibly hard for them, but I also know that they need to be here. Because I am clutching Pops’ urn and I’m not sure if I have the strength to let it go. With them by my side, I’ll find the strength to do it.
Mae says, ‘Look at the rainbow colours of all those rooftops.’
Vividly painted walls of sunshine yellow and ochre reflect on the deep-blue lake before us. Is this your heaven, Pops?
‘It’s time,’ Mae says. ‘Let’s share our memories of Pops. Who’d like to start?’
We’d agreed the night before that we should do something to make the scattering more ceremonial. We came up with the idea that each of us would say a few words about our own special ‘Pops’ memories. But now, it appears we are all dumbstruck.
‘I’ll go first,’ Mae says. ‘I’ve got so many happy memories, it’s hard to choose. But the one that sticks out for me is back when we first married. I’d just moved into our house. But it didn’t feel like my home, it felt like yours and Pops’ house, I suppose.’
She looks to the children and smiles, ‘And the decor left a lot to be desired! The kitchen was an explosion of terracotta and burnt orange. I used to get a headache looking at it with my morning cuppa. But I didn’t know how to say I didn’t like it. It didn’t seem right to come in and start throwing my weight around.’
I smile, remembering that kitchen. Pops and I thought we were designers of the year when we painted i
t.
Mae continues, ‘But Pops always seemed to read minds, didn’t he? One morning, after you’d gone to work, Olly, I was having breakfast and he asked me what my favourite colour was. I told him it was green. Olive-green. I’d no idea what he was up to. I thought he was just curious. But when I came home from work that day, I found him in the kitchen knee-deep in olive-green paint.’
Mae sighs as she holds back a sob. ‘He said, “It’s all yours, Mae. I’m just the lodger. You paint it any colour you want.” I loved him before that, but in that moment, I adored him.’
Funny how things get lost in time, but when they are recalled it’s as if they were yesterday. ‘I came home and you two were giggling like kids. Covered in paint, but the kitchen did look much better.’
Evie then takes her turn. ‘My memory of Pops is when I was about five. We were walking down north main street in Wexford and I was holding his hand, skipping along. I loved holding Pops’ hand.’
‘He loved holding yours,’ I say to her.
‘He’d promised he was going to buy me a present. We passed by a hairdresser’s. And in the window was one of those doll’s heads they use sometimes to show hairstyles off. A hairdressing doll, I suppose. I took a shine to it and asked Pops for it. He tried to talk me out of it, saying it wasn’t a real toy, it wasn’t for sale. But I couldn’t be swayed. I was adamant I wanted that doll. So in we went and he started pleading for it. The owner of the salon kept saying, “It’s not for sale.” And Pops kept repeating, “But my granddaughter has her heart set on it.” I don’t know how much he paid for it, but he made sure I went home with that doll.’
‘He would have done anything for you, Evie,’ I tell her.
‘I know. I miss him so much,’ Evie starts to cry a river and Mae hugs her close.
Then she turns to Jamie, who is still silent. ‘Do you want to speak, darling?’ she asks him. He nods without speaking, so she kneels down beside him, pulling him in close to her.
‘I miss playing superheroes with Pops. He always let me be the superhero. He was a great baddie. He roared like a dragon more better than anyone else,’ Jamie stammers out. Tears follow within an instant.
I look at Mae and the children, all with faces awash with tears, but I remain dry-eyed. I look down at the urn and see white knuckles that are clenching the urn so tight.
Mae looks at me and then hugs the children before walking over to me.
‘It’s time to say your goodbyes.’ She kisses me, a soft caress on my cheek. And when I remain silent, she whispers, ‘You’ve got this.’
‘Pops was the last link I had to Mam,’ I whisper.
‘I know,’ Mae says and I’m grateful that she doesn’t try to mollify me with a platitude.
I was the only child of two parents who both adored not just me but each other too. I wonder sometimes did I imagine how good it was back then? Was there as much love in that house as I remember now as an adult? But I know I’ve not created an idolised version of history for myself. Even after Mam died, Pops never faltered or changed in his love and support of me, his only son. So no rose-tinted glasses for me, because I had a good childhood. All because of Pops.
I look at the urn and run my fingers on the engraved plate that says his name. ‘I don’t have any one memory of Pops, just a lifetime of moments. Him teaching me how to ride my bike. Drive my car. Kick a football. Watching Liverpool together. He bought me my first pint. I felt so proud that day, sitting on a bar stool, two cold pints of Guinness in front of us, toasting the family business. Walking out of the delivery room, each time you guys were born, and him sitting there, waiting for me. He was always there, waiting for me, no matter what I was doing. He wasn’t just my dad, you know. He was my best friend,’ I say.
‘But you were his best friend too,’ Mae tells me. ‘That’s something that most parents don’t get to experience. What you both had was special.’
I nod. I know that. ‘Pops, this isn’t goodbye. It’s just farewell for now, because guess what? I’ve got faith now that one day I’ll see you again. This journey has taught me that,’ I say. ‘Tell Mam I love her. I want you to know that this epic adventure you created for us, it’s changed us all.’
I look to my family and they all nod at my words.
‘You’ve given us a gift that we will never be able to say thank you enough for. So what we’ll do instead is keep loving each other. And we’ll live our best lives. And we’ll not leave anything unsaid. I promise you that,’ I say.
I open the top of the urn and kiss the top of the ashes, closing my eyes for a moment in silent goodbye to a great man.
And then I scatter Pops’ ashes into the point where the wind divides, tears finally falling in tribute of my pops.
Once the urn is empty, we sit down, shoulder to shoulder, looking out to the beautiful landscape. Silent, except for tears of grief and loss. But despite my pain, my unbearable pain, I am at peace. I’m not sure how long we sit like that, in perfect silence and harmony, but finally our tears dry up and we feel strong enough to move.
I stand up and look at my family.
I remember Pops’ words in his final letter to us. He told us that we had made his world a bigger and more beautiful place. I understand that now. Because Mae, Evie and Jamie have done that for me too. Yes, Pops, you are right, I think. If this is as good as it gets, that’s fine by me.
I pull Mae to her feet and say to my family, ‘Come on, you lot. It’s time to find our way back home.’
Epilogue
May 2016
OLLY
It’s Jamie’s communion in three days’ time. Mae is fussing over his hair, wondering does it need another trim? Evie is teasing him about his shoes, which are too shiny and new and not in the least bit cool. He takes the comments from two of the women in his life in his stride. There’s little in life that worries him. And that’s as it should be.
Back in 1981, when I was his age, my biggest worry was whether Liverpool was going to win the league for the thirteenth time. Hours were spent with Pops discussing the worth of Ian Rush, whether he would be worthy of his transfer fee.
I’ve watched Jamie’s face change in the last few months. The baby roundness is gone and I can see glimpses of the young man he’s going to become. And sometimes he looks at me and I can see Pops. I never used to think he looked like him, but he does. And that makes me happy.
‘What time is your flight on Monday again?’ Mae shouts over the whistle of the kettle she’s boiling.
‘Early. I’ll be gone by four a.m.,’ I reply. I’m itching to get back to Ripples. We’ve finally succeeded in getting a new government grant. I’ve not told them yet. I want to see Andy’s face in person when I break the news. We can make a real impact and build housing for many more families.
‘And you’ll tell them about the books I’ve gotten?’ Mae says, placing a cup of coffee in front of me.
‘Yes. I promise I will. Gloria will be thrilled to hear about the new donation of books. That library of yours will need its own building yet by the time you’re done!’ I say and pull her into my lap for a quick squeeze.
‘I want a school house and a library. You know that,’ she replies, not missing a beat. But then leans down and kisses me.
‘We’ll do it,’ I promise and know that between us we can do anything we put our minds to. And living proof of that just ambles into the room.
‘Mama, may I juice please?’
MAE
‘Oh my goodness, that was just beautiful manners, Magda!’ I say to the little girl tugging my arm. ‘Did you hear that, Dada?’
‘I sure did. That’s my clever girl.’
She beams in response to the praise and holds her arms up to me saying, ‘Carry.’
She’s small for her age, only weighing three stone, but we’ll build her up in time. I feel her bones sticking into my ribcage as she squeezes me tight.
‘Snuggles,’ she sighs and I stroke her hair gently.
‘Yes. Snuggles. Mama M
ae loves them.’ I look over her head and nod once, as Olly looks at me. I know what he’s thinking. That’s the third time in a row she’s looked for snuggles herself. We’re making real progress here.
We thought we’d never swing it. Endless paperwork to become foster parents and we’ve got mountains more to plough through so that we can achieve our ultimate goal of adopting her. I thought we’d never be allowed to bring her home, but she’s here now and settled into her life as a Guinness.
Finally, she seems to believe us, to trust us that she’s here to stay as part of our family.
EVIE
‘So we are really going to do this?’ Ann says.
‘Yep. It’s all in place. On June first we start the convoy from here. We’ve got nearly four hundred motor homes lined up.’
‘Four hundred and one, because Sophie and Melissa hired a motor home for the day too!’ Luke says, grinning.
‘That’s fantastic.’
‘And I’ve contacted all the local papers and also the radio stations. They’ve all promised to come along,’ Luke adds.
‘Most importantly, the Guinness Book of Records official confirmed he’d be here too!’ I say. It’s been a lot of work, but I don’t care. I’m elated to pull it off. We’ve got local sponsors from a number of big businesses. As it stands, we’ve cleared nearly three thousand euros, after any costs are paid.
‘Luke, time for you to say goodnight. It’s getting late. Olly said he’ll run you home, it’s no night to be cycling,’ Mam pops her head into the family room.
‘Okay, Mrs G. That would be great.’
‘I can’t be doing looking at you two getting all smoochy smoochy together. I’m off to torment Jamie,’ Ann declares, winking at me as she goes out. She’s staying for a sleepover tonight. We’re planning on watching the Hunger Games trilogy back to back.
‘You did it,’ Luke says to me. ‘I knew you would.’
The Things I Should Have Told You Page 31