by Lisa Ryan
She leans back against him, glad of his company. Eden’s sensitivity touches her deeply. He always seems to know what she is thinking. He wraps his arms around her, and briefly rests his chin on the top of her curly hair before turning her around to face him, and kisses her cheek. Astarte sighs and moves away to pour milk into the coffee. She follows him to the sofa, tracked by Sirius, and sits down, cradling her mug in her hands.
‘He’s in a bad way, Eden. He looks so thin, and the whites of his eyes are turning yellow. It’s a sign of liver damage. I’m sure that if Siobhan and I didn’t take food round, he’d just starve himself to death.’
‘At least he has friends who are there for him.’ Eden smiles gently into her eyes. ‘He won’t go for help, so you just have to do the best you can, and remember that he’s a grown man making his own choices.’ He shakes his head at Astarte’s protest. ‘I don’t mean that we sit back and let him fade away. But then, you can take food to the doctor, but you can’t make him eat. And he’s gone so far with the drinking that he sees no point in stopping. He’s on a sad path, but he does know that help is there if he can bring himself to accept it.’
Astarte nods slowly and compresses her lips, then shrugs, looking down at her hands. Despite calling in at Ryan’s home at least twice weekly with provisions, she has never been invited inside. He is always delighted to see her, and accepts the meals gratefully though with an air of embarrassment, but prefers that they go out for coffee or a walk. Astarte has taken to cooking for two, and storing the extra in her fridge until her next visit to Ryan. Eden is right, she knows. Ryan will not seek help for his problems. A squealing noise from outside makes her lift her head, and she goes to let Daisy into the cottage.
The piglet has grown, and has become a household pet. Astarte is aware of the sideward glances and sly derision of the locals when she goes to collect her post from the village. Word has spread that Daisy comes into the cottage and sleeps by the fire at night, and Astarte omits to add to the rumours of her eccentricity by letting it be known that Daisy also comes in for a daytime nap. Her original plan to keep a pig and some chickens for food has gone by the wayside, and her diet is mostly vegetarian now. Daisy makes her laugh, and her six Silkie hens, with their soft white feathers that spread over their feet, follow her around the garden as though she is their mother. She collects their small, translucent peach-coloured eggs, but cannot imagine her hens as dinner; they are her friends.
Eden basks in the warmth of the fire and watches the changing expressions flit across Astarte’s face as she gazes fondly at the recumbent pig. She has forgotten to brush her hair this morning, and tiny corkscrew curls frame her cheeks. The back of her head is a mess of tangles, and a powdering of flour is dusted lightly across her forehead.
‘You’re a good friend to have, Astarte,’ he remarks quietly. He won’t forget how much she has helped him just by being here.
She glances across and smiles. ‘We all need friends.’
‘I have a favour to ask of you. But don’t feel obliged, will you?’ He takes another sip of coffee. ‘I’ve been thinking about what I want to do with my life. Music means too much to me to leave it behind completely, so I’ve decided to set up a recording studio for Irish musicians.’
Astarte’s face lights up, and Eden leans forwards. The expression in his dark brown eyes is intense, reflecting flames from the fire. ‘I’m going to buy that big house over at Tallymede, and do it up. It’s been on the market for ages, and it needs a lot of work, but I could convert the outbuildings into studios and use a couple of barns as accommodation for visiting musicians. There are five bedrooms, so there’ll be room for guests to stay. I can employ some technicians to do the recording and mixing, and set up a distribution company. What do you think?’
‘I think it’s a brilliant idea! Go for it!’ Astarte claps her hands delightedly, and throws her arms around him. Eden laughs, a carefree, joyous sound that touches her deeply. It’s good to see him so happy and inspired, ready to find a place for himself in the world again instead of hiding away.
Astarte sits back. ‘So what’s the favour you want to ask? It sounds to me as though you’re doing pretty well without any help.’
‘I’ve invited Linda over, to talk it all through with her. If she’s willing, I’d like her to be agent to the musicians. She’s been talking about moving to Ireland, but I don’t know whether it’s for real, or just a pipe-dream. Last time I saw her, she was feeling very disillusioned with the business. But this project would be on a smaller scale than the work she’s used to doing. She might not be interested.’
Astarte coils a lock of hair around one finger, mulling it over. Her impression of Linda is that she has a great deal of integrity, and she genuinely cares for Eden. Astarte finds her glamorous lifestyle and appearance slightly intimidating. She wonders whether Linda would be happy here, where the simple, slower-paced lifestyle could be construed as boring for someone accustomed to big cities. She looks questioningly at Eden, who laughs.
‘Ah, yes, the favour. Well, she doesn’t know anyone here, beyond my family. But she likes you, and it might help my case if she makes some friends here. Could you invite her over? I think she’d like that.’
‘Of course. I’d like to get to know her better.’
Eden grins, and pats her shoulder gratefully. ‘Thanks, Astarte. She’s coming on Sunday, so I’ll bring her round on Monday, if that’s OK. Now, do you want to test that bread out on me?’
Flynn, on his way to visit Seamus, has decided to drop in and see Astarte briefly. He’s trying not to visit too frequently, but it seems to him that a silken cord is caught fast around his feet, and wherever he goes, the path leads past her gate. He’s trying to keep the atmosphere light between them. Whenever he begins to show his feelings Astarte steps back, and the air, cold now that winter is here, cools still further until he can almost see the frost settling on her hair, and icicles on her breath. He tries to distract himself with books and music, but finds himself casting the books aside half-read, and switching off the stereo so that he can sit in the silence and think, even though thinking is the last thing he wants to do.
He can see into her living room window as he walks towards the cottage, just as Eden is telling Astarte of his plans for a recording studio. Flynn sees Astarte and Eden sitting close together on the sofa. He pauses, and witnesses Astarte embrace Eden. Without waiting to watch what will happen next, he turns away and retraces his steps to the gate, his heart leaden.
At Fishguard, Rainbow and Leaf drive their battered old van onto the ferry bound for Rosslare. They are both in agreement that a visit to Ireland to see their daughter’s new home would be helpful in terms of building on the fragile goodwill that shimmered between them all on their last trip to Portsmouth. As the boat edges out to sea, they look out across the choppy grey waves, and wonder what their reception will be.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Rainbow and Leaf drive slowly through the countryside, stopping for a break in County Cork, where they fill their chalices with spring water, sipping it slowly while they smoke a joint. As usual, few words are exchanged. Leaf unfolds the map, and traces the roads with a finger, checking the route they will follow. Passengers in passing cars glance casually at their battered old van, then turn backwards in their seats to catch a second glimpse of the pair of aging hippies. Rainbow and Leaf are attired in their brightest clothes to celebrate the occasion, and they have both decorated their hair with owl feathers, a symbol of wisdom; they know that they need all the support they can muster from the natural world. They long to see their daughter again, but Leaf has expressed doubts about whether they should disturb Astarte’s new-found peace. When Rainbow drew forth the Hermit card from her tarot deck, they had both sighed. But the addition of the Three of Cups and the Four of Wands had reassured them. ‘She wants to be alone,’ Rainbow said softly, scrutinising the cards, ‘but there will be cause for happiness, and the completion of a cycle that will welcome in the new.
It is right that we visit her.’
It is easier to track Astarte down than they expected. As soon as they mention the Swan Lake to the woman in the post office, and follow this up with their daughter’s name, concise directions are given. When they drive off, a small group of villagers collecting their mail immediately engage in speculation and exchanges of opinion, coming to the conclusion that, considering her parentage, it is hardly surprising that Miss Weaver is a little strange.
Astarte is hauling a sack of peat blocks up to the cottage when the van pulls up just beyond her gate. She stops and stares, astonished, as her parents, their faces creased in smiles, clamber out and walk up the new tarmac drive. She drops the sack and goes to meet them. She does not look pleased.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asks rudely, instantly regretting her outburst when their smiles are replaced by anxious glances at each other. Astarte wonders how they knew where to find her. Ennis had been mentioned, and Swan Lake, but little else. Rainbow and Leaf are a mystery to her, with their uncanny ability to track her down wherever she is, and it makes her uncomfortable. She is happy and settled and finding her place in the area, despite what the locals consider to be her peculiar fondness for her animals. Her parents, with their weird clothes and strange ways, could jeopardise that. Sternly she reminds herself that they are kin and, to their relief, she smiles, though a trifle tightly, and invites them in.
She empties the peat blocks into the large basket by the fire, and picks out a few to throw into the range. While she makes tea they look around, pleased that their daughter has created such a beautiful environment for herself. The cottage is warm and welcoming, in their opinion far cosier than the house in Portsmouth. It has an air of being loved. They drink their tea, explaining that this is a brief visit, and that they intend to stay in the van. Astarte, thankful that they do not plan to pitch their tepee on her land, chops more vegetables to add to the pot of soup she was making before the arrival of her uninvited guests.
Eden calls by in the evening to tell Astarte that he saw Ryan O’Riley earlier, and that the doctor was in good spirits. As Daisy enters at the same time as Eden, and lies down heavily by the fire with a contented sigh, Rainbow and Leaf assume that the pig belongs to him, and politely remain silent, though they can’t help casting intrigued looks in Daisy’s direction. It is only when Rainbow shyly asks whether the pig is from his farm that the matter of ownership is ascertained, along with an explanation that Eden is not a farmer. Leaf smiles inwardly. His daughter, it appears, is not as straight-laced as she used to be. Eden finds it refreshing that, for once, his fame has not preceded him. This odd couple with feathers in their hair never listen to the radio or read newspapers, and wouldn’t know how to turn on a television.
The conversation flows easily. Eden’s relaxed manner, and his obvious fondness for their daughter and acceptance of them assures them that all will be well. It gladdens their hearts that Astarte has friends here. They retire early to their van, leaving their daughter and Eden to talk.
Eden is full of ideas for the recording studio. His offer on the house at Tallymede has been accepted, and he talks eloquently and at length about the possibilities for publicising the talents of many of the Irish musicians he knows. Jamie is keen to help out, and will come with Sinead after school each day, to put the place in order.
‘He’s a hard worker,’ Astarte tells him. ‘He was fantastic when he helped out with the cottage. It really sped it up, having three of us sharing the load. By the way, have you seen Flynn? I haven’t heard from him recently, and I wondered whether he was away.’
Eden shakes his head. He and Flynn used to be friends, back in the old days before he came home permanently. But since he returned it’s almost as though Flynn is avoiding him. It puzzles him, and hurts a little. There’s no reason for Flynn’s sudden emotional distance, as far as Eden can see.
They toast the new venture with a glass of wine. Astarte stretches out on the sofa with her feet on Daisy’s back, warming her toes before the fire.
‘So, you have your parents here. They’re rather how I imagined they would be from what you’ve told me, but very sweet and gentle. Are they here for long?’
Astarte glances at him, then back at the fire. ‘I hope not,’ she mutters.
The following morning it snows; a rare occurrence here. Astarte goes to let out the hens and scatter grain for them. They cluster around her, clucking, and she calls their names and bends down to stroke their soft white feathers. They peck at the seeds she throws at their feet, and follow her when she takes the wheelbarrow to fetch a sack each of peat and coal from the shed that Flynn built. That done, she gathers wood from the pile, and shoos Daisy and Sirius outside. As Horace only came in at first light, she leaves him to sleep by the embers of last night’s fire.
Astarte stokes up the range and shovels ashes from the grate. Shivering, she lights the fire, and goes to stand by the window to watch the snowflakes drift down to nestle in the grass. The air over the lake has a golden tinge, as though magic is afoot there. She gazes out, searching for the swans. A loud humming sound reverberates as they fly in, their bodies creating lines in the water when the power of their landing propels them forwards. A thrill runs through her, and she laughs aloud.
A bright flash of colour down by the reeds draws Astarte’s attention. Rainbow and Leaf, both wearing multi-coloured striped sweaters and matching Peruvian hats with earflaps, are walking at the edge of the lake, holding hands. For just a moment Astarte wishes that there was someone who would hold her hand and marvel with her at the beauty that surrounds them; someone who would still consider her to be a soul mate in thirty years or more. She shakes off the thought, but her parents hold her in place like a magnet for several minutes.
Siobhan and John are coming for a meal that evening. Flynn was invited as well, and Astarte wonders whether to phone him, but eventually decides against it. If he wants to come he will need no reminder. As she makes a list of the ingredients she will need for a pasta dish which she feels confident will be edible, she makes a concerted effort to put Flynn out of her mind. It irritates her that she misses his company, his wide cheeky grin, even the arguments they have over silly things. After slamming the kettle rather harder on the range than she intended to, she throws on her coat and goes to find her parents.
Snow is falling fast in large wet flakes, and Daisy and Sirius, who are hovering outside the door, dash inside as soon as she opens it. She waggles a finger at them as they nudge each other for the coveted space on the rug, while Horace loftily ignores them. ‘You are such babies!’ Astarte tells them as she closes the door behind her.
Rainbow and Leaf are at the border of her land, examining the trees and bushes that mark the boundary. ‘It’s blackthorn,’ Astarte tells them. ‘Just make sure you don’t touch the whitethorn over there. The Irish are very superstitious about it. Siobhan will tell you the stories tonight. I’m sure they’ll fascinate you.’ Her parents smile and nod, grateful that this morning their prickly daughter is in a mellower frame of mind.
They walk around her land. Astarte proudly shows them the orchard, casually mentioning that she plucked apples and pears from her own trees in the autumn. She has prepared some ground for digging over in the spring to make a vegetable plot. John had told her to lay down black polythene sheeting that would stop weeds growing and make the earth easier to turn over. She takes them around it, and points out the large compost bin sited in the far corner, to deter rats from coming too close to the cottage. In the western corner stands an oak tree. This is Astarte’s favourite spot. It is sheltered, warmer than the rest of the garden, even on the coldest days. She leads Rainbow and Leaf there, and the hens follow them at a safe distance. They are shy with strangers.
As they draw close, Rainbow takes in a sharp breath. ‘Look!’ she cries, her voice high and breathy with excitement. ‘A fairy circle!’
Astarte’s eyes follow the line made by Rainbow’s pointing finger. Elsewhere, the snow co
vers the ground in a thin film of white. By the tree there is a perfect circle of untouched green grass. Astarte looks up, blinking snowflakes out of her eyes, shading them with her hand. The circle is beyond the reach of the oak tree’s sheltering branches, yet no snowflakes fall within it. Rainbow takes Astarte’s hand, then Leaf’s. Together they step inside the circle, to stand in the centre. They face each other, their eyes wide with wonder, and then Rainbow takes a step sideways and the others follow. Laughing like children, they dance, taking careful steps, their hands clasped tightly. A robin flies into the oak tree and watches them, head cocked, before disappearing into the gathering whiteness that surrounds them but does not touch them.
Dizzy with a feeling that she cannot explain, Astarte stops, releases her hands, and sits on the hard ground. ‘Make a wish. This is a magic place,’ Rainbow whispers. They all close their eyes.
‘I wish … I wish …’ A fleeting image passes through Astarte’s mind, and she pushes it away.
Not that one, she thinks , covering it quickly with another. But the magic has fled for her. She stands up. They walk silently back to the cottage, each lost in their own private thoughts.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Mairie sits by the range, watching Sinead shrug her coat on and pick up her schoolbag. ‘You’ve forgotten something,’ she calls, as Sinead kisses her soft cheek and dances towards the door. The girl turns on one foot, her expression enquiring. With an effort, Mairie rises and reaches for the hat and scarf draped over the back of a chair. She pulls the hat down tightly over Sinead’s ears, and winds the scarf around her neck three times.
‘I don’t need those,’ Sinead protests.
‘Sure, and you do. ’Tis snowing out there, and you’ll freeze. You cannot keep warm by love alone,’ Mairie cackles. Grinning, Sinead blows her a kiss and rushes out of the door. It slams shut behind her, bringing a draught of freezing air into the kitchen.