by Lisa Ryan
‘I love you,’ he says simply. Linda’s eyes fill with tears as she raises her face to meet his.
Chapter Forty-five
Mairie is dozing by the range when Astarte taps lightly on her door. She opens her eyes with a start, calling ‘Come in!’ as she shushes Blackfoot. Astarte enters and places a cake tin on her lap. ‘For you,’ she says. ‘I’ve been experimenting, and I thought you might not mind being my guinea pig.’ Mairie opens the tin and peers in at an iced fruit cake. She breathes in the rich fragrance, making appreciative noises.
‘It’s my first try at this one,’ Astarte tells her. ‘I cut into mine back at home, and for some reason most of the fruit seems to have sunk to the bottom, but it tastes fine. I thought I could get away with calling it a layer cake.’
Mairie cackles. ‘It looks and smells grand. Will you have some with your tea?’ She hobbles over to fetch some plates and a knife, sliding the cake carefully out to slice it, even though Astarte shakes her head. ‘And the heart shape on the icing looks very professional. It seems a shame to spoil it.’
‘I was playing, really. And I thought Sinead might like it. Love’s young dream in action.’ Astarte smiles as Mairie, still standing, sinking her teeth into her piece of cake and taking the remainder over to her chair, murmuring that it is delicious, and Astarte is becoming a fair cook.
She licks crumbs from her fingers, and cackles. ‘Ah now. Love! The world would be a sorry place without it. And how is it going for you? I hear that you and Flynn spend a lot of time in each other’s company.’
Astarte looks surprised. ‘We’re just good friends,’ she says lightly.
‘Hmmm.’ Mairie leans forward to stare hard at Astarte. ‘You’re running scared, so you are. Let me tell you something. You hear all this modern talk about how you have to love yourself before you can love anyone else. Well, in my experience, most people are so obsessed with themselves that there is no room left in their hearts for anyone else. You have to make that space for other people, Astarte. You have to open the door and welcome them in. By fearing the thieves who will steal your heart, you do yourself a great injustice. You stifle your willingness to love.’ She heaves herself out of the chair and takes another slice of cake. Astarte muses over what Mairie has said.
When Mairie has resumed her seat, Astarte drains her tea and replaces the cup in its saucer. ‘I don’t want to repeat past mistakes,’ she says.
Mairie cackles. ‘Then make new ones! ’Tis no use hiding away. You’re young, bright, pretty. The world is there in the palm of your hand if you will only unclench your fingers to look at it.’
‘You’re saying I’m uptight.’ Astarte’s tone is defensive. ‘That’s a bit harsh, Mairie.
‘I’m just after saying that you should relax more, my girl. A good man considers you to be treasure. Why not give him a chance?’
Astarte shrugs her shoulders and changes the subject. ‘Why did you never marry?’ she asks.
‘It wasn’t right. There’s none I would have. Like you, Astarte.’ Her eyes narrow. ‘Well, there was one, a long time ago, who it seemed I would marry. Sure and I gave my heart at the time, but I was young and foolish then. It caused such a fuss that I was black and blue for a month afterwards, and the shame of my family.’
Astarte’s eyes widen. She takes another slice of cake over to Mairie, who munches happily with a sly look on her face. ‘Tell me,’ Astarte begs, pouring more tea for both of them.
‘There’s very few here old enough to know of it, and the past is a closed door now, Astarte. But still, ’twould do no harm for you to know, only you must keep it to yourself. No mention to Sinead or Flynn. ’Tis interesting, is it not, that sometimes you can tell an outsider, and I mean no insult here, what you cannot speak of to those who have been here all their lives. ’Tis to do with a different perspective, don’t you agree?’
Nodding, Astarte leans forward expectantly. Mairie strokes Blackfoot’s head, a faraway look in her eyes.
‘Well,’ she says slowly. ‘I was Sinead’s age, fifteen moving towards sixteen. A boy and I, we fell in love. We thought the earth turned just for us. We were convinced that none had ever truly known the feeling. And we made plans, as lovers do. When my parents discovered us, God rest their souls, they threatened to send me away unless I ended it.’ Her eyes meet Astarte’s briefly, twinkling mischievously. ‘Well, we talked of running away, but I could not bear to leave this place and neither could he. And where would we go, so young? And so that was that.’
‘But why did your parents dislike him so much?’ Astarte regards Mairie closely.
Mairie cackles. ‘Old feuds, and there are many of those around here, die hard. At the time we thought we were Romeo and Juliet, but had the sense to avoid sharp objects and poison. Though sometimes harsh words and actions bite deeper into the soul than any weapon can. He married another, more suitable girl, and I turned up my nose at every suitor, just to spite my parents. So there you are, Astarte. You’ll not want to end up an old maid sitting by a range, I’m sure.’
‘Is he still alive?’ Astarte asks.
Mairie nods slowly. ‘He is, but ’tis all in the past now.’ She cackles again. ‘Now, there’s a story for a fine spring day. And now I have something for you as a reminder of it.’
Rising, she goes to the dresser and brings out a small muslin bag. She hands it to Astarte, who raises it to her nose. ‘Lavender,’ she says, breathing in the sharp fragrance. ‘Thank you, Mairie. It smells wonderful.’
‘Keep it under your pillow,’ Mairie tells her. ‘It will help you to relax those high principles of yours.’
Astarte hugs her. ‘You are so like my grandmother,’ she says. ‘And she was the person I loved best in the world.’
Mairie laughs. ‘Ah, be off with you and sort your life out, girl, instead of going all sentimental on me!’ But she returns the embrace and smiles fondly as she watches Astarte walk down the path.
Chapter Forty-six
Jamie wakes to a warm, bright summer morning. He lies in bed, arms behind his head, watching shafts of light from the gap in his curtains playing around the walls. Smiling to himself, he maps out the coming day in his mind’s eye. He means to make Sinead’s sixteenth birthday very special. In turquoise boxes, wrapped in gauzy paper, he has placed a carefully chosen heart ring, and a matching locket that opens to reveal tiny photographs of himself and Sinead. It is almost a year since their first kiss, and he knows that his love for her will endure forever.
His mind races ahead, towards marriage, perhaps children one day, old age shared at the same hearth. Jamie has left school now, although in September he will still walk there each day when he carries Sinead’s books for her before heading off to Tallymede. He has a job there now, helping to mix the albums that are winging out into the world to rave reviews. An album of his very own will soon be in progress, and he imagines himself on a stage, cheered on by fans, singing each song for Sinead alone. Now that he is seventeen he has shaved off his wispy goatee. There is less need to cheat time and make attempts to look older. It pleases him that now he is as tall as Eden, with muscles developing through moving heavy equipment.
Today he and Sinead will picnic by the lake, and come home to a family meal with John and Siobhan at Mairie’s cottage. Afterwards they will go for a celebratory drink with Eden and Linda, Flynn and Astarte. They are part of the adult world now, and Jamie has a sense of their lives unfurling before them like a shining ribbon. He stretches and leaps out of bed, suddenly impatient to grasp each moment.
Downstairs, Siobhan is carefully packing a picnic basket. She eases in a bottle of homemade lemonade, making sure that the vol-au-vents, Sinead’s favourite, will not be crushed. At the top she carefully places a sponge cake, baked herself and decorated by Astarte with Sinead’s name and the number sixteen. When she hears Jamie emerge from the shower and clatter downstairs she looks up with a smile.
‘’Tis a fine day,’ she comments, raising her cheek for her son to kiss while
he peeks into the basket, approving its contents. Unknown to his mother, he has already hidden a bottle of fine white wine among the rushes at the edge of the lake, wedging it so that the water will keep it cool. His fingers close around the two small jewellery boxes in the pocket of his baggy jeans. He can’t wait to see Sinead’s face when she opens them. He knows that his every gift to her is treasured. She has taken to carrying a small bag everywhere with her so that her hairbrush and mirror are always by her side. She never removes the moonstone bracelet he gave her for Christmas.
Lifting the hamper easily, Jamie takes long strides to Mairie’s cottage. Sinead, eager to catch a glimpse of him before he sees her, is sitting on the step outside, and she runs to him, laughing as he stoops to kiss her. They snuggle close on the grass while she unwraps her gifts, her eyes shining as he slides the ring onto her finger and fastens the locket around her throat. Murmuring thanks and promises, Sinead curls her arms around his neck and covers his face with kisses as light as butterfly wings, before her lips search out his and drink deeply.
Mairie comes outside, teasing them that the Garda will arrest them for indecent behaviour. Sinead leaps up to show her the jewellery, holding out her hand so that the ring is caught in sunlight and dazzles the old woman’s eyes. ‘’Tis beautiful. Now be off with you before the day goes to waste,’ she tells them. Shielding her eyes, she watches them trip down the lane, hands tightly clasped, then looks down at Blackfoot standing beside her. ‘Oh, to be young again,’ she sighs. Slowly she moves towards her herb garden to pick rosemary for tonight’s meal.
By midday the sun is scorching their clothes. Sinead and Jamie lie close together, drowsy from their feast. The bottle rests in the grass, and Jamie rolls over to pour the last of the wine into their glasses. Sinead sits upright, her hair tangled, and pulls the jewelled hairbrush from her bag. Handing her a filled glass, Jamie takes the brush from her and moves to sit beside her, watching golden sparks fly outwards as he carefully removes the knots, lifting the top strands to untangle the ones beneath. Sinead leans against him and he kisses the nape of her neck, dropping the brush so that he can run his hands through rivers of fiery silk. He closes his eyes, breathing her deep into himself, sure that every pore in his skin has soaked her in and holds her in its memory.
His fingers move to her neck, and the curved ridge of her collar bone. Her hands reach up, slowly unbuttoning her shirt. When she takes Jamie’s fingers in her own and guides them downwards, he gasps and buries his face in her hair. Sinead slips away from him to stand before him. With a rising sense of awe he watches her remove her clothes, and puts out a finger to trace the scars on her belly. ‘You are the most beautiful woman in the world,’ he whispers. She smiles and leans over to pull his T-shirt over his head, and he shivers as her breasts brush his bare arm. The world melts around them, dissolves into the sensation of skin upon skin, the sighs of the breeze conjoining with their own.
Afterwards they lie still, face to face, melded together, until neither knows where one body ends and the other begins, their eyes locked together. The sun beats down on skin never before exposed to the elements.
Sinead kisses Jamie deeply, rolling away with a smile when he goes to wrap his arms around her.
‘I’m roasting like a pig on a spit,’ she says, standing. ‘Oops. Head-rush!’ She staggers a little, and regains her balance.
He lies looking up at her. ‘You are a goddess,’ he tells her, his eyes following the lines of her body from head to toes and back again. She laughs merrily, confident of his admiration, and walks backwards, beckoning.
‘Come in the water.’
Jamie sits up. ‘’Tis not safe to swim here, you know that. There are pike in there who would appreciate the juicy flesh of a maiden.’ His glance flicks to the lake. The swans have vanished, and the water is azure beneath the sun. The reeds wave temptingly.
Still walking backwards, Sinead hooks her finger, drawing him reluctantly after her. He knows that he can refuse her nothing, especially now. Slowly he rises and moves towards her. She takes his hand.
The mud squelches beneath their feet, sucking them in. They both laugh at the shock of cold water as it closes over their ankles. Reeds catch around their legs and they move them aside to wade in deeper.
Jamie stops suddenly, holding tight to Sinead’s hand. ‘Did you hear that?’ he asks fearfully.
‘Hear what?’
‘I’m sure I heard an owl. Sinead, let’s go and dry off. He tugs at her hand, turning for the shore.
Sinead laughs. ‘Your imagination is getting the better of you. The owls are asleep; they do not call in the daytime. Come on, don’t be silly.’ She pulls him towards her, and reluctantly he follows.
Once in the deep water he forgets his fears. Underwater plants reach up to tickle the soles of their feet as they swim in circles, chasing each other, splashing water until Jamie ducks down and comes up behind her, making her shriek. She wriggles from his grasp and dives beneath the surface. Jamie paddles his hands to turn in circles, trying to guess where she will emerge.
The seconds tick by. His heart beats faster. ‘Sinead, where are you?’ Panic sends a cold wave through his bloodstream. ‘Sinead!’
She bursts to the surface and laughs at the fear on his face. He lunges to capture her but she slips easily from his grasp and dives again. He begins to swim towards the edge of the lake. The game has lost its pleasure now. He wants to dry off and hold Sinead in his arms, to make love with her again.
It is the silence that makes him pause and swim back to where she had been. The silence stretches out, thickens around him like oily glue. ‘Sinead!’ he screams into it, his voice catching in his throat. ‘Sinead!’ Only the silence answers him.
He dives down, searching. The water is dark and murky; he can see nothing. Underwater vegetation brushes his skin with slimy fingers and he shudders. When his lungs are bursting he breaks the surface to take gulps of air. He’s sure that she will be up there laughing at him, teasing him about his paranoia. But he is alone. ‘Sinead!’ he screams. He dives again and again, but she eludes him.
Finally, racked with sobs, his heart fluttering as though it may stop altogether, he swims to the shore and throws on his jeans before running to Astarte’s cottage, the nearest dwelling with a telephone. He hurls himself against the door, falling through as it flies open, the sudden emptiness sending him sprawling to the floor. Astarte leaps up, shocked at the sudden intrusion and the prone, wailing figure.
‘My God! Jamie, what’s happened?’ She runs to him and tries to pull him upright. He resists, pounding the floor with his fists, howling Sinead’s name. Astarte registers his wet hair and rushes to the telephone. ‘She’s gone. Lake. Swimming,’ Jamie gasps, his breath coming in great shuddering sobs. Astarte dials for an ambulance and the Garda, then Jamie’s home number. When Siobhan answers, her voice cheery, Astarte tells her to come quickly to the lake, and drops the phone. Taking Jamie’s arm, she tries to haul him to his feet.
‘Take me there,’ she says urgently. He raises tear-swollen eyes to hers. ‘Jamie, get up. We have to go back there!’
They stand in two groups; the paramedics and Garda, and the friends, watching the divers disappear beneath the water. The sun has hidden behind a bank of clouds that gathers from the west, but it is not the sudden drop in temperature that makes them all shiver. Astarte has wrapped a blanket around Jamie. He stands alone, apart from the others, his shoulders hunched and his back to everyone. Siobhan and Astarte hold Mairie up between them. She watches in silence, her knees buckling, knuckles between her teeth, aware of nothing but the waves on the lake that have closed over the girl she has brought up as her own. They try not to look at the limp pile of clothes beneath the willow tree.
When John arrives he goes straight to his son, and puts an arm around his shoulders. Jamie pushes him away, and briefly looks around at them all, his eyes wild. ‘It’s my fault.’ His voice is dead. ‘I should have stopped her.’
‘It’s n
o one’s fault, Jamie. You mustn’t blame yourself.’ Astarte feels as though her heart is breaking into a million pieces, each one passing through her like shards of glass. Siobhan begins to cry. Mairie slumps, dry-eyed, her face carved from wax.
A diver breaks the surface, and they all lean forwards. He keeps his back to them, trying to shield them as the two other divers raise up Sinead’s body and bring her to the shore. Carefully they lay her on the grass, as gently as if she were a sleeping child. Her flesh looks blue, and her eyes and mouth are open. Water runs from her like tears. Jamie quickly removes the blanket and lays it over her to cover her nakedness, before throwing himself down beside her, drawing her into his arms as he buries his face against her neck, crying her name over and over again. Her hair, entwined with green fronds, spreads out around her like a sodden veil. Her locket and ring shimmer brightly against her pale flesh. The divers remove their masks. They too are weeping.
‘Her hair became entangled in the reeds at the bottom,’ says one. ‘She could not reach the surface.’
A terrible keening rends the air, overlaying Jamie’s cries. It gathers force until the earth beneath their feet seems to tremble and shift. Mairie stumbles to Sinead’s body and pummels at Jamie with her fists.
‘’Twas supposed to be me! I’m old, it doesn’t matter! I’ve had my time! Dear God in Heaven, Mother Mary and all the saints! That I should live to bury every last one of my kin, even to a child!’ She covers her face with her hands, resuming the high keening cry that contains within it enough grief for the whole world.
Astarte kneels beside her while John and Siobhan battle to separate Jamie from Sinead. The paramedics gently lift the girl’s body and take it to the ambulance. The divers, their faces grave, express their regrets. The Garda wait, dreading the moment when they must ask for statements. In years to come their dreams will be haunted by the vision of a girl emerging from a watery grave, her face turned upwards, weeds in the trailing hair that held her fast to death.