The music stopped for a brief intermission. Dan pulled Megan up. “Let’s go outside. It’s getting a little too hot in here.”
They bumped into Beata in the doorway, on her way back in after a cigarette.
“Hi there,” Megan said.
Beata studied them for a moment. “Hi there. Leaving already? I just arrived.”
“We’ve been here since early this evening,” Dan said. “So now we’re coming out for some air.”
Beata looked at their entwined hands. “Ooooh. I seeeee.”
Megan blushed. “No. It’s—”
“None of your business,” Dan said and pulled Megan with him out the door. “You should quit smoking. Gives you wrinkles and black teeth.”
“Fuck off.”
“We will,” Dan said over his shoulder. “Charming girl,” he muttered in Megan’s ear.
They walked to the edge of the beach overlooking Brandon bay. The sun slowly sank into the ocean. The mountains, in hues of blue and purple, sloped down to the azure water. The air was still, the sea like glass.
Megan leaned on the wall. Lost in the spectacular beauty of the summer evening, she forgot about Dan and Beata and let her mind go. An odd feeling came over her. Like balloons carried by a soft breeze, her sorrows and concerns drifted away into space. She felt a lightness of being, the parting of a pain that had been gnawing at her for a long time. Suddenly, her spirits soared, and she knew, with strange clarity, that someone or something had given her the strength to carry on.
She turned to Dan. “Thank you.”
As if noticing a change in her, he took a step away. “For what?”
“For this evening.” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “For this.”
He laughed. “I didn’t make the mountains. Or the ocean.”
“No, but you brought me here tonight. There’s something special—” She breathed out, unable to go on. He would probably think she was mad.
He put his arm around her shoulders. “I know.”
They watched the sun disappear into the ocean.
Dan shivered and laughed. “It’s getting a little chilly.” He pulled her closer. “Do you want to—?”
She pulled away. “No. I have to go.”
“Where?” he asked.
“Home.”
Chapter 8
After arriving back at the house, Megan walked around the garden in the dusk. At the bank of the stream, she sat down on a tree stump. The soothing sound of the water calmed her, and the breeze gently lifting her hair was like a caress. She looked up and spotted a lone star in the darkening sky. She breathed in the soft air and closed her eyes for a moment. Should I really leave? Give up and go back to Dublin? Sell the house to the highest bidder? She looked at the dark shape of the house. So much to do and I haven’t even started yet. The windows were like black eyes, staring at her, waiting for a decision. The door slowly swung open in a sudden gust of wind. Megan knew she had forgotten to lock it, but it looked as if the house beckoned her to go in, like a mother telling her child it was time for bed.
Once inside, she picked up the box with Uncle Pat’s belongings and took it with her upstairs. Settled into bed, she lit a candle and opened the box. She took out a wad of letters and flicked through them. Nothing much. Some old bills, bank statements, signed agreements for the conacre contract, which were renewed each year. Christmas cards. Letters of condolence on the death of Auntie Molly.
She delved deeper and fished out some postcards and newspapers clippings. An old silver watch on a chain. She held it in her hand and touched the smooth surface. A beautiful little thing.
Rummaging further in the box, her fingers found something square and hard. A small, scuffed leather-bound book. Megan opened it. Molly’s book, it said on the flyleaf. She turned the pages. A diary. But there were no dates, just entries with thoughts and prayers and the odd poem. Aunt Molly had simply jotted down her musings now and then. Maybe to fix things she liked in her mind so she wouldn’t forget them?
Megan turned the first page.
I like planting bulbs. Because I know the flowers will come up every spring for many years to come, even after I’m long gone. It will be as if I’m saying hello to whomever is there, to whomever lives in my house, even fifty or a hundred years from now. This way I will leave a piece of me in this earth.
Megan smiled. What a lovely thought. I’ll remember that when the daffodils come up in the spring. She seems such a happy woman. Maybe it’s her loving presence I can feel in this house?
Summer. The lovely long evenings. Watching the swallows swoop and soar in the bright sky. Walking on the beach. Looking at the ships and wondering where they are going. Summer is both a joyful and sad season. I have my sadness, but God is good and has given me much to be happy about.
Megan wondered what sadness this could have been. The lack of children? Unhappy marriage? There was a melancholy to the little musings. Maybe life was harsh here in the old days? Maybe Molly was a woman who needed more than the simple routines of everyday life on a small farm?
Then a poem by W.B Yeats.
We rode in sorrow, with strong hounds three,
Bran, Sgeolan, and Lomair,
On a morning misty and mild and fair.
The mist-drops hung on the fragrant trees,
And in the blossoms hung the bees.
We rode in sadness above Lough Lean,
For our best were dead on Gavra's green.
And Megan’s own favourite, Tread Softly. She read the last line out loud. “Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”
She turned the page. What she read next made her sit up in bed. What did this mean? She read it again.
My husband’s child. Not mine and never will be. I can’t have any of my own but I don’t want hers. A child by another woman, now dead. A child born outside marriage. I can’t have him here. He’ll have to go, I said. So it was decided. Little Sean will be brought up by Pat’s brother, Rory. He will be better off there, on that big farm. Rory will make sure he gets a good education. Am I cruel? No. It would be cruel to keep him. He’ll never know. But he’ll never get the house or the land. That will go to my sister’s children. I’ll make sure of that.
***
“Mam, I need to know something.”
“Megan? How are you? How’s the house? Have you sold it yet?”
Megan sat down on the windowsill in her bedroom. “No. Look, there’s something I need to ask you. Something important.”
“What? Megan, if there’s something wrong, you should come home. Stop this nonsense and look for a job.”
“I have a job.”
“A job? Doing what?”
Megan sighed. “Working in a B and B.”
“In a B and B? Like a waitress? With your qualifications, that’s all you could find?”
“It’s just a temporary thing. But never mind. Will you listen for a minute, Mam?”
“All right. I’m listening.”
Megan cleared her suddenly dry throat. “It’s about Dad. I need to know… about his parents.”
“Yes?” Her mother’s voice was suddenly faint.
“Was Uncle Pat his real father?”
Silence.
“Mam? Are you there?”
“Yes.”
“So?”
She could hear her mother breathing at the other end. Then, “How did you find out?”
“So it’s true then?”
“Yes. Oh, Megan, we didn’t want to tell anyone. Very few people knew. And they’re all dead anyway. We found out about it that summer in Kerry, when you were eight.”
Megan pressed the phone closer to her ear. “Is that why Dad was so upset? Why we never went back?”
“Yes, Megan. That’s why. He couldn’t forgive Pat for not telling the truth. And for giving him away to his brother. He didn’t have a very happy childhood, you see.” Her mother sighed. “Oh, it’s all so complicated and sad. Nothing to do with you.”
�
�I know. But it would have been good to know. To understand why Dad was the way he was.” A thought struck Megan. “What about his real mother? Who was she?”
“Nobody knew. She died when your dad was only two. Then he was brought to Pat. Molly wouldn’t have anything to do with him. Everybody is dead, Megan. Don’t start digging up graves. Haven’t we had enough sadness?”
Megan felt tears well up. “Yes. You’re right. But it’s good to know. Of course, this is the reason Pat willed me his house.”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Molly wanted it to go to her family.”
“Probably. But that’s not your problem now. You’ll get a lot of money for that house and the bit of land.”
“I would. If I were selling it.”
***
Megan didn’t get much time to think or do much about her house during the following weeks. The fully booked B and B meant a lot of work. Beata was a fair but tough boss and kept Megan to her agreed hours without as much as a coffee break. But as Beata worked as hard herself, Megan couldn’t complain. She enjoyed the buzz of the comings and goings of visitors from all over the world, loved showing them the maps of the area and pointing out places of beauty and interest, developing a pride in a part of the world she began to think of as hers.
The electrician arrived. He gave her a quote that sounded exorbitant, but Beata just nodded and said it was what she would have expected. Megan accepted the quote, and it only took a few days to do the job and get connected. She gritted her teeth and paid the bill.
The plumbing was a different matter. The plumber, recommended by Paudie, walked around the house, scratching his head and muttering to himself while he made a list. “All the pipes will have to be replaced. A new immersion tank. New taps and a new shower. Replacing the septic tank, but that’s a job for a specialist firm.”
“Yes?” Megan said. “And how much will that cost?”
He shook his head. “Don’t know. Could be around five thousand euros or so. You’ll have to get a firm to come and take a look. But I could do something temporary with the old system until you can get it changed.”
“Oh, good.”
“Then you need an immersion for the hot water and a tank up in the attic. There must have been some kind of solid fuel cooker here once with a back boiler.”
Megan nodded. “Yes, there was. It’s been removed though.”
“Which is a good thing. It was probably not working very well.”
“No,” Megan agreed. “So, how much would you say your work will cost?”
He paused and looked at his list. “Hard to say. I have to do my sums and then see what the material will come to.”
Megan groaned. “I understand all that, but how about a wild guess? You know, a ballpark figure?”
“Hmm, yes…” He studied his list. “Well, let’s say around seven.”
“Seven—what?”
“Grand.”
“What?” Megan shrieked. “Seven thousand euros?”
He nodded “Yup, roundabout that.”
“Oh God.”
“Yeah, well…” He stuck his biro behind his ear. “Okay, I might be able to squeeze it down to six and half.”
“Oh, gee. Thanks,” Megan sighed.
The plumber looked around the kitchen. “These old houses are expensive to do up. You’ll probably need a new kitchen. And I couldn’t help noticing that the whole house needs a good paint job inside and out and new gutters too. I’d sell the lot if I were you.”
“So would I,” Megan sighed. “If I wasn’t mad enough to love it.”
He looked at her with pity. “That kind of love leads to bankruptcy in the end.”
“I know. When can you start?”
“Next week.”
***
“Why are you doing this?” Dan said when he phoned to ask her out. “I thought you said you were selling? You said—”
Megan sighed and sat down on the sofa in Beata’s living room. “I know what I said. But that was before—”
“Before what? Before you knew Pat was your real grandfather?”
“Yes.” Megan lowered her voice and glanced into the deserted hall. “Please, Dan, don’t tell anyone about that. I want to keep it quiet. Don’t want those awful Quinn brothers to find out.”
“Okay, won’t tell a soul. But, sweetheart, it’s crazy to spend all this money to do the house up. Why don’t you consider what I said? Sell it and buy a smaller place. Or at least sell the land.”
“No!” Megan stood up. “Don’t ever say that again. Sell the land? It’s mine. It belongs to my family. It’s in my blood.”
Dan sighed and laughed. “Such passion. Wish you were that hot for me.”
“I am… I mean… I might be. Soon.” Megan knew what he meant. She had been holding back, trying not to get too close. If she did, she might get hurt, might get left again like the last time. Their kisses were hot, his sweet words so seductive and his body… Nearly aroused just thinking about being in his arms, feeling his hands on her skin, she pushed the thoughts away. “I’m sorry about that last time, Dan. But I explained.”
“I know.” He paused. “Maybe we should take a break? Not see each other for a while? Give you space and time to think?”
Megan hesitated. It wasn’t fair to behave like a teenager with him, letting it get so far each time and then pulling away. She had to make a decision. She hadn’t had sex in over a year. She needed it, wanted it. She felt warm all over when she thought of Dan. Why was this such a problem? “I—” she started. “No, I don’t want to take a break. I want… to get closer to you.”
He was silent for so long she thought he had hung up. Then he coughed. “Oh? That sounds like good news. So… how about tonight? You’re free?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Where are we going?”
He laughed. “To somewhere very nice, I hope.”
Megan hung up with a feeling she had crossed some kind of Rubicon.
“Problems?” Beata walked in with a pile of logs for the fire.
“No. Yes. Dan.”
Beata piled the logs into the fireplace. “Not that again.” She turned around. “Please, Megan, It’s boring. Sleep with him if you want. Or don’t. Your problem, not mine. Just don’t ask what I think you should do a hundred times a day. You don’t listen to what I say, anyway.”
“I won’t mention it again. I’m seeing him tonight. Have no idea what’s going to happen.”
Beata winked. “Hot sex, I hope. Now, concentrate on the house. I don’t understand why you’re spending every cent you have on it.”
“Because it belongs to my family. Always has, Paudie said. The O’Farrells have been there since the beginning of time. That ruined tower on my land was built by my ancestors in the fifteenth century. My great-great grandfather cleared all the stones and rocks out of the land and grew things on it. Had his little farm on it and fed his family and all the families after that. How can I sell it? It wouldn’t be right.”
Beata nodded. “Just like in that movie I saw on TV last night. The Field. Must be something Irish. This thing about land.”
“Yes, I think it is.”
“More important than sex?”
“Much more.”
***
In her underwear, Megan caught her reflection in the bedroom window. The shape she saw was round and feminine. The bra pushed her breasts into a very pleasing cleavage, making her waist look smaller. Her wide hips and firm thighs completed the picture of a mature, shapely woman. Normally so critical of her unfashionable shape, Megan now felt proud of her body. This is me, she thought, take it or leave it, Dan Nolan.
He did. His eyes on her when she got into the car were appreciative, to say the least. His hand on her shoulders, and his light kiss sent hot sparks into her groin. “Where are you taking me?” she asked with intended innuendo.
He winked. “I haven’t quite decided where yet.
But we’ll eat first.”
“Where? Mulligans?”
“No. Better than that.” He started the car. “We’re going out to the Maharees. A pal of mine has a cottage there. He’s away, so he lent it to me for the weekend.”
“Perfect,” Megan purred.
He shot her an amused glance. “For what?”
She smiled innocently. “Well, you know. For watching the sunset.” She stretched, arching her back. “Oh, I’m so stiff. My back is killing me. Working for Beata is no holiday.”
He glanced at her breasts. “I’ll give you a massage when I get the chance.”
She closed her eyes and smiled. “That would be wonderful.”
He laughed. “Enough of this, or I might just throw you on the lawn and ravish you. But being a gentleman, I want to wine and dine you first.”
“Sounds wonderful. I could do with a little wining and dining.”
The cottage was at the end of the little peninsula. Overlooking the harbour, it had spectacular views of the sea. The sun was still warm, the wind balmy. With the sound of the waves and the distant cry of seagulls, there was a wonderful peace there. A feeling of being at the end of a continent.
Megan gazed at the horizon. “The next landfall would be America, wouldn’t it?”
Dan took a shopping bag from the car, out of which stuck the neck of a bottle of wine. “Not quite. Right across, it would be northern Canada. Labrador, to be exact.”
“Oh.” Megan turned from the view. “I was hoping it would be New York. Love that city.”
“Me too.” He handed her a plastic bag. “Here, I got some fresh prawns from the fish shop. Could you peel them while I get the barbeque going? That’s just the starter. I got lamb cutlets for the main course.”
“Sounds fantastic.”
***
Half an hour later, they were sitting on the little beach below the cottage, eating lamb cutlets with their fingers and sipping wine from paper cups.
Megan nibbled the last of the meat from the cutlet. “Wonderful flavour. You’re a good cook.”
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