I felt sick during the train journey from Leeds to Manchester on the Saturday morning. I felt even worse during the flight from Manchester to Cork. I must have looked it too, as the old lady in the seat next to me reached into the storage pouch, handed me a sick bag and asked me if it was my first time flying.
‘No. It’s not the flight. I love planes,’ I said. ‘I just don’t love the thought of who lives at the other end.’
‘Oh. Boyfriend trouble?’ Her eyes widened with curiosity. She had one of those kind faces – the sort of trustworthy person with whom you instantly felt at ease. She reminded me of Sarah’s Auntie Kay.
‘Parent trouble,’ I admitted. ‘They threw me out when I was sixteen and we haven’t been in touch since.’
‘So this will be the first time you’ve seen them in, what, a decade?’
I smiled. ‘Thanks for the compliment, but it’s been about seventeen years.’
‘You have a very youthful face, but your eyes tell of a greater maturity than your years.’ She tilted her head to one side and stared at me thoughtfully. ‘Yes, you’ve known some hard times, so you have.’
I swallowed on the lump in my throat and coughed. ‘It was a long time ago. Anyway, I’m being an eejit because I’m not even going to see them. I’m here for business and I’ve got no intention of visiting them. Ever.’
The woman was silent for at least ten minutes. I kicked myself for saying too much. She was probably only being friendly. She didn’t need to know my life story. This was more than I’d ever shared with Sarah, so why open up to a stranger on a plane? Seriously, Clare, learn when to shut up!
‘My parents threw me out too,’ she said, eventually. ‘I was sixteen, just like you.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘I fell for a Protestant. You’d think I’d fallen for Hitler, the way they carried on.’
‘Did you ever see them again?’
She shook her head. ‘My da was killed in a fire at the factory where he worked ten years later. I went to his funeral, but Ma gave out big time, so she did. I think she’d gone a bit funny in the head because she blamed me for the accident. Seems it was the onset of Alzheimer’s. I took pity and tried to see her but the nurses said I distressed her so I stayed away.’
‘What about your man? Your Protestant man?’
‘Oh, he’s grand. We’re still together. Four children, seven grandchildren and one great-grandbaby. I won’t be having any regrets about him, but I do wish I’d confronted my da before he died, to understand why he cut me off without even listening to me. We all have to face our past sooner or later. This trip could be too soon for you but maybe later?’
I shook my head vigorously. ‘No chance. My family are dead to me. Sorry if that sounds harsh.’
‘Throwing you out was harsh. But people can change. Sometimes.’
The captain announced our approach to Cork airport. We fastened our seat belts and prepared to land. People change? Not my parents. But was she right about facing my past? I shivered and pulled my jacket more tightly across my body. Perhaps. But not this weekend. The incident with Taz had been bad enough without facing my past as well.
The hotel in Cork was nice. Comfortable. Warm. Yet I felt anything but comfortable knowing how close I was to my former home. I shuddered as I stared out of the window, my hands wrapped round a mug of coffee. It’s only four nights. You can do this. You’re here for work and that’s all you need to think about. Not them.
The charity ball that evening couldn’t have gone better. I cast aside all thoughts of Ma and Da and schmoozed like a champion. Mike had been right: I was the best person for the job. Even if Rick had been available, he wouldn’t have had them eating out of his palm the way I had. Monday and Tuesday weren’t going to be any problem. In the past I’d handled clients who were far more disgruntled. So why couldn’t I sleep? I turned over and looked at the digital alarm by the bed: 03:17. Bollocks.
I peeled back the duvet and padded over to the drinks tray. Coffee wasn’t going to help me sleep. Hot chocolate instead? I flicked the kettle on, then pulled on the fluffy hotel dressing gown.
Clutching my hot chocolate a few minutes later, I stood by the window and looked out at the lights of Cork reflecting in the River Lee – very pretty and a stark contrast to the ugly thoughts in my head.
By the time I’d finished my drink, I knew how I was going to spend my Sunday. Ireland mainly held bad memories for me, but there was one place that held only good ones and I felt compelled to pay it a visit.
The first thing that struck me as I drove down the familiar roads towards Ballykielty was that absolutely nothing had changed. Trees were bushier, hedges were thicker, but there were no new housing estates or businesses to be seen. It was like entering a place where time stood still.
I slowly drove through the village, tutting with disbelief at the familiarity of it all, then turned round and doubled back slowly. As I gazed out the windscreen, I realised I was drawing curious glances and hit the accelerator, cursing my stupidity. I hadn’t meant to actually drive into the village. What if someone had recognised me? I shook my head. There was no way they would after all these years. To them, I’d just be a blonde in a hire car who’d got lost. Hopefully.
Driving out of the village, I took a right at the crossroads instead of going straight over towards Cork. A few hundred yards later, I pulled into the entrance to Farmer Brady’s field and got out of the car. My hands were shaking so much that it took several attempts to unlatch the gate. I had to skirt around three fields and through a copse before I came to it.
Looking at the dilapidated building in the middle of the meadow, I felt like a teenager again. A tree had sprouted out of the chimney and there were a few more loose piles of stones round the building, where it had crumbled, but it was still our place.
Butterflies swarmed in my stomach as I stepped through the doorway. Sunlight filtered through the broken roof tiles creating dust bunnies and an ethereal sense. I half-expected Daran to tap me on the shoulder, then swing me around in a circle while showering me with kisses, like he used to. I stood for a few minutes with my eyes closed, taking it all in, my right hand wrapped tightly around the king in my coat pocket – trying to draw strength for this challenge that I’d set myself to acknowledge the past.
Opening my eyes, I took a deep breath, brushed away some grass and mud and sat down on the pile of stones that Daran had sat on when he first confessed his love for me. My eyes focused on something light-coloured in the corner of the room. It can’t be… I stood up again, cautiously picked my way across stones and twigs and tugged at the piece of material. It was dirty and damp, but it was definitely our blanket. I closed my eyes, smiling, remembering Daran’s gentle touch.
Suddenly, a shiver ran through me, and a flash of something sped across my mind. I dropped the blanket, gasping for breath. What the hell was that? My wrists throbbed and my head thumped. What was happening to me?
I stumbled back across to the stones and sat down heavily as a film of sweat covered my body. My eyes darted around the farmhouse – our farmhouse. And I knew at that moment that it hadn’t been only ours, and that the memories there weren’t all happy ones. But what…?
‘So the rumours were true. You are back.’
I leapt up off the stones. Shit! ‘Da?’
8
Nineteen Years Earlier
‘We have a very special guest for Mass this morning,’ Father Doherty announced to the congregation at the start of the summer holidays. ‘Daran McInnery is from Wicklow and has been studying in Cork. He’s interested in becoming a priest and has asked to spend some time shadowing me while God and he decide if this is the right path for him. Daran, do you want to say a few words? They’re a friendly lot. I’m sure they’ll make you feel very welcome. Step up here, why don’t you?’
I stopped playing with my long, blonde plaits and reluctantly looked up, expecting to see yet another old man with an expanding waist and diminishing hair. I certa
inly didn’t expect to see a man in his early twenties with a full head of dark hair, a slim physique and a dazzling smile. Murmurs and giggles rippled through the congregation.
Leaning over to my best friend, Orla Brennan, I whispered in her ear, ‘I’ll bet you anything you like that the Black Widow will be the first to make sure he feels welcome. Very, very welcome.’ I glanced across at Mrs Shaughnessy. Widowed when she was only twenty-one and never remarried, she had a reputation as a maneater. All the men in the village seemed to fancy her although that was not surprising. With her shiny, blonde hair and flawless, youthful complexion, she looked like a woman in her late twenties, although she was actually forty. I felt a bit guilty for giving her the nickname because she was always really nice to me but Ballykielty wasn’t exactly the most exciting of places. Orla and I had to get our kicks somewhere.
Orla giggled a little too loudly. A sharp dig in my back made me yelp. I didn’t dare turn round and look at Da in the pew behind me. I didn’t need to. I’d seen that disgusted expression in his dark eyes so many times that it was etched on my mind forever so I kept my eyes forward. Father Doherty gave me a stern look, but Daran McInnery smiled.
And that dazzling smile was what started it.
During the summer, Da commented that he’d never seen me so eager to go to Mass and perhaps I wasn’t going to turn into a huge disappointment, after all. Well, with someone like Daran McInnery to gaze upon, who wouldn’t want to go? For the first time ever, I felt captivated by the words of the Scriptures. Watching him speak with such passion made my heart beat faster. I hung onto every single word he uttered. Even that eejit Jamie Doyle, from two years above me at school, couldn’t break my concentration, despite tugging on my plaits and trying to tickle my ribs with his grubby, scabby hands.
In mid-September, the village held a céilí in honour of Father Doherty’s thirtieth year with our parish. Despite it being Father Doherty’s event, Daran McInnery was the centre of attention, with a constant queue of fawning women begging him to dance. I’d been right about the Black Widow; she was by his side constantly. Medusa herself would have been proud of the stony stares she gave to any woman with whom he danced.
I leaned against the wall of the barn, playing with a loose thread on the hem of my dark-purple floral dress, kicking at some loose straw with my purple canvas pumps, and watching. Always watching.
After a hissed lecture from Da on being a ‘miserable, sulky little brat’ who had better ‘stop bringing shame to this family and accept the next invitation to dance’, I was forced into dancing with that gobshite Jamie Doyle. His breath smelled of alcohol and he kept ‘accidentally’ placing his hand on my backside instead of my waist, and standing on my feet with his huge size-twelves. God alone knew why, but my da seemed to think the creepy git was potential husband material for either my sister, Nia, or me. Yuck. Over my dead body. Nia seemed to like him, though. I’d have thought that being in the same class as him would have put her right off. I wished, not for the first time, that I were much older. Closer to Daran McInnery’s age, perhaps.
I danced with a couple of boys from my class, and with my da and my brothers, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Daran. It seemed to me as though he was watching me too. Every time I danced, I could feel his eyes on me. And I liked it. A lot.
‘Are you enjoying yourself, Father?’ I asked, as I passed him on the way to dance with one of my brothers.
‘That I am,’ he responded, those green eyes burning into mine. ‘But I’d be enjoying myself even more if you’d do me the honour of the next dance, Miss O’Connell.’
I smiled. Yes! Success! ‘I might be free a little later, Father.’
‘I’m not a priest, yet, Clare. It’s Daran.’
I’d only just turned fourteen but I’d been an early developer and felt more like an eighteen-year-old. Being the youngest with four serious, boring siblings had made me grow up fast. My twin brothers, Keenan and Éamonn, were four years older than me and Nia was two years older. They were all devout Catholics. My other sister, Aisling, was six years older and at university in Limerick. She acted all serious when she came home for the holidays but, having spotted her unpacking some very sexy matching underwear, I liked to imagine that she drank alcohol and danced topless while she was there and only pretended to be nun-like to keep the peace with Da when she visited Ballykielty.
I tried to be more like my siblings. Being constantly scolded was no way to live but I couldn’t help it – there was an extroverted, fun-loving, boisterous woman inside me who refused to conform. I wasn’t convinced by the whole religious thing either, especially as Ma, Da and my siblings seemed to think Catholicism was code for ‘no fun’. Daran McInnery seemed like fun, though, and I was very aware that I’d developed a huge crush on him – my first serious, stomach-flopping, heart-racing crush. It was killing me to play it cool.
‘Would you be free for that dance now?’ Daran asked, three dances later. ‘Or are you too much in demand?’
‘I’m hugely in demand, especially with that eejit Jamie Doyle, but I think you’ve waited long enough.’ I took his hand and a tingle ran through my body at his warm touch.
The music started and I sent up a prayer of thanks for a dance where the couple had to maintain close contact throughout. My heart raced as we placed our arms round each other’s waists and moved round the room in a circle formation, changing direction and spinning when directed. Every time he gazed into my eyes and smiled, I melted. No man had ever affected me like this. I knew at that moment that I was in love.
I didn’t want that dance to end and nearly whooped out loud when Daran suggested we get some juice and go outside for some fresh air.
‘What are you planning to do when you finish school next year?’ he asked as we wandered away from the village hall with our drinks. ‘Will you be going to university?’
‘University?’
‘You must be in your Leaving Cert year, are you not?’
Not quite. I chose my words carefully. ‘I’m studying hard. I’d like to be a midwife eventually. Babies are so cute and the thought of being the one who helps bring so many of them into the world must be such a blessing and so rewarding.’
‘That’s a grand vocation to want,’ he said.
‘My da doesn’t think so.’
‘Why not?’
‘He believes a woman’s place is in the home, being a good Catholic wife, and producing a baby every two years or so, just like my ma.’
‘I’m sure he only wants what’s best for you.’
‘Da only ever wants what’s best for him and best for God.’
‘Perhaps what’s best for God is best for you too.’
I pondered his statement. ‘I want to challenge you on that, but I can’t think of an example of something that has displeased me but would have pleased God, so perhaps I’ve been unfair on him.’
Daran laughed. ‘Unfair on your da or unfair on God?’
I smiled. ‘Both… I think. Are you from a large family?’
‘The oldest of eight. My father died young so I spent a lot of time helping my mother with my brothers and sisters.’
‘I’m sorry about your da. That must have been hard.’
‘It was, but my siblings were a great distraction.’
‘Father Doherty said you’re only looking into the priesthood.’
He nodded. ‘I planned to become a religion teacher and I could have started teaching this term, but I couldn’t help feeling that God had another path in mind for me, perhaps as a priest or an overseas missionary. The priesthood’s a big commitment. My priest in Cork is a good friend of Father Doherty so he arranged for me to spend some time with him to explore whether it’s right for me. Here I am, exploring away, trying to work out what I want to do with my life.’
We stopped at a bench and sat down. The moon lit Daran’s silhouette. He looked like a model rather than a priest and I longed to reach out and touch the curl of hair that kept blowing across his forehead
and into his eyes. I sat on my hands instead. ‘If you became a priest, you wouldn’t be able to have a family of your own. Wouldn’t you miss that?’
‘A person can’t miss something he’s never had. Right now, I want God in my life more than I want a family of my own. Or at least I think I do. That’s why I’m not rushing into any decisions. If I do join the priesthood, I’ll be taking a solemn vow of celibacy and that’s how my life will be.’
‘Doesn’t your mind ever wander and think about what it would be like to kiss someone and to press your body against theirs and make babies?’
I heard him gulp, but I couldn’t see enough of his face in the darkness to discern his reaction. His shaky words conveyed his emotions, though. ‘Emm… well, er, Clare. It’s like this… A priest… Well, it’s just that… Okay, I sometimes think about it. Thinking is different from acting on… er… carnal desires. I… er… I think we’d better go back inside. I’ve cooled down now.’
How I resisted the urge not to reach up and kiss him at that moment, I’ll never know.
9
Present Day
‘What in the name of God are you doing here?’ Da growled. ‘I thought we’d made it clear that you were never to come back.’
I cursed my stupidity. Damn stranger-hating village. Should have known I’d be spotted. Be brave. Be confident. You’re not sixteen anymore. You can handle him. ‘It’s great to see you too, Da,’ I said, squaring up to him and standing tall. He looked old. And grey. And tired. I could take him.
But his strong, sharp voice still had the power to make me tremble. ‘What do you want, girl? Why are you back?’
‘I’m in Cork on business.’
‘Business? Is that what you call it these days?’
My stomach twisted at the clear insinuation in his words. At least he’d stopped short of calling me the hurtful names he’d used seventeen years earlier. Unable to think of a clever quip, I stared at him and hoped he couldn’t see me shaking.
Coming Home to Seashell Cottage Page 4