‘I told him about Shannon’s baby.’
His eyes widened. ‘You found her and she has a baby? You have a family?’
‘It seems that I do.’
Father Doherty listened attentively while I told him everything that had happened.
When I finished, he sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. He kept them shut for so long, I thought he’d fallen asleep.
‘Father?’ I whispered. ‘Father?’
He muttered, ‘Amen,’ then opened his eyes. ‘Sorry, child, but I felt a prayer was needed for your poor Shannon, who has had far too much suffering for one so young. I’m so happy for you. You’ve found your little girl, thanks be to God, and she has a child of her own. You may have lost one family, but you’ve gained another. I believe it’s God’s way of putting right for you the wrongs that others – including myself – have done to you.’
I was about to retaliate and say I didn’t believe in God, but I stopped as a wave of comfort swept over me. Whether there was a God or not, I did believe in the concept of karma and that was essentially what Father Doherty had just described. Very comforting.
I drove back to the hotel a couple of hours later, abandoned the car I’d hired that morning and walked along the river into Cork. A dull, grey sky threatened rain, and a cold wind pushed my hair across my face and tickled my nose. I bought myself a sandwich and coffee and headed for Bishop Lucey Park, shivering as I sat down on a bench, feeling the cold metal through my dress. Office workers scuttled past on their lunch breaks. Women and the occasional man pushed babies and toddlers in prams and buggies. I watched for a while before digging out my mobile and calling Sarah. My conversation with Ben on Sunday morning was niggling at me. I wanted her in my life, I needed her in my life, and it was time to reconnect. Unfortunately, the only connection available was with her voicemail so I hung up without leaving a message. ‘Sorry I’m a lousy friend, hope your health - business - marriage - everything else is okay. By the way, my da’s dead,’ didn’t seem like an appropriate message to leave.
I thought I might manage to catch Aisling on her school lunch break but I got her voicemail instead, so I left a message telling her that I was definitely going to the wake, even though I knew Ma would make a scene.
I looked at my watch. I hadn’t caught Aisling on her lunch break, but was it worth trying Ben in case he was on his? No such luck.
‘Hi, Ben, it’s Clare. Just thought I’d let you know that the old git is dead. I’m going to the wake tomorrow and the funeral on Saturday, although I suspect my ma will throw me out of the wake and have Satan on hand to brandish a pitchfork at me if I turn up to the funeral. I expect I’ll be back on Sunday afternoon, so maybe we can do a curry and get pissed or get pissed and do a curry. Or just get pissed, because I think I need to. I’ve texted Shannon and Callum to let them know. I know it’s a big ask, but I’d be really grateful if you could visit them and let me know they’re okay. Bye.’
I put my phone back in my bag and opened my sandwich. A woman in her late sixties ambled past pushing a buggy as I took my first bite. Assuming she was a relative, she was clearly the granny. I doubted anyone would imagine I was the granny when they saw me out with Luke. Next to the woman, an older man pushed an older lady in a wheelchair – possibly the great-grandmother. It was a shame that my ma would never get to enjoy that role, or at least not with my side of the family. Christ! What about Daran’s mother? She’d lost her son, but did she have any idea that she had a granddaughter by him? If she did, she certainly wouldn’t know that she also had a great-grandson. Father Doherty must have met her at Daran’s memorial service. Perhaps he had her contact details.
With my lunch finished, I stood up. It was time to shop. I had a funeral and a wake to attend, and I hadn’t packed anything appropriate.
39
I twisted and turned so I could see the black skater dress from all angles in the full-length mirror on the wall of my hotel bedroom. Not bad. Not that he deserved black, but I didn’t want to make a scene by turning up in head-to-toe scarlet, especially as that’s probably what Ma and her cronies expected. Mind you, I’d snuck in some colour to show I wasn’t really in mourning. The dress had an Aztec-style embellishment in red, burnt-orange, turquoise and green across the waistband, and I’d teamed it with a red silk scarf.
I ran my brush through my hair, then, in another streak of rebellion, applied some bright-red lipstick. Picking up my handbag and coat from the bed, I took one last look in the mirror and nodded approvingly.
By the time I’d descended to the hotel lobby, my confidence had well and truly evaporated. I glanced towards the hotel bar to my right and had to fight the urge to walk right in, sit in a corner and drink myself into oblivion. Maybe offering Father Doherty a lift had been my way of ensuring I went through with it.
‘Are you nervous, my child?’ Father Doherty asked as I pulled out of my space outside his retirement home.
‘I am, Father. The whole extended family will be there, along with most of the village, and I don’t know who knows what. I’m a pretty strong person, but even the strongest would hesitate at being thrown into the lion’s den.’
I could see him nodding in my peripheral vision. ‘I wish I could offer some words of comfort and suggest you’re exaggerating what it will be like…’
‘I know.’ I turned my head slightly and smiled. ‘I’ve been through worse.’
‘Hindsight is a wonderful thing,’ he said. ‘And I know that everything we do is all part of God’s plan, but I do so wish that I’d known then what I know now and guided your father to show forgiveness and compassion, instead of stirring up accusations of sin.’
‘Please don’t punish yourself, Father. Even if you’d done that, I don’t think he’d have listened.’
‘Perhaps you’re right.’
I laughed. ‘If we’re going to remain friends, I think you’ll find I’m always right.’
Father Doherty laughed too. ‘I’d like to be friends. You’re a wise woman, Clare O’Connell.’
‘Well, before he started spouting hell and damnation at me, I was tutored by a pretty good priest.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And, even though he decided against the priesthood, Daran taught me well too. He taught me so much about the world, about myself, about the person I wanted to be…’ I tailed off, as the words stuck in my throat.
Father Doherty lightly touched my hand on the steering wheel. ‘I know,’ he said softly.
We left the city behind and headed into the countryside towards Ballykielty. I didn’t like the silence. It gave me too much time to think about what I was about to face. ‘I wondered something yesterday,’ I said. ‘Daran’s mother. Did she know about me?’
Father Doherty paused for a moment before answering. ‘I can’t be certain, my child, but I know they were very close.’
‘Do you have a phone number or an address for her?’
‘No phone number but I think I have an address somewhere. She’s on a farm in Wicklow but I cannot remember where. My memory’s not what it used to be. I’ll have a hunt around. See what I can find.’
‘Thanks, Father. I’d appreciate that.’
I linked arms with Father Doherty as we walked slowly along the laneway, which was packed with cars. I knew that he knew my grip was more for my benefit than his. I felt sick as we turned the corner and walked down the driveway of my childhood home.
Aisling was on door duty. She hugged Father Doherty, then me. ‘Be brave,’ she whispered in my ear.
‘Does she know I’m coming?’
‘Yes.’
‘Does she know I’m here?’
‘No. She’s in the garden with Mrs Leary just now. Nia’s in the kitchen, though. Will we go inside and reacquaint the two of you?’
I nodded and followed her. The living room was packed with people so I kept my head down, eager not to make eye contact with anyone, as I let my big sister lead me by the hand towards the kitchen.
> ‘Nia,’ Aisling called.
A petite woman with shoulder-length, mousy-coloured hair had her hands in the sink. She jumped and turned, dropping her dishcloth onto the floor with a splat as she spotted me.
‘Hi, Nia,’ I said. ‘Long time, no see.’
‘Emm, hi, uh, Clare,’ she stammered, pulling a shapeless, grey cardigan tightly across her tiny body. Her big, brown eyes kept flicking fearfully over my shoulder. ‘You look a lot like I remember. But prettier. And taller. You’re very tall, aren’t you?’
I shrugged. ‘Might it be the heels?’
‘There are people out here needing tea,’ boomed a man’s voice from the living room. ‘Stop gossiping and get on with your work, Nia. It’s embarrassing having people desperate for some basic hospitality and knowing it’s my wife leaving them parched and starving.’
I cringed. So that was Nia’s husband? What an absolute prick, shouting like that and humiliating her in front of all those guests. My fists clenched by my side and I bit my lip. I wanted to march into the living room and give him an earful, but I could tell from Nia’s expression that it would only cause her more problems.
‘Sorry, Jim. It’ll be ready in a minute.’
‘I shouldn’t have to remind you, Nia, should I?’
‘No, Jim. Sorry, Jim.’
Nia swiftly retrieved the cloth from the floor, tossed it into the sink, grabbed the kettle and filled it.
‘Charming,’ I muttered.
‘Shhh,’ Aisling whispered.
The doorbell rang. ‘I’m needed out front,’ Aisling said. ‘Nia, will you let Clare help you?’
Nia dropped a teaspoon onto the worktop, and it bounced and clattered to the floor. ‘There’s no need. Really. I can manage.’
But I’d already put my bag down, rolled up my cardigan sleeves and put my hands in the sink. ‘Will you sort out the drinks while I finish this lot?’
Nia stared at me for a moment as if she were about to protest, then a flicker of something resembling relief passed across her face and she mumbled, ‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
The only problem with being stuck in the kitchen was the clear view of the back garden. From the window above the sink, I could see Ma looking angry, pacing up and down on the lawn. In one hand, she held a tumbler of dark liquid – brandy, perhaps? – and in the other, she held a cigarette. I didn’t know she smoked. As she talked – or shouted – the liquid sloshed over her hand. Mrs Leary, seated on the garden bench, kept making calming gestures with her arms. I’d liked Mrs Leary as a child. She’d been a teacher at school and had always been friendly. Had they turned her against me or was she trying to be the voice of reason?
‘How many’s she had?’ I asked Nia, who’d wandered back into the kitchen with a tray full of empty cups and glasses.
‘Ma?’ She placed the tray down next to the sink and peered out the window. ‘I lost count after number six.’
‘Jesus!’
‘Clare!’
‘Sorry. It slipped out.’ I loaded the dirty pots into the sink while Nia emptied a box of assorted shortbread biscuits onto a plate. ‘The anger is because…?’
Nia stopped and looked at me with her eyebrows raised.
‘Because of me,’ I said. ‘Of course. You think I should leave?’
‘I, erm… I haven’t really got an opinion on the subject.’ She placed the last few of biscuits onto the plate and scuttled into the living room.
I picked up a tea towel when she returned and started to dry the pots. ‘So, Nia, why don’t you tell me about yourself?’
‘What do you want to know?’ She looked scared again.
‘Anything. What you do for a living, for example?’
‘Oh, I don’t work,’ she said. ‘Jim likes me to keep house for him.’
Christ alive! The 1950s called and they want their protégée back. ‘Hobbies and interests, then. What do you like doing?’
‘I… uh… I cook.’
‘Do you enjoy cooking?’
‘Not really.’
‘So, what do you enjoy doing?’
Nia shrugged. ‘I don’t really have any hobbies and interests. I go to Mass and I help out arranging the flowers for the altar every Sunday.’
‘But you don’t like either of them?’
She shook her head. ‘Not really. But Jim says we need to be active at the church and I want to please God so…’ She tailed off.
I decided to change the subject. ‘How long have you been married?’ I had to stop myself from adding ‘… to that arsehole’.
‘Fifteen years.’
‘Any kids?’
‘No.’ Her eyes seemed to plead with me not to explore that any further, before she turned away and busied herself loading some clean cups and saucers onto a tray. As I watched her, I wondered whether she’d been unable to have children. She was a timid little mouse of a woman, all skin and bones, hollow cheeks and wispy hair. She didn’t look strong enough to grow a baby inside her.
‘So, what’s your name now?’ I asked, when I couldn’t stand the silence any longer, yet couldn’t face going into the living room.
‘Cullen.’
‘Jim Cullen?’ I wrinkled my nose. ‘Is he from around here?’
‘He is.’
‘Where?’ I expected her to say one of the surrounding villages.
‘Ballykielty.’
‘Really? Cullen. Jim Cullen. How old is he?’
‘Same age as me.’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t remember anyone of that name.’
‘Yes, well, you moved away a long time ago, so you did,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t talk. I need to make more sandwiches.’
Conversation over, I turned back to the washing-up. If a stranger had walked into the kitchen and seen us together, they’d never have guessed that she was my sister – my older sister, at that. We were nothing like each other in looks or temperament. I hated that I so clearly intimidated her. She’d always been quieter than me, but I remembered playing with her as a child and there being genuine affection between us. Yet another thing Ma and Da had taken away.
Outside, Ma had stopped pacing and had taken a seat on the bench with Mrs Leary. I noticed her glass was empty, which meant that she’d probably be coming inside any minute. And that meant that, if I wanted to do what I’d come to do – satisfy myself that Da really was dead – I’d better find him.
‘Where’s Da?’ I asked Nia.
‘In the small back bedroom.’
I gulped. That was cruel. ‘My old room?’
She nodded. ‘Sorry.’
I shivered. This was going to be very strange. With another glance out the kitchen window to make sure Ma wasn’t on her way in, I wiped my hands on the tea towel. ‘Wish me luck.’
I had to walk back through the dining room, then the living room, to get to the stairs. A wave of whispers and nudges followed me, along with a few clear statements: ‘She’s got a nerve showing up here.’ ‘Where’s her respect?’ ‘She brought such shame on the family, don’t you know.’
Head high, shoulders back. These people are small-minded and they mean nothing to you. I needed to see him, then get out of there. I glanced around the room brazenly. They weren’t all hostile. I received a few smiles and a couple of nods. Which one was Nia’s arsehole of a husband? There were only four men in the room including Father Doherty and all of them were fifty and above. Jim must have gone out. The men had probably retreated to the pub.
Aisling stopped me as I reached the door to the hall. ‘You’re not leaving, are you?’
‘Soon,’ I said. ‘But I’m going upstairs first.’
‘Will you be wanting company?’
I smiled weakly at my sister. ‘Thanks, but I have to do this alone.’
My legs shook as I took each stair and slowly made my way towards the back of the house. Nothing seemed to have changed. The carpet was still green, although it had probably been replaced. The swirly brown a
nd cream wallpaper was definitely the same. I passed the hot press and paused to take in the white, glossed door with height measurements of the five of us as we grew. Only there weren’t five measurements anymore. Someone had scratched out mine. My eyes burned. I shouldn’t have felt hurt or surprised, yet I did. Why not just paint over me? Why scratch me out? But I knew the answer to that – it was a cathartic act of scratching me out of his life. I could picture him sitting there for hours, carefully erasing me from his home and his world.
The next door was my bedroom door. It was wide open and the thin closed curtains fluttered in a slight breeze from the open window. A large mirror had been taken off its hook, turned round and propped against the wall. Most of the traditions observed, then. I heard the word ‘Amen’, then a couple of mourners appeared in the doorway. With barely a glance at me, they squeezed past and headed down the stairs. I hoped nobody was observing the tradition of sitting with the body constantly because I really wanted to be alone with him. I listened, but there was absolute silence, so I took a few steps forward and peered round the edge of the door. Empty. Except for the large, dark-wood coffin on the bed. I shuddered, then took another step closer.
I recognised his suit immediately – his Sunday best. He’d worn the same navy double-breasted jacket and trousers for as long as I could remember, so it shouldn’t have surprised me that he’d never shelled out on another considering how tight he was with money. Rosary beads rested in his left hand. I recognised them from childhood too.
‘Hello, Da.’
I half-expected him to sit up and demand to know what the hell I was doing in his house when he’d made it clear I wasn’t welcome. But he just lay there. Still. Silent. I gently prodded him on the arm. Then a bit harder. Then harder still. I smiled and exhaled. It was safe to say that he was well and truly dead.
Staring at his body for a few more moments, I felt nothing. No sadness. No regret. And no fear. I didn’t want to say a prayer, ask for forgiveness, or even tell him what I thought of him because, actually, I didn’t think anything of him. In the same way he’d claimed I was nothing to him, I realised he was nothing to me. He wasn’t my father – he was just someone I used to know. Someone who I’d never felt very fond of. Someone who caused me no end of pain. And, more importantly, someone who couldn’t do that anymore.
Coming Home to Seashell Cottage Page 22