by Sara Forbes
We disappear up to his room—softly, softy up the stairs and the minute we get behind his door, he locks it and he pins me against it, or the wall or the bed or the floor.
In the afternoons, he’s invariably busy with equestrian tradespeople, or stable staff, or renovations people, while I’m doing a rush job of my chores, making up for lost time, before starting on my own writing. But we catch up again after five. I never stay the night. We both know that it's too much for the mother. Instead, Danny comes to Nuala's and gets up at dawn to come back here.
I’ve thought about the things she said to me but I reckon it’s just not my problem. There’s no point in my worrying about those things. It’s not like I’m going to be here long term so I don’t know what she’s worried about.
It’s one of those quiet mornings when Danny’s away in Dublin again that I get a text.
Hey. When are you coming home?
I frown. Why would he ask this? Then I do a double take as I see the sender’s not Danny, it’s freaking Brett.
Brett!
Yuck. My blood runs cold. I just want to delete the text and pretend it didn’t happen. Why can’t he just forget me? I thought he had, but clearly not.
What time is it there with him? 6 a.m. What’s he doing typing to me at 6 a.m? Just move on, Brett!
What do I answer? No, I shouldn’t bother. I fling the phone inside my apron pocket and get working on polishing the glass doors of the huge old dresser that takes up a wall of the kitchen.
The phone buzzes with another message. I lift it up.
You busy? What you doing?
“Oh fuck off,” I growl.
At that precise moment the kitchen back door opens.
It’s Cliona. She sees me glaring at my phone. Probably heard me cussing too. I pat back a strand of hair, my face tingling.
“Has something happened?” she asks, all concern.
“Hey,” I say, pocketing the phone again. “Uh, Danny’s not here, he’s in Dublin.”
“I know.” She smiles and sits down. “Are you all right? You look a bit shaken.”
“I’m fine.” I go over to the kettle and fall into the usual routine, filling it with water, turning it on, opening the tea box. Fiddling around. “Is Lorcan at school?”
“Yes. I’m just running errands. Thought I’d drop in and see Ellen and yourself.” Her smile is genuine, not a hint of anything malicious there.
“Well, that’s nice of you. So, Earl Grey, I presume?”
She laughs. “You know me too well already. Mrs. Muldoon never remembers my tea choice. I think it’s deliberate. Anyway, how are things here?”
“Good,” I say.
She readjusts her position on the high stool. “Has your cousin Sean got you acquainted with everyone? He’s quite the center of the party.”
“Yeah, I’ve been to the pub with him a few times,” I say.
“They’re quite a bunch aren’t they—the Callaghans?”
I nod. “I don’t see them a whole lot, but Seamus gave me a tour of the hotel last week.” The second I say it, I regret it. I know how complicated her relationship with the Callaghans must be. Then again, she mentioned them first.
Her eyes gleam. “How did that come about?”
“I just met him when I was walking home from here.”
“Hm.”
Before the pause lengthens to the point of awkwardness, she speaks again. “So, you and Danny. Tell me.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling my face redden. “This isn’t something I feel terribly comfortable discussing. I didn’t want to trample on anyone. I didn’t know—”
“Oh my God, Shannon, don’t.” Cliona holds up her dainty hands, flapping them by the sides of her head. “Just don’t.”
I gape back.
“You think I’m into him?” She laughs. “No. I mean, I do love him, of course, no question. He’s a good man. A good friend. But the two of us? We had our day long ago and it’s over. It’s always been over. He’s like a brother to me.”
“But Lady Ellen—"
“…likes to maintain the fantasy that we’ll get married, I know, I know.” She groans softly.
A fantasy. It’s music to my ears.
“It’s all a bit complicated.” Cliona lowers her voice as if someone might be listening on the other side of the kitchen door. “We Stephensons are the only other noble family around, and she cares about that sort of thing. Of course, deep down, she’s assuming we’d have a kid together and continue the duchy with a legitimate child. She’s delusional. She thinks Lorcan would be fine with that, with simply sharing the estate. She’s convinced it’s the best thing for Lorcan.”
“But there’s no guarantee you’d even have another kid,” I reason.
“Absolutely,” she says. “We wouldn’t. The duchy title would be dead in the water. She just can’t seem to wrap her head around the fact that I don’t think of Danny like that. And I haven’t since the Incident.”
“The incident? Is that what you call it?”
She nods. “You landed here into quite a quagmire, didn’t you? I’m surprised you’re not running for the hills by now. Yes, the incident. The accident. Owen’s death. The whole village decided I was the slut from hell, leading poor, innocent Owen astray, driving Danny mad, causing this grief. People would shake their heads as I passed them on the street. A brick came through my bedroom window that missed my head on the pillow by an inch. Some vigilante heard the story and decided I had to die. There were death threats in the mail, too. It went on for about a year. But the talking behind the back still goes on, of course. She shrugs. “Fuck them.”
My eyes widen. The cussing is so unexpected in her refined voice.
“Oh, I’ve upset you now,” she says.
“Well, your story is upsetting. I had no idea you went through all that. I’m so sorry, Cliona. Small towns can be super judgmental.”
“Oh, these days I get nasty,” she says, shaking her fist. “I won’t let people be sniveling, passive-aggressive cowards. No, I go right up to them and demand to know why they’re shaking their heads at me.” She shrugs. “Sometimes it works out well.”
This slip of a woman, she looks so angelic. But she talks like a badass. I’m starting to like her a whole lot more. And I need to bottle up some of her determination.
Cliona taps the breakfast bar counter top. “Well, I must be off, thanks for the tea. Tell Danny I was asking for him.”
“I will.” I say smiling.
When the door closes over, I close my eyes, open them again. I fish my phone out of my bag and before the spell can pass, I type:
Brett, look, you creepy fucker. You need to stop bothering me before I start thinking I need to hire someone to protect myself. Just piss off and leave my mother and all my friends alone.
The words look so strange, so outlandish, like I’ve drunk texted him. It's something a fictional me would say. And yet, here I am. It’s my fingers doing the work. And I’m stone cold sober.
Before I can even think about dithering, I press send.
Shaking, I throw the phone in my bag as if it’s on fire. I don’t know if I’ll have the guts to ever take it out again.
24
DANNY
It’s Shannon’s day off again at last, so I’m going to take her on a date. A proper date, in Cork city.
We meet at nine, as usual, but not in the kitchen—I’m waiting for her outside by the Jag. She’s got a denim jacket, a floral skirt and long, tan boots on. I’m tempted to call off the date and just take her upstairs to slowly unzip those boots and to explore the treasures under the skirt. But that wouldn’t be fair. She needs to see things. Other things.
“Nice car,” she says.
Soon we’re out of there. I’m conscious that anyone can see us driving down the streets of Ballytirrel, in fact, I’m kind of hoping they do. Grist for the gossip mill right there, that is, if everyone doesn’t already know.
First stop is a Barrington’s Pie
r outside Limerick. It’s a birdwatching area that doesn’t attract many visitors. It offers a wide but rather featureless view of the Shannon estuary and west Limerick city. The tide is coming in.
“It’s your river,” I tell her.
She’s staring, taking it all in.
I spread my arms wide. “I love it here—the emptiness, the sparsity, the vastness.”
She tightens her clutch around my waist. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
“It’s this…it’s you.” I look at her, her hair flying in the breeze, her cheeks flushed. “So beautiful.”
“What do you like about it so much?”
“Out here in nature, everything is so big and I’m so insignificant—the only thing judging me is the universe itself. It reminds me that small-town mentality and small-town concerns are really nothing in the grand scheme of things.”
“Yes,” she says thoughtfully. “That’s right.”
“You’ve been quiet these past few days,” I remark. “Is everything all right?”
“Sure, yeah,” she says, a little too brightly.
“Do you miss home?”
“I miss my mom and my best friend Marci, but beyond that, no.”
“Could they come visit you?”
“Oh no, no,” she laughs. “It’s too short a time.”
That hits me like a cold bucket of water. I walk on ahead to cover my emotion. I could fly them over first-class for a few days. It would be no problem. Still, it wouldn't solve the bigger problem.
For the rest of the time, I don’t embark on that subject again. It’s just too depressing and I don't want to spoil our date. We head back into the city, have lunch in a cozy café and browse some shops. Shannon is fascinated by how quaint and walkable the streets are. Unlike many women I've dated, she doesn't hint that she wants to purchase anything. Even when I linger by the jewelry shop window displaying Cartier and Van Cleef & Arpels, she huffs that her aunt's jewelry is nicer and walks on.
The time passes all too quickly, and soon it’s time to return. I take the old road home, pointing out monastery ruins and farms of people I've done business with. Ten kilometers outside Ballytirrel, I drive up the steep hill to St. Paul’s church. I park beside the graveyard. The orange evening sun glints off the marble headstones.
“What’s here?” she asks. “Another monastery ruin? A Viking watering hole?”
“Not exactly.”
She gets her phone out in anticipation.
“No photos, please,” I say.
“But the sunset is gorgeous, come on, Danny, look over there.” She points at the view down Ballytirrel valley. Then she looks at me again and puts it away.
She peers down at the gravestone I’m standing at and reads out the name… “Owen Callaghan…” then she turns to me. “Oh my God, is this—?”
“It is.” I study her face for signs of shock, repulsion. But she just looks curious. I see she’s calculating his age from the dates of birth and death.
“He was twenty-four,” I say. “Creative, talented, handsome.”
“Is this what you came here to show me?”
I nod. “You need to know about me, to understand the gravity of what I’ve done. The depravity of it. Because I don't think you fully understand the sorrow I've caused. My baggage is more than any woman should have to deal with. The people are right to hate me for what I’ve done.”
She sucks on her bottom lip, frowning. “Maybe I don’t judge you as the local families do, or as you do yourself.”
“Are you crazy then?” I ask bitterly.
“No,” she says firmly. “But that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it.”
“And you still want to be with me?”
“And I still want to be with you. Honestly, Danny, you have to start believing that.” Her eyes are bright, burning with sincerity.
But she also wants to leave. What am I supposed to think?
“So, tell me, do you…do you believe it?” she asks.
A voice in the back of my head is whispering, don’t believe it, you moron while I hear myself saying “Yes, I believe you.”
She sinks into my arms and I squeeze her tight. If she is reconsidering, then I don’t deserve this luck, but I’d be a fool to throw it away.
“Seamus being back complicates matters,” I tell her as I nuzzle into her warm, silky hair. She may as well know what she’s letting herself in for.
She draws away from me. “Why’s that?”
“He wants revenge. Let’s face it, he probably wants me dead. I have to be vigilant. And, by extension, so do you. But don’t worry, I’m keeping tabs on him.”
“How do you mean?”
“Keeping track of where he is, and what he’s doing.”
“You mean stalking?” She tramps down the gravel path toward the gate.
“I'd call it protective monitoring,” I call after her. Then, seeing as she doesn’t stop, I pick up my pace to catch up with her.
I take her elbow and swing her around to face me. “Look, Shannon, you know what I’m like. I keep to myself. I won’t pick a fight. Ever. But if someone makes me feel threatened—or anyone I care about feel threatened—you can bet your last penny, I will have them in my sights.”
“Good for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Her face is clouded over and she’s staring steadfastly ahead. We head out the tiny gate leading back to the car park.
Finally, with her hand on the car door, she turns and looks up into my face. “Don’t make this about me. It’s not about me. I don’t feel threatened by Seamus Callaghan. In fact, I regard him as harmless.”
“Harmless,” I scoff.
She didn’t hear him yell at the top of his voice that he’d kill me. Yes, it was six years ago, but that kind of emotion doesn’t just fade away.
I decide to drop the subject and our drive home is mainly in silence. When we get to the manor, it’s drizzling in our faces. We stand by the car. The house is silent and dark. Mother’s already asleep.
I walk toward her but stop short of taking her in my arms. “Do you want to stay over?” I ask.
“But your mother...”
“You know what? I don’t care.”
She shivers. Her hair is wet, clinging tightly to her cheeks. Raindrops shape into ball-bearings on her eyelashes. She nods and the drops fall down her face. I reach for her and draw her into my chest, squeezing tight. I hate when we fight. She’s not contrarian by nature. In fact, she doesn’t like confrontations much at all and would go to some lengths to avoid them. And that suits me just fine.
We enter the house quietly. She knows by now how to lower the iron latches without making them clank, and how to avoid tramping on the floorboards that create the loudest squeaks. She’s a pro.
It’s so warm inside. Dedalus is all over us. I dash and get two of the biggest, fluffiest towels I can find from the airing cupboard and wrap one around Shannon. By a stroke of luck, the embers in the south living-room fireplace are still glowing. I pour two whiskeys and hand her one of the crystal glasses while she settles on a rug in front of the fire.
I poke the fire and coax it into second life with new logs of wood. Soon, it’s glowing amber, giving out wonderful heat.
When I settle beside her, she shakes her head against my chest. “Sorry, I’m over-sensitive on some things, I guess.”
“Like my being over-protective?”
“No. Yes. The whole…stalker thing.”
“I just meant I’d protect you.”
“Yes, but Danny, that’s the thing, you can’t. My life is… Well, it’s not this. It’s the way it is. I thought I’d solve a problem by coming here, but all I did was run away from it and—and...”
“And you met me, and whatever it is, I can help you.”
“But Danny, you have enough problems of your own.”
“That doesn’t stop me from wanting to do everything in my power to protect you.”
She
sinks into me and I wrap my arm around her.
“Mmm, this is the stuff that dreams are made of,” she says with a sigh. The color has returned to her face. She looks beautiful.
I slide down beside her, enjoying how the fire bathes her skin in flickering amber. The smoke from the peat fire and the taste of the whiskey mingle in my nose and mouth.
I wish I could bottle up this moment and preserve it forever. If this isn’t happiness, then I don’t know what is.
“Shannon,” I say. “Are you sure your life can’t be…this?”
The corners of her mouth turn up but her gaze remains steady and questioning, like she’s assessing the truth of my words. Finally, she gives a little laugh and her gaze flickers away for a moment before she looks at me again with a deep longing lighting her from within. “I definitely love it here. I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.”
“But there’s a but.”
“Well, yeah, of course there’s a but. Come on, Danny, I don’t even have a visa. I have to go back. And I’ve got my mother and Marci...I can’t just leave them...” Her voice trails off as though she was expecting to be able to list many more things but discovers she can’t. “I can’t just change my whole life.”
“Your mother did. She left Ireland.”
“That was different.”
She’s frowning, retreating within herself. I’ve been too hasty throwing this out. I could ruin everything if I don’t hold back and be patient. I reach for her blanket and pull it off her shoulder and run my lips over the smooth skin. “Let’s focus on the here and now,” I say, “I’m going to take you right here, right now.”
She grins and slides her hands around my neck. “I like the sound of that.”
25
SHANNON
I roll over in bed and watch the morning light sifting in through the curtains. The creamy white sunlight caresses the polished wood of the bed knobs, the silver ornaments on the mantelpiece, the gilded picture frames. In the hazy world between sleep and full awareness, it feels like a strange fantasy that I’ve washed up in, populated with strange, colorful characters.