The Perfect Gift

by Emma Hannigan

  Róisín laughed as she listened to the delighted squeals in the background.

  She hung up, feeling more positive than she had in ages. Liv would have a whole new lease of life when the new venture with the students took off. Her dad would have a nice little routine going once he settled into retirement. Her mum would be fine once her summer season was in full flight. And as for her? She could feel it in her bones that her food empire was only getting started. Perhaps she could finally shed the negativity of her life with Jacques, and how it ended. It had been such a dark time for her, all that happened between them, but she couldn’t keep living in darkness. Her mother’s letter was so right – to live fully, to smell the flowers – it was how Róisín wanted to live, but the heartache of Jacques had stolen that from her, made her forget herself. She resolved to be more positive from now on, more open. And it would start right now: she’d snatch a bottle of bubbly from the wine shop and bring it home to Jill that evening to celebrate a good day’s work.

  Chapter 11

  It was late in the afternoon by the time Keeley got home from Liv’s house. The children were so delighted with the beds, it had made all the effort worthwhile.

  As she took the sheets off the clothesline and brought in some fresh flowers for two of the bedrooms, Keeley thought about Doug. For over four decades he’d worked in carpentry, making everything from furniture to kitchens, six days a week, never complaining. She knew he wasn’t really fulfilled by it, but he had a family to provide for so he got up every day and worked hard and ensured they had everything they needed. She had always appreciated that commitment. So she really did feel he was entitled to enjoy his retirement. She honestly didn’t begrudge him that. But she couldn’t help feeling as if he were almost retiring from her as well as from his job. Once he threw off the shackles of the job, he changed. It had only been three months since his retirement party, but it was like he was going through a second teenagehood. Liv and Róisín slagged him about his ‘bromance’ with Jimmy, and it was true that they were spending every minute they could together. Partners in crime and all that, but where did that leave her and her idea that his retirement would mean more quality time for them? Doug wasn’t old. In fact, Keeley mused, at sixty-five he seemed quite young to her as she was hurtling toward her sixtieth birthday. But she was aware that they were lucky to have their health. They ought to be enjoying this time in their lives together.

  When she’d returned from her dinner at the castle with Claus the other night, Doug wasn’t even home. She’d sorted the breakfast things and changed into her nightdress before he appeared.

  ‘Where were you?’ she asked.

  ‘Out with Jimmy,’ he said. ‘What’s with the third degree?’ He smelled of booze, so she guessed he was tipsy.

  ‘I don’t mind you going off with Jimmy,’ she said evenly. ‘But I was trying to call you all afternoon and couldn’t get you. I get worried. Especially when you’re out in a boat.’

  ‘Ah I was fine. I’m big enough and bold enough to look after myself,’ he said.

  Keeley turned off her bedside light. As long as he was alright, then that’s all that matters, she thought. He climbed in beside her moments later and fell immediately into a snoring sleep.

  She didn’t bother telling him about her dinner with Claus. There didn’t seem much point and besides, he didn’t ask what she’d done with her day and evening. He never really did, now that she came to think about it. The following morning he’d disappeared to buy fishing supplies, leaving no opportunity to chat.

  Once a couple more days passed, there didn’t seem any point in talking about her unexpected dinner date. Clearly, Marie at the castle hadn’t managed to spread the news that she’d been there.

  Today looked to be a slightly easier day on paper. Luckily the guests she had in the rooms were all staying a further night, so she didn’t need to change the beds. Once they were all fed and watered and sent on their merry way for the day, she sat down to do a bit of work for the upcoming fundraiser she was involved with.

  Every year since the children were little, Keeley had organised a sponsored walk for the paediatric unit at Galway hospital. She’d started the first one when Olivia and Róisín were very small.

  She’d pressed ahead that first year, unsure of herself but determined to try and make a difference. She’d been overwhelmed by the support she’d received.

  It became an annual event and one that all the locals looked forward to. Each year there was a theme and that determined how the fundraising campaign should run. The local newspapers and radio stations were a marvellous support and Keeley had gotten to know so many lovely people. The first time she had to go on live radio, she’d thought she’d die of fright. Now it was second nature and she actually enjoyed the banter with the DJ.

  All the major plans were set and it was tying in with the festival at Ballyshore this year. The starting point was at the edge of the village and the route went right out toward the lighthouse and looped back to the beach. In all it was just over five kilometres, which Keeley felt was doable for most abilities. And Róisín had rowed in with the offer of setting up tables with juices and healthy snacks, so that would be a welcome addition.

  Keeley needed her file so she could make some last-minute calls. She went to her art room and pulled open the top drawer of her small filing cabinet. She found the folder with the fundraising information and pulled it out. Her hand brushed off the file labelled with Róisín’s name.

  Hesitating, she set the fund-raising file on the floor and plucked out Róisín’s. It was a long time since she’d looked through it. Instantly, tears sprang to her eyes as she thumbed through the contents. Her own writing was barely recognisable on the copies of the adoption papers from the convent. She’d trembled so much that day, it was a wonder she’d managed to write anything legible at all. It had all been fairly discreet. The nuns had been kind, but there was no information given verbally and Keeley had been terrified to ask. She’d wanted to take Róisín and run before anyone changed their mind. As she studied the papers, the memories came flooding back.

  ‘The child’s mother is deceased,’ the nun had said. ‘It states that on the birth cert., as you can see.’

  Keeley looked at the yellowing page containing all of Róisín’s details. She’d shown this page to Róisín many years ago. When she was ten. She’d thought it best to share the information she had, although it had made her physically ill afterwards. The emotions she’d felt the day she finally got her baby had all come rushing back as she’d sat with Róisín.

  ‘What does this line mean?’ Róisín asked, as she looked at the adoption form.

  ‘Not permitted to retain familial information due to deceased mother means that the people who gave you to Dad and me were not allowed to tell us anything about your birth mother’s family.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘When someone dies, it can be the wishes of her family that nobody contacts them afterwards.’

  ‘But didn’t they want to know about me?’ Róisín asked with tears in her eyes.

  Keeley had felt her heart breaking as she hugged Róisín and stroked her face and told her that all things happen for a reason. That the nuns and her poor dead mother must’ve known that she and Doug were going to love her and mind her and never leave her.

  ‘So that’s why my birth mother’s family let me go? They were giving me to you and Dad?’

  ‘Yes, pet. You were the most precious gift imaginable. But it’s just the same as giving someone a birthday present. You don’t call to their house the next day and ask for the gift back, now do you?’

  ‘I wanted those skates back that I gave Jill when she was five.’

  ‘I know you did. I remember,’ Keeley said, forcing a smile. ‘But I explained that once we gift something to another person, the gift is theirs to keep.’

  ‘Even if the gift is a person …’ Róisín said quietly.

  Keeley couldn’t believe that twenty years had passed si
nce that conversation. Of course Róisín had a copy of her birth cert. as she’d needed it to get her passport. But they’d never talked about it since that day twenty years ago.

  Keeley turned the page and studied Róisín’s birth cert. There was very little extra information there. The father was down as unknown. Apart from one time when she was very young, Róisín had never questioned this, but it had plagued Keeley for years. How had her darling girl come about? She prayed it wasn’t in violent circumstances.

  Róisín was born in Galway University Hospital and it seemed she was taken from there to the convent. Doug had asked a couple of questions when they signed the adoption papers.

  ‘The baby wasn’t born here in this building, was she?’ he’d asked.

  ‘No, as it states on the birth cert., she was born in the hospital in Galway, twenty minutes’ drive from here,’ the nun said. ‘She came to us yesterday. She’s three weeks and two days old. You can see it marked clearly on the birth cert. when and where she was born.’

  Of course, the adoption was all perfectly legal, but Doug had told Keeley on several occasions how lucky they were to get Róisín.

  ‘Someone was watching over us that we got her. We could’ve been on the register for years without any luck. It was all a blessing that the adoption register put those nuns in touch with us. They could’ve called anyone and they chose us.’

  Keeley knew she’d be grateful until her dying day that Róisín had come to them. She’d told her that a thousand times. When they looked at the documents and her birth cert. twenty years ago, she’d told Róisín what she believed to be true.

  ‘I’ve no proof, love, but I’ve always believed that your birth mother sent you to us. That she was and always will be watching over you.’

  ‘So she’s like my guardian angel in heaven?’

  ‘Yes love, she is. Yours and mine. She made me happier than you will ever know.’

  The file had remained at the house all this time. Róisín had never asked for it and Keeley had never offered it. It was a strange arrangement now that she thought about it. But, Keeley mused, Róisín never showed her the letter that arrived on her birthday this year. She was consumed with curiosity about it. Róisín hadn’t thrown herself on the floor and sobbed, so surely it couldn’t be anything awful or harrowing. Keeley bit her lip. The elephant in the room was beginning to take over.

  A thought struck Keeley. The nuns hadn’t mentioned the birthday cards that Róisín received each year. It was such an unusual thing to do and yet they never acknowledged it. And the letter … did they know of its existence? All the postmarks were Galway, but did that definitely mean the convent? Who exactly had kept the cards and letter all this time and was diligent enough to remember to send them on the correct day every year?

  She couldn’t discuss her worries with Doug. As far as he was concerned, everything was just as it should be. Even the day they’d signed the papers and taken Róisín home, he’d been as calm as a millpond.

  ‘It’s OK, love,’ Doug had said, resting his hand on her arm. ‘Take your time. Sign the papers in your own time. It’s all going to be fine now.’ His calm and confident smile that day had eased her addled mind. He’d countersigned and they’d handed the precious pages back to the head nun.

  They’d been given a single black-and-white photograph of Róisín, which they’d both studied incessantly for the week before they met her. They’d had many copies made since, but the original one still made her heart leap. She picked it out of the file now and stroked it lovingly. Nothing could have prepared Keeley for the emotions that almost knocked her from standing as a young nun had brought the baby to meet them for the first time that day.

  ‘Hello there, little lady,’ Doug had said, walking over to offer his finger for the baby to clutch. Instinctively, she’d curled her tiny hand around his finger.

  ‘From this moment on you’re my girl,’ Doug said, turning to grin at Keeley. She was rooted to the spot. Every fibre of her body wanted to scoop the baby from the young woman’s arms and snuggle her closely, but she was terrified to even touch her in case somebody rushed in and said there’d been a dreadful mistake and took her away.

  That feeling of unease had stayed with Keeley. In fact, it never left her. All these years later, she still felt the deep-rooted fear in her heart that Róisín could be snatched away from them.

  If she was honest with herself, she knew the real reason she was so fearful. The secret she’d held all these years had never stopped haunting her. She knew she would take it to her grave, however. Talking about it or telling another person, even Doug, could jeopardise everything. She’d decided long ago that keeping it inside was the price she had to pay in exchange for having Róisín. Most of the time she managed to quash the fears and feelings of guilt. But every now and again, like today, when she saw something from the past, it jolted her.

  Every year, an envelope arrived like clockwork on Róisín’s birthday, addressed to ‘baby Daly’. In the early years, each card depicted the age Róisín had reached. Keeley was grateful because the numerical images were easier to take than ones with Daughter emblazoned on the front might have been. The messages weren’t very long in most of them, but they were heartfelt.

  She had so many emotions racing through her as she imagined Róisín’s biological mother writing the messages. How difficult must it have been for the poor woman? Her inscriptions made it very clear that she knew she was dying. What must have been going through her head as she wrote each one?

  Keeley had known the torture of longing for a child and thinking it would never come to pass. But how would any woman cope with knowing she was about to give birth and she wouldn’t be alive to raise her own baby?

  ‘Did my birth mum really write these?’ Róisín had asked in astonishment, way back when she was only five or six years old.

  ‘Yes, love. She wanted you to have a card from her on your birthday each year,’ Keeley had replied.

  ‘If she wanted to do that, why didn’t she just come and give them to me?’ Róisín had asked.

  ‘She died soon after you were born, sweetheart,’ Doug had explained. ‘That’s why Mum and I were allowed to be your parents.’

  ‘But didn’t I have any daddy?’ she had asked in confusion.

  Keeley had looked at Doug for guidance. He’d been amazing while Róisín was standing there and looking into his eyes. After all, she was a child, so she hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. She was merely asking a relevant question.

  ‘No pet, your dad lived somewhere very far away and he couldn’t take care of you.’ That part of the story was a total fabrication but until she was old enough to understand, Keeley and Doug felt it was kindest to offer the child some sort of explanation.

  She’d accepted this answer and had rarely brought it up again. For their part, Keeley and Doug had cried together after that conversation, hoping their daughter would find their love to be enough as she grew up.

  ‘My heart dropped like a stone when she asked if she had a daddy,’ Doug had said, wiping his eyes. ‘How stupid am I, sobbing like a baby over the innocent remarks of a child?’

  ‘You’re not stupid, love,’ Keeley said. ‘But you know she didn’t mean to hurt you. She adores you and no matter who her father is or was, he couldn’t have loved her more than you do.’

  ‘No,’ Doug had sighed. ‘You’re right.’

  Keeley was envious of the inner peace that little episode seemed to afford Doug. He’d never cried like that again, nor had he questioned his role in Róisín’s life. It was as if he’d laid his fears to rest that day and moved on.

  The adoption had been of its time, but things would be so different today, Keeley thought as she looked over the papers. There was no way it would be so casual now. At the time, the nuns were so happy that Róisín was going to a good and loving home and that it was clear how much she was wanted. Keeley knew they wouldn’t be so lucky now. Things were done in a different way thirty years ago, whic
h was why they had so little information to go on. She felt the familiar pull of guilt as she thought about the part Doug didn’t know. Then she shook it off. It was a secret that would stay kept, that was for sure.

  ‘Hello?’

  Startled back to the present, Keeley shoved the file back into the drawer and went into the hallway.

  ‘Ida! How are you?’

  ‘Yes, good thanks, Keeley. So we are ready to leave. We can pay the bill now, please?’

  ‘Of course, come with me and we’ll sort it out in the office.’

  Keeley led Ida into her office and offered her a seat.

  ‘I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay,’ she said. ‘It’s such a pity you weren’t well the other night.’

  ‘I used to suffer with seasickness as a child, but I figured at my age I would be finished with that. It seems not. You have a lovely home here, Keeley. I am so taken with the area and all the Irish people. But we were so fortunate to find you. Thank you for taking Claus out on his birthday. It was wonderful that he didn’t have to be alone. I worry about him, you know?’

  ‘It was my pleasure,’ she said. ‘He’s a lovely gentleman.’

  ‘I think it’s because I never married, but he’s always been like my protector. Maybe that’s why I never managed to find a man. I compared everyone I met to Claus of course. None even came close, so I thought it best to step away.’

  ‘He’s a good man by all accounts,’ Keeley said. ‘It’s lovely that he minds you so well too. But I think you are a great comfort and companion to him as well. It’s not all one sided.’

  ‘I was in love once,’ Ida said, suddenly. ‘With a man I couldn’t have. He was married and had a small child. We met quite by chance through work. We didn’t spend the night together. I couldn’t do that to another woman. But we were soulmates. It broke my heart that I couldn’t have him. He offered to leave his wife, but I couldn’t have it on my conscience that I would take that little girl’s father away from her. Our father left when we were little, you see. So I knew what that felt like. I wasn’t going to be the one to shatter that child’s life.’