The Gravity of Love

by Noelle Harrison

  ‘Shall I put on some music?’ She asked.

  ‘Sure.’

  She slipped the tape into the cassette player. ‘This song always makes me think of Eddie when we first met,’ she said as ‘Fast Car’ came on. ‘I mean, it’s not exactly the story of our lives . . . but you know he seemed so exciting when I first knew him.’

  ‘Did he drive you around in a fast car?’

  ‘Yeah, a Plymouth Satellite. All the girls in school thought he was so cool. Eddie Sheldon was a catch.’

  ‘I’m sure you were a catch too.’

  ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Not at all. Everyone was real surprised when he asked me out.’

  ‘I can’t see why,’ he said. ‘I can’t see that you weren’t a catch. You’re a very beautiful woman, Joy.’

  She felt the blush spreading from her chest, creeping up her neck, the heat rising in her cheeks. Why did he have to say such a thing to her?

  ‘No,’ she said with vehemence. ‘I was real chubby, and I had this terrible haircut. You know these bangs cut blunt in a straight line. Eddie could have had any girl he wanted. I don’t know what he saw in me.’

  ‘In my opinion your husband is a lucky man.’ He glanced at her, and their eyes locked for an instant before he turned back to the road. ‘He’s an idiot too.’

  She said nothing, for she didn’t know quite what to say. She let Tracy Chapman’s song reply for her. Despite the fact they were tootling along in a Fiat Panda, Tracy’s words seem apt. Joy wanted them to go faster and faster.

  She wished that she and Lewis could fly away.

  *

  Along the twists and turns of the Irish country roads, avoiding potholes, stuck behind chugging tractors, nipping round them between hairpin bends. On either side, banks of green fields had become a viridescent sea, populated by islands of cows and sheep. They passed through small towns that seemed to be stuck in the fifties. Lewis listed their names like beads on an abacus – Maynooth, Enfield, Kinnegad – adding them up. Each town was another step towards the conclusion of their respective searches. He felt like he was driving back in time through his old life in London, all the way to his childhood, lost in the small villages of England, not so different from this rural Ireland of the eighties, he and Lizzie to all intents orphaned. He should have taken better care of her. He should have loved her more. She had no one else but him.

  He and Joy hardly spoke during the drive. He could sense how full her mind was, and he wondered what she was thinking about: her unknown mother? Eddie? Him?

  Listening to Joy’s music, each song presented him with a message just like those postcards. Songs about heartache, mistakes and regrets, but also hope, living for the moment, taking a risk for love. He wondered what these lyrics meant for Joy. He could hear her softly singing along next to him, but it didn’t irritate him. This Tracy Chapman demanded that he listened to her words. She told him what to say to Marnie when he first saw her; that he was sorry, that he asked her forgiveness, that he loved her. There was no space for animosity or regret in their lives now. It was as simple as that.

  Yet despite how much he wanted to find Marnie again, he was in no rush to say goodbye to Joy. He wanted to make this day last.

  As he turned off for Mullingar city centre, the drizzle had turned to heavy rain again. It fell in diagonal lines, crossing out the road in front of him. He drove past a street of narrow brick houses and then parked outside a hotel pub called the Greville Arms on the main street; it looked as good a place as any. They ran through the rain, their jackets over their heads, into the hotel’s beamed entrance, and as Lewis shook himself dry again he travelled back in time. The Greville Arms spoke of the past, with its thick red carpet and dark wood furnishings, and the hushed bar reminded him of some of the pubs he had gone to as a young man in England.

  They ordered bowls of seafood chowder and two glasses of Guinness off an elderly barman with a resplendent head of white hair and matching overgrown eyebrows, dressed in a crisp white shirt and dark trousers.

  ‘Are you here on your holidays?’ the old fellow asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Lewis said, with a clip to his voice. He didn’t want to get pulled into a long chat.

  ‘Not really the weather for it,’ the old man said, ignoring his tone. ‘But I’ve heard we’ve a good spell coming tomorrow afternoon. You might get a bit of sun yet.’

  They settled into seats by the fire. Joy was rubbing her hands. Despite his gift of the sweater she still looked cold.

  ‘I love the way that man speaks,’ Joy said. ‘It’s like a sing-song.’

  ‘I hope you like the Guinness too,’ Lewis said. ‘You have to try it at least once.’

  ‘I’m sure I will,’ she said. ‘I mean, I have Irish blood in my veins. To think I probably spoke like that man until I was two years old. My first words were Irish words.’

  She stared out of the window, shivering still.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

  Her hair had become so curly since they had arrived in Ireland. It spiralled in hypnotic rings around her porcelain skin, a mane of luxurious inky black tresses.

  She nodded, but when she turned to look at him her eyes were wide, the blue of them unforgettable.

  ‘I’m scared, Lewis,’ she said. ‘What if she doesn’t live in Ballycastle any more and I can’t find her? Worse, what if I do find her and she doesn’t want to know me?’

  ‘Well, I’m certain that second situation won’t happen,’ he said. ‘You told me on the plane that she kept you for two years. She must have been forced to give you up. Of course she’ll want to see you.’

  ‘But what if she’s gone and I never find her?’ She opened her bag and unzipped an inside pocket, took out a photograph and handed it to him.

  ‘My real name is Joyce. And that’s me the day my parents took me.’

  He looked down at the black-and-white photo of a baby girl, smiling with one arm outstretched, grasping a bunch of buttercups in her chubby fingers. To his surprise he found the picture incredibly moving. It fascinated him to see Joy as a child.

  ‘Even then you loved flowers,’ he said, handing it back to her.

  Their order arrived and Joy took a sip of her Guinness.

  ‘Oh, this is good,’ she said, taking another mouthful.

  Lewis copied her, the dark beer slipping smoothly down his throat. He had forgotten just how great a pint of Guinness could be. He already felt fortified.

  ‘What are you smiling at?’ Joy asked him shyly.

  ‘How much I’m enjoying this pint, and the fact that you’ve a little white moustache.’

  She blushed as she wiped her mouth with her napkin. ‘I just can’t be sophisticated, can I?’

  ‘Thank goodness,’ Lewis said. ‘I like you just the way you are.’

  There was an awkward pause, as if he’d said something inappropriate, but surely his comment was harmless enough?

  ‘Lewis, you’re so kind to drive me, but I shouldn’t take up too much of your time. You have to get on to Sligo and find Marnie. I’m holding you up.’ She looked at him with a worried face.

  ‘I can’t just abandon you in the wilds of Ireland,’ he said, and he meant it. He had no intention of deserting Joy to face this on her own. ‘We’ll see what we find out in Ballycastle and then make a decision. Okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ she said as she dipped her spoon into her soup.

  ‘I should take a turn driving,’ she suggested. ‘Though I haven’t driven manual shift since I first passed my test.’

  Ten minutes out of town, pulled in on a deserted stretch of road, he retaught her how to use the gears. She sat in the driving seat biting her lip as he put his hand over hers and went through the shift changes. Her hand was cool beneath his, and he liked the sensation of holding it firmly, on top of the gearstick.

  ‘Remember you have to use the clutch at the same time as the gears.’

  The car bucked a little as they took off.

  ‘Oh Lord,’ she
said, biting her lip so hard he could see a bead of blood welling. ‘I don’t know if I can do this.’

  ‘Of course you can. There’s nothing to it. I’ll help you.’

  He kept his hand on the gearstick, over hers, and reminded her to press down on the clutch each time they changed gear.

  ‘First, second, third, now into fourth. And we are cruising along nicely.’

  He kept his hand upon hers as they drove through Longford. He knew he was holding it in place way longer than he needed to. But she said nothing.

  *

  She looked for her big sky, but she couldn’t find it. It was a country of corners and clouds. The twisting road made her dizzy. She felt like they were being hunted as they spun down the wet tarmac in their tiny car. Her heart felt like it was beating at hummingbird speed.

  And all this lush landscape closing in around the narrow road. Green, green – bright, dew-laden, sparkling green. She wished she could tell her father about it. The banks of tousled grasses and wildflowers, some she recognised – buttercups, dandelions, purple irises, yellow gorse and cow parsley – swaying in the rainy squall. Behind them trees – so many different types. She saw a broad oak spread before them and felt awed by its magnificence. It forced her to stop the car. She stepped out onto the verge and just breathed all the green in. She wanted to roll in it, cover herself in its mossy comfort. Lewis stood beside her and took her hand in his. He said nothing, and she had no idea what his gesture could mean.

  Strokestown, Frenchpark, the names of towns that sounded like they belonged in old English novels rather than this hidden part of middle Ireland. And then Ballaghaderreen, which she stumbled over, and on towards Swinford, a name that sounded like it was from the Dark Ages, where Lewis took over driving again.

  After the empty cheerless towns, after the landscape of green fields, they drove through a different land. Open, treeless – a desert of sorts, with black, moist cakes of earth.

  ‘This is the bog,’ Lewis told her. ‘Peat.’

  She didn’t like it. It was as heavy as the desert dust was light. It bore down on her, and the land looked destroyed, bleak – almost raped.

  ‘The locals cut turf,’ Lewis explained. ‘To burn on their fires.’

  ‘It looks too wet to burn,’ she said.

  ‘They stack it to dry it out,’ Lewis told her. ‘Actually, I remember, it has a wonderful smell when it burns.’

  He had been here with Marnie. None of this was new to Lewis. This landscape was clearly a memory come alive for him of a past he wished to re-enter. Yet for her, too, there was a part of herself buried in Ireland. She just couldn’t remember it. Nothing was familiar to her.

  In Ballina Lewis drove into the centre of the town, parking the car on the main street. He took the map from the glove compartment and opened it out.

  ‘This is the last pit stop before Ballycastle,’ he said, spreading the map in front of them on the dashboard. He tapped Ballina with his finger. ‘There are two ways we can go to Ballycastle. The short way across country or the long way by the sea.’

  She looked at the map, her heart rushing again when she saw how close they were to the sea. From Ballina to Ballycastle the land billowed out into the blue. She knew exactly which way she wanted to go.

  It was already late afternoon as they drank tea and ate scones in a small tea shop.

  ‘When we get to Ballycastle,’ Lewis said, spreading a thick layer of butter upon his scone, ‘I think the best idea is if we ask in a pub if anyone knows your mother or if she still lives around there.’ He spooned raspberry jam on top of the butter. ‘It’s a small place; someone is bound to know who she is.’

  ‘I can’t believe I’ll actually find her,’ Joy said, tearing the raisins out of her own scone and popping them one by one into her mouth.

  ‘What do you want to do?’ Lewis asked. ‘Shall we try to find a place to stay overnight?’ He bit into his scone, and she found herself mesmerised by the sight of him licking the jam off his lips.

  ‘I hadn’t thought . . .’ She put down her scone and twisted her napkin in her lap. She was too shy to look directly at him. ‘Do you think there’ll be a hotel there?’

  ‘It’s a small place,’ he said. ‘It’s more likely we’ll find a B&B. I can ask in the pub when we get there.’

  ‘But, Lewis . . .’ She forced herself to raise her eyes and tried to look firm. ‘You must go to Sligo to find Marnie. I’m delaying you.’

  ‘I told you that I wouldn’t abandon you,’ he said. ‘It’s only one more day. What difference could that make?’

  She didn’t understand why this man was sticking by her. He had made it clear last night that nothing could happen between them again. They were friends. That was all. And yet she saw something in his eyes when he looked at her. She daren’t believe it, but could he have deeper feelings for her as well?

  *

  He took the coast road from Killala to Ballycastle. At first the sea was hidden from them. But he sensed it, a taste between his lips, a stirring in the bushes that permeated the open window, the cry of a gull as he drove by. They made a sharp turn, driving alongside a stone wall, then he rounded another corner and there was the big blue spread out before them.

  ‘Oh, Lewis, look!’ Joy cried out next to him.

  How must she feel, he thought, to see such a vista for the first time? To him the sight of the western sea shook him deep into the very pit of his soul. The shore swept before them: perfectly smooth, golden sand. In the distance was the headland, its strata of rock slippery and dark with seaweed, the cliff itself topped with a verdant green icing. The sky was pillowed with low banks of pale grey clouds descending into a slither of silver horizon. But most of all there was the sea, a stretch of infinite blue. A sight that filled him with longing.

  He parked the car, and they got out. There wasn’t a soul on the beach. It was theirs.

  A light breeze lifted the hair from her face, revealed her, and again he had this sense that he had always known Joy. She began to walk swiftly across the tufty grassland and down onto the sand. He followed her.

  He stood behind her, watching as she presented herself to the sea. She was perfectly still. He could see her drinking it all in, trying to quench that thirst for her roots. He stepped forward to be beside her, and they stood in silence for a while.

  ‘Look – where the sky and the sea meet is the clearest blue,’ she said to him. ‘I feel as if I am looking to forever. As if time doesn’t exist any more.’

  She turned to him, and her eyes were as blue as the sea. He blinked. Joy was lit up. No woman had looked more radiant to him.

  ‘It isn’t completely alien to me, Lewis,’ she said quietly. ‘Something about this place tugs at me. I don’t remember anything in particular, but I feel it. I’ve been here before.’

  She began to walk along the beach, and he kept pace with her. Faster she walked until they were jogging up towards the sand dunes. She took a run at them, laughing as her legs sank knee-deep and she became stranded. He chased her up, pulling her out of the sand, and they dragged each other all the way to the top of the dune. Breathless, they collapsed onto their backs at the top, their limbs splayed.

  ‘Whatever happens, nothing can change the joy I feel in this moment,’ she said.

  Joy.

  It was a gift she offered him. One he had never trusted.

  She’s married, he told himself. She’s the kind of woman who will forgive her husband. She’s too soft and good-hearted.

  And he was here to find Marnie, to lay the ghosts of the past to rest. Whatever had happened between him and Marnie, he had to see it draw to a close. He owed her.

  Lewis felt a drop of water on his cheek, followed by another and another.

  ‘It’s raining,’ Joy said, sitting up.

  The sky, which one moment ago had been composed of light, silvery clouds, had turned to heavy slate. There was a roll of thunder, and he saw a sheet of lightning out to sea, ruffled by the approaching sto
rm.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, taking her hand.

  They slid down the dunes together. He heard her laughing beside him, and he began to feel giddy too. They ran across the sand as the rain pelted down upon them, but by the time they got to the car they were soaked. They piled into the tiny Fiat and sat staring out the windscreen at the flash of lightning across the beach.

  They weren’t just witnesses to this storm, but part of it. The wildness of nature was in them, and he was finding it hard not to reach for her, to touch her.

  He glanced at Joy. She was shivering, wet through, her teeth chattering but her cheeks blooming.

  ‘You’re cold,’ he said. ‘We’d better change our clothes.’

  She turned to him, water streaming down her face, her lips glistening. He felt a physical lurch in the pit of him. He was drawn to her, despite himself. He could see the longing in her eyes and couldn’t hold back any more.

  *

  Wet, naked, they explored each other. It was different from the time in the desert. More measured, less impetuous. They were curled up within each other, rolled up on the tiny back seat of the Fiat, the windows steamed up to conceal their passion from the outside world. Joy was being taken back to the girl she once was. Lewis made her feel young again.

  His hands cradled her breasts, his lips caressing her nipples, as he stretched his naked body over hers. She felt him hard, pressed against the soft mound of her pelvis. She wanted to merge with him. Yet Lewis was bringing his lips down the length of her body. He was kissing every inch of her from her breasts to her belly to her hips, and further still. She pushed her hands into his thick hair, her fingers wrapped by his curls, and she rolled her head back upon the seat. Through the mist of the back window she saw the blue sea rolling towards her, the sky clearing after the storm just as Lewis’s tongue touched her in a place so sensitive that she could not stop herself from sighing. She had never let Eddie do this to her. She had always felt too embarrassed, convinced that her husband might not enjoy it. But with Lewis she wasn’t worried. She could feel that he was deriving pleasure from her enjoyment, and it turned her on. Tiny tremors as he licked her, flicking the tip of his tongue over her clit, then stroked her with his long, elegant fingers. A part of herself that had been dormant for so many years, fallen by the wayside of her roles of mother and wife, was awakening within her again. She began to understand something about why her husband might have cheated. She had turned away from him. She had lost interest and assumed that’s what happened between couples with time. When she had made love with Eddie it had been as if she were doing it in her sleep. It was as perfunctory as brushing her teeth last thing at night. Yet now she was awake again, roaring with need and hunger.