Bridget could see that Daedio was worried. ‘Let me take the letter. I’ll lay some truth herbs on it and see what happens.’
‘Aye, you had better, because if Nola finds it, she won’t let up until I tell her everything.’
The truth herbs had failed her for the first time ever. Nothing had happened. Bridget was none the wiser. She shook the herbs away, unused to not having been given the answers she was looking for. The spirits had been quiet for days and it occurred to her that something was moving in the spirit world in Tarabeg. There was disquiet. Since Mary Kate had returned, there had been no contact with Annie, and now this.
There was no indication, one way or another, what on earth was behind the letter, but she did make a decision. In this, she would have to help Daedio all the way. She would need to protect him and be there for him or the worry would see him off sooner than he was due.
‘I’ll look out for him, shall I, Annie?’
She scanned the room for a sign from her best friend, Daedio’s late wife, but there was none. That was another first, and the knowledge of it, the loneliness at having been deserted by her spirit guides, filled her with fear. Maybe she was losing her powers altogether. It wasn’t just the sight they blessed her with, they protected her too. They imbued her with powers to keep Tarabeg safe from the likes of Shona Maughan and the wicked spells she cast over the village. Shona had not been seen for some time, but Bridget felt her. She was alive and brooding and the whispering messages Bridget received from the other side were troubling. A cold breeze wafted across the back of her neck, something was wrong. She felt a shift as the air beside her was displaced, someone was with her. Annie had finally appeared and the message she brought chilled her heart. Shona’s work was not yet done.
*
Rosie wasn’t the only one who saw Mary Kate leave. Father Jerry had watched from the dark window of the presbytery. Since the day evil had stalked and wounded Tarabeg, the day Sarah had died, he had been on his guard.
When the rear lights of the car had disappeared out of view, Father Jerry lifted his cloak from the back of the door, picked up the torch from the side of his bed, and crept out of the presbytery and across the road to the door of the church. He clicked off the torch; the moonlight was bright enough for him to see his way.
He decided that he would walk the boundaries of the entire village, passing every door, and as he did so, he would pray. He would encircle the village in a band of protective prayer and at the same time he would pray for Mary Kate and for her return, because she was part of the village, its future and its survival. If it were not so, the wicked spirits would not have preyed on her family as they had. There was a reason her grandmother and her mother had suffered so. The tinkers’ spell that had been cast by Shona Maughan on the day Michael’s shop opened had yet to be broken, and broken it must be, with Mary Kate.
There was a path already laid for Mary Kate to follow. It was beyond his control. All that was left for him to do was to pray that it would one day lead her safely back to Tarabeg.
7
‘No! God in heaven, you haven’t!’ Roshine tried hard not to shout. She’d been called from the house to the surgery to answer the phone and could barely believe that Mary Kate had carried out exactly what she’d said she was going to do.
‘Roshine, the first person he will call is you. Please, you have to lie for me – don’t you tell him where I am.’
‘I don’t know where you are! Where is it? You’ve only told me you’re in Dublin.’
‘Aye, well, true enough and that’s what you can say. That I’m in Dublin. And that I meant what I said in the letter: I will come back, when he agrees to let me live my own life and not keep me prisoner in Tarabeg.’
‘Oh God, Mary Kate, that’s such a drama. Your da’s a good man, he would have let you when you got a bit older. Do you have to do this?’
‘Roshine, he wanted me to get the teaching certificate and then go back to school again, to teach. My father wants me, one way or another, to spend my life in a classroom. I can’t do that. Don’t even mention the word “Liverpool” to him. Please don’t let me down.’
‘I won’t. But, Mary Kate, listen to me, keep my address and number on you and if you ever need me, make sure you call me right away, do you hear me?’
‘I do, and I promise I will. I’ll write to you soon anyway and let you know where I am.’
A moment later the pips began to beep in the handset.
‘Mary Kate! Mary Kate!’ Roshine shouted, but it was too late; her friend was gone. She stood listening to the dialling tone, staring helplessly into the phone.
‘Who was that, Roshine?’ her mother called from inside the house.
‘Oh, just one of the girls from school. She’s got a job and she’s away to America.’
Roshine tiptoed into the kitchen and picked up the dog’s lead from the back of the door. The dog, hearing the familiar sound, was at her side in seconds.
‘Which girl? I haven’t heard that. What job? When is she leaving? We’ll have a party for her, shall we, Roshine?’
Her questions were answered by the sound of the back door slamming.
*
Mary Kate stepped out of the phone box, which smelt strongly of urine and stale tobacco, and into the fresh briny air of Dublin harbour and the familiar sound of seagulls screeching overhead.
Declan was standing in front of her, looking tired. They had driven through the night and he was holding two bread rolls filled with hot bacon. ‘I found this stall over by the ticket office,’ he said. ‘They sell tea too. There’s an hour until the boat leaves – shall we go and have a pot?’
Mary Kate had slept for the past few hours, her head lolling on the back of the leather seat. There was nothing she wanted more than a hot cup of tea. The smell of the bacon was making her stomach roar. They had opened the thermos as they pulled up at the port, but the tea inside had been lukewarm and bitter.
They both looked over at the boat and the activity of bags being loaded and people already forming a queue. Mary Kate would shortly join them with her school suitcase and sail to Liverpool.
Declan’s chest tightened. The minutes were ticking away. He had stolen glances, watched her as she slept. He’d needed to stop the car for a comfort break and when he got back in, she was still sleeping. Her features were relaxed and her lips were parted. With one finger, he’d lifted a strand of her hair from the car seat and let its silkiness glide through his fingers. By the time they reached Roscommon, he had feelings for her that he’d never had for any other, and yet there he was, driving her away.
The sky was grey with the sort of early morning mist that favoured the Irish coastline and Mary Kate pulled her cardigan about her. ‘Come on then. God, I’m starving.’ She bit into the bread as she walked.
The café was nothing more than a wooden hut with tables and chairs under an awning. It was early, but the port was already awake and they weren’t the only couple at the tables. Between them sat a large enamel pot of tea and an overflowing ashtray.
Declan, laughing, leant over and wiped away the bacon grease that was trickling down her chin. Lighting a cigarette, he sat back and watched her as she finished her tea. It’s now or it could be never, he thought to himself. His fingers trembled and the ash from his cigarette fell onto the wooden table. He flicked it away with the back of his hand and, clasping his fingers together, with the smoke from the cigarette stinging his eyes, he stared out over the bay. His heart pounded and his mouth dried as he made the decision. If she got on that boat and he hadn’t said anything, what would he do the minute it sailed? You would be stood here like a fecking eejit, he told himself.
She’d been about to swallow her tea, but she lowered the cup halfway to the table as he spoke out of the blue. ‘Mary Kate, if things don’t work out in Liverpool, will you let me know, will you write to me? Will you drop me a line anyway, to tell me how you’re getting on, or get a message to me at the post office?’
&
nbsp; ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘What for?’ And then, ‘Besides, if I write to you, Mrs Doyle would know it was me and that would be all.’
He swallowed hard. ‘I know this may not be what you want to hear, but I care for you. You’ve grown up, Mary Kate, and you’ve taken the eyes right out of me head. Mine and everyone else’s, I’d be saying. I would like to know that you’re doing okay, that everything in Liverpool is as it should be, as you want it to be, and for you to know that if you ever think you could give an old sod like me the time of day… Don’t worry, you don’t have to answer me now – I’ll wait.’
Mary Kate gulped and placed her cup back on the saucer. It rattled; her hand was now trembling too. In no way whatsoever did Declan Feenan fit into her plans. She immediately regretted having asked him for the lift, even though, if it hadn’t been for him, she wouldn’t have been able to get away. ‘Declan, I didn’t know—’ She stuttered over her words.
He interjected, to her relief. ‘Aye, you wouldn’t, why would you. You were just a kid when I came to Tarabeg, and then you were gone. You only see me as a teacher who works with your mammy.’
‘She’s not my mammy.’
Her response took Declan aback. He had never known Sarah, or Mary Kate before her loss. ‘I… I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘No, sure, ’tis not your fault. Declan, I have to get away. I don’t know for how long or when I’ll be back.’ She left the ‘if’ unspoken.
His heart sank into his boots. ‘Aye, well, if you do change your mind and come back home, you know there’s an old fool in Tarabeg waiting.’
Mary Kate smiled at his self-effacement. Feeling sorry for him and fond of him all at the same time, she reached out her hand and placed it over his. ‘Declan, I have to go. Since Mammy died, I’ve felt as if I don’t belong, or only half belong. Maybe if Aunty Bee had stayed and there was some of Mammy, her family, left, it would be different, but there isn’t anything I can do about it. Since Daddy married Rosie, my home hasn’t felt like home. I feel like a visitor in the village. I have to want to be there and I don’t. Maybe being away from home will send me running back, and when it does, I’ll see if there’s an old fool hanging around in Tarabeg, will I?’ She smiled as Declan turned to face her and his eyes held hers.
‘You do that,’ he said, ‘and I’ll be there, just in case.’ He turned his hand over and, lifting hers, kissed her fingers. There were tears in his eyes. He knew she couldn’t understand the way he felt – she was only seventeen. He couldn’t understand it himself. For all his adult life, he’d wondered would he ever find a woman he wanted to love. And now he’d discovered that God had kept him waiting because He had the very best in store. He’d fired an arrow into his heart without any warning, had set it on fire, and was now taking her away already. What was God playing at?
The ship’s horn blew and a man yelled the final call to board the boat.
‘Oh, God, after all this, I’ll miss the boat,’ she shouted.
They ran together, as a couple, holding hands, Declan carrying her bag, holding tight onto her with his other hand all the way to the bottom of the steps.
‘All aboard,’ shouted the wizened old sailor over Mary Kate’s shoulder as he took her ticket and punched it.
Declan dropped her hand. She took her bag and raised her face and he kissed her in a way that said ‘Come back’, not ‘Goodbye’. Turning, he walked away and left her standing, watching. Her first kiss. Her lips tasted of his salty tears or were they her own? She wiped her eyes with the back of her gloved hand and the man shouted again. ‘Oh, God, sorry,’ she said and ran up the steps, missing Declan as he turned, his own cheeks wet.
He saw her retreating and then she was swallowed by the dark gangway of the boat. He wondered, would he ever see her again or was this to be it, his one snatch at happiness? A car journey with the beautiful and impetuous Mary Kate and that salty kiss with trembling lips. He shouted her name, but she was gone, and amid all the hustle and noise it was as if she had never been there at all.
*
Mary Kate stood on the deck with Bee’s most recent letter clutched tightly in her hand. She had no idea where to go or what to do and so she read the letter again, to calm her frayed nerves. Her usual boldness had deserted her the moment the gangway banged shut and a crew member yelled, ‘Check the bolts.’ There was a shuddering, a clanging and then that was it – the boat pulled away from the shores of Ireland and all that Mary Kate knew.
Bee’s address was written on the back of the envelope and even though she knew it off by heart, holding onto it gave her some comfort. She was not heading to an imaginary destination; 27 Waterloo Street was a real place and she was not alone, not lost. She was heading to Bee, her mother’s aunt, her Granny Angela’s sister, her own flesh and blood; she was a part of that pack of women, they were her family, bound together by tragedy and love. She was heading to a woman and a place she had never been allowed to visit, but Bee’s message had changed that.
Mary Kate’s heart had soared when the letter had arrived at St Catherine’s. It had contained a secret message, one that told her to go to Liverpool when she finished school. She was relieved that Bee understood and that her aunty missed Mary Kate as much as Mary Kate missed her. She had written about Mary Kate returning to Tarabeg and had sounded almost wistful, full of her own longing for home. The letter was almost a month old now, crumpled and well read.
I know you have found being at home difficult, since your father married Rosie, but she is a good woman and she cares for you.
I envy you when you tell me you have visited the cottages. I might have known you would take flowers for Angela and Sarah when you were home. When you have a notion, do call at the empty house. I can see you looking out at the shore, just like your mammy did when she was your age as she sat on the bench weaving her lobster pots. Sit there yourself, Mary Kate. If there is anywhere you can talk to Sarah, it will be there. They will both be there, Sarah and her own mammy, my sister Angela. They’ll be your guiding angels. I’ve been told that so many times by a lady with the sight who lives in the next street to me. You are Angela and Sarah, and in you they live on. She told me to tell you, go and sit on the bench outside the cottage, the place where Sarah spent her hours praying for Michael’s safe return from the war and dreaming about you, years before you were born.
Or maybe you’ll be paddling in the Taramore in the village with Finnbar. Would you believe, sometimes I would give anything for a moment of the gossip with the likes of Philomena O’Donnell or Mrs Doyle, and I think about Paddy and Josie Devlin and how kind they were to me when Rory died.
I know how you must feel about Rosie. It has hurt me too, hearing how she has taken Sarah’s place and become a real mother to Finnbar when that boy has not a shred of her own flesh and blood in him. My heart aches for him.
I shall take the guilt of not being there for both of you to my grave. But it was never to be. I had to find a life for Captain Bob and me to be together and that wasn’t possible in Tarabeg. I am so sorry I had to leave you.
You will return home to Tarabeg with itchy feet and big ideas. I swear to God, if your mother hadn’t promised herself to Michael before he went away to war, she would have run away to some place like this, to where I have ended up, to Liverpool or America. It would have been Sarah here in Waterloo Street, not me. Just like your mother made her choice to stay in Tarabeg and wait for Michael, you can make your choice now as to what the future holds for you.
Without her even knowing it, Bee had planted the seed of rebellion in Mary Kate’s mind. ‘She would have run away to some place like this.’ Those words had been committed to memory. Mary Kate was her mother’s girl. It was a hidden message; it had to be. Bee wanted her to come but knew she couldn’t ask. Bee knew all along that Michael would never allow her to sail to Liverpool; this was Bee’s way of telling her to come, come here, come away, to her, to Liverpool. And now she was.
We have been here for so long now and I can’t see that
changing anytime soon. I hope one day to return home and to see Tarabeg again. Don’t I just dream of the place every single night. But until that time, I will be here in Waterloo Street. I hope to see you one day soon now that you are leaving school and are all grown-up.
‘I hope to see you one day soon’ – it very definitely was a secret message, and Mary Kate had understood exactly what Bee was asking her to do.
She smiled to herself as she read the letter again. She imagined the look on Bee’s face when she opened her door, wondered would she recognise her from the child she had left.
8
‘Hello, love, looking for somewhere to sit?’ A tall and kindly lady beamed down at Mary Kate as she stood there on the deck. Despite the weather, the lady was wearing a felt hat. In one hand she held a birdcage covered in heavy fringed cloth, suspended parallel with her ear; in the other, down by her side, she carried a carpetbag.
Nola had told Mary Kate so often, ‘You can always trust a lady who wears a hat.’ She immediately thought of Aunty Teresa from the Presbytery, whom she had never in all of her life seen without a hat, and realised that Granny Nola was probably right. There was no woman more trustworthy than Aunty Teresa. She folded her letter from Bee and held it tight. ‘I am, yes. Thank you.’
‘Come on then, I’ll show you the best place to sit.’ The woman had twinkly grey eyes that seemed to smile of their own accord in her thin face. Her wrinkles appeared more like laughter lines, gathered around her eyes and mouth and leaving her powdery pink cheeks soft and clear. She wore sturdy brown leather shoes, laced up in a neatly tied bow, her skirt was a soft flannel grey and hung to mid calf, and her white blouse was edged with a lace collar and cuffs, its neck fastened at the base of her throat with a cameo brooch. Beneath the loose blouse, her frame looked slender and fragile.
In a matter of seconds, Mary Kate went from feeling anxious to safe.
Mary Kate Page 9
