The Beach at Doonshean

by Penny Feeny

  Of course he would. Thunder, tempest, followed by an eerie calm: this was a familiar pattern in her parents’ relationship. ‘That’s not very helpful.’

  Matt hadn’t been much use either. ‘I refuse to speculate,’ he’d said as if it indicated a triumph of will rather than sheer stubbornness. That was Matt all over: a pleasant, affable exterior and a bullish obstinacy Bel could seldom conquer.

  ‘Unfortunately,’ drawled Leo, ‘Julia seems to like keeping people in the dark.’ This was a dig; he was clearly sore about something not necessarily connected with her mother’s disappearance.

  Bel shifted on the bed. She felt as if she were on a raft, barely afloat in the austere expanse of the attic. This impression was reinforced by the sight of her belongings dotted about on lonely islets of furniture. ‘So where are we supposed to go from here?’

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘I’m back at home. Squatting in your old studio.’

  ‘Then stay there,’ he advised. ‘Dig your heels in. Julia will turn up.’

  *

  It was a grim day. Bel and Rachael tuned in to the twenty-four-hour news channel and fed each other’s fears until they were both wildly on edge. They jumped at every ring on landline and mobile, hoping Matt would have something to report. They took turns to text him for information but there was no news. He was late home too.

  ‘Where have you been?’ demanded Rachael as soon as he came through the door.

  ‘I went to the flat.’

  ‘You mean our old one? In Canning Street?’

  ‘Yes, I wanted to try and catch the builders, see if they’d heard from Julia.’

  ‘And had they?’

  ‘They’d gone, unfortunately. But there’s still a lot of work to be done. The kitchen’s all loose cables and carcasses and there’s no bath. She couldn’t live in it yet.’

  Bel had curled herself up on the sofa, wrapped in the borrowed pashmina. (She’d brought scarcely anything with her, which was why she had to raid Rachael’s wardrobe.) Rachael perched on the arm of a chair but leapt up every now and again to check on Danny who was playing in the garden.

  Bel said: ‘Haven’t you been able to get through to anyone?’

  Matt stood, arms folded, legs braced, a solid figure of authority. ‘I’ve spent most of the day on the phone to those bloody hire car people. They as good as admitted their paperwork was all over the place because there’ve been so many stranded passengers trying to get home. Carjacking’s been rife. They’re going to check the documentation again and get back to me.’

  ‘Soon?’

  ‘Well I hope so. I also rang Mum’s bank and asked them to look into the dates of her credit card transactions. That should flag up where she’s been using them. But I’ve cancelled them anyway, to be on the safe side.’

  ‘Why?’

  He took off his glasses and polished them on the sleeve of his shirt. ‘Because it’s a sensible precaution to take. Because if they’ve been stolen along with her phone—’

  Theft, hijack, kidnap. Or worse… Bel really didn’t want to go there – that ghastly tabloid hinterland peopled by victims of violent crime. She sought an alternative. ‘What if they haven’t?’

  ‘Then she can get them activated again, can’t she? They’ll run a security check and it means we can flush her out. I don’t see what else we can do.’

  Could her mother have chosen to go into hiding? Could she really have the mysterious illness Dorothy Culshaw had suggested? Beneath her layers, Bel’s flesh erupted into goose pimples. She could do without another calamity. She caressed the mobile on her lap, willing it to burst into a jingle of good news.

  When the ring came on the doorbell the sound was both a shock and a relief. For a moment the three of them stared at each other, stunned. Then Matt went to answer it.

  They heard a murmur of voices and he came back, not with any official messenger, but with a teenage girl none of them seen before. Her hair was scraped into a tight band, exposing a face that looked sharp and wary. She was wearing a skimpy vest and a strip of skirt. A stud glittered in her navel and a snake tattoo coiled around her ankle. Her mouth was making rapid chewing movements; she pushed the gum into the corner of her cheek. ‘I’ve come for our Nathan,’ she said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Our Nath.’

  ‘I think you’ve got the wrong house,’ said Rachael.

  ‘Nah. He’s playing out with your little lad.’

  Matt said, ‘Oh, then they’ll be in the garden.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Rachael. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Nath’s sister. It’s time he came home for his tea.’ The girl was looking with interest around the room and at the darker patches on the walls, which marked the outlines of Leo’s absent canvases. They’d been taken down and stored at the back of the garage until Julia decided their fate.

  ‘But Danny’s on his own.’ Rachael stumbled as she made her way to the window and peered out. ‘Oh God, it’s that boy again.’

  ‘What boy?’

  ‘The one who was here yesterday. You met him too, Bel. And did you see what he was doing?

  ‘Yeah! Gross, wasn’t it?’ She’d gone outside for an illicit smoke (which had tasted foul) and found him in the midst of operations. ‘But he was only trying to help. I told him he didn’t need to. Birds can manage on their own. That’s how they’re programmed. And that if he fed the birds, he’d encourage the cats.’

  ‘Why did you say he could come in the first place?’

  ‘I didn’t. I don’t know what it is with children, they just seem to latch on to me. I guess they think I’m non-threatening. What’s it matter anyway?’

  ‘Because he’s much older than Danny. It really isn’t a good idea.’

  Bel thought Danny might be lonely; he could do with more friends to play with. She didn’t see the harm in his getting to know new neighbours. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked the girl.

  ‘Kelly.’

  ‘And you’ve moved nearby, is that right?’

  ‘It’s only temporary like. We had to find somewhere quick ’cos our house burned down.’

  ‘No? Really?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s totally wrecked, all our stuff melted to bits or up in smoke, the lot.’

  Bel wanted to hear more – was it a gas explosion? An electrical fault? A firework through the letter box? An arson attack? – but Rachael said, ‘He must have come through the hedge again. We need to fix it, Matt. I mean, suppose Danny escaped? We don’t want anyone else to go missing.’

  ‘Who’s missing?’ asked Kelly, scratching the back of her thigh.

  Nobody answered. Rachael flung open the French doors and Kelly clumped across the room. ‘Hey, Nath!’ she yelled from the top of the steps. ‘Move it.’

  Danny came up sulkily and tugged at the hem of Rachael’s top. ‘Why does Nathan have to go now? We were in the middle of our game. It’s not fair.’

  ‘His sister wants to take him home.’ To Kelly, she added: ‘Can you tell your mother to keep a better eye on Nathan so he doesn’t go round being a nuisance?’

  ‘We live with me nan.’

  Bel twirled her collection of bracelets. The knob of her wrist bone gleamed palely through the coloured beads. ‘Does your mother live somewhere else then?’

  Kelly said, ‘Me nan looks after us because me mum’s dead.’

  There was a moment’s silence.

  Matt said, ‘God, I’m sorry.’ It was a knee-jerk reaction and Bel could see he was annoyed with himself. It used to happen a lot when they were younger. People would apologise to him when they heard about his father and afterwards he’d mutter: ‘Why do they always say that? It wasn’t their fault!’ What they meant, of course, was that they were sorry they’d asked. They wished the question had never left their lips.

  4

  The Office

  Matt’s desk was heaped with stacks of bulging files – he was resisting the campaign for the paperless workplace �
� but he always knew where to find what he wanted; he drew a case folder towards him. He was acting for a client whose siblings were contesting their father’s will. It was an ugly squabble, the sense of injustice so acute all perspective was lost. Blood ties could be so fraught. Thank God he didn’t have that problem with Bel.

  He’d been seven when she was born: a curious alien creature with big eyes and scaly skin like ET. Leo was nominally in charge after Julia returned to work, but he tended to be absent-minded, forgetting to change nappies or sterilise bottle teats unless Matt reminded him. He had never lost his sense of obligation towards his sister, the feeling that someone had to be responsible for her. (Her love life was turbulent, her relationships short-lived.) So, naturally, she should stay in the house until she was well again.

  Unfortunately this didn’t seem to be going down well with Rachael. She hadn’t voiced any direct objection, but he reckoned she’d been on edge for about two weeks, coinciding with Bel’s arrival. And last night in bed she’d observed: ‘It’s hard to feel this is really our home. It’s more like we’re just camping.’

  ‘You know that isn’t true. It takes time to settle in properly. And Bel won’t be here forever. Eventually we’ll be able to buy her out and make the place our own.’ A colleague in the conveyancing department had drawn up the deeds; the division between brother and sister was fair, everything was watertight.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ said Rachael with a heavy sigh.

  ‘Understand what? Well of course it’s worrying, not knowing what’s happening – with Julia and so on. But we will resolve things, I promise. Come here…’

  Matt had wanted to make love; he always wanted to make love to his wife. Even when he was tired, or he’d had a bad day, or there was a looming question mark over the whereabouts of his mother or the health of his sister, Rachael’s touch could arouse and appease him. In addition, she had agreed to stop her contraceptive injections and try for a second baby – although she had taken some persuading. That was another conversation he’d mishandled.

  ‘I don’t know if I could go through it again,’ she’d said when he’d made the suggestion. Her first pregnancy had been difficult and it had knocked her confidence. ‘I’m not ready yet.’

  ‘Darling, it’s been five years.’

  ‘But Danny’s only just started school. And how would I cope with the catering business when the baby came?’

  ‘If we get some extra help you can fit it in, can’t you? Isn’t that the whole point of running the outfit from home?’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re being so condescending! When your own mother worked full time.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Matt. ‘But she was the breadwinner.’ This was not entirely true (though Julia’s income was the steadier) but it was the worst possible remark he could have made, apart from: Look, Rachael, your earnings are hardly significant enough to make a difference. She’d given him an anguished look and he’d had to embark on a copious programme of tender reconciliation.

  Their move to the perfect family house was one of its elements. Now it was looking as though it hadn’t been such a good idea after all. When they’d lived in the Canning Street flat, they’d both loved being in the heart of things. And in the early days of their marriage Rachael had been more carefree – wild enough to dance on the table when she wanted to celebrate. But she’d given up alcohol during pregnancy and never really gone back to it. She found it hard to relax and he wished he could help her unwind.

  He had reached across the bed to embrace her, running his hand along the smooth curve of her hip. And she had pushed him away, presenting him with her eloquent back. He blocked this image of rejection and opened the file in front of him. He would focus on his work. He’d lost precious time yesterday and he had targets to meet.

  The switchboard buzzed the phone on his desk. ‘Your mother’s on the line,’ said Lucy from Reception.

  He thought he’d misheard her. ‘My mother?’

  ‘That’s what she said.’ Lucy had blonde hair extensions, violet nail extensions and false eyelashes. Even her voice, her permanently chirpy tone, had an artificial twang to it. ‘Do you want me to tell her you’re busy?’

  ‘What?’ Matt rubbed his temples. ‘No, no. Put her on.’

  There was a click, a pause, then: ‘Matt?’

  He should have been relieved; he was relieved. A small suspicious part of him had feared someone might have been impersonating her. Why stop at identity theft? ‘Julia. Is it you?’

  ‘Of course it’s me.’ The crackle in her voice was so familiar he couldn’t doubt it, yet there was something else too, something he couldn’t place – or maybe it was the poor quality of the line.

  ‘Where are you? And where’ve you been up till now? I tell you it’s been panic stations around here. Dorothy Culshaw—’

  ‘Did you cancel my bank cards?’

  ‘What? Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I had to. In case they’d been stolen.’

  ‘Stolen! Oh my God, why would you think that?’

  ‘Because Rachael had the police calling to the house, thinking she was you.’

  ‘The police! Why on earth would they be involved?’

  ‘You’d gone missing, your phone was dead and no one could get hold of you.’

  ‘I wasn’t missing! I’d just run out of battery. I’d lost my adaptor so I wasn’t able to charge it up again till now.’

  ‘Have our messages come through?’

  ‘My inbox is completely jammed! What’s the fuss about?’

  Matt relaxed, tumbled a pencil between his fingers, nudged a ball of paper on the floor with his toe. There you go: yet another storm in a teacup. Nothing to fret over. His mother was perfectly well and in perfect control of her faculties and her possessions. He said, ‘The police came because the car you’d hired was found abandoned. When you weren’t answering your phone we didn’t know what to think. Dorothy had some wild theories.’

  ‘I’ll bet she did,’ said Julia. ‘But I don’t understand about the car. I took it back – not to where I hired it from, obviously, but I’d cleared it with them first.’

  ‘Looks like the message didn’t get through. Anyway, it was found outside Bordeaux.’

  ‘Bordeaux! But I dropped it off in Cherbourg.’

  The point of Matt’s pencil snapped. This confirmed the general inefficiency of car hire companies: a licence to print money. ‘Then it’s just as well I cancelled the cards,’ he said. ‘Or they might have carried on charging you.’

  ‘There was a man…’ He thought again that the line sounded muffled, but Julia was speaking slowly as if retrieving the experience. ‘When I got to the drop-off he was inspecting some of the other cars. He had a clipboard. He wore a boiler suit. I mean, he was dressed as a mechanic. He took the keys from me and the paperwork. I didn’t think anything of it. I’d picked up this couple who were hitching…’

  ‘Mum!’ Matt was aghast. She was letting herself in for disaster: hitchhikers and unidentified con men.

  ‘Oh they were just kids, English kids. One of them had a job interview the next day he was frantic to get back for. Everybody was doing it, giving people lifts. Everybody was trying to get the next ferry home. I was grateful the man was there so I could hand in the car. How could I know he was a trickster, taking advantage of the situation?

  ‘Well that’s how they operate,’ he said. ‘Con men wouldn’t get far if they weren’t totally plausible. It could happen to anyone.’

  Julia said, ‘Please don’t patronise me, Matt. My problem now is I’ve got no money.’

  Here’s a turnaround, he thought. More than once, as a student, he’d had to ring home towards the end of term, unable to afford a train ticket. ‘Can you or Leo come and fetch me?’ he’d mumble. ‘Only it’s like, I’ve, um, got no dosh left.’ (Though his cash-flow dilemmas had paled in comparison with Bel’s. Leo joked that her signature tune was ‘Buddy, can you spare a dime?’)

  ‘Where
exactly are you?’ he said.

  ‘I’m in Ireland.’

  ‘Ireland!’

  ‘The trouble is, everything’s become rather difficult. I had enough euros to start with but without access to any more cash I’m completely stuck.’

  ‘Do you want me to call the bank again? They can ring you and go through the verification process?’

  ‘I’ve already spoken to them. Once a card’s been cancelled, that’s the end of it. They have to send me new ones and it’ll take seven days.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, but really I was acting in your best interests.’

  Julia continued. ‘I’ve decided to stay here another week anyhow. They’re running behind schedule in the flat. The bathtub was delivered with a crack in it and they’re having to hang on for a replacement. I’ve found a cottage to rent and I want you to ring the owners, Matt, and pay for it. I’ll reimburse you.’

  ‘Oh. Okay.’ He reached for a biro and a Post-it note. ‘Go ahead and I’ll make a note of the details. Where is it?’

  ‘It’s in Dingle.’

  The thought had crept into his head as soon as Julia had said she was in Ireland. Over the years she’d taken trips to Dublin and Belfast for occasional conferences, but she’d never delved into rural Ireland or returned to the Dingle peninsula. So why had she gone there now? He blurted out the question before considering how it might sound.

  ‘Ah, well… Because the terminal in Cherbourg was in total chaos. Because people were so desperate to take the Poole route there were horrendous queues. Because I wasn’t in a hurry to get back to England and the Irish ferry looked like a good opportunity. Because when we got to Rosslare coming here seemed a natural progression. And about time, I thought, that I grasped the nettle.’

  He detected a quiver along the surface of her voice. He recalled nothing of their Irish holiday before the accident and afterwards there had been such confusion. He knew his father, William, had been hailed as a hero, but he couldn’t understand where he had gone. He remembered being stuck in a hotel lounge with a chambermaid trying to entertain him, her freckles like grains of coarse sand, her hand stretching under the table where he was hiding, her Kerry lilt promising him extra helpings of ice cream. When a child doesn’t know what’s going on around him, when even the adults are bewildered, it helps to focus on the simple things, on what you know you want: three scoops of vanilla ice cream or a Tiffin bar of chocolate; the immediate sensation of sugar on the tongue sweetens everything else.