by Faith Hogan
She ordered muesli and a pot of breakfast tea and settled into a chair in the morning sun. By the time the tea arrived, she’d lost her appetite. The front page had a third of its headlines given over to the sudden heart attack of one of Britain’s most famous rock stars. Kate couldn’t help herself, not this once. Normally, she made herself put down anything written about Todd. She knew, from bitter experience, that most of it wasn’t true anyway, so she reasoned there wasn’t much point. The other thing was that it still depressed her, knowing that he had gone on to live a happy and successful life. She knew, she should be able to wish him well, but it still seemed unfair. There he was with his young supermodel girlfriend, still doing just as he pleased. She, meanwhile, had spent a decade nursing a broken heart, a fragile ego and a contemptuously public humiliation.
But she was soon absorbed in the story. Todd’s heart attack happened the day after he played one of the best gigs of the tour to date. On pages four and five, various doctors explained his cardiac event, as they called it, from a medical point of view. Kate didn’t need to be an expert to read between the lines; he was lucky to be alive. She read the story three times, from start to finish. At least, she told herself, the Times was as reliable as you got. There was a picture of Todd and Claudia Dey, his current squeeze, leaving a nightclub, before he had his heart attack. He looked tired; he looked much more than his age, while Claudia looked glowing and glamourous. As usual, she was dressed in white, an ethereal vision of timeless beauty. He looked crumpled and unshaven in black leather, with hair that was a shade too black against his greying stubble.
Throughout the article, there were several photos of him over the years with the band. He seemed more familiar to Kate in these, as though she might reach out and touch him and he would still be the same as all those years ago. As usual, they alluded to his bachelor status and that he had almost got married a long time ago. Kate was delighted to see that this time they did not slip her name into the article. That was an improvement. Sometimes it felt like she went through most of her adult life with a byline beneath her name: Jilted at the altar by Todd Riggs.
Perhaps it was the report of Todd’s heart attack, or maybe the decision to move to Ballytokeep, but it felt as though something fundamental had changed. She had spent ten years feeling her stomach flip over when she saw even a photograph of Todd. She supposed it meant she still loved him, in spite of all the therapy and self-help books. Today, with the sun shining and the promise of a new life before her though, Kate felt something in her heart close to pity for Todd Riggs. At the end, what had he? Sure, he had a supermodel on his arm and millions in the bank, bully for him. But his eyes gave away the secret to the familiar emptiness from before.
For the first time in a decade, Kate pitied him and it felt good. She folded up her newspaper, left a tip for the waiter and walked towards her new life with a determination and optimism she had never experienced before. She said goodbye to London. She was saying goodbye to Todd too. Leaving her flat, her job, her friends behind, she knew she was becoming invisible to him. He could not come back to find her now, even if he wanted to. After ten years of waiting, Kate Hunt had finally moved on.
9
Todd
Todd never believed he’d be so delighted to get back to puddle-soaked pavements and cheeky cabbies. Touching down in Heathrow, he could have kissed Denny for organizing a jet to get them home. The oddest thing though, when he got into London he was filled with that sensation once more. Everything was the very same, but nothing was quite as he left it. Like the smell of coffee, it was no different but now he craved a cup of tea instead. London left him cold, it no longer fitted, like a jacket he grew out of and it stretched uncomfortably across his senses.
It would take little more than an afternoon. Todd booked a plane and flew out while Claudia was getting her nails painted, or some other part of her anatomy pampered. The pilot flew him across the Irish Sea and over the patchwork of green fields in less than an hour and a half.
The Norman keep was the most prominent structure in Ballytokeep. He found himself constantly looking at images of the place on his phone; it was almost a thousand years old and ran across four floors. It sat on a tip of rock just beyond the town, jutting dramatically over the sea. Todd didn’t care that it might need a new roof or indeed that the place might soak up millions before it could even be habitable, wasn’t he only going to look at the place? The town itself was cheerful enough, certainly prettier than any part of Belfast he had ever known. The shops that lined the bottom of the village were painted in various pastel shades. The town stretched out high above him to the top of the rocky hill where a grey church loomed over the village goings on. He could imagine in summertime, the promenade filled with tourists and ice cream vans. It was the sort of place he would have loved to visit as a child. It had narrow streets, what looked like an old arcade in need of repair, tennis courts and shops that sold buckets and spades, ice creams and sodas, old-fashioned fish and chips. This time of year, almost everything was closed, except the estate agents.
‘Rock Castle?’ the girl said, trying to place him. She was no more than twenty, too young to be a fan. Since the heart attack, he was not kidding himself anymore.
‘Yes, it’s for sale, isn’t it?’ Todd said, sinking into his default flirting state – of course it didn’t work so well when people didn’t realize who you were, but it was hard to change the habit of a lifetime.
‘Everything is for sale,’ a middle-aged man made his way from a back office. ‘I’m Mick Skeffington’ – he nodded to the sign over the door – ‘and, you’re Todd Riggs?’ he smiled, smelling the money in a town that had struggled for the last decade.
‘That’s right.’ Todd still liked being recognized. Enjoy it while it lasts, he figured now, amazing what the previous few weeks had taught him. ‘Is it for sale?’
‘It was. I’m not sure if the owners are still interested in offloading it. Didn’t you hear, it seems that the property market is taking off again?’ He wasn’t fooling either of them, but it was probably second nature to give the sales spiel. ‘I’ll see if I have keys for it, will I?’ He was doubling back to his office, slow day in the real estate business obviously. ‘I haven’t been up there in a while, but…’ He was back in a second. ‘Here we are,’ he held an ordinary-looking Yale key in his hand. Not very impressive; but there was no commitment on either side yet. ‘Rebecca, I’m bringing Mr Riggs to look at some property, any calls you can take a message.’ He fiddled with his phone for a moment, switching it off and smiling. This was getting his full attention for as long as it took.
The castle was as imposing up close as it was from the chopper. It was less so inside.
‘Of course, it’s years since it’s been lived in. You can look at that either way. I’d prefer to think it gives you plenty of scope for putting your own stamp on the place.’
‘Aren’t there restrictions, I mean; is it listed or whatever?’
‘Well, as you can see, it’s just a shell. You couldn’t be expected to live here without some alterations.’ Skeffington laughed, a hollow sound; he didn’t really take Todd for stupid. ‘A good designer, all mod cons, it will need a new roof of course, damp coursing, repointing, but to a man like yourself,’ he almost bowed. He pulled back one of the window sashes; they were facing out to sea. The only thing before them was water and sky. The effect was breath-taking. ‘Most of these have been snapped up by people like you…’
‘People like me?’ Todd rounded on him.
‘Discerning buyers,’ Skeffington said smoothly. ‘Rock stars with taste. You know how it is, some of you guys just never get old, you can think of a few I’m sure. But, here in Ireland, anyone who’s anyone, with a bit of levity as well as success, well, they have a castle, don’t they?’
‘Do they?’ Todd had decided he was not going to fall for the banter, but the man had a point. He had grown out of living in a hotel for the rest of his days. Who did that anyway? Even the Rollin
g Stones had big houses in London and out in the Cotswolds, and let’s face it they were the ultimate rock stars.
Todd walked from the bottom to the top of the tower. The place was much bigger inside that he imagined.
‘With a good interior designer, you could live like a king, and there are the outbuildings.’ A couple of low-roofed stone buildings hunched along the back of the tower. ‘Perfect for guest accommodation, maybe a recording studio, a games room or a cinema.’
They were making their way back down to the ground floor when he spotted a castellated white building standing on an outcrop of maroon-coloured rock. ‘There’s another sign of optimism in the area,’ Skeffington was saying. ‘That old place was recently sold. Of course, that was a private sale, never thought I’d see that place change hands, but there you go.’
‘What is it?’ Even to a cynic like Todd, it had a romantic look to it. He couldn’t help but feel that its location, and the way the owner had painted it up with touches of French navy in places, was far more welcoming than this draughty old keep.
‘It was a bathhouse, back in the day; closed before I can remember. They came from all round to the place though. Seaweed baths and the like. Course it’s all the rage again now with ladies who lunch. It’s like a mini spa on your doorstep. I think I heard that they’re opening up the old tearooms as well, so that’s good for the village.’
‘Hmm, I suppose.’ Todd wasn’t particularly bothered about what was good or bad for the village, but somehow he felt drawn to the peculiar building in the distance. Then he remembered the odd little feelings that had been welling up inside him since his heart attack. It was normal, the doctors said. Wasn’t it why he was here? He never considered buying a place like this before the heart attack.
He hadn’t told anyone he was thinking of buying the place. Wasn’t sure how he’d broach it with Claudia or Denny. He knew why he didn’t tell them. They’d have tried to put him off, called it a whim, maybe he was afraid they’d talk him out of it and this was too important to risk that. Perhaps he should have told Claudia. After all, weren’t they—? He wasn’t sure what they were anymore. Hadn’t he wanted to finish with her on that morning, the morning of his heart attack? Now the idea of all that just made him sick. What was he thinking, wasn’t she the best thing in his life now? The only constant of the last few years, if you didn’t count Denny and Meg – and let’s face it, he couldn’t marry Denny. He pulled himself up for a moment – had he said marry? Did he want to marry Claudia? Maybe he did. He was here, wasn’t he? Buying what was little more than a shell of stone in a godforsaken corner of Ireland. This was the nearest he’d come to putting down roots – with Claudia at least.
‘So, its sale’s agreed?’ he said to Skeffington when they locked the gate.
‘I’ll have to put it to the owners, but I’d say they’ll sell. They might quibble about the price. It reflects downturn figures, more than the new inflated optimism of the last year.’ He could hardly make eye contact with Todd.
‘Look, Skeffington, I’m not stupid. These places are a dime a dozen all around the coast. I just happened to pick this one, but we both know that having me as a neighbour here will help put this place on the map.’ He had no intention of being made to look like a fool by some yokel. ‘I’ll give you my contact number, if they want to accept my offer they’ll need to get back to me quickly, I’m looking at other places this week on the East coast.’ He stalked back towards the village.
‘Don’t you want a lift?’ Skeffington called after him, some of the wind taken from his sails.
‘No, the walk will do me good.’
Todd phoned the pilot who was having coffee in the local hotel and they set off for London as quickly as they had arrived.
*
It seemed to Todd that Claudia was a bit off with him when he arrived back at the hotel.
‘You sick of it here, babe?’ he asked her as he poured himself a small glass of red wine. Of course, what he meant was, are you sick of me? He could see the way she looked at him had changed. In the beginning he felt she was angry with him, angry for getting sick and for making her miss out on work. The last day or so, it felt like things had changed. Now she looked at him with something else in her eyes and he was afraid to figure out what it might be. Pity? Practised tolerance or disappointment? It wasn’t lust anyway, he was sure of that.
Todd didn’t need to be a genius to feel that Claudia was slipping away from him. These days, it was as if she was on a different planet. Denny reckoned that she needed more. Meg shrugged her shoulders, unusually silent.
‘Claudia, do you ever think about the future?’
‘Course I do, doesn’t everyone? I mean why do you think I work so hard – someday, when I lose my looks I don’t want to be cleaning toilets for a living,’ she laughed at him.
‘There’s no fear.’ He wanted to say so much more, but they never had those conversations and now maybe it was too late. ‘It’s just, with things, you know, the last few weeks…’
‘Your near-death experience,’ she said drily as though it was yesterday’s news and, even then, not very relevant.
‘Yeah, with the heart attack, it gets you thinking.’ He closed his eyes for a moment, imagined himself sitting on the damp wall that overlooked crashing waves and that cute old white and blue trimmed building beneath. ‘It got me thinking.’ He lowered his voice, so it was almost guttural, making her stop and turn towards him. ‘About what’s important to me. About where I’m going in life.’
‘I thought we were going to dinner,’ she laughed at him.
‘Seriously, Claudia, can’t you talk to me about this?’
‘About what, Todd? I get that everything has been thrown up in the air for you and that maybe you’re feeling your age, but…’ her voice faded, distracted by the ping of her phone. Damn Twitter.
‘I’ve bought a castle,’ he said the words quietly, as though he was confessing, but her head shot up immediately.
‘You’ve bought a what?’
‘I bought Rock Castle, where you had your picture taken in Ireland.’
‘Why in the name of Prada would you want to do that?’ she sounded like a teenager with attitude to Todd and he wondered if they had always been this different.
‘Babes, like I said, things are changing for me now. London just gives me a headache, I need a little space.’
‘From me?’ she asked and Todd wasn’t sure if her voice was tinged with disappointment or the faintest echo of relief.
‘No, not from you, doll. I need space from everything: this city, the press, the band...’ That was it, for the first time in his life, London was hemming him in, his life here was stifling him. ‘I need to get my head straight, sort out a few things. I need something to distract me, it’s just a… project.’
‘Oh.’ Claudia’s eyes drifted back to her phone. Perhaps she was slighted. The fashion people called her precocious, these days Todd found it hard to know where he was with her. ‘So you decide to buy your first home in a different country and that’s your project? Todd, people build model airplanes for projects or they take up golf – they don’t go out buying castles in the middle of nowhere.’
‘I need this, Claudia – I can’t go on living in a hotel for the rest of my days.’ He kept his voice low, he wasn’t arguing about this with her. It was a done deal and he was over the moon to get it at a good price, he was actually excited about getting the work started.
‘And what about the band? You’re in the middle of a world tour or had you forgotten? Denny has only postponed the dates, Todd – fans have bought tickets, the Ace of Spades have been your life, are you just turning your back on them too – on a fancy?’
‘No, of course not.’ She made him sound like a petulant child. ‘I haven’t forgotten my responsibilities, but I’m not going to be touring for months, you heard what the doctors said.’ Todd couldn’t think about the tour or the band. Like everything else, the thoughts of that life just made him feel s
ick and uncomfortable within himself. Maybe he just wanted to run away from it all, for a while. Maybe it was what he needed – a complete change of scene and then he’d feel differently again.
‘I swear, Todd, you’ve just hit the far side of crazy with this, I’m having nothing to do with it.’ She looked down at her phone again, thumbed the screen over and closed her eyes for a second as though he was keeping her from some very important social media engagement.
‘Don’t be like that, I’d like you to come and see it. Give me your advice, we both know you have a great eye,’ he was coaxing her. He couldn’t face an argument, not now. Claudia believed the world missed out on the fact that she could be more than ‘just a model’. She was waiting for the chance to team up with a designer to put her name on fashion, housewear, sportswear, anything that made her feel she was more than the world perceived her as now.
‘I’ve seen it already remember, it’s a dump.’
‘You said in that interview that you loved it?’
‘Of course I didn’t say that, Todd. My publicist said that. Do you know how many big brands are coming out of Ireland now? I want a slice of that pie.’
‘Well, you didn’t see inside it, and you didn’t see it with the sun shining on it. Come on Claud, just come for a few days, I’ve bought it now.’
‘I suppose, it could be a great party house.’ Her mind was working in a completely different direction to Todd’s. She would think differently when she saw the place through his eyes, yes, Todd was sure of that.
10
Robert, 1957
Robert had spotted the girl before she set foot on the pavement of the hotel. She was petite and slim and wore sensible tweeds that might have made another woman invisible. They only managed to heighten Iris Burns’ beauty. And, she was beautiful, Robert could see that. She was beautiful in a way that struck you instantly. Her auburn hair glinted in the sunshine as though it might capture heaven in its depths; she had strong features that were delicate and defined all at once. She reminded him of Lauren Bacall, that same mix of sweetness and smarts, with a knockout figure that stretched her clothes in all the right places. She carried her bag with the ease of the young and healthy. Robert noticed there was only one, a battered case that looked as though it was travelling long before Iris was born. Perhaps she was not planning to stay for too long. A pity. He had a feeling that was something he should set about changing.
