by Faith Hogan
‘Robert, you wouldn’t know what truth was if it hit you between the eyes.’ Archie turned towards the stairs; he was not a fighter. Anger had propelled him to this point. Now he would go home, lick his wounds and consider what was best for everyone.
‘I know a whore when I see one and if you marry Iris, that’s exactly what you’ll have. A whore.’
‘You…’ Archie stopped, stood tapping his foot slowly, deliberately. He stood for what seemed like eternity with his back to Robert. When he turned, his movement was sharp and violent. ‘I hate you, Robert; I hate you now more than ever before.’ He lunged at him, but Robert managed to swipe to the side, holding the brandy bottle aloft. He thought of the bottle falling and the effort of having to go down to the tearooms to get the dustpan and brush. It was all too much work, so he swung about, saved the bottle, but somehow, he ended up far closer to the castellated wall than he expected. In the movement, he lost his balance, it was an odd feeling for one normally so graceful. His body bent a little too far, his step a little too frantic and before he knew it, he was falling, falling into the darkness.
When he hit the rock below he shouted back up towards Archie. ‘Not so perfect after all Archie, well, now we know, don’t we?’ He heard Archie scamper down the stairs. He did not come back around the bathhouse; instead, he made his way towards the hotel. Good bloody riddance, Robert thought. Suddenly he felt giddy and light-headed all at once, as though the turbulence of the evening and the brandy and stress of the long day caught up with him in chorus. He was falling into a deep sleep, maybe that was all he needed, he thought, to fall asleep and everything would look so much better in the morning. The combination of brandy and fresh air, it could knock him out faster than any anaesthetic. He forgot the tide was coming in quickly and the promised swell would be lapping up against his body within thirty minutes. Robert died just half an hour later, drunk, oblivious, alone and bequeathing a lifetime of guilt and remorse on more people than he had any right to.
33
Kate
‘He’s got a point,’ Rita said. She bent down to rinse out the oven she had spent the last half hour scouring. ‘I mean, there you are, entertaining him every night of the week, drinking his wine and looking out to sea. Next thing, he sees you splashed across the newspapers, all in all with Todd Riggs.’
‘There’s nothing in it,’ Kate threw her hands up in the air. It was exhausting, explaining herself again. She knew she sounded surer than she felt.
‘Well, if there is nothing in it, are you sure that he knows that?’
‘Who?’ Kate was cleaning one of the huge flycatchers that were living up to their name after the long summer weeks.
`Exactly, if you need to ask, then…’ Rita made a huffing sound that Kate knew demonstrated her own righteousness more than any discomfort as she polished the glass oven door.
‘I am not…’ Kate nearly lost her balance. Rita could be truly infuriating.
‘Look, I’m not judging you, Kate. Honestly, I would say you’re a mile better off without any man, but that is just in my experience. I think we both know that you are going to have to get your head straight. Men like Colin don’t wait around forever and men like Todd…’
‘Men like Todd?’
‘Well, you know better than anyone that Todd isn’t going to wait around either.’ Rita liked Todd, but it did not mean she couldn’t see right through him.
*
It was true, that evening, when Colin did not visit, the bathhouse seemed too empty to stay in it. Kate walked along the beach alone. She really did not think she’d be much company for anyone now anyway. So she walked for miles along the beach, returning as the light no longer picked out the familiar shapes that normally overhung her home. The tower was in darkness, and Kate wondered what it would be like if it wasn’t there. She realized, that this place, Ballytokeep, would not be the same without it, just as her life would not be the same without Todd.
Were they meant for each other? MFEO, as the youngsters carved in impermanent letters in the sand. She sighed and made her way onto the rock, sitting in one of the heavy chairs that soon would be stored inside. It was pointless trying to figure out how she felt. After all, she really didn’t know how Todd felt now. He had not come near the bathhouse since the article had appeared in the papers, she hadn’t seen him since the night on Sleive Carr. Who knew how he felt after that experience, it had certainly thrown Kate. For all she knew, he may have raced back to London, first chance he got and proposed to Claudia. It was possible; after all, technically, they were still together. It dawned on her then, that unless she read it in the papers now, she actually did not know if they were together anymore.
He has not come back to you. It was a stark realization and, in that cold wind, she felt hot tears roll down her face. And tonight, as she looked up at the tower, she had a feeling he wasn’t there anymore. Kate cried as hard as she had cried all those years ago and she realized, that perhaps yes, she had started to fall in love with him all over again.
*
The next day dawned cold but bright and Kate woke from her troubled sleep with a resolve that she would not let Todd Riggs take another minute of her future. Whatever happened, she had a good life here and she was going to make the very best of it. She marched down to the tearooms just as Rita was putting her key in the front door.
‘Sleepyhead,’ Rita said but there was a lilt to her voice and a twinkle in her eye.
‘Rough night, but not for you, by the looks of you,’ she said and switched on the kettle for breakfast.
‘I met the postman on my way, didn’t I?’ She held up a letter, opened and slightly crumpled from the top of her bag. ‘The dog pound.’ She fluttered it in the air and then took out the letter, handing it to Kate. ‘They’ve said that they’re going to use the money for a new dogs’ home. They’re so thankful to Duncan!’ She could not keep the laughter from her voice.
‘Did you tell them that the hundred thousand was from him?’
‘Well, in the end, I took your advice. I donated fifty thousand and the rest I am keeping as a nest egg. But, yes, I told them it was a gift from Duncan and he’d very much like a plaque put up to say he’d given it.’ She threw her head back and laughed, ‘And I get to choose where the plaque goes. Priceless, isn’t it? I’m giving them a lamp post, and putting his name on top.’
‘You’re not,’ Kate said, but looking at Rita’s face, she really could not be sure. Rita was a changed woman, these days she was moving to the beat of a drum only she chose the rhythm to. Duncan Delaney should watch out. Rita was no longer his downtrodden wife with a love of cake and a face lined with worry.
‘Watch this space, isn’t that what they say?’ Rita smiled and, indeed, Kate had a feeling that this was just the beginning for her friend.
*
When Colin did not call, Kate knew there was nothing else for it. She tramped across his fields at a time when most civilized people were taking the train to work. His cottage was tidy about it but grim. It lacked any decoration beyond what was necessary. The path to the front door was laid with stone, but it was functional. At the windows, heavy curtains snarled shut, no ornaments stood on the windowsills, no roses about the door, no creeper ivy along the trellis. It lacked a woman’s touch. The thought came to her unbidden, but once it settled in her mind she could not shake it.
‘Colin,’ she called as she rattled the old knocker on his door, ‘are you there?’
‘Are you trying to wake the dead?’ He opened the front door to her, still bleary-eyed with sleep.
‘You haven’t been down to the bathhouse and I was worried, I…’
‘No.’ He walked back into the tiny porch and she followed him quickly, didn’t wait for an invitation. ‘I was up all night with a sick ewe.’ His voice was gruff and she noticed his eyes looked red and tired.
‘Oh. I just thought...’
‘The world doesn’t just revolve around you, you know,’ he said and he flicked on the ket
tle, took down two mugs. ‘I fancied catching up on some sleep so… anyway, you don’t need me now. You’re going to be closing up soon for the winter.’
‘I suppose, it’s just I enjoy your…’ his expression made her cut off her sentence. ‘Look, are you angry with me? Have I done something wrong?’
‘Why would I be cross with you,’ he mimicked her English accent just a little.
‘Well, you haven’t come near the bathhouse since…’ when she thought about it, it was longer than since they had to rescue Todd. It was perhaps since the newspaper article had appeared with pictures of Todd and her walking on the beach. ‘I thought maybe I had done something or said something to offend you.’ She watched as he sat at the table. He raked his hands through his hair, making it stand even more on end than before.
‘No, I haven’t been to visit lately, have I?’ He shook his head, but somehow he seemed different.
‘Have I done something wrong?’ Kate was sure she hadn’t. They had talked about their friendship once, laid it all out. Perhaps, there was a lingering attraction between them, but they had both agreed, it was not enough to risk what could be a good friendship.
‘I think I told you, I’m not great husband material.’ He smiled at her, trying to overcome his embarrassment.
‘I think you did, and I was fine with that, I still am.’
‘I get jealous, you see. It’s why, well, it’s why I’m on my own.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m better off like this,’ he spread his arms out. ‘I have flings, but not relationships. Can’t handle them. Not at all.’ He shook his head, more emphatically than before.
‘But we’re not… I mean, that’s not what we have, Colin. We’re friends, right?’
‘Yeah, I suppose we are, but these last few months, I’ve become very fond of you…’
‘I can cope with fond.’ She dropped to the seat opposite him, reached out to take his hand in hers and gasped when he pulled his hand away roughly.
‘No. It’s more than that.’ He sighed. ‘I’ve fallen for you, Kate. Hook, line and proverbial sinker and I just don’t want to be in a relationship with anyone, not even you.’ He held her eyes now and she knew he was speaking the truth.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘The last night, out at Sleive Carr? I could feel it then, that awful black feeling that I had before. It’s like it swallowed me whole the last time round and…’ He thought for a moment. ‘I can’t help it, you know.’
‘But you can see it; surely that in itself is something?’
‘Maybe. It frightened me when I realized that maybe you still had feelings for Todd Riggs. I saw you both, walking on the beach. I thought that maybe if the papers knew, well… Maybe he would go back to London and that would be the end of it. But he didn’t, did he? He came back.’
‘Did you tell the papers he was here?’
‘I…’ Colin shook his head, too embarrassed to meet Kate’s eyes. ‘I’m ashamed to say it, but I did.’ He sighed, long and hard and Kate realized that this place, this house suited him. Its remoteness and emptiness, in some ways, they mirrored that part of him he would always keep separate from her and from the rest of the village. ‘I’m sorry. But it’s better if you go.’
‘Can we still be friends?’
‘It would be better for now if we’re just neighbours.’
‘I’m sorry, Colin,’ Kate said as she made her way out the door and she was. She wasn’t sure she understood, but she was certainly sorry.
34
The Letter, 1957
Archie put Robert from his mind. Running from the roof, he hated him. Roberts’ words rang out in his ears as he arrived out on the rock. He did not want to see him again, so he raced towards the track to avoid Robert coming from the back of the bathhouse. His brother was still jeering him as he made his way back. Archie ran back to the hotel, frantic with grief, with rage and with an emptiness that spelled the end of his dream that he would live happily ever after, running the hotel with Iris and living here in Ballytokeep until they both became very old. He could not marry her now. Not knowing what he knew. If they left this place, went far away from Robert, then maybe. No, he knew, he couldn’t leave Ballytokeep. Could he live with Robert’s gloating face at every turn? Could he endure what had happened between them? Never fully trusting either of them again? His father was waiting at the hotel for him.
‘You’ve had it out with Robert?’ he said to him and Archie could smell brandy on his father’s breath.
‘You knew?’
‘Of course I knew, I’m not completely senile yet.’ His voice was gruff. He handed him a folded page. ‘It’s a letter, to Iris. It is up to you now, what happens to it. I think you’d be better off finding a nice girl in the village, but love’s a funny thing and I’m no expert.’ His father, old and weakened, stood by his side, an ally in this daunting place where everything rested upon the decision he made next.
‘I love her father,’ he felt the words escape his lips in a gasp that was filled with tears as much as anger or grief. ‘I love her and, to be honest, even if she married Robert tomorrow I’d still love her and only want to be breathing the same air as her. I’ve loved her from the moment I laid eyes on her.’
‘Then, she’s yours to take; your brother will not cause you any more trouble.’ Ernest outlined the threat he had earlier spelled out for Robert. The bathhouse would not be Robert’s if he did not marry Gemma and stay true to her. ‘I’m telling you this, because I know my mind is fading fast and I want to commit it to a good memory before it’s too late. Maybe we can’t make it legal, but you know now how much it means to Robert.’
‘And the letter?’ Archie held it in his hands, feared what it might contain, surely nothing as bad as what had happened with Robert.
‘That’s for you to decide. But I’ll say this to you, if she reads that letter, I’d say she’ll be on the next train out of Ballytokeep, that’s a chance you’ll have to take. It’d be a brave man that would hand it to her, but I’ll not judge you either way.’ He placed a firm hand on Archie’s shoulder. ‘You know, we may never speak of this again?’ He shook his head. They both knew that by the time the breakfast was in the dining room, Ernest Hartley would have forgotten all about it. It would be Archie’s secret to live with or to share.
‘Maybe, it’s for the best, father, eh. Maybe it’s for the best.’ Archie put the letter into his jacket pocket. He could not think about anything else now. He knew too much already. Whatever the letter contained, it wasn’t going to change how much he loved her.
*
Iris, Present
Iris’s hands trembled. Even in the moonlight, she had recognized the faded script, the carefully rounded letters on Hermès notepaper. It was her sister’s favourite, but the words were Marianne’s’. She had kept the letter close, still afraid to open it while Archie lay on the cold rock. She couldn’t think about it now, nothing was more important than Archie. All the same she was aware as she worried for Archie that it sat in her pocket. Occasionally, she reached her hand in, rubbed its smooth surface between her worn thumb and fingers. This letter had survived sixty years. Iris did not know if Archie had kept it from her, or if he’d found it in the last few months. Part of her assumed it turned up in the bathhouse, but Kate was adamant, she had never come across it when she was clearing through Robert Hartley’s things.
This was, of course, more important than Robert. Iris knew that instinctively. The letter had come from Paris. It had come from Paris, addressed to her and the few letters from that time, Iris kept locked in her memory, not daring to keep them. When Mark was still alive, they made her feel like she could still be a part of him, she knew them off by heart. Then suddenly they stopped. The telegram that tore her world down had also signalled the end of the little notes from Marianne. This letter, unread, in her hand was different, written, no doubt when the rest of the house was fast asleep. It was written quietly, covertly, lovingly. Marianne loved Mark too. Iris knew it. They all k
new it. Mark was the firstborn, only by a few weeks, but it was long enough to secure the lion’s share of love from everyone in that apartment and then he was gone.
‘Are you going to read it?’ Kate asked. She was sitting opposite her; there was nothing they could do for Archie now. They had finally left him sleeping soundly in the hospital. The nurses insisted he needed his rest and so did Iris. She wasn’t sure what she was meant to do now she was back at the hotel, but Kate poured them each a measure of brandy and Iris sat for a long time willing Archie better. The doctors told them time would heel his fractured leg and changing his medication once more might halt the march of his memories so they didn’t devour him whole. For now, he was staying in the hospital – but soon she would be able to take him home again. The tides had not been so kind to Robert when he fell on the rocks by the bath house sixty years earlier.
‘I’m sixty years late getting it.’ What did another day or two matter? Iris dropped back in her chair to gather the best of the light from a small reading lamp behind her. She squinted a little, in spite of her glasses; the writing was old and faded. She felt a familiar swell of emotion within her, thinking of Mark still brought her back there. When she closed her eyes, she could still remember what it was like to hold him in her arms and nestle him close beneath her chin. ‘Would you read it for me?’ She passed the letter to Kate.
Kate moved across and sat next to Iris. It was almost breakfast time now and Archie should be bustling about the kitchen, the hotel was so empty without him. ‘Okay,’ she cleared her throat. ‘It is dated July 1957, there’s no day, but there might have been, except where it was been folded is a little damaged.’ Kate spoke clearly, as though she was reading the six o’clock news. This was an out-of-date bulletin, but no less the precious for it. She did not want to mix anything up.
