The Legacy of Lucy Harte

by Emma Heatherington

  It’s not his fault I’m at death’s door. It’s not anyone’s fault. I always knew I’d get this news one day and at least I’ve got a bit of time to prepare, unlike so many of us here in this world. It’s not like I died right there on the roadside, is it? It’s not like I was killed almost straight out, like poor wee Lucy and her mother. I have a little time. I don’t know how much, but it’s some and that’s a bonus in itself.

  ‘John Joe and Vivienne will be wondering where we’ve got to,’ I tell my parents when I see them stall at the door with more questions on their lips.

  ‘Yes… yes, I suppose they will. Thank you, Mr James,’ says my father, his poor ageing face crumpling as he speaks. ‘Please pass on our sincere thanks to your team here. You have all done… everything you –’

  And at that he can say no more, so I usher him out.

  ‘Come on,’ I say in the cheeriest voice I can muster. ‘Let’s go home to Loch Tara, Dad. We have a wedding party to attend and we’ll dance and sing and eat and be merry. You heard Mr James. Every second counts from now on and I don’t intend spending any more of them in this hospital.’

  ‘That’s my girl,’ says my father, wiping and blowing his nose with his faithful cloth handkerchief. ‘Elizabeth Taylor wouldn’t hang around hospitals either, I bet. She knew how to live her life to the full and so does our Maggie.’

  ‘And then like us all, she died in the end,’ I mutter with a smile, but he doesn’t hear me. Maybe that’s for the best.

  ‘Do you have my phone, Mum?’ I ask, trying to bring some normality into the day. ‘I need to check my messages.’

  ‘Your brother has it,’ she tells me. ‘He has been minding all of your valuables. Your father and I are too long in the tooth for that.’

  ‘Don’t lie, Mum, I saw you taking photos at the race the other day.’

  She laughs back at me and I can see in her sweet face that she has aged more in the past few days than I could ever have imagined.

  My heart is giving up, but my poor mother’s heart is breaking and my dad’s is too. She links my dad’s arm and he holds her up as I walk behind them and silently cry for them both.

  Chapter 34

  ‘When we were young we used to play Blind Man’s Bluff over there amongst those trees,’ I tell Flo at the wedding party a few days later. ‘Or pretend we were Cowboys and Indians. I was always an Indian… I had my first birthday party here, and my second, and my third… and when my big eighteenth came, in the midst of my recovery, my family threw a party just like this one and the whole village came along. Probably out of sheer nosiness, mind you, but it was a hell of a party.’

  ‘Keep talking, Maggie,’ says Flo. ‘I love hearing your stories about Loch Tara.’

  ‘Ah there are so many,’ I reply. ‘I can’t believe my brother is married. I am so proud of him, Flo.’

  John Joe told me to invite all of my friends to his big day and it’s no secret as to why. This is more than a wedding party. This is my unspoken big farewell and aren’t I lucky to have such a chance to go out in celebration?

  ‘Then there was the time the cow calved right over there and John Joe got his hand stuck and I’ve never seen so much blood in my whole life,’ I say to Flo. ‘Are those the type of stories you like to hear?’

  Flo pats me playfully on the arm.

  ‘You are an eejit,’ she says. ‘You know how squeamish I am. Stick to the birthday stories and the fun and games you had. Oh, it really is idyllic here. I hope I can give Billie a home like this one day soon instead of being cooped up in a housing estate forever.’

  I look around at the open space, the green fields, the dark blue of the lake in the near distance and I can see exactly what she means.

  ‘I have left you some money,’ I tell her and she flinches in surprise.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The divorce money,’ I explain. ‘It’s yours. All of it. Go build a nice house. It won’t be as idyllic as this, but it will give you both a chance to start over again, you and Billie.’

  ‘Maggie, I don’t know what to say…’

  Flo wipes a tear from her eyes and gives me a hug. She deserves it – and more. Damian left as quickly as he returned and I want to give her some sort of independence from him – a chance for her and Billie to have a better life.

  ‘You know, when they told me I didn’t have much longer,’ I explain, ‘my first instinct was to run to the airport – well, not run in a literal sense because, let’s face it, I’m not very good at that, but you know what I mean. I wanted to run away, to run and run and run, but this is where I need to be. Here at Loch Tara is where I will spend my last days. Here with my family. I couldn’t leave them sooner than I have to. It would break my mother’s heart even more if she was left here wondering when …’

  I look across the gardens to where my mum is fussing over someone who she believes hasn’t had enough to eat. I wonder if you can miss things when you die… little things like my mum’s fussing over food is the type of thing I will miss – if you do.

  ‘And what about your apartment, Maggie?’ asks Flo. ‘Have you been back there since?’

  I shake my head and sip my lemonade from a straw. Well, it’s gin and lemonade, to be precise. There’s no way I’m going out of here without making the most of the time I have left and that includes eating and drinking what I want – within reason, of course. I am not planning any more wild parties, for one, where I text the universe my problems and shout out windows about how much I love Belfast …

  ‘Kevin arrived with boxes of what he thought I might need from there,’ I explain to my best buddy. ‘Just the important things and a few books I told him to grab for me. He’s been so good to me and the next person who lives in that apartment is going to love having him as a neighbour. Maybe I could have liked it there one day…’

  ‘Speak of the devil,’ says Flo as Kevin appears with more drinks and a selection of chicken wings from the barbecue. ‘You must have read our thirsty and hungry minds!’

  ‘Your brother sure knows how to throw a party,’ says Kevin. ‘The food is to die for.’

  ‘He sure does,’ I say, trying to find John Joe in the small crowd on the dance floor.

  I find him waltzing with one of my aunts and he is looking so, so handsome in his navy suit and crisp white shirt.

  We had a good chat after breakfast this morning when he joked that once again I had stolen his limelight by causing all this fuss.

  ‘That’s what little sisters are for,’ I grinned back at him.

  ‘And mine is the best,’ was his reply, kissing me on the forehead as I had warned him not to ruin my make-up with any sentimental hugs or tears.

  I really do love him so. Many times I have caught myself just staring and staring at him on his big day, even though Vivienne, naturally, is the belle of the ball and the neighbours are salivating over her French accent. We don’t get a lot of foreigners around Loch Tara. The last one was our postman, who was American, and who my father was convinced was related to Elvis Presley just because he said he once lived in Memphis, Tennessee.

  ‘Cool band,’ says Kevin as he devours another chicken wing. ‘That singer is shit hot. I thought you said it was all jazz and swing music by the lake?’

  I shrug and laugh as Tiernan Quinn toasts his pint towards me from the band stand.

  ‘John Joe and Roisin got him here as a special guest appearance, especially for me,’ I laugh. ‘Roisin thought it would be hilarious.’

  ‘Are you and him?’

  Kevin turns to me quickly, looking like he might wet himself at the possibility.

  ‘No!’ I laugh. ‘Definitely not. He has his new girlfriend with him, so we’re all above board, but yes, he’s shit hot. Really shit hot, believe me.’

  My friends laugh together in agreement and we spend the next few moments watching Roisin and my dad boogie to ‘Sweet Child of Mine’ on the dance floor. One of the elderly neighbours is covering her ears with paper cups and another is gr
ooving along to the rhythm of ‘GnR’ like she was born to rock. It’s going to be a great party.

  ‘And speaking of lovers, what about the delightful Gerard?’ Flo asks me, when the song is over. I’ve never seen you so loved up before, Mags. Please say you are going to see him before… you know…’

  ‘Before I die, you mean, Flo. You can say it, you know.’

  ‘I don’t want to say it. I don’t have to if I don’t want to,’ she replies.

  I shake my head and stare at the ground. I would have given anything to spend some last moments with Gerard but I didn’t have the heart, pardon the pun, to tell him what has happened to me. It would be so unfair to do it, since he hates goodbyes so much.

  ‘It’s better that I just slip off out of this life and out of his,’ I tell Flo, ‘and maybe someday he will find out, though I do not know how. He’ll forget about me one day soon, I hope.’

  I close my eyes at that and see his face. I can’t forget about him and I know he won’t forget about me easily either. He is likely in his studio now, watching his phone, taking his moods out with splashes of paint on his sheets of canvas and wondering why the hell I am not returning his calls. The urge I have to hold him once more is so overpowering but it upsets me too much to even think about it.

  ‘I can’t talk about him, I’m sorry,’ I whisper to Flo and she puts her arm around me so that my head rests on her shoulder. ‘It’s too painful.’

  She holds my hand and we sway together slowly to the next song which Tiernan Quinn, much to my surprise, dedicates to me and it makes me smile, despite the hurt I feel inside.

  ‘A while ago in Dublin I met the most amazing woman who said she would come back to me, but she never did,’ he announces. ‘All she left me with was a song, so this one’s for you, Maggie O’Hara. Next time when you tell a man you’ll be back, don’t leave him hanging!’

  All of my relatives and friends and family are looking at me and I go wide-eyed – to maintain my innocence. ‘Sorry’ is all I can mouth back to him, but he is joking of course. If you saw his new girlfriend with her sexy tattoos, voluptuous chest and tiny waist, you would know that he is joking.

  He strums the beginning of Eva Cassidy’s ‘Songbird’ and I close my eyes, resting on Flo’s shoulder and tears roll down my face despite my resistance. I don’t want to move. I want to stay here and listen to the words and relish all the good times I have had lately.

  I have lived a good life. It may not have been a long life, but it was good fun. I passed my driving test, thanks to Lucy Harte. I saw my first opera when I was eighteen, thanks to her. I got to experience a full-blown white-wedding day. I felt the white sand on the Caribbean coast on my honeymoon. I have laughed, I have sung, I have danced – a lot – and most of all, I have loved with all of my precious heart. All thanks to Lucy, who gave me extra, if only borrowed, time. And now my time is up.

  But I don’t want the song to end. I don’t want to stop dancing. Oh please God, I just want to see him again.

  And when I open my eyes, he is there.

  I hear Flo gasp. I look at her, then at him. She is crying and so is he.

  ‘Gerard! Oh my God, Gerard!’

  He nods slowly to me, smiling and his big beautiful green eyes are filled to the top with tears. Then he tenderly takes me by the hand and leads me onto the dance floor.

  ‘How…’ I ask him, waiting for the shock to subside. I want to keep touching his face, just to make sure he is real and that this isn’t some cruel dream.

  ‘Your brother and I have been talking a lot,’ he whispers to me as he rubs my hair, holding me so close to him like I am a precious stone. ‘I called you to see how the race had gone the day you got ill and he answered your phone. I have tried to call you many, many times since, but I understand if it was too hard for you.’

  I put my head on his shoulder and breathe in his familiar smell. He holds my right hand and we sway to the music. I feel like I am floating. This could be heaven, for all I know.

  ‘You said you hate goodbyes,’ I say to him. ‘I didn’t want to put you through the pain. I didn’t think my heart could stand any more pain either.’

  Gerard tilts my chin back, like he did that day on the riverbank and looks into my eyes.

  ‘We don’t ever have to say goodbye, Maggie,’ he whispers to me. ‘I’m going to be here for as long as you need me. Right here. I will stay with you until it’s time… to go.’

  ‘But what about –?’

  What about his exhibition, I want to ask him? It’s due to open in just a few days.

  ‘Ssh, Maggie,’ he whispers into my hair. ‘Rest your heart now and let me love you while we still have time.’

  I lie beside Gerard and I watch him sleep.

  He looks so content, so perfect lying in the half light, here in my bed into the small hours of the morning.

  My life is complete, that’s all I can think of as I look at him now. He came for me. He loved me so much that he came for me and he promised to stay. No matter how long I have lived, no matter where I have been, I can well and truly say that today was the best day of my life.

  My heart is full. My heart is smiling.

  I slip out of the bed and put on my dressing gown and a pair of old sandals I have been using as slippers and I tiptoe out of the room, lifting a pen and notebook from my side table as I go.

  I open the door, carefully and quietly, to make sure I do not wake him. I do the same as I go through every step of my childhood home and down the wooden stairway. My parents have always been light sleepers, they’ve had to be on the farm, and John Joe and Vivienne are out for the count too after their big day, so I dare not wake them.

  The big clock in the hallway catches my eye as I make my way past and I see that it’s just gone 4.20am. Perfect. It is my favourite time of a summer morning; not quite light but not totally dark and just enough visibility to make you feel safe, just before the break of dawn.

  I walk along the little pathway outside and take a moment to marvel at the morning dew, which wets my toes. Then I tilt my head back and look up at the dark-blue sky as the last of the night-time stars twinkle above me.

  I want to be by the lake. I want to watch the sunrise, the beginning of a whole new day and drink it in and, as I do, I want to write a letter to someone I do not know. I want to make a pledge to pass on a gift that will let someone else watch new sunrises and feel what I feel now for a lot longer than they ever thought they could.

  I want to leave behind a gift. I want to give someone more time.

  I find a little spot where I used to sit as a child and I think of Lucy and her little bridge. This was my bridge, I suppose. This might actually be my favourite place in the whole world, right here by Loch Tara.

  This will always be my home.

  Loch Tara, Ireland, June 24th

  Dear Friend, I write

  You may never get this letter, but if you are as curious as I am, you probably will find it one day and I hope you do because I know you will have many questions, just like I did almost eighteen years ago.

  My name is Maggie and I am passing you on a part of me in order to give you more time with the people you love. I don’t have a bucket list for you, I don’t have a list of life-long dreams for you to chase. I don’t have any advice to you on where to go, on what you do or on who you choose to do that with. All of that is up to you and only you and I trust you will choose well.

  What I do want to do is pass on a few little things that I have learned, perhaps a little later than I wish I had…

  Life is about people and sometimes we forget that we are all that we have. Look after each other. Look out for each other. Care a little more. Forgive a little more.

  Life is about giving. Give hugs, give kisses, give respect. Give what you can afford. Hell, no, give more than you can afford, always. It will make you a better person in every way.

  Life is about time. Spend more time than you do money on others. Give time more than any other gift.
Also, take time when you need to. Take time for you when you need it. Sometimes time is all we have with the people we love the most. I ask you to slow down in life. To take your time, but don’t waste it.

  Life is, most of all, about love – follow your heart, live out your dreams, smile, be happy, see the good in everyone you meet and rise above those who try to make you feel low. Love yourself. Fill your heart and fill your soul – love, no matter what, is always the answer.

  It will hurt you, it will break you, it will bend you, it will make you. Love with all your heart and soul and never forget those who, in return, love you.

  My time may be running out now, but yours is only just beginning. I hope this extra time brings you all the love in the world.

  Please don’t waste a single second.

  Your donor, Maggie O’Hara, age 34

  I tear out the pages from my notebook and go inside to my childhood home, where I am automatically enveloped in the love that seeps from the walls and I realise that all I care about is here right now. I shudder to think of how careless I was with life until Lucy Harte saved me for the second time around. I was throwing it away, I was selfish and self-destructive. I was on a road to nowhere until she reminded me that we aren’t here for that long, really, none of us, and while we are here, it’s nice to make a difference for all the right reasons.

  I think of the old saying –

  Live every day as your last, because one day, it will be.

  Then I go back into my room and I slip under the bedclothes.

  ‘You’re freezing,’ he says to me. ‘Come, let me warm you up.’

  I snuggle into him and my heart sings. I have lived and I have loved.

  Oh, how I have loved …

  EPILOGUE

  3.35pm, August 4th

  The Royal University Hospital, Liverpool, England

  ‘I’m so cold, Josh. I’m really, really cold.’

  Claire Bryans held her husband’s hand as the dialysis machine pumped through her body for the third time that week. She was more than exhausted; she was literally drained as she lay there, waiting for her bodily waste to be filtered out by a machine to help her live a little while longer.