‘I just do afternoons, and they’re pretty flexible. Pádraig said roughly lunchtime to teatime.’
‘Pádraig?’ Her mouth exploring the unfamiliar name. ‘Do I know him?’
‘Lelia’s husband, Lelia in the café. Pádraig owns the ice-cream van.’
‘I remember Lelia, but not him.’
‘He runs a drive-in movie place too, started it last month in the yard behind the creamery. It’s just a lorry with a screen on the back of it.’
‘Wow – a cinema for Roone. Have you given it a go?’
‘Yeah, been there a few times. It’s still a work in progress. There’s no cover, so when it rains everyone has to turn on their engines and put the wipers on, and the sound quality isn’t great either, but it’s good for a laugh. Pádraig says he’s ordered a canopy: I’ll believe it when I see it.’
She was jealous of his friends, able to see him whenever they wanted. Male and female friends, which made it a tiny bit harder again. ‘So you start work, what, around noon?’
‘Yeah, around then.’
While she stayed with Laura and Gavin she helped out with the guest breakfasts, and the cleaning of the rooms afterwards. A noon start would suit her beautifully. ‘And finish around six?’
‘Or maybe a bit later, depending on the weather, and the demand. I can play it by ear, Pádraig said.’
She smiled. ‘Play it by ear.’ She loved the Irish expressions. ‘What about days off?’
He shrugged. ‘Haven’t really been taking them, wasn’t bothered. But if I want one, Pádraig says he’ll fill in, as long as I don’t do the dog on it.’
‘Do the dog on it.’ She had no clue what it meant, but it made her sigh happily.
He shot her a look. ‘There is one thing. I’ve been helping Dad out a bit too in the pub, in the evenings. Now that Hugh’s gone …’
‘Oh.’ She’d forgotten that the pub his father managed had belonged to Hugh, the man who’d died. All the interlinkings on Roone, everyone connected to everyone else, it felt like. ‘So the pub is still open then.’
‘It is, so far anyway. I suppose Imelda will sell it eventually.’
‘Hugh’s wife?’
‘Yeah – well, widow now.’
Imelda. The name rang a bell but she couldn’t place her, couldn’t find a face for her.
‘You would have met her at my house,’ he said. ‘She’d often visit with Hugh. They were the ones who fostered Eve.’ Keeping his eyes on the road.
Eve. That name definitely rang a bell. Tilly saw the long red hair, the generous curves of the girlfriend who had preceded her. Eve still lived on Roone, still presumably hung around in the same loose group as Andy. She and Tilly had encountered one another on occasion, and Tilly always thought she sensed a kind of wariness in Eve, and she felt a little awkward too. It was silly, she knew that. He and Eve were history, well over by the time Andy and Tilly had met. Maybe it was inevitable though, that they’d never be entirely comfortable in one another’s company.
‘So I’m filling in two or three nights a week in the pub, for the moment anyway. You’re welcome to come and sit at the counter, but it mightn’t be much fun for you.’
‘Not to worry.’ Nothing was going to bring her down today. She had three and a half weeks – she could stand not being with him every evening. ‘How are Nell and James?’
‘Good. Fine. Well, Nell is still very upset about Hugh, of course, but other than that, they’re OK.’
‘And the kids?’ His two little step-siblings.
He groaned. ‘Wrecking my head. Berry never stops talking.’
‘Berry is talking? Can’t wait to hear her.’
‘Well, a lot of what she says is nonsense, but she loves the sound of her own voice, like most women I know.’
‘Cheek.’
Tilly recalled a dark-eyed, mop-headed scamp from the previous summer, just learning to toddle about, full of mischief and bubbling laughter. Called Bernadette after Nell’s maternal grandmother, the name shortened to Berry for the benefit of her brother Tommy, too young then to manage the full thing, and now she was Berry to everyone. ‘Is she two yet? I forget which day her birthday is.’
‘It’s tomorrow.’
‘Great – I haven’t missed it. And Laura’s Evie and Marian are four on Saturday, and Laura’s own birthday is August first. We’ll be all partied out.’
‘Hey,’ he said, ‘what’s with the we? You can go to all those girly parties if you want – I’ll be busy in the van.’
She slapped his thigh lightly. ‘Andy Baker – you have to go to your own sister’s, at least.’
‘Um, no I don’t. Not if it involves a gang of small female people. I might go to Laura’s – her nights are usually good craic. But there’s a different party coming up that you’ll probably want to come along to. I know Nell and Laura will be going.’
‘Are you talking about the beach barbecue?’
‘No – there’s that too, but the owner of the hotel, you mightn’t remember him, he’s throwing a party for his seventieth at the beginning of August, the night after Laura’s, I think.’
‘Oh, yes – Laura mentioned something about it in her last letter.’
‘Right, and everyone’s invited.’
‘Everyone? You mean all his friends?’
‘I mean everyone on the island. Literally everyone, kids and all.’
‘Wow.’
‘It probably won’t be that exciting, not with all the oldies around – and the kids – but there’ll be plenty of grub and booze. Henry will throw a good party, I’d say. Could be a laugh. The gang is going anyway.’
She’d been to the hotel once; she’d met the owner. It was the summer following her first trip to Roone, and her little half-brother Harry was being christened there. He’d had his official christening in Dublin, but his mother Susan, Tilly’s stepmother, had wanted another on the island, and she’d asked Tilly to be his Roone godmother. And apart from her delight at returning to the island – and to Andy – Tilly had been looking forward to meeting her father, who was Harry’s father too.
But it wasn’t to be. He hadn’t accompanied his wife and child to Roone. Susan had told everyone he was busy with a new commission, but could he not have taken just a couple of days off?
Don’t worry about it, Laura had said. It’s typical of him. Tilly had tried not to be hurt that her father didn’t seem interested in meeting her. He’d sent her a cheque, when Laura had told him of her existence. It was sizeable: it had enabled her to make her return trips to Roone, and she was grateful for that, but money was a poor substitute for the man himself.
So she’d written him a letter. I want to thank him for the money, she’d said to Laura, who’d passed on his address and warned Tilly not to expect a reply. Tilly had spent a lot of time, and far too many pages, trying to find the right words, wanting to say much more than thanks for the cheque. The end result still didn’t feel exactly right, but it was the best she could do.
Dear Luke,
[she’d written – because Dad, or any variation of it, had sounded presumptuous]
I’m just back in Australia after my first visit to Ireland, and I want to thank you very much for your generous gift to me. I only discovered I was adopted a few years ago, and since then I’ve wanted to come and find my Irish family. I really enjoyed getting to know Laura and Gavin and their children, and even though I was only on Roone for a few days, I loved it. I’m still in school, but I graduate next year, and I hope to return to Ireland for a longer visit next winter – your summer. I would really love if we could meet up then. I know how busy you are, but maybe you could find the time. I could travel to Dublin if it made it easier for you. Your daughter,
Tilly Walker
She’d made no mention of meeting his ex-wife, the woman who’d given birth to her a few months after leaving Ireland and settling in Australia. It hadn’t gone well: there had been no tearful reunion, no arrangement to meet again – but even if it had,
she thought he mightn’t appreciate the reminder of his first failed marriage. She’d posted the letter and she’d waited for his reply, but it hadn’t come.
So much for parents loving their children unconditionally: Tilly hadn’t experienced it from either of hers. Thank goodness for Ma and Pa, who’d brought her up with generosity and kindness – and love too, even if they weren’t the type to be comfortable putting it into words.
The christening in Roone’s church had been enjoyable. The little room they were given in the hotel for the party afterwards had been decked out in flowers and baby blue bunting.
I’ve never been to Australia, the owner had told her, but I’d love to go some day.
If I’d been born on Roone, I don’t think I’d ever want to travel anywhere else, Tilly had replied. He’d laughed, thinking it a joke, but she’d meant it, and it was still how she felt. Despite her limited experience of life on the island, Roone felt like home. It was in her bones, in every drop of blood that raced through her. Crazy, given that none of her family came from the island, but the truth nonetheless.
‘I wish I lived there,’ she said. ‘On Roone, I mean.’
Andy threw her a glance. ‘Would you not miss Australia?’
Not the Me too response she’d hoped for. She didn’t dwell on it – men could be tactless. ‘I suppose I’d be bound to miss it a bit, but I really love Roone. It’s got under my skin.’
‘What about your folks – and your brother and sister?’
She shifted in her seat, removed her hand from his leg. ‘They’re not really my family though, are they?’ Saying the words, she felt a stab of disloyalty – Ma and Pa had never once made her feel like she didn’t belong, even when the children they’d never expected to have had come along, years after they’d adopted Tilly – but it was the truth. ‘Laura’s my full sister, and her children are my nieces and nephews. They’re my family. And,’ she added lightly, ‘you live there too.’
‘I do indeed.’
‘How d’you like Limerick?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s fine. It’ll do.’
‘You wouldn’t settle there though, would you? I mean long term.’
‘Probably not. Dublin maybe, for a while. For the experience.’
Dublin hadn’t featured in her plans. She’d never been there, but she imagined it was much like Brisbane. Big, noisy, full of people and cars, and tall buildings lined up in rows. She’d never been drawn to cities, always preferred the feel of a smaller community. She could put up with it though, as long as she was with him. And her father was in Dublin – maybe it was meant to happen. Maybe if she lived there, it would be impossible for him to go on ignoring her.
They drove in silence for a while. She looked out at the passing countryside, at the fields dotted with cattle and sheep and bordered by trees and hedges, or by those funny walls with stones that seemed to balance magically on each other. She loved the magnificent purple and green mountains rearing up behind it all. Kerry is known as The Kingdom, he’d told her, and she could see why.
They drove along the main street of a small town, and shortly after that she saw a sign for the pier. Not far now.
‘By the way,’ he said, ‘your stepmother’s on the island.’
She looked at him in surprise. ‘Susan’s on Roone?’ Laura had made no mention of an impending visit. ‘How long has she been there?’
‘Few days, I think. I heard Nell saying it to Dad.’
She remembered Susan telling her that she usually avoided the island in the summer. I come off-season, she’d said, when Laura isn’t busy – and sure enough, there’d been no sign of her the previous summer. So what was she doing on Roone now? ‘Is anything the matter?’
He hesitated. ‘I’m not sure I should be the one to tell you. I probably shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘Well, you did say something, so you must tell me. What’s going on?’
He glanced her way again. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘Susan and your father have split up. That’s really all I know.’
She digested this in silence. She knew little about their relationship: neither Susan nor Laura had made much mention of it. But from what she knew of her father, and from his apparent dismissal of her, she guessed that he might not be the easiest to live with. Still, it must be tough to walk away from a marriage, whatever had caused it to end.
‘Is Harry with her?’
‘I’ve got no idea.’
He must be. She wouldn’t have left him. ‘How long is she staying on Roone?’
‘I really don’t know anything else. You’ll have to ask Laura.’
She was glad she’d get to meet Susan again, and presumably Harry too, but sorry it was under such circumstances. Hopefully Susan wasn’t too upset; hopefully this move was one that brought her more relief than sadness.
Staying awake was becoming an effort, with weariness ambushing her in waves. She fought against the urge to close her eyes and drift off, determined not to fall asleep on him. She yawned repeatedly, conscious of how stale her breath must be. Why hadn’t she thought to brush her teeth in the airport?
‘You’ll sleep tonight,’ he remarked.
‘I certainly will – you got any gum?’
‘Try the glove compartment’ – and there, hidden under a sheaf of receipts and wrappers and balled-up leaflets, she found half a roll of hard mints, which did the job.
The ferry was just pulling in when they drew up at the pier. They followed a cream camper van onto the deck. The van’s registration plate didn’t look Irish, but she wasn’t practised enough to identify the nationality. She checked out the occupants of surrounding vehicles, and recognised nobody.
The ferryman remembered her. ‘Back with us again, all the way from Australia.’
‘Back again,’ she agreed, scrabbling about in her head for his name. Ken, or maybe Joe. Something short, three letters.
‘Staying long?’
‘Three and a half weeks.’ Not long enough. Never long enough.
He turned to Andy. ‘I hope you’ve hidden your other women away,’ he said with a wink, and Andy laughed and told him they were all well hidden.
Other women. She knew it was a joke, but it caused an unpleasant twist in her. They were so far apart for so much of the time – was it realistic to expect his thoughts never to stray elsewhere? Cut that out, she told herself. It’s Andy, who’d never hurt her. When the man had moved on to the next car she enquired about his name.
‘Leo.’
Leo. She should have remembered. ‘He didn’t charge me,’ she said, ‘the first time I took this ferry.’
‘Didn’t he? Why not?’
‘I suppose because he’d heard about me, like everyone had. Laura’s sister who’d shown up out of the blue.’
‘So you’re talking about when you left Roone. Not when you arrived.’
‘Yes.’
‘But that wasn’t your first time on the ferry, it was your second.’
‘No, it wasn’t. I didn’t come by ferry. It was cancelled on Christmas Eve because of the storm, remember? A fisherman brought me and your gran over on Christmas Day.’
‘Oh yeah, I remember Gran showing unexpectedly. I’d forgotten that.’
She smothered a rush of dismay. Had he also forgotten their first encounter, so momentous for her? And what about their first goodbye, when he’d driven her to the pier from Walter’s Place? Their relationship barely begun, no kisses yet, nothing said on either part, but an understanding there. Feelings stirring – well, more than that on her side. Sparks flying between them, ready to ignite.
Not sure how this goes, he’d said, having wheeled her case onto the ferry, and she’d replied, We should probably hug. She could vividly remember the thrill of being physically close to him, the pure happiness of her arms around him, the feel of his embrace, their bodies pressed together. She remembered how cold his cheek had been against hers, how her nose had tingled with the chill. Had he forgotten all that too?
&nb
sp; She opened her car door. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘let’s get moving, or I’ll definitely fall asleep.’
They climbed the metal steps and stood by the rail. It was colder out here on the water, and her jacket was in the boot along with her case, but she didn’t care. The sea was amazing to her, and such a novelty, living so far from it at home. The air here was a whole new level of glorious too; sharp and salty and clean, like something you could almost taste. And there was Roone on the horizon, the long, dark hump of it gladdening her soul.
She turned to watch the other travellers emerging from their vehicles. Three little boys erupted from the rear of a blue estate car, hopping about in identical red raincoats. Further down a woman opened her boot and withdrew a wheelchair, which she unfolded before depositing a young girl in it. From a silver hatchback came a trio of middle-aged females whom Tilly decided were holidaying nuns, based on nothing more than their collective sensible shoes.
She shifted her gaze once more to the island, its features becoming slowly more defined as they drew closer. There was the narrow finger of the lighthouse at its southernmost tip, there the hill that reared up on its way to the cliffs on the far side. Soon she’d be able to pick out the larger buildings, the supermarket and petrol station at the start of the village street, the church and the hotel and the old creamery on the coast road.
She wondered if she’d have the courage to do what had seemed so natural a prospect when she was back in Queensland. Now that she was here, it had taken on a new and alarming significance. Just a question, she told herself. Just asking him to spend the rest of his life with her, the cowardly part of her shot back. She’d gather her courage and just do it, when the perfect moment presented itself.
She took his arm and placed it around her shoulders. She held on to his hand and squeezed it, and leant across to kiss his cheek. ‘I can’t believe I’m here,’ she said. ‘I think I’m dreaming. I’m going to wake up any minute in Australia.’
He smiled. They were almost the same height, her eyes just an inch or two below his. ‘Want me to pinch you?’
‘No thanks.’
The Birthday Party: The spell-binding new summer read from the Number One bestselling author Page 10