The hotel in Cork was nice. Comfortable. Warm. The charity ball that evening couldn’t have gone better. I’d cast aside all thoughts of Ma and Da, and schmoozed like a champion. Paul had been right: I was the best person for the job. Even if Rick had been available, he wouldn’t have had them eating out of his palm the way I had. Monday and Tuesday weren’t going to be any problem. I’d handled clients who were far more disgruntled in the past. So why couldn’t I sleep? I turned over and looked at the digital alarm by the bed: 03.17. Bollocks.
I peeled back the duvet and padded over to the drinks tray. Coffee wasn’t going to help me sleep. Hot chocolate instead? I flicked the kettle on, then pulled on the fluffy hotel dressing gown.
Clutching my hot chocolate a few minutes later, I stood by the window and looked out at the lights of Cork reflecting in the River Lee. Very pretty. A stark contrast to the ugly thoughts in my head.
By the time I’d finished my drink, I knew how I was going to spend my Sunday. Ireland mainly held bad memories for me, but there was one place that held only good ones and I felt compelled to pay it a visit.
The first thing that struck me as I drove down the familiar roads towards Ballykielty was that absolutely nothing had changed. Trees were bushier, hedges were thicker, but there were no new housing estates or businesses to be seen. It was like entering the place where time stood still. The exterior of the village pub had changed colour from pale blue to cream, but the handful of shops and businesses looked the same.
I slowly drove through the village, tutting with disbelief at the familiarity of it all, then turned around and doubled back slowly. As I gazed out the windscreen, I realised I was drawing curious glances. I hit the accelerator, cursing my stupidity. I hadn’t meant to actually drive into the village. What if someone had recognised me? I shook my head. There was no way they would, after all these years. To them, I’d just be a blonde in a hire car who’d got lost. Hopefully.
I left the village, then took a right at the crossroads instead of going straight over towards Cork. A few hundred yards later, I pulled into the entrance to Farmer Brady’s field and got out of the car. My hands were shaking so much that it took several attempts to unlatch the gate. I had to skirt around three fields and through a copse before I came to it.
Looking at the dilapidated building in the middle of the meadow, I felt like a teenager again. A tree had sprouted out of the chimney and there were a few more loose piles of stones around the building, where it had crumbled, but it was still our place. Butterflies swarmed in my stomach as I stepped through the doorway. Sunlight filtered through the broken roof tiles creating dust bunnies and an ethereal sense. I half-expected Daran to tap me on the shoulder, then swing me around in a circle while showering me with kisses, like he used to. I stood for a few minutes with my eyes closed, taking it all in, my right hand wrapped tightly around the king in my coat pocket – trying to draw strength for this challenge that I’d set myself to acknowledge the past.
Opening my eyes, I took a deep breath, then brushed away some grass and mud, and sat down on the pile of stones that Daran had sat on when he first confessed his love for me. My eyes focused on something light-coloured in the corner of the room. It couldn’t be… I stood up again and cautiously picked my way across stones and twigs to the corner of the room and tugged at the piece of material. It was dirty and damp, but it was definitely our blanket. I closed my eyes, smiling, remembering Daran’s gentle touch.
Suddenly, a shiver ran through me, and a flash of something sped across my mind. I dropped the blanket, gasping for breath. What the hell was that? My wrists throbbed and my head thumped. What was happening to me?
I stumbled back across to the stones and sat down heavily, as a film of sweat covered my body. My eyes darted around the farmhouse; our farmhouse. And I knew at that moment that it hadn’t been only ours, and that the memories there weren’t all happy ones. But what…?
‘So the rumours were true. You are back.’
I leapt up off the stones. Shit! ‘Da?’
Chapter 6
Nineteen Years Earlier
‘We have a very special guest for Mass this morning,’ Father Doherty announced to the congregation. ‘Daran McInnery is from Wicklow and has been studying in Cork. He’s interested in becoming a priest and has asked to spend some time shadowing me whilst God and he decide if this is the right path for him. Daran, do you want to say a few words? They’re a friendly lot. I’m sure they’ll make you feel very welcome. Step up here, why don’t you?’
I stopped playing with my long, blonde plaits and reluctantly looked up. I expected to see yet another old man with an expanding waist and diminishing hair. I certainly didn’t expect to see a man in his early 20s with a full head of dark hair, a slim physique and a dazzling smile. I became aware of lots of murmuring and giggling in the congregation. I leaned over to my best friend, Orla Brennan, and whispered in her ear, ‘I’ll bet you anything you like that the Black Widow will be the first to make sure he feels welcome. Very, very welcome.’ I glanced across at Mrs Shaughnessy. Widowed when she was only 21 and never remarried, she had a reputation as a man-eater. All the men in the village seemed to fancy her. Not surprising. With her shiny, blonde hair and flawless, youthful complexion, she looked more like a woman in her late 20s, although she was actually 40. I knew that because she lived opposite us and there’d been a ‘Happy 40th Birthday’ banner across her window a few months ago. I felt a bit guilty for giving her a nickname because she was actually really nice to me, but Ballykielty wasn’t exactly the most exciting of places. Orla and I had to get our kicks somewhere.
Orla giggled, a little too loudly. A sharp dig in my back made me yelp. I didn’t dare turn around and look at Da in the pew behind me. I didn’t need to. I’d seen that disgusted expression in his dark eyes so many times that it was etched on my mind forever. I kept my eyes forward. Father Doherty gave me a stern look, but Daran McInnery just smiled.
And that dazzling smile was what started it.
Da commented that he’d never seen me so eager to go to Mass and perhaps I wasn’t going to turn into a huge disappointment, after all. Well, with someone like Daran McInnery to gaze upon, who wouldn’t want to go? For the first time ever, I felt captivated by the words of the Scriptures. Watching him speak with such passion made my heart beat faster. I hung onto every single word he uttered. Even that eejit Jamie Doyle, from two years above me at school, couldn’t break my concentration, despite tugging on my plaits and trying to tickle my ribs with his grubby, scabby hands.
In mid-September, the village held a céilí in honour of Father Doherty’s 30th year with our parish. Despite it being Father Doherty’s event, Daran McInnery was the centre of attention, with a constant queue of fawning women begging him to dance. I’d been right about the Black Widow; she was by his side constantly. Medusa herself would have been proud of the stony stares she gave to any woman with whom he danced.
I leaned against the wall of the barn, playing with a loose thread on the hem of my dark-purple floral dress, kicking at some loose straw with my purple canvas pumps, and watching. Always watching.
After a hissed lecture from Da on being a ‘miserable, sulky little brat’ who had better ‘stop bringing shame to this family and accept the next invitation to dance’, I was forced into dancing with that gobshite Jamie Doyle. His breath smelled of alcohol and he kept placing his hand on my backside instead of my waist, then trying to make out he hadn’t realised. Yeah, right. And he kept standing on my feet with his huge size-12s. God alone knew why, but my da seemed to think the creepy git was potential husband material for my sister, Nia, or me. Yuck. Over my dead body. Nia seemed to like him, though. I’d have thought that being in the same class as him would have put her right off. My other sister, Aisling, was lucky, as Da considered Jamie Doyle far too young for her. I wished, not for the first time, that I were much older. Closer to Daran McInnery’s age, perha
ps.
I danced with a couple of boys from my class, and with my da and my brothers, simply to avoid questions, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Father-to-be McInnery. It seemed to me as though he was watching me too. Every time I danced, I could feel his eyes on me. And I liked it. A lot.
‘Are you enjoying yourself, Father?’ I asked, as I passed him on the way to dance with one of my brothers.
‘That I am,’ he responded, those green eyes burning into mine. ‘But I’d be enjoying myself even more if you’d do me the honour of the next dance, Miss O’Connell.’
I smiled. Yes! Success! ‘I might be free, Father.’
‘I’m not a priest, yet, Clare. It’s Daran.’
‘Then I might be free, Daran.’
I might have only just turned 14, but I felt more like an 18-year-old. I was an early developer physically, as well as being very mature for my age. My sisters, Aisling and Nia, were six and two years older than me respectively, and my twin brothers, Keenan and Éamonn, were four years older. They were all devout Catholics, very sensible and very mature. Actually, I wasn’t so sure about Aisling. She’d managed to escape to university in Limerick and – having spotted her unpacking some very sexy matching underwear when she’d come home for the holidays – I liked to imagine that she drank alcohol and danced topless while she was there and only pretended to be nun-like when she visited Ballykielty to keep the peace with Da.
I tried to be more like my siblings to please my parents, as being constantly scolded was no way to live, but I couldn’t help it; there was an extroverted, fun-loving, boisterous woman inside me who refused to conform. I also wasn’t convinced by the whole church thing, especially as Ma, Da and my siblings seemed to think Catholicism was code for ‘no fun’. Daran McInnery seemed like fun, though, and I was very aware that I’d developed a huge crush on him – my first serious, stomach-flopping, heart-racing crush. It was killing me to play it cool.
‘Would you be free for that dance now?’ he asked, three dances later. ‘Or are you too much in demand?’
‘I’m hugely in demand, especially with that eejit Jamie Doyle, but I think you’ve waited long enough.’ I took his hand and a tingle ran through my body at his warm touch. It was a very fast dance. We were both panting when we finished. He grabbed us some juice, then I followed him outside for some fresh air.
‘What are you planning to do when you finish school next year?’ he asked, after we’d gulped our drinks down and caught our breath. ‘Will you be going to university?’
‘University?’
‘You must be in your Leaving Cert year, are you not?’
Not quite. I chose my words carefully. ‘I’m studying hard. I’d like to be a midwife eventually. Babies are so cute and the thought of being the one who helps bring so many of them into the world must be such a blessing and so rewarding.’
‘That’s a grand vocation to want,’ he said.
‘My da doesn’t think so.’
‘Why not?’
‘He believes a woman’s place is in the home, being a good Catholic wife and producing a baby every two years or so, just like my ma.’
‘I’m sure he only wants what’s best for you.’
‘Da only ever wants what’s best for him and best for God.’
‘Perhaps what’s best for God is best for you too.’
I stood up and indicated that he should walk with me while I pondered his statement. ‘I want to challenge you on that, but I can’t think of an example of something that has displeased me but would have pleased God, so perhaps I’ve been unfair on him.’
Daran laughed. ‘Unfair on your da or unfair on God?’
I smiled. ‘Both. I think. Are you from a large family, Daran?’
‘The oldest of eight. My father died young so I spent a lot of time helping my mother with my brothers and sisters.’
‘I’m sorry about your da. That must have been hard.’
‘It was, but my siblings were a great distraction.’
‘Father Doherty said you’re only looking into the priesthood.’
He nodded. ‘I planned to become a religion teacher so I studied Religions and Global Diversity in Cork, then did a HDip in Education. I could have started teaching this term, but I couldn’t help feeling that God had another path in mind for me, perhaps as a priest or an overseas missionary. The priesthood’s a huge commitment. My priest in Cork is a good friend of Father Doherty. He arranged for me to spend some time with him to explore whether the priesthood is right for me. So here I am, exploring away, trying to work out what I want to do with my life.’
I stopped at a bench and indicated that he should sit beside me. The moon lit his silhouette. He looked like a model rather than a priest, and I longed to reach across and touch the curl of hair that kept blowing across his forehead and into his eyes. I sat on my hands. ‘If you became a priest, you wouldn’t be able to have a family of your own. Wouldn’t you miss that?’
‘A person can’t miss something he’s never had.’
‘Fair point, but if you helped your ma, and you’re the oldest of eight, you must know what it’s like to soothe a baby and read a bedtime story to a toddler. Did you never want those things for yourself?’
‘Right now, I want God in my life more than I want those things. Or at least I think I do. That’s why I’m not rushing into any decisions. If I do join the priesthood, I’ll be taking a solemn vow of celibacy and that’s how my life will be.’
‘Doesn’t your mind ever wander and think about what it would be like to kiss someone and to press your body against theirs and make babies?’
I heard him gulp, but I couldn’t see enough of his face in the darkness to discern his reaction. His shaky words conveyed his emotions, though. ‘Emm… Well, er, Clare. It’s like this… A priest… Well, it’s just that… Okay, I sometimes think about it. Thinking is different from acting on… er… carnal desires. I… er… I think we’d better go back inside. I’ve cooled down now.’
How I resisted the urge not to reach up and kiss him at that moment, I’ll never know.
Chapter 7
Present Day
‘What in the name of God are you doing here, Clare?’ Da growled. ‘I thought we’d made it clear that you were never to come back.’
I cursed my stupidity. Damn stranger-hating village. Should have known I’d be spotted. Be brave. Be confident. You’re not 16 anymore. You can handle him. ‘It’s great to see you too, Da,’ I said, squaring up to him and standing tall. He looked old. And grey. And tired. I could take him.
But his strong, sharp voice still had the power to make me tremble. ‘What do you want, girl? Why are you back?’
‘I’m in Cork on business.’
‘Business? Is that what you call it these days?’
My stomach twisted at the clear insinuation in his words. At least he’d stopped short of calling me the hurtful names he’d used 17 years earlier. Unable to think of a clever quip, I just stared at him and hoped he couldn’t see me shaking.
‘I hope you’re not here to seek forgiveness,’ he snarled. ‘What I said back then still stands. You’re dead to me, Clare. And to the rest of your family. You won’t be welcome here again. Ever.’
He stared at me as if expecting a challenge. For years I’d dreamed of what I’d say to him if our paths crossed again. The scenes in my mind had ranged from a Harry Potter-and-Lord Voldemort-style stand-off with fireworks and demons (ending with me striking him down, of course), right through to an emotional reunion where he begged for my forgiveness and welcomed me back into the fold with open arms, and pretty much everything in between. But none of my scenes involved me standing in the ruined farmhouse, shaking like a small child who’d just seen the closet monster, completely dumbstruck.
‘I expect you’ll be leaving as soon as you’ve finished your trip down memory lane?’
>
I nodded.
‘Good. Don’t be coming back.’
‘I won’t.’
He turned to go, then stopped in the doorway. I shivered as he turned his dark eyes on me. ‘He never loved you, you know. He just used you.’
‘Daran?’ My heart dropped into my stomach as I whispered the word.
Even in the gloom, I could see his face redden at the mention of Daran’s name. ‘Some priest in training he was. He was getting up close and personal with most of the parishioners. You just happened to be the youngest and stupidest.’ Then he turned and left.
I sank to the floor. Daran sleeping around? No. He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t have. It was just Da striking out. Again. And it had worked. Seventeen years on and he still had power over me. Bastard.
Chapter 8
Seventeen-and-a-Half Years Earlier
After the céilí, I made it my mission to introduce Daran to the stunning countryside around our village. Well, someone had to. He seemed keen to accept my offer. As we walked across the fields and through the woodland, I’d chat to him about his family and his life in Wicklow. I’d also talk about my family, how Ma hated me, how I was always in trouble with Da, and how I felt I didn’t fit in with any of their expectations of what a good Catholic girl should be. I also confessed that I was a Junior Certificate student, not Leaving Certificate. Apparently, he’d thought I was the second-youngest O’Connell and that Nia was my younger sister. Easy mistake. I’d always looked a lot older than her.
I knew it was cruel, given the career choice he was exploring, but I repeatedly painted a picture of what family life should be like – drawn from books and TV, rather than what I personally experienced from my own dysfunctional family – and what the love of a good woman, instead of just the love of God, might feel like. He laughed at first, but then he started to open up and talk about the family he’d dreamed of having before he’d started to think seriously about the priesthood.
Dreaming About Daran (Whitsborough BayTrilogy Book 3) Page 4
