She released me from her embrace but kept her hands on my shoulders and stared into my eyes. ‘I can do something now, though. Can we go for a drink?’
I followed Aisling in my car as she drove through various villages and towns to the outskirts of Cork and a pub called The Burnt Whiskers. ‘I’m friends with the owner,’ she said, when we got out. ‘Nobody from our village knows about this place. We’ll be safe to talk properly with no risk of Ma or Da appearing.’
And talk we did. For the next three hours, we talked non-stop. At six years my senior, Aisling was approaching 22 when I was thrown out. She’d been living in Limerick at the time, completing the final year of a science and teaching degree, so we didn’t see much of her except during holidays and, even then, she had a part-time job working in a lab in Cork, so she was barely around.
She’d been home that Christmas but had been out at a New Year’s Eve party when it happened. She’d woken up the next morning to find my bedroom empty and hear the news that I’d moved to Cornwall.
‘It was the oddest thing, Clare,’ she said. ‘They never breathed a word about it. I had to ask why your room was empty. When I say “empty”, I mean completely empty. There was no furniture or anything.’
I gasped. ‘No furniture? They’d gutted my room?’
Aisling nodded. ‘It was like you’d died and all trace of you had been wiped out. They told me that you’d been worried about Great-Aunt Nuala being on her own after a fall and had asked to move to England immediately so you could look after her.’
I shook my head. ‘She hadn’t had a fall. She was fit as a fiddle back then. Did you buy that excuse?’
‘No. I asked why they’d let you put your education at risk like that, because you’d surely have to go back two years and start your GCSEs. Da went mad at me for questioning him. I was told it was none of my business and I should drop the subject or I could get the next train back to Limerick and see how I managed the rest of my degree with no financial support.’
‘That was harsh.’
‘He’s a harsh man, Clare, as you’ve experienced first-hand. I tried to quiz Nia about it. All she’d say was that Father Doherty came round, then she and the twins were sent out to visit friends. When they came back, you were gone and your room was empty. I asked her whether she thought your sudden departure was something to do with your secret boyfriend but—’
‘You knew I was seeing someone?’
‘Someone kept stealing my underwear and I couldn’t imagine it was Nia or Ma.’
I clapped my hand over my mouth. ‘Jesus! I’m sorry. I had no money to get my own. I didn’t mean to keep them.’
She laughed. ‘It’s fine. I found it quite funny. Anyway, Da chose that very moment to walk past and overhear me. He got really jittery and insisted that you’d never had a boyfriend and had always wanted to study in England. One more word and I could join you.’
‘I’m sorry you got into trouble.’
Aisling smiled. ‘Don’t be. I could handle myself by then. Moving to Limerick was the best thing I ever did because I got free from his control and found out who I was. I discovered I had a voice and opinions and a life that wasn’t controlled by him and the Church. But I also wasn’t stupid. I needed his financial support to finish my degree so I dropped the subject at home. I did my Miss Marple bit out of earshot, though. I discovered that Daran McInnery had been whisked away from the village and nobody seemed to know why. Rumours ranged from his ma being ill to an inappropriate relationship with a married woman, but a million little things suddenly made sense. I just knew that he was your secret boyfriend and that both of you leaving wasn’t a coincidence.’
‘Did you say anything when you’d made the connection?’
She laughed. ‘I must like to live dangerously. I confronted Da. He denied it, of course, but his eyes gave him away. You might remember that I’d always been close to Father Doherty. I might have made out that Da had confirmed the relationship. Believing I knew everything, Father Doherty mentioned the baby. I’m so sorry for what Ma and Da did to you, so I am.’
‘Father Doherty was there too, you know.’
Aisling nodded. ‘He told me. He also said it was the worst thing that he’d ever experienced. Da had led him to believe that you’d have the baby, it would be adopted, then you’d come home and continue as before. He had no idea they were going to cut you off forever or he’d never have helped them.’
‘To be fair, he did try to stop them but there was no reasoning with either of them. They told me I was dead to them and would never be welcome in their lives. Ever. Something they reminded me of again just now.’
Aisling closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘You were 16. I know you were mature, but you were still only 16. What were they thinking?’ She reached out and took my hand across the table. ‘I want you to know that I wrote to you as soon as I knew. I wrote every week for six months, then every month for four years, but my letters were returned unopened. I kept hoping one might slip past her so I kept going.’
‘What made you stop writing?’
‘She wrote to me and told me you’d left Cornwall and that she had no idea where you were, so I might as well save myself the postage. I should have tried to find you but I was married by then, had a baby, and life just got in my way.’
‘I’m an auntie?’
She smiled. ‘Twice over. Torin is 10 and Briyana is eight, but I’ve separated from their dad now.’
‘Oh no! I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. Finn and I were friends who tried to make a marriage work, which was fine until he met someone he wanted to be more than friends with. You can imagine what Da had to say about that.’
‘I bet he thought it was your fault.’
‘Of course. Apparently, I didn’t know how to keep my man happy so it was no wonder he looked elsewhere.’
‘Sounds just like Da. What about Nia, Keenan and Éamonn? Do they know what happened to me? Do they care?’
She shrugged. ‘There was no point in talking about it at the time. Keenan and Éamonn were mini versions of Da back then, although they’ve both changed since. Nia was too scared to talk about it. She married someone just like Da, poor thing. She isn’t allowed to wear make-up, to work, to have an opinion, or do anything that would make her a real person. I don’t really see much of her, but I do see the boys from time to time.’
‘Did any of them know about the baby?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. If they did, they never mentioned it. Father Doherty told me the baby died. I’m sorry about that.’
‘She didn’t die,’ I said. ‘They lied about that too.’
A tear trickled down Aisling’s cheek, and she swiped at it when I told her about Great-Aunt Nuala’s letter and my findings about her since then. ‘Just when I think that man can’t get any lower… Oh, Clare, you must have been to hell and back. And poor Daran. I liked him.’
My heart raced at the mention of his name. ‘We were going to get married. He gave me this, although I wear it on the other hand now.’ I stretched out my hand with the Claddagh ring on it.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said. ‘He must have really loved you to give up joining the priesthood, which makes the whole thing even more tragic.’ She bit her lip. ‘Oh Christ! You do know about him…?’
‘Yes. A friend Googled him and found out about Thailand. Discovering that he’d died and Shannon had lived made me determined to confront Da, which is why I was at the house today. I wanted answers. Fat lot of good it did me, though. I let him get to me again and bollocksed the whole thing up. Stood there like a right eejit, quaking in my boots.’
‘I’m sure you didn’t bollocks it up. Did you get any answers?’
‘Yes. I didn’t like them, but I got them.’
‘Then it’s mission successful or mission partly successful, isn’t it?’
&n
bsp; I smiled at my sister. ‘I suppose so.’
‘Purely selfishly, I’d say it was very successful because, if you hadn’t visited them, I’d never have spotted you and I’m absolutely thrilled to finally catch up.’
‘Thank you. Me too.’
‘If your man, Daran, had still been alive, would you have tried to pick things up with him?’
I shook my head vigorously. ‘No. It’s been too long. I still love him. I always will, but there’d have been so many regrets niggling away that I don’t know if we’d have made it. I thought about him constantly for years, though. I ached for him. I wrote long letters to him and posted them without Great-Aunt Nuala’s knowledge. I didn’t know where to post them, though. The only place I could think of was care of Father Doherty. Ma had threatened to call the Guards if I tried to contact him, but they obviously hadn’t knocked all of the rebellion out of me, as I wrote anyway. I have no idea if Father Doherty delivered them. I suspect not because Great-Aunt Nuala said she told him to destroy the letters that Daran sent me. I wonder if he did.’
‘Only one way to find out.’ Aisling knocked back the last of her orange juice and stood up. ‘Let’s go now.’
‘Where?’
‘To see Father Doherty and ask him about the letters.’
My eyes widened. ‘He’s here?’
Aisling pulled her coat on. ‘He’s in a retirement home about 10 minutes away. I visit him every few weeks. He sometimes asks about you, but I’ve never been able to tell him anything. He’ll be delighted to see you.’
‘Really? I know he tried to convince Da not to disown me but he still believed I was a sinner.’
‘I think you’ll find that old age and retirement have had a profound effect on our former priest. Come on.’
I followed Aisling into the car park. ‘Follow me. Are you ready to face your past now?’
Was I? I’d already made one failed attempt this morning with the parents but, as Aisling pointed out, I had got some answers, even if I didn’t like them. I’d also had an unexpected serendipitous moment in finding a sister who’d never stopped caring and trying to find out what had happened. Could Father Doherty hold more answers?
I opened the door of my hire car. ‘I’m ready. Bring it on!’
Chapter 16
‘Are you sure it’s okay for me to turn up unannounced?’ Seeing Father Doherty had seemed like a good idea in the pub but now, in the car park of the retirement home, it didn’t seem such an enticing plan. I’d already faced two of my demons and it hadn’t been pleasant. Was I strong enough to face the third?
‘And here was me thinking you were a strong, confident woman,’ Aisling said.
‘I am. I’m just thinking of Father Doherty. I don’t want him to drop dead of a heart attack at the sight of me.’
Aisling laughed and grabbed my hand. ‘I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.’ I followed her along a carpeted corridor until she stopped outside a door with the number 36 on it and a simple wooden cross. ‘Are you ready to face himself?’
I drew a deep breath. ‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’
She knocked on the door, then turned the handle. ‘Father Doherty? Are you home? It’s Aisling.’
‘Aisling? Is it yourself? Come in, child, come in.’
She pushed the door wide open and we stepped into a small hallway. We walked past a couple of closed doors, then into an open-plan lounge/diner/kitchen. He was reclining in an armchair by the window with a glass of sherry on a table beside him and classical music playing.
‘I’ve brought someone to see you.’ Aisling pushed me forward. ‘Someone from your past.’
He looked in my direction expectantly and frowned. He removed his glasses, opened his mouth, replaced his glasses, then closed his mouth. Still staring at me, he pressed his feet on the recliner to bring the chair to an upright position, then shuffled towards me. ‘It can’t be,’ he said. ‘Is it yourself, young Clare?’
I nodded.
He reached out his hands and took both of mine in his, then brought them to his mouth and kissed them. ‘I always prayed that I’d have a chance to meet you again one day and now the Lord has delivered you to me. Come and sit. Please.’
I looked at Aisling and she nodded encouragingly. I sat down on a two-seater sofa next to her as Father Doherty shuffled back to his armchair.
‘It really is you?’ he said.
I finally found my voice. ‘It really is me, Father. How are you?’
‘Blessed,’ he said. ‘Blessed to see that you have grown into a fine young woman after everything your parents and I did to you. I have dreamt I could make amends for so many years and now here you are like an angel of mercy, so you are.’
‘I’m confused, Father,’ I said. ‘You seem pleased to see me.’
‘Of course I am, my child.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’ve never been far from my thoughts for nearly two decades. I’ve longed to make sure you’re well and to ask for your forgiveness for the part I played in your exile. Tell me, how is the child? She’d be, what, 16 now? Does she look like you?’
‘You don’t know, do you?’
‘Don’t know what?’
‘Why do you think my da sent me to Cornwall?’
‘At first I thought it was so your baby could be adopted and you could return to Ballykielty. When it was clear that your da didn’t plan for you to return, I thought the plan was for you to bring up your baby yourself [away from the gossip and rumours in the village and give her a better start in life.’
I looked at Aisling but she shrugged and mouthed, ‘I thought he knew.’
I took a deep breath as I looked back towards Father Doherty. ‘Da was never going to let me keep the baby and he was never going to let me come home either. He did arrange for Shannon to be adopted, but then they told me it didn’t happen because she died shortly after she was born.’
‘She died? Oh no, child. That’s too tragic.’ He closed his eyes.
‘She didn’t really die, though, Father,’ I added quickly. ‘It was just a ploy to stop me finding her. She was adopted by another family, which I only found out a week ago, when I was sent a confession letter that my great-aunt Nuala wrote before she died.’
He opened his eyes. ‘Oh my goodness! I should have realised something was afoot when your da didn’t want to talk about his grandchild. He told me that he was in touch with you and had offered you the chance to return, but you loved it in Cornwall and wanted to stay.’
More lies. How could someone who claimed to be such a devoted Catholic lie as easily as breathing? I sat forward. ‘Can I ask you a question, Father?’
‘Of course.’
‘What happened to the letters I sent you for Daran? Did he ever get them?’
He sighed, then stood up and shuffled out of the room. I heard the sound of a cupboard opening, then he reappeared holding a cardboard box. ‘Here.’ He handed the box to me.
I opened the lid. On the top lay a large bundle of letters in various pastel-coloured envelopes, tied together with a piece of string. ‘My letters. You kept them! I take it Daran never saw them?’
‘I’m sorry, child. Daran was a good man from a good family. I wanted to protect him, and them, from scandal. If word had got out that he’d impregnated a minor…’ He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid your da threatened to contact the Guards if I acted as any sort of conduit between the two of you. I felt I had no choice. What good would it have done for anyone if he’d been arrested? It could have ruined both of you, and I only wanted what was best for you and the child.’
I pulled out another bundle from underneath. ‘These are for me. This is Daran’s writing. You didn’t destroy them?’
‘Your great-aunt asked me to, but I couldn’t do it.’
I stared at the bundles of letters, my emotions in tur
moil. ‘Did Daran know you had letters from me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he know his letters never made it to me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then why did he write?’
Father Doherty looked at me with watery eyes. ‘For the same reason that you wrote to him for all those years.’
I gently placed the bundles back in the box. It had been my way of keeping our love alive. It had also been my way of coping. If I hadn’t been able to hide away in my room for hours and write, I’m not sure I’d have got through it. It was comforting to know that Daran had done the same. It was further evidence that Da’s claims that I hadn’t been the only one were absolute bullshit. He wouldn’t have written dozens and dozens of letters if I’d meant as little to him as Da had tried to make out. And he wouldn’t have given me the Claddagh ring. I twiddled it again.
‘We were going to get married,’ I said. ‘He proposed to me on my 16th birthday. He gave me this.’
‘I know.’
I stopped fiddling with it. ‘He told you?’
‘He asked me to hear his Confession. Oh, child, you do know what happened to him, don’t you?’
I nodded. ‘I know.’
He sighed and shook his head. ‘Tragic. Absolutely tragic. I blamed myself for my part in him being in Thailand that day.’ He leaned forward in his chair. ‘He really loved you, you know. All I could think of in that memorial service was how I should have been strong and asked God what to do about the two of you, rather than being led by your da. If I’d done that, things could have been very different.’
We sat in silence for a while. I riffled through the letters, tears running down my cheeks, although I didn’t open any. I didn’t feel strong enough.
‘Your kids?’ I asked, turning to Aisling suddenly, wiping the tears away. ‘Who’s got your kids?’
‘Don’t you be worrying yourself about that. They’re with Finn’s mother. They stay there on a Friday night so I can have some me time, now that Finn’s living in Manchester. I’m free all night. I’m here for you.’
Dreaming About Daran (Whitsborough BayTrilogy Book 3) Page 10
