Where the Love Gets In

by Tara Heavey

  ‘What are these?’

  ‘Brochures. I was in the travel agent’s today.’

  ‘I thought we’d agreed we weren’t thinking about this trip for a while.’

  ‘No harm whetting our appetites, is there?’

  ‘How did it go this morning, Dad?’ said Tommy, as he sat down for his dinner.

  ‘Good. It went well.’

  ‘Did Star show up?’

  ‘She did.’

  Aidan had no idea why he didn’t tell Tommy about Star’s amazing feat. For some reason, he just didn’t feel like sharing.

  ‘Perhaps we could have her over for dinner.’ Fiona was clearly delighted with herself.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Sarah Dillon, of course.’

  ‘Well, don’t give her this.’

  ‘What’s wrong with it?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping the floor behind him.

  ‘Aidan! Where are you going?’

  ‘Out.’

  Rufus, a young, sleek-headed, black Labrador, scrambled noisily to his feet as soon as he saw Aidan heading for the back door and clattered after him, skidding on the tiles in his excitement.

  Fiona and Tommy looked after them in amazement, then at each other.

  ‘What’s up with him?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  Down on the beach, Aidan didn’t know what was up with him either. Except that he did. But he was damned if he was going to admit it to himself.

  He brought Sarah and Maia out again the following weekend. The wind had picked up and the sea was choppy. ‘I hope you don’t get seasick.’

  ‘Never. I’m a good sailor. I think I might have been a pirate in another life.’

  ‘Do you believe in that stuff?’

  ‘What? Past lives?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I suppose it’s no more fantastical than the idea of heaven. But, then, I don’t know if I believe in that either. And I’ve had cause to give the matter a lot of thought lately.’

  He could feel the weight of her gaze. Perhaps she was wondering if he knew about the cancer, leaving space for him to say something. He continued to stare out to sea. He heard her sigh.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Maybe we just break down into our basic components and become one with the earth again. I suppose that’s a kind of eternal life. Helping the flowers to grow. Being part of a flower. Or a tree. I guess I wouldn’t mind that.’

  He was looking at her now and she smiled at him. ‘I suppose you’re going to have your ashes scattered out at sea.’

  ‘That’s the plan anyway.’

  ‘Is that what they did with your father? Didn’t you say he was a fisherman too?’

  ‘He was. No, my father was drowned. They never found his body.’

  Sarah clamped her hand over her mouth, as if she were trying to prevent the words she had already spoken. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. How awful for you. And your family. Your mother.’

  He nodded. ‘She never really got over it. I think it was because they never found him. She could never fully accept that he’d gone.’

  ‘Did they love each other?’

  Aidan had never thought about it before. ‘I suppose they did. They had a lot of respect for each other, that’s for sure. My mother was the educated one. She was a schoolteacher. But there was never a question of her looking down on him. They had a very equal relationship – especially for those times.’

  Aidan heard his own voice and was astonished at his lack of embarrassment, talking in these intimate terms about his family and his past. It had been a long time since there’d been anyone new to tell.

  Sarah was still looking at him sympathetically. ‘How many in your family?’ she said.

  ‘There are four of us. I have three sisters.’

  ‘Really? You were blessed among women.’

  ‘Maybe I was. I didn’t always feel like that at the time.’

  ‘How old were you when your father died?’

  ‘Nineteen.’

  ‘Were you … with him?’

  ‘No. I was away at college at the time. Otherwise I might not be sitting here today. He was washed overboard by a freak wave. His name is on the monument at the end of the harbour beside the old boathouse.’

  ‘I’ve seen it – what was his name?’

  ‘Billy Ryan.’

  ‘I must go look at it again tomorrow.’

  Aidan nodded, remembering. He became tangled up in his own thoughts, until her voice brought him back.

  ‘Did it ever put you off becoming a fisherman yourself?’

  The question surprised him slightly. ‘Not really, no. The opposite, I suppose. It barely occurred to me to go back to college after the funeral – studying philosophy seemed a bit of an indulgence after what had happened, and somebody had to take over the family business. We had the boat repaired and I took up where my father had left off. I guess it was in my blood.’

  ‘In your blood?’

  ‘My grandfather was a fisherman too. And his father before him.’

  ‘Really? Here in Clare?’

  ‘Right here in this very village.’

  ‘How incredible to have such a sense of rootedness in one place.’

  ‘We’re not a very ambitious lot.’

  She smiled. ‘No, I think it must be lovely to feel that you really belong somewhere. We moved around a lot when I was a child and I didn’t like it one bit. Although, with hindsight, it helped me.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Well, having to reinvent myself in every new school I went to was good training for being an actress.’ She grinned at him. ‘You do know I’m an actress, don’t you?’

  ‘I just heard the other day – small-town gossip and all that. You can’t keep much quiet around here.’

  ‘No. I don’t imagine you can. Just as well I’m not planning to get up to anything while I’m here.’

  He looked away.

  ‘So you didn’t know anything about me when you brought me out before?’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘I hope you’re not going to treat me any differently now that you do know.’

  ‘Well, I’d been planning to throw you overboard but I’ll probably give it a miss now. It’d only show up in the tabloids.’

  She giggled, and he had a brief impression of how she must have been as a young girl. He could see her in Maia too, huddled in her customary position, rocking gently to the rhythm of the boat.

  ‘Do you think she’ll show today?’

  ‘She’s taking her time. Some days she’s just not interested.’

  ‘But you seemed so sure she’d come to us the last day.’

  ‘Ah. That’s what you have to say to the rich tourists. Keeps them sweet, you know.’

  ‘Ah, well. I’ll be disappointed if she doesn’t make an appearance. I had such high hopes after last time, but there’s always next week.’

  ‘I’ll take you out in the morning, if you like.’

  ‘I couldn’t ask you to do that.’

  ‘You didn’t ask. I offered.’

  ‘That’s really kind of you, Aidan. But are you sure?’

  ‘I’m positive.’

  ‘But you must have something better to do.’

  Their eyes locked briefly. They looked away. The silence became oppressive. He was grateful to the wind when it picked up again and gave them something to focus on. Maia whimpered as the dinghy careened up and down. She was like a tiny china doll in her massive life-jacket.

  ‘Hold on tight, ladies. We’re heading for home.’

  He glanced at Sarah. Oh, no. Should he tell her? He had to. He couldn’t let her walk around the town like that. ‘Sarah.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You might want to do something with …’ He tugged at his hair.

  ‘What?’ Her hands shot up to her wig, which was tilted at a decidedly odd angle.

  ‘Oh, God.’

  He averted his eyes as s
he adjusted it. No wonder her hair was always so perfect.

  ‘I suppose you know about the cancer too.’

  ‘I did hear something.’

  ‘Of course you did. And if you didn’t already know, that would have been a bit of a giveaway.’

  They started to laugh, and her momentary irritation dissolved before his eyes.

  ‘Are you better now?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, yes. It’s gone.’

  ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘Thanks. Only my hair doesn’t know it yet. It’s growing back curly.’

  ‘I’ve heard that can happen.’

  ‘It’s very odd. I never had a curl in my life before now. That’s if you don’t count a couple of bad perms back in the eighties.’

  ‘I remember those. My youngest sister came home one day looking like a poodle. We crucified her.’

  They were back in the harbour now. Maia in her arms, Sarah stepped up onto the pier and looked down at him. ‘Same time, same place tomorrow?’

  ‘I’ll be here.’

  Chapter 6

  Fiona had put on a suit that morning – a skirt and jacket. She wasn’t sure why. Just that it was in her wardrobe waiting to be worn. She was regretting it now. She felt stupid and exposed, as she always did when she revealed her calves. They remained her most childish feature – spindly. When she walked, they didn’t quite match in their movements. ‘Bambi legs’, an old boyfriend had called them. It maddened her that however confident and together she was from the knees up, her fragility was plain for all the world to see from the knees down.

  ‘Who’s next, Betty?’ She held out her hand for the file.

  Instead of passing it directly to her, Betty stood up behind her desk and whispered in her ear. ‘It’s her,’ she hissed excitedly. ‘The actress.’

  ‘Oh.’ Something to brighten up this dull afternoon of flu symptoms and lower back pain. She went out to the waiting room. ‘Sarah Dillon,’ she called.

  As her next patient ushered a little blonde-haired girl to her, Fiona realized that she was wearing a wig. Nobody’s hair could be that perfect. Not on a day like today, the sea breeze whipping up a frenzy. Fiona’s own hair had always been a mad cap of wayward curls. Shiny and chestnut – enhanced, these days. She pushed them behind her ears as she sat at her desk. She crossed her traitorous legs and leaned forward, her elbows on the armrests of her chair as the other woman led the child into the room and settled opposite.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ The words she had uttered twenty times a day for the last twenty years.

  ‘It’s Maia. She hasn’t been well. I think she might have this flu that’s been going around.’

  ‘Okay. Let’s have a look at her.’

  ‘Um, I’m afraid she doesn’t really like being touched. She’s autistic.’

  ‘I see.’ As she said it, it was immediately apparent to Fiona that there was something not quite right with the child. It was as if somebody had flicked on a switch. The agitation. The lack of eye contact. The way she was worrying a piece of string in her tiny fingers. ‘Can you describe to me her symptoms, then?’

  Fiona was half listening, half on autopilot. ‘That sounds more like a cold. I really am going to have to look at her, though. Is there any way we can distract her?’

  ‘Maybe try one of those little torch things you use for examining. That worked one time.’

  It did today. When they were almost finished, Fiona said, ‘I believe you’ve been seeing a lot of my husband.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I’m Aidan’s wife.’

  ‘Oh, of course. He told me his wife was a doctor. I never made the connection. You’re …’

  ‘Fiona.’

  ‘Fiona. That’s right. Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Likewise. Can you get her to hold still there for one minute? Thanks. So how are you finding village life?’

  ‘Oh, I love it. Could stay here for ever.’

  ‘You’re not, then?’

  ‘Unfortunately, no. I’m due to start a new job in September. But to take this amount of time off – I’ve never done it before. It feels so strange. As an actor, you feel you have to say yes to every role that comes along in case it’s your last. So that’s what I’ve been doing for years now. Back-to-back jobs. Don’t get me wrong, I love it, but you do need a bit of balance in your life. Well, I don’t have to tell you that, you being a doctor.’

  Fiona smiled in acknowledgement. Sarah Dillon was nice. Not the tiniest bit aloof. Unexpected.

  ‘Life has taught me a lot of lessons lately. About slowing down. Taking better care of myself.’ Sarah adopted a thoughtful expression. Fiona couldn’t tell if she was looking into the past or the future.

  ‘Would you like to come for dinner on Friday night?’ The words tumbled out of Fiona in a spontaneous rush of warmth. She watched Sarah’s face closely. The other woman’s eyes widened in surprise. Had she overstepped the mark? ‘I mean, only if you’d like to. We wouldn’t want to intrude …’

  ‘No, no. That would be lovely. You just caught me off guard. You don’t expect to visit the doctor’s and leave with a dinner invitation. Pills, perhaps.’

  Fiona laughed. ‘No, I suppose not. Look, if Friday doesn’t suit you …’

  ‘Of course it does. My social diary isn’t exactly bulging. I’ll have to bring Maia.’

  ‘Of course. I meant the two of you.’

  ‘Well, then, thank you very much, Fiona.’

  Fiona smiled at Sarah, then to herself. Something told her she could be friends with this woman. And that wasn’t a feeling she had every day.

  ‘I’ll need you home Friday night, Aidan.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  They were in their bedroom, getting ready for bed.

  ‘I’ve invited Sarah Dillon for dinner.’

  She was watching his back as she wriggled out of her skirt. It stiffened slightly and he hesitated for a few seconds before he pulled his top over his head.

  ‘You met her, then?’

  ‘She came to the surgery today.’

  He half turned to her. ‘Is she sick?’

  ‘No, no. Her daughter has a cold, that’s all. You never told me she had an autistic child.’

  Aidan shrugged.

  ‘That must be so hard. A single parent with an autistic child. And the cancer on top of all that. My God. You read about these people and imagine they lead such charmed lives but, Jesus, far from it. We’re so lucky, aren’t we, Aidan?’

  ‘We are. Does she realize you know so much about her?’

  ‘I don’t know. Probably. I’d say she’s used to it.’

  ‘You’re not going to ask her for her autograph, are you, on Friday night?’

  Fiona giggled. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Or sneak up behind her and take a photo of the two of you together? You with a silly grin on your face, she with a startled expression.’

  She laughed some more.

  He came around to her side of the bed and placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘You’re not going to start stalking her, are you?’

  She tipped her face up to his and he smiled at her. ‘You’re an awful eejit sometimes – but a nice one,’ he said, before he kissed her on the forehead and softly on the lips. Then on the neck.

  Afterwards, Fiona lay contented but also puzzled. There was something going on with her husband that she couldn’t put her finger on. The slagging before they’d come to bed: that was the old Aidan, but he hadn’t teased her like that for ages. She missed it. The sex too – normally she could read when he was going to make a move but tonight it had come out of the blue. Yet he seemed – she struggled with the word that kept coming into her head. Sad. He seemed sad. He’d clung to her as if he was afraid to let her go. It just wasn’t like him.

  Her mind wandered back to their first meeting. Right from the start he’d been the most self-assured person she’d ever met. His confidence, unlike hers, was real. It was one of his most arresting and attractiv
e qualities.

  That night she’d been out with her classmates, celebrating their qualification as doctors. She had reached a point in the night where she didn’t know any longer if she was happy or deflated. It was as if the elation had peaked and now had nowhere to go. It may have been the depressant qualities of the alcohol – her hangover starting already. She annoyed herself sometimes, she really did. Why couldn’t she be just plain and simple happy, on tonight of all nights? She – Fiona McDaid – a doctor. Dr Fiona McDaid. She allowed herself a little smile. Dr McDaid to A and E, please. That was better. She had peered at herself one last time in the cloakroom mirror and tucked a stray curl behind her left ear.

  Back out in the corridor, she had encountered a man puking his ring up. The direct result of a build-up of toxins in the liver, she thought merrily. She was feeling better already. She pushed through the door into the nightclub and was slammed by a wall of sound. Madonna. Feeling positively buoyant now, she began searching for her friends through the forest of variously jerking and swaying bodies. She liked it. The body heat, the sweet, damp smell of sweat, the closeness and intimacy of all those humans. The weird cosiness. A quality she often lacked in her personal relationships.

  The men’s heads turned to appraise her as she moved through the crush. Then, abruptly, the music changed. Oh, God: a slow set. Not the time for a lone female to be on the dance-floor. She quickened her pace, searching for an escape route, but bodies were blocking her. She thought she spied a gap and headed for it, but that was blocked again. By, of all things, a jumper. Or, more accurately, what her country granny would have called a gansey. It happened to encase a broad expanse of chest.

  ‘Are you busy?’

  She looked up into a pair of wild eyes. Blue, she thought, but she couldn’t really tell in the dark. ‘Busy?’ she said, feeling slightly stupid.

  ‘Do you have time for a dance?’

  Fiona examined the extraordinary face that was gazing down at her. The impression she had was of a pair of intense shining eyes above high cheekbones, a crescent moon of glistening teeth, and luxuriant reddish-brown hair on his head and in his beard. She surprised herself by nodding. What the hell? It was the end of the night. It would pass the time until she could locate her friends.