Where the Love Gets In

by Tara Heavey

  ‘I need you to know something,’ he was saying to her urgently.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I need you to know that it was never my intention to hurt anybody, as stupid as that sounds. Not you, not Tommy or your mother. And I know that I have hurt you all. Terribly. But just so you know. It was never my intention. You believe me, don’t you, Alannah?’

  She looked at him for a few seconds, then nodded. She didn’t have to ask herself what Sarah saw in him. She knew. And another thought struck her. A new and wholly surprising one: out of all the people her father had hurt, and after all the upset he had caused, the person who was suffering most was himself.

  Chapter 38

  Another three days and Helen’s holiday would be over. The two women clung to each other like limpets to a rock. This was the day that Helen had agreed to get into the water with Star. Sarah had worn her down as the sea erodes the cliffs.

  ‘But I’m scared of water.’

  ‘We’ll go to the cove. There won’t be any waves.’

  ‘But I can’t swim.’

  ‘You can wear a life-jacket.’

  ‘I don’t even like animals.’

  ‘Star’s no ordinary animal. You’ll like her.’

  Helen gave in. She had no choice.

  The day was clear and bright. The foursome walked down to the beach, hand in hand, Helen and Sarah in front, Aidan and Maia behind. Their collective emotions were mixed. Trepidation. Expectation. Nostalgia. Joy. They had arrived.

  Aidan helped Helen with her life-jacket, her discomfort almost palpable. He felt a little sorry for her. She had made him promise to leave his camera at home. She said she wanted no photographic evidence of herself in a swimsuit.

  ‘Come on, then.’ Sarah took her sister’s hand and the pair waded in.

  ‘I’m not going further than waist level.’

  ‘You won’t have to.’

  The water was calm, the life-jacket ridiculous. Star greeted them with a succession of impressive leaps and torpedoed towards them.

  ‘Oh, Jesus Christ.’ Helen froze as the dorsal fin sliced through the water in her direction.

  Sarah battled Helen’s urge to turn and run, linking her arm tightly and propelling her forward. ‘Come on. You’ll be fine.’

  ‘I’ve heard of dolphins pinning swimmers down to the sea bed.’

  ‘Not this one. She’s never harmed anyone.’

  ‘But it’s a wild animal. You don’t know what it’ll do.’

  Maia splashed ahead of them and was joined by the dolphin, sweeping and circling. Helen relaxed slightly as she registered the little girl’s lack of fear. ‘Maybe I’ll just watch for a while.’

  Sarah examined her face. ‘Okay,’ she said, let her go and waded forward a few feet, joining her daughter.

  Aidan moved up alongside Helen. ‘You all right?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, momentarily startled by his bare chest.

  They watched mother and daughter in the water. Maia was never so animated as when she was with Star. The two otherworldly creatures squealed at each other as if communicating on some level that only they could understand. Then, as was her habit, Star swam over to investigate the other humans with whom she was sharing her water. She swam right up to a rigid Helen, who screamed with a mixture of fear and excitement. The sound seemed to frighten the dolphin and, to Helen’s combination of relief and disappointment, she swam back to Sarah and Maia.

  Sarah was holding Maia now, her own body embraced by her daughter’s arms and legs. She supported her with just one arm, her free hand trailing lightly on top of the water. Star positioned her blowhole directly under Sarah’s hand, remaining several inches under the water. Then she blew bubbles into her palm, a rhythmic succession. Sarah looked down at Star, then back at Aidan and Helen. Are you seeing this? Then she brought her attention back to her daughter. Something was coming over Maia’s features. Something new and indefinable. Then the child lifted her head and did something she’d never done before. Maia laughed. The sound bubbled up through her body and emerged triumphantly from her throat.

  A bowl. That’s what it reminded Helen of. A great big bowl of stars turned upside-down over their heads. It was two nights later and Sarah had made them bring her to the beach. ‘Let’s lie down,’ she had said.

  So they had. On the sand. Soft and yielding, moulding themselves into it. Aidan, Sarah and Helen, in that order. Sarah said they should drink it in with their eyes and with all of their senses until they were filled with stars, full to the brim. Brimming with stars.

  It was like staring eternity in the eye, Helen thought. No getting away from it. She recalled other times in her life when she had looked to the stars. Outside her house in Minnesota at night: on the ground, the suburbs in all their determined ordinariness, and up above the heavens spreading outwards in all their terrifying glory. She had always chosen to duck her head back inside, to the utility room, the TV. She chose banality every time. Chose to ignore that she might be short-changing herself. But out here, with her sister, who had never taken the easy route either in life or out of it, Sarah wouldn’t let her get away with it. Would make her look.

  ‘You know we’re all made of stars, don’t you?’

  Aidan’s deep voice made Helen jump.

  ‘How do you mean?’ Her sister’s voice, softer and sweeter.

  ‘The only elements that have existed for ever are hydrogen and helium. All the other elements were created by applying massive amounts of heat and pressure to those two. And the only place in the universe, in nature, where that kind of heat and pressure exists is in the centre of stars. So, if everything on earth, including humans, is made up of those elements, then it follows that we must be made of stars.’

  Sarah laughed. ‘I like that. We’re stardust. All three of us. The whole world. Nothing but stardust.’ She stretched her arms above her head and luxuriated in the sensation. A shooting star fell across the sky. ‘That’ll be me soon.’

  Helen froze. Aidan said nothing. When it became clear to Sarah that her comment had been met by a resounding silence, she spoke again. ‘We’re going to have to talk about it sooner or later. If not for my sake, then for Maia’s.’

  ‘I’ll take her back with me to America. When it’s time.’

  ‘I don’t want you to do that, Hel. I want her to stay here.’

  Helen lifted herself onto her elbows and looked down into her sister’s face. Sarah’s eyes were closed. She seemed extraordinarily tranquil.

  ‘I want her to stay here with Aidan.’ Her tone was matter-of-fact. As if she were giving instructions as to her grocery requirements. Although how else she could have said it, Helen didn’t know. A fanfare of trumpets was hardly practical.

  Aidan was sitting up now, his elbows resting on his knees. The star-gazing session was officially over. ‘What about her father?’

  ‘He doesn’t want her.’

  ‘But he has rights.’

  ‘He’s coming to see me next week. We’ll sort it out then.’

  Aidan and Helen looked down at Sarah, her eyes still closed, then at each other, full of questions.

  ‘Where will he be staying?’

  ‘Don’t worry. He won’t be here long enough for it to become an issue.’ She sounded definite rather than bitter.

  ‘But, Sarah, won’t he want some say in his daughter’s future?’

  Sarah shrugged. ‘He’s never shown any interest up to now.’ She sat up and moved closer to Aidan. Helen watched as she laid a hand on his forearm and looked up into his face, which was still directed towards the ocean. ‘You’ll take her, won’t you?’

  The words were softly spoken, barely above a whisper. Aidan’s head moved around and he gazed down at her. Helen was almost jealous of the look he gave her.

  ‘I will.’

  Sarah hugged his arm and he pulled her closer. Was there anything he’d deny her?

  ‘And, Helen, I want you to be her other guardian.’

  ‘Have you re
ally thought this through properly?’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘But – I don’t mean any offence, Aidan – wouldn’t she be better off with family?’

  ‘I want her to stay here, Helen. She’s happy here. You wouldn’t want to refuse me my dying wish, would you?’ Sarah was looking at her intently, one corner of her mouth slightly raised.

  ‘Not another dying wish. You’ve had at least ten of them since I got here.’

  ‘It’s important to know when to press your advantage.’

  ‘It’s important to know when not to overdo it.’

  ‘Go on, Helen. Say you’ll be her guardian.’

  ‘Of course I will. I just think you should wait and hear what Mitch has to say about it.’

  Sarah smiled a placatory smile, satisfied that she had got her way again. ‘Now I’m going to make a sand angel,’ she announced, and lay down again, moving her skinny arms back and forth, a guardian on either side of her.

  Helen’s flight was an early one. Aidan drove them all to the airport, the sky still streaked with red. He didn’t say much. And neither, of course, did Maia, who lolled in her booster seat, half asleep. The two women were locked in their own private world. Fingers, memories, souls interlocking.

  ‘Do you remember the first time Daddy called you Sassy?’

  Sarah shook her head.

  ‘You were only about five, doing one of your shows in the sitting room. You kept popping out from behind the couch in different outfits. Wearing Mammy’s high heels. Gorky shoes, we used to call them. Do you remember? I don’t know why we called them that. You’d be doing your little song-and-dance routines. I was jealous of you even then. You were always so much more sparkly than me. And Daddy’s face when he looked at you. His little Sassy. I always wanted a name like that.’

  ‘It’s just a name, Hel.’

  ‘But it suited you so well. And it’s not just the name. It’s what was behind it. The affection.’

  ‘Daddy loved you too.’

  ‘I know he did.’

  They both thought of their father. One of them wondered if she’d see him again soon. The other hugged into her sister’s arm, as if never letting go of her would make a difference.

  They entered the departure hall on leaden feet. The women huddled together and spoke to each other urgently. Aidan took Maia to see the planes. She stood at the plate glass, fascinated. ‘Pane,’ she said, over and over. ‘Pane.’

  Sarah walked Helen up to the man who checked the boarding passes. He looked away discreetly as they cried all over one another. He was used to public displays of affection, although seldom so uncontained. Then they were separate. And the other travellers walked around Sarah as she took in her sister’s every last move. The clumsy way she removed her boots for the security man. The many times she had to walk through the metal detector, successively taking off more bits of jewellery. When it was over, Helen gathered up her belongings and turned to her sister one last time. Then she waved and was gone.

  Aidan was waiting for Sarah, hand in hand with Maia.

  ‘Pane, Mama,’ said her daughter. ‘Pane.’

  Chapter 39

  The house was still, but welcoming. It felt so good to be back in its familiar arms, among all her things, the colours she had chosen. Her paintings. Their furniture. Fiona ran her fingers around the curve of the dining-room table. Then she remembered the night that she had sat there and hastily withdrew to the kitchen, where the memories were of her family.

  She’d received no slobbery greeting from Rufus, which could only mean that he was out with Tommy. Fiona moved to the window. The sea was dotted with surfers. On the beach, a black speck zigzagged up and down. Rufus, following his mysterious doggy smells.

  Fiona smiled, satisfied. Her son was close by. She kicked off her sensible shoes and replaced them with daft fluffy slippers. Then she opened the fridge to see what crustiness awaited her. Not too bad. No offensive smells. A lot of Coke and too much beer. Many pork products. But considering he wasn’t expecting her, the place was in pretty good nick. She began to make herself coffee. Oh, the joy. Yvonne and her husband were lovely, had done everything in their power to make her feel welcome, but they knew fuck-all about coffee. It felt like aeons since she’d had a decent cup. She could have done something about it. Normally she would have done. She wasn’t the type of woman who balked at muscling in on somebody else’s domestic arrangements. But she hadn’t done so and she didn’t quite know why. She thought it was a confidence thing. Fiona McDaid – always so sure of herself. Not any more.

  It was good to be back beside the sea too. The proper sea. Wild and rough. Not the pathetic little seafront that Dublin had to offer. She’d missed the waves. The rushing. The rhythm. In. Out. In. Out. Odd, how something so powerful, so threatening, could also be so soothing.

  She had considered staying in Dublin for good. Thought long and hard about it. It made sense: nothing but an empty nest to go back to. And she wasn’t even from the place. God knew, there were plenty of locals willing to remind her of the fact even twenty years on. But she had come to the realization – the surprising one – that no matter what anybody else thought, the town now felt like home. And her house – she loved it. Perched on the edge of the Atlantic. Built on sand instead of rock. Vulnerable to rising sea levels. But she couldn’t leave. Wouldn’t. It was one of the few good things she had left out of her marriage. That and her children.

  She glanced down at her ring finger. It had been blank now for the best part of three weeks. In the beginning there had been a white ring of skin, but that had darkened now, after three weeks’ exposure to the sun, and merged into the rest of her hand. So soon.

  One of the black dots had stopped bobbing up and down on the ocean and was now walking up the beach, a white board under his arm, the black speck zigzagging rapidly behind him. Fiona stood up and away from her maudlin thoughts. She opened the fridge and took out the packets of rashers and sausages, already partly plundered. She wouldn’t normally have approved of such a breakfast. Wouldn’t normally approve of having such food in the house, but nothing was normal any more. And Tommy was always starving after he surfed. Besides, she felt like spoiling him. They’d never been apart for so long. And soon he’d be gone permanently. She banished the thought as she positioned the rashers on the grill pan. At least this was healthier than frying. And he wasn’t having Coke. He could wash it all down with the freshly squeezed orange juice she’d bought on the way home.

  The back door opened and Fiona smiled to herself. Rufus skittered into the room, his tail a blur. It was either Fiona he smelt or the rashers. Either way, he skidded about in a state of high excitement. Tommy walked in stiffly behind him, his face wary, as if not knowing what or whom to expect. Then he saw Fiona and broke into smiles.

  ‘Mam.’ He walked impulsively to her and hugged her awkwardly, his board still under his arm.

  ‘You’re all wet,’ she squealed, as he squeezed her. When had he become a man?

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right, but next time take your wetsuit off before you come into the house.’

  ‘I will.’

  There she was, reverting to type already, poor Tommy barely in the door. She could hear herself but it was as if she couldn’t stop herself. Back in mother mode already, having been in friend mode for the last couple of weeks. She believed herself to be far less of a pain in the arse as a friend than as a mother.

  She was aware that part of the reason she was being so bossy now with Tommy was because of how he had seen her before she left. So broken. Helpless and weak. She wanted to dispel that image for ever. For both their sakes.

  ‘Something smells good,’ he said.

  ‘The rashers and sausages you’ve been buying since I’ve been gone.’

  Tommy looked sheepish.

  ‘You may as well finish them up. Get them out of the house. I don’t suppose a vegetable passed your lips the whole time I was away.’

  ‘I ate two ra
w carrots yesterday.’ Tommy was defensive.

  ‘Did you? Good man. Go up now and get changed and this’ll be ready for you by the time you get down.’

  Fiona began to hum to herself as Tommy went upstairs. Her movements were almost jaunty as she set the table for her son. She was feeling so much better now. She’d got her role back. Her groove. She grinned and put on the radio. Something cheery. Happy background noise.

  Tommy came down, his hair towel-dried and sticking up wildly. He sat down eagerly at the table.

  ‘Would you look at yourself? What have you done with your hair?’ Fiona fussed around his head.

  ‘Stop!’

  ‘I’m just flattening it down.’

  ‘Don’t use your spit.’

  ‘I’m not. Don’t be ridiculous. My God, Tommy. You’d need a wire brush to get through this lot.’

  ‘Ah, will you stop it, Mam? I’m starving.’

  ‘Always thinking about your stomach.’ Fiona assembled his mixed grill and put the plate in front of him, simultaneously planting a kiss on the side of his face.

  Tommy began wolfing it down immediately. Fiona sat next to him with her muesli and another mug of coffee. He looked astoundingly healthy for a boy who’d been fending for himself over the last fortnight. She felt a pang that he could survive so well without her – but proud too. No doubt his healthy glow was down to the fresh air and exercise he’d been getting in the surf. She hoped it had been a good life they’d given their children, here, on the edge of the roughest of elements. She thought it was.

  ‘So,’ said Fiona. ‘The house is still standing.’

  He nodded, his mouth full.

  ‘Did you have many people over?’

  ‘A few,’ he managed.

  Which, thought Fiona, could roughly be translated as ten to twelve. ‘Male or female?’

  ‘Mam!’

  ‘Well, a mother likes to know these things.’

  ‘A mother likes to hear what she wants to hear,’ said Tommy.

  ‘Cheeky so-and-so.’ Fiona pretended to be taken aback, but there was a smile in her eyes.

  ‘I’m glad you’re back, Mam.’