The Hawthorn Crown

by Helen Falconer

Carla scrambled out over the driver’s seat. ‘Nan, stop springing these awful things on him out of the blue!’

  ‘Dad!’ wailed Ultan. ‘Where’s Dad? Where’s he living now?’

  ‘Wait till I tell you—’ began Teresa Gilvarry, with evident relish.

  ‘NAN!’

  ‘Don’t “Nan” me! The lad needs to know the full story before we go any further. Now, you see that black-headed girl peeking out the kitchen window where she thinks we can’t see her? That’s your wicked cousin, Grainne McDonnell.’

  Ultan sobbed, ‘But I have no cousin Grainne.’

  ‘She was born after you disappeared, and God forgive me, she might be a real beauty but she was a bad ’un from the start. Your father was fond of her because she reminded him of a sister of his that died, and she took full advantage when he was left all alone.’

  ‘All alone!!!’ wept Ultan.

  ‘Nan, please stop this!’

  But Teresa ignored her and rushed on: ‘The little witch promised him to mind him in his old age if he would only let her use his savings to build a new house for the two of them in place of the old, and sign over everything to her in his will. I warned him: “Don’t let her do this to you, Jimmy McNeal! She only wants the money so she can persuade that gorgeous young man in the next valley to marry her!” And I also reminded him that your mother made him promise never to move from the old house, and always leave a place set for you at the table, because she knew the fairies had taken you away and that you’d be home again as soon as ever you could be.’

  Ultan choked out, ‘Mam said that? Mam knew what had happened?’

  ‘Your mother was always right, Ultan McNeal!’

  ‘She was, she was!’

  ‘But would your father believe it? No, he would not! And now he’s too feeble to care, and that little witch plans to sell the lot from under him …’

  ‘Nan!’ protested Carla.

  ‘Now be quiet, let me do the talking!’ The old lady marched up to the back door of the dormer bungalow and rapped on the glass with her knuckles. ‘I can’t wait to see the expression on Grainne McDonnell’s face when I tell her this is her long-lost cousin Ultan McNeal.’

  The expression on Grainne McDonnell’s face was one of extreme contempt. ‘I have better things to do with my day, Teresa Gilvarry, than talk nonsense about fairies. I have my fingers worn to the bone minding poor Uncle Jimmy.’ With a toss of her pretty head, Grainne indicated the white-haired, round-shouldered old man who was sitting inside at the table, slowly eating his way through a pile of bacon and cabbage. ‘And I am sick and tired of you coming round here upsetting the poor old man with your wild stories.’

  ‘Wild stories? Take a look at this remembrance card, then look at this lad – and then tell me it’s not Ultan McNeal you see before you.’

  Grainne took the card delicately between her fingertips like it might have germs, flicked her black eyes over it, laughed long and loud, then tossed it back to Teresa. ‘It’s not Ultan McNeal.’

  Carla’s grandmother went from triumphant to open-mouthed at this denial of reality. ‘How can you say that? The boy’s even wearing the same clothes!’

  ‘I don’t care how you’ve got him dressed up, Teresa, or how you’ve even had him made up to look like some poor boy who’s been dead these thirty-one years, since before I was even born. So get back in your car and go home. I’m not soft in the head like that daughter of yours who thinks she’s the Queen of England, of all places.’

  ‘How dare you! My Ellie’s not soft, she’s … she’s very imaginative!’

  Grainne jeered, flicking her long black hair, ‘And we all know where she gets it from – her “very imaginative” mother. I feel sorry for Dianne, so I do – it must be hard to be the only sane one of the family. Now get off my property and don’t come back!’

  Teresa drew herself up to her full height of one hundred and fifty centimetres, the pom-poms of her hat jiggling with indignation. ‘Your property, Grainne McDonnell? This land and house belongs to Jimmy McNeal, and when he dies it will go to this boy here and not to you.’

  Grainne screamed, ‘If you come here one more time, Teresa Gilvarry, I’m getting a restraining order against you!’

  Carla was cringing. She should never have let this happen. She shouldn’t have let her grandmother do the talking. This visit should have been about Ultan seeing his father, and now it had turned into a stupid fight about who owned what, and of course that woman was never going to let them into the house now. Look at poor Ultan – he was staring past the battling women into the kitchen, big sad tears rolling down his cheeks. Inside, the old man looked up from his dinner, his mouth slack and eyes bleary with incomprehension. Thirty-one years older than when Ultan had last seen him. Another heartbreak, for which no one had prepared the poor boy. ‘Nan, can we go back to your house for a while and talk? I really don’t think Ultan’s up to this.’

  But her grandmother was still at it: ‘It’s you who need restraining, young Grainne. Preying on senile old men with no one to mind them!’

  Grainne roared back: ‘He’s my Uncle Jimmy, and he has got somebody to mind him – me!’

  ‘Someone to rob him blind, you mean, and disinherit his only child!’

  In the kitchen, the old man was standing shakily up from his chair, his fork tumbling from his weak hand to the tiles. His niece, catching the tinkle of the cutlery, glanced sharply over her shoulder: ‘Uncle Jimmy, everything’s grand, you can sit down now. There, Teresa, I hope you’re happy now you’ve gone and upset the invalid. Uncle Jimmy, sit down!’

  But Jimmy McNeal was already shuffling towards the door in his slippers and baggy black trousers and cabbage-stained shirt. And on his lost, befuddled face was the strangest mixture of emotions. Agitation, confusion, bewilderment. But also …

  Grainne moved to intercept him, saying in a much kinder tone, ‘Uncle Jimmy? Are you all right? Are you having another stroke?’

  Without even glancing at her, the old man carried straight on out of the kitchen and across the tarmac. He was smiling broadly now, and his back was straighter, and a spring was returning to his step. Watching him in amazement, Carla thought it was as though with every step another year was falling from him until, by the time he was standing in front of Ultan, he could have been ten years younger than the man who had sat at the table hunched blankly over his bacon and cabbage. And when he spoke, his voice was strong and clear. ‘Have I died and you’ve come to meet me, Ultan?’

  Ultan’s tears continued to fall. He made a couple of attempts to speak, before choking out, ‘No, Dad, you’re definitely still alive.’

  ‘But then …’ Tentatively reaching up his blue-veined hand, the old man stroked the tears away from his son’s cheek, and felt the boy’s thick, auburn hair, his broad chest, his plump shoulder – testing his solidity; squeezing, holding. ‘Can this really be true? Are you still alive? Was your mother right?’

  Ultan sobbed as his father continued to pat him all over, ‘She was always right, Dad.’

  ‘But when she said you’d come back looking just the same as when you left us, I couldn’t believe her …’

  ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to leave ye both. I didn’t realize I was going to be gone so long. Poor Mam, she must have been so sad.’

  The old man said eagerly, ‘No, no, your mother wasn’t sad at all! She knew you were in a beautiful world, and that the fairies had stolen you away to the Land of the Young. She was happy for you, Ultan. Always happy. It was only me that doubted. It was only me that wept. Until this day. Until this hour. My son … I’m such a fool. Your mother was always right.’

  And the two of them fell into each other’s arms.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The little yellow sports car shot across the square, squealed right at McCarthy’s shop, and up the hill past the Gaelic football pitch. Past the three-storey Doherty mansion, behind its high white walls and tall, leafless trees.

  ‘Nan, slow down!’


  ‘I’m not driving too fast!’ snapped her grandmother, driving even faster. ‘I don’t know why everyone’s always telling me to slow down!’

  ‘No, I mean, I just wanted to look.’ Carla peered in through the wide, high gates as the car raced by. Snowdrops carpeted the mighty lawns. At the far end of the long yellow-gravelled drive, the high windows were blank, and the front door was closed at the top of the steps. Had Killian missed her? Had he been worried about her? Had he had sleepless nights? Poor Killian …

  Although if she faced facts, he was probably just furious at her for running off without a word. He hated it if a girl didn’t show him enough love – even though he would then dump whoever it was for being ‘too clingy’. It was amazing that he and Carla had lasted as long as they had. Five months! Four months and three weeks longer than any other girl …

  So he must have felt something special for her.

  Oh well.

  Even if he had, a boy like him could never survive three months without female adoration. And that Sinead Ferguson in particular was always after him – texting him, tagging him on Facebook. (And who could blame her? He was so beautiful, with his high, sharp cheekbones and his slanted silver eyes. And that heart-melting, brain-addling smile of his – the smile that Aoife mockingly referred to as his ‘boy-band’ smile.)

  The car roared past a field of bullocks and then the school – a long, low white building set back from the road. It was after school hours, but there must have been something on – a match, maybe – because a few straggling teenagers in green uniforms were still drifting out of the yard, bags over their shoulders. And there was Killian, his white-blond hair unmistakable!

  ‘Nan, stop!’

  But Teresa Gilvarry put her foot down, saying irritably, ‘I’m not going to hit any of them, darling, I’m a perfectly safe driver.’

  Carla, twisting in her seat, waved longingly out of the back window as the car zoomed on. Killian didn’t see her. He was too busy talking to … Aoife? For a moment that didn’t seem possible, until she remembered her grandmother had told her that Aoife had arrived home in Kilduff over two weeks ago.

  Aargh, poor Aoife! She must have been frantic when Carla hadn’t shown up in Kilduff right away. Just like Carla had been briefly frantic about Aoife …

  As soon as she got home, she’d phone her.

  The car careered down the other side of the hill to the Heffernans’ yellow dormer bungalow, shot up the drive and screeched to a halt. Dianne came rushing from the kitchen door as the two of them climbed out.

  Carla braced herself for more shouting.

  But instead of raging at her, her mother threw her arms round her and burst into tears: ‘I’m so sorry I yelled at you, I came all apart inside when I heard your voice like that. And then you cut me off and I thought I’d lost you again for ever!’

  ‘It’s OK, it’s OK, Mam.’ Carla felt like crying herself at how much her mother had changed in the last three months: fresh lines around her eyes and mouth; her soft brown hair with pale grey roots; and when Carla hugged her back, her ribs felt horribly bony under the unwashed baggy jumper. ‘I didn’t cut you off, Mam. Nan’s phone went out of charge and mine’s broken …’

  ‘I never realized how unhappy you were!’

  ‘I wasn’t unhappy, Mam!’

  ‘You were. I made Aoife tell me everything and I know you were bored with Kilduff, and stressed out by school, and just wanted to spread your wings.’

  ‘Oh, for—’ For the first time in her life Carla felt a stab of real fury at her best friend. Why on earth had Aoife been saying such things? ‘Mam, that’s not true. I love it here and I like school. Come on, let’s go inside, and I’ll tell you the whole story.’

  ‘Yes, wait till you hear!’ cried Teresa Gilvarry. ‘She wasn’t in Dublin with that Sheila girl after all, but in the fairy world having wonderful adventures with Ultan McNeal!’

  For a wild moment Carla hoped against hope that her logical mother might for once believe something irrational and impossible …

  But already Dianne was hissing through gritted teeth: ‘Don’t, Mammy. Don’t. I can’t bear any of your fairy talk right now. You destroyed my sister with your lunacy, and I won’t have you doing the same thing to my daughter.’

  Teresa bristled with fury. ‘Excuse me for existing, Dianne, but I just thought you might like to know that Aoife had us all totally fooled.’

  ‘Oh, go away and leave us alone!’ shrieked Dianne – who, like her own mother, had difficulty remaining calm under stress.

  ‘FINE, THEN DON’T LISTEN TO ME AS USUAL!’ yelled the old woman, throwing herself back into the car.

  As the little sports car screeched in reverse down the drive, narrowly missing the gatepost, Dianne clung even tighter to her daughter, weeping on her shoulder. ‘No wonder you ran away – we’re such a lunatic family, we must be impossible to live with.’

  Carla sighed, patting her. ‘You’re not a lunatic, Mam, you’re very sensible. Come on inside, and I’ll explain everything.’

  Yet when she and her mother were sitting facing each other on the long blue leather couch in the split-level living room, Carla couldn’t think where to start. If she told Dianne that Teresa had been right about the fairy world, it would play into her mother’s greatest fear – which was that one of her daughters had inherited the ‘family weakness’ and was going to end up in a mental hospital, like poor Auntie Ellie.

  Yet surely it should be obvious to her that Carla wasn’t mad …

  Ugh.

  With sinking heart, Carla remembered how she herself had flatly refused to believe anything Aoife had told her about fairies, and instead had gone around telling everyone that Aoife had had a nervous breakdown.

  And now here she was in the exact same position.

  Talk about karma.

  At least now she understood why Aoife had lied about Carla being in Dublin with some strange imaginary friend. Finding herself back in Kilduff alone, and not knowing when Carla was going to appear – if ever – Aoife had clearly been forced to tell Dianne something. And after her experience of Carla not believing her, she was hardly going to try persuading Carla’s even more logical mother about the Land of the Young.

  Dianne prompted anxiously, ‘Carla? I promise I won’t get angry with you, whatever you say.’

  Carla sighed. ‘I’m sorry – it’s just really difficult to talk to you about some things.’

  Dianne’s dark brown eyes filled with hurt tears. But she still made a valiant effort to stay calm and supportive. ‘I suppose I am a bit of a useless mother …’

  ‘Mam, you’re not useless.’

  ‘… so I understand if you’d prefer to talk to the counsellor.’

  ‘Counsellor?’

  ‘Not just for you, darling. I’m going to organize family therapy as soon as your father is home from England. It’s obviously our fault that you feel so trapped and miserable and misunderstood …’

  Ugh. Had it really been necessary for Aoife to lay it on so thick? This really needed sorting out. ‘Mam, can I borrow your phone a moment?’

  ‘No. You can’t.’ Dianne’s mouth tightened.

  ‘But, Mam, I really have to let Aoife know I’m home, and at the same time I need to get her to—’

  ‘No, Carla. NO.’ The rage came pouring back. ‘I’m not going to let you talk to that girl. You’re grounded. No social media, no phones.’

  ‘Mam!’

  Dianne ranted: ‘If the O’Connors had grounded Aoife after she ran away the first time, nothing like this would have happened. I don’t know why they act like she did nothing wrong, but me and your father aren’t going to make the same mistake with you. I’ve been regretting this whole time that I let you see Aoife again after she came home last October. And look how she repaid me – introducing you to some sneaky little cow called Sheila Cunningham …’

  ‘Mam, I don’t know any Sheila Cunningham!’

  ‘Carla, don’t lie to me! It just makes thin
gs worse!’

  Carla, hunched on the wide windowsill of her bedroom, gazed grimly out of her window across the rainy fields; the wintry sun was sinking through the gap in the mountains.

  Grounded.

  Way to go, Mam. This way I definitely won’t feel trapped and miserable and misunderstood. And I can’t even talk to Aoife, which makes things impossible to sort out. And I’m not even able to text Killian!

  Not that there was any point in texting him, given that he was probably (definitely) going out with Sinead Ferguson by now. Crap, crap, crap. In despair, Carla pressed her hands over her face. If only she hadn’t followed Aoife down through the Doherty grave to the fairy world …

  Ugh. Don’t be so selfish!

  Swallowing tears, she pulled herself back together.

  Of course she was glad she’d followed Aoife. What would her friend have done without her? Together, they’d killed a pooka, sending it tumbling into the river. Aoife had hit it with her fairy power, but it was Carla who had struck the last blow, with her oar …

  ‘Carla?’

  With a start, she came back to the present. ‘Zoe! I didn’t see you standing there.’

  The little girl – round-faced with brown curls: the dead-spit of Carla when she was five years old herself – trotted across the room. ‘Mam says you might want to play a game, like she and Auntie Ellie did in the old days when they were little and there were no phones?’

  Carla sighed, turning her head away and resting her cheek against the cold glass, then gazing out towards the dying light. ‘Not really.’

  Zoe’s reflection smiled hopefully at her from the window. ‘How about Fairies and Monsters? It’s a very good game.’

  ‘I’m sure it is, but I’m not in the mood.’

  A tremor entered the small voice. ‘But it’s a fun game.’

  ‘Zoe, go away.’

  Zoe shrieked, ‘You’re horrible, you’ve been gone for years and you didn’t come back for Christmas and you didn’t even come back for my birthday when I was sure you would, and you didn’t buy me a present and now you won’t even play with me!’