The House On Willow Street

by Cathy Kelly

  “I promise you,” Father Edgar said with his lovely smile, “I shall have antlers this time next year!”

  Suddenly, Kitty giggled. “I’d love to dress Silkie up. And Lady.”

  “Bet you Edgar won’t dress up next year, though,” said Mara.

  “Bet you he will,” said Zach.

  “He won’t.”

  “He will!” shrieked Kitty.

  Everyone joined in, even Father Liam and Denis, and soon the mood was as light as a feather.

  Zach put on music Kitty liked and set up an impromptu disco, Mara produced balloons and a balloon-bouncing competition was begun, hampered slightly by the holly sprigs’ propensity to burst all balloons. Silkie quite liked having a tinsel collar, a reindeer outfit not having been located.

  Even Helen perked up a little at this, although Danae suspected the gin might have played its part.

  When everyone was worn out, Danae planted a gentle kiss on Kitty’s forehead: “Why don’t you teach lovely Father Edgar how to play Monopoly? I don’t think he knows how, but I bet if you and him gang up on everyone else, you’ll win.”

  “Yes,” said Edgar gravely, “I have no idea how to play. This game was not in my house when I was a child.”

  “Oh, it’s very easy, really,” said Kitty. “Kneel down on the floor here—it’s best to kneel down. Now, I always like being the boot, because that’s the best thing. And Zach is always the racing car and Dad . . .”

  “Could I have another drink?” said Helen.

  “Of course you may,” said Danae, “but listen, Helen, this is a very relaxed household, so whenever you feel like one, head on into the kitchen and help yourself. Is that all right?”

  “But I wouldn’t want to impose,” said Helen tremulously.

  “You wouldn’t be imposing at all,” said Danae. “You’re among friends here.”

  When Rafe came up later he found a heated game of Monopoly going on. Bing Crosby was singing “White Christmas” and the smell of amazing food scented the whole house. “I’ve just had Christmas lunch,” he said, “but I think I could stay for this too.”

  “You’re welcome to,” said Danae, who’d come to be very fond of Rafe on his visits to the cottage. He was such a kind man, she felt, and he was so good to Mara.

  Mara led him off into her bedroom to give him his present. “We’re supposed to be doing presents after dinner, but you mightn’t be staying.”

  “I might well be staying,” he said, and shut the door.

  “Everyone will think we’ve come in here for more than exchanging gifts,” Mara said.

  “We’ll be quick then,” said Rafe, taking her face in his hands and kissing her slowly, languorously.

  “Wow!” Mara said, when they both came up for air. “That could be my Christmas present. I don’t need anything else.”

  “Well, it isn’t,” he said, and he produced something wrapped in tissue paper. It turned out to be a dolphin carved by the man who’d carved Danae’s beautiful she-wolf.

  “You see, you’re a dolphin,” he said. “I like to imagine what sort of animal everyone is, and you’re a dolphin. Beautiful, intelligent, wild, free, affectionate, something people love to look at.”

  Mara didn’t know why, but her eyes filled with tears. There was something so beautiful about being described as a dolphin. “Is that really how you see me?” she said.

  “Oh, I see you as so much more, but in animal form, yes, you’re a dolphin. You know, they’re my favorite creatures,” he said. And when they kissed this time, they were a lot slower coming up for air.

  “My present seems very boring in comparison with yours,” Mara said. It was an old motorbike manual she’d tracked down on the Internet. But when she handed it to him, she watched his face break into a delighted grin.

  “I can’t believe you found this! I’ve been trying for years to get hold of a copy—they’re like gold dust.”

  “Ah yes, well, some of us are better on computers than others,” Mara teased. “Come on, we better go back out to the others.”

  Nobody wanted to leave the table after dinner, they were all having so much fun, talking, laughing, pulling crackers, saying they were too full even to move.

  “We should go for a walk, you know,” Danae said.

  “I don’t think I could,” said Rafe. “I’ve had two Christmas dinners. I don’t think I’ll be able to walk until next week.”

  “This has been amazing,” said Tess, tears welling in her eyes as she looked gratefully at Danae and Mara. “Thank you, thank you.”

  “No,” said Danae, “thank you. I think this has been my best Christmas in a very, very long time.”

  22

  Cashel had flown back from Courchevel with a smile on his face and a feeling that maybe life wasn’t so bad after all. Sherry had given him her number and he’d promised to call her and take her out to dinner next time he was in London. She’d held her card in her hand for ages before giving it to him.

  “Don’t mess with me,” she said, as coolly as she said everything. “I’m not into wasting time, so if you’re not planning on ringing me, Cashel, I won’t give you the card. Let’s cut out the ‘will he/won’t he’ bit in the middle, right?”

  “Is this how you do business?” Cashel said, impressed.

  “Yes, this is precisely how I do business,” she said crisply, “and it works. I don’t bullshit other people and I don’t expect them to bullshit me.”

  “Point taken,” Cashel said. “I promise you, I’m not one of those men who doesn’t keep his word.”

  She handed him the card and he took it without their fingers even touching. It had been a long time since he’d felt attracted to somebody and it felt good, normal. Maybe he was getting over this misery that had been affecting his head for so long. The darkness that had settled when his mother had died. Perhaps Sherry might come over to Ireland for a weekend and he could show her Avalon House. That’d be fun he thought, he’d be proud to show it to her. To show her the town and say: “This is where I came from, one of the smallest cottages, right at the bottom of the hill.”

  “And now you’re buying the big house,” he could imagine her saying, a certain admiration in her voice.

  Sitting on the plane, flying back to Dublin, he felt a surge of embarrassment at this thought. It was so predictable, wasn’t it? The local boy who makes good, then wants to come back and buy up the town.

  Maybe he’d been crazy, maybe what he’d felt for Tess Power all those years ago had affected his brain. Perhaps he should stick the house back on the market and forget about it. Forget about the plans and the builder and the architect and his mad new Avalon assistant, Mara, although she made him smile. He could offer her a job in his empire, she’d fit in anywhere. She said she’d wanted to move to London, but he could offer her a place in New York perhaps. She’d like that. Get both of them away from Avalon and the past.

  The Avalon Hotel was full. “Sorry,” said Belle when he called. “I rang your assistant in London to check if it was all right to rent the suite for one night because we were having a big party, and he said you’d be in London, so it was fine. It’s the New Year’s Eve celebrations. I can get you back in your normal suite on New Year’s Day? Three o’clock? Two o’clock if you’re lucky!”

  “That’ll be fine,” he said. “I’ll stay with my brother. Remind me to fire that assistant.”

  “Don’t be so mean,” said Belle firmly. “Poor fella thought you were going to be in London. He’s not psychic!”

  Cashel felt wrong-footed from the first. He didn’t like New Year’s Eve. It was the emotional equivalent of end-of-year-accounting: when you worked out what had gone right and what had gone wrong. Sobering, horrible and not a good time to be alone.

  He phoned Charlotte and asked to stay. Riach, Charlotte and the children were planning to go to a fireworks display down on the quay.

  “Come on over and we’ll all go.”

  “Okay,” said Cashel, “that sounds
good. Maybe we’ll grab some dinner first.”

  “I was going to cook,” said Charlotte.

  “You’re always cooking,” Cashel said kindly to his sister-in-law. “Have a break, let me treat you.”

  The fireworks were amazing, thirty solid minutes of unbelievable spectacle against the backdrop of a clear night sky. The children had loved it. He’d put little Martina up on his shoulders because at four she was the smallest and couldn’t see. She was a little angel of a child, with dark hair, green eyes and the most loving nature. If children chose their parents, he was glad this little angel had chosen Charlotte and Riach, because they adored her. “Now,” he said, “isn’t that wonderful?”

  “Yes,” she said in her soft voice. “It’s like fairyland.”

  Yes, he thought, it is like fairyland. He held on to his little niece even more tightly to make sure she never fell off.

  The next morning he was up early, not sure what to do with himself. He’d sent a Happy New Year text to Sherry and had one back, as well as a mad one full of exclamation marks from Mara. The children were up, so he fixed them breakfast thinking that Charlotte and Riach could have a bit of a lie-in for once. Eddie, his eight-year-old nephew, wanted to play on the Wii but Martina wanted to watch Dora the Explorer. A fierce battle ensued with Cashel only barely able to referee it.

  “God,” he said when Riach came into the sitting room to see what all the noise was about, “I thought that industrial negotiations were tough.”

  “There’s nothing tougher than negotiating with a four-year-old. Trust me,” said Riach, and went on with the wisdom of Solomon to allot half an hour to Dora the Explorer and then half an hour to the Wii before suggesting everyone get up and out and have a good walk in the beautiful, fresh air.

  “Good plan,” said Cashel. “I think I’ll head up to the house, see how things are coming along.”

  “We could all go?”

  “No,” said Cashel, “it’s not really safe for the children. They’ll probably want to go inside, and Lord knows what state it’s in. No, let’s wait till it’s had a bit of work done and it’s totally safe, then the kids can come up. I’m going to take a quick walk around by myself, to see what’s going on.” To see, he thought privately, if it was worth holding on to: if it held the same fascination for him as it had before.

  He’d go to his mother’s grave and talk to her too. It would be like making up for lost time, for the years when he couldn’t tell her everything.

  He probably never had told her everything, he thought sadly. What son ever did? There were always a few secrets, things you were ashamed of or things you couldn’t tell your mother. Things like how hurt he’d been by Tess Power, how she’d delivered a body blow from which he’d never quite recovered. Even though he’d not told his mother the details, she’d spoken to him about it often enough.

  “Don’t let your pride stand in the way,” she’d said to him at the start, in the time he was away traveling, when he would call home from a pay phone on a crackly line every month or so. Tess was alone, her father had died, and she’d had to sell the house, his mother said.

  And then his mother had stopped saying that and stopped mentioning Tess at all, and Cashel hadn’t asked, too proud to lower his guard. It wasn’t until he arrived back in Avalon eighteen months later, Tess’s image still engraved on his heart, that he found out why. Riach was the one who told him.

  “She’s married now—nice fella, carpenter, you’d like him,” he said.

  Riach was never one for beating about the bush.

  “I’d like him, would I?” said Cashel drily to his brother. “Yeah, sure, love him already.”

  “Well, you had your chance,” said Riach.

  “No I didn’t,” said Cashel. “She made that very clear by what she did.”

  “God, but you’ve turned into a hard man, Cashel Reilly,” said Riach. “I wouldn’t like you for an enemy.”

  And Cashel had felt bad then. But when he’d found out that Tess was pregnant, that was the final blow. He’d never forgiven her for breaking his heart. Her actions showed that clearly he was the only one who’d really believed in their love.

  As he drove through the town square, Cashel was astonished to find that the café was open and busy. The woman who owned it was very chatty and charming, and it was hard to resist the fabulous pastries that sat invitingly on the counter.

  Brian was less scared of Cashel than he used to be. Until recently, Cashel wouldn’t have noticed, but he was beginning to pay more attention to the effect he had on people around him. It was that minx Mara, he thought wryly. She had a way of speaking to him like an equal, reminding him he was an ordinary man after all. Being Master of the Universe was all very well, but when you came back to your hometown, the place you’d run around as a grubby schoolboy—then you came back to what you’d been all along.

  “Grand morning, isn’t it?” he said to Brian behind the counter.

  “Er yes, lovely, lovely. No rain forecast or anything,” stammered Brian.

  “Tell me, Brian,” said Cashel, “have I ever said a cross word to you in all the time I’ve been coming in here?”

  “No, Mr. Reilly,” said Brian.

  “And you can call me Cashel.”

  “Fine, Mr. Reilly . . . er, Cashel.”

  “Seriously, have I ever said a cross word? You seem terrified of me.”

  Brian busied himself being a barista, giving himself time to think. Finally, he said, “It’s just, you know, you have that look.”

  “What look?”

  “The look of someone who’s in charge and, and could buy up the whole town and everything,” Brian said fearfully.

  “I’m not going to buy up the whole town,” said Cashel, exasperated. “I’ve bought Avalon House, that’s all. And if I’m going to live there, we are going to have to get to know each other better, Brian, so that when I come in here, you’re not scared of me.”

  Brian looked as if he couldn’t quite believe this.

  “Fine, Cashel,” he said, and put the Americano down on the counter. “Would you like a pastry?” he added daringly. He’d never asked this before.

  Cashel did not look like the sort of man who’d so much as glance at a sugary pastry, as if such beautified cake things would be beneath him. No, he looked like he might tear bricks apart with his bare hands and bite them in half like a Viking raider.

  “Do you know what?” said Cashel, scrutinizing the selection. “You’ve tempted me. I’ll have that apple Danish over there.” He looked up at Brian. “How come you have such nice cakes, today of all days.”

  “The recession,” Brian said simply. “People are willing to work all the hours to get their businesses going. These are made out the Dublin road by a Polish couple—they do amazing cakes.”

  “I love entrepreneurs,” said Cashel, smiling.

  “Me too,” said Brian.

  His mother would be delighted. He was doing conversation—so there.

  On New Year’s Day, Zach and Kitty were going with their father to Dublin to visit an indoor funfair. As a family, they’d often done this, but this would be the first time they’d gone without Tess—and with Claire.

  Even though she’d never really liked the funfair and hated watching Zach and Kevin on the terrifying roller coaster, today Tess wished with all her heart that she were going. Not necessarily with Kevin or Claire, but with Zach and Kitty. It felt wrong to start the new year by having her children go somewhere to enjoy themselves without her. There was a huge hole inside her at the thought that, from now on, they’d be enjoying things, seeing things, going places without her.

  Separation was so hard. If only she’d known what an abyss lay ahead of her, she mightn’t have suggested it. But then, she thought, this was a new year, there was no point looking back. She fixed herself her second cup of coffee of the day and looked at Silkie, who was lying in her bed in the kitchen, looking forlorn, big, dark eyes pools of misery.

  “Will we go fo
r a walk?” she said.

  It was icy cold but still a beautiful day with the low winter sun bright in the sky. Cashel was around the left-hand side of the house, looking up at windows that were broken and thinking what a complete nightmare it was all going to be. Freddie the builder had explained that it took a long time to get proper windows made, in the original style, with double glazing.

  “It’s going to be difficult,” he said. “It can be done, but it’s slow and it’ll cost you.”

  “That’s fine.” Cashel waved him away. “Do up an estimate, I want to know the price of everything. No little add-ons afterward, mind,” he said grimly.

  “No, no, not at all,” said Freddie, chastened. “I’d never do a thing like that.”

  Suddenly, a dog sprinted around the back of the house, some sort of miniature greyhound, a streak of fawn, with lolloping ears. The dog launched itself straight at Cashel in delight. Jumping and licking and desperate to be petted, barking crazily.

  “Down, girl, down,” said Cashel. “Calm down now.” He held the dog against him and petted its quivering flanks. “You’re a beauty, aren’t you.”

  “Silkie, where are you?” called a voice, and Cashel stiffened. He’d recognize that voice anywhere. He turned and saw her coming toward him: Tess Power.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said and stopped a distance away. They hadn’t spoken for nineteen years.

  “Yes, it’s me,” he said. “I own this now.” Then he felt sorry for such a cheap shot.

  “I know,” she said tautly, then she called the dog: “Silkie, come on, we’re leaving. I’m sorry, I never come here, I wanted to today for some reason, I don’t know why.”

  “You never come here?” Cashel said, intrigued.

  “No,” she said. “Why would I want to?”

  He walked closer to her, Silkie dancing around him.

  Tess glared at her dog, who was behaving so disloyally, cavorting with the enemy.

  “Silkie, come here,” she hissed, but Silkie wouldn’t obey, delighted to have found somebody new to play with.