A Keeper

by Graham Norton

  ‘Let’s get you back to your room, shall we?’ Without waiting for an answer Mrs Foley put her arm around Patricia’s shoulder, the bones of her fingers digging into her flesh, and guided her with some force across the landing. Back in bed, the blankets were tucked tightly around her and then as she left, Mrs Foley smiled sweetly. ‘If you want anything just call.’

  Patricia stared at the ceiling as she heard the sound of a key turning in the lock.

  NOW

  She kept listening to the voicemail.

  ‘To hear the message again press two.’

  There was his voice, so calm and plausible as he lied to her. Life had taught her to doubt men but somehow she had always believed her relationship with Zach was different. Thinking back she realised that she had chosen to delude herself. She never quizzed him about his life or asked the really difficult questions, and she had to admit that was less to do with trust and more about her fear of what she might find out. Everything she knew about his teenage life came through the filter of what he had chosen to tell her. She remembered how she had sat quietly while Laura and Jocelyn at work recounted horror stories about their teenage sons and assured them that her relationship with Zach was different. ‘He tells me everything,’ she had told her friends. ‘We are more like roommates than mother and son.’ Elizabeth rolled her eyes, thinking what a gullible idiot she had been. She reminded herself to give Laura and Jocelyn permission to openly gloat and really relish hearing about the enormous slice of humble pie she had been served.

  Elliot had called her twice but with nothing new to report. Further messages had been left for Zach and now it seemed there was nothing to do but wait. As if reading her mind, her ex-husband patiently explained that the cops couldn’t help because Zach was no longer considered a minor, and hadn’t been gone for long enough to be classified as a missing person. Again she suggested that she come and join him but once more he convinced her that there was nothing to be gained. She should get on with what she was supposed to be doing. Having a task would take her mind off things. The problem was that she no longer had any interest in the original reason for her visit. Even without the rats she had no desire to go back up to Convent Hill. In the brief amount of time she had spent there, she had already realised that there was nothing she needed in those abandoned rooms, no souvenirs of a long-ago childhood that she wanted to take back to New York. What filled her mind apart from her son was the opportunity to learn more about her father and her own origins. Her mother had done such a good job of suppressing her past that Elizabeth felt like an archaeologist finding a chink of light in the tomb or the glimpse of gold beneath the layers of soil. Everything in Convent Hill was familiar to her, but now she had a taste of the unknown.

  Perhaps it was the dazzling low winter sun making the world seem simpler, or maybe it was just hearing the droning duet of Gillian and Noelle as they moved around the flat, but she found herself considering a trip. Lying fully dressed on her bed Elizabeth fondled the large key she had been given the day before. A greasy knot of string attached a crumpled brown label to it. The words ‘Castle House’ could just be made out in ancient biro. The thought of packing her car, planning her route, seeing where she had started her life, all seemed far more appealing than sitting in Buncarragh waiting for rats to die. An adventure would distract her and, in a way, deciding what to do with this new addition to her property portfolio was more pressing than clearing out her mother’s hoard of unwanted treasure. She couldn’t just ignore an entire house that belonged to her and surely, Elizabeth told herself, she should at least see it before instructing some County Cork estate agent to try and offload it for her.

  Extricating herself from her relatives was not a simple job. Elizabeth felt she was caught in a dense, sticky web of objections. This was not the time of year to be exploring the wilds of West Cork looking for her roots. Where would she stay? No B&Bs would be open this early in the year. What if there was a bad frost, or even, God forbid, snow? They didn’t grit the roads down the country. How would she ever find the place? Fancy phones and apps wouldn’t help her down there. Why was she going? What did she hope to find? The last question she left unanswered for she had no desire to tell these people any more about her life than she needed to. She made no mention of the will or her unexpected acquisition of Castle House. In order to negotiate her release from Buncarragh, she reluctantly agreed to give them her mobile number, hoping that, given it was an American cell phone, the fear of expense would prevent them from ever using it.

  Eventually she was behind the steering wheel. On the seat next to her was an unfolded map of Ireland provided by her uncle, which had the roads she was looking for highlighted in red marker pen – Noelle’s handiwork. Elizabeth waved at the Keane family lining the road outside the shop as if in a bad amateur production of The Sound of Music, and set off, letting out a long sigh of relief. She had only gone a few hundred yards past the bridge when she saw a familiar figure on the footpath. Rosemary was coming down the road with a red string bag of groceries. Her aubergine hair was being buffeted by the breeze and she was wearing a tartan overcoat that appeared to be for a much larger woman. She looked like an elderly children’s entertainer. Without really deciding to, Elizabeth pulled over.

  ‘Rosemary!’ she called through her open window. The older woman put her hand up to protect her eyes from the glare of the low sun.

  ‘It’s me. Elizabeth. Patricia’s girl.’

  ‘Of course it is. Sorry. I could hardly see you there.’

  ‘I’m heading down to Castle House.’

  Rosemary looked blank.

  ‘The Foley place, where you went to find Mammy.’

  ‘Well, good luck to you. All I remember is that it was a hell of a drive. It’ll be a lot better these days, mind you. All those new roads and you won’t be worried about the engine falling out of your car.’ She laughed. ‘What brings you down there?’

  ‘I just thought it might nice to see it once. My birthplace and all that.’

  Rosemary wrinkled her face, seeming concerned. ‘I see. But tell me, what do you think you are going to find?’

  Elizabeth was slightly taken aback. ‘Well, I don’t really know. I just want to see it, I suppose.’

  Rosemary nodded. ‘Well, don’t get your hopes up. I’ve always found there are far fewer answers than there are questions.’ She smiled and then slapped the side of the car with her free hand as if urging a recalcitrant horse on its way. ‘Drive safe!’

  The roads might have improved but the traffic hadn’t. It was mid-afternoon and the light was beginning to fade as Elizabeth approached Cork. It was going to be dark soon and she didn’t feel confident about finding Muirinish at night. Even if she did, where would she spend the night? She decided to follow the signs to Cork Airport, reasoning that there must be a hotel there and it would avoid her getting embroiled in the city traffic.

  Sitting on the bed in her plain room, she looked out of the window at her view of the brightly lit terminal building. Maybe she should have researched her trip a little more before setting off? It was doubtful she would ever make this journey again and somehow sitting in a hotel that could have been anywhere in the world seemed a waste. She inserted the charger into her phone and went to brush her teeth. Over the insistent growl of her electric toothbrush, she thought she could hear something. What was it? Her phone! She spat into the sink and rushed into the other room. The display was lit up. Zach!

  ‘Hello! Hello!’ Her voice pleaded with the phone for it to be her boy. A pause and then …

  ‘Hi, Mom.’

  ‘Zach …’ Elizabeth sat on the bed, heavy with relief. ‘Zach, where have you been? I, we, were so worried about you.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m fine.’

  ‘Never ever pull a stunt like this again. Oh, Zach. Why did you lie to me? Where the hell are you?’ Her relief was turning quickly to anger.

  ‘I’m with … I’m with my girlfriend.’

  ‘Girlfriend? I …’
She was surprised into silence. Was it awful that her first thought, beyond his safety or his whereabouts, was that her son was straight? She had mentally prepared for him being gay and told herself that she would be fine about it, but her relief on hearing the word ‘girlfriend’ suggested that maybe she had been lying. Once more she reproached herself for all the conversations she knew she should have had but avoided. Why had she been so scared? Was she homophobic? No, she really didn’t believe she was. Her problem was Elliot and the thought of him somehow being able to claim a victory. Well, he couldn’t. Zach liked girls. A silly grin spread across her face.

  ‘She lives out here and I just wanted to visit her.’

  ‘For God’s sake why wouldn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I was afraid you’d say no.’

  Elizabeth had to admit that the chances of that were pretty high. The thought of her son flying across the country to spend time with a family she had never met wasn’t the sort of thing she would have readily agreed to.

  ‘But Zach, you didn’t just do this without telling me. The emails. The emails you wrote from your father. What about them?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any harm. I just really wanted to visit.’

  ‘And, oh my God, I just remembered. Your version of Elliot claimed he’d reimburse me for your flight! Well, I will be holding you to that, Zach. You are going to pay me back every last cent, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Mom. You’ll get it all back. I promise.’

  ‘How did you think you were going to get away with it all? Zach, you aren’t stupid. You must have known I’d talk to your father at some point.’

  There was a silence on the other end of the line and then a simple, ‘I suppose.’ And it broke her heart. She could picture him so clearly in that moment. His head bowed, one shoulder jerking forward, a small shuffle of his feet. Elizabeth just wanted to hug him. Smell his hair and know that he was safe in her embrace.

  ‘Have you told your father?’

  ‘Yes.’ A slight pang. He had called Elliot first.

  ‘And?’

  ‘He’s going to drive down to collect me in a day or two.’

  ‘Where the hell are you?’

  ‘Sacramento.’

  ‘And who is this girl? How did you meet?’

  ‘I met her through school.’ A brief silence. ‘I really like her.’

  Elizabeth smiled. ‘Well, that’s good, honey. I’m glad. I’m also very glad that you are all right. You are never, ever, ever to do anything remotely this stupid ever again. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Mom.’

  ‘Call me when you get to your father’s, OK?’

  ‘Yes, Mom.’

  ‘I love you and I’m very happy you are all right. Don’t scare me!’

  ‘Sorry, Mom, I love you too. Bye.’

  ‘Bye.’ And as she pressed the little red button to hang up she began to cry. Her baby was out of danger. It was as if only now, when she knew he was all right, that she was able to admit to herself how frightened she had been. The mother that had sat for hours in the dark just listening to the rise and fall of her baby’s tiny chest, holding her own breath while she waited anxiously for each warm milky exhale – it turned out she was still that woman. Would it ever get easier? She doubted it.

  An hour later she was sitting at the bar downstairs with a large glass of red wine she felt she deserved. Instrumental arrangements of Coldplay songs filled the air and an anorexic artificial tree blinked in mild alarm by the entrance to the lobby. It felt odd to be travelling alone. No Zach to check on now, no academics made amorous by afternoon drinking and distance from their wives to try and avoid. For the first time in what seemed like a long time, she felt calm. Elizabeth sipped her wine and looked around. Four older women gossiping and laughing at a table, maybe a post-holiday catch-up, or were they heading off for a bit of winter sun? A couple of pairs of businessmen sat opposite each other, some nursing pints, others with cups of coffee. Elizabeth tried to guess which ones were really friends and which were colleagues thrown together by commerce. Sitting alone at the bar made her feel slightly conspicuous. She thought she might just have a sandwich in her room rather than face the dining room as ‘a table for one please’. She was just draining her glass and debating whether or not she should risk ordering another one, when she felt the familiar vibration in the pocket of her sweatshirt. The high-pitched alert from her phone made a couple of drinkers glance in her direction before she was able to tug it free from her pocket. Elliot. A twinge of guilt. She had meant to ring him first.

  ‘Elliot. Sorry. I was just about to call you.’ She made her way across the bar and out into the lobby.

  ‘Elizabeth. Hi. You’ve heard from him, right?’ She noticed his voice contained a little more irritation than relief at discovering the whereabouts of their son.

  ‘Yes. He called. What a little fool. All of this just for a girl.’

  ‘A girl?’ An odd question. Elizabeth had a slight sinking feeling. The calmness of a moment ago had disappeared.

  ‘Yes. That’s what he told me. He went to meet up with a girl.’

  ‘That’s all he told you?’

  ‘Yes. Why, what is it? Tell me.’

  ‘Try woman. As far as I can ascertain this girlfriend of his is in her mid-thirties.’

  Elizabeth gasped and thrust an arm against a metal pillar to steady herself. Her son was barely seventeen years old.

  ‘What? How do you know this?’

  ‘He told me! He thought it would make me less worried to know that he was with an older person! What should we do?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know. I could strangle him. He was just on the phone as if butter wouldn’t melt. Who is she?’

  ‘No clue. I remember the family name is Giardino. I’m driving down to the family home tomorrow to pick him up.’

  Giardino? Giardino. Why was that name so familiar to Elizabeth? Was it a celebrity? A store she went to? A student? The answer came to her with the sudden shock of walking into a glass door.

  ‘Michelle. Did he mention the name Michelle?’

  ‘That’s it! You know this woman?’

  ‘She’s the maths tutor that comes to the house.’ She stopped herself from adding, ‘the one you insisted I got.’

  ‘And you didn’t notice anything?’ His tone was accusing.

  ‘Do not try to put this on me. She just shows up every Thursday after school. Normally she leaves right after I get home.’ Elizabeth felt slightly nauseous. Michelle Giardino zipping up her padded winter jacket and then freeing her long dark hair from the collar, before calling out casually, ‘See you next week, Zach’ as she went to the door. Zach cross-legged on the floor with his textbooks spread out on the coffee table in front of him. The floor. The couch. Her bed. Had Miss Giardino been rolling around with her teenage son? Had Elizabeth been paying her to … she could barely bring herself to consider it … to fuck Zach?

  ‘Where did she come from?’

  ‘The school! The school recommended her.’

  ‘Well, you have to inform them immediately.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ But if she was being completely honest she knew she wouldn’t, or at least not at once. She hated talking to the office of her son’s high school. The judgement in their voices as they listened to her excuses for late payment of fees or the patronising way they explained the importance of attendance. She knew this would somehow become her fault. Only a bad mother would allow this to happen. Once more Michelle Giardino’s pretty face floated into her mind’s eye. A rage bubbled up inside her and she longed to reach out and smack the smug look off her face. ‘Well, at least now I know why he was keeping this whole thing a secret.’

  ‘It’s her I’m pissed at,’ Elliot said. ‘I don’t blame him. I mean, my first girlfriend was a lot older than me.’

  Elizabeth’s blood ran cold. Was that supposed to reassure her in some way? She didn’t know how to respond so simply chose not to. The silence be
tween them was interrupted by a slight crackle on the line.

  ‘I …’ He sounded as if he was going to try and comfort her or qualify what he had said, but then thinking better of the idea continued, ‘I’ll call again after I’ve collected him. The three of us can have a talk.’

  Elizabeth bristled. She didn’t like it when Elliot decided to resume the role of parent. Swallowing her irritation, she replied, ‘Yes. Talk then. Bye.’

  ‘OK then. Bye.’

  ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Thanks.’ A little weary chuckle and then he was gone.

  The next morning banished all memory of the blue skies and brilliant winter sunshine of the day before. Mottled grey clouds hung heavily across the damp fields while strong gusts of wind shook the bare branches of the trees. The dining room of the hotel was filled with disconsolate-looking guests sitting beside packed bags. ‘Delayed.’ ‘We don’t know.’ ‘Might be cancelled.’ The mood of the room and the lack of tables prompted Elizabeth to get some coffee in a paper cup and head out to her car.

  The road to Bandon was simple enough, but then she took a wrong turn in a village called Old Chapel and ended up on the top of a hill at a crossroads where nowhere she wanted was signposted. A group of windswept children peered at her over the wall of a school playground as she turned around and headed back to the village. This time she found the right way and was soon driving beneath the imposing stone walls of the ancient abbey in Timoleague. The road then seemed to head inland away from the coast and Elizabeth wondered if she had gone wrong again but then she emerged through a long tunnel of trees and found herself driving along a narrow causeway across what looked like a salt marsh. At the other end there was a humpbacked bridge that seemed to be almost hewn from rock. Beyond that there was a wider grass verge where she pulled over to check her map. Noelle’s red marker pen stopped at the village of Muirinish, which is where Elizabeth had told them she was going, but that was slightly inland. She knew that she needed to be by the sea. Peering through the windscreen she couldn’t see anything that resembled a house or even an entrance. Maybe it had been knocked down years before and she was now the proud owner of some rubble? Grabbing her handbag, she decided to get out of the car and explore a little on foot.