Elizabeth hesitated for a moment and then, trying to summon a calm voice, said, ‘I can’t speak to you right now.’ And hung up. She sat staring in disbelief at the screen of her phone.
Brian touched her arm, unsure of what had just happened.
‘Are you all right?’
Elizabeth turned to him and then they were kissing. A mad, hungry embrace that owed as much to despair as desire.
THEN
Staring up at the ceiling, or slowly tracing patterns on the wallpaper with her finger, Patricia could no longer name the days. Each morning the curtains were opened and sometimes the sun crept into the bedroom throwing warm pools of light on the threadbare carpet. Leaning forward, Patricia could catch a glimpse of blue sky.
The night sweats had stopped and every day she felt a little better. Mrs Foley continued to deliver trays of food and a banal commentary on the weather and life on the farm. Apparently some calves had been born. As Patricia grew stronger the bubble of rage inside her increased. She had done nothing wrong and she wanted to go home! Why was Edward so afraid of his mother? What was stopping him from just driving her to Buncarragh?
‘Mrs Foley, you know I have to go home? You understand that, don’t you?’
‘Oh child, of course I do, but you aren’t well enough to travel. I don’t think you realise how unwell you are.’
‘I’m well enough to sit in a car,’ Patricia replied angrily.
Mrs Foley’s nostrils flared indignantly. ‘Oh, and you think Teddy has time to drive you all the way up the country?’ She snorted with laughter. ‘That boy is busy, very busy, working all the hours that God sends. And what for? So that you can lie up here like some princess being waited upon, hand and foot! You have some nerve, young lady.’ And with that the old lady swept from the room, slamming the door behind her.
For the first time in what seemed like weeks Patricia felt more like her old self. If no one was going to help her then she would sort this out for herself.
She remembered that in her Enid Blyton books they were forever making ropes out of sheets. There were only two on her bed. She doubted they would reach the ground and even if they did would she have the strength to climb down them? It was unlikely. What if she just jumped? It was only the first floor after all. Looking down, though, the drop seemed much bigger than it did from the outside. What if she broke a leg, or even sprained an ankle? There would be no leaving Castle House for months.
An escape in the dead of night was another option. Patricia considered her chances of success. Would the noise of the stairs wake the old woman? And if she did manage to make it downstairs she didn’t know what she’d do if the doors were locked.
That night, after she had picked at her dinner of boiled ham and cabbage, the same as the first meal she had ever had in the house, she recalled, Edward came into her room with a single cup of tea.
Patricia sat up to take it and as he handed it to her Edward sat on the side of the bed.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Edward, I can’t. If you cared how I was feeling, you would let me go.’
‘I can’t do that. My mother wants you to stay.’
‘Speak to her!’ she implored, touching the sleeve of his jumper.
He sighed. ‘I have. I’ve told her we should let you go home.’
‘And?’
‘She’s scared you’ll go to the guards.’
Patricia felt so stupid. She had been so fixated on trying to leave and get back to Buncarragh, it had never crossed her mind that what was going on here was a crime. She could just phone the police. Her heart was beating faster. Something in her face must have betrayed what she was thinking, because Edward grabbed her arm and stared into her eyes.
‘You wouldn’t, would you? You’d never go to the guards?’ He tightened his grip.
‘You’re hurting me,’ she said, trying to squirm free.
‘It would finish her. She … please, I will sort this out. Please, if you can just be patient, I will get you out of here. She has been through so much and she just wanted this so badly. I’m sorry that it had to be like this.’ He dropped her arm and picked at the candlewick bedspread nervously.
‘Your mother is mental, Edward, she’s the one that needs locking up. She should be in a home!’
‘You don’t understand. She has been through so much.’
‘What? What has she been through?’ Patricia spat the words out. Angry and impatient.
‘She changed,’ Edward said quietly. He looked down at his hands as if they belonged to someone else. ‘After James. After he died.’
For a moment Patricia was silenced. She could imagine how losing a child could destroy a mother.
‘How old was he?’ she asked quietly.
‘Seventeen,’ Edward replied in barely more than a whisper.
‘What happened?’
He didn’t speak, just examined the folds in the covers.
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ she added softly.
‘No. I … I should tell you. You ought to know.’
Edward wondered how to begin his story. Should he start after the two boys had finished milking, when they had stood in the yard, James hosing off his wellington boots? He could tell her that it was a beautiful summer’s evening, the air still for once, and the sound of contented cows wafting lazily to them over the warm dusty fields. It was James who had suggested they take the boat out. Someone had told him that the mackerel were running and they still had a couple of hours of daylight. Of course Edward was going to agree. He was barely fourteen at the time and, having spent so much time alone on the farm, struggled to find his place amongst the packs of boys that roamed his school. James was more than just his big brother. He was his best, and only, friend. His hero, the man he wanted to become but doubted he ever would. James could control the herd with a few shouts, he was able to talk to girls, and their mother didn’t yell at him or tell him what to do. Edward would never have admitted it to a living soul, but he preferred life without their father.
Maybe his tale should begin a couple of hours later as night was creeping up on them and the wind suddenly returned, whipping up the grey ocean, slapping their little wooden rowing boat with growing force. Edward was the one who said they should head back and he hadn’t been able to disguise the fear in his voice. That was why James had stood up and started rocking the small boat from side to side. He had been laughing and teasing his younger brother. Edward had begged him to sit down but that only provoked James to rock the boat more violently.
He remembered he had reached up and touched James’s jumper. Had he pulled it? Had he tugged it? He could still feel the damp wool against his fingers. Edward had just wanted his brother to sit down. That was all. He had never wished him any harm.
What happened next was like a magic trick, or when the film skipped at the cinema in Clonteer. James just disappeared. Where his man-shaped outline had been visible against the darkening sky was suddenly clear. His brother was gone. Vanished. He remembered looking over the side but the choppy waves held on to their secrets. Had James jumped in to frighten him? Surely, he’d bob up to the surface in a moment, laughing and spluttering. He must be down there holding his breath. The seconds passed and became minutes and a horrified Edward had to accept that his brother was not coming back to the surface. He peered into the dark waves on either side but could see nothing. He wanted to jump in and slip through the waves like an oily seal till he found his brother but Edward couldn’t swim. That was partly why James had been trying to frighten him. He peered into the distance, trying to see if his brother’s dark-haired head had surfaced somewhere, but there was nothing. Edward felt sick and dizzy with panic. Where was James? He couldn’t be gone. James had to be alive, he had to be, but where? He called out his brother’s name, screamed it, but he knew that his voice wouldn’t carry to where his brother could hear his cries.
Later on he would try to piece it all together. James must have lost his balance, perhaps bec
ause Edward had pulled at him, but maybe he just slipped on some of the mackerel in the bottom of the boat, or the rocking of the waves had grown more violent. He would never know for certain. They had found some blood on the metal oar lock, so it was assumed that James had hit his head as he fell overboard and then his rubber wellingtons would have filled with sea water, dragging him down to the murky forest of seaweed that wafted placidly below.
Edward had begun to cry. This was awful beyond imagining. He couldn’t stay out at sea but equally how could he leave? He shouldn’t just give up on his brother. What would their mother say? The tears grew heavier and his sobs became howls that were swallowed by the wind and the darkness. He couldn’t go back to shore alone. It crossed his mind that he too should just jump overboard. Better that no one returned to Castle House than Edward without James. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his knees, paralysed by fear and grief.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat like that but when he finally managed to control his breathing and stop crying, it was fully night. In the distance he could see the light on the corner of the house and a glow behind the curtains in the front room. He would have to go back. He had no choice.
The oars felt much heavier than before and the sea had turned to treacle, but he slowly made his way closer to the shore. The steady slap and creak of the oars were his metronome. A groan on each pull, then stretch and down and pull again. James had taught him to row. He began to cry again.
As the boat neared the shore he could see a small light floating in the darkness. At first he couldn’t understand what it was but then he realised it must be someone on the beach with a torch. It would be their mother, worried and waiting. Soon she would hear the steady rhythm of the oars and the bow of the boat hitting the waves. He imagined her then, relaxing, thinking to herself that her boys were safe. He began to pull with less vigour, trying to delay what was to come. The horror as she stepped forward and saw that only one son had made it back to shore, and that boy was Edward. He began to shiver violently, the cold and shock and dread overtaking his body.
Finally he heard the crunch as the bottom of the boat hit the sandy gravel and he stepped out into the cold water. Ahead of him he could see his mother’s face, like a Halloween head, lit up by the torch. She was shouting across the noise of the surf.
‘I thought you were lost. What happened to you?’
Edward couldn’t speak. He just heaved the boat behind him, dragging it up onto the shore. His mother picked her way across the edge of the waves to help him, but then she froze. The torch jabbed at the darkness, poking into each corner and pocket of the boat. Her voice was thin and high as she called his name. ‘James? Where’s James? Edward, where is your brother?’
Edward dropped the rope and stood with his arms hanging by his sides. The waves swirled around his ankles. He opened his mouth to speak but was engulfed by grief and guilt. He let out a cry and it seemed to cut through the night, like an animal caught in a trap. He rushed to his mother, but stumbled so that he found his arms were wrapped around her knees.
‘No! No, no!’ Her voice decreed that this was not happening. Her son was not gone. She had not lost her baby.
Edward’s weight against her legs and the shifting wet shingle meant she had lost her balance and she fell backwards with a scream, her arms splayed out on the beach like Christ on his cross.
The waves rolled in and out. The two heaving bodies lay entwined with hearts that would be forever broken.
That was when everything changed.
Back in the bedroom, Patricia was staring at Edward, still waiting. He cleared his throat.
‘We were fishing out on a boat. It got choppy and James fell overboard. It was all fierce fast. I think Mammy has always blamed me.’
He raised a hand to wipe away a tear.
Patricia put her hands around his shoulders to comfort him and he fell against her. They lay on the bed, Patricia shushing him like a baby till they both fell asleep.
NOW
They didn’t sleep together. After about ten minutes of passionate kissing and roaming hands, Elizabeth pushed Brian away.
‘I can’t.’ She was panting slightly.
Brian reached up and cupped her face in his hands.
‘Are you sure? You seem to be enjoying it and, well,’ he moved a few strands of hair from her face, ‘you’re a fine-looking woman.’
She didn’t make eye contact. She liked him but the kissing had really just been a way to silence the noise in her head. A distraction from dealing with Zach’s news. ‘Yes. It’s too much. I should head back. I have to call my stupid fucking son.’
Brian made no move to start the engine but put his arm around her and pulled her back into an embrace.
‘Yeah, what was all that about? What’s happened?’
Elizabeth let out a long slow sigh.
‘My seventeen-year-old son has got his thirty-something girlfriend pregnant.’
‘Fuck,’ was Brian’s brief response.
‘Fuck, indeed.’
He made a whistling sound and added, ‘I’m so glad I’m not a parent. What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know. Try to talk sense into them both?’ Elizabeth sounded very unsure.
Back at Aunt Eileen’s, Brian gave Elizabeth one last slow kiss and then watched her walk up the path before driving away. Retrieving the key from under a metal hedgehog that doubled as a boot scraper, she let herself in. The house was in darkness but she managed to find the light switch for the bathroom and then a bedside lamp. Sitting on the low, soft bed, she pulled out her phone and stared at the screen. This was not a call she wanted to make. Deciding that it was best to speak to Elliot first, she dialled his number.
‘Yes?’ Elliot’s voice barked down the line. He sounded as if he was answering the door to Jehovah’s Witnesses. This was the side of Elliot that Elizabeth liked the least, when he went into full teacher mode.
‘It’s me, Elizabeth,’ she replied.
‘Why are you whispering?’ he snapped back.
‘It’s late here, and I’m staying in a bed and breakfast.’
‘Why aren’t you at your mother’s?’
‘It’s a long story. I’ll tell you when I see you. Nothing bad. How’s Zach?’ she asked, trying to get the conversation back on track.
‘Upset.’
‘Of course. It’s a lot.’
‘With you. He’s upset with you!’ Elliot was the teacher talking to his dimmest student.
‘What?’ Elizabeth asked in an indignant whisper.
‘He rang you to share his news and you wouldn’t talk to him. Of course he’s upset.’
Elizabeth couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
‘Our seventeen-year-old son is going to be a father and this is what we’re talking about? Seriously?’
‘We have to support him through this, Elizabeth. He’s so young.’
‘I know he’s young,’ she hissed angrily down the line, ‘that’s why I’m upset. How pregnant is she? What’s their plan?’
‘Options are limited. She is very pregnant. I can’t believe you failed to notice, I mean, when did you last see her?’
Elizabeth tried to remember.
‘I don’t know. Before Christmas, but it’s winter in New York. She was covered in coats and scarves. So they’re planning to have this baby?’
She felt so useless and detached. Tears of frustration began to form.
This was her own baby boy they were talking about. She barely trusted him to pick up groceries from D’Agostino’s. How could he be responsible for another human life?
‘Look, maybe it’s not that bad.’ Elliot was trying to sound calm and reasonable now, which made his ex-wife feel the exact opposite.
‘What are you talking about? Not that bad? It’s a fucking baby, Elliot!’
‘I know. I know that, but it’s not like she’s a teenager. She doesn’t want to get married to Zach.’
‘He’s seventeen!’ Eli
zabeth couldn’t help interrupting.
‘But that’s the point. She’s in her mid-thirties. I’m pretty certain she didn’t plan for this to happen, but now that it has, she must be thinking that she might as well keep it or she may end up never having a baby. I don’t think Zach is part of her plan.’
Elizabeth had to admit this made sense, which in one way was a relief but in another broke her heart for her son. She imagined how he must be feeling. Along with the fear, she knew that he would be puffed up with mannish pride. But if Michelle Giardino just wanted to walk away with the baby, he’d get over it, and there would be other grandchildren with a better sense of timing. She wondered if she was a heartless bitch for thinking this but quickly told herself that she was simply concerned with what was best for her son.
‘OK. Well, I’ll talk to Zach and then we can all figure out what happens next. Is she staying in California?’ she asked hopefully.
‘No. Heading back to New York in a day or two before they stop her flying.’
Elizabeth’s heart sank. It would be on her watch.
‘Great. Talk soon. Goodnight.’
‘Bye.’
Elizabeth dragged herself into the middle of the bed so that there was less chance of her sliding down the slope of the mattress onto the floor. She slipped under the light duvet and turned out the lamp. The glow from her phone lit up the room and she tapped on Zach’s name to call him. It rang. She waited. No reply and finally it went to voicemail. She sighed and hung up. She imagined Zach with Michelle, looking at ‘Mom’ blinking on the screen and telling his girlfriend horror stories about her. Her mind began to calculate the number of months that Michelle Giardino, maths tutor, had been coming to their apartment. At once a week at seventy dollars an hour that she couldn’t afford, this baby had already cost her thousands of dollars. Her mind whirled with all the things she wanted to say to Zach and Ms Giardino. How would she ever sleep?
She woke seven hours later still clutching her phone. Noises were coming from the kitchen and there was the distinctive smell of frying bacon. Elizabeth rubbed her face and yawned. Hopefully breakfast would be better than the meal her landlady had provided the night before. She was starving.
A Keeper Page 15
