Auntie Eileen was standing in the middle of the kitchen floor with a tea towel draped over her arm when Elizabeth walked in. It looked as if she had been waiting. The artificial glare from the aquarium made the room seem more suitable for an autopsy than breakfast.
‘Good morning! Tea or coffee for you?’
Elizabeth normally preferred coffee but thought that tea was a safer bet. The table was set for one and she took her place. A small glass of orange juice stood beside a rack of toast which Elizabeth assumed must be cold. It was. This was in stark contrast to the plate her hostess took out of the oven and placed in front of her. The only clue to how long the plate had been in the oven was provided by the wrinkled dried-out state of the two sausages and strips of bacon. They looked like something that might have been found in a Neolithic tomb rather than on a menu. She sighed and reached for her tea. Perfectly good. Oh well, a liquid breakfast was better than nothing.
‘How was your night?’ the old lady enquired.
‘Good, thanks.’
Auntie Eileen stood by the side of the table, leaning forward. Clearly she expected more details.
‘It’s a very sweet pub.’
‘Yes, yes.’ A vigorous nodding in agreement. ‘More tea?’
‘Oh yes, please.’ Elizabeth pressed her fork against an unyielding sausage. ‘So I was going to try and see that lady you spoke about last night. The one by the Co-op. I’m sorry I don’t remember her name.’
‘Cathy Crowley,’ Auntie Eileen reminded her as she poured the tea. ‘But amn’t I after having a much better idea. Her mother, old Mrs Lynch, lives in a little bungalow there beside them. She’s some age but she still knows it all. Sharp as a tack. Anything you want to know about Castle House or the Foleys, she’s your woman.’
Elizabeth felt encouraged. She might get more answers than she had expected. ‘Thank you so much. I’ll do that.’
Auntie Eileen sucked her finger and then absented-mindedly dabbed some crumbs off the table and ate them.
‘I was thinking last night about that place.’
‘Castle House?’
‘Yes. I was just wondering if you’ll be back?’
‘Back?’ Elizabeth was slightly bewildered. Why would she ever come back to this place?
‘Well, you know, maybe you’d use it as a holiday home.’
Elizabeth felt so foolish. For a moment she had completely forgotten that she was a property owner in Muirinish.
‘I had just thought that I’d sell it.’ But even as she said the words she wondered if that was what she really wanted.
THEN
When she woke he was gone. All that remained was the indentation on the pillow and the memory of his body’s warmth when she had stirred during the night.
Patricia wasn’t sure if Mrs Foley knew what had happened but she seemed suspiciously chirpy when she brought in the breakfast tray and pulled back the curtains on another grey day.
‘Sleep well?’ she asked. Was that a smirk on her face?
‘Yes, thank you.’
Mrs Foley went to the other side of the room and sat in the high backed wooden chair beside the wardrobe.
‘I’ve been thinking.’ She paused, and Patricia looked up from buttering her toast. A small knot of dread tightened in her stomach.
‘Now that you are feeling much stronger, thank God, I thought it was time you helped out around the house, earned your keep.’ The old woman concluded her proposal with a tight smile.
Patricia didn’t know how she should respond. Part of her longed for the opportunity to get out of this room. The possibility of using the phone, or simply making a run for it down the lane, was exciting, but she knew she mustn’t betray her enthusiasm or Mrs Foley might retract her offer. At the same time, she bristled with fury that her gaoler thought she should be doing chores to help with the running of her prison.
As blandly as she could, Patricia simply replied, ‘I see.’
‘After you use the bathroom I’ll sort you out with an old housecoat of mine and some slippers.’
Since her recovery from her fever she had been given bathroom privileges. She had been provided with a small silver bell to ring when she needed to go. Mrs Foley would then unlock the door and wait for her while she used the bathroom. Patricia had checked and the window seemed even further off the ground than the one in her room. Some days Patricia had rung the bell more than she needed to, just to hear Mrs Foley making the effort of climbing the stairs, but soon the old lady had become suspicious, and now she didn’t respond if the rings were too close together.
Dressed in her borrowed finery an hour or so later, Patricia found herself seated at the kitchen table. She had thought the room might look different but it was exactly as she remembered it from the night after the pub, weeks before. Mrs Foley placed a plastic basin of potatoes in front of her.
‘You can start by peeling those.’
Not feeling the need to respond Patricia picked up the peeler and began her work. Looking around, her eyes came to rest on the back door. She could just make a run for it. Even in her second-hand slippers, she guessed that she could outrun Mrs Foley and Edward would let her escape. Of that she was certain.
Mrs Foley turned from the sink and evidently noticed where Patricia’s gaze was fixed. Walking slowly, she went over to the door and turned the large key in the lock, before removing it and placing it in the front pocket of her apron. She gave Patricia a long, hard stare.
‘If you’re not going to peel them spuds, we can just put you back in your room.’
Patricia began scraping the potatoes.
About ten minutes later the handle of the back door turned and someone rattled the lock with no success. There was a knocking and Mrs Foley went and used the key to open the door. Edward burst into the kitchen.
‘Why was the door …’ he began, but noticing Patricia, stopped speaking.
‘Look who has come down to join us,’ his mother said, pointing at the table with a tight smile.
A look of confusion crossed Edward’s face.
‘I see.’ He sounded very uncertain about what he was looking at. ‘That’s great.’ He smiled at Patricia. She did not return his enthusiasm, but instead, with an expressionless face, reached into the bowl and took out another potato.
‘I mean, great that you are feeling better,’ he elaborated. Patricia gave him nothing. He deserved to squirm.
‘I’ll put the kettle on for you,’ his mother chimed in.
‘Fine, so. I’ll just wash my hands.’ As he walked to the door Patricia noticed that he was still wearing the shirt from the night before. Had that really happened? It seemed so hard to imagine that this man had fallen asleep cradled in her arms, when now here she sat like some modern-day slave, being held captive by a mad woman.
Patricia watched the tea being made and saw no sign of it being drugged, so drank a cup with the others. Very little was said. One of the neighbour’s sheep had been with the herd this morning, so Edward was going to have a word and block up the fences. Someone Patricia had never heard of had driven by in a new car. Pellets were needed for calves.
After Edward had returned to work in the yard, the back door was relocked. Once Patricia had finished her peeling, Mrs Foley gave her a brush and instructed her to sweep the floor. As resentful as she felt, it was preferable to lying in bed all day staring at the ceiling, drifting in and out of sleep. When she was finished with her broom, Mrs Foley gave her a dustpan and brush.
‘Good work.’ Edward’s mother was positively beaming. ‘Now, I think that’s enough for today. Let’s get you back upstairs.’
Patricia didn’t want to go back to her room to spend a long, dull afternoon but could think of no excuse to stay downstairs. She glanced around the kitchen looking for some task she might help with but nothing leapt out at her. She shuffled to the door obediently and made her way upstairs to her room. Once inside, Mrs Foley pointed at the borrowed slippers.
‘I’ll have those, thank you.
’
Patricia took them off and handed them over. She felt completely powerless. The key turned in the lock and she was left alone, sitting on the bed in the dusty half-light of a perpetual Sunday afternoon. She began to weep once more. Everything seemed hopeless. Even her half-baked plan to call the police seemed impossible. She hadn’t seen any sign of a phone downstairs, even though she knew there had to be one. She’d heard it ringing. It struck her that it had been some time since the phone had rung in the house. Had Mrs Foley got rid of it just to thwart her?
For the first time since arriving at Castle House, she decided to pray. Down on her knees at the side of the bed, she put her hands together and squeezed her eyes shut. The familiar words tumbled from her lips.
‘Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the end of our death. Amen.’
She waited. Had anyone heard her? She doubted it. All her prayers had gone unanswered thus far in her life. It seemed unlikely that she would be listened to now. The Holy Mother didn’t care about her. Patricia was like a forgotten umbrella left damp and leaning against the door of the shop. She shut her eyes.
‘Please deliver me from this place and bring me back to my home and my family. I know that I’m a sinner but I cannot see what I have done to deserve this. Please help me in my hour of need. Amen.’
She considered if it was worth bargaining with the Almighty, but with what? She didn’t smoke or really drink. Her first-born could become a nun or a priest, but at this point the chances of her ever having a child or any kind of recognisable life seemed very remote.
Patricia bent forward and rested her forehead on the bed. She was so alone, but why was this any worse than her life had been before? Hadn’t she always been alone? The years she had spent sitting downstairs in the kitchen waiting for a shout or a knock on the floor to signal that her mother needed something. The months since the funeral, still spent sitting in the same room but now with nothing to wait for. If only she had simply accepted her fate. It was her desire to change things, her last-ditch effort not to be alone that had led to this. For a moment she was outside herself, up near the ceiling, looking down on this foolish woman kneeling by a bed, mouthing prayers that would go unheard. A strange calm took hold of her. Maybe she should just accept her fate this time, not struggle. She wasn’t thinking properly. Everything made her feel tired and confused. Getting up, she reached for the little bell. She would use the bathroom and then escape from the rest of the day into sleep.
The next morning, she woke early. A weak glow pressed at the gap in the curtains and her tired eyes scanned the familiar room. She noticed that on the floor by the side of the bed was a basket that hadn’t been there before. Patricia peered over to see it more clearly. It appeared to be full of blankets. Odd. She hadn’t complained about being cold and Mrs Foley hadn’t mentioned giving her extra bedding. Her mind drifted to thoughts of the day to come. What chores might be in store for her? Would she be allowed to stay downstairs for longer? What were the chances of her being able to raise the alarm?
What was that? She thought she heard something. Leaning over the side of the bed she looked at the basket. The blankets were moving. Patricia froze. What was it? Had the mad old bitch put some sort of animal in with her? She sat up and pressed herself back against the wall, bracing herself for what might jump out. She held her breath. Then from the edge of the basket emerged a perfectly formed tiny pink hand.
NOW
Elizabeth was still shaking her head in disbelief as she put her overnight bag into her car. She had been worried that Auntie Eileen might have embarrassed her by not charging anything or maybe asking for a paltry fee. She had wondered how much she should insist on giving her. In the event, she needn’t have worried. The old lady very matter-of-factly announced that she was owed eighty euros. Elizabeth hoped that she didn’t look as surprised as she felt. That wasn’t much less than the hotel at the airport. She decided she would check out Coakley’s Cross on TripAdvisor.
Before she could drive off, Brian’s car pulled up and he stepped out, looking freshly washed and shaved, with his hair slicked back and a crisp white collar peeking out from his dark jumper. Unlike most dates, he actually looked better in the morning light.
Elizabeth opened her door and stood up, leaning on the roof of the car. She dreaded to think what she looked like with her oversized anorak zipped up to her chin and hair that she couldn’t remember checking in the mirror.
‘Morning!’ he called with a smile.
‘You’ve just caught me. I’m back on the road.’
He was standing in front of her, the open car door separating their bodies.
‘I’m glad I did.’ He looked at the ground, and then, only half lifting his head, said, ‘Listen, do I need to apologise for last night? If I was out of order, I’m very sorry.’
Elizabeth wasn’t sure how she felt. He had annoyed her, it was true, but then they had made out for quite a long time, and she couldn’t deny that she was pleased to see him.
‘You’re fine, Brian. Don’t worry. It was nice.’ She held out her hand with a wide grin on her face. He shook it and the two of them laughed for no apparent reason.
‘Are you heading straight off? I wondered if I could shout you lunch in Clonteer somewhere?’
‘Well, I’m hoping to talk to some woman down in Muirinish, but then I was going to head back to Buncarragh, so that could work.’ She hadn’t been looking forward to returning to Keane and Sons; the idea of lunch was a welcome distraction.
‘Great. I’ll find out where is open and let you know. Should we swap numbers?’
‘Sure.’
They both fished out their phones and exchanged their information. There was another brief awkward pause, neither of them sure if a peck on the cheek or a handshake was called for. Not wanting to get it wrong, Elizabeth ducked back into her car with a cheery ‘See you later’ and drove off.
The road down to Muirinish seemed much shorter in daylight and far more scenic. After passing Carey’s pub, the road curved around the shoulder of a hill, giving her an uninterrupted view of the sea. To her right she could just see the top of the castle ruins sticking out from a group of tall pines. Her house. So strange to think that she owned an ancient Irish castle, even stranger to think that it was her family seat. She would have loved to call Zach to tell him about it, to share jokes comparing it to their tiny apartment in New York, but she knew that she shouldn’t. He needed time to cool down and she needed time to digest the news of his impending fatherhood. What to say for the best? Was there anything to say? Apparently this baby was going to arrive and apart from loading Zach and a bunch of condoms into a time machine, there didn’t seem to be a solitary thing she could do about it.
She slowed down as she went past the gates to Castle House and then at the fork in the road she didn’t head over the causeway but followed the signs for Muirinish. She was keeping an eye out for a garage. The car was low on fuel but she also wanted to find something to eat. The lack of both dinner and breakfast meant she was starving. The narrow road, boxed in by hedges, curved through fields and past a few large newly built houses, until at the bottom of a short hill it widened out. On the right was a series of large grey buildings with curved corrugated iron roofs. A clock was painted on the side wall, telling the world that it would forever more be a quarter to three or fifteen minutes past nine. It was hard to tell since the artist had made both hands the same length. In a window there was a large red and white sign that said ‘Good luck Cork’. Elizabeth assumed it referred to some upcoming sporting event but it might just as easily have been cheering the county on in case of an impending apocalypse. Further down on the left was another series of buildings painted in a shade of dirty mustard. The large sign declared this to be ‘Supermarket and Hardware’. Elizabeth pulled over and got out of the car.
Inside there was a s
mell that reminded her of Keane and Sons in Buncarragh, but this store was laid out in a series of aisles like any modern supermarket. She headed to the back where she could see some chiller cabinets. Bringing a cellophane-wrapped sausage roll and a can of diet Coke up to the counter, she noticed a sign saying ‘Free Wi-Fi’.
‘Is there a café here?’ Elizabeth asked the young woman behind the counter who was hunched over the till, her long dark hair hanging over her shoulders, while both very pink ears stuck out on either side. She looked up and squinted as if Elizabeth hadn’t been speaking English. She made a noise that could be best described as an inquisitive grunt.
‘The free Wi-Fi? Is there somewhere to sit and use it?’
‘Where are you parked?’ the woman asked, pulling a loose strand of hair from her mouth. Elizabeth really wasn’t following this conversation but told her the location of her car.
‘You can get the Wi-Fi out there. It’s the only one and there’s no password. Do you need a bag?’
She didn’t. Elizabeth paid, went out to the car and picked up her glasses from the passenger seat. Sure enough, when she opened her laptop, everything came to pass just as the cashier had described.
Elizabeth scanned her emails. Mostly junk, or group emails from Hunter she was safe to ignore. Another missive from Linda Jetter detailing the moods and movements of Shelly the cat. Was it wrong that Elizabeth cared so little? The subject line of the newest email read ‘Our news’ and it wasn’t a sender that she recognised: [email protected]. She opened it.
Dear Elizabeth,
I wanted to call, but this seemed safer. I wanted you to hear me without voices being raised or accusations flying.
The first thing to say is that I am very sorry. I never intended for any of this to happen. I betrayed your trust and I am not proud of myself. You brought me into your home as an educator and I did not behave in a way that was proper. I understand that you must be very angry. My own parents are not very happy with the news either. You should call them!
A Keeper Page 16
