‘I’m sorry.’
Patricia glared at him and hissed over the baby’s head, ‘Sorry? You say you’re my friend, you claim you want to help me, but you are just as bad as her!’
‘No. I … please, Patricia. I do want to help. I will. I promise.’
‘I don’t believe you, why should I believe you?’ She shut her eyes, willing him to leave the room.
‘I brought up some hot water.’
‘What?’ She didn’t understand.
‘For your feet. They’ll need cleaning.’
She wanted to scream. If she hadn’t been holding Elizabeth, she would have struck him. How could this man, who was holding her against her will, allowing her old life to be taken away from her, also be this man, who wanted to care for her?
‘Edward, please tell me you understand.’
‘Understand what?’ He was carrying a steaming basin in from the landing.
‘That you understand I must leave. You can’t keep me here. Let me use the phone. Please, Edward.’ She was sitting up now, trying to read the expression on his face.
‘There is no phone.’
‘There is. I’ve heard it ringing.’
‘Mammy ripped it out. She did it weeks ago.’
Patricia was dumbfounded.
‘You just let her?’
‘She didn’t tell me she was going to.’ He sounded reasonable, as if they were talking about his mother throwing out an unread newspaper.
‘Didn’t you think to get someone out to fix it?’
He looked at her blankly for a moment, just blinking.
‘She wouldn’t like that.’
Patricia gave a long sigh. This was useless.
Edward was on his knees now, soaping up a flannel in the basin of hot water. Gently he took hold of Patricia’s right ankle and began to carefully soak the torn skin.
‘Is that too hot?’
She felt defeated, by him, by his mother, by his kindness. ‘No. That’s fine.’
She closed her eyes and the warm flannel slowly made its way around one foot and then the other. Under the arch, through the toes, across the ball, up the heel. Patricia thought of Edward on his knees helping a sick calf, or drying off a new lamb. There was such tenderness in this man, but he couldn’t seem to grasp the pain he was causing her.
When he had finished washing her feet, he wrapped them in an old towel and very gently pressed them dry.
‘There. That’s better.’
He gave a wide smile and before she could stop herself she had given a smile of thanks in return.
Edward folded the towel and stood up. He looked sad. Sadder than she had ever seen him. Had he washed Mary’s feet, she wondered. He put the basin outside the door and then looked back at Patricia.
‘Good night, so.’
‘Good night.’
‘Patricia?’
‘Yes?’
The light was behind him so she couldn’t see his face, but his voice sounded strained, almost cracking with emotion.
‘I am going to help you.’
NOW
Of course, the place was familiar, but it was more than that. Elizabeth found she had a silly grin on her face as she drove past the Renault dealership on her way back into Buncarragh. It was a relief to return to a world that held no mysteries for her. It felt like a refuge after the Pandora’s box of Muirinish.
The Christmas lights were still up, but the town didn’t look as melancholic as when she had arrived the week before. Shops were open and people trotted with purpose along the streets, greeting neighbours, pausing for gossip. Elizabeth decided not to stop in town but instead drove straight up to Convent Hill. She had to go a little way past number sixty-two in order to park and walking back to the house she had a clear view down over the whole of the town. The chapel, the church, the trees marking the path of the river. Buncarragh. Growing up here she had always felt like an outsider. It was the reason she had been in such a hurry to leave, but now it made sense. She had been from somewhere else all along. She stopped outside the house where she had been raised and thought about her mother. The woman she had always thought of as so conservative, worried about what other people might think, had turned out to be somebody else entirely. Risking everything, she had left her life behind to find a husband, and then returned alone, but with another woman’s child. Elizabeth wished she could see her mother just once more, to thank her for her life, to tell her how much she appreciated all the sacrifices, but also to ask her why she had kept it all a secret right to the very end? Why she had never returned to Muirinish and left Edward all alone on the farm? Maybe she had told the lie for so many years, she had forgotten the truth. Elizabeth looked at the tarnished door knocker and remembered the hours her mother spent with her tin of Brasso and an old cloth, making sure it shone like gold.
Tomorrow, she would leave here and, if she was being honest, she doubted that she would ever return. New York. She was looking forward to getting home and starting work again, but she dreaded her reunion with Zach and meeting the heavily pregnant Michelle. The night before, sitting in her bedroom in the Cork Airport Hotel, she had finally spoken to her son. It hadn’t been easy. She didn’t know how to be with him any more. How could she best be his mother? Part of her wanted to scream at him for being so stupid and irresponsible, but hearing the fear in his voice as he tried to sound capable and mature, she also wanted to hold him tight and protect him from this huge event that was going to derail his life. No matter what assurances Michelle might be giving, if Zach knew what the mother of his child had said to Elliot and Elizabeth about not involving him, he seemed to be ignoring it. He spoke at length about how he saw his role as a father. She didn’t mention the email. His naïve desire to be more of a friend than a parent to the new baby broke Elizabeth’s heart. He was so clueless, still such a child himself. Of one thing she was certain: this situation was going to get much worse before it got better. She had also spoken to Elliot. It seemed the last few days of playing Daddy had been enough for him. Will had got him a Weimaraner puppy for Christmas so he wouldn’t be making it over to the east coast for the birth. For that at least, Elizabeth was grateful.
On the long drive back to Buncarragh, decisions had been made. The first and most important was that Convent Hill didn’t matter. Elizabeth wasn’t going to open another drawer or pack a single box to ship home. She was going to let her Aunt Gillian and Noelle loose on the place and then put it up for sale. Having made the decision, she felt released, as if a burden had been lifted. She had also decided that Castle House would be sold. She had to admit that there had been a small sentimental urge to keep it, maybe renovate it one day and retire there or use it as a holiday home, but unless she won the lottery that was never going to happen. Besides that, the house might be a part of her personal story, but it was such a dark, sad part that it made more sense to let it go.
Inside number sixty-two, Elizabeth picked her way slowly through the rooms. Piles of blue and white rat poison were scattered around the house, but happily she encountered no actual rodent residents. She had thought she might change her mind about not keeping anything, but room after room was filled with ornaments, pictures and pieces of furniture that she knew she could live without. Unless she was planning to open a Patricia Keane museum, what would she do with it all? Yes, her mother had loved all these things, but holding on to them wouldn’t bring her back or make her more present. If anything, looking at her sewing basket or the old toffee tin filled with random buttons made her absence more vivid.
The last room she went into was her mother’s bedroom. The curtains were still drawn from the night Elizabeth had spent there. She pulled them open. The view she could have described with her eyes closed. The telegraph pole. The dormer window in the roof of the house opposite that always reminded her of a ski chalet. That long crack running down the side of the house next to it, which had been there for as long as she could remember. Elizabeth reminded herself that she would never see these sign
s of her past again, but found she felt nothing. These things were just familiar, that was all, not special. She was surprised she was being so unsentimental. She wondered if she would have felt differently if she had a brother or sister to walk through the house with. Another person to share the memories. What did it matter? Then she suddenly remembered why she had come into this room. She opened the wardrobe door and retrieved the wooden box. Opening it to take out the package of letters, she found the knitted baby bootie. She had forgotten all about it. This must have been hers. She smelled the wool and smiled.
Noelle was in the window of the shop changing the display when Elizabeth arrived. She waved enthusiastically through the glass and began to reverse carefully through a selection of Hoovers and grass strimmers. Once inside Elizabeth was led upstairs to say goodbye to Uncle Jerry and Aunt Gillian. She quickly deflected any questions about her trip to West Cork by telling them that they could help themselves to the contents of Convent Hill, and when they were done she was just going to send in a firm that did house clearances. Gillian beamed at the news, whereas Noelle gave the impression of someone who had already had a good look around and hadn’t found anything to her taste. As Elizabeth had expected, Paul immediately offered to take the house off her hands. ‘Avoid all the estate agent’s fees,’ he explained. She was firm. It was very kind of him, but she wanted to keep everything businesslike and not mix things up with family. Paul hid his disappointment and immediately suggested that she hand the house over to Donal Fogarty to sell it for her.
‘Is that the Donal who was your best man?’
‘Yes.’
Elizabeth smiled. ‘Well, I’ll certainly think about it.’
She was offered a bed for the night but she had already decided that she would drive straight on to Dublin so that she could return the car and not get caught up in traffic the next day. She was done with Buncarragh.
The Keanes gathered on the pavement to wave her off. They promised to stay in touch. ‘See you soon!’ they called and almost sounded as if they meant it. Elizabeth waved and drove away. She hadn’t gone far when she indicated and turned down a side street on the left. It brought her past Busteed’s bar and on to Connolly’s Quay. She wasn’t sure if she’d stop but there was a space right outside Rosemary’s house, which she took as a sign.
The bell was followed by excited yapping before Rosemary appeared at the door, dressed in a long black velvet coat and a purple crotched hat that brought to mind an Abba album cover. She didn’t seem particularly surprised to find Elizabeth Keane on her doorstep.
‘You’re back.’
‘I am. But I’m actually just on my way to the airport.’
‘I see. How was Cork?’
The question seemed loaded, so Elizabeth took a hunch and answered it with one of her own.
‘Did you know?’
Rosemary pursed her lips.
‘Well, you’ll have to walk with me.’ She held up a red and blue string bag with books in it. ‘If I don’t get these back today, I’ll have a fine.’
‘Perfect.’ The library wasn’t too far.
Rosemary set off at surprising speed and it took Elizabeth a couple of strides to catch up with her.
‘So?’
Rosemary stared straight ahead and took a few more steps before answering.
‘I didn’t feel it was my secret to share. If your mother didn’t see fit to tell you, then I told myself it wasn’t my place to do it for her.’
‘Did she tell you what happened?’
‘Yes. Well, a lot of it anyway. She had a very bad time of it down there. As far as I could make out, she was practically a prisoner.’
‘A prisoner?’ Elizabeth was alarmed. She thought she knew all the secrets. ‘My father locked her up?’
‘No. I don’t think so. In fairness, she only ever spoke well of him. No, it was mostly the mother. What they call mental health issues these days, but back then she was just a lunatic. She sounded like a right nut job. You’d never have guessed it from meeting her though. She had me fooled. Your mother never went into detail, but she told me about you, and who your mother was.’
They had reached the corner now and were waiting to cross the road.
‘And my father?’
Rosemary looked puzzled. ‘Your father?’
Elizabeth paused, momentarily unsure of how much to reveal, but decided that full disclosure was best.
‘He’s alive. I mean, he’s still alive.’
Rosemary made no attempt to hide her surprise.
‘Well, wasn’t she a dark horse, your mother? I would have sworn she had told me everything. Did you meet him?’ She strode across the road; not even this news was going to distract her from her mission.
Elizabeth nodded. ‘Yes, but he’s in a home now. He’s more or less gone. I couldn’t get any sense out of him.’ She recalled his dark eyes looking into hers and calling out the name of her mother.
‘I wonder why Patricia would have kept that a secret from me?’
‘So, you were friends when she came back?’
Rosemary hesitated. ‘Yes.’ She sounded doubtful. ‘For a while anyway.’
‘What happened?’
The old woman stopped walking and looked Elizabeth in the eyes.
‘Sorry,’ Elizabeth said. ‘You don’t have to tell me.’
‘No. No, it was you, actually.’
‘Me?’
‘I’m not proud of how I behaved back then. I was young. That’s my excuse.’ Rosemary gave a sad smile and continued down the footpath. ‘When your mother came back, things weren’t easy for her. She was changed. Much weaker and very shaken by what happened to her, it was tough. Your Uncle Jerry had tried to sell Convent Hill, and then of course everyone wanted to know about the new baby and what had happened. People were shameless, they’d just knock on the door and ask to have a look at you. Well, it didn’t take long. Soon the story was everywhere.’
‘Story?’
‘The one I told you. That she must have been pregnant when she left Buncarragh. Fair dues to your mother, she never changed her version of events. Your father had died and she had returned home with you. Even the priest tried to get involved. I remember he was up sniffing around asking questions. He offered to say a mass for your dead father. He was very put out when she refused. You probably don’t remember but you never went to mass when you were little.’
‘Didn’t I?’ Elizabeth had assumed she had always been dragged up to the chapel.
‘No. Not till Father Lawlor died. It took a long time, but slowly the whiff of scandal moved on. Other, more shocking things went on, and your mother made sure she was never a repeat offender.’ She turned the corner by the post office and started up the small hill that led to the library. ‘It can’t have been easy, but she managed to get her reputation back.’
‘But why did you fall out?’
‘I’m ashamed to admit it, but I think I was jealous. You were her everything. I was too young to understand that you were all she needed. She fussed over you, she talked about nothing else, it was all about the baby Elizabeth. Anyway, one day I snapped. Please don’t judge me too harshly, but I’d had enough and I just reminded her in no uncertain terms that you weren’t hers. You were someone else’s baby. Looking back, I suppose I was trying to hurt her and I must have, because we never spoke again. Not a word.’
Elizabeth wasn’t sure how to respond.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly.
‘I have very few regrets in my life, but that is one of them.’
They had reached the front of the library.
Elizabeth reached out and took Rosemary’s hand.
‘Thank you.’
‘No need. No need. Safe travels.’ She raised her bag of books in farewell and strode into the library as if she was keeping the whole town waiting.
THEN
She had been ringing the bell for what seemed like hours. Why did nobody come? She knew that Edward would have finished the milkin
g by this time, so he and his mother should both be downstairs. She was desperate for the toilet and Elizabeth had begun to whinge and cry. Patricia was about to ring again when she heard the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs. Her door opened. It was Edward.
Patricia was shocked. He looked awful. His face was covered in sweat and he was out of breath. His clothes were soaked from the rain and there were splatters of mud covering his trousers. A redness around his eyes made it look as if he had been crying. He was holding a coat over one arm and was a carrying a large heavy bag in the other.
‘You’ll need this,’ Edward said gravely, holding out the grey wool coat.
‘I have to go the toilet.’
‘Well, hurry!’
‘Take her for a second.’
Patricia lifted up Elizabeth and Edward dumped the bag and coat on the bed before taking her. ‘Hurry!’ he repeated.
When she came out of the bathroom Edward was waiting on the landing at the top of the stairs. ‘Put this on.’ She took the coat from him and while she put it on he went back into her room and grabbed the bag. ‘I’ve packed a few nappies and a couple of bottles. It should be enough.’ He thrust Elizabeth back into her arms, and almost ran down the stairs.
‘Where are we going?’ Patricia called after him.
‘Buncarragh,’ he said without looking back. ‘You are going home.’
Patricia couldn’t believe what she was hearing and stood rooted to the spot. ‘What?’
Edward stopped just before the kitchen door and barked at her. ‘Hurry up!’
Holding the banister with one hand and Elizabeth with the other she came down the stairs as quickly as she dared. In the kitchen the lights were on but there was no sign of dinner.
‘Where’s your mother?’
‘Never mind. Put these on.’ Edward kicked a pair of zip-up boots lined with sheepskin towards her. She recognised them. Mrs Foley often wore them.
‘What about your mother?’
‘Don’t worry about her. We must hurry. Come on!’ He was holding the back door open and the chill of the evening air was cutting through Patricia’s nightdress. She buttoned her coat, slipped her feet into the boots and followed Edward out into the yard. He was heading for the car. Throwing open the passenger door for her, he ran around and got into the driver’s seat. Patricia climbed in, hugging Elizabeth close to her chest, and shut the door, relieved to be sheltered from the cold wind. The engine started, the headlights cut a path down the lane and they moved off. Patricia’s breathing was fast and shallow. Was she really going home? Had her nightmare finally ended? Edward suddenly lunged across the car and pushed her head.
A Keeper Page 21
