Laying a Ghost

by Jane Davitt

  Strangely, he found himself walking toward the church and graveyard, as if that had been his intended purpose all along. The sunshine warmed the back of his neck as he entered the graveyard and walked around, looking at the headstones and letting the quiet calm of the place wash over him. There was part of him that was tense, waiting, but the rest of him was relaxed, and he was unsurprised when he came to his Uncle Ian’s grave, clearly marked with a freshly cut stone. Nick sank down onto the grass, unmindful of the tiny amounts of dew still clinging there, and traced the letters of his uncle’s name, trying to imagine the man.

  He couldn’t get any sense that his uncle was there, which was a relief. He’d seen people visit graves and come away with a vague sense that they’d communicated with whoever lay buried there, but that harmless delusion wasn’t one he could share.

  He knew that nothing of Ian Kelley remained here but his bones; knew it with a certainty that left no room for doubt.

  Even so, when he eventually stood, brushing a few blades of grass from his knees, he felt better. Welcomed, somehow, and accepted. It might be nothing but his own response to the island and to John that made him feel that way ‑‑ well, it was, it couldn’t be anything else ‑‑ but it was still a good feeling, and he was smiling as he turned to go.

  He’d taken no more than three steps when his name was called.

  “Mr. Kelley! Nick!” Andrew Sinclair was walking toward him, his expression reflecting the solemnity of their surroundings, but his voice warm. Nick waited by his uncle’s grave, the breeze from the sea cool against his face.

  “I saw you from the manse,” Sinclair said by way of greeting, “but I didn’t want to intrude until you’d had chance to pay your respects.” He glanced at the grave. “He left instructions for some flowers to be planted but didn’t specify what; perhaps you’d like to decide?”

  “I don’t know what he would have liked. You knew him better than I did.” Nick tried to think. “Or maybe Mrs. McIntyre would know? John said that she’d visited him.”

  “She did, many times.” Sinclair looked a little abashed. “More than I did, for which I hope you’ll forgive me, but the trip there and back ... with the ferry schedule it would’ve meant a whole day off the island, and that wasn’t easy to arrange.” He cleared his throat. “Having said that, I was the last person to visit before he passed away, and I do like to think that I brought him some comfort as we prayed together.”

  Sinclair turned to look at the sea in the distance, blue under the matching sky. “He spoke of you,” he said unexpectedly. “Told me that he’d left you the house, and that he hoped that you’d settle here, so that there was still a Kelley at Rossneath to carry on the line. He set a lot of store on the family name and traditions, did Ian.” Sinclair nodded slowly. “Aye, he’d be glad to see you here, I’m sure of it.”

  “I’m glad to be here, so it’s nice to think that’s true.” They were both quiet, breathing in the crisp air, and then Nick asked, “Do you think he missed my mother?”

  Sinclair hesitated. “He must have,” he admitted finally. “I’ll not hide it from you; he was awful bitter about her leaving the way she did. That was many years before I came to the island, of course, but do you know, I’d been acquainted with your uncle for five years before I heard him mention her name?” He shook his head, bending to tug up a weed from the grass and shredding it between his fingers. “It’s not good to hold a grudge that long. We’re all sad when a young person decides to leave the island, but this life isn’t for everyone. It’s hard at times, and it’s only natural for some to want to see the world a little.” He smiled, tossing the weed aside. “And sometimes, like you, they come back when they’ve had enough of wandering, just as we pray they will.”

  It was awkward the way Sinclair kept mentioning praying, but Nick decided it was best not to bring it up. The man was entitled to his religious beliefs even if Nick didn’t share them. “She never wanted to come back. She was just ... she didn’t even want to own anything unless she had to. She liked that I hadn’t settled down. She wanted me to live like that.”

  Sinclair sniffed a little disapprovingly, as if he’d used up all his tolerance and was reverting to being judgmental. “Well, she’d the right to live how she chose, of course, but I’m surprised she didn’t want better for you. Didn’t want to see you with a home, a job, and a family around you?” His eyes narrowed. “What is it that you do, anyway, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  Nick remembered what John had suggested. “I’m a writer. I’ve written articles for magazines, things like that. I was planning to take some time off now ‑‑ concentrate on fixing up the house and getting settled ‑‑ and then I thought I might focus on genealogy. Learn some of the family history, maybe write something about the process while I’m at it.” None of it was a lie, although the hopeful look that he gave Sinclair was put on. “Maybe you could help point me in the right direction? Tell me who I could talk to and where to look?”

  “Yes, you said that before,” Sinclair answered. “I just took it that that would be a hobby of sorts, I suppose. I didn’t realize you meant it was all you’d be doing.” It was clear it didn’t meet with his approval. He shrugged. “There’s the church records and such, if you’d like to take a look at them. Just let me know when you’re wanting to see them and I’ll get Mrs. Sinclair to show you. And the old people on the island will spend hours telling you stories if you let them ‑‑ in fact, it’s getting them to stop that’s the hard part!”

  He laughed at that, but Nick didn’t feel inclined to join him.

  Instead, he awkwardly tucked his hands into his pockets and nodded. “I should probably get going.” He tried to sound reluctant to do so. “It’s going to take me a month to get the house cleaned up, so no point in putting it off.”

  “Always better to push your work in front of you than to drag it behind you.” Sinclair produced the platitude without a trace of self-consciousness. “I won’t say goodbye though; I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” His eyes twinkled. “Sunday service is at nine, in case you were wondering.”

  “Thank you. I’ll let you know. About the records, I mean.” Nick smiled. “Have a good day. It looks like it’s going to be a nice one.”

  Sinclair squinted up at the sky and shook his head. “There’s rain forecast for all of next week.” He turned away. “Enjoy this while you can, Mr. Kelley. It won’t last forever.”

  * * * * *

  His mother’s birthday party was in full swing before John realized that he still hadn’t seen Nick.

  She’d had her hair done that afternoon, and was wearing the new outfit Janet had persuaded her to buy. He’d made her blush by telling her that she looked beautiful and not a day over forty-five, which delighted her enough that the small lie was well worth it.

  People were drinking wine and whiskey, most of it served by Carson, who was grinning and talking to everyone who came within earshot between stealing glances in John’s mother’s direction, making sure that she was having a good time. John’s Uncle Collum had arrived early on the ferry from Mull, where he’d gone to live after his brother had died. For the first time in a while, his face was smiling as he gathered Anne up in a hug and then set about finding some of his old cronies with an eye to a card game in a quiet corner.

  John was across the room when he saw Nick slip inside, shutting the door behind him. There were twenty people between them, and Nick was immediately set upon by Sheila, who’d been talking to some of her girlfriends on that side of the room. John was able to watch as Nick greeted her, smiling and shaking her hand and accepting the kiss on the cheek she no doubt couldn’t resist bestowing upon him.

  Even though John was determined to end the pretense within the next few days, as far as his mother was concerned at least, the habit of concealment was too ingrained for him not to approve of the impression Nick was making as he was swept into a crowd of women, all ripe for a flirtation with a good-looking stranger who combi
ned the exotic with the familiar, given his accent, which they were no doubt exclaiming over, and his family connections.

  He watched Nick have a drink pressed into his hand by Moira, who’d probably spun their brief encounter in the shop that first day into something requiring a background of violins to do it justice. John smiled as Nick said something that had the women bursting out into laughter that rang out over the music ‑‑ and then realized that he’d done nothing but watch Nick since he walked in, with God knows what expression on his face.

  “Is that young Nick Kelley then?” He turned and found his mother looking not at him but at Nick, her face unreadable, a faint question in her eyes.

  “Aye, it is.”

  “Do you want to rescue him?”

  “I don’t think he’s in any danger.” John repressed the urge to do just that. “Unless he goes deaf from the giggling.”

  “You could do it because I’d like to meet him,” his mother pointed out. “Not that I’d want to inconvenience you just for the sake of pleasing an old woman on her birthday.”

  John grinned, unable to take her manipulation as anything more than amusing in that moment. “Or for the sake of pleasing a woman who’s not a bit old. Aye, I’ll go get him.”

  Still, as he crossed the room, dodging people in the midst of conversation, he was painfully aware of what the proper way to interact with Nick in public would be, especially with this many people around. He couldn’t help but wince at the way Nick’s eyes warmed when Nick spotted him.

  “Glad you could make it.” John used a little more formality than normal.

  Nick’s expression lost some of its eagerness, but he carried on smiling. “It was very kind of your mother to invite me.” Nick stressed the words “your mother” just a little. “Speaking of which, I should tell her that in person ‑‑”

  John nodded. “That’s why I came over. She’s asking to meet you.”

  “Och, away with you,” said Moira shrilly, grabbing hold of Nick’s arm. “He’s having fun with us, aren’t you, Nicky?”

  John had never liked Moira much, and she knew it. Spiteful, gossipy, and when she’d had a few ‑‑ and she certainly had tonight, judging by the way she was swaying as she clung determinedly to “Nicky’s” arm ‑‑ all her worst qualities were intensified.

  But it took seeing her with her hands all over Nick to make John realize how deep his dislike went.

  “I really am.” Nick patted Moira’s hands where they were clinging to his arm and then somehow managed to detach himself from her grasp. “It’s nice to see you again, Moira. But I should go and say happy birthday to Mrs. McIntyre, don’t you think? I wouldn’t want to be rude.”

  Moira made a sound of protest, but let him go. “As long as you promise to come back and have some drinks with us, right, girls?”

  Appearing from the crowd, Sheila said, “Come on now, girls, what do we need a man for? We’ll have us a fine time without any of them, won’t we? We spend far too much time taking care of them as it is.”

  John threw her a grateful glance as he and Nick started to make their way across the room.

  “Are they always like that?” Nick’s tone made it clear that he was less pleased about it than he’d seemed.

  “You’ll notice they didn’t try and hang on to me,” John said dryly, the background noise giving them a certain privacy. Walking beside Nick and being careful not to even brush against him wasn’t easy. Not when he hadn’t seen him all day. “Don’t let it bother you; you’re new and they’re out to enjoy themselves, that’s all.” He gave Nick a sidelong glance and couldn’t resist teasing him. “It doesn’t hurt that you’re a good-looking man of the world, and they think they’re in with a chance, of course.” He grinned, shaking his head. “‘Nicky’? Is that something you’d like me to call you, then? You’ve only to say, you know.”

  “I think we’d better stick with ‘Nick,’ unless there are certain occasions on which you’re inclined to use my full name,” Nick said blandly. There was no time for John to respond ‑‑ they’d reached his mother, and Nick was offering her his hand gallantly. “Mrs. McIntyre, I’m Dominic Kelley. Thank you so much for having me.”

  John’s mother seemed pleasantly flustered, fluttering her eyelashes like a young girl. “Mr. Kelley, it’s lovely to meet you. I knew your dear uncle well; it’s always nice to have family return to the island.”

  “I’ve been wanting to come here for a long time. I’m looking forward to learning more about my family history, which I understand from John is also yours.”

  “Indeed it is, and I knew your mother well, of course.” John watched his mother’s face soften with sympathy. “I’m so sorry for your loss. She was ‑‑ oh, she was such a lively soul. Never still. This island wasn’t the place for her, but I do hope you find it welcoming.”

  “It’s exactly what I’ve been looking for.” Nick’s voice rang with sincerity, as if he’d never spoken truer words. “And John’s been great, introducing me to people and helping me figure out how to get the house fixed up. I’m hoping to stay on permanently.”

  His mother gave the smile that transfigured her face. “I’m very glad to hear that. Very glad, indeed.”

  John wondered if it was the praise of him that she meant, or Nick’s promise to stay. Both, maybe.

  Carson appeared at her side. “Anne? Stella wanted me to tell you that she’s ready to start serving the food, if you think it’s time.”

  Carson gave Nick a nod and a smile, but most of his attention was focused on Anne, and John felt an awareness stir to life that Carson really didn’t see anyone else when his mother was in the room. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, somehow. He didn’t mind the idea of them together ‑‑ of course he didn’t ‑‑ but that depth of feeling toward his mother seemed like something only his father had the right to feel. Telling himself not to be ridiculous, John gave Carson a more-than-usually warm smile and a clap on the shoulder that had him blinking in pleased surprise.

  “Aye, now would be fine.” Anne glanced at John, with a flush rising in her face. “Excuse me, Nick; I’ll be sure to find you again later so we can talk.”

  “I’d like that.” Nick waited until Anne and Carson had left to talk to Stella and then turned to John. “I had no idea there’d be so many people here.”

  John shrugged, not at all surprised by the turnout. “It’s a party ‑‑ and my mother knows everyone on the island.” He met Nick’s eyes. “I’m glad you came. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Do I look as nervous as I feel?” Nick asked, grinning. In truth, he looked perfectly at ease, as if he already knew everyone and attended parties like this all the time.

  “You look fine.” John gave Nick a quizzical look. “And I feel as if I need someone to introduce us. I’ve been thinking ‘Nick’ was short for ‘Nicholas.’”

  “Yeah, I don’t know why I used my full name like that.” Nick brushed his hair back out of his eyes. “No one’s ever called me anything but Nick. I guess it just felt more formal, or something.”

  “I like it.” John glanced around and saw more than a few eyes on them. Time for them to mingle with the guests before Moira decided to swoop down on them again. “Want to meet some more distant relatives then?”

  “If I don’t, people are going to start looking at us funny, aren’t they?” Nick looked around. “Or are they already? Yeah, sure, let’s make the rounds before anyone starts to suspect anything.” He sounded conspiratorial and not unhappy about it, but the fact that he was thinking it at all made John feel somewhat guilty.

  They began to thread through the crowds, with John stopping to introduce Nick now and then to people he knew well, most of whom remembered Nick’s mother, and all of whom seemed genuinely pleased to meet him. Nick was managing to keep his smile unforced and to make each repetition of his pleasure at being on the island and determination to stay sound fresh.

  It was all going well.

  “And that’s Sandy Dalgli
esh over there.” John led Nick over to the far corner of the room, wondering how long it would be before they could leave without people commenting. Hours, probably. The crowd around the buffet table was thinning out, and he’d decided to make this the last introduction before they went to get some food. He’d been hearing about this menu for weeks and he wasn’t sure he felt like eating it after the endless discussions, but Nick might be hungry.

  He had to lean in close to shout in Nick’s ear over the noise, putting his hand on Nick’s shoulder as he did so. It was an automatic, unthinking action, but it was the first time he’d touched him since he’d arrived. John felt the shock of it go through him and knew that Nick had felt it too. He kept his hand in place, deliberately controlling his reaction, his fingers tightening slightly and then relaxing; as close to a caress as he could manage. “He’s lived next door to my parents all my life. You’ll like him; he’s the one to go to if you want to hear stories about the island.”

  He stepped back, feeling the heat rise in his face and curling the fingers that had touched Nick protectively into a loose fist.

  Nick nodded. “Maybe not here, though,” he said loudly, leaning in a bit but not touching John. “But you could introduce us so I could talk to him another time?”

  It was the most genuine interest Nick had shown, so John tipped his head in Sandy’s direction and they moved toward the man. Sandy was laughing at something someone passing by had said, but he smiled broadly at John as he and Nick approached, showing off his missing teeth and reaching out to clap John on the shoulder.

  “How are ye then, John? Lovely job you’ve done with this party.”

  “Fine, thanks, Sandy. And I’ll be sure to pass on your compliments to Janet and Stella, who are the ones that deserve it after all their hard work.” John glanced at Nick. “Can I introduce you to Nick Kelley? He’s Ian’s nephew, fresh from America and planning to fix up Rossneath.”