by Fox Brison
I was going to vomit with all of his cheesiness.
“Thank you, Dominic, but I’m sure I’ll manage. Do you have an hour to spare? I’d like to go over the scheduling,” she stated. “I also want to discuss tradesmen. In my experience all the decent ones are booked months in advance.”
“Sure, I have a few good lads that I use.”
“Great. Elisha, are you coming?” She edged towards the cottage.
“Just try and stop me,” I murmured and walked between the two of them.
Back at the cottage, Brianna went to change and I filled the kettle whilst having a quiet word in Dom’s ear. “Don’t,” I warned.
“Don’t what?” he asked innocently.
“You know fine well what, Mr Lubba, Lubba.”
He grinned and although our exchange may have been light hearted, I wouldn’t tolerate any mixing of business and pleasure on this project.
Unless it involved me!
Chapter 12
Brianna
“Now you’re sure you won’t come?” Elisha was meeting some friends in town for a drink, and although invited, I fancied an evening alone. The first couple of weeks had flown by and I felt like I needed to decompress. I’d been on the phone all day every day, to suppliers, the architect… I wanted everything lined up in a row before the build really began in earnest.
“I’m positive, I’ll be fine.” We both turned when there was a raucous beeping outside. “And that’ll be your lift. Have fun.”
“I will.” She shut the door and I was alone.
Silence.
It was one of the first things I noticed about Ireland; the tranquillity swiftly followed by the beauty and those were chased by the conviviality of almost everyone I met. It gave me pause for thought and I wondered why my parents never came back to the land of their fathers... wait, that’s Wales.
They were proud of their heritage and ancestry, and it crossed my mind momentarily whether it was something connected to my heritage and my ancestry. I hastily shrugged off the wave of melancholy which threatened to engulf me. I couldn’t twist everything to fit into my newly minted warped sense of the past. I knew my father’s relationship was strained at best with his family, and they all but disowned him when he moved to Dublin where he met my mother. She herself had no family, her parents passing away before she was barely out of her teens. It had always just been the three of us, the three McAteers my father called us.
Everything always came back to family.
Sitting down on my bed, I pulled out the box and the letter. I’d tried to forget about their existence, but their subliminal prodding wouldn’t let up. The fact of the matter was simple; I wouldn’t get any peace until I faced up to my demons and whatever came of that can, even if it was one of worms. I drifted back in time to the last day I saw my parents…
The door was unlocked, and I swallowed nervously. “Hi, Mum,” I strangled out a call. I wished my voice was stronger, but it barely carried past the door jam.
“Oh… oh Brianna!” She rushed into the hallway and stopped short of grabbing me. I saw fear in her eyes and loathed that I was the one responsible for putting it there.
“I’m sorry I’ve not been around, I needed some time....” I looked skywards, hoping that divine intervention would deliver me the right words. Yeah, nothing there but emptiness. “Wrap my head around things I guess. I didn’t want to say anything that… well you know what my temper’s like.”
“You get that from-”My mum placed a trembling hand to her mouth. I knew what she was about to say, and part of me wished she’d just said it, but that was the thing about secrets. Most of the time they were little white lies that made not a jot of difference, yet others chewed you up, spat you out, and nothing was ever the same again.
“I get that from Dad,” I said softly, finishing for her. Tears welled in her eyes but she quickly wiped them away.
“You do.” Taking me in her arms, we held each other. “Come into the kitchen. Your father and I want to try and explain.”
“Bri-” Dad started to speak as soon as I sat down at the table, but I held up my hand and he quieted.
“Dad, please, let me go first.” They both nodded, and I stared in turn at each of them. My rocks. “I love you, and couldn’t have asked for better parents. I am who I am because of you and no one else. Okay? You are not losing me.” Again they nodded. Together. If there was an Olympic event for synchronised nodding, they’d be a shoo in for gold. “I’ve thought long and hard about why you never told me that I was adopted, and the conclusion I reached is that it doesn’t matter why. You had your reasons and you thought you were doing the right thing.”
“We did, Brianna. We never meant to deceive you, we simply didn’t see the point of telling you after Maggie died giving birth,” Mum whispered.
“What?” I gasped. For the past fifteen days I thought of little else except this woman who gave me life. What was she like? Did I have any brothers or sisters? Would she be proud of me? I’d run the gamut of emotions and had scarcely made it through to the other side, and now this? It was one sucker punch to the solar plexus after another. I was already on the ropes, and this sent me crashing to the canvas. “What about her family?”
“You know as much as we do,” Mum promised. “We were only told her name and age.”
“Maggie. Seventeen and alone,” I murmured.
“We paid to have her buried, it was the least we could do,” she said and I began to cry. Up until this very second I’d been closed off, my emotions held in check by insulating tape and comfort eating, but now I couldn’t stop them escaping their bindings.
“It was a private adoption in Dublin,” Dad took the baton. “She was scared, but wanted you to have all the opportunities in the world. She loved you, Brianna, of that I have no doubt, but she couldn’t care for you.”
“I see.” I thought back to the letter, to the words. Strong like the mountains. “What about my father?”
“Listen, Brianna,” my Dad barked, which was unexpected because up until then we’d all been quietly sharing a moment. “She didn’t mention any family. She didn’t mention the father. That should tell you everything you need to know.”
“Well it doesn’t, Dad. I want to know where I come from. That might not make sense to you, but it’s important to me.”
“You know where you come from. You know who you are.” As he rose, so did his voice. “I told you, Bernie. I told you to get rid of that feckin’ box!” he snapped at my Mum, his accent becoming thicker with every word.
“I couldn’t, Noel. That girl died giving us Brianna. I couldn’t throw out something she held so dear.”
“Hang on a minute, don’t you dare blame Mum.” It was my turn to growl angrily.
“You’re making a mistake, Bri. What are you going to find? Bad memories and not much else.” His tone and body language softened. “Maggie was alone for a reason. I think you should respect her wishes.”
“Respect her wishes?” I spat incredulously. “If she wished to remain anonymous why write the note? Why leave me the picture? Dad, I didn’t expect this to raise so many questions inside…” I sighed. “Look this is getting us nowhere. I hoped you might understand why I needed to do this, but obviously I was wrong.”
“No, we understand, Bri, we do.” Mum looked towards my father, her eyes begging him to keep his temper in check, her words an attempt to calm the troubled waters before they rose another foot.
There was so much more I wanted to know. I had barely scratched the surface in terms of the questions I wanted to ask, but it was clear nothing would completely satisfy any of us. The whole situation was fraught with tension, and in the end someone was bound to get hurt, it was the very nature of the beast.
“I might not find the answers I’m looking for, still I have to try.” I stared at the table. I couldn’t face the sorrow in their eyes, to witness their disappointment. “I accepted a job in Ireland this morning.”
“You did… And Leo? What does he m
ake of all this?” my Dad’s tone was belligerent and that was putting it mildly.
“We split up.”
“Jesus, Bri, have you completely lost your mind?” he scowled. For the first time in my life, I was disappointing my father.
The thing was for the first time in my life, the feeling was entirely mutual…
I nodded grimly. I was ready to take the next step and begin my search. Just by making the decision I could already feel the stirring of difference. I felt looser, the shackles that normally bound me slackened. I’d gone out on a limb by coming here, had stepped so far beyond my comfort zone I was in a different time zone, but instead of being distressed I was excited. The last time I felt this motivated was before…
Just before my Royal Academy of Music audition.
My fingers ached; not because of pain, but because they were desperate to begin playing, they were desperate to caress the familiar cold strings beneath them. I took a deep breath. Patience. It had been a while since I even rosined my bow.
I gingerly opened the case and stared down at my instruments varnished glory. Delicately I cradled the neck and positioned it beneath my chin. A perfect fit. I began by tuning it, a routine that had been anything but for the past ten years. The first note warbled and not on purpose. I remember my favourite teacher telling me that the emotion of the musician transferred to the instrument, so perhaps the loose first C was an indication of my anxiety.
After all this time would I still be able to create anything worthwhile from my bow?
There was only one way to find out.
The next note was better, and the one after that was good. I continued until finally I played one magnificent in its perfection.
The music throbbed from the soles of my feet to the tips of my ears. Even my scalp tingled. Rather than forcing myself into a corner and playing a piece that might drag up bad memories, I chose to play freely and unencumbered by the past. Staccato notes and harsh melodies began, and a few tears dropped as the music echoed my life in England, sharp notes melding into smoothness, then into a long chord of nothingness. The rhythm of the city was replaced by my new life in the county, specifically the mountains rising high above us. Glorious glissandos took on a life of their own, just as I had by coming here. Freestyle? Oh hell yeah, baby! Nothing average, nothing passionless about this piece. Not knowing who I was, was allowing me to be anyone that I wanted to be.
It was liberating.
Chapter 13
Brianna
I heard the hum of an engine and several rowdy voices calling goodbye – for at least five minutes – before the front door swung open and Elisha entered doing that walk, you know the one we’ve all done (where one leg is shorter than the other and it resembles a cross between a stagger and a strut) in an attempt to appear sober.
“Well good evening,” she sang merrily.
“And good evening to you too. Someone looks like they had fun,” I sniggered.
“It was gas.”
So it appeared as if she’d had a good time but her words belied the fact. Gas? Did it stink? “Who were you out with again?”
“A few of the girls I used to play football with,” she explained, and headed into the kitchen where I heard the fridge opening. She returned with a carrier bag in one hand and a tray with two glasses of her favourite beer held precariously in the other.
“A glass of your beer? For me?” I asked, surprised. Elisha guarded her Galway Hookers with her life.
“I know you hate drinking out of the bottle,” she grinned. “And I meant to give you this earlier, but it slipped my mind.”
I peered inside the bag. “What’s this?” I looked up at her.
“It’s a dressing gown and pair of slippers.” She stared bemusedly at me, like I was the one who was wearing the beer googles. “I’d been meaning to buy you them since you moved in, but I only managed to get to Sligo this morning. The ones in town are fit for nothing except a geriatric’s hospital bag, pink granny gown and burgundy slippers with yellow flowers.” She shuddered at ‘Sartorial Elegance from the house of Pensioner’ available in the one local clothing store.
Stella McCartney it was not.
“This is incredibly thoughtful of you, Elisha.” I pulled out a navy blue fleece affair and a pair of matching slippers. They felt like fluffy clouds of comfort and I snuggled into the dressing gown. “Mmm, so soft! And in my favourite colour too.”
“Yeah, I noticed your affinity for navy.”
“You did?” Another shocker that heated me. I wasn’t going to need the extra nightwear if she continued with all these grand gestures.
“Of course. Even your phone’s dark blue. Anyway, I saw you were feeling the chill in the mornings so hopefully these will help.”
Elisha blushed and squinted into her glass after revealing she’d seen I was cold. Why I’m not sure. Perhaps it had to do with me being her guest. “Only first thing in the morning before the fire gets going, after that the house is toasty,” I reassured her. “So thank you, these will come in handy.”
“Sure, it was nuttin’. You should have come tonight,” she said, changing direction sharply as was her wont. “I wanted to show you off.”
Perhaps she was slightly more than tipsy - Elisha was adrunkable and I enjoyed seeing this side to her.
“I’ll come next time I promise. But tonight I needed to unwind a little. I’ve hardly taken a breath these last two weeks.”
Elisha placed her beer down deliberately on the table and peered at me myopically. It was disconcerting. “It must have worked, you look happier,” she observed.
“Yeah?” I exclaimed, surprised by her perception.
“Definitely. It was like you had a weight on your shoulders and I thought a little shadow of sadness lingered in your eyes. It’s not there tonight.”
Wow. I already held Elisha in high regard. She couldn’t have been more accommodating during my transition here and the aims of the camp were noble and big hearted. But the fact that she spotted such a subtle change in my demeanour went way above the call of duty. Noticing I was cold… buying me things in my favourite colour… giving me her favourite beer in a glass… when I was with her I felt special.
“Another?” She waved her bottle at me just as her phone began to ring. “Ah shite!” I raised my eyebrows questioningly. “The auld fella.” I heard the fridge open and then two puffs as the bottle tops were flicked off. This symphony was accompanied by a chorus of yesses and nos. I grinned. For the past two weeks or so, Elisha had been avoiding her family. It wasn’t obvious, hurried phone calls, whispered promises, until finally tonight I heard her say exasperatedly, “Fine, Sunday!”
“That sounded tense,” I remarked when she handed me my drink.
“No more than usual, family drama is all. Sorry, Bri, I can’t put it off any longer. I’m gonna have to bring you to meet them.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Dad can be. The kids are great. Tommy doesn’t talk much. And then there’s Isabella.”
Strangely, I was beginning to understand her half sentences and confused statements. “You and your sister don’t get on?”
“She enjoys doin’ a number on people, especially me!” She laughed, but it was sardonic and a weak attempt to lighten the mood. This was genuinely worrying her.
“Forewarned is forearmed?”
“Something like that.” She scowled.
“Any particular reason you don’t see eye to eye?” Since the phone call, Elisha was like a cat in a room full of dogs without muzzles, and I hoped talking it out might help her settle.
“One reason.” She took a drink, her eyes lost in the past. “I knew I wasn’t like Isabella, or any of my friends at school. I was a baby butch in training, a tomboy who preferred playing in the dirt, although I didn’t put a label on it until I watched Buffy. Tara did it for me!” She winked and then focussed on her bottle of beer. She was endeavouring to be upbeat, even though the story was obviously an emotional one. “After watching that show I was i
n no doubt that I liked girls.”
“Your family weren’t supportive?” I probed mildly.
“If I told my Da I was pregnant by a serial killer who murdered people using a rusty hacksaw he would have been happier. The reaction was about what I expected if I’m honest. You know the usual bollocks, blamed himself for letting me help on the farm, or it was Mammy’s fault for not stopping me from wearing trousers to mass.”
“But you get on okay with him now?”
She paused in thought. “After the initial ‘shock’ he calmed, and whilst he’s never going to be a card carrying member of the ‘Proud Irish Father’s with a Lesbian Daughter’ association, he’s coming around slowly. Being home has brought us closer and not solely in kilometres.”
“So what’s Isabella’s problem?”
“Oh it’s all about image with that one. I left for college at eighteen and was finally free to be who I was. I relished that freedom. But someone from home saw me being friendly with a woman in a bar.”
“What, were you were holding hands or something?” I asked curiously.
“Or something.” She blushed. “Anyway, Isabella told them it couldn’t have been me because I was engaged. To a guy,” she qualified in case I didn’t get the gist.
I did. “You’re joking!” My eyes flashed with utter disbelief and I shook my head more than once. In that moment I changed from ‘Summer Breeze Brianna’ with gentle waves and a warm sun, to ‘Tropical Storm Brianna,’ complete with rising winds and a fury born of incredulity. “That’s scandalous!”
“I wish I was joking. It was one of the most humiliating chapters in my life. I didn’t know what to say or do, and in the end I did nothing, simply nodded and smiled.” Her eyes glistened. “I’ve always regretted not being braver in that moment.”
“Leesh, you were a kid,” I placated. Jesus. If she thought that was cowardly, what would she think of someone like me who’d never stood up for anything or anyone in my life – not even myself!
“Perhaps you’re right, because a few years later I returned home and came out properly to everyone. Isabella has never forgiven me.”
