I’ll be home for Christmas

by Roisin Meaney

  And after fifty yards or so, there they were on the beach, a wide strip of sand and pebbles that stretched for what looked like half a mile to her right. She walked down to the shore, her shoes sinking into the damp sand as she neared the water’s edge. She bent for a fistful of pebbles and flung them as far as she could: they made a chorus of soft splashes when they landed, causing Charlie to give a single bark before racing off across the sand.

  She looked out to sea, at the great body of water stretching away from her to the horizon. She listened to the music it made, the beautiful murmuring orchestra of it. She felt like she was opening up, like everything in her was unfurling and reaching out to the sea, and being nourished by it. She thought this must be what people meant when they talked about something touching their souls.

  She watched a seagull as it crossed the sky, followed its course as it swooped and climbed. She knew with certainty that one day she would live by the sea. It might not be this sea, it might be miles from here, but the time would come when she could stand on a shore again and look out to sea in precisely this way, every single day if she wanted. The thought heartened her. It lessened the loneliness she’d woken up with.

  A drop of water touched her face, and another. She thought at first it was ocean spray, carried on the breeze, but it soon became apparent that it was beginning to rain. She called for Charlie and they made their way back to the house, turning in at the gate while the shower stopped as suddenly and as quietly as it had started.

  She wondered, pushing open the back door, if Andy was up yet. She would have liked to say goodbye to him and the others, but she hadn’t seen any of them yesterday.

  ‘I thought you were still in bed,’ Susan said. She sat by the kitchen window, cradling a mug. Charlie made straight for his water bowl and lapped loudly.

  ‘I went down to the sea,’ Tilly told her, rubbing drops from her hair with the little towel that hung on a hook by the sink. ‘It started to rain. I borrowed your scarf, I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘Not at all. It must have been chilly. Are you all packed up?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  The kitchen clock said five past nine – had she spent that long on the beach? It hadn’t felt like it. It had felt like a few minutes. She rubbed her cold hands together.

  The stove was lighting. ‘Now that you’re here,’ Susan said, ‘I want to run something by you.’

  Tilly plugged in the kettle. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I hope I’m not being insensitive, after what happened – but I was wondering if you would be at all interested in becoming my baby’s godmother.’

  Tilly turned to look at her in astonishment.

  ‘If you’d rather not, that’s perfectly fine. I thought it might be something that would appeal to you.’ She paused. ‘I thought you might be looking for a reason to come back.’

  Laura was right. She was lovely.

  ‘I would, I mean I am – but I have no idea what a godmother does. I’m Presbyterian and we don’t have them.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think that would matter; it certainly wouldn’t to me. All you’d have to do is come to the christening – I’d like to have it here on the island – and say yes to any questions the priest asks, and that’s about it.’

  Lots of things hopped into Tilly’s head, in no particular order.

  Susan’s baby was due in early June.

  School closed for two weeks around the end of June.

  She’d have an excuse to come back to Roone.

  She’d meet her father: he’d have to be there.

  It would be summer on Roone.

  She’d see Andy again. In six months she’d see him again.

  ‘I’d love it,’ she said. ‘Thank you so much.’

  ‘Oh good, I’m glad. You think your parents will be alright with you coming again?’

  ‘They will.’ They would, she was sure of it. Ma and Pa had always wanted what was best for her. They’d always wanted her to be happy.

  A beat passed. ‘Tilly, Laura told me she’d been to see your father in Dublin. She told me about the money he gave her for you.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Susan hesitated. ‘I can’t explain,’ she said. ‘I can’t make excuses for him. I didn’t know a lot of things about him when we married – I think you can’t know someone properly until you live with them, and we didn’t live together beforehand. But I’ve stayed with him, and we’ve made a life together, and quite a lot of the time we’re happy. And now we’re having a child, and I’m hoping he’ll be a better father this time round.’

  ‘You think he’ll mind me being godmother?’

  ‘I think,’ Susan replied, ‘he has nearly six months to get used to the idea.’

  Tilly wouldn’t be a shock to him, like she’d been to Laura. He’d be well prepared to meet her. After her disappointment with her mother, and after all she’d heard about him, she wouldn’t be expecting a momentous encounter, an emotional coming together. And who knew? Maybe they’d both be pleasantly surprised.

  Maybe that was why this invitation had been issued: maybe it was Susan’s way of bringing him and Tilly together. Or maybe it had nothing to do with that at all. But still, it looked like they were going to meet.

  ‘Of course,’ Susan said, ‘I’ll expect you to visit Ireland fairly regularly in the future. Just to keep track of your godchild.’

  Tilly smiled. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  When she came downstairs with Poppy and the girls the clouds were parting to let the blue sky through, and Tilly and Susan were already up. While she fed Poppy on the bench Tilly filled bowls with cereal for the girls and tied dribblers around their necks and mopped up milk spills and made green tea for Laura and Susan.

  ‘Have you met my au pair?’ Laura asked Susan. ‘I’ll miss her when she’s gone.’

  ‘She’s coming back,’ Susan told her, and Laura pretended to be surprised as Susan told her about the godmother plan they’d devised the night before.

  ‘Excellent idea,’ she said, ‘and yes, I think Roone is the only possible venue for the christening. You’ll have holidays in June, Tilly?’

  ‘I’ll have two weeks, starting around the end.’

  ‘Perfect. Go out to the hall and bring in the phone pad.’

  Tilly did as she was told.

  ‘Write this down,’ Laura instructed, and dictated her email address. ‘Email me your bank details when you get home. And take this phone number too, and leave us yours, and your home address as well, just in case. There’ll be a bit of organising to do for June.’

  As Tilly was writing, there was a tap at the back door and Colette appeared. ‘I came to say goodbye,’ she said. ‘Nell has gone to work, but she sent a few pieces of gingerbread for the journey.’ She handed Tilly a tinfoil-wrapped package. ‘And Andy was wondering,’ she said, ‘if you need a lift to the ferry.’

  ‘Oh – um, I think Gavin …’ Tilly looked at Laura – and Laura saw, in the blush that was starting to creep up her face, in the eyes that were mirror images of their father’s, what she hadn’t spotted up to this.

  Andy.

  ‘That would be great,’ Laura said quickly. ‘Gavin was going to do it, but it would suit him if he didn’t have to, with the deliveries. I was going to phone for Dougie’s taxi, but if Andy was free, that would be so much better.’

  The vegetable deliveries could have waited a bit, nobody would have minded – but who was Laura to stand in the way of a younger, more fanciable chauffeur?

  Andy, who was presumably doing his best to forget Eve. Tilly, who’d been used and abused by the man she’d fancied herself in love with.

  Sounded like the perfect match to Laura.

  On the doorstep she took a few final photos of everyone before dropping to her knees and hugging the girls.

  ‘I’ll miss you,’ she said. ‘Will you remember Auntie Tilly?’

  They nodded, but they wouldn’t. She’d have to keep reminding them by turning up every so often.
<
br />   ‘Really lovely to meet you,’ Susan murmured, pressing her cheek to Tilly’s. ‘You’ll be back before you know it.’

  ‘Hope all goes well,’ Tilly replied. ‘I’ll be waiting for news.’

  Her new half-brother or -sister – and now godchild as well. She really must find out what godmothers were actually for – they must have some function beyond attending the child’s christening. She’d bone up on it when she got home.

  Gavin had said goodbye earlier. I believe we’ll see you soon again, he’d said. No getting rid of you now.

  I’m afraid not … but I’ll do my best to make myself useful.

  Damn right you will – I’ll have a list of jobs ready. C’mere, he’d said, wrapping his arms around her. Look after yourself. Bring me a boomerang next time.

  He was the one who’d found Betsy. She washed up on the beach, he’d told her, just a few days before you arrived. I thought Poppy might like her, but she only has eyes for the rabbit, so we passed her on to Charlie. I can’t believe she’s yours.

  They all thought she’d packed Betsy into her case. She let them go on thinking that.

  The boys hung back behind their sisters, no doubt praying she wouldn’t attempt to hug them, so she didn’t.

  ‘Write me a letter sometime,’ she told them – did children write letters any more? ‘Your mum has my address.’

  ‘Don’t hold your breath,’ their mum told her, ‘but they might surprise you.’ She handed Tilly an envelope. ‘This is for your folks,’ she said, ‘just introducing us to them, and telling them that we were delighted to meet you. It might make them feel easier about you coming back.’

  Tilly smiled. ‘You think of everything.’

  ‘I do – it’s one of my many talents. And this,’ she said, pressing something into Tilly’s hand, ‘is for the trip, just in case.’

  Tilly opened her hand and found a fifty-euro note. ‘No, I can’t take this—’

  ‘You can and you will,’ Laura told her. ‘You might fall asleep and be robbed again, or miss another flight and have to wait hours for the next. If it makes you feel better, you can send it back to me when you get home.’

  ‘I will, as soon as I get there.’ She pressed Laura’s hand. ‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘for everything. I was so scared coming here.’

  Laura smiled. ‘We did alright, didn’t we? After our shaky start.’

  ‘We did.’

  ‘I think we need to get going,’ Andy said.

  They turned. He stood by the gate, Tilly’s case already loaded into the boot of his father’s car. ‘It’s ten to,’ he said.

  ‘OK.’ Tilly turned back to Laura. ‘Thanks,’ she whispered again. She pressed a kiss on her sister’s cheek before giving a final wave to everyone and hurrying down the path.

  They drove off in a flurry of goodbyes. Tilly sat back when they were out of view, determined not to cry. Resolved to enjoy these last few minutes with him.

  ‘What route are you taking?’

  ‘London and Singapore.’

  ‘And when do you get home?’

  ‘Early on New Year’s Day.’

  ‘Australian time?’

  ‘Yes … we’re ten hours ahead right now.’

  Don’t talk about that. Tell me you’ll miss me, tell me you want me to come back.

  ‘I’m coming back,’ she said, and he took his eyes off the road briefly to look at her.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘In June. Susan asked me—’ She broke off. Maybe Susan’s pregnancy wasn’t official yet. ‘Susan asked me to come back.’

  ‘To Dublin?’

  ‘No – to Roone. She’ll be coming to Roone … for part of the summer. I’ll have holidays in June, two weeks.’

  He made no response. It didn’t matter to him: it made no difference whether she came back or not.

  The pier came into view. The ferry was approaching. She regarded it miserably.

  ‘I was thinking,’ he said, ‘we might keep in touch.’

  His profile was impossible to read.

  ‘Email,’ he said, throwing her another quick glance. ‘If you want to.’

  ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I’d like that.’

  They pulled in opposite the pier. The few cars that had been brought across began to move off. Andy took out his phone.

  ‘Tell me yours,’ he said. ‘I’ll email you mine,’ so she recited her email address and he tapped it in. ‘I’ll email you tonight,’ he said, his eyes still on the screen. ‘It’ll be waiting when you get home.’

  He looked up.

  They exchanged smiles. Tilly’s heart turned a cartwheel.

  ‘Better make a move,’ he said, and got out. He wheeled her case across the road, where a short line of cars was waiting to embark.

  There was no sign of any other foot passengers. A drop fell on her uncovered head, and another: the rain was never far away in Ireland. Hopefully it was drier in the summer. Hopefully she’d be able to wear her blue linen top.

  They walked down the roped-off pedestrian gangplank.

  ‘That’s Leo,’ Andy said, and Tilly looked at the man who was guiding the cars into their slots. Stocky and weather-beaten, dark bushy beard that reminded her of Bernard in the pub across the water. Worn leather bag slung over his oilskin coat, navy corduroy pants tucked into wellingtons.

  When the cars were all parked he walked across. ‘You’re Laura’s sister,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘You’re the talk of the island. And since this is your maiden voyage, it’s on the house.’

  He walked away as she was thanking him. She watched as he moved from car to car, taking money and issuing tickets.

  ‘Well,’ Andy said, ‘I’d better be on my way.’ Not going on his way, not moving. ‘Not sure how this goes,’ he said.

  ‘We should probably hug,’ she said, before she could think about it and decide against saying it.

  He took his hands out of his pockets and they hugged as the rain fell. They were almost the same height. His hair smelt of the sea. She closed her eyes and forbade herself to cry.

  They drew apart. ‘Goodbye,’ he said. ‘Safe trip.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ she said, the feel of him still with her. She watched him retrace his steps up the gangplank. When he reached the car he looked back and waved, and she waved back, being careful to keep her smile in place. She turned then, unable to watch him driving off.

  She saw a little covered structure near the far end of the ferry, presumably where foot passengers went in inclement weather, but she ignored it. She wheeled her case to the ferry’s rail while the rain continued to fall. Nobody joined her, nobody got out of a car. The rail was ice-cold but she held on tightly with both hands and looked out to sea as the ramp was winched up and the ferry pulled slowly away from the pier, and she felt again the dip and roll beneath her feet as they settled into the rhythm of the water. Less obvious here than on Kieran’s little boat, the ferry big and steady on its course, but still there was the feeling that she’d left solid ground behind.

  She thought of Betsy, tucked away in the attic. She thought about the weeks and months ahead, when the notion of her old doll waiting for her in Ireland would occur, and make her smile. She thought of the people she’d encountered since her arrival, and the kindness she’d been shown, and the family she’d found on Roone.

  She thought of Andy Baker who’d tilted her sideways, and the email that would be waiting for her when she got home, and the umpteen responses she’d type before settling on one that was fit to send back to Ireland.

  She thought of the money that would soon be hers. When it arrived she’d get presents for everyone in Walter’s Place, and for Nell and James and Andy and Tommy. She’d get something for Paddy and Breda in Dingle too – she’d ring them and ask for their address. And Bernard and Cormac and Ursula in the pub, and Colette and Susan. She’d find everyone’s address – she’d track them all down.

  She’d write a thank-you letter to her father for the money he’d given her. It wo
uld only be polite. She’d put her address in the top corner of the envelope.

  The rain fell solidly as she was carried away from Roone. She turned at last to look back at the island, at the houses and the beaches and the hills and the fields that gradually became smaller and smaller. She looked until the entire place was nothing more than a series of dark rises and falls along the horizon.

  Six months, she told herself, her face wet with tears and Irish rain, her heart overflowing. Six months.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Many thanks to my editor Ciara Doorley and all at Hachette Books Ireland for seeing book number twelve safely from my head to the bookshop shelf, ably assisted along the way by copy-editor Hazel Orme and proofreader Aonghus Meaney.

  Thanks also to my agent Sallyanne Sweeney at Mulcahy Associates, London, for taking care of the official stuff along the way.

  Big thanks to Geraldine Exton and Cameron Wilkie for making sure I got the Australian stuff right (any blunders are mine, not theirs: they’re true blue Aussies).

  Lots of thanks to Sharon Noonan, Thomas Bibby, Verette O’Sullivan, Patrick Mercie, Siobhan Moloney and Rosanne Fitzgerald for providing all the other advice/encouragement/chai lattes I needed along the way, and to Noelene Hofman in Tasmania whose chance remark brought two miniature goats into being. (All will be explained.)

  Sincere thanks to Mary Clerkin and all at The Tyrone Guthrie Centre at Annaghmakerrig for opening the door anytime I come knocking, and for dishing out the haute cuisine along with the uninterrupted writing time.

  Most of all, thanks a million to you, dear reader, for having enough faith in me to choose this book. Whether you picked it up in a shop, found it in your local library, or swiped it from a friend’s bookshelf, the fact that you’re willing to read it means far more to me than the sum you spent or didn’t spend on it. I do hope you enjoy it. xx

  Also by Roisin Meaney

  ONE SUMMER

  This summer on the island, anything is possible…

  Nell Mulcahy grew up on the island – playing in the shallows and fishing with her father in his old red boat in the harbour. So when the stone cottage by the edge of the sea comes up for sale, the decision to move back from Dublin is easy. And where better to hold her upcoming wedding to Tim than on the island, surrounded by family and friends?