Of all the things Scarlett’s fleeting success had brought her, money was not one she had much interest in. Being able to buy this house had felt like pay back to Maggie for looking after Ava. Her mother wasn’t one for deep meaningful conversations. Scarlett could never have sat down with her and said how much she appreciated Maggie taking Ava on and giving her a good solid upbringing. As much as Scarlett resented the stifling atmosphere of Moonstone Street, she appreciated that a child need stability and routine. She could see for herself that Ava was a happy child who was doted on. So, buying number ninety-seven was the easiest way of saying thank you, while providing Ava with a wonderful house to grow up in. Something more than Scarlett had had. Perhaps having the luxury of such a house to grow in, a beautiful garden to play in, Ava could lose herself enough to never have to go looking for something else, just as Scarlett had to.
She put her hand on the pendant around her neck and rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger. She was wearing the necklace she had worn every day since the diagnosis, a rhodochrosite crystal, a pink, polished stone veined with luminous white streaks. A stone signifying strong bonds of love, with power to help remove blockages and strengthen emotional security. It was also believed to help ward off health problems concerning thyroid disorders and asthma. Even cancer.
Not that she truly believed such power. As far as Scarlett was concerned, the stones could help with emotional problems, provide a little lift in a life dogged by stress. Her clients came with problems of the self which only they could overcome, but sometimes believing in a higher power, or something outside of your control, could help just enough to move you forward beyond the clutches of whatever illness threatened.
She closed her eyes and tried to imagine Ava running around the rooms of the old house, at six, at ten, as a teenager. Whenever she envisaged her as a fully grown woman she could never put a face to the image. It was as if Ava as a young woman was always turning away, resisting meeting her mother’s gaze. And now here she was in Belfast, and it looked like Ava was long gone elsewhere.
Scarlett sat down on the tartan blanket and rummaged in her holdall for her toothbrush. When it came to packing up her life, she had very little to bring with her. She had sold off most of her belongings in a yard sale, and Stella had happily taken clothes and books. Scarlett’s jewellery-making equipment would be sent on when she was more established and had discovered where she would be staying but for now, all that she needed was in the big tapestry bag she had bought for twelve dollars on a market stall.
She had nothing to eat but she wasn’t hungry, just tired, bone tired. The next day she would call on the neighbours to see if they could help her track down Ava. Maybe they would be able to help her realign her compass and point herself towards her daughter.
16
Ava turned over in her bed and tried to imagine what it would be like to never sleep in thirteen Moonstone Street again. She had organised a hire van and was going to move her few belongings into Mount Pleasant Square the following day. Ben and Daniel were going to do the heavy lifting. Niamh and Cal had intended to offer moral support and have a nosey round, but a work commitment in Dublin had prevented them from joining her. They couldn’t wait to get nosing around and had already started discussing colour ways, fabric swatches and stainless-steel kitchen appliances as if they were her resident interior designers or ‘abode stylists’ as Cal kept saying.
The following day would be the twelfth of July bank holiday so they were all off work. While some of the country would be marching in their Orange bands, Ava and her friends would be busy hauling furniture about and stripping wallpaper if Ava could convince them that it was a fun way to spend their day. She would tell Cal next week it would be a stripping party rather than a painting party, and he might see the funny side and help out, as long as he didn’t insist on being buck naked while he did it.
Ava had spent every spare weekend sanding down floors and sweeping up after the builders but had enjoyed every minute. Her evenings were still reserved for visiting Maggie. But it was amazing what a bit of clearing out and sweeping up had done to the place.
The garden was her next project to undertake. She was going to inquire if Quinn, the gardener at the Sisters of Mercy home, would be interested in earning a bit of extra money overhauling her wild garden. He seemed to be a nice fella. Quiet and kept to himself, but always tinkering about, mowing the lawns or cutting back shrubbery. She could ask Sister Lucy about him.
Ava pulled the duvet up over her head in an effort to get some sleep. The next day would be a busy day and she would need a good night’s sleep.
17
Scarlett woke early with the morning sun warming her face, but was stiff and sore from sleeping on the hard floor. She arched her back to relieve the stiffness and stood up to stretch her aching joints. The long flight, and the disappointment of finding the house empty and neglected, had taken its toll on her. She felt like crying but managed to pull herself together. A new day might bring some fresh information and explain all of this.
She padded towards the back of the house to find the kitchen in search of something to drink, hoping the tap was still connected to the water supply. Her mouth was dry and her throat was scratchy-sore. In the bright morning light, she realised that there was another room to the left of the kitchen which she had missed the previous night. It looked like someone had decided to resituate the kitchen in what would have been the old morning room. In the newly appointed kitchen she found it had been fitted out with smart white cupboards and a shiny grey granite work surface.
She found an old chipped cup sitting on the stainless-steel drainer and let the tap run for a few minutes before filling it with chilly cold water. It seemed that the house was being overhauled. It could be that Ava had decided to do it up, with the intention of putting it up for sale. Either that or she had already sold it and the new buyers would be horrified to find Scarlett squatting overnight. She assumed Moonstone had long since been sold.
Curious now, she made her way around the downstairs rooms. The main drawing room had been freshly plastered. The walls, still drying out, were a shade of soft pinky grey. Light flooded in from the large bay window, making the room inviting and warm. It would be lovely when it was finished, she thought. The other downstairs rooms were in varying stages of work. The hallway still had the original wallpaper although someone had begun stripping it, leaving crumbling plaster beneath the areas exposed.
She climbed the stairs, her bare feet cautiously avoiding pieces of chipped plaster and the odd nail. Upstairs was much the same — a work in progress. She found the main bathroom and freshened up. She was glad to have a wee and to be able to wash her face even though the water was freezing.
She was cross with herself for not having written to Ava before arriving unannounced. There had been many times over the years she had sat down trying to compose a letter, but had always abandoned it, failing to put into words how she felt and how desperately regretful she was that they hadn’t maintained contact. Then, when she was diagnosed with cancer, she felt that she had no right to expect any reconciliation.
The splash of cold water had refreshed her, making her feel suddenly wide-awake yet ravenous. She felt a renewed optimism that she would track Ava down. She would knock on the neighbouring house and ask if they knew of Ava, and perhaps they would know how she could contact her. Trouble was, with it being the twelfth of July, many people would be away on holiday. The shops and cafes might be closed too so she would have to find herself a B&B to stay in and get something to eat.
She dried her face off on the end of her crinkled skirt and headed out onto the landing to pack up her tapestry holdall and begin looking for Ava. But before she had chance to put her foot on the first step of the creaky threadbare carpeted stairs, she heard voices outside and a key turning in the lock of the front door.
Ava took one last look around thirteen Moonstone Street. To all intents and purposes, the living room looked exactly the same a
s it always had. The sofa was well worn, yet comfortable, the gold and green floral curtains were pulled wide open to let in the early morning sunlight, Maggie’s ornaments and clock standing on top of the fireplace, and the television, a black box of silence, sat still in the corner. She’d spent hours sitting at the table playing cards or board games with Joseph or doing her homework.
Nothing had changed and yet, it could never be the same.
Most of Ava’s possessions were packed up in boxes, stacked in the hall, waiting to be lifted, and put into the rented white van. She had cleared out her bedroom, deciding to take her little, neat single bed with her, and her books, along with her small television which Maggie had bought her many Christmases earlier. Her clothes, handbags and her shoes and boots were packed into two suitcases. She had used the move as an opportunity to have a good clear-out, and under Niamh’s watchful eye had culled all items of clothing which looked dated or shabby. The end result being that Ava no longer had much to wear. Still, Niamh was right, she needed a revamp and for once she was open to the idea.
The short beep of a horn from the van outside interrupted her thoughts. ‘Right,’ she said to herself, ‘this is it,’ and she closed the living room door ready to make her move into ninety-seven Mount Pleasant Square.
Ben climbed down out of the hired van and gave Ava a quick hug and a kiss.
‘So, you’re definitely moving?’ he asked half joking. Ava had spent many evenings listing the pros and cons of the move, debating whether or not it was wrong to leave Moonstone Street while Maggie was so unwell and unable to voice her opinion on the matter. He had listened patiently and then told Ava that he couldn’t advise her what to do, sure didn’t he still live with his parents? She chuckled at that and was reminded once again of how slow she had been to venture beyond her own safe little nest.
‘We’ll put the bed in first and then stack the boxes around it,’ said Ben sounding like he knew what he was talking about.
His brother Daniel climbed out of the white van looking hung-over.
‘Heavy night?’ asked Ava.
He closed his eyes against the bright sunlight and circled his shoulders as if loosening up in preparation for the heavy lifting. ‘I think it must have been. My head is pounding.’
‘Sure, a bit of exercise will do you good,’ joked Ava. She had come to like Daniel and his easy-going ways over the last while. He had met her and Ben for drinks a couple of times and was always good company and had so far maintained his promise not to let on to Hazel about her and Ben.
When they had the van fully packed and the last of the boxes loaded, Ava shut the front door. She stood back and looked at the wee two-up two-down house, and felt tears threaten to well up. She was being silly really, since it wouldn’t be the last time she was here. She wasn’t selling Moonstone Street, so she could always pop back when she wanted to, but she knew, deep down, it would never feel the same again.
Since Maggie had moved in with the Sisters of Mercy, the house had felt less like home anyhow. It was time to move on and embrace a new stage in her life. She had spent too long letting life happen to other people. It was her turn to engage in a bit of excitement. Breaking up with Finlay had been the instigation she needed.
‘Ready?’ asked Ben from the driver’s seat.
‘Sure, it’s now or never.’ Ava climbed up into the van, fastened her seat belt and braced herself for a new direction.
‘Lift it higher and grab the end, will you? I seem to be getting all the weight!’ Ben shouted to Daniel as they tried to manoeuvre the single bed through the front door of Mount Pleasant Square.
‘I’ve got the bloody end!’ Daniel shouted back.
Ava came behind them carrying the first of the many boxes. ‘Keep the noise down would you. I don’t want the neighbours thinking badly of me and I haven’t even moved in yet. If I had known you two were going to behave like the Chuckle Brothers I would have hired a real removal firm,’ she said, setting the box down in the hallway. ‘Up the stairs and first room on the right.’
She turned sharply as something caught her eye. There, in the corner of the drawing room, she saw a bag. She walked in to look at it. A large tapestry carpetbag which didn’t belong to her and certainly didn’t look like something any of the work men would have owned, was sitting, wide open. She crossed the drawing room and picked up the bag. It was heavy and seemed full, packed to capacity. She was almost fearful of something jumping out at her, practical joke style. Inside she saw clothes: lots of silky kimono-style tops and comfortable looking wide leg trousers, a few long cotton skirts, the type of clothes you would describe as hippy. She rummaged further down and felt a soft leather purse. As she pulled it out for inspection, she could hear the footsteps of Ben and Daniel overhead as they placed the single bed in the master bedroom.
When she unbuttoned the silver-grey leather purse and examined a Visa debit card, she felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up. There, on the plastic cards in embossed print, she read: Scarlett Mary Connors. Her mother.
Ava’s mind tried to grasp hold of the information. She was sitting in Mount Pleasant Square with Scarlett’s bag at her knees, looking through her clothes and personal belongings and staring at the name Scarlett Mary Connors.
Ava was snapped out of her reverie by the pounding of Ben and Daniel on the stairs. She jumped up and walked out to the hallway, leaving the bag where she’d found it.
‘Right that’s the bed and the chair in. We only have a few boxes left. This house is so big your stuff has just been swallowed up,’ said Daniel.
‘I know,’ Ava said, ‘it will take me years to furnish it. Just throw the boxes into the hall, and you two can head off. I’m sure your mum has a barbeque or something planned.’ She wanted them to leave so she could find Scarlett. She had to be in the house somewhere.
Ben gave her a kiss. ‘You sure you don’t want a hand unpacking?’ He was like a puppy dog always seeking affection and reassurance.
‘No honestly, you’ve done enough. I’ll give you a call later on in the week.’ She waved them off and closed the door, wondering what on earth Scarlett was doing back again, and where she was hiding.
18
Ava had yearned to reconnect with Scarlett for so long. God, the nights Ava had spent in Moonstone Street, dreaming of her mother and imagining all sorts of wild adventures. Would she be at some glamorous party full of Hollywood film stars or would she be singing and playing guitar with her band, entertaining her adoring fans? Maybe she was thinking about Ava at exactly the same moment. Ava would squeeze her eyes shut and concentrate on sending a telepathic message to wherever she was.
Mum, it’s me, Ava. I love you, come and visit me soon.
Growing up without a mother wasn’t always hard. Maggie had made sure Ava was not short of love or attention, but there had been moments when she knew that no matter how good Maggie was, there was always that sense of someone missing.
Many nights lying in that little room in Moonstone Street, when she couldn’t find sleep, she climbed out of bed and opened the dark oak door of her wardrobe. There, at the very back behind the shoes, the boots and the handbags, she would drag out an old duffle bag. Over time it had faded from purple to a soft shade of heather.
It used to hold a lingering scent of Scarlett’s musk and patchouli oil perfume, but over time it smelt of nothing more than dust and memories. Reaching into it, she rummaged past the pastel-coloured envelopes holding the never posted letters from her childhood and teenage years. They were toe-curling, embarrassing letters she had written to her mother, detailing all her problems, worries and hopes for the future.
She pulled out a photograph, three inches by three inches square, faded with age – Scarlett standing in a field, her jeans bleached pale blue, worn tight and flared at the bottom. Her hair hung in two long silky, dark brown plaits and she beamed out at Ava, her eyes screwed up against the glare of the sun.
Next, she dragged out the long woollen scarf, kn
itted in loose stitches of violets, blues and soft pinks. Ava wrapped it around her neck just as she used to do when she was small; trying to imagine Scarlett’s embrace. Ava sat on her knees picturing her mother’s comforting love. Just like she used to do when school was hard, when she had fought over something silly with Niamh, when Maggie had scolded her and sent her to her room.
At the bottom of the bag there lay a silver locket, tarnished with age. Ava opened the catch and looked at the tiny photograph of herself as a baby in her mother’s arms. While it was difficult to remember Scarlett, her fleeting visits stopped early on, she could almost imagine what it was like to be held by her, rocked in her mother’s arms. Imagination was a fine thing she thought, sniffing. God, if Maggie knew how she had been maudlin over Scarlett’s old cast-off bag of trinkets and memories, she would have told her to wash her face and quit feeling miserable.
Now, there she was standing on the landing of Mount Pleasant Square about to come face to face with Scarlett. Ava’s heart felt fit to burst.
The door of the bathroom opened and there she stood. There was no mistaking her. Shoulder-length chestnut brown hair falling into loose unkempt waves. Her eyes blinking, wide and bright, from beneath a fringe, staring in wonder. They looked at each other, uncertain and fearful. Neither wanting to make the first move, and then Scarlett, as if realising that it was indeed Ava standing before her, reached out and gently put her hand on Ava’s arm. It seemed as though she was making sure Ava was real and not an apparition.
‘Ava, is it you?’ she asked, her American accent echoing in the old bathroom.
‘Yes. You’re here,’ Ava said — her voice flat and quiet. She didn’t know how to react. Was she supposed to welcome her with joy, or to cautiously sound her out first? It was like looking at a stranger. But then again, that was exactly what they were to each other; strangers, connected by blood ties and a shared family history, but really, they knew nothing of each other.
A Posy of Promises_a heartwarming story about life and love Page 11
