The Lost Garden (22 page)

Aileen saw how beautiful the garden was, but while she was proud of it and at times even in awe of its beauty, she could not allow herself to enjoy it fully. That would mean her work was finished, and when her work was finished, well, what would she do next?

Deep in her heart there was a nagging. For the men she had lost to the fire. Her father and brothers and Jimmy. Invincible Jim. For those few weeks they had been in love he had been her hope, her future. He had meant a life away from the island, although that dream had ended almost as soon as it had begun. Aileen was back on dreary Illaunmor; the place she had been
longing to get away from, but as long as she had this garden to escape to, she felt safe. Safe, Aileen decided, was all she needed now. This was her domain, her paradise. There was no reason to leave it. Ever.

Chapter Thirty-Two

John Joe had been to London a number of times over the years, although it was more difficult since he had been minding the children.

Once the Lord had sent him the gift of being their guardian, John Joe had devoted himself to them as entirely as he was able to. But in truth there were times when he felt as if the calling to the church he had experienced as a young man was coming back to him. He knew he could not follow through on the priest-hood at this late stage of his life, especially as it would mean having to give up the children, but at the same time John Joe wondered what message the good Lord was trying to send him with this attraction towards men that he seemed, despite his best efforts, unable to escape.

Such desires did not happen to men of God, and if he had joined the priesthood when Jesus had first called him, God would surely have made these feelings go away. As it was, he had to live with them, and as long as that was the case John Joe had to manage them as best he could.

There were other men like him in London: Englishmen, foreign men and even the occasional Irishman. These men gathered together outside of the realms of ordinary, respectable Christian society and formed their own secret groups. There was a place
John Joe frequented and just to be there with other men like himself was a tremendous relief for the isolated farmer. A contact at the club arranged introductions for shy men like himself, so he was spared any awkwardness, and as for the physical side of things, the sin of consummating his base desires, he had done that too in the past and had no doubt that if the opportunity presented itself to him in the future, it would happen again. However, it was the lie of pretending he was someone he was not that ate away at John Joe more than his physical needs. While he was in his London club, he
felt
normal and that made living the falsehood of his life somewhat easier for a while at least.

With the women looking after the children, John Joe had given himself ten days in London and a day at either end for travelling, so almost a fortnight in all. Biddy and Aileen could easily manage the horse and cart to bring Ruari and Mary to and from school, and he had packed plenty of clothes, all ironed and starched, as he wouldn’t have Biddy thinking he was falling behind. Had he packed their prayer books? Yes. Had he remembered to tell Biddy about Ruari’s loose tooth? Yes. Although, perhaps he shouldn’t be going away when Ruari had a tooth coming out. Suppose the tooth got infected? That was very common. In fact, Mary had to have an infected tooth removed just last year by the dentist in Westport. Would there be enough money left for a trip to the dentist? Would Biddy know what to do? Would Ruari complain to her or just suffer in silence? Did he put oil of cloves in the bag? Did he remember to pack their toothbrushes? On and on the questions went – all the way to Dublin, across in the boat and until John Joe reached the boarding house in Soho where he always stayed on his visits here. Once he arrived in London itself and knew there was no turning back, John Joe the anxious Illaunmor farmer disappeared and he became simply ‘JJ from Ireland’.

The boarding house on Old Compton Street was above a dry-cleaning business. Unlike some of the places around Soho, it was a very respectable establishment and run by a middle-aged man who he sensed was like himself, as he was quiet in his manner and, more importantly, liked to keep things orderly and clean. John Joe had no interest in paying good money for a bed unless it was as immaculate as the Blessed Virgin’s robes.

‘Single men only,’ it clearly stated on a sign above the desk. If you wanted company, there were other rooms in other establishments that could be rented by the hour. John Joe knew where these were too, but he liked the feeling of being respectable that this place gave him.

‘Nice to see you again, Mr Morely,’ said the man at the desk.

‘Nice to see you again, Mr Neville,’ John Joe replied.

Mr Neville was wearing an impeccable mustard-coloured sleeveless jersey set off with a sky-blue shirt and maroon tie that John Joe found very fetching.

‘I like your jersey,’ John Joe said.

‘Why, thank you very much,’ Mr Neville said.

At home in Ireland, such a comment would draw suspicion, John Joe thought. Not indeed, he realized, that he had ever seen another man wear anything on Illaunmor that would cause him to admire them.

‘I bought it in Marks & Spencer on Oxford Street,’ Mr Neville added, and seeing the shy Irishman blush at his revelation, said, ‘A very inexpensive shop for the everyman, Mr Morely. Certainly worth a visit while you are in town. I can draw you a map if you like?’

‘That would be lovely – thanks,’ said John Joe, and he smiled a little thinking of what they might make of him back home if he turned up to Mass in a brightly coloured sweater instead of his usual brown suit!

Mr Neville handed him his key and said, ‘Will you be eating out tonight, or would you like me to make you a sandwich?’

‘I ate on the train,’ John Joe said.

‘Very sensible.’

For a moment he wondered if he should ask this man to join him that evening, directly ask for his company. However, there were no words for such a request. Just considering asking seemed ludicrous, even though he had travelled for a full day and half a night to seek out male company.

John Joe went up to his room and got changed out of his travelling clothes and into his smart navy suit, which he pressed in the electric trouser press. John Joe loved the convenience of electricity when he was on holiday, although he remained suspicious of it and could not imagine living with it all the time. Then, as it was late, he headed straight over to Percy’s.

The basement bar was packed. As soon as John Joe walked into the smoky lounge he felt relaxed and started looking around for his contact. Although it was late and he had been travelling for almost twenty-four hours, his pleasant exchange with Mr Neville had put him in the mood for some company.

John Joe had only met Anthony Irvine once, on a previous trip, when Percy had recommended him as a ‘fixer-upper’. The arrangement was simple: Irvine introduced him to a man in a social setting. If they got on and one thing led to another, John Joe left a ‘gift’ for him behind the bar. It was all very discreet and he had had two encounters under this arrangement, both of which had proved to be ‘satisfactory’ in their own way, although neither had led to the lasting friendship that John Joe had been secretly hoping for. Although this Irvine fellow was perfectly affable, there was something about him that did not sit right with John Joe. He would have preferred to deal with Percy himself, but the proprietor did not arrange introductions.
There was no way that John Joe could approach anybody on his own, and it seemed unlikely to him that anybody would approach a shy Irish farmer in a place like this off their own bat.

‘Paddy!’

John Joe hated when English people called him that, but then, there were worse things they could be calling him and Percy was so . . . ebullient he could get away with saying almost anything.

‘Lovely to see you again, JJ. I have a booth right here waiting for you. I do know how you “old” boys like to sit down.’

John Joe laughed and blushed and wished he could think of something smart to say back. Percy always made him feel like a bit of an eejit, but he was impossible to dislike and there wasn’t an ounce of harm in the man.

‘Too early for whisky, too late for tea – what can I get you?’

‘I’ll have a beer, please, Percy. Is Anthony about?’

The look of disdain that passed across Percy’s face was so slight it was virtually imperceptible. A less sensitive person would not have noticed it, but in any case Anthony popped up behind him as if on cue. He had somebody with him; John Joe kept himself from even looking at the other person until he was formally introduced. His stomach was churning with excitement.

‘Aha – Mr Morely, welcome back to London town. Although I’m afraid you’ve been knocked off the spot as my favourite Irishman by another Paddy!’

Anthony pushed forward a young man. John Joe could tell he was young – too young. The lad was wearing a mask over half his face: there was something else wrong with him too.

‘John Joe, meet Jimmy Walsh.’

The name was familiar, although there were a lot of Walshes about the place – he could be anyone.

‘Otherwise known as Invincible Jim.’ Anthony patted the lad on the shoulder, pushing him down into a booth seat, and then said to John Joe in an audible aside, ‘Jimmy has had a difficult time, as you can see. I thought as a fellow Irishman you might offer him some comfort.’

John Joe felt sick.

He was pretty sure he knew who this lad was, but he needed to be sure and he needed to get his bearings himself.

‘What happened to your face?’

Jimmy threw him a weary look. More weary than he had the right to be at his age. He could not be more than twenty, twenty-three at the very most. A boy of that age had no business doing this – whatever ‘this’ was exactly.

‘It got burned.’

‘In a fire?’

Jimmy looked back at him dryly.

‘Sorry – of course it was a fire.’ John Joe took a deep breath. This was Aileen’s lad, he was sure of it, but what should he do? Well, of course he knew he
should
simply walk away from this potentially frightening situation, but there was Aileen to consider. By some miraculous, if awful coincidence, God had put this lad in his path and he could not simply run away.

John Joe smiled and the boy did not smile back. His somewhat off-putting appearance was not being helped one iota by his surly, actually downright unpleasant demeanour. Maybe some men were into that type of thing, but John Joe most certainly wasn’t and he was beginning to think this lad had no idea why he was here. A ‘brave eejit’ was how Aileen had described him. John Joe decided that either this guy was the meanest, most deranged character he had ever laid eyes on, in which case poor Aileen had been horribly duped and thank goodness she was
over there and he was over here,
or
the lad was an innocent eejit who had no idea he was being pimped out.

John Joe decided to take a chance, for Aileen’s sake, and he might as well go for the truth as there was nothing else he could do in this terrible circumstance.

‘Would you be an island lad by any chance?’

Jimmy’s face hardened. ‘What’s it to you?’

‘I’m from Illaunmor – a lot of our people were lost in the Cleggan fire and a young friend of mine Aileen . . .’

‘You know Aileen?’

Jimmy’s face lit up as soon as John Joe said her name.

‘How is she?’ The young man’s difficult manner was transformed. ‘Is she still as beautiful as ever?’

‘She is that,’ said John Joe, smiling. ‘A beautiful young woman surely. She lives with me now,’ he added. ‘Since her mother left for the mainland, she moved into the house with me and my two children.’

Jimmy looked shocked, then crestfallen.

‘Not like
that
, for goodness’ sake. What sort of a man do you think I am? I am looking after her in place of her mother and father!’

The boy leaned across the booth towards him. ‘Does she ask after me? Jimmy Walsh from Aghabeg. Has she ever mentioned me by name?’

There was an innocent urgency in the way he spoke that made John Joe’s heart ache. Goodness knows what horror lay under the mask. The boy had been through a lot, so what on earth was he doing here in London, of all places? And in this haunt? John Joe knew that this was the Aghabeg beau he had heard Aileen talk about so often, but in that moment he realized two other things. Firstly, Jimmy had lost his heart utterly and completely to his young friend Aileen, in which case he did not
belong in a place like this. If Jimmy did not ‘belong’ here, then he probably had no idea what John Joe was really here for. John Joe could see that this young, disfigured man was an innocent. However, if he stayed here mixing with the likes of Anthony Irvine, he would not stay innocent for very long.

‘Of course – she talks about you all the time. In fact, that’s why I’m here,’ John Joe said, having a sudden epiphany around his ‘story’, ‘to send you a message from Aileen. She wants you to come and see her on Illaunmor. She needs you, Jimmy. She is lost without you.’

As the words came out of his mouth, the most extraordinary thing happened to John Joe as he realized that it was true. Although Aileen was reluctant to talk about Jimmy to him, Aileen
was
lost and John Joe knew that the damaged young man sitting in front of him was a large part of the reason for that. It was peculiar, the way she was hiding herself away in that garden. John Joe and Biddy were the only company she had and they had forced themselves upon her along with the children. She was gifted with the plants, that was certain, but she only seemed content when tending them, and that in itself was not the right way for a young woman to be. She was grieving – of course she was – but that aside, she needed to be with other people of her own age with similar interests. When Aileen had mentioned Jimmy to John Joe, she had spoken about him as if he were dead. There was as much heaviness and sadness in her voice as when she spoke about her father and brothers.

‘He might as well be dead,’ she had said to John Joe when he asked about him, ‘for all that it matters now.’

He had not asked any more, but it was clear to him that poor Aileen had given up on all idea of love. If John Joe could get this Jimmy lad to come back with him to Illaunmor, the farmer realized he might be able to save them both, and if he could
save these two young people, that might offset some of the penance he would surely be due to serve for the colossal sin he had been planning to commit that very evening. Jimmy being sent to him in this way was doubtless a sign that he had put the good Lord into a very punishing mood indeed!

‘How did you know where to find me?’ Jimmy asked him.

‘Oh,’ he said, ‘your friend Anthony is very well connected,’ he lied, ‘and I was told I would find you here.’ Then before he could be quizzed any further, he got straight to the point. ‘Well? What do you say? Will you come back with me? Your fare and everything paid for?’