Barefoot Over Stones (36 page)

‘We’re all different and maybe that’s no bad thing.’

Ciara moved towards the best friend she had never attempted to replace. She wanted a hug but knew enough not to expect one. Alison held out her hand to Ciara and she grasped it in both of her own, glad of the hint of forgiveness it might imply. It would do to be going on with. They had a lifetime to get close to where they once were.

Glancing at Colm, she tried to lighten the conversation a little, thinking that her feelings had had enough airing for now. ‘Keep your man there on the straight and narrow. He has a tendency to fuss and I want young Tom to turn into a well-rounded sort of a person, not a Clancy under any circumstances but not one hundred per cent Lifford either. Oh, and for what it’s worth, Iris Lifford is a weapon, safe enough as long as you keep her trained on someone else.’

‘I’m not sure he needs much guidance from me but I will help him in any way I can, I promise. As for Iris, she scares the living daylights out of me but I will do my best to stay on her right side. Now go or you will miss the train.’

Lucy had trotted back to where her mother was standing, her teeth glued by some pink concoction that had her almost foaming at the mouth.

‘Yes, boss.’ Ciara picked up her packed bag from the station platform, gave Lucy’s hair a playful tousle and went to say a brief goodbye to Colm, who was talking to a man in uniform who his son had decided was the human embodiment of the Fat Controller from his Thomas the Tank Engine books.

‘You know I told you I am going off to see the pyramids, Tom, so I will see you straight after I come back. I suppose you won’t be expecting a present from my travels or anything,’ Ciara added mischievously.

‘I want a mummy suit, like the one you showed us in the brochure, and will you bring one for Lucy too?’ And he was gone to where Lucy and Alison were standing looking at the loading of a freight train in the station yard.

‘Good God, whatever happened to wanting a stick of rock?’

Colm looked at her in puzzlement. ‘I never did get a stick of rock from anywhere. Mam used to call them teeth-rot sticks for the unenlightened.’

Ciara laughed. ‘I should have known a well-brought-up urbane young man like you would not have been exposed to such DayGlo teeth-rotting stuff that was the highlight of a day out in Ballybunion for us rural types. You never see them these days. We’re all gone too classy for that. Now, while I have you, Colm, can I just say that you shouldn’t let the grass grow under your feet? Alison is a great girl—’

‘Listen, would you stop with the rural matchmaking act? Let us be and we will see how we get on. She has just lost her husband. Above all, she needs time and I intend to give her that. I know a good thing when I see it or don’t you trust my judgement?’

‘What can I say? You hooked up with Leda, not exactly the brightest move of your life to date.’

‘No, you’re right, that was a prize blunder, but I got Tom and for that I would go through every minute of it ten times over.’

‘Don’t get me started on the weeping. I have hours of travel in front of me: I could do without my mascara tracing a map down my face before I have even left Munster.’

Colm wrapped her in a hug and when she turned to board the train she left behind a team of faces sorry to see her go. She kept her eyes forward on her next step as she had always done. Looking back had never been her strong point.

Ciara waited until she was back in London before she tried to contact Leda. It took more than a half-dozen unanswered phone calls before Ciara finally got hold of her sister. She was in the language-school staffroom when Leda answered her phone. Small talk had never been a sisterly habit of theirs so Ciara cut straight to the matter at hand.

‘I’ll skin you alive, Leda Clancy, if you so much as pick up the phone to Con or Alison Abernethy ever again, do you hear me?’

‘It’s Cantwell, Ciara. My name, in case you have forgotten, is Leda Cantwell. A much more attractive surname than Clancy, don’t you think? Mind you, deed poll is about your best chance of changing your name. Mauritius was fabulous, thanks for asking. Too bad your invitation got lost in the post – not that a confirmed spinster like yourself would have appreciated the sheer romance of it all.’

Ciara had come to expect the barbed exchanges that littered her now infrequent conversations with Leda. She recognized the familiar quality of the compulsion to hurt with words. It was the pitiful bequest of a childhood riddled with unease and powerlessness.

‘I’m delighted for you that your wedding was such a success, Leda, and I’m sure that you and Bob will be very happy – at least until he starts to bore you – but I will crown you if I hear that you have gone anywhere near the Abernethys. You got your paws on some of Con’s cash, now drum up a bit of decency and stay away.’

‘I was entitled to at least that from the scumbag – or has your friend in her widow’s weeds made you forget that? I think he got off lightly under the circumstances. Shame about Dan, but I never asked for a personal delivery of cash. A nice fat anonymous deposit in my account would have suited me fine, but that would have left a paper trail and there is nothing a crooked politician fears more than a paper trail. He was too lazy to get off his arthritic arse and do his own dirty work. Would have been a bit of a result if he’d died in the car crash instead of Dan, who looked like a total babe that night by the way. How’s the widow anyway? Bereavement would suit her little pinched face very well, I’d say.’

‘Enjoy the blasted money and when it’s all gone don’t even think of coming for more, do you hear me?’ The pencil that Ciara was moving between her finger and thumb snapped under the stress of talking to Leda. Exasperation complicated by a nagging sense of responsibility to her younger sibling guaranteed that she always felt bad after their conversations. Leda on the other hand seemed not to be equipped with any moral compass. She said and did what she liked.

‘Yeah yeah, Ciara, go easy on the sermons. You’ll give yourself a heart attack stressing about the likes of Con Abernethy. I’m all set up with Bob because he has the old Midas touch when it comes to cash. It just follows him. And to think I could have settled for someone like Colm Lifford with his poxy provincial practice. I won’t need to call on the Bank of Abernethy again. I closed my account the night Dan came to visit. I gave him something to think about on the drive home though, I’d say. I hope dropping my little bombshell didn’t make him drive erratically or anything. That would be a shame.’

‘What are you talking about? What did you say to him?’

‘Well, it was all going well and we were being perfectly civil to each other until he started firing threats at me. He told me he would ruin things between Bob and myself if I ever rang Con again. Well, cute and all as he looked, I wasn’t going to let another Abernethy start dictating to me so I told him that Tom Lifford was actually Con’s son and nothing to do with Colm at all. That quietened him, I have to say. Poor pet went off in a bit of a daze.’

‘You promised me that wasn’t the case. You said that Tom was definitely Colm’s son.’ Ciara
thought her head might split open. This was a bridge too far for her to contemplate.

‘Ah, I am pretty sure he is Colm’s but, you know, sleeping with Con was never an entirely memorable event and as time went on it became more and more forgettable so I couldn’t swear on the Bible. But I’m fairly certain. Anyway it doesn’t matter now. Tom is settled with Colm and Con isn’t destitute enough to need the children’s allowance so it’s best to leave well enough alone, don’t you think? Tell your little addled friend that she can count Con’s euros all by herself when he finally croaks it.’

Ciara hung up first, without saying goodbye. Such niceties were thoroughly wasted on her sister. Neither of them had returned to Leachlara in ages and Ciara knew it might be months or even years before they saw each other again. So much for having a sister, she thought as she threw the broken pencil at the waste-paper basket and managed a spectacular over-hit. She went to her laptop and emailed Alison. Between text messages and emails they were managing to build up some regular contact. At the end of her mail she mentioned that Con didn’t have to worry about Leda in the future. Her sister had moved on and was out of the picture. It was good news for the Abernethys, and for Colm and Tom too, but Ciara realized that banishing your flesh and blood, even for good reason, was a thoroughly heart-sickening task.

She would never know for sure whether Leda was telling her the truth about Tom, or even if her sister knew what the real truth was, but Ciara was choosing to believe that her nephew was Colm Lifford’s son. Anything else was too unnatural and too cruel for everyone involved.

At Lantern Lodge, fussing over Tom’s bath and getting him ready for bed was Iris Lifford’s favourite task of the day when she was staying with her son and grandson. It reminded her of a lifetime ago when the child was Colm and her life stretched without complication before her. She had learned not to plan but she had always looked on Tom as an unexpected salve for past disappointments. She kissed the top of his head as she settled him into bed. The perfume of his freshly washed hair promised to linger with her.

‘Are you happy living in Cork, Tom, or do you miss Dublin?’ she asked gently.

‘I love it here, Granny. Don’t remember much about living in Dublin. I was only young when we moved, you know,’ he added with all the full sure knowledge of a six-year-old. ‘I miss you though and I love that you visit all the time. I like that.’

Iris hugged him to her. ‘I like it too, Tom. I look forward to my next visit all the time. Tell me now who is coming to your birthday party?’

Tom gulped with excitement. ‘Well, Dad says I can invite all the boys in my class. There are ten of them and I can get a bouncy castle and we can play football in the field ’cause I am getting goalposts for my birthday. It will be deadly.’

Iris smiled. His enthusiasm was infectious. ‘Can I come or will your gran be in the way of all the boys?’

‘Of course you can, Granny. You won’t be lonely. There will be other girls too.’ Fifty years had passed since Iris had thought of herself as a girl and it was refreshing to be addressed as such. Tom continued: ‘Aunty Ciara is coming and so is Dad’s friend Alison, and Lucy. Lucy is cool. I really like her. She’s eight now. She knows loads even though she’s a girl. She has a Nintendo and she lets me play with it all the time. Dad is always really happy when Alison is here.’

Iris set aside the bedtime story. She was going to learn a lot more here than she ever would downstairs.

Colm opened a bottle of wine while he waited for his mother to come and join him for dinner. He could hear the soft murmur of chat from upstairs punctuated by Tom’s squeals of delight and his mother’s familiar laugh. Tom would be wrecked if she didn’t let him fall asleep, but he knew better than to disturb his mother in full flight in her favourite role. He poured himself a glass of
red and turned the oven down to a whispering heat. He reached for the phone to call Alison. He hadn’t talked to her all day and he craved some moments’ conversation with her, albeit divided by a few miles of country roads, every twist and turn of which he had committed to memory in the last couple of months.

When Iris eventually came downstairs she moved her dinner around the plate in a way Colm knew she would find utterly irritating if someone did it to a meal that she had prepared. It was obvious she was rippling with inquisitiveness and it had dampened her usually healthy appetite.

‘Are you not hungry, Mam?’ Colm was toying with her a little before he gave in to the inevitable. The long conversation with Tom had obviously yielded information that Iris was still processing. The questions would come. This was merely the pause before Iris gave them her considerable voice.

‘Tom tells me that you and he are spending a lot of time with Alison Abernethy and Lucy, who I now know is the coolest girl alive in your son’s estimation. In fact he says this is the first Saturday in ages that all of you haven’t been away on a trip somewhere. I’m very sorry that you have had to take today off to spend with your mother. It must be a bit of a drag, as Tom would so neatly put it.’

‘Oh, Mam, calm down. Get off your little pulpit. Of course I would tell you about Alison if there were anything new to tell. Yes, we are spending time together but you knew that. Lucy and Tom get on really well and I am stone mad about Alison, so mad that I am terrified of losing her if I admit to her how I really feel. She has been through so much and for all our sakes I cannot afford to mess this one up. So you haven’t been excluded from anything massive. The truth is we see each other but Tom and Lucy are always with us and our days together are much more about them having a good time than about us. Timing is everything and I am just not sure that this is the right time for Alison.’

Iris sighed. She had always felt caution was useful to prevent you doing the wrong thing but that it should never stop you doing the right thing. ‘You know I think Alison is lovely. I told you she was an absolute lady the first night that she came here with Ciara. Hang the timing and tell her how you feel. If there is anything a woman truly values in a man’s character it is a backbone. Believe me, I have suffered at the hands of the spineless variety and it is not to be recommended.’ Memories of Patrick Lifford hung between them, as real as if he had lately stood in the kitchen where the remnants of his family now shared supper. ‘Be a man, Colm. She will thank you for it and you and Tom will be far the happier for it. He talks about the four of you like you are a single unit. He has already made the leap of faith and you must follow.’

Iris raised her glass and Colm followed her lead and they touched with a satisfying clink.

‘You are always right, Mam. It’s totally insufferable really,’ he added mischievously.

‘Of course I am right. I’m your mother. It’s my prerogative. God charges us mothers with plenty of monotony in life, but he blesses us with spades of intuition. Something men lack, if you don’t mind me saying.’

Colm wasn’t hungry any more. He pushed his plate away from him, unwilling to lose any more time. ‘I’ll go and talk to Alison tonight, Mam. Will you sit with Tom?’