Authors: Marita Conlon-McKenna
‘Paddy, I have kept something from you for so long,’ she began. ‘I was afraid to tell you, ashamed. I thought that you would look down on me if you ever found out.’
His eyes were intent on her face and she could see fear reflected in them.
‘I had a baby the year before I met you,’ she said. ‘A little girl.’
‘You had a baby?’ He looked absolutely shocked.
She nodded silently.
‘You had a baby before our Sean was born?’
‘Yes,’ she said, looking into his eyes. ‘I gave her up for adoption. I couldn’t keep her. The father and I broke up. I couldn’t tell my dad or anyone. Paddy, I was stupid and scared. I talked to the social workers and the adoption agency and they organized everything for me, arranged for her to be adopted. I felt it was the best thing for her … and for me.’
Paddy said nothing. He didn’t shout. He didn’t scream at her or hit her. Just nothing, sitting there quiet at the end of their bed.
‘Why didn’t you tell me when we started going out?’ he demanded angrily. ‘When we were getting married?’
‘I couldn’t tell you,’ she said. ‘It was a secret.’
‘Some bloody secret!’
‘I was afraid. It was bad enough that I’d lost my baby! I couldn’t have borne it if I’d lost you too, Paddy.’ She sat on the bed, tears sliding down her face.
‘And why are you telling me now after all this time?’ he pushed. ‘Why now?’
‘It’s because she has come back into my life. My daughter found me. Her name is Erin and somehow she got this address and came to the house. I couldn’t believe it. She’s twenty-six years old and lovely and intelligent and bright. I’m not ashamed of her, Paddy, or of being her mother any more.’
‘Years of lies and secrets, Kate! Why didn’t you trust me?’
‘Paddy, I was just young and scared. I thought that you might stop loving me.’
He said nothing. He wasn’t denying it.
‘What about the father? Were you in love with him?’
‘I thought that I was at the time,’ she whispered. ‘We were in college—’
‘Have you seen him since, had any contact with him?’ he continued, serious.
‘Not for years, but Erin has been trying to contact him, she wanted to meet him. So I phoned him, told him about her. We met to discuss it. But he has no interest in Erin. He told her that when she went over to London recently to see him.’
She stopped, then went on, ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you, Paddy. I’m sorry. Sorry for keeping it secret. But I’m not sorry about having Erin,’ she said firmly. ‘I have a lovely daughter and I’m not ashamed of that.’
Paddy got up. He didn’t look at her or touch her. He began to walk around the room, pacing up and down. Then he grabbed his jacket from the wardrobe and left. She listened to his steps on the stairs, and the hall door bang.
She sat on the bed, empty and drained, alone. Pulling the quilt over, she curled up. It was what she had feared for so long –
that
the information would destroy them. She had delayed it for years by keeping Erin’s birth a secret, but the inevitable had now happened and Paddy was gone.
She lay there for hours as the room went dark, listening to her breath and her heart and the ticking alarm clock on Paddy’s side of the bed. Then she heard it – the key in the door and his heavy footsteps coming back up the stairs, walking towards Sean’s bedroom, then suddenly in the darkness she felt him beside her, warm and strong, lifting her into his arms.
‘It’s okay, Kate. It’s okay,’ he repeated over and over again as she clung to him.
NINA WAS ENJOYING
the summer days pottering around the garden, going for walks and working up the illustration for the story she wanted to re-tell. They’d had a few barbecues with friends and family, but she so wished that Tom would take some proper time off and come on holiday. He always seemed to be busy on that iPhone of his, taking calls and answering emails and out seeing clients at all hours. He had barely been out in the boat at all, which was most unlike him, and if he did go he tended to go off sailing for hours on his own. She was hurt that he hadn’t even asked her out once; okay, she wasn’t the best sailor in the world, but on a good day when there were no gales blowing she enjoyed the peace and joy of skimming along the waves in a strong breeze with the wind in their sails.
Two or three times she had asked him about when they were going down to the small summer house they owned in West Cork for a break.
‘Tom, please let’s go down to the cottage for a few days. We both need to get away from everything and have a break.’
‘I’ve no time for a break,’ he had answered, distracted. ‘I’ve far too much on. You go on your own if you want.’
Hurt, she said nothing. She didn’t want to go on her own; she wanted him to come with her. Tom badly needed to unwind and relax. She was worried about him and whatever he had got himself caught up in.
He seemed to get texts at all hours, which he then would disappear outside to read and answer.
Taking one of his summer linen jackets to be cleaned one day, she discovered a name and a phone number in the breast pocket: ‘Caroline’, and a number …
Consumed with curiosity, she phoned the number and heard the sound of a woman querying who was on the line.
‘Tom, is that you? Is that you?’
She dropped the phone.
Lizzie was back from her holidays with Myles in Portugal. They had had a great time and she called over to see Nina for lunch to show off her tan and her holiday photos.
‘When are you and Tom heading off to Schull?’ Lizzie asked. ‘I’m surprised that you are still in Dublin.’
‘We’re not sure yet, but probably in a week or two. Tom’s very busy.’
‘Well, that’s a good complaint at the moment,’ said Lizzie as she tucked into her salad.
It was very hot outside and Nina had put up the parasol over the table on the patio. She had made a big dish of potato salad and chives and had served it with some cold barbecued salmon and tomatoes and lettuce from the garden.
‘Mum seems to be doing fine. Charity is so good to her and having you here while I’m away means I can relax and not worry.’
Nina laughed. She and Lizzie had a sort of tag-team arrangement that one of them would always be around for their mother if the other was away.
‘Are you working on anything?’ Lizzie asked.
‘
The Happy Prince
illustrations are finished. I’ve no idea when the book is coming out, but I am pleased with them. But I’ve started working on something new. Do you remember Granny used to tell us the story of the Selkie Girl? Well I’m trying to do a version of it. I’ve always adored that story.’
‘Has it been commissioned?’
‘No, I’m just drawing and painting it myself. It’s not a very popular story, so a publisher might not even be interested in it, but I just want to do it.’
‘Sometimes I envy you,’ admitted Lizzie. ‘You get such enjoyment from what you do.’
‘But you enjoy your job too!’
‘It’s hardly the same thing, working part time as an accountant,’ she laughed, finishing off her cup of herbal tea. ‘Anyway, I’d better get going.’
‘Lizzie, have you ever worried about Myles?’ she found herself asking as her sister started to get up.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean about Myles and other women?’
‘No,’ Lizzie protested, laughing. ‘Why would I? We have a great relationship and don’t hide things from each other. What is this about, Nina?’
‘It sounds crazy, but I’m worried about Tom. Hopefully I’m just imagining it. I found a phone number for some person called Caroline and he’s bought new clothes and changed his hair and seems to be constantly away on business.’
‘Nina, I think that you are wrong. Tom is old fashioned like
Myles
. He wouldn’t mess around with another woman! You’re just imagining it. You’re putting two and two together and getting five!’
‘I know I’m probably totally getting things out of context,’ she said, embarrassed.
‘Look, I’ve got to run, but just talk to Tom,’ advised her sister as Nina walked her out to her car in the driveway. ‘He’ll give you a straight answer.’
So she waited up for Tom to come home that night to talk to him. She waited and waited until it was well past midnight. When he did eventually come home, he was surprised to see her waiting up for him. He’d obviously been drinking.
‘Where were you?’ she demanded.
‘Out.’ It was the kind of oblique answer Jack used to give when he wouldn’t tell them he had gone drinking with his buddies when he was seventeen or eighteen.
‘Who is Caroline? Were you with her?’
‘Nina, this is utterly stupid. It’s very late and I have no idea what you are talking about. I was out in town with an important client. He wanted to go to Bucks, that night club place, and I went with him.’
Out nightclubbing – she couldn’t believe it!
‘Tom, what the hell is going on?’ she demanded. ‘What’s happening to us?’
‘I have an important early-morning meeting tomorrow and I am not talking about this now,’ he said dismissively. ‘I need to get to sleep. And I’ll sleep in the spare room tonight. That way I won’t wake you in the morning.’
Sleeping in the spare room? They never slept apart unless one of them was away or really ill. Nina couldn’t believe it.
Tom
wouldn’t even discuss it with her. He hadn’t even denied knowing this Caroline woman. Whatever was happening with him, he obviously had no plans to tell her. They had always talked things out before. If they argued they’d stay up till all hours trying to find a solution or resolution to it. But this was different. Tom was shutting her out as if she was not important to him any more.
She could hear him moving around the next-door bedroom, falling into bed, and then the sound of his deep, heavy sleep. She couldn’t sleep. She was far too upset and tossed and turned for what seemed like hours. She couldn’t stick this tension and fighting between them – she had to get away.
AFTER LAST NIGHT’S
row, nina announced to tom before he left the house in the morning that she was going down to West Cork. ‘Since you are far too busy to come away, I’ve decided to take your advice and go to the cottage myself.’
He seemed a little surprised but made no effort to stop her.
Escaping to Oyster Cottage, their West Cork hideaway, was exactly what she needed, she thought, as she packed up her bags and art materials and put Bailey in the back of the car.
The old house was about a mile’s walk from the village of Schull and had great views over the sea and the surrounding fields. When the children had been younger they had usually decamped here for about six weeks every summer, but now they could come and go as they pleased. It was such a retreat; she always found it so relaxing here and a good place for working.
She was still annoyed with Tom, but she was in no mood for big fights and dramatics; she just needed time to think and this was the perfect place to do that.
The cottage was stuffy and warm when she arrived and she opened the windows to air it. Jack and his friends had come
down
for a few days about three weeks ago but the grass needed cutting again. The garden was bursting with wild purple and pink fuchsia and spiky, tall montbretia. It was heaven. She had stopped off and filled up with a few groceries at the local supermarket and so, switching on the radio to Lyric FM, she unpacked quickly and made herself a sandwich and a mug of tea.
Tired after the long drive from Dublin, she needed to stretch her legs and decided to go for a walk with the dog along the road up towards Colla Pier before it got dark. It felt like coming home. She could feel her tension and anxiety suddenly ease as she walked and took in the wild, rugged scenery all around her.
She slept well that night and woke refreshed to the sound of crickets in the grass. The day was already warm and the weather forecast was for a scorcher. Even though she was tired, there was no point lolling around in bed, so, bracing herself, she hopped into the rather ancient shower that they had never got around to replacing, and ten minutes later she was watching a fishing boat chug its way out to Long Island as she ate her breakfast of brown bread, home-made jam and a pot of coffee.
She spent the morning working, spreading her rough sketches all about her as she began to work on a picture of her Selkie Girl standing looking out at the sea, the wind and the waves calling her. She broke briefly for lunch and in the mid-afternoon went for a walk down towards the shingly beach a few minutes from the cottage, where they often went swimming. The tide was out and two of the Murphy kids from the ultra-modern house across the other side of the road from her were there with their minder, a young Polish girl. She laughed, watching their antics as they paddled and dipped into the chilly water.
At eight p.m. she fixed herself some pasta and texted Tom to tell him she was fine, then she worked on till almost midnight, totally undisturbed.
As the days passed she got into a routine of work, walks and short breaks. She talked to Tom twice and could sense the concern in his voice. She reassured him that she was okay, that she was caught up in work and that it was going far better than she had expected.
Down here her senses were assailed by the sense of place her story needed and she pushed herself to try to capture on paper the essence of the cottage overlooking the sea – the small home that could not hold the Selkie when the great ocean beckoned her. Her heart ached at times, and she cried as she wrote the words and drew the pictures for a story she had loved for so long.
A week passed and, barring forays into the village to buy bread and milk and supplies, and to treat herself to two books in the bookshop and have a cake and coffee with Damian Ryan, a musician friend who lived locally, she kept herself to herself.
Erin had phoned her. She had met Kate again; a friendship was slowly developing between them. Erin had shown her a photo of herself and Kate together. The other woman was young and dark and very attractive, with the exact same eyes as her daughter. Captured on camera, they looked more like sisters than mother and daughter. It had hurt Nina, seeing them together, but it was strange, as now she no longer felt as jealous and possessive about it as before. Down here, things that had seemed immense and daunting seemed to develop a different perspective.