Best of Friends (69 page)

“And how did you manage financially when you were travelling around?” Greg was genuinely interested in this.

Shannon smiled happily. “We did a bit of everything,” she said. “Farming in some places. I was a terrible farmer, I can tell you. I hadn’t been brought up with animals and it was very difficult. But in some places we had a bit of land and we grew vegetables to feed ourselves and to make a bit of money. In other places we helped farmers out, that was how we survived.”

Erin thought of how she had fantasised Shannon’s life to be. Shannon living an expatriate life in some tiny village in France, so much a part of the scenery and fluent in the language that the locals had even forgotten that she wasn’t a native. Or else Shannon settled down somewhere in America, talking longingly of Ireland but firmly rooted in her local community.

“And sometimes we did a bit of housework, you know, cleaning or chambermaiding in hotels,” Shannon went on. “Ironing was the worst. We lived above an ironing shop once and worked instead of paying rent. I hated ironing but we had to do what we did to survive.”

“When I heard you were my mother and that you’d left home to travel, I imagined you had a totally different sort of life,” Erin said abruptly. “I thought it must be so wonderful and that’s why you’d never come back to see me. I never thought you’d be doing other people’s ironing or pulling up vegetables to make your living. That wasn’t the picture in my head at all.”

“I’m sorry about the other day,” Shannon said suddenly, “when you came to see me and Ciara turned up. I got a bit of a shock, that was all. I knew you’d come and find me eventually, I just hadn’t expected you to be so grown up.” The innocent smile was there on her face again. “I always thought of you as a child and there you were, a woman with her own baby coming.”

Erin didn’t want to let anger ruin things this time. “But you must have known I’d be grown up by now,” she said. “I’m twenty-seven, Shannon; it’s twenty-seven years since you had me.”

“Time goes very quickly,” Shannon said helplessly. “And when we were out on the road and I had friends with babies, I liked to imagine that you were a small child at home and that Mam was looking after you. It made me happy to think of you there. She was a good mother and I knew she’d take care of you.”

“And that was why you left me, was it?” asked Erin. “Because you knew that I would be better off with Mum than with you?”

“I suppose,” said Shannon slowly. “When I was first pregnant, I didn’t want you. I was scared, Erin. And then when I was older, well, you were better off where you were.”

“Who gave me my name?” Erin asked suddenly. It had felt strange when Shannon called her Erin for the first time. The name hadn’t tripped lightly off Shannon’s tongue; it didn’t sound like a word Shannon had thought long and hard about.

“Oh, Mam called you that,” Shannon said. “Isn’t it obvious? She loves all those Irish names: Shannon, Kerry, Erin. I liked Spring Flower myself, but Mam said you couldn’t call a child that, it would be stupid.”

Erin and Greg both failed to hide their amusement. Greg burst out laughing.

“Ah, Shannon,” he said, “come on, Spring Flower? You couldn’t call a child Spring Flower.”

Shannon laughed too. “Lots of people have mad names for babies. That was a nice one. I know a woman called Turmeric; now that’s bad.”

“Spring Flower Flynn.” Erin tried the name out loud. “No,” she said, “I’m glad Mum went for Erin after all.”

When it was time to cook dinner, Shannon surprised them both and said could she help?

“Well,” Erin said, “I was just going to stick these ready-made dinners into the oven, to be honest. I’m a bit tired and I don’t feel up to cooking at the end of the day.”

“Leave it to me,” Shannon said. “I love cooking and it’s not often I get to do it in such a nice kitchen as this. Most of the places I’ve lived in haven’t been high on cooking equipment or incredible ovens.”

She wasn’t looking for sympathy as she said this, Erin realised. It was just a statement of fact. Shannon had chosen to live her life a particular way and she had no regrets about it. She mightn’t have had a big bank balance, but she seemed happy about the way she lived. Erin sat down at the small kitchen table and watched. Cooking obviously relaxed Shannon and, as she worked, she talked about the different places she’d lived and the recipes she’d picked up there. She talked about cooking on the tightest budget imaginable, when she’d had to make meat loaf for thirty from a small bit of ground beef and whatever vegetables they could grow themselves. And she talked about great banquets when the gang were in funds and made up for the hard times with veritable feasts.

“Now, you really need fresh herbs for this,” Shannon advised as she made up a marinade with all the skill of a TV chef. “But we’ll make do with what you have.”

“Tell me, is there anyone special in your life?” Erin asked, moving the conversation onto different ground. “I noticed that you had ‘Shannon and William’ written up on your doorbell in Wexford.”

“The real William and I didn’t last very long,” Shannon revealed, keeping her eye on her cooking. “We split up about six months ago but then this stray cat came to live with me and I called him William too, William the second. Although he didn’t hang around long either,” she added thoughtfully. “I must have bad luck with Williams. That must be it. I should have given him a different name like …” She concentrated on finding another name, as if it was the most important thing in the world.

“Michael,” suggested Erin, trying to get into the whole cat naming cat business.

“Ah no, Michael isn’t a good name for a cat,” Shannon said seriously. “You’d never see a cat called Michael, would you?”

Erin thought that there weren’t too many felines around answering to the name of William either, but she didn’t say anything.

It was strange talking to Shannon. Her mind didn’t work in a conventional way and there were none of the usual conversational markers to go by. Shannon wasn’t interested in talking about her job she was working parttime in the launderette to pay the rent. Nor had she any interest in discussing family. She’d only mentioned Erin’s pregnancy once, in the beginning. Erin realised that it was up to her to keep the conversation going.

“Will I tell you about the baby?” she asked.

“Oh yes, please,” said Shannon, as if she’d been only dying to know all the ins and outs of Erin’s pregnancy but hadn’t wanted to ask.

So Erin told her everything and even took out the scan pictures for Shannon to look at. Shannon held the grainy black-and-white photos with something approaching awe, her fingers tracing over the curled-up shape of the baby.

“Isn’t she wonderful?” Greg said proudly. “I think it’s going to be a girl although we don’t know for definite.”

“Your grandchild,” Erin said softly. “Your grandson or your granddaughter.”

Shannon looked up at both of them, her eyes wide in astonishment, as if the thought had never occurred to her before. This baby was going to make her a grandmother.

“Imagine,” she breathed. “I don’t have to be called Granny, though, do I?”

Dinner was a great success. Shannon’s Chicken New Mexico managed to be hot, spicy and utterly delicious all at the same time. Erin finally felt relaxed around Shannon. Kerry had been right: it was easier to treat Shannon like some long-lost relative than to obsess over the fact that she was really Erin’s mother.

Shannon wasn’t cut out to be anyone’s mother. She was too like a child herself: a combination of selfishness and self-interest mixed up with enthusiasm to get involved in some great plan to save the world. Saving herself had never even occurred to her.

Greg carefully made up the sofa bed in the living room for her at about half ten.

“I don’t know how comfortable you’re going to be there, Shannon,” Erin said. “Nobody’s ever slept on it before. It’s new.”

“You’d want to have seen some of the places I’ve slept,” Shannon said cheerfully. “This is a bed fit for a queen, thanks,” she added.

Suddenly she leaned over and put her arms around Erin, who was utterly astonished at this gesture of affection. Shannon had never touched her before.

This is my mother hugging me, Erin thought to herself. She put her arms around Shannon’s waist and hugged back. No, she decided, this wasn’t her mother, not really. Shannon had carried Erin for nine months, but she was still better as a big sister. Erin had a mum already.

Erin slept well that night and woke the next morning with a strange feeling of lightness in her head. It was as if a burden had been lifted from her. She stretched luxuriously in the bed and was just wondering where Greg was, when he appeared with a tray containing tea, toast and some fresh fruit he’d cut carefully into a juicy fruit salad.

“So you’re awake, sleepy head,” he said good-humouredly as he put the tray on the bed.

“I know, it’s disgraceful,” Erin said, peering at the clock. It was five to eight. “I haven’t slept this long in ages. Is Shannon up yet?”

“Yes,” he replied. “She was up before me and she’s out on the balcony now, meditating.”

“Good for her,” said Erin, sitting up so that Greg could put the tray on her lap.

“Bye, love. I’m heading off to work now,” Greg said, kissing his wife gently on the lips. “Will you be OK on your own?”

Erin nodded. “We’ll be fine.”

After breakfast and showering, she went to find Shannon.

“Morning, Shannon,” she said cheerfully. “What are your plans for the day?”

She decided that this was the best way to deal with Shannon—to give the other woman the chance to do her own thing and not to crowd her or expect Shannon to hang around anywhere she didn’t want to. In fact, Erin had time to herself as it wasn’t one of her days at The Beauty Spot and she’d planned nothing more taxing than to make some phone calls about the charity project and to do a little shopping. But saying she was free might put pressure on Shannon.

“Isn’t it a wonderful day?” Shannon said, staring out at the beautiful morning. “It’s a good day to be alive. I think I might head off down to West Cork today, you know: take a nice drive through the countryside and enjoy myself.”

“Oh, you want me to drive you?” asked Erin in surprise.

Shannon shook her head. Today, she looked fresh and laid-back in loose coolie trousers and a simple linen shirt. “I’ll hitch. I hate the bus and the train. Hitching is great—you get a chance to meet people and see a bit of the countryside.”

“Hitching is dangerous.” Erin was horrified that anybody would hitch in this day of serial killings and nutters.

“It’s not dangerous,” Shannon said. “You wouldn’t believe the adventures I’ve had when I’ve been hitching.”

“Oh, yes I would,” Erin said. “I can’t believe you still hitch.”

“It’s like life,” Shannon explained. “You get out what you put into it.”

There really was nothing Erin could say to that. Eventually, they agreed on a compromise. Erin would drive Shannon a little way along the road to a small village where she could pick up a ride into West Cork. Erin still thought that hitching was a ridiculous way to travel, but Shannon was determined. She wouldn’t dream of getting on a bus or a train, not when there were lots of drivers meandering around the country, only too eager to have someone new to talk to.

As they drove out of Dunmore, it began to rain, and Erin hoped that Shannon would give up her hare-brained scheme and decide to get a bus after all. But no, Shannon was prepared. She had her rain slicker, an ancient see-through thing, veteran of many a protest march in the pouring rain. At a tiny hamlet, Erin stopped and they went into a pub for refreshment. Erin could already feel Shannon moving away from her: it was almost a physical thing, as if the woman had begun to distance herself as soon as she’d decided to set off on the road. That was how she lived her life, obviously—everything had its own place, friends in one box, family in another. Shannon was well able to close the door on one compartment and open another. Who knew when Erin would see her again?

Erin realised that if they were to stay in touch this was the way it would be, with Shannon always ready to take off to the next place, to the next party, to the next protest. She’d be happy to leave everyone behind, knowing that she could always come back to them. That was probably how she was able to leave Erin behind twenty-seven years ago, knowing that Erin was safe and looked after, and that if Shannon needed a place to stay, she could go home to her family.

As Mum had said so wisely, if you wanted to stay close to Shannon, you had to accept the way she wanted to live her life. Erin understood that now.

There was only one more question she had to ask, and as they sat in the tiny pub, while a barman rushed around getting the place ready for the proper drinkers, Erin asked it.

“Tell me about my father,” she said. “I want to know who he is.”

Shannon didn’t look surprised at the question but she didn’t look too pleased at it either.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t ask me that,” she said, sounding mildly irritated, as if Erin had asked her some anodyne question about whether she dyed her hair or not.

“It’s not unreasonable to want to know.” Erin couldn’t prevent the slight edge from entering her voice.

“I know,” said Shannon, “but it’s in the past …”

“Oh, come on,” said Erin. She rarely lost her temper but this could just be the time. “Just because my conception was some one-night stand with somebody you can barely remember doesn’t mean that I don’t have a right to hear about it.” Erin almost spat the words out and Shannon seemed shocked out of her habitual languor for the first time since Erin had met her.

“It wasn’t like that,” Shannon protested. “It wasn’t a one-night thing. He was a friend.”

Erin sat back in her chair, trying to get comfortable. “Go on,” she said.

“He was a friend of mine. We’d grown up together, been in school together,” Shannon continued. “He wasn’t my boyfriend or anything and he knew I wasn’t going to hang around Kilbarrett for very long. We were just good pals.”

Erin, who had always assumed her father was one of the anti-war÷anti-nuclear protesters that Shannon had been with at the time, said nothing but just listened.