The Stone House (33 page)

‘There were six, Mummy. Six ducklings and they were so beautiful with their mummy duck.'

Kate swallowed hard – even the mother duck was with her ducklings. She felt guilty for leaving Molly, but relieved that she would soon be going home.

‘Granny's here beside me. Would you like to talk to her?'

Molly adored her grandmother and Kate could hear her screaming ‘Granny' excitedly as she held the phone to her mother's ear, seeing her lopsided smile as Molly rambled on telling about the baby ducklings.

‘Blow a good-night kiss to Granny,' she instructed, and heard Molly making all kinds of noisy efforts to send kisses down the phone line.

Laughing she replaced the line, squeezing her mother's hand, realizing how important the link between generations was to all of them.

Romy had washed up in the kitchen and put some washing on. She looked tired. ‘Why don't you go to bed? You look bunched. We'll be fine down here.'

Romy had shifted the big armchair and pouffe from the sitting room and placed them on the far side of her mother's bed. A pile of magazines, books and photo
albums were thoughtfully left on a small square coffee table she'd also brought into the dining room.

‘I'll be nice and comfy here for the night.'

Romy came in and flung her arms around their mother, kissing her cheek, her mother's eyes lighting on her face.

‘I'll see you in the morning,' she said.

Maeve struggled to try to say the word ‘Good-night'.

‘Good-night, sleep tight and don't let the bedbugs bite!' grinned her daughter, the same as she'd said it most nights when she was a child.

MAEVE DILLON WAS
happy to be home, ensconced in bed, surrounded by her three devoted daughters and the things she loved, with a view of the garden. The nurse had come and washed her and checked her and cheered her up with her easy matter-of-fact way and kindness.

The peace of the afternoon was disturbed by the arrival of Vonnie Quinn to see her sister; she brought a bunch of bright red roses and a light-as-air carrot cake with lemon icing on a big plate.

‘This looks good,' admired Romy.

‘It's Maeve's favourite. Run in and stick on the kettle and we'll all have a little slice.'

‘She's asleep,' whispered Romy.

‘There'll be time enough for sleep. I'll go in and wake her.'

Out of the corner of her eye she watched her aunt sit on the side of the bed, gently calling her mother's name and stroking her hand.

‘C'mon and wake up, Maeve, I'm here to see you.'

Her mother's eyes slowly opened and her mouth grinned as she said, ‘Lo, Vonnie.'

Romy was amazed that over the years the bond between the two sisters had never changed and they still always found something to talk and laugh about. The two of them hugged crazily as her aunt went into a long tirade about the queues in the local Spar shop, the greenfly having a field day with the roses, and the latest twists and turns in her cousin Conor's on-off relationship with his girlfriend Anita Murphy. A one-sided conversation, it made no matter, she could see her mother was delighted to be treated normally by Vonnie who'd always been the chatterbox of the family.

‘Why don't you girls go out and get a bit of fresh air, have a bit of a walk while I'm here?' suggested her aunt. ‘Maeve will be fine with me.'

That sounded good. Romy was in sore need of exercise and oxygen and Moya had been complaining of a headache all day.

It was warm and sunny outside and in a few minutes they were ready, and running down the driveway.

‘Where to?' asked Moya.

‘The beach!' shouted Kate and Romy, as they crossed the main road and walked down the narrow lane bordered by bracken and tall cow parsley.

Rossmore Strand was all but deserted, and Romy kicked off her trainers and buried her toes in the sand, walking barefoot. Kate tied her sweater round her waist as they followed the shoreline, jumping to avoid the waves, kicking seaweed out of their way as they messed with
each other. They walked for half an hour and then sat in a heap on the sand looking out at the waves rolling in. It had been a long time since they had been together like this, on their own.

They talked like they hadn't talked for a very long time and Kate admitted how lonely it got sometimes on her own with just Molly for company and the sacrifices single mothers had to make.

‘Though I wouldn't trade her for a billion dollars, I sometimes envy you, Moya, having a husband like Patrick.'

Moya looked strained.

‘Whatever you do, Kate, for god's sakes don't ever bother envying my marriage.'

Kate didn't understand.

‘All I will say is that Hail glorious St Patrick is not quite as good as he seems,' said Moya bitterly, ‘as he has a propensity to chase every bit of skirt that comes his way.'

Kate was appalled.

‘How do you stick it?'

‘He promises it will never happen again and I put my head in the sand and try to believe him. I've got the three kids so what else can I do?'

‘Moya, you don't have to put up with that.'

‘Maybe someday I won't!' replied Moya firmly. ‘Someday I'll have had enough and I'll throw him out or take the kids and go!'

Kate looked over at her sister, seeing the torture Patrick was inflicting reflected in her eyes. How had she never guessed?

‘I'm sorry, Moya, I shouldn't have said anything!'

‘It's all right. Patrick and I are trying to work it out. Neither of us wants to end up in the divorce courts. He for obvious reasons and me because of the kids and the fact I'm an old-fashioned catholic girl who still believes in marriage.'

‘And what about you, Romy?' ventured Kate.

‘No-one gives a shit about me.'

‘Come off it!'

‘We do give a shit!' said Kate, serious. ‘Honest, we do.'

Romy pulled her long legs up under her, not sure where she'd begin.

‘Hey this is like confession!' she groaned.

Kate reached for her and hugged her. ‘Go on!'

‘Kate, you remember the night of Moya's wedding and I went to meet Brian . . .'

‘Yeah, you were mad about him. I remember that.'

‘We made love. And I found out I was pregnant when I went back to college.'

She told them the truth about taking the money and going to London, the clinic and the start of the running, of hating herself, of searching for what she'd lost.

‘Why didn't you come home?' whispered Moya.

‘I couldn't. I couldn't face her knowing what I'd done. I guess I couldn't face myself.'

She told them the rest: sex and sleeping with boys and men whose names she couldn't remember, the towns and cities where she'd stayed, moving and searching, not wanting to be found until she'd met Rob and hoped that he would be the one. Cruel California and saying goodbye to Rob. Being in the wrong place on the day in September when planes crashed and the
world burned and men threw themselves from buildings and thousands died in New York.

They let her talk and when she'd finished they lay with the sun beating down on them. Romy stretched out with her eyes shut so they couldn't see her tears.

Afterwards Romy felt drained and looking out at the sea couldn't resist the sparkling blue water, lapping only yards away.

‘I'm going for a swim!'

‘Don't be mad!'

Romy didn't care and ran to the water's edge peeling off her clothes and flinging them in a pile. She needed to wash it away, feel the water on her. Wading in as far as she could, she gasped as the coldness hit her, then ducked down and floated, bobbing on the waves as they carried her.

‘Come on!' she yelled.

Moya looked around.

The nearest person was at least a half-mile away. It was too tempting and in a few seconds herself and Kate had joined Romy, screaming as the freezing water hit their bare skin and they splashed around. They raced and pulled each other along in the water by the toes, ducking and diving like they did when they were kids. Getting out, they fell onto the beach laughing, drying themselves off with Kate's sweater and Romy's T-shirt, pulling on a bit of clothing as they made a hasty retreat to the house.

Laughing and covered in sand, wet hair streeling, they tramped across the kitchen floor. Vonnie and Maeve were equally amused by their dishevelled appearance.

‘You girls go and dry off upstairs,' smiled Vonnie, ‘and I'll make a big pot of tea.'

Kate felt overwhelmed with guilt leaving her mother the next day but she had to get back to Dublin. Molly was missing her and Derry had to get some of his own work completed or he'd miss contract dates, plus the office had been on repeatedly asking about her return to work. Moya had left earlier that morning in the hire car, as she was on a mid-morning flight to London.

‘Romy, are you sure that it won't be too much for you staying here on your own and minding her?' pressed Kate, concerned, standing in the hallway with her bag ready to return to the city.

‘I told you. We'll be fine. Anyway, I'm not on my own. There's the nurses and Aunt Vonnie and Dr Deegan and Mary Costigan across the way plus all Mum's friends.'

‘Sure?'

‘I'm sure. I wouldn't do it otherwise. And I promise, any change and I'll phone you immediately.'

‘You have the numbers.'

‘Mobile, office and home. They're on the noticeboard and in Mum's phone number book.'

Kate took a deep breath. Her mother was as comfortable as they could make her, home where she wanted to be.

‘Romy, thanks so much. I don't know what Moya and I would have done if you weren't here.'

‘Shssh. She's my mother too. Of course I want to be here.'

Romy watched the black car turn in the driveway and disappear on to the Rossmore Road, suddenly feeling the enormous responsibility for caring for her mother during the last days of her life.

Maeve Dillon lay dozing, her tight twisted features now relaxed, curled up amongst the pillows and duvet. She looked younger, her hair brushed off her face, eyes shut, peaceful. Romy picked up some mugs and dirty plates and brought them to the kitchen to wash. For the first time she really felt she was home as she flicked the radio on down low and pushed open the kitchen door, Jinx her mother's cat pushing past her.

‘Poor old thing, you're being ignored and you don't like it,' she murmured, stroking the black coat.

Romy had always loved this kitchen, considered it the heart of the house, the place her mother could always be found: washing up, peeling vegetables, baking, stuffing chicken and turkeys and mixing gravy in the big brown jug to pour over the roasts of lamb and beef, sending them to get a snip of parsley or herbs from the garden. The high days of summer her mother lost herself in the garden, out there from early morning till late at night. Picnics on the beach and plates of salad and pots of new potatoes and warm brown bread from the oven were their staple. She still found it hard to believe that her mother would never work in this kitchen again, turn on the gas cooker, pull plates from the racks and forage in the fridge for ingredients to create a meal for her family. It was weird that she was now the mistress of this kitchen and all it contained. Petting the cat, she made herself a cup of tea and slipped back to sit near her mother. Moya and Kate thought
they had landed her with the tough job of caring for a dying woman, not realizing she was the one who needed this most, the time to make amends for the mess she'd made in the past and try to make up the years lost by spending this precious time with her mother, the one person who had always unconditionally loved her.

Dr Deegan had looked in briefly on his way home, checking her mother's pulse and blood pressure, looking at the skin on her back and heels and listening to her chest.

‘You're doing great, Maeve,' he said, gently pulling her nightdress back down and patting her hand. Her mother had always had a huge regard for the local GP and Romy was relieved that he was looking after her now near the end instead of some junior hospital doctor on shift that her mother didn't know.

‘Eating and drinking and sleeping OK?' he enquired.

‘Fine.'

‘And what about you?'

‘I'm fine too.' She smiled.

‘Well you know where I am if you need me, and you have my mobile.'

Her mother was tired and content to lie back against the pillows as Romy went through the first of the photo albums she'd found, kissing the top of Maeve's head when she saw the first photo of herself taken a few days after she came home from the hospital, her mother radiant.

‘I'm like a monkey wrapped in that pink blanket,' she joked, surprised when her mother touched her shoulder and made an attempt to say ‘My monkey.'

God, she'd been so wild as a child, temper tantrums, stroppy, always up to mischief and breaking things. A tomboy, the dog Lucky at her heels, always looking for attention – or was that after Sean had been born? There were reams of photographs: birthdays, Christmas, holidays, on the rides in Tramore, starting school, communion, confirmation, winning the fancy dress competition when she'd dressed up as Humpty Dumpty, playing on the beach in their togs. She hesitated when she came to the one, taken by Moya, of her parents bringing Sean home from hospital. Her father in his suit, her mother's hair curling around her face as she nervously held the small baby in the blue blanket towards the cameras, Sean's eyes tightly shut.

‘He was so small,' she said softly, as her mother's finger touched the picture. There were another five or six pictures of her little brother, eyes open staring out at life, smiling with tiny dimples, trying to grab someone's hair in his fist. The very last photo in the album was taken a few days later on her first day at the convent's secondary school, Moya, Kate and herself dressed in their identical uniforms, grinning in the morning sun as her mother captured them on camera, that moment frozen before everything changed.