Heartstones (14 page)

‘Wow,’ gasped Phoebe. ‘What a view!’

‘You can see Carraigmore from over here,’ said Honey, taking Phoebe’s hand and leading her along the narrow walkway. Phoebe tried not to feel dizzy; the stone walls around the edge were at least four feet high and there was no danger of falling, but still Phoebe couldn’t help but feel a little queasy while Honey seemed to relish the height and the view and the strong wind that blew her hair back from her face.

On the other side the gardens were spread out below them in a jungle of overgrown shrubs and brambles. The old stable block had trees pushing from its sagging roof, and beside it a cracked and blistered tennis court was steadily being encroached on by the undergrowth, while an empty swimming pool was lined with pale green algae.

In the distance the multi-coloured buildings of the town looked like a cluster of tiny model houses, bright against the canopy of bare trees and the rocky moorland beyond, Phoebe felt as though she could reach out and pick one up and see the tiny people going about their business inside. She said this to Honey and they spent several happy minutes pretending to pick up different shops and houses and describing what each occupier would be doing if they could really do it.

‘Look, I’ve got a miniature Molly’s Hair Hut in my hand and I can see Molly’s Saturday girl giving Sally O’Connell from the craft centre a trim.’

‘Here’s a tiny Uncle Fibber changing a barrel,’ laughed Honey, ‘and here’s Katrina giving him a kiss and Grandma giving them a row for wasting time.’

‘That sounds like Grandma Flannigan,’ the voice startled them both. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump.’ Theo put his arm round Honey. ‘It looks like you’re having fun.’

Phoebe turned around to face him, pushing back her wind-whipped hair.

‘I had no idea you could actually get up here. You and your brother must have loved it as children.’

‘We had a very neurotic mother and absolutely no sense of fear, so the roof was strictly out of bounds.’

‘What about the time you dropped water bombs on that film star who was having tea with Grandpa on the terrace?’ said Honey. ‘You said that you and Uncle Oliver did that from up here.’

‘We did, and you have no idea the trouble we got into, but luckily our mother was away at the time so she never found out.’ Theo smiled and said in an aside to Phoebe, ‘I don’t think our father wanted her to know that he’d been entertaining young starlets while she was gone, so he wasn’t going to tell her what we’d done.’ He turned back to Honey, ‘How did playing the tour guide go – do you think you could do it regularly and maybe we could charge the tourists?’

Honey considered this. ‘I think we might need to get rid of the buckets of rainwater first.’

‘It’s a beautiful house,’ said Phoebe. ‘I can see why my grandmother found it hard to let it go.’

Theo took a cigarette from a packet in his pocket and lit it with some difficulty in the breeze. ‘I’ve always loved the Castle too; unfortunately my mother wasn’t so keen on its ancient architectural charms, so we only ever came here in the summer. Mostly we lived in London, a large house near Hampstead Heath – that’s been inherited by my older half-sister. When he was working in the States we lived in my father’s beachfront house in Malibu – that went to another half-sister, and his Swiss apartment overlooking Lake Geneva was left to the twenty-three-year-old girlfriend he had spent the last year of his life with. I’m afraid that as my father’s properties went, the Castle was the consolation prize. I got the house, Oliver got the contents – I think that left us in little doubt as to our father’s feelings towards us both.’

Phoebe’s eyes widened. ‘I wouldn’t mind the Castle as my consolation prize, it’s so romantic.’

‘You sound like Maeve,’ Theo smiled. ‘I used to joke with her that she only married me because of the Castle.’ He leant against the stone wall and looked down at the wilderness beneath him. ‘She had such plans for this place: a boutique hotel, a gallery, a fancy restaurant and flower borders worthy of coach loads of garden groupies from Dublin,’

‘It would have been fantastic,’ said Phoebe, immediately seeing Maeve’s vision herself.

Theo shook his head and gestured at some broken roof slates at his feet. ‘Look at it now, falling apart around me. The money we had from selling our house in Dublin is nearly all used up, and I just can’t think how we can go on living here.’ He glanced at Honey who had moved away from them to roll pebbles down the roof. ‘In fact I think I’ll have to put it on the market but I don’t want Honey to know that yet.’

‘I think she knows already.’

Theo smiled grimly. ‘You can’t keep anything from that child.’

‘What will you do?’

Theo ran his hands through his thick hair. ‘I don’t know. I might go back to Dublin, or London maybe. My mother lives in Arizona with her second husband; she’s invited Honey to go and live with them till I sort myself out.’

‘What about Mrs Flannigan and Fibber? Couldn’t she stay with them?’

‘Wouldn’t it be better for a child to live on a big ranch with horses and a pool and all sorts of privileges, rather than in a small Irish pub in the back of beyond?’

Phoebe thought of what Honey had overheard Fibber saying and wondered how much of Theo’s father’s prejudice had rubbed off on his son. ‘Why can’t Honey just stay with you? Surely you could find somewhere smaller for you both to live in the village.’

Theo stubbed out his cigarette in the middle of a patch of lichen.

He sighed. ‘I’m not doing a very good job of being a father at the moment. When Honey’s at school she runs away, when she’s not at school I don’t know where she is, she disappears for hours on end or she’s up at the pub hanging around in the bar. I forget meal times, I forget to wash her clothes, I never remember to check if she’s brushed her teeth; Maeve would be appalled at the mess I’m making of bringing her up. Honey doesn’t need a father like me.’ Theo lit another cigarette and stared out across the sea.

Phoebe studied his tired face; how could he once have been that carefree boy diving from the rock and running laughing on the sand? She took a deep breath before she spoke. ‘Maybe she just needs a father who doesn’t get drunk every night.’

Theo turned around and a series of different expressions crossed his face. ‘Talk about straight talking!’ he finally said.

Phoebe leant on the wall and stared at the magnificent view. ‘I know what it’s like when someone you love dies. You feel like you’re falling down a deep, dark hole with no hope of ever getting out, and most of the time with no desire to try to get out of it anyway.’

Theo nodded. ‘That just about sums it up.’

Phoebe turned to face him. ‘But don’t you see? You’ve got so much to try and get out of that hole for; a gorgeous little girl who desperately needs her father, an amazing house that you could fight to save, and a wonderful gift for making pots.’

‘But now you’ve come back to reclaim my studio. How can I keep making pots?’ His amused grin suggested that the question was a challenge.

‘I’ll do you a deal. I’ll go back to England and pretend I never found you trespassing on my property as long as you stop feeling sorry for yourself.’

Theo laughed, ‘You drive a hard bargain.’ He paused, his eyes momentarily on hers. ‘Will you come back to Carraigmore to see how I’m getting on?’

‘I’ll try.’

‘And bring your sister Nola with you?’ Theo added with a grin.

Phoebe rolled her eyes and they both laughed. A sudden icy gust of wind made Phoebe shiver.

‘You’re cold, let’s get you that cup of tea I promised.’ Theo started to lead the way to the door, calling to Honey to follow them across the roof. As she carefully went down the steps Phoebe felt her phone vibrate with an incoming text. She hoped so much it would be from Nola.

Back in the kitchen Phoebe could see that Theo had made a valiant attempt to tidy up while Honey had been showing her around; the bags of supermarket shopping had been spirited away and the newspapers and books neatly stacked in one corner. The table was now clear and the gurgling sound coming from a dishwasher suggested that the piles of dirty dishes had been dealt with. By the door the shoes and boots were neatly lined up and the overflowing box of empties had disappeared.

Theo offered Phoebe a chair, set a pale blue mug in front of her, and poured out tea from a matching teapot. He had chosen a speckled green mug for himself and lifted Honey up to a huge dresser to choose a pale pink beaker with a band of scarlet around the top for her orange juice.

‘Did you make the mugs?’ asked Phoebe.

Theo nodded.

‘They’re beautiful.’ Phoebe cradled the warm mug in her hands, feeling the ridges from where Theo’s hands had coaxed in it into life on the potter’s wheel. ‘And the teapot is gorgeous.’

‘Daddy doesn’t usually bother with a teapot. Do you, Daddy?’

‘I don’t usually have anyone to impress,’

‘You have me,’ said Honey, looking at her father with her large blue eyes.

Theo smiled at Honey. ‘You’re right. I should try to use the teapot more often. Now, I wonder if we have any biscuits, and if we have I’ll find a plate to serve them on and impress you both.’

He opened a cupboard and an avalanche of tins and packets cascaded out across the floor. Theo tried to stop it but his main objective seemed to be stopping a large bottle of Jameson’s from crashing onto the slate tiles. Phoebe could see that rather than being unpacked, the plastic carrier bags had simply been shoved haphazardly behind the cupboard door. Honey sprang up to help her father tidy the mess.

As Theo and Honey now seemed engrossed in trying to stack the cupboard in a more orderly manner, Phoebe took out her phone to read the message that had been left earlier. Nola’s name flashed up. Phoebe smiled; Nola never could stay angry with her for long. She touched the little picture of the envelope on the screen, she couldn’t wait to reply to her sister and tell her where she was. Her eyes scanned down the message once and then, because she couldn’t quite take in what Nola had written, she read it again.

Where are you? This is so typical. Don’t think I care where you’ve run away to this time. You’re on your own now, girl.

Phoebe felt as though she had been punched in the stomach, a wave of misery washed over her as she re-read the message.

‘Are you all right?’ Theo was sitting back down opposite her, Honey stood beside him arranging Hobnobs on an ornate glass cake stand. ‘Have we overdone it with the cake stand?’

‘Mummy used to put my birthday cakes on this.’ Honey was making an overlapping wheel of biscuits. ‘And sometimes she used it for meringues.’

‘It’s very pretty,’ Phoebe managed to say. Honey handed her a Hobnob and automatically Phoebe took a bite; it tasted as dry as sand and she longed to spit it out, instead she washed it down with tea.

‘I’ve got to go,’ she said looking at her watch intently before realising she wasn’t wearing one and had simply been staring at her jumper cuff.

‘There’s more tea in the teapot.’ Honey lifted the lid and peered into the pot. ‘Loads of it, enough for you and Daddy to have another cup.’

‘I think Phoebe needs to be heading off.’ He stood up. ‘So you’ll be back soon?’ he said as Phoebe stood up and headed for the door.

‘Sorry?’

‘The deal?’

Blank stare.

‘On the roof? About the boathouse? Coming back with Nola?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she stammered. ‘I don’t know. I’ll see what’s happening at the time.’

‘Don’t feel obliged,’ Theo sounded hostile again. Phoebe hardly noticed.

He opened the door for her and Phoebe stepped out into the sunlight. She wasn’t aware of Theo and Honey watching her make her way down the long drive way; she barely noticed Poncho bounding beside her, barking at her until a sharp shout from Theo turned him back. 

Chapter Thirteen

You’re on your own now, girl.

The phrase seemed to ricochet around her head. Phoebe barely remembered her walk back into town or the effort she had made to hold back her tears until she reached the pub. Suddenly she seemed to swim up from a murky sea of misery to find that she was sitting in Fibber Flannigan’s public bar with a pair of slender, olive arms encircling her and a voice as soothing as melting caramel softly whispering into her hair.

‘That’s it Phoebe, let it all out, have big cry, and it will all be coming up roses for you again in no moments at all.’

Sitting up straight, Phoebe disentangled herself from Katrina’s embrace and wiped her eyes on her jumper sleeve; the scratchy wool stung her skin and she began to cry again. Fibber sat down on a bar stool opposite her with a concerned expression and a box of Kleenex. He handed her a tissue and she noisily blew her nose.

‘It’s a terrible thing when you lose someone you love,’ Fibber said with a wistful sigh. ‘Life can be very cruel.’

‘But time is very good at making your heart feel like it is no longer sick,’ said Katrina, continuing to keep one arm around Phoebe’s shoulder.

‘
Time is a great healer
,’ Fibber corrected.

Katrina drew Phoebe towards her again so that Phoebe’s head leant against Katrina’s shoulder. The warm solidity of another human body felt comforting to Phoebe, she closed her eyes and let Katrina’s beautifully manicured fingers stroke her hair. ‘You must have been loving your husband very much.’

Phoebe’s eyes opened. Her husband? She had forgotten that Katrina thought that she was a grieving widow. Perhaps now was the time to confess, she opened her mouth to speak then stopped herself. No one had held her since David; it felt so nice, she closed her eyes again and let herself listen to Katrina’s soothing voice. ‘You must be hurting in your heart since he has died; I hate to think how it must be inside you. I know that when you choose to make the marriage knot with someone you are thinking it will be until you are old and he is old and you are old together, am I not correct, Phoebe?’ Phoebe nodded into the warmth of Katrina’s silky blouse. ‘You will never be dreaming that they will be dead so soon. When they are gone it must feel like you want to be gone with them.’ Phoebe nodded again. ‘You will feel like you will be wishing you can end your life with knifes or ropes or medicine from the chemist, or even falling off the cliff.’

‘Steady on Katrina,’ said Fibber. ‘You don’t want to be giving the girl ideas now.’

‘All I am saying is that she is feeling very sad for her dead husband and being alive will not be happy for her. But Phoebe, you will feel good again one day and maybe it will be quicker than you are imagining that it will be.’ Katrina gently lifted Phoebe’s head from her shoulder and taking another tissue offered by Fibber she dabbed at Phoebe’s eyes. ‘Now, Phoebe, what will be the ideas you will put into action today?’

‘Ah yes,’ said Fibber. ‘You need a plan of action.’

Phoebe sniffed and gave a shrug. ‘I had decided to go back to England, but now I’m not sure that there is any point. There’s no one there for me now. Maybe I’ll go to Cork or Dublin, see if I can get a waitressing job. I havenʼt got much money but maybe I can save up to travel like I’ve done in the past.’

‘But you must stay with us,’ cried Katrina. ‘You can work here and save for the travelling.’ She looked encouragingly at Fibber. ‘It is a good idea, do you not think, Fibber?’

‘Oh yes, it’s a great idea. You’re a natural with the pint-pulling, and the football team would be delighted if you stuck around.’

‘Don’t
I
get a say in who we employ here any more?’ Mrs Flannigan seemed to have silently materialised behind the bar.

‘Sorry, Ma, I didn’t see you there,’ said Fibber with a cheerful smile. ‘We were just saying wouldn’t it be great if Phoebe worked with us here? The tourist season will be starting soon, we’ll need to take someone on then anyway and Phoebe did a grand job last night, didn’t she?’

‘We usually take on someone local for the season,’ Mrs Flannigan’s voice was flat.

 ‘She’s Anna Brennan’s granddaughter – isn’t she as local as you get!’

Mrs Flannigan sniffed. ‘She can’t stay here; we need the room for the child.’

‘Honey was fine in the living room the night before last and it’s not like she stays with us every night.’

‘I don’t want Theo thinking we’ve no room for Honey with us. He’ll want to whisk her off to live with that stuck-up mother of his in America, and I’ll not give him any excuses to take her away from us now.’

‘It’s all right,’ said Phoebe. ‘I’m sure I can find a job somewhere else.’

‘Ah no, Phoebe,’ Fibber smiled at her. ‘My mother’s not saying you can’t have a job. You’re not saying that, are you, Ma?’ Mrs Flannigan’s crimson-painted mouth was set into a thin hard line, she didn’t answer. Fibber grinned. ‘That’s settled then, you’re on the team. I’m just about to open up; you can start now if it might help to cheer you up. You’ll be working four nights on and two nights off and every lunchtime except Sunday. You’ll get your wages on a Saturday morning and two meals a day if you want them, which you probably will if Katrina’s cooking.’ Fibber stood up and clapped his hands together. ‘Isn’t that all grand!’

Phoebe looked at Katrina. Katrina was watching Mrs Flannigan. Mrs Flannigan was rubbing vigorously at a pint glass, lips pursed, her face flushed.

‘Thank you for the offer, Fibber,’ Phoebe said smiling up at Fibber’s kind face. ‘I’ll take the job but I can’t take the spare room from you. I can stay at the boathouse, the upstairs flat is really cosy – and after all it does belong to me.’

The crash made them all jump.

‘Now look what you’ve made me do,’ cried out Mrs Flannigan as she disappeared behind the bar to pick up the pieces of the broken glass. Phoebe saw Katrina and Fibber exchange glances. Fibber made a small questioning grimace, Katrina replied with a tiny shrug.

‘What about Theo?’ asked Fibber. ‘Isn’t he using the downstairs to make his pots again?’

‘He can still do that,’ said Phoebe. ‘I’ll be here a lot of the time and his kiln firings will help warm the flat up a bit.’

‘I think it is a top-tip idea,’ said Katrina. ‘The boathouse will be perfect for your melancholy soul; it will help to heal the big crack in your heart.’

‘Will you not be spooked at night?’ asked Fibber. ‘It’s very isolated down there.’

‘I’m used to living on my own,’ said Phoebe, then hastily added, ‘since David died, I mean.’

Why not?
thought Phoebe, why not use the boathouse as a temporary home? There was no point going back to England now. In the boathouse she wouldn’t have to worry about rent and the setting was just gorgeous; she imagined waking up every morning to the sound of waves crashing on the shore and smiled. Maybe Katrina was right, maybe it would help to heal the big crack in her heart.

‘Have I done something to upset Mrs Flannigan?’ Phoebe asked Katrina as they piled bedding and the rucksack into the back of Phoebe’s Morris Minor.

‘I tell you yesterday, Mrs Flannigan has had a difficult life and now she is grieving in her heart. You grieve for your husband, she grieves for her daughter. Maybe you are reminding her of Maeve, to me I see you are a little alike. Small and pretty but inside very strong.’

‘I don’t feel very strong right now,’ said Phoebe as she failed to shut the car door against an escaping pillow.

‘I can see it in you. In your middle you are sturdy as a stone.’

‘I knew I shouldn’t have had so much of your soda bread for lunch,’ Phoebe laughed, but Katrina stood still and looked at her.

‘You have hair like Maeve too, bright red, but with Maeve it was straight and she always have it up like this,’ she took Phoebe’s hair in her hands and deftly twisted it into a loose coil at the back of Phoebe’s head. Almost immediately she dropped the hair as though it burned her hands; she stepped back.

‘What is it?’ asked Phoebe, surprised at Katrina’s stunned expression.

Katrina shook her head, ‘It is nothing, I am just being a silly one.’

‘What?’ Phoebe persisted.

‘It is just, with your hairstyle that way, you look the same as her, the same as Maeve – it give me a shock.’

‘Leaving us already?’ A woman in a long tweed cape and purple beret appeared on the pavement beside them. It took a few seconds for Phoebe to recognise her as Sally O’Connell from the Art and Craft Centre.

‘No, I’m staying around for a while,’ replied Phoebe. ‘I’m moving into the boathouse.’

‘Well, that’s a lovely thing,’ cooed the little woman. ‘An idyllic spot, tucked away from everything and everyone. Theo Casson from the Castle will be your closest neighbour; he’s virtually a recluse you know. It’s a shame – he’s a very talented potter, well respected in Ireland and quite an international reputation too, but he’s had such bad luck.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Did you know his wife died of cancer?’ Her eyes slid to Katrina who was adding a tartan blanket to the heap of bedding on the back seat. Sally lowered her voice still further, ‘Grief doesn’t bring out the best in some people.’ With a little gasp she put a hand on Phoebe’s arm. ‘I’m sorry, I was forgetting that you have recently been bereaved. Mr Murphy in the butcher’s told me you’d lost your husband. My goodness, doesn’t tragedy stalk you?’

‘Actually I went to visit the Castle this morning,’ Phoebe said with a desire to change the subject; her widowhood was obviously now common knowledge in Carraigmore.

‘No!’ Sally’s eyes widened, Phoebe thought that if she really had been a mouse her whiskers would be twitching. ‘Ooo, you lucky thing, no one gets invited in there and it’s such a gorgeous house – an architectural gem, though they say he’s letting it fall down around him; it needs a fortune to be spent on it. I’d love to get in for a nose around. What was it like? Didn’t I once hear that your grandmother used to live there?’

‘All is in the car, Phoebe,’ Katrina interrupted. She came and stood beside the two women on the pavement then suddenly she rushed off calling over her shoulder, ‘Do not go yet, I forget – you will be needing a kettle, Mrs Flannigan has spare under the stairs.’

‘I had a little bit of news this morning.’ Sally O’Connell gave a little shiver of excitement. ‘I noticed in my latest
Arts Around Ireland
magazine that there’s to be a retrospective of William Flynn’s paintings in the National Art Gallery in the autumn.’

Phoebe looked blank. ‘William Flynn?’

‘You know, you bought the postcard yesterday. Don’t you remember? A picture of Carraigmore beach? I told you he’s one of Ireland’s greatest painters? I thought you might like to see the exhibition, seeing as you were so interested in his work. In fact I thought I might organise a coach trip to see it, what with his Carraigmore connections.’

‘Was he from round here?’ asked Phoebe trying to be polite but wishing Katrina would hurry up; the wind blowing up the high street was cold despite the sunshine.

‘He lived in the village for a while as a young man. They say it was here that he developed his passion for the sea.’

‘Here is kettle and teabags and milk and some of my shortbread biscuits,’ Katrina threw the kettle and a carrier bag into the car. ‘We go now?’

With a brief goodbye to Sally O’Connell, Phoebe and Katrina jumped into the car and set off towards the beach.