Heartstones (22 page)

Chapter Twenty-one

Mrs Flannigan was in her sitting room going through the pub’s accounts with Molly from the Hair Hut’s husband; he had his own accountancy practice in Caherciveen, and, as Katrina explained to Phoebe, ‘He is helping every month in return for free beer.’ Katrina went on gravely, ‘It is a serious job and Fibber and I wait with our breaths baited as he is doing the sums.’

‘Baited breaths,’ called Fibber from the other end of the bar.

‘Whatever,’ called back Katrina. ‘Anyhow, we wait with our baited breaths to see if the pub has made a profit this month. If it is “Yes” Mrs Flannigan will be happy. If “No” she will be like a bear who has been hit on the head with a big hammer.’

‘Bear with a sore head,’ shouted Fibber in unison with the customer he was serving.

‘Surely the pub will have done well this month,’ said Phoebe. ‘Most nights it’s been busy and some nights it’s been heaving with customers – even in the middle of the week.’

Katrina smiled. ‘I think that is the Phoebe effect. The customers they like you; you are nice for chatting, you are good with the pints and you are very pretty on the eye.’

Phoebe could feel herself beginning to blush.

‘Katrina’s right,’ Fibber came over to get some ice. ‘You’ve been the best thing for business since my beautiful Katrina agreed to work here – though to this day I’ve never worked out why she stays.’

Katrina put her arms around his neck. ‘I stay for you, you silly man.’ She kissed him briefly then drew back with a peevish expression. ‘But I will go if you are correcting my English any more. It is you Irish with your funny ways of talking that need to be made correct. Is this not the truth, Phoebe?’ Phoebe laughed.

All three of them turned to look at Mrs Flannigan as she emerged from her lair and walked into the bar. Phoebe noticed that she had her make-up on for the first time for ages.

‘Are we all right, Ma?’ Fibber asked. ‘Or are we headed for the debtors’ prison?’

‘We’ll make it through another month, I’d say.’ Mrs Flannigan picked up a glass and started pouring a pint of Guinness for Molly from the Hair Hut’s husband. ‘Though go easy on those fancy crisps you keep ordering.’ She started to hum “I Could Have Danced All Night” and Fibber grinned.

‘When she starts on the
My Fair Lady
tunes you know that things will be OK.’

Lunchtime was busy. The good weather meant that there were already day-trippers coming to Carraigmore to walk the cliff paths and take out dinghies and kayaks. As closing time approached, Phoebe longed to escape back to her bed. She ached all over from lack of sleep and she was struggling to stop her mind from drifting back to the way Theo’s lips had felt on hers.

As she started to clean out the coffee machine a cheerful voice called out behind her. ‘Get your walking boots ready, Miss Brennan. MacGillycuddy’s Reeks are calling.’

Rory stood on the other side of the bar, his tight blue T-shirt was emblazoned with the words
Get High, Get Hiking
. Phoebe looked at him through weary eyes.

‘Now?’

‘Don’t worry – you’ve got one night to prepare yourself, though I’d suggest an early bedtime. Ireland’s highest peaks await.’

‘Look, Rory.’ Phoebe pulled the filter unit out and a wave of coffee granules splashed into her face. She wiped them away with a bar towel. ‘Three reasons why I don’t think I’m quite ready to join you on Hag’s Tooth or Sheep’s Scull or whatever mountain it is you have in mind. One, I’m working tonight, so an early bedtime’s out of the question. Two, I don’t own a pair of walking boots, and three, cleaning out this infuriating coffee machine is quite enough of a challenge for me at the moment.’

Rory looked like a disappointed puppy. ‘But I thought you’d enjoy it; the views are stunning.’

‘By the time I got to the top I’d be too exhausted to care what I was looking at.’

‘Don’t you think you could do with getting a bit of fresh air into your lungs?’

‘A gentle stroll along the beach is enough for me.’

Rory thought for a moment. ‘What about a cliff hike, we’ll go over the headland to O’Connell’s Point; there’s a good bit of scrambling to be had there and it’s only five miles there and back, not too far at all.’ He peered over the counter at her feet. ‘You’ll probably be fine in those sturdy boots. I’ll get my mother to make us up a few sandwiches. You’ll love the views and we could always go on further if we feel like it.’

Phoebe made a face. ‘Five miles and a bit of scrambling sounds more than enough for me and my sturdy boots!’

‘That’s a date then.’ Rory rubbed his hands with satisfaction. ‘I’ll pick you up from the boathouse at ten o’clock.’

A date!
Phoebe hadn’t thought of it as a date. She liked Rory well enough, she liked him a lot, but she hadn’t thought of him as anything more than a friend. She felt panic mounting inside, she wasn’t ready for dates.

‘Rory,’ she began, but he interrupted her.

‘Sorry, Phoebe, but I’ve got to go; apparently there are some real mackers coming in at Brandon Bay. A bunch of us are going to see if we can catch some tubes; the crew’s all waiting for me in the van outside and they’re raring to get stoked.’

Phoebe stared at him. ‘Pardon?’ But he already had his back to her. At the door he turned with a cheery wave and was gone.

Katrina had appeared in order to help manipulate the coffee filter back into place, she laughed at Phoebe’s baffled expression.

‘Surfing,’ she explained. ‘He and his friends are going surfing at Brandon Bay where there are the big waves – they call them mackers – and they want to surf on the curl of the wave – that is the tubes and in the end they want to get stoked – that is to be very happy surfers.’

‘Oh,’ said Phoebe. ‘Thanks for the translation; I thought he was talking about drugs.’

Katrina laughed again. ‘Rory does not need to do drugs, he is addict to exercise I think.’

Phoebe sighed. ‘I can see that. And now I’ve agreed to go for a five-mile walk with him tomorrow and I’m a bit worried.’

‘You will be fine.’ Katrina looked her up and down. ‘You look in quite fit shape to me.’

‘No it’s not that – I’m sure I’ll survive the walk. I’m just a bit worried that he’s got the wrong idea and thinks it’s going to be more than just a friendly hike. I think he thinks its some sort of date.’

Katrina raised one expertly plucked eyebrow. ‘Really?’

‘Come on girls,’ Mrs Flannigan bustled up and flapped a dishcloth at them, ‘you can’t just stand around chatting all day, the dishes are finished, and just look at the mess you’ve made with that coffee machine, Phoebe – there’s coffee granules half way up the wall.’ She started to wipe a Guinness sign, sucking through her teeth as she mopped the brown streaks from the toucan’s beak. Katrina made a face behind Mrs Flannigan’s back and hastily disappeared into the kitchen. Phoebe tried to use the bar towel to mop up the mess she’d managed to make on the counter, but Mrs Flannigan whipped it out of her hands. ‘You’ll get stains on that.’

Mrs Flannigan turned back to the metal sign, her back to Phoebe as she rubbed vigorously and started to hum the opening bars of “On the Street Where You Live”
.

‘Mrs Flannigan, can I ask you some questions about my grandmother?’ The humming stopped abruptly but Mrs Flannigan continued to rub even though the coffee stain was long gone.

‘I wanted to ask about her past,’ Phoebe continued. Mrs Flannigan stiffened and stopped rubbing.

‘Do you remember someone called Michael?’

‘No.’

‘He was a painter.’ Phoebe watched the woman’s face. It had become still as stone. ‘He and Anna seem to have been having an affair. Iʼve found some diaries and there are letters from Michael as well. They start when Anna and her family were still at the Castle and cover the time of her father’s death, and then her marriage to Dr Brennan and then the start of her affair with Michael.’

Mrs Flannigan said nothing; she stared at Phoebe, the dishcloth tightly scrunched up in her hand.

‘I don’t want to upset you.’ Phoebe wondered if Mrs Flannigan was about to shout at her. ‘I just hoped that you might be able to tell me something more about that time or what my grandfather was like – Anna and Gordon don’t seem to have had a happy marriage, and I wondered how they ended up going to Africa together and what happened to …’

The cloth hit the counter behind Phoebe with a dull thwack, narrowly missing her face in its trajectory. She jumped in surprise. Had Mrs Flannigan really thrown the dishcloth at her?

‘I don’t like to talk about the past,’ Mrs Flannigan’s voice was almost a hiss.

‘Sorry, I just wanted to …’

‘Excuse me, but I’m not feeling well.’ The old woman pushed past Phoebe and disappeared into her living room, slamming the door behind her.

‘Looks like we’ve heard the last of the
My Fair Lady
s for today
.
’ Fibber seemed to materialise from nowhere. He picked up the damp dishcloth from the bar. ‘I hope you weren’t attempting to get a free
Fibber Flannigan’s
T-shirt or something.’

‘No, of course not.’ Phoebe felt too upset to laugh. ‘All I wanted was to find out a bit more about my grandmother. I only asked your mother a few questions about when she was young and living in my grandfather’s house with Anna.’

Fibber gave the bar a wipe with the cloth. ‘She doesn’t like to talk about the past.’

‘I gathered that,’ said Phoebe. ‘But why?’

‘Well,’ Fibber pulled a thoughtful face. ‘She had a hard time as a child. Her mother was a difficult woman, with her own heartaches and dark secrets,’ he lowered his voice. ‘The poor woman ended her days in the Cork asylum. I remember being taken to visit her when I was about as old as Honey, not long before she died. My grandmother was sitting in a chair on the veranda, tied to it to stop her wandering off. She told me that the young master from the Castle would be coming to take her home in his big car, and then she called to the nurse on duty and asked for tea to be brought to the yellow drawing room. Poor thing, her mind had completely gone.’

‘That’s very sad,’ said Phoebe. ‘But I don’t understand why your mother seems so averse to talking about my grandmother. I’ve found some old diaries and they seem to have been quite close when they were young.’

Fibber raised his eyebrows and opened a packet of paprika crisps; he scooped a large handful into his mouth and chewed for a little while.

‘Anna Brennan and my mother were not exactly what you’d call friends but it always seemed to me that they had some sort of bond between them.’ He offered Phoebe a crisp, she shook her head and Fibber poured the rest into his palm. ‘When your grandmother died my mother wept for days. Inconsolable, she was – I must admit that I was quite surprised. After that she made it a weekly ritual to go down to the boathouse and give it a dust and an airing, almost as though she thought that Anna might come back. She even makes me give the outside a lick of paint every few years and weed the path.’ He shrugged, finished the crisps in his hand, and threw the packet in the bin. ‘I’ve always found it easier to get on with what my mother tells me to do and not ask too many questions.’

A soft hand slipped into Phoebe’s. Phoebe looked down and found Honey standing by her side.

‘When are we going to look for heart stones?’ Honey’s hair had been curled and caught up with a large silk rose behind one ear. Phoebe wondered who had done it for her. Katrina? Mrs Flannigan? Surely not Theo.

‘How about next week sometime, maybe after school?’ Phoebe said.

‘How about now? Uncle Fibber, has Phoebe finished all her work today?’

Fibber looked at his watch and sucked his teeth. ‘I’m not sure, we may have to keep her here a few minutes longer in case we get a coach-load of Americans doing the Ring of Kerry, you know how desperate they all are experience the crack in a genuine Irish bar.’

Honey’s voice took on a pleading tone. ‘Please, Uncle Fibber. Anyway I heard you say that the Americans are as tight as badgers’ arses at the moment, and not interested in shelling out any money, even for a pint of a bloody Guinness.’ She batted her eyelashes at an astounded Fibber. ‘
Please
let Phoebe come down to the beach with me.’

Fibber pulled at his niece’s new curls. ‘OK you can take her away if you must, but be sure to have her back here for the evening opening-time.’

Honey giggled. ‘Or will she turn into a pumpkin?’

‘Oh, much worse than that. Your grandmother will sack her and she’ll have to go back to England.’

Honey’s hand flew to her mouth in horror. ‘Granny wouldn’t really sack Phoebe, would she?’

Fibber took Honey gently by the shoulders and looked into her anxious eyes. ‘Don’t worry, that was just a joke, it’s much more likely that Phoebe will just turn into that giant pumpkin and we’ll have one hell of a job getting her off the beach before the tide comes in.’

Chapter Twenty-two

A sharp cracking noise woke Phoebe from a deep sleep. Her eyes flew open and immediately squinted against the bright light of the morning. The cracking noise again; it sounded as though something had hit the window. Another crack, followed by a hail of tapping; something really was hitting the window. Phoebe jumped out of bed and pulled back the curtains. Below her she could see Rory armed with a handful of pebbles already raising his arm to throw again. She undid the catch and flung the window wide open.

‘Hey! There are rules about throwing stones at people’s houses you know.’

Rory grinned up at her. ‘There are rules about remembering to set your alarm clock when you’ve arranged to meet someone for a walk.’

‘I thought you said ten o’clock.’

‘It’s twenty past now. I’ve been hammering on the door for ages; I was beginning to get worried.’

Phoebe yawned. ‘It can’t be that late already, I feel as if I’ve hardly been asleep at all.’ It was nearly true. After one of Fibber’s karaoke lock-ins she’d spent a second night tossing and turning before eventually falling into deep slumber at dawn.

‘Come on down, the fresh air will wake you up a treat and you can have one of my mother’s sandwiches for breakfast.’

Phoebe withdrew back into the room and scrabbled around for suitable clothes for wearing on a walk. She squeezed into her jeans (she would have to start to forgo Katrina’s wonderful puddings for the sake of her wardrobe) and found a T-shirt and a cardigan, but realised she’d left her duffle coat in the pub. She turned to the row of pegs on the wall, and riffling through Anna’s assorted jackets and shawls picked out a bright red woollen coat. She loved the colour and the old-fashioned fitted shape. Phoebe slipped it on and looked in the mirror; though it was a little long it felt comfortable, even comforting. She liked the way it flew out behind her as she ran down the stairs.

Outside Rory laughed.

‘What’s so funny?’ she asked.

‘Your coat. You look like you could be going to a wedding, not a walk on the headland, and the belt is dragging on the ground – don’t you have a waterproof? Or maybe you’d be better off in a gilet on a fine day like today.’

‘Well I’m sorry if I don’t look like someone from a Helly Hansen catalogue!’ She knotted the belt of the coat tightly and set off after Rory, who smiled at her over his shoulder.

‘No, don’t get me wrong, I like the coat very much. It suits you, that scarlet colour looks fabulous with your hair.’ He handed her a sandwich.

They walked along the beach in silence. The air was still and green waves moved lethargically on to the compacted sand beside them.

Rory was uncharacteristically quiet. Phoebe hoped she wasn’t going to be forced to decline any amorous advances on the cliff-top.

She picked at the cheese and pickle sandwich as her still sleepy mind drifted to the previous afternoon.

She and Honey had spent a long time scouring the high tide line for heart stones, but the stones eluded them, or simply weren’t there to be found. Phoebe tried to change the search to shells or sea glass, but this had been met with a stubborn insistence that they keep searching for the hearts.

They had moved down the beach towards the black rock, stepping on the hard sand left by the retreating tide. Here the stones were smaller and embedded, so that they had to dig with their fingers to look at the true shape of them.

‘I think I’ve found one!’ said Honey, stooping to pick up something pale and grey. ‘Oh, it’s more of a triangle shape, not a heart.’ And before Phoebe could see it the little girl ran down to the water’s edge and threw it into the froth of the receding waves.

‘Is this what you’re looking for?’ The sound of Theo’s voice startled Phoebe. She braced herself, expecting him to reproach her for being with his daughter, but instead he held out his closed hand. As he opened it she saw the stone: nestling in his dusty palm, it was smooth and white, still glistening from the sea.

‘Let me see.’ Honey ran up to her father. ‘Wow! How did you find it? We’ve been looking for hours and hours. Can I have it?’

Theo slid it into Honey’s cupped hands. ‘Look after it, heart stones are very precious.’ His eyes briefly met Phoebe’s and she looked down at the sand, kicking a promising stone at her feet that turned out to be just another triangle.

‘How did you know what we were looking for, Daddy?’ asked Honey.

Theo smiled. ‘I remember Phoebe when she was a little girl like you. She and her grandmother used to scour the beach together, picking up stones, then discarding them; occasionally they would both shout out as though they’d found treasure. Uncle Oliver and I once asked what they were looking for and Anna told us they were searching for heart stones, and that they were very special, magical almost, bringing love to those who found them and luck to those who had been given them as gifts. Your Uncle Oliver laughed and later he teased Phoebe; called her “the Heart Stone Girl” when she walked past on her own. Sometimes I used to look for them myself, though of course I never told my brother that. When I saw you and Phoebe looking so intently at the ground I knew immediately what you were searching for.’

‘I remember Oliver shouting that name at me across the beach,’ Phoebe smiled. ‘I wished that my grandmother hadn’t told him what we were looking for.’

‘Never much of a one for sentimentality, my big brother – and always on the look out for someone to make fun of.’

‘He sounds a bit like Nola. She was never interested in finding heart stones; much too pragmatic to believe in the special powers of pebbles.’

‘My overriding memory of Nola is of her lying stretched out on the slipway in a pink bikini and big black sunglasses as though she thought she was on the Riviera.’

‘Oh yes, she didn’t believe in the power of heart stones but she did have great faith in the power of the Kerry sun to give her a Mediterranean tan. She used to make me rub Hawaiian Tropic on her back – the sickly smell put me off coconuts for life.’ Theo laughed and his eyes met Phoebe’s own.

Honey stood between them examining the stone in her hand. She looked up at Theo. ‘Did you give Mummy a heart stone?’ Theo shook his head. ‘You should have given one to Mummy; then she might not have died.’

Theo stared out at the sparkling sea for a few seconds before he spoke. ‘Your mummy was very ill. She saw lots and lots of doctors who couldn’t stop her dying; I don’t think a heart stone could have helped her either.’

Honey pursed her lips. Theo crouched down beside her and took her hands in his. ‘How do you fancy spaghetti bolognese for tea tonight? Then maybe we could watch a DVD and I’ll let you have another go at painting my nails. I’ll even let you get the straighteners out to make me look like Justin Bibber again.’

Honey laughed. ‘But you won’t ever look like Justin
Bieber
, Daddy; you’re too old and scruffy.’ She squeezed her father’s face between her fingers before giving him a hug. ‘Promise you won’t put onions in the bolognese sauce.’

‘I promise.’

‘Can Phoebe come for tea too?’

‘I have to go to work,’ Phoebe told Honey hurriedly. She was sure that having her to tea was the last thing Theo wanted. ‘In fact I’d better go now or I’ll be late.’

‘Another time?’ asked Honey eagerly.

Phoebe glanced at Theo, all his attention seemed to be directed out at sea.

‘You look like you’re in another world,’ said Rory. Phoebe looked at him, surprised. She had been so lost in her recollections of the previous day that she hadn’t noticed that they had begun to climb up the steep cliff path. She looked behind her and was amazed to find that they were already halfway up. In front of them Phoebe could see a track leading through yellow gorse towards the distant headland.

Phoebe stopped to try to catch her breath.

‘Come on, I’ll give you a hand,’ Rory reached down to haul her up the final bit before the cliff path levelled out.

They carried on along the narrow track in single file. The sky was now a clear bright blue, the spring sunshine warm enough for Phoebe to undo the buttons of the coat.

The shrill cry of a bird sounded above them and they looked up to see a pair of lapwings zigzagging overhead.

‘They’re putting on a courtship display for us,’ said Rory, holding up his hand to shield his vision from the bright sun.

By lunchtime they were standing on top of the headland. In one direction Phoebe could see the hazy mountains of a distant peninsula, in the other she could see nothing but the flat grey ocean stretching out to Nova Scotia. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she admired the view.

‘Come and look at this,’ said Rory, beckoning to Phoebe to follow him inland a few hundred yards.

It seemed to suddenly emerge in front of them; huge slabs of rock crudely put together to make a structure that looked like a giant’s dining table.

‘The dolmen!’ she almost ran towards the ancient burial tomb.

As Phoebe reached it she put out her hand to touch the rough grey rocks that supported the enormous capstone.

‘Have you been here before?’ asked Rory catching up with her.

‘No, but I know two people who have.’

‘Who’s that then?’

Phoebe didn’t answer, but in her mind she thought of Anna and Michael sitting on the great slab, eating their sandwiches so many years before.

‘Let’s climb on top of it and have our lunch,’ she said, already hoisting herself up onto the top.

‘I don’t know what Heritage Ireland would have to say about you climbing on top of ancient monuments.’

‘Oh come on, Rory,’ Phoebe laughed. ‘Live a little dangerously, or at least throw up your rucksack and let me have a sandwich. I’m starving.’

In seconds he was beside her, ‘Phoebe Brennan, you’re very bold, you know.’

She grinned and took a sandwich from his hand. ‘Your mother makes a mean doorstep.’

‘She always makes sure my father and I have three hefty meals a day,’ he laughed. ‘She says you never know when there might be another Famine.’

‘Is it hard to be back home again after travelling the world and being so independent?’

Rory shrugged. ‘It was a little odd at first, but to be honest I needed feeding up at the time, and my parents have always been pretty easy-going. The hardest thing was getting used to Carraigmore again, building up new friendships, finding people with similar interests and hobbies.’

‘It seems to me that you’ve done a great job at that,’ Phoebe smiled through a mouthful of soft white bread. ‘You’ve got loads of friends.’

‘Yes, I’ve been very lucky. And now you’ve come to live here things are even better.’

Phoebe swallowed. This was it; the moment she’d been dreading. ‘Look Rory, it’s lovely that you’ve been so kind to me, and I really appreciate you bringing me out today, but I need you to know I’m really not ready for any thing more than friendship at the moment. I have this aching void of grief inside and I’m just …’ Phoebe stopped. Rory’s large brown eyes were wide, staring at her, his eyebrows raised. Slightly disconcerted by his expression Phoebe began again. ‘Its not that I don’t like you, I do, I like you a lot …’ she trailed off; his mouth was hanging open now. ‘Maybe if circumstances were different, maybe in time, you and I could have something, you know, maybe we could have a relationship …’

‘Stop!’ Rory raised his hand and laughed. ‘I think you’re trying to play poker in the wrong saloon, cowgirl.’

‘Sorry?’

Rory wrapped the last quarter of the sandwich he’d been eating back in tinfoil, put it in the rucksack and turned to face her. ‘I don’t mean to rain on your rejection speech, and I think you’re a lovely girl and all that too, but you ought to know that my intentions towards you have never been that way inclined.’

‘Oh.’ Phoebe felt her face beginning to redden.

‘I’m in a relationship right now and even if I wasn’t you really wouldn’t be my type.’

‘Oh,’ Phoebe said again.

‘I have a very nice partner,’ Rory continued, ‘a paramedic in Kenmare called Bob.’

‘Oh,’ Phoebe said for the third time, and then, after a pause, ‘Does that mean that you’re –’

‘Gay?’ Rory laughed. ‘Yes, I think the evidence so far stacks up to that.’

‘No one told me.’

‘Why would they?’

‘I thought everything was open for gossip in Carraigmore. I would have thought a gay primary school teacher would have been the talk of the town.’

‘Why? It’s no one’s business but my own.’

‘But I can’t even buy a packet of biscuits without it going round the town like wildfire. Surely the fact that Mr O’Brian from school has a boyfriend called Bob is a far more interesting bit of tittle-tattle in a small community.’

‘It’s really not that interesting,’ Rory said. ‘And it’s not as if I’m the only gay in the village.’

‘Who else?!’

‘Well, for a start there’s Swedish Jan. You know, the man in the Breton cap who sits in the snug with Sally O’Connell.’

‘I thought he was her husband!’

Rory shook his head. ‘No, he’s heavily involved with Tony Murphy from the butcher’s, has been for years, though everybody knows that Tony had a mad fling last year with Gavin from the filling station who’s about to have a civil ceremony in a Kildare golf club with some fellow from Tralee. And then there’s your woman who runs the Rainbow’s End Gift Shop; she’s a lesbian, she has a glamorous girlfriend up in Dublin who reads the news on the telly, and then there’s my friend Declan who plays the fiddle in the band, he swings both ways – and I haven’t even started on the football team.’

Now Phoebe’s mouth was hanging open. ‘Really? The football team? Are you serious?’

‘No, I’m just pulling your leg about the football team – though I do have my suspicions about a couple of them – but everything else is true, and I’m sure there’re others I’ve forgotten to mention.’

‘I’m sorry to have jumped to the wrong conclusion,’ she said. ‘It was just that you’ve been so kind that I just sort of assumed you had some sort of alternative motive.’

Rory smiled at her. ‘No, I just thought you were a nice person who’s obviously had a rough time and I like your company.’ He paused, looking out at the misty horizon. ‘You spoke about an aching void a few minutes ago,’ he said after a few moments. ‘I know that feeling, that terrible emptiness inside, breath-taking pain that you try to run away from but it doesn’t matter how far you go it just follows you and won’t let go.’