Finding Alison Read online

  William turned the key in his door. Since he had come to know Alison, the short drive to the camper had been the first time he had felt any awkwardness, any uneasiness between them.

  ‘Alison, you shouldn’t have.’ William beamed at the neatness of the camper: the folded clothes, the scrubbed cabinets, the beautiful wild flowers on the table.

  ‘Welcome home,’ she smiled.

  ‘What’s this?’ He motioned to the neatly wrapped package on the table.

  ‘I know you always swore you wouldn’t have one,’

  Alison apologised as William unwrapped the mobile phone, ‘but I don’t ever want you to find yourself in a fix like you were last week . . . Show me . . . ’ She held out her hand. ‘I’ll set it up for you before I go, I’ll put in my number and the doctor’s, to start with – you can add others yourself.’ She explained pin codes and puk codes, glad to be in control of something. Glad of the mask for her loneliness.

  ‘I’ll ring you later, check that it’s working.’ She moved towards the door.

  ‘Aren’t you going to stay a while?’ He needed to be near her. To see her, to hear her. But there was a restlessness about her, an almost impatience to be gone.

  ‘Can’t, I’m sorry. The house painters are due in the morning and I need to get the place sorted beforehand. Anyway, you need to rest. I’ll talk to you later? Bye, then.’ Her eyes never meeting his, she fastened the door behind her.

  William sat on the bed and sighed out some of the heaviness from around his heart. He studied the tiny phone in his palm. Bit late in the day to be getting techno friendly, he chided, placing the charging phone back down on the table. He sat on, allowing the emptiness to settle around him. There he was, such a short time ago, talking to Alison about attachment, thinking he had it all figured out. But what he wouldn’t give at this moment to be back in her home. To watch her move around the kitchen, to hear her singing to herself – completely out of tune – when she forgot that she wasn’t alone. Even just to be in his room alone and know that she was about the place. He lifted the lid from the box of charcoal, opened his sketchpad.

  * * *

  Alison sat in front of the blank computer screen. She’d type up some of the pages she had written over the last few days. She wasn’t in the mood to write anything new and maybe going back over the work she had done would spark her again. God, she missed him. Funny how easily, how quickly she could get used to having someone around the place again. William had just fitted in so seamlessly. There was never any awkwardness between them, no need to fill their silences with small talk. It was almost like he had always belonged there.

  William hadn’t felt so, obviously, with the hurry he’d been in to leave, even pretending to be better than he was. And he had seemed so tense and distant on the drive up to the camper, as if he was already away, somewhere else. She sighed into the silence, feeling as if the life had somehow drained from the house. ‘Oh, come on!’ she scolded, flicking the computer to life. Hadn’t she felt the same when Hannah had gone to London? She was lonely, that was all, just missing the presence of another body about the place. And what was it William had said to her, about not attaching yourself, not trusting your fulfilment to somebody else? Her fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard.

  The telephone rang and Alison glanced at her watch. Just after ten. Where had the last three hours disappeared to? She took a deep breath. ‘Hello?’ She closed her eyes, willed it to be his voice.

  ‘Hey, just thought I’d let you know I’ve figured out how to use this thing.’

  ‘William, how are you feeling? Settled back in okay?’ It felt as if someone had turned on a light inside her.

  ‘I’m just going to hit the hay. Just wanted to thank you again, Alison, for everything. If there’s anything I can ever do for you . . . ’

  She missed him so much, and it wouldn’t be long now before he was moving on, moving out of her life altogether, so why not go for it, she argued, covering the mouthpiece and taking a long, slow breath. ‘Actually, there is something.’ She pulled the newspaper cutting from the noticeboard beside the phone. ‘The Maritime Festival’s on in town at the moment and there’s an open poetry reading on the quay on Saturday night. And fireworks. I’d love to go but I’d never brave it on my own – fancy coming with me? That’s, of course, if you feel you’re up to it.’ She closed her eyes and stretched down the corner of her mouth, trying to ignore the hesitation on the other end of the line, the voice screaming fool! in her head. William bit down on his lip. He had already telephoned Fogarty and arranged to return to Dublin the day after tomorrow.

  ‘Saturday night?’ he repeated, stalling. Leaving her today had only proved to him how desperately he wanted her, needed her. It had taken every last ounce of resolve to pass the night without seeing her, without hearing her voice. He knew he couldn’t trust himself to be close to her again without . . .

  ‘Yeah, eight o’clock, but I understand completely if you’ve got . . . ’

  ‘I’d love to, Alison, I never miss fireworks.’ It was the way she tried to mask the disappointment in her voice that broke him. He’d ring Fogarty’s secretary again tomorrow, arrange to go up on Monday. One last night together, just to say goodbye, and the fireworks would make a perfect parting. ‘But there’s one condition.’

  ‘Yeah, what’s that?’

  ‘You have to promise to read a poem.’

  ‘In front of that crowd? You must be joking!’

  ‘That’s the deal.’

  ‘Go on, we’ll talk tomorrow,’ she laughed. ‘Goodnight, Will. Sleep well.’

  ‘You, too. Goodnight.’

  Twelve

  Although almost a week had passed since Rob’s proposal, every time Kathleen thought about it her right hand immediately sought out her ring finger, the feel of the narrow band and the bump of the diamond flooding her chest with a golden warmth. It was real.

  She kicked off her shoes, tucked her legs beneath her on the couch and selected a bridal magazine from the stack on the coffee table. A Christmas wedding – that gave her less than six months! She wasn’t going to have one spare minute, she smiled, flicking leisurely through the pages. There was the dress, the venue, flowers, invites, cake, music, the honeymoon and God knows what else. She had half-suggested that they wait until next summer, give themselves time to breathe, to save, but Rob was having none of it. He wanted to start the brand new year as her husband and, besides, he’d added, he didn’t want to give her one extra minute to mull it over and risk her changing her mind. As if!

  Right from the moment she had found herself pregnant with Jamie, Kathleen had banished all thoughts, all hopes of marriage from her mind. Already married, she knew before she even broke the news to Jamie’s father what his reaction would be: he would pull down the shutters and lock her out. Through the nine months of her pregnancy Kathleen harnessed every ounce of strength and determination that was in her and, concentrating on the tiny life growing inside her, pushed all feelings of loss and rejection to a place where her mind or her heart couldn’t reach.

  Even when her tiny son was first placed in her arms, her tears weren’t for the man she had lost, for the father her child would never know; they were the tears of a survivor, a warrior who had battled alone and had emerged still standing.

  It was later, years later, when she had proved herself a competent mother, had won back the respect of family and others, years later when Jamie had grown into a healthy, confident, pleasure of a boy, when she had begun to relax, to stop proving herself, that the first chinks began to appear in her armour. It was hardly noticeable at first – vague sadness, tears appearing from nowhere, something hot and heavy pulling downwards at her heart as she watched other fathers, mothers with their children at the beach, outside school, shouting their pride at the playing pitch. Jamie rarely questioned who or where his father was. Always accepting, loving and happy, he threw himself into life just as she had taught him to. Shouldn’t that have been enough for her? Should
n’t that have been her one solid reason for celebrating what she had, cherishing it? The very one reason not to run, like she had, back to the child’s father and demand – no matter what the cost to herself – that he acknowledge Jamie, that he get to know him and play a part in his life. The outcome of her efforts had only ensured that Jamie would never have the opportunity of meeting or knowing his father.

  Guilt cemented the walls that she built around herself and Jamie that winter. Guilt and a steely determination to never again risk anyone rejecting them or making them feel they were second best.

  She hadn’t bargained on Rob. Hadn’t even noticed as brick by slow brick he dismantled her defences. It was only when she thought she had lost him that she realised he had stripped away every last stone, realised there was room in her life for the light he had created.

  Well, maybe not every last stone, she grimaced now as she flicked through the magazine, her eyes dancing from one unimaginably tiny bridal gown to the next. She opened the page she had marked last night. She had just about one stone to lose, she smiled, her finger tracing the tiny button detail on the back of the ivory gown.

  * * *

  They rounded the bend and Carniskey bay languished before them in the afternoon sun. ‘Almost there,’ Tom smiled into the rear-view mirror. Daniel sat up and wiped his eyes with his fists, then remembering the little parcel on his lap he grasped it tightly. The previous evening before bedtime he had carefully placed his gifts inside the plastic bag: a biscuit each for Tilly and Tim, a small rubber ball between them and a shell from the beach for Alison. Tom smiled, taking in his tight grip on the bag.

  They swung into the mouth of the drive, the beautiful warm yellow of the cottage beaming its welcome. The front door was now a rich red and Alison was putting the finishing touches to the matching window boxes, planting them with bunches of red and white carnations and white lobelias that swept like bridal trains from their bases. The place looked so vibrant, so alive, so different to the neglected greys Tom remembered from their last visit.

  Her curls tamed in a high ponytail, Alison wore a loose blue shirt, bunched and knotted at her waist over red thigh-skimming shorts. Removing her gardening gloves, she walked towards them, her frown giving way to a broad smile as she recognised the car’s occupants.

  ‘Tom!’ Her eyes were bright and wide with surprise. ‘Daniel, lovely to see you again.’ Alison laughed as the child raced past her, calling the dogs, the plastic bag hopping off his knees.

  ‘Hope ye don’t mind us stopping off – we had a bit of business in Passage.’ Tom walked towards her shyly, his big hand thrust forward, ‘How are ye keepin’?’

  ‘Great. It’s so nice of you to call.’ She smiled, taking his hand. ‘What do you think?’ She gestured with the other hand towards the house.

  ‘It looks really well. Some change! Did you do all this yerself?’

  ‘I can only take credit for the door and window boxes, a few lads from the village took care of the rest. But yeah, I’ve really enjoyed it. I want it to look good for Hannah when she gets back. I’m sure she’ll be feeling grey enough after the colour and excitement of London.’

  ‘She due home soon?’

  ‘About six weeks, but all this takes so much time. Coffee? Come on, we’ll find Daniel.’

  Daniel was sitting on the back lawn, a dog at either side of him.

  ‘There’s a picture,’ Tom smiled. ‘Couldn’t get him to sleep last night with the excitement of comin’.’

  ‘Stick on the kettle,’ Alison called as she went through to the bathroom to wash her hands. What a lovely surprise, she smiled to herself. Besides Kathleen, it wasn’t often that she had unexpected callers and every day had always been so predictable. But between the painters and William and Kathleen and now Tom and Daniel the place seemed to have a real buzz about it again, a new life. It was nice of Tom to remember her. She liked that kind of shy awkwardness he had about him, his pride in the child. A real honest-to-goodness gentleman, she nodded, drying her hands.

  Tom looked about the kitchen. The changes were inside as well as out. The cold blue walls were gone, replaced by a warm terracotta and most of the stones and shells had disappeared from the window ledges and press tops. Two pictures of Sean remained: one on the wall near the lighthouse, the other, a smaller one of him and the child, sat on the mantle over the fireplace.

  ‘You’ve been busy inside too,’ he remarked when Alison returned to the kitchen.

  ‘Yeah, there was no stopping me once I got going. It’s given me a great rush of energy. Will we take this outside?’ She piled a tray with mugs, biscuits, juice and the coffee pot.

  ‘Let me carry that.’ He followed her out the back door and over to the little circular table under the hawthorn tree.

  ‘It’s a beautiful spot ye have here – plenty of tourists in the summer?’

  They ate and drank and talked easily, little Daniel coming and going for bits for the dogs.

  ‘Is he your youngest?’ Alison smiled towards the child tumbling on the lawn.

  ‘My one and only – and lucky to have him. I was a bit late settling down. A life on the sea doesn’t allow much time for making a family. But it’s great to have himself and Ella to come home to,’ he smiled, and Alison could see the pride and contentment shine from his eyes.

  ‘That was the problem with me and Sean – my husband? The sea always came first.’

  At least she had brought up the subject, Tom thought, relieved. He hadn’t known how he could broach it, felt bad enough sitting there with her, knowing that he would relay every word she uttered right back to Sean. ‘It must have been tough on ye, alone with the child.’

  Hesitant at first and embarrassed at not having previously alluded to Sean’s tragic death, Alison found herself slowly relaxing in his gentle company. Found herself speaking aloud her pain and her anger when Sean had first gone missing. The months of waiting and searching. The no-man’s-land she had wandered in: no body, no hope, no evidence of whether he was dead or alive. The years of waking with a start in the dead of night in case some dream had allowed her to forget.

  ‘It’s only really in the last few months that I’ve finally let go. Putting that ad in the paper was a real turning point. A final owning-up to the fact that he wasn’t coming back. It’s funny.’ She paused. ‘It was as if doing that, doing something real and decisive instead of just tossing it over again and again in my head, gave me back some control, you know, some power over my life.’ When she paused again, Tom didn’t speak, instead he watched the emotions and thoughts play on her face.

  ‘I’ve started to live again. For me. For me and for Hannah. It’s hard to explain, it’s like I’ve turned a corner and life is waiting for me again.’ She unfolded her arms as she sat forward. ‘When I wake in the mornings now, I haven’t that weight on me like before; instead there’s a kind of excitement about the day, about what might come next.’ She laughed, a beautiful, life-filled laugh. ‘God knows when I last felt like that! I’d completely forgotten what it was like.’ She was silent again for a moment, her eyes moving towards the rockery.

  ‘And I know I’ll never forget Sean – our time together will always be a huge part of me. It’s just . . . ’ Her brow creased as she sought out the words. ‘I suppose I’ve remembered me. I have a life to live too, a part to play – not least as a mother to Hannah. And I suppose, well, it’s time to get on with it. Time to let go.’ She took a deep breath, her smile a mixture of sorrow and relief.

  ‘Could ye ever imagine a life with him again, with Sean, now?’ The words stuck in Tom’s throat. He knew now what it felt like to be a traitor, he thought, loathing himself for his promise to Sean. But if this is what it took to get Sean out of their lives – and out of Alison’s life – then he could live with his own discomfort.

  ‘What would be the point?’ Her eyes turned on him sharply. ‘Isn’t that what I’ve wasted the last three years doing?’ She held his eyes and Tom could feel the burn of his shame f
lare under her gaze.

  ‘Sean’s dead. He’s never coming back.’ Her eyes drifted off out towards the horizon. ‘That part of my life is closed. As I said, it’s time to move on, to live again. And no imagining, nothing is bringing me back to that darkness again.’ There was a finality, even a hint of harshness both in the words and in the closing of her face that left Tom in no doubt as to what he would carry back to Sean.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He lowered his head, focused on the welt at the heel of his thumb. ‘I shouldn’t have . . . ’

  ‘Please, there’s no need.’ Alison smiled at his bowed head. ‘It’s been good to talk about it. It makes me realise all the time I’ve wasted, makes the future more precious.’

  ‘Well, I wish ye all the best, ye deserve it.’ Tom lifted his head, met her eyes, the honesty and vulnerability in them threatening to strangle the truth from him. ‘It’s time myself and Daniel hit the road,’ he coughed. ‘Let ye get back to your work.’

  ‘I suppose you’ll want to get some of the road behind you,’ she smiled, rising. ‘Thanks for calling, Tom. It was really lovely to see you both again.’ She gathered the tea things onto the tray and he carried them back into the house.

  ‘Dad, Dad! There’s a rabbit over the ditch!’ Daniel burst into the kitchen, the dogs at his heels. ‘Wow!’ He ran towards the lighthouse, the rabbit forgotten.

  ‘Easy son, take your time.’

  ‘Wow!’ He looked up in awe.

  ‘Alison made it, with her little girl.’ Tom took him in his arms, lifting him up so that he could see the light inside it. ‘Maybe we might try one, what do ye think?’

  ‘Look, Dad, look! It’s Uncle Sean!’ His eyes came level with the photograph on the wall.

  ‘What?’ Alison’s heart lurched.

  ‘Is that yer husband?’ Tom’s words tumbled out like a waterfall. ‘Well God, that’s a good one. He’s the very image of my cousin – a Sean too! Well, what do ye know, the very image – och, it’s a queer old world.’ He turned away from the photograph. ‘Now sir, say so long to Alison, it’s time for the road.’ Avoiding Alison’s eye, he strode towards the door, the child’s head straining to take in the picture again.