Finding Alison Page 20

  ‘Uncle Sean has an Alison too,’ Daniel piped up, but his words were drowned in Tom’s sudden burst of song:

  ‘Oh, show me the way to go home

  I’m tired and I wanna go to bed . . . ’

  Alison followed them out to the car. ‘Safe home,’ she waved as they backed up to face the road. William waved to her from halfway up the drive and she skipped down to meet him.

  ‘Wait till I show you the place!’ She looped her arm into his. Tom watched in the rear-view mirror. The two walked slowly up the drive, her head leaning in towards his shoulder. I wonder did he arrive around the same time as the new enthusiasm, he smiled, pulling out on to the road.

  * * *

  Alison doubled back along the crowded quayside, searching for a parking space. ‘This is pointless,’ she sighed. ‘What if I drop you here and head back up Barrack Hill, I’ll surely find a space there. Meet you in the Moorings in about ten minutes?’

  ‘Suits me,’ William smiled, opening the door. ‘I’ll order you a brandy to steady the nerves!’

  ‘Make it a double,’ she laughed, as she pulled away.

  The pub was jammed with people shouting conversations above the music and Alison could feel the festival atmosphere seep right into her bones as she pushed through the crowd to join William at the bar.

  ‘There’s not a hope of a seat. Will we move outside to a table?’ Holding the glasses high, he motioned with his head to the door. Alison wove her way back through the crowd and out onto the quayside. What an evening! It was just after seven and an almost midday heat was still in the sun. Everyone peacocked in their brightest colours: reds, yellows, blues and whites dotting the length of the quay. Children pleaded with mums and dads to dig deeper into never-ending pockets for rides on the carousel, the ghost train, the helter-skelter. Young girls like Hannah queued and giggled at the roller coaster, nudging and whispering as the boys passed by with their awkward glances and smiles. Along the footpaths buskers and street painters, fortune tellers and mime artists all hawked their trades.

  ‘I could have made a tidy little sum here tonight.’ William nodded towards a young man sitting on an orange crate, a little girl in plaits and summer dress on a canvas chair opposite. A small crowd stood around as he captured her smile, the dimple on her left cheek, the strand of stray hair falling across her forehead.

  ‘Do you miss it?’

  ‘Sometimes, yeah. I miss this atmosphere, the holiday buzz. It gets inside you, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I’m going to get another one of these inside me before I read,’ Alison laughed, knocking back her drink. ‘You like another?’

  William looked at his watch. ‘Still almost an hour to go, why not.’

  He watched her walk towards the bar: her flowing white skirt skimming her ankles, the khaki linen shirt nipped in to hug her narrow waist. There was an elegance and pride in her walk, her head slightly tilted back, the sunglasses holding the flaming red curls away from her face. He could see the heads turn to look at her and felt a pride swell inside him that he was the one sitting with her. She walked back towards him, laughing at what the man in the white shirt had whispered to her at the door. Her whole body radiated a carefree confidence, a joy, flooding him with a contradiction of rapture and despair.

  Alison linked her arm in his as they walked along the riverside and down towards the new plaza where the readings were scheduled to take place.

  ‘Oh William, the brandy’s not working, I’m as nervous as hell!’

  ‘You’ll be great, just take your time. Remember, good deep breaths and look straight at me. Pretend I’m the only one in the audience.’

  William sat in the front row, looking up at her as she prepared to take her place in the centre of the stage. He smiled, wondering was it the breeze or her own apprehension that fluttered the pages gripped so tightly in her hand. There was still a beautiful vulnerability about her, her nervousness showing in the way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her near fear of the microphone. The first line was almost a whisper. Then she looked straight at William, began again and read with a strength and passion that seemed to transform her.

  The applause was fantastic. William rose to his feet, his face beaming with pride as he held his hands high and clapped louder and longer than anyone else.

  ‘You were brilliant, Alison, absolutely super!’ He hugged her to him, planted a kiss on each of her flushed cheeks. ‘They loved you, I told you – who wouldn’t?’

  ‘That book that I started?’ Her eyes danced with excitement.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I sent the first chapters off to three agents during the week.’ She gripped his hands tightly in hers.

  ‘That’s brilliant, you finally— ’

  ‘I’ll probably never hear from any— ’

  ‘Stop, right there. You’ve got to start taking yourself seriously, start believing in yourself or no one else will. You’ve taken the first step, now, just forget that they’re gone and keep on writing. Leave some space for a little magic.’ He folded her in his arms again, wishing for her the success and fulfilment she so truly deserved.

  The readings finished, they strolled to the end of the pier. The streetlights had come on and the magic of the balmy half-light drew lovers, young and old, to the watery playground. A warm breeze swept in from the Atlantic, fingering the sail ropes of the moored yachts, drawing from them a symphony of a thousand tiny bells. Hearing in them the lonesome echo of his own death knell, William reached for her hand, his arms aching to hold her, to clasp her to him, to draw in her love and her light and banish the fear, the gathering darkness. But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t steal that from her. He would have to tell her tonight. Tell her he was leaving on Monday – for a week to begin with, and then for good. He squeezed her hand tightly and she moved in closer, resting her head on his shoulder.

  The crowds gathered together on the pier at midnight to watch the fireworks blaze their dance over the ocean. They awed and clapped as the fireworks popped and spirited upwards, sending fountains of dazzling silvers, blues and reds showering back down to the ocean. Alison stood in front of William, her head tilted towards the sky. His strong arms stole around her waist and she leaned back into him, clasping his hands in hers. He held her tight, the delicate smell of her stirring his every sense. He closed his eyes and breathed her deep, deep inside him. Laying back into the warm comfort of him Alison felt a rush of pure contentedness and peace flooding right through her, a homecoming, and she wished she could stay in that glorious moment forever. William felt the pressure of the warm tears behind his eyes. He loved her. He loved her and wanted her with a passion and a longing he never thought he would experience again. A solitary tear escaped his closed eyelid, trembled a moment before beginning its slow meander down his cheek. The world had redeemed him, had gifted him this one final taste of how it felt to be truly and wholly alive. He held her tighter, savouring the weight of her slight frame on his chest, her heart almost melting into his. He would cling to this moment in the weeks ahead. This moment would carry him through.

  The last firework danced down the sky and disappeared into nothingness, stealing the awe and the magic from the crowd. The applause ebbed away and parents shuffled children towards home. Couples, huddled closer against the night air, ambled back up the quay. William and Alison stood long and silent, neither wishing to break the spell that encircled them with words or movement. Still in the circle of his arms she turned towards him, her hands reaching for his shoulders, then stealing around his neck. Their eyes locked in silent conversation, each reading in the other’s the echo of the yearning and hunger inside them. She felt herself rise up onto her toes, her lips seeking his. She closed her eyes, her teeth gently biting back her bottom lip in protest at her boldness. But it could not be held, its wet plumpness reaching, searching till it burned with the fire of his touch. Their tongues sought each other, gently, shyly at first and then with the hunger and force of a desperate wanting. He pulled he
r tighter to him, the firm fullness of her breast pressing to his chest, the touch of her fingers on the skin inside his collar sending an urgent, electric longing coarsing through him. His hands moved down the curve of her long back, to the slender hollow at its base, out onto her hips. She yielded under his touch, swayed and pressed herself to him, whispering her hunger to join him. Alison felt as if the fireworks had somehow seeped into her and were exploding now inside her, their magic showering those deep, forgotten places, shattering their darkness, her lifeblood rushing, swelling, in celebration.

  William pulled away gently, his hands moving to cup her face. She looked up into his eyes, her full and parted lips whispering her desire. Neither spoke. He brushed a stray curl from her forehead, placed a gentle kiss on its centre. Then on her eyes, her cheeks, her lips. He held her face to his chest, a deep sigh escaping him. They turned and walked back along the pier in silence.

  ‘No, I’ll go straight on,’ William replied as they neared Alison’s house and she invited him in for a nightcap.

  ‘You okay?’ She looked across at him. ‘You’ve been very quiet.’

  What was usually an easy silence between them had turned into an awkward quiet on the drive home. Neither had mentioned what had happened on the pier: the magic of their lips’ first meeting, the strength of the passion and longing unleashed by the silent manoeuvers of their tongues and bodies.

  ‘Tired, that’s all. The hip’s playing up. I need to lie down, it’s been a long evening.’

  She pulled to a stop near the camper.

  ‘It was a wonderful night, Alison. One I’ll always carry with me. Thank you.’

  ‘Yeah, it was the best,’ she smiled, straining to touch him, aching for his arms to reach for her. William opened the door, silently cursing his selfishness, his weakness.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow?’

  He turned away and swung out of the seat, unable to bear the hurt in her eyes, the confusion on her whole face.

  ‘Maybe. I’m heading for Dublin on Monday for the week, so I’ll have to pack, clean the place up a bit.’

  Monday? Her heart, her voice, her head, everything shut down in an instant.

  ‘Goodnight, Alison.’ He closed the door and walked away before she could utter any of the hundred questions gathering in her tight throat.

  Alison sat for a moment in the darkness. She threw her head back against the headrest, her heavy sigh filling the silence. What on God’s earth had possessed her to kiss him? She loved him. Yes, she knew she loved him. As a friend. Someone to share her thoughts, her ideas; someone she could count on, who could make her laugh and feel alive and who understood and accepted the depths of her. And with one kiss she had managed to catch all that, ball it up and throw it away. What kind of fool was she? Ignoring all he had said about not wanting a relationship – he couldn’t have made it plainer – and launching herself at him, driving him away!

  Maybe she should go after him, explain to him that it was a friend she wanted, not a lover; explain how she had allowed the atmosphere on the quay to confuse the two. Why hadn’t he mentioned before that he was going away on Monday? Because he wasn’t – but now he was. Now he couldn’t wait to get fast enough and far enough away from her.

  But hold on a second, she reasoned, ignoring the hot impatience of the tears stinging the back of her eyes, he had kissed her too, hadn’t he? Had held her so tightly her breath had almost left her body. And then that silence, his coldness. Her eyes locked and fixed straight ahead. She turned the key in the ignition and started down the track.

  William stood inside the camper door and waited to hear her drive away. He would never forgive himself for that look on her face when he’d said he was leaving. It was like he had reached in and torn the very life out of her. He felt every bit the heartless bastard she must think he was. Once before he had loved someone the way he loved Alison and once before he had seen the results of that love. He wouldn’t wait until Monday. He would leave tomorrow. Leave before the fire of his passion had a chance to burn through his resolve and drive him back to her. To destroy her. Hearing the chug of the jeep down the pathway he opened the door and stepped out into the starlight. His howls echoed in the thunder of the waves as he sat on the edge of the cliff, a man condemned, and waited for the dawn and the beginning of his final journey.

  Alison tossed and turned in her bed, begging sleep to release her. At 4 a.m. she padded to the kitchen, stood at the window and stared out at the moon’s silver runway across the sea. She switched on the lighthouse lamp for the first time in weeks. And for the first time in weeks she felt that old loneliness pressing down on her. She wished that summer was over, that Hannah was back. That William had never set foot in her life. It was senseless trying to fool herself, she sighed. She did have feelings for William. Maybe her loneliness had contributed to it, maybe the fact that he had been so instrumental in helping her make that final push to let go of the past, but, whatever the reason, her feelings of friendship had developed into something much deeper and it was pointless trying to deny it.

  She sat on the window seat and, closing her eyes, savoured again the burn of his lips on hers, the thrust and hunger of his tongue. He felt it too. It was there in his eyes, his sigh, the fire in his fingers as they traced her back. But he was running from it, choosing, for his own reasons, to leave it behind. She knew she had no option but to let him go, just as he had helped her to let go of the past. She called the dogs from their sleep and led them down the hallway to her room. She lay on the bed, one dog flanking each side, her tears finally inducing sleep.

  * * *

  It hadn’t been a big wedding. But that was what they had wanted. Well, in truth what they’d had to have, Maryanne supposed. What with the baby coming, the loan on the boat and trying to get the deposit together for the house, things were tight. She was glad to have been able to help them out with the compensation she had received from Frank’s accident, feeling that if not in life then in death Frank had finally been able to give something back to his son.

  Alison had looked every inch the radiant bride in her own mother’s wedding gown, and Sean tall, tanned and so, so handsome – if not a little awkward and confined – in his three-piece.

  Maryanne hadn’t allowed herself any tears that day. It was Sean’s day, Sean and Alison’s. She had instructed herself a thousand times as she battled the lump in her throat that she would have to save her own feelings for when she returned home that night; home to a house that she knew would ache with his absence for the rest of her days.

  They hadn’t taken a honeymoon. Alison, God help her, insisted she had all she could ever have wished for, so why on earth would she want to move away from it? Maryanne had pressed them to take a small holiday, offering to pay for it herself if money was tight. But Alison had stuck to her guns and her man. It was the height of the season, she had quoted her husband, and who knew what winter would bring?

  Maryanne knew. Over the years she had watched Sean curl in on himself at the tail of every season, saw how he measured his worth on the length of his day on the water, the size of his catch.

  Alison was proud. Proud and determined. She had to hand the girl that and there was no denying that she worshipped the very earth under Sean’s feet. But would that be enough, Maryanne had wondered, as they turned from the altar, hand in hand, Alison fresh and fragile as a newly-bloomed lily, her long, slender body leaning slightly towards Sean, as if to shelter herself from the storm of applause that echoed back down on them from the rafters? Maryanne had kept her hands joined in prayer.

  * * *

  7.30 a.m. William sat at the bus stop, his eyes as heavy as his heart. The first bus, due at eight, would get him to Dublin before midday. He would book in somewhere overnight, see his solicitor in the morning and make his final arrangements from there. The village was shrouded in Sunday morning silence, the blinds and curtains in the houses opposite still closed against the light. It was a fitting time to leave, he thought, while the
place was sleeping. In an hour or so they’d be up, heading for mass, walking the beach, gathered in twos and threes outside the shop, the Sunday papers under their arms. They’d talk of the week, the weather, the forecast for fishing and silage. And life would go on just as it did before he came. No one would notice he had left or wonder where he had gone. And that was life. The sea would keep turning, the swallows would teach their young to fly. And Alison . . . Alison would survive. She had come through a lot worse. She was strong. Strong and young and determined. And beautiful. He would miss her. And he would treasure last night for every minute that was left to him.

  As if his thoughts had somehow made her materialise, William looked up just as she drove past with the two dogs and swung in onto the beach. She had seen him, he knew, but she had kept her eyes fixed straight ahead. He checked his watch, another twenty minutes before the bus was due. He tucked his rucksack under the seat, crossed the street and slipped through the passageway to the beach. The dogs were already in the water.

  Alison was sitting on a rock at the base of the dunes, head bent, her hair curtaining her face.

  ‘Alison?’

  She lifted her head, tucked her hair behind her ears. Her face was pale, her eyes, hooded and lifeless, pulled away from him.

  ‘Alison?’ He hunkered down to where she sat, ignoring the stab of pain in his hip.

  ‘I’m leaving today, Alison. I thought it was best to—’

  ‘Sneak away? To steal off?’ She rose from her seat, her voice rising with her. ‘Without even as much as goodbye?’ Her eyes were alight now, their anger and pain searing through him. ‘What did I mean to you, William? Was I just someone to play with? To pass a few weeks with ’til something more exciting came along?’

  ‘Alison, I never thought of you— ’