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I looked around the town where my search had left me. My van was still locked around me against the secrets outside. I had parked at a charming train station; the street went down towards some shops, and a slight slope revealed traditional residential roofs behind. There weren’t many people around and everything looked familiar, though I couldn’t recall being here before. I couldn’t look at the white wooden lattice and medium-sized statue outside the station without seeing it again, faded in my memory. Taking my phone from its holder, I briefly looked at the rest of the directions before messaging Olivia.
I’ve arrived safe, I tapped, but feeling déjà vu. Find me if you never hear from me again.
I rummaged in the passenger footwell for my jacket and locked Rosie, my van, with a heavy clunk. My phone buzzed with Olivia’s response.
Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. I’m only at the end of the line! x
One of the more crushing burdens recently had been clearing through Mum’s possessions. I couldn’t bear the thought that someone else might whisper to these objects. It didn’t take long for Olivia to connect my delaying tactics with my mother’s affinity for memories, and so with my permission, she firmly set a date and helped me through it. Each box we sorted brought sorrow in its own way, as I couldn’t bear to see those memories split up and lost. Among photo albums and bank statements, we found paperwork pertaining to things my mother had never spoken about and questions I had never asked. Money was tight when I was growing up, and yet, she’d secretly owned a house in this historic little town. It was the first time I realised I didn’t know her as well as I’d thought, and I had to see it for myself.
I passed the row of shops where those people I’d seen minutes before were saying goodbye. Couples and the leisurely enjoyed their first brews or passing-the-time seconds whilst children were away at school. Shops, more independent than franchised, were open for the retired and the tourists. Though it was cloudy, I had to adjust my phone’s brightness for the right turn. The streets grew grassier as I walked.
It hadn’t taken me long to get through Mum’s documents and, whilst I’d been waiting for the probate to go through, I worked towards having the means to visit. Rosie was more homely to me than our empty-small-roomed house, with her layers of blue throws that hung about my bed-sofa-and-wardrobe. My corner boudoir overlooked a small kitchen and through the cabin window and windscreen that guided where I went.
This week it led to a pleasant looking street, the buildings detached with a luxurious amount of space around them. Modestly sized trees lined the pavement and punctuated the grass that was languid from winter. The only reason I didn’t feel the need to tidy my hair, to mitigate any suspicion that I was scouting the area out, was the fact that most of the residences were just as untidy. Yet even as I crossed the road to the decreasing house numbers of iron and wood, I wondered whether I should’ve thought more about what I might find here. At one hundred and twenty, my eyes skipped ahead, knowing instantly which front hedge was supposedly mine. One hundred and eighteen. One hundred and sixteen. I didn’t know how long the house had been empty, but the garden wasn’t as bad as I’d feared, and the rest of it didn’t stand out among the street.
Without coat pockets, I grappled with my shoulder bag and had to rest it on a lichen covered wall to search for the unfamiliar keys. Weeds reached from between the paved stones that led to the door, whilst layers of past and present foliage pressed into the path. Strangely, ivy and mildew hadn’t yet touched the house itself. Following up a single step, I thought it would be sensible to use the iron knocker before using my key. I gave the house a moment or two, as if preparing it before breaking its quiet reverence, and unlocked the door.
A loud, deep rumbling gave me pause when I peered into a dust-hazed hallway. A slender white figure crouched at the kitchen entrance. Dread made me focus on its pink, pointed ears and nose. My heart skipped that second. Its milky-blue eyes had known exactly where I was before I’d opened the door as surely as that deep warning rumble echoed from beneath its sculpted chest. I couldn’t take in anything else from the stairs to the other rooms around me. Its narrow jaw raised and I couldn’t help but watch its soft flecked nose decide our next reactions. I was torn between backing out the way I’d come to call someone, and waiting to see if I was deemed enough of a friend, when the choice was made for me. Its powerful haunches rippled as it walked carefully, crouched and tense like the reaper itself about to strike.
I jolted, suddenly thinking the first option was more sensible, when, just as I was about to close the door, she barked. A controlled alert. Her cold, intelligent eyes watched my movement, and her nose twitched, sniffing the air around me. I got the impression that backing down would be the worst thing I could do. I gave her the respect that a majestic creature would expect and avoided staring at her directly, though I kept watch from my peripherals. As she registered what I was doing, she sat back, watching me stoically. She was calm, all signs of her previous aggression could almost have been part of a fairy tale.
“Hello,” I scarcely got out.
She remained a polite distance from the door, only shuffling forward when I couldn’t decide who should make the first contact. She gave a gentle whine and nudge of her soft muzzle. I slowly raised my hand, open-palmed and relaxed, though my heart was beating double-time to make up for the ones it had missed. I was able to give her ear a quick scratch and twisted her collar around to find the attached gold pendant. Muscle memory whipped my phone out and found my keypad to dial the number as I read it.
I angled my body to prevent her from bolting, whilst she leaned her ear into my open palm in demand. The phone rang to the point I nearly hung up.
“Hello?” A deep, crackled voice made its way out the speaker.
“Hello,” I quickly cleared my throat, “I... I think I have your dog at my house. I’d offer to bring her back, and can if you think she’ll be okay, but I’m new to the area and...”
There was a long pause as I waited for the relieved response that I’d expected.
“My d—” I heard the realisation break through mid-sentence and wondered if this forgetfulness was why the dog had wandered. “White?”
“Yes, would you mind telling me her name?” Would she respond to the name he gave me?
“Of course, her name’s Oona. I hope she’s behaving okay.”
“So far.” I mirrored her inclined head. “Just a moment.”
I held the phone away and attempted her name in a clear, commanding tone. She shuffled again, obviously listening.
It turned out the gentleman, Eoghan, was further up the street. Oona hadn’t explored too far. She plodded beside me contently when I called her to follow while I looked for another house. The further we walked, the more comfortable I was that she wasn’t going to bolt. Oona barely even glanced at the odd passing car and gradually the street became more rural. Space between the houses grew larger until country lanes spiralled off into nearby fields and brush.
When we arrived, the foliage decorated this house like clothing. Oona led the way and sat primly by the front door waiting for me; she clearly knew where she was supposed to be. The door opened as I made my way through the garden. Oona gave a patient little whine as her paws only just left the doorstep in excitement. The gentleman gave her fuss as he leaned one hand on his silver-topped cane. His crooked back straightened, and he looked at me. His face was weathered. Deep lines marked his eyes as if he’d been awake for too long, and his grey hair was cropped but combed back, his short beard was neglected.
“She has a mind of her own.” He chuckled as Oona let herself in. “Thank you, Ms...?”
“Woods... Morgan, really. Does she do this often then? Isn’t it dangerous for her to be wandering around?”
He maintained such a casual composure about his missing dog, I had to remember there were roads and people who wouldn’t be so forgiving.
“Woods? You must be Peredur’s daughter then?” He studied me a fraction too long with eyes like the blue sky above and then smiled. “Oona doesn’t go far. Are you staying long, Miss Woods? Have you seen much of the town yet?” He adjusted his grip on his cane and gave the street a quick glance. I followed his look but saw nothing out of the ordinary. A single neighbour working in their garden. A flock of black birds dancing around the road.
I took a steady breath, uncertain of how much I should say. My thoughts were already shifting like sand. “I’m not sure yet to be honest. I’m just visiting for the time being.”
He nodded and hummed. “Hundred and sixteen down the way? Forgive me, I knew your father. I was very sorry to hear of his passing.”
I nodded in response, not really knowing what I could say that summed up the history with my father adequately. “Me too,” I said, only too aware that the opportunity to know him was long gone. “Were you friends?”
“Practically family.” The pain in his face reflected my own, and I thought maybe my misgivings could be paused until I had something more solid about my father to hold on to. Perhaps it was something in my own expression that echoed Eoghan’s sentiment and made him invite me in, but it could’ve just as easily been loneliness.
Even though I felt for my phone in my pocket before stepping inside, a sense of calm fell over me. I felt safe here.
“I was just preparing some tea if you'd like any? I only have what I've picked locally I'm afraid, there’s nothing quite like picking your own." He hobbled in, guiding me through to a large open room.
“Oh, I'm okay, thanks, but don't let me stop you." I looked around as he bent over a small tray of different shaped spouts. Oona had settled against the raised tiling of the fireplace, her eyes half closed but her ears twitching at every little sound, alert.
The room held a broad collection of leather-bound books, brass devices that I couldn’t name, and labelled jam jars of dried plants and what may have been withered animal parts. The part of me that missed the shop wanted to disturb them and find out about this man’s life, rather than my father’s. He was evidently a collector and some kind of academic. Locked glass cabinets further in revealed more rows of timeworn spines and fine golden line-work chartered star systems on the ceiling above, but it was the huge framed painting above the fireplace that caught me. It was a city, catching the moment before the sun had fully risen, light glinting from distant windows and spires. A single vast bridge led traders over the surrounding canal and into a vibrant marketplace where there was a dance troop, mid-act, performing at its centre.
A sudden tinkling from a silver spoon caught my breath and the smell of spruce tea reached me as Eoghan eased himself into the armchair opposite me.
“So... how long did you know my father? Did you meet when one of you moved here?”
He rumbled, clearing his throat, the lines between his eyes deepened as if stirring his memories. “I actually knew Peredur as a boy; he grew up in that house. I was friends with his father first— we worked with the same people, and he used to help me pass love notes to my dear wife,” he said, chuckling.
There were no photos, I noticed. Did he not wish to remember them or was it just too painful?
“When we came back here after travelling, my daughter was in search of her own life, and Peredur was a similar age by that point. He helped us out every now and then until he took over your grandfather’s work... Do excuse me if this seems rather personal, but I take it you don’t know much about your mother’s side either?”
I blinked, resetting my eyebrows, as if something about my posture had given away more than I’d thought. In that moment, I realised he must have briefly known my mother too. Fresh loss built up in my throat, and I tried to clear the intruding memories.
I swallowed. “A little. Her parents passed away before I knew them, and she doesn’t have any brothers or sisters to help out, if that’s what you mean.”
“I see.” He nodded deeply, taking a sip of tea. “Well, I’m not much use for heavy lifting anymore but we’ll happily help where we can, won’t we Oona?”
As if understanding what Eoghan had offered on her behalf, one of Oona’s pointed ears flicked in response.
“As much as I enjoy her company, you’ll want to know that her real home is your father’s house. Oh, I’ve been making sure she’s got a bowl of something and that she keeps out of trouble, but she has a close bond with your family and knows her place is over there really.”
It all made a little more sense, why she had returned there, and I realised I had misjudged the situation that brought me here. My gaze shifted back to Oona’s lithe white figure to find her clear eyes watching me.
“I don’t think that should be a problem,” I said, unsure if these discoveries were still what I wanted, “though truthfully, I don’t know how much time I’ll have for her...”
“She’s quite independent really, and, if you need me to, I’m happy to continue looking after her. She’ll soon understand.” Eoghan finished his tea, finally resting the cup on a table beside him. There was so much about my father’s life that he might know, but only one immediate question burned my tongue.
I took a deep breath. “I understand if this was something my father never spoke about, but would you happen to know why my mother left with me? She didn’t really talk about this place, so I assume there was something.”
Sympathy traced Eoghan’s frown, and I got the impression he was deciding how much was appropriate for me to know. If not me, who else would he tell?
“I’d hate for this to sound terribly cliched, but your parents still loved each other dearly. I could see it when Peredur spoke of you both. You had just begun to walk properly on your own when they must have decided it was for the best. As far as I know, your father’s work simply overtook his life...” It looked as if he might continue for a moment before his shoulders raised in a small shrug.
It seemed too modest an explanation for the alternative life it had given us. Wisps of Mum working late and echoes of her whispered discussions with Joanne danced intangibly around me. There was something more. Perhaps it would’ve been too good to be true to know my father in one afternoon, and perhaps the house would know more.
“I understand.” I nodded and paused for a moment. “What did he do? You said it was my grandfather’s work?”
He cleared his throat again before making some uncertain murmurs. “He worked in travel, I believe. I can’t say that either of them spoke to me much about it. It took up their time though, that’s for sure, sometimes it was weeks between seeing them.”
By the time I made my way back through the garden, I didn’t know how much of the house I could confront. The clouds were illuminated, and the sky wore them like a cloak. A winter chill accompanied the wind. I couldn’t wait any longer. I would shop for a few small items of food and move Rosie, but I had to at least look around the house. I walked through the weeds that reached from the paved stones, as my stomach reached up my throat. I pressed past the layers of foliage, as my heart pressed against my chest. I didn’t knock this time; it had kept its secrets long enough.