Jessie
Despite her disappointment at Bridget’s fate, Jessie couldn’t let go. The story of the Mary and Elizabeth continued to tug at her. Having read everything in the library, she returned to the internet in the hope of finding out more. When it seemed that she’d tracked down every possible article and reference, she began reading about other ships. She also combed forums and advice pages. That was how she found the message board post from a woman in Boston whose fourth-great-grandparents had survived the shipwreck.
Jessie clapped with joy. She could scarcely believe that someone else out there had a connection to the boat on which Bridget had perished. She replied straight away, outlining what she knew about Alice and Delia King, and Martin McDonagh. After a further exchange of messages, she swapped emails with the woman, who was called Kaitlin Wilson. Kaitlin was also twenty-nine, and Jessie was intrigued. She’d expected that an American tracing their family roots would be older.
At this point, she made the mistake of running Kaitlin’s name through Google. Instantly, she regretted it. The woman who appeared was too accomplished. Too straight-toothed and shiny-haired. It turned out that she was a lawyer with an über-prestigious Boston firm. Her Instagram showed she had an unnaturally tidy apartment and a boyfriend called Clay. Another search revealed that he, too, was a lawyer.
Jessie obsessed over Kaitlin’s perfection. Chances were that she attended daily spin classes, always remembered her sunscreen and knew how to wear stilettos without ripping her feet to shreds. She’d probably passed every exam she’d ever taken and had a small but devoted circle of friends. Hopefully, Kaitlin wouldn’t be tempted to search for her. The thought of Hollie Garland articles cascading down the screen made Jessie want to hide under the bed.
‘You should see the place where she works,’ she said to Ger. ‘I’d say you’d need five degrees to be allowed in the door. Funnily enough, it’s called Frobisher Hunter. Do you think that’s where old Henry went next?’
He laughed. ‘I doubt it. I’d say he’d enough to do without becoming a corporate lawyer, or whatever they were called in those days.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure. A ruthless business like that would have suited him.’
‘Are you jealous of Kaitlin?’ he said, a teasing note in his voice.
‘I am. Not of her job, mind. It sounds like a total head-wreck. I envy the fact that her relatives were pulled out of the ocean. Unlike our woman, they got to see America.’
While she would have loved to say her feelings ended there, the truth was that Kaitlin’s conspicuous achievements had resurrected Jessie’s self-doubt. There she was in Boston with her career and her tasteful apartment and her successful, conventionally good-looking boyfriend. And here was Jessie with a list of mistakes as long as the strand in Clooneven. She was single, practically unemployable and sleeping in a room with faded posters of The Killers and Arctic Monkeys on the walls.
Again and again, she looked at Kaitlin’s most recent email. Replying should be straightforward. All she had to do was send a few anodyne words, some polite lines about how, if she learnt anything further, she’d be in touch.
If only it was that easy. Every time she tried to tap out the letters, her mind drifted away. When it came to Kaitlin – lithe, poised, talented Kaitlin – Jessie had a mental block. She disliked herself for being so superficial, but that didn’t change how she felt.
The following day, another email arrived. Again, it was brimming with enthusiasm and questions. Please stop, she thought. Please take your perfectly ordered life elsewhere. I’m not able for you right now.
Ordinarily, Ger might have been expected to show more interest in the American connection, but like the rest of the town, he was distracted by Clooneven’s continued presence in the county football championship. ‘It’s our year,’ Jessie’s colleague Ashling kept saying, her voice suggesting that any attempt to question this would not be tolerated. Having beaten Liscannor in the previous round, Clooneven were due to play Doonbeg the following weekend. Ger’s girlfriend, Rosemary, was travelling up from Cork for the occasion.
Almost alone among the town’s population, Jessie wouldn’t be there. Lorna and Simon were going to the game and were joining friends for dinner afterwards. She’d been drafted in to babysit.
Ever since they’d decided that Lorna and Simon owed money to Dave, she’d been trying to dig a little deeper. So far, she’d made no progress. The more she thought about Ger’s theory, the more sense it made. She blamed Simon. While Lorna had never wanted for any of the basics, there had been nothing showy about the Dalys’ early years. Their clothes had been from Dunnes and Penneys; their holidays had been spent in Kerry or Donegal; restaurant meals had been an occasional treat. Simon, on the other hand, had grown up in a house of plenty. He’d been accustomed to holidays in Marbella and trips to matches in Dublin. He’d ridden the newest bicycle and worn the best football boots. He’d become entrenched in a life of high spending, and had brought his wife along with him.
The thought of Lorna being in serious debt was an uncomfortable one. If their parents knew, they’d try to help. But until she had more than hunches and suppositions, Jessie couldn’t say anything. Not that her motives were entirely pure. No matter what she did for a living, she would never lose her journalist’s nosiness.