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? Shouldn’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 flare 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.
‘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 her 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— ’
‘You’ve made that more than clear,’ she cut in, not wanting to hear his excuses. ‘You never considered anyone but yourself. With all your questions, your pretence at caring – I should have seen you for what you were.’
‘Alison, I do care!’ He caught her arm as she turned to walk away.
‘Let go of me, William Hayden.’ Her voice matched the steel in her eyes. ‘Go on to the next one with your free spirit, no attachment bullshit!’ She took a few paces, then turned. ‘You should have learned with Helene. You can’t just take what you want and walk away.’ She shook her head, bit down hard on her lip to stop her chin from trembling.
‘I’m going to hospital, Alison.’ Arms outstretched, he stepped towards her, his eyes pleading. She folded her arms around her middle, her head tilted in question.
‘With my hip? I’ll be back in a week to collect the van – we’ll talk then?’ He looked at his watch and her anger bubbled anew.
‘Why? What’s the point?’ She threw her hands in the air. ‘You’re leaving anyway. You left last night, after you kissed me.’ Her deep breath fuelled her anger. ‘You got what you wanted and, like all selfish bastards, you’re off on your way.’ Unable to hold her tears any longer, she turned and ran towards the shore.
‘I love you, Ali—’ The wind caught his words and flung them back up over the dunes, away from her hearing.
He checked his watch. The bus would be leaving in under five minutes. He looked after her as she walked away along the water’s edge, everything inside him straining to follow, to catch her, to turn her round, to fold her in his arms and promise never to leave her. And that would really make him the selfish bastard that she’d called him. He couldn’t promise her anything. Except a few months of misery and then he’d be gone and never coming back. He turned and walked back up towards the street. This way was for the best; it would hurt her least in the long run. It didn’t matter what he felt, what she thought of him now. It would all be over soon and he could never hurt her or anyone ever again. She turned to run back to him as he disappeared into the passageway.
Alison unleashed the dogs from the boot and rounded the house. The sky had greyed over and rain gathered behind the mountains. She jumped with fright when the figure crouched at the back door hopped to his feet.
‘Jesus, Joe! What are you at?’
‘Is Se . . . Seany back yet?’ Recognising the fire in Alison’s eyes, he took a few steps backwards.
‘Sean is dead! Dead! Dead! Dead!’ Alison emphasised every word at the top of her voice. ‘He’s dead, Joe! Gone! Can’t you get that into your thick head?’ she shouted, advancing at him like a madwoman.
‘He’s not!’ His defiance fuelled her anger.
‘He’s gone, Joe. That’s what they do! They make you love them and then they leave.’ Her voice softening, she turned to open the door. ‘Just go home, Joe. Just go home and leave me alone.’
Head bent, he stood his ground, his foot rolling the gravel under his boot.
‘NOW, Joe! Get out of here NOW or I’ll call the guards. GO ON! And don’t ever ask about him again!’ She slammed the door behind her.
Joe hopped the ditch into the neighbouring field and sheltered in under the bushes as the first drops of rain began to fall. ‘I’ll wait for ya, Seany,’ he muttered, pulling the black anorak tight around him.