November 1989
At two o’clock the sky was a swirl of blacks and greys. In fact, it had barely got light all day. And, like most days that winter, it hung heavy on Laura’s shoulders. Slow and mind-numbing. Even painting failed to lift her.
She stood at the lounge window looking out. The lake rippled and lapped in the near distance, vivid through the glade now most of the trees had lost their leaves.
Her voice, low and rhythmic, quietly chanted the words of Yeats’s poem ‘The Lake Isle of Innisfree’ over and over and over.
Was she going crazy? Did she need help? She certainly didn’t feel like herself any more. The young woman who had gone to university and fell in love with Jude had disappeared when he never called.
Lately, she was finding it harder and harder to go out. One day inside the house had joined hands with the next and the next. This place is my prison.
It had been far too long since she’d ventured further than the lonely woods, and even longer since he had driven into Sligo Town. She ordered her shopping by phone to be delivered by the grocery shop in the village, and everything else she needed she ordered by post. Had she become a recluse? A hermit, living off her parents’ money, in her parents’ oddly shaped house. She felt sure if she were a man, she would have a beard by now, possibly down to her belly button, and animals would have set up home there.
A loud shrieking mew echoed throughout the house, breaking the silence, and she spun round to see Rachel dragging the stray cat Laura had adopted a few weeks before, into the room by his tail.
‘Rachel!’ she yelled, racing over, as the child went to bite his tail. ‘No!’ she said, pulling back the child’s tightly gripped fingers from the poor cat. ‘What have I told you about being cruel to Rusty?’
As soon as the cat was free he bolted from the room, and Laura stared at her daughter, her hand gripping her wrist. ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ she said, waltzing her into the hall, the child’s feet inches from the floor. Laura snatched Rachel’s hat and coat from the rack.
‘No!’ Rachel squealed, wiggling, her free hand bashing against Laura’s hip. ‘No!’
It was always an effort trying to get the child to put her arms into the coat sleeves, her feet into boots, and Laura had given up so many times before. But today she was determined. ‘We’re going out, whether you like it or not,’ she said, twisting the child’s arm and stuffing it into the pink fabric. Rachel screamed out in pain, and began to cry.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ Laura said, pulling Rachel to her, tears filling her eyes. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you. But if you did as you were told, it wouldn’t happen.’
Eventually Rachel stopped crying, and they headed out into the woods, hand in hand. Laura breathed in the fresh, cold air. She should come out more. Fight her fear.
She hadn’t seen Imogen and the children for over a year, but it hadn’t stopped her worrying about them. She’d thought many times about calling someone to check on them – but doubts always nagged at her. What if they came and couldn’t see what was happening, and Tierney took it out on Imogen and the children? In the weeks after Imogen had shown her the burns on her arms, Laura had walked the length of the woods several times to watch Lough End Farm from a distance. She would hear Tierney’s booming voice, but never saw him hurt the children.
Today she wouldn’t go that way. She would take Rachel to the water’s edge and teach her about the wildlife. She’d often seen the child stomp the life out of spiders and ladybirds, and wanted her to understand that everything had a right to live, however small.
Once they were sitting by the lake, Rachel smiled up at her, and a flow of warmth wrapped itself around Laura. Maybe their love for each other would grow in time.
‘So,’ she began, trying to get Rachel’s attention. ‘As it’s winter, lots of animals are asleep.’
‘Are they tired?’
‘Yes, and they have to save their energy up for the summer months.’
‘Aha.’
‘There are foxes about though. If we’re quiet we might see one. Someone once told me that foxes make great mummies and daddies.’
‘Laura?’
She turned to see Dillon standing nearby, and a surge of happiness filled her senses. She’d missed him.
‘Hey,’ Laura said, lifting her hand. ‘I haven’t seen you for so long. How are you?’
He looked over his shoulder, and crouched down. ‘I’m not meant to be here, but I often come, just in case I see you.’
‘How’s Imogen? Is she OK?’
He shook his head. ‘Not good.’
Laura levered herself to her feet, and walked towards him, twigs crunching under her feet, breaking into the quiet. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
He shrugged. ‘Dunno. S’pose I came because I thought you could help. But truth be told, how can you? There’s nothing anyone can do.’ Another glance over his shoulder.
A loud thud behind Laura startled her, and she twisted round to see a young fox scampering away. Rachel was on her feet, laughing. ‘Silly fox,’ she said.
‘She threw a rock at it,’ Dillon said. ‘I saw her. Da would say she needs taking in hand. A good beating.’ He paused for a moment before adding, ‘Stupid bastard.’
Laura raced over to her daughter, and crouched down in front of her, taking hold of the girl’s muddy hands. Was this Laura’s fault? Was her child born like this, or had she made her this way? ‘Rachel, you must be kind to animals.’
‘Why?’ the little girl said.
‘Because they have as much right to be in the woods as we do – if not more.’
Laura looked back to where Dillon had been standing, hoping he might help her convince her two-and-half-year-old she should be kind. But he’d gone.