Chapter 11 #2
Within minutes, I am waved off with promises to return, with love for my dad, and accompanied by a big wedge of home-made toasted soda bread slathered in butter and wrapped up in a tea towel to keep it warm.
I really must ask Bernadette to show me how she makes it.
I’ve tried various recipes over the years but none have quite matched up.
Maybe nothing ever does match up to things you fall in love with during your childhood.
The smell fills Queen Mildred as I drive even further up the hill, making my nostrils twitch.
The aroma is so familiar, so reminiscent of simpler times.
It calms me down, which is odd – because I really shouldn’t be nervous.
Liam and I have broken the ice, and hopefully things will be plain sailing from now on.
As I head down the long and winding drive to Rosings, I start to notice the changes.
The woods are still dense and wild – light layers of snow starting to thaw on the ground, greenery peeking out – but the path through them has been cleared, allowing me to drive along without any impediment.
In previous years, the whole place was overgrown, the vines climbing over the brickwork, the forest creeping right up close as though it was going to swallow the house whole.
I turn off the engine, and glance at myself in the mirror. I don’t know why. It doesn’t matter what I look like, I tell myself, even if I am about to possibly meet Liam’s wife. I run my hands over my hair anyway, untangling a few little knots left by my impromptu swim this morning.
I get out of the car, and am immediately attacked by a blur of yellow fur.
And when I say attacked, I mean jumped on, licked by, and woofed at.
I crouch down to deal with the affection bomb, and straight away get knocked on my ass.
This is okay by me – in fact it just reminds of Miley Cyrus back home.
I vow to call Tyler as soon as the time zones line up.
The puppy in question here is a mix, I’d say maybe Golden Retriever and something much shorter. The body is all retriever, as is the head, but the legs are about half the size they usually are.
‘Hey, boy,’ I say, tickling his ears and enjoying a face bath, ‘what’s your name?’
‘Ralph!’ a voice cries, in the exasperated tone of a person who has to say the same word approximately seven million times a day. ‘Sorry, Ellie!’
Liam appears above me, grinning as he tugs the dog away and offers his hand to help me up.
He’s wearing paint-spattered cargo pants and a thick cable-knit sweater that makes him look like a Hollywood version of a fisherman.
Really, how did this happen – how did he get so handsome? And is it okay that I even notice?
‘That’s okay, no problem. Do you think, Liam, moving forward, that every single time I see you I’ll be on the floor for some reason?’
‘Who knows?’ he asks, hauling me to my feet. ‘We should probably do some kind of scientific study. So, this is Ralph. Named after Wreck-It Ralph for very obvious reasons.’
‘Ah. My boyfriend’s dog is called Miley because she behaves like a wrecking ball. We should introduce them. Maybe hire them out to construction crews when buildings need demolishing.’
I see him process the reference, and smile when he gets there.
‘What happened to Ralph’s legs?’ I ask. ‘Did someone steal them? He’s like, half a Golden Retriever.’
‘Yeah. His mum was a pedigree retriever from a long line of Crufts winners. His dad was a maverick corgi who broke into the garden at the wrong time and seduced her with his roguish charm and his fluffy tail.’
‘Ah, I see,’ I reply. ‘A tale as old as time. I presume he brought his own step ladder?’
‘Nature, as they say, finds a way… and although the litter won’t exactly be winning best in show, they all went to good homes. Ralph is nine months old, so basically a bit of a teenager. And you know how much fun they are.’
I nod, knowing that I need to have a conversation with him about that very thing.
I’m not really looking forward to it, especially because I see a hint of tiredness around his eyes.
Maybe he had a sleepless night too. Back when we were kids, I’d have known exactly what was going on with him from one glance – but now, he is obviously better at guarding his feelings, as most of us adults are.
‘You want to see the house?’ he asks. ‘And also, is that Mammy’s soda bread I smell?’
‘Yes, and yes. I can’t believe you bought this place… did you win the lottery?’
He laughs and gestures me forward, grabbing up the treats from his mother first. ‘It wasn’t that expensive.
The land was more valuable – you know what a mess the house was.
When I started looking for somewhere bigger for my folks, this just came to mind.
I always loved it here. Back then, it was because it was the perfect place for my daredevil lunacy.
Now, I just enjoy working on it. Did you know it’s been here since 1608 in one form or another?
I found that out using my superior research skills. ’
We reach the big wooden door, and he points up at the engraved stone archway above us.
The date is clearly carved into it, now clean of the ivy and creepers that must have covered it when we were young.
‘I see. It’s amazing how you figured that out really.
It’s almost as though the date is right there for anyone to see. ’
‘I know. I should have been a detective.’
We walk into the stone-floored hallway. I stop and look around, frowning as I try to match my memories with the reality. ‘And this is… amazing. It all looks original!’
‘That’s the aim,’ he says, running his hands over the wooden panelling and grinning in satisfaction.
‘Obviously it’s not. There wasn’t much left really.
I think it was only the cobwebs holding it together.
It’s taking a while, but I’m in no rush.
I’m doing a lot of the work myself, and Cara’s husband, Ben, project manages when I’m back in Dublin.
It’ll probably take years, but that’s okay. I need the distraction.’
He pats the panelling again, like he’s communicating with it, and I wonder what he needs the distraction from – and whether my morning encounter at the beach might be part of it.
There is a subtle undercurrent of sadness in him, and I desperately want to know why.
But, I remind myself as I make appreciative noises about the work he’s done, I have lost the right to probe.
I walked away from him, from this place, and we both made our own lives.
I can’t expect to come crash landing back into his world like this.
‘Come on, let me show you the big room… it should probably have a better name than that, really. This is where I’m hoping to have the gang round for Christmas. I need a tree, now I come to think of it…’
I follow him through, and stare at the sheer size of the place, the high ceilings, the pale winter sunlight filtering through full-length windows.
The floors are made of stripped pine, and the walls are painted a perfect shade of pale green.
‘Erm yes – like, the bloody massive room, maybe? It’s gorgeous, Liam.
It’ll look brilliant with a tree in here, and I can just imagine it in summer, too.
Show me the kitchen next – and make me some coffee. ’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he replies, giving me a salute. ‘Would you be wanting a shot of Bushmills in that?’
‘No, thank you – I drink a lot less now than I did when I was sixteen. Plus I’m driving.’
The kitchen turns out to be just as gorgeous as the other room, fitted out with Shaker-style cabinets and smooth granite work surfaces.
It’s kept a look of countryside charm that matches the age of the building, but I spot top-of-the-range appliances as well.
This would be a great kitchen to bake in, so much space, so many clear surfaces.
So much history too, I think, looking at the enormous fireplace.
Definitely the kind that would have been used to roast a whole wild boar back in the day.
The mind boggles at how many meals have been prepared in this room, how many conversations have been shared, how much laughter.
It wasn’t even recognisable as a kitchen when I was last here.
‘It’s so lovely,’ I say, walking over to lay my fingers on the solid mantel, ‘that you’ve brought it back to life like this…’
He is using a fancy-looking coffee machine, leaning back against the counter.
The sunlight hits his hair through the window, highlighting the deep auburn tones, and I have a moment where I simply stop breathing.
I am here, back in St Tilda, talking to Liam.
It is something that would have sounded crazy a month ago, and now it feels so right.
Like a part of me is opening up again, daring to allow this change.
‘I know,’ he says, smiling at my response. ‘Turns out it was abandoned in the 1890s. Nobody seems to know exactly why, but the census records show that by then, nobody was living here. That’s another project for the future – researching that.’
‘There might be secrets,’ I say, excited at the idea. ‘Hidden compartments, false walls, family tragedies… it could be haunted! I always felt like it was!’
‘I didn’t get that vibe at all.’
‘That’s because you were an idiot child who was too busy figuring out ways to skateboard off a chimney. The only feeling you had time for was adrenaline and the odd broken bone.’
He shrugs and passes me a coffee. He unwraps the soda bread and we both take a slice. Ralph settles at my feet, staring at me intently with begging eyes.