Chapter 42
It was Saturday morning, and I woke early even though I hadn’t slept well, but I felt a kind of buzzing energy, as though some other motor had kicked in, and I was ready to get going.
I felt renewed and revitalised. And with something of a plan.
Not a particularly good one, but one that was worth a try.
In the bathroom mirror, I gazed at my reflection. Hair wild, no make-up, I looked crazy. But I was smiling, at myself. I looked alive. I was ready, prepared for whatever came next, and I knew that I had Caitlin on my side, she wasn’t gone. She would be there for me every step of the way.
At breakfast, Granny Annie and Johnny were already seated at my table.
‘We’re looking forward to the regatta, aren’t we, Johnny?’ said Granny Annie. ‘Johnny is trying to source some flags we can wave.’
‘I’m going to borrow a sewing machine and cut up the curtains in my room and make them into flags,’ he said, reaching over for the butter dish. ‘What is this, by the way? It’s to die for.’ He spread it thickly onto his soda bread.
‘It’s butter,’ said Granny Annie.
‘Butter? No. No. This isn’t butter.’ Johnny was chewing, his eyes closed.
‘It’s Irish butter,’ said Granny Annie, simply. ‘It’s the best.’
I was too busy thinking about the day ahead to focus on them. ‘We have to make sure the cup isn’t changed. We have to still commemorate Lolly.’
‘I’ve been trying to work out what we can do, too,’ said Granny Annie.
Johnny’s eyes pinged open. ‘I’m meant to be on vacation, so don’t drag me into anything. I just want to eat butter and sleep.’
‘Too late,’ I said, ‘consider yourself already dragged in. Right, this is my plan: I think we should go and see Mrs DeCourcey.’
They both looked at me. ‘To achieve what exactly?’ asked Granny Annie.
‘She might talk some sense into the committee,’ I said. ‘She’s an intimidating woman, isn’t she? And doesn’t the world need women who aren’t afraid? And it’s her daughter whose memory is being erased.’
Granny Annie nodded. ‘It’s worth a try. Although she used to intimidate me as well, you know.
I left before the funeral. Or whatever it was, because they wouldn’t have been able to hold anything in the church because it was suicide.
She would have been considered a sinner, and they always put the bodies of those in unconsecrated ground, at the back of the churchyard.
’ She shook her head angrily, her lips tense.
‘Who do they think they are, those…’ And she descended into muttered and mumbled furious oaths.
‘All the more reason why we need to go,’ I said. ‘Look, you’re seventy-five…’
‘Very proud of every year,’ said Granny Annie.
‘And she’s nearly one hundred, surely Mrs DeCourcey is not still intimidating?’
‘Oh, believe me, Kerry-Anne. She would put the fear of God into the bravest person. No wonder the Richmonds want to kill her off once and for all. Strong women are terrifying. And now she’s so old, they are taking their chance.’
‘Right then,’ I said. ‘Come on. We’re going.’
We met Lucy as we were leaving.
‘Glad I’ve caught you,’ she said. She was dressed in her shorts and regatta T-shirt. ‘When are you coming down to the harbour? I need to ask a favour.’
‘Soon. We’re going to see Antoinette DeCourcey to ask her to speak to the committee about the name change of the Lolly Cup.’
‘I’m coming with you,’ said Lucy, immediately.
‘What did you want to ask me?’
‘I want you to sail with me today. I don’t want to sail alone, not if this is your last couple of days in Sandycove. I want to have fun today. Will you?’
I hesitated for a moment, thinking that it would mean she would miss out on the big award – best female sailor.
‘That’s a yes,’ said Johnny, who had heard the whole conversation. ‘It’s about time Kerry-Anne had fun. Always working, never letting her hair down. She’s coming.’ He had his hand on my back, pushing me on.
‘But you don’t want to be best female sailor?’
Lucy shook her head. ‘I just want to get out there and get back again in one piece. And having you there will make it far more fun. I don’t care about winning.’
‘It’s the taking part,’ finished Johnny. ‘Oprah says that.’
The word was out because others began to join us as we walked through the village, the battle cry having been sounded by Maureen. Eddie and Matty came up from the harbour. And there were Diana and Ethel waiting for us at the end of Chestnut Lane.
Ellie had been over at one of the marquees and when she saw a bunch of us beginning to leave the grassy area she came over, and Lucy quickly brought her up to speed, and then Granny Annie led the way, like the Pied Piper, Eddie and Mary on either side.
And then there was Henry, hurrying up behind us and falling into step with me, Patch at his heels.
‘Hello.’
‘Hello.’ I smiled back.
‘Eddie texted me. Said there’s to be an intervention.’
‘We have to try. We can’t allow this to happen.’
‘You’re a very determined person, Ms Daly.’
‘Maybe…’ I gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘Aren’t you getting ready for the regatta?’
He nodded. ‘All done. Boat’s prepped. I’m signed in. Ready to go. But I just didn’t want to miss this. With you.’
Our little band were now cutting across the main street in the village, passing through the small lane beside the library – a shortcut I didn’t know existed before – to the big houses on Sea Road.
The thought struck that in a few days I would be back in Boston, at my dawn Pilates class, drinking black coffee and eating bananas and not going for drinks at the Harbour Bar or going sailing with Henry.
There was something so gentle and unassuming about him, his ability to laugh at himself, the quiet self-confidence, the lack of egotism.
I didn’t want to go back to the men I knew in Boston. I liked this one.
I gave my head a shake. I liked my life in Boston and I couldn’t live in Ireland.
It was just Sandycove, as though I’d had those forty dips in the Forty Foot, and now I didn’t want to leave.
But I hadn’t had close to forty, and I still felt an ache and a longing for this place and I hadn’t even left yet.
Sandycove had embedded itself in me, and now the thought of leaving was breaking my heart.
Henry caught my eye. ‘We should have brought burning torches with us,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I have ever felt this revolutionary in my life.’
‘And pitchforks,’ I said, making him laugh.
He smiled at me. ‘I’ll miss you when you’ve gone back home, you know.’
‘I’ll miss you!’ I said, with a little more desperation than was necessary. He was just being polite, of course, but he kept talking.
‘I’ve learned so much from you.’
‘You’ve learned from me?’ I had to laugh.
‘Yes,’ Henry said, simply, ‘in so many ways. Your selflessness in helping people, your ability to fit in and go along with whatever’s happening, your immediate understanding of all our weird mores, and even now, you are leading everyone to keep the Lolly Cup.’
For a moment I didn’t know how to react.
I had loved the challenge of being here and meeting everyone, and working with the knitting circle from the first moment.
My embers had been rekindled, and somehow, over the last week, I had begun to feel happy again and I could feel a flutter of the old me, as though somehow and at some point happiness had seeped back in.
Henry smiled at me. I wondered about his date with Flow.
I knew it wasn’t my business but he had told me he wanted to find someone and it had been on my mind to ask him.
‘By the way, how did it go with Flow?’
He hesitated, as though trying to place her. ‘Flow?’
‘Your date. Remember?’ I was tense, waiting for his answer.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I was glad I went. It’s good to meet new people, but the problem is that she hated Patch. Said she had an emotional allergy to dogs but not a physical one, which I didn’t understand, but worse than that, she said he smelled.’
I looked down at Patch, who seemed to smile back at me. ‘Patch! That’s dreadful. You don’t smell, do you?’
‘He sometimes does,’ admitted Henry. ‘But it’s not the end of the world, is it, Patch? I still love you.’
‘I love you too, Patch,’ I said. ‘Always, even when you smell.’ I felt happy, the kind of bubbling-over, frothy, light laugh that I used to have with Caitlin, as though life was to be enjoyed, not endured, and that peace was to be protected and to surround yourself with good people who made you feel awesome from the inside out.
Caitlin was that person for me and even though she was gone, she was still making me feel awesome.
She loved me for me. And I loved her for her.
She would have been horrified to think I was settling for second-best with Milhouse.
If she had been alive, she wouldn’t have allowed me to contemplate those rules for a second.
‘Where’s your self-esteem, Kerry-Anne?’ she used to say.
‘No one else is going to love you more than you deserve to love yourself. Except for me, of course.’
Our band had come to a stop outside Mrs DeCourcey’s big, old house on Chestnut Lane; we all looked slightly apprehensive, the merriness of the outing now quelled somewhat.
‘We’ll just knock, shall we?’ I said.
‘I suppose so,’ said Mary.
‘That’s exactly what we should do,’ said Eddie.
But no one moved forward.
‘We really should,’ I said. ‘Come on.’
‘I’ll knock,’ said Henry. ‘She doesn’t know me, so perhaps I should be the person to do it?’
‘No, it has to be one of us who she knows,’ said Mary.
‘We will just tell her what’s going on,’ said Eddie.
Johnny coughed and stepped forward. ‘We haven’t, as I can work out, much time. The regatta is starting in less than ninety minutes. We need to crack on, pronto.’
He caught my eye and the two of us smiled at each other, both seeing the humour in how swiftly Johnny had involved himself in this world.
‘You’re right, Johnny,’ said Granny Annie.
‘He is, you know,’ said Eddie.
‘We’ll just inform her what’s going on,’ said Mary, and she began to open the front gate and Granny and Eddie followed, then Betty and Maureen, Lucy and Ellie, Johnny, Henry and me.
Mary reached up to take the brass knocker and tapped it three times.
‘Louder,’ ordered Granny Annie.
Mary rat-tatted three more times, and we all waited, barely breathing, and the door was finally opened a crack.
A woman answered, dressed in a white nurse’s uniform, and gazed surprised at all the faces staring back at her. ‘May I help you?’
‘I wonder if we could talk to Mrs DeCourcey,’ I began.
‘We need to communicate to her on an important matter,’ said Granny Annie.
‘It’s rather time-dependent,’ said Mary, politely.
‘Please do ask her,’ said Eddie.
‘If she’s not otherwise indisposed,’ said Granny Annie, exchanging glances with Eddie and Mary, the three of them now like polite schoolchildren. ‘It’s of the utmost importance. It’s about the Lolly DeCourcey Memorial Cup.’
The nurse left us standing there, the door slightly ajar, and then, minutes and minutes later, returned to invite us to step inside.
‘Mrs DeCourcey will be with you shortly,’ she said.
Inside the house, everything was brown, the walls, the bannisters, the floor, the rugs. There was a large portrait of a smiling woman on the wall, her long blonde hair falling around her shoulders. I saw Granny Annie fix her eyes on it, as we stepped inside.
We waited in the hall, now all silent. And then, eventually, a door opened, and the nurse came through pushing a wheelchair.
The woman sitting in it was small and wizened, yet smartly dressed in a beige jumper and cord trousers, her hair was white and wispy and around her neck was a large silver locket.
Her eyes took us all in, and then they found Granny Annie and locked on her.
‘Annie O’Sullivan. You came back.’
Granny Annie walked towards her and kneeled down in front of the wheelchair, and took one of Mrs DeCourcey’s hands, as though at a papal visitation. ‘I’ve been away too long, but I hear there’s unfinished business.’
‘The Lolly DeCourcey Cup is being renamed,’ said Eddie, stepping forwards.
‘It’s going to be the Oliver Richmond Cup,’ said Mary, joining him.
Mrs DeCourcey’s eyes darkened and narrowed. ‘I heard the news. What do you expect? The Richmonds ride roughshod over decency in this village.’