Chapter 29
THE ART
Each night, as the star-strewn sky lulls me into a peaceful slumber, I find myself half-asleep on my makeshift bed of blankets and pillows on the porch.
I’m still staying at the guest house, but once everyone else has left for the day, I love to steal these gorgeous hours to myself to work on the Forest Fables artwork.
And whether it’s the solitude or the silence or the amazing star-scape, I find myself sketching, painting and drawing the day’s discoveries with Fintan’s art set.
My hand reaches for it unconsciously in the dim light, the charcoal pencil gliding across the paper as if it has a mind of its own.
Scenes from the day – mouldered stone walls crested with briars, stone circles covered in lichen, majestic stands of forest with paths disappearing into their depths – feel as if they’re sketched onto the drawing pad by an unseen hand.
My creativity is flourishing, and new ideas race through my mind, as if life and art are merged; as if they are one with nature itself – dual spirits blended with each stroke of paint or dab of clay or smidgeon of charcoal on canvas.
A paw print in the sand; the tread marks of red deer hooves in the wet earth; the detail of a fern frond; the big, adoring eyes of Dom’s dogs as he scratches them under their chins; the formation of birds in flight; the amazing sunsets and sunrises over dew-drenched fields; skies that mirror such changing moods on the glittering lake; the wild beauty, grandeur and majesty of Ireland.
In that half-awake state, part-dreaming and part-sketching, I see things that make my head spin.
So much so that I can hardly work fast enough.
Despite the excitement, the weight of sadness settles in my chest. Everything that’s unfolding, that’s sweeping me up in this beautiful fairy tale, is only temporary…
my time here in Innisfree is limited. Sometime in the next few weeks, I’ll be saying goodbye to this house, its people and everything that’s lifted my spirit.
Soon, I’ll return to London where the hustle and bustle awaits.
The idyllic landscape, the sparkling waters of the lake and the laughter that echoes through this house will slowly drift away like the tendrils of a fading dream.
And I’ll be back at my desk, in a gated estate somewhere, without birdsong or fresh air or a chance of catching an eyeful of the sun painting orange and pink hues on the sky, feeling close enough to reach out and touch.
Ash’s texts bombard my inbox multiple times a day reminding me of the need to start looking at potential properties in London.
The sale of The Lake House will allow us to invest in the fast-paced real estate market.
‘Start climbing the property ladder.’ ‘Secure a good deal.’ His words are a constant reminder that it’s time to focus on our next step.
I try to keep my spirits up by thinking about the excitement of moving in with Ash, of finally having a place of our own, being able to share our day-to-day lives together and grow closer.
But no matter how hard I cling to the thought of living a busy city life again, as I sit here surrounded by the lapping lake, chirping crickets and rustling leaves, I can’t deny the way I’m feeling.
I’ve only been here three weeks and yet I feel more attached than anywhere else I’ve ever lived. How can that be?
I hear footsteps nearing me and look up to see James, a warm smile on his face as he holds two steaming mugs of tea.
‘Gus McDonagh just called – your bags have been delivered by taxi to the guest house,’ he says, handing me my tea before sitting down next to me. ‘That means your paperwork has arrived safe and sound. The Lake House is ready to go on the market.’
I take a deep breath and smile. ‘Well, looks like it was goof-proof after all.’
James raises an eyebrow. ‘Goof-proof?’
‘Yes, just something my boyfriend says. Never mind.’
‘Ah, he’ll be glad,’ James remarks. ‘The deposit will come in handy in London, especially at those prices.’
‘Exactly! This is great news: we did what we set out to do. Job done!’ I say, my voice a little too forced, a pitch too high.
James nods and excuses himself, and I wave him goodnight.
I should be dancing for joy. I should be jumping up and down with excitement.
I should be heading out to The Tap House to celebrate.
Yet I feel stuck to this spot; my feet remain firmly on the ground.
We’d all worked so hard on this project – repainting the walls, sanding the floors, fixing every broken window – and in the end, we gave a brand-new life to The Lake House.
But here’s the thing. And there’s always a thing…
Soon, it’ll mean giving all this away, handing it over, letting go and saying goodbye.
Soon, someone else will get to live their happily-ever-after here.
My heart sinks as I realise what this means.
All of this, this quest for answers and sense of purpose, will have to come to an end.
I’ll have to let go of this search for my past and the people who played a role in it.
I’ll have to say goodbye to this newfound family, and leave behind their stories and memories.
It’s a bittersweet realisation, one that leaves a hollow feeling in my chest.
But this is what I need to happen. This quest for answers and purpose has been my everything for so long.
Too long. Maybe the closure of this chapter will allow me to move on to the next, to create my own story back in London with Ash and all the exciting plans we’ve made.
There’s definitely lots to be excited about.
Definitely.
I take a long look around The Lake House, trying to commit every detail to memory, and I know that I’ll cherish this place, this time for years to come.
And who knows, maybe someday I’ll find my way back here; maybe someday I’ll have the chance to make new memories.
Maybe.