Heartstones (8 page)

‘But your dad wouldn’t want you to be unhappy.’ Honey said nothing and stuck out her bottom lip. Phoebe persevered. ‘He’ll want to help you. Maybe your dad will do some extra homework with you.’ Honey shrugged.

‘He’s always staring out of the window or making pots,’ she paused. ‘Or drinking whiskey.’

‘Are those his pots in the boathouse?’ Phoebe asked.

‘Yes. I’m not supposed to go in there, but I like to go upstairs and draw.’

‘It’s cosy up there, isn’t it?’ said Phoebe.

‘I like it when the kiln’s on,’ Honey looked more cheerful. ‘I like watching the waves when it’s stormy and I’m all warm and dry. It’s warmer in there than at home; it’s freezing up there.’ Phoebe saw the child’s eyes flick up towards the cliff and for the first time Phoebe made herself look up too. Even though she knew what she would see she couldn’t help the feeling of surprise. It looked smaller than Phoebe remembered – a perfect miniature fortress, straight out of the pages of a children’s story book. Granite grey, it seemed to grow out of a tangle of wintry bushes and trees. Virginia creeper wove its way up the turreted towers, along the crenulated battlements and around the gothic arched widows and Phoebe remembered how, in autumn, the whole building turned a fiery red.

She stared, now she’d looked at it she couldn’t seem able to drag her eyes away. The Castle – her grandmother’s one great passion, apart from clay. Anna Brennan had never seemed able to let it go, returning to Carraigmore from Africa to be close to it, persuading its owner to sell her the boathouse so that she could live and work in the shadow of her childhood home. Repeatedly she told her granddaughters its story, imbuing them with her own passion for the magnificent house. It had once been a monastery, one of the towers was part of the original building but the house itself had been a Georgian addition – the gothic fantasy of a wealthy Anglo-Irish aristocrat who had won the ruined tower and the surrounding land in a game of cards. His descendants had enjoyed his prize for generations.

Phoebe had a sudden memory of her grandmother standing on the beach, staring up at the house, shielding her eyes from the sun.

Phoebe always thought it strange that Anna, who in many ways hated rank and wealth and material concerns, should be so in thrall to her aristocratic roots. But looking up at the Castle, Phoebe could imagine the sentimental pull that extraordinary house must have had on her.

As a child Phoebe would lie awake at night in the little rosy bedroom in the B&B telling stories about the Castle, making it a place of magic, an enchanted fairy castle that she and Nola were princesses of. Nola, lying next to her, would tell her to shut up, but Phoebe once heard Nola tell the white-haired boys on the beach that it was her rightful home, not theirs.

‘Do you live there?’ Phoebe asked Honey.

Honey nodded, ‘Do you think it’s spooky?’

‘No, I think it’s beautiful.’

‘The children at school say it’s haunted and that I’m weird because I haven’t got a mum and I live in a castle.’

‘I bet they’re jealous of you. Do you know, I wanted to live in your house when I was a little girl?’

Honey looked up at her, surprised, and was about to say something when they were both startled by an angry shout.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing with my daughter?’

Phoebe looked down to see a man standing on the sand below them. She recognised him at once. Theo looked up, tall and broad shouldered with a chiselled face flushed red either from the wind or whiskey, or from his temper. A black Labrador stood beside him, barking up at the two figures on the rock.

‘Did you hear me?’ Theo shouted again. ‘What are you doing with my daughter? She’s meant to be at school.’ Phoebe could only just hear his voice against the barking and the waves that crashed along the shore.

‘Come on,’ Phoebe said to Honey. ‘I think we’d better go down and see your dad.’ Carefully she started to climb down the rock, putting out her hand to help Honey, who followed reluctantly behind her.

At the bottom she stood in front of the irate man, Honey’s hand still holding on to hers. The dog growled and Phoebe felt a momentary flash of alarm. Theo bellowed at his dog to shut up and then bellowed at Phoebe.

‘Let go of my child at once.’

‘It’s all right, calm down,’ Phoebe tried to loosen Honey’s hand but the little girl held on tight. ‘Please don’t shout.’

‘Don’t tell me how to behave.’ He still looked furious but at least he had lowered the tone of his voice. Honey released Phoebe’s hand and he picked up the small girl and held her tightly. ‘Sorry, Sweetheart, I didn’t mean to be cross. It’s just that I’ve been so worried and Mr O’Brian is probably on the phone to Sergeant Jackson right now, getting him to round up all the Guards in Kerry to form a search party. What on earth did you think you were doing – disappearing like that?’ Honey looked unhappily up at him through her long blonde hair, and then she threw her arms around his neck.

‘Sorry, Daddy, I’m so sorry. Please don’t be cross with Phoebe.’

Theo looked at Phoebe. She could see his body relaxing, his fury subsiding with the relief of having found his daughter. She noticed that he had shaved since last night; he looked less dishevelled, apparently sober. The dog had also calmed down and was sniffing around the lower ledges of the rock.

‘Who are you?’ Theo sounded suspicious.

‘She’s a teacher,’ said Honey wriggling out of her father’s arms.

‘What? You took her out of school? Are you a supply teacher?’ Theo put one hand proprietarily on Honey’s shoulder while with his other hand he dialled a number on a phone.

‘No, I’m not Honey’s …’ Phoebe began.

‘I can’t believe it,’ Theo interrupted her, the phone at his ear as he waited for it to be answered. ‘Did you take her out of school? Why didn’t Mr O’Brian know that Honey was with you?’

‘I’m not …’

‘Hello. It’s Theo Casson here.’ The phone had evidently been answered. ‘Could you tell Mr O’Brian that I’ve found Honey? She was on the beach with one of your teachers and I really think it’s shocking that you don’t even know when a member of staff has taken a child out of school.’

‘You don’t understand,’ Phoebe tried. Theo turned his back and took a few paces away from her; the rest of his conversation disappeared into the noise of the sea. She just could make out, ‘I really feel I’ll have to make a formal complaint.’ And then, ‘You have a duty of care for my child.’

‘Daddy,’ Honey ran up to her father and tugged at his jacket. ‘Phoebe’s not a teacher at my school,’ she shouted above the waves. Theo looked down at her.

‘I’m going to have to go,’ he said into the phone. ‘Just let Mr O’Brian know she’s safe.’ He stormed back towards Phoebe. ‘What is going on? Did you entice her out of school? I have a good mind to have you arrested.’ He started dialling on his phone again.

‘No, Daddy.’ Honey was crying now. ‘Please don’t. Phoebe didn’t take me. I ran away from school.’

Theo stopped dialling and looked from the small child to Phoebe and back again.

‘What were you doing with her then?’ he asked Honey. Honey looked silently down at the sand. He looked back to Phoebe,

‘I found her on the beach,’ said Phoebe deciding not to mention that either she or Honey had been in the boathouse. ‘I had already met her at Fibber Flannigan’s. I was the woman you pushed past at the bar last night, but you probably don’t remember.’ Theo looked at her blankly and Phoebe wondered if he remembered the night before at all. ‘Honey and I were just having a chat about school.’

‘Did it not occur to you that school was where a little girl should be at this time of day?’

‘Yes. I know. But she was upset, I couldn’t just …’

Theo interrupted, ‘You could at least have found out where she lived.’

‘I did, but …’

‘Did you not think that people would be worried about her? As a teacher do you not …’

This time it was Phoebe who interrupted. ‘Maybe you should ask your daughter why she ran away, listen to her, and try to help her, instead of getting angry with me.’

‘Who do you think you are?’ Theo pushed his hands through his unkempt hair, the colour in his face rising again. ‘I’ve had enough of people telling me what I should and shouldn’t do with my own child.’ He took a step towards Phoebe and angrily pointed his finger at her, ‘You have no idea what I’ve been through.’

‘Stop it, stop it.’ Honey had her hands pressed over her ears. ‘Stop shouting!’

Theo immediately squatted down beside his daughter and took her hands in his. ‘It’s all right darling. You’re safe with me now.’ He stood back up and glared at Phoebe. ‘Come on, Honey, let’s go home.’ He began steering her up the beach followed by the dog. Honey looked back at Phoebe over her shoulder and Phoebe raised her hand to say goodbye. Honey tried to wave but Theo took her hand in his and held on tightly to it as they started to walk up the cliff path towards the Castle.

Phoebe watched them go and realised she was breathing heavily, in and out almost in rhythm with the sea as waves of fury washed over her. How dare Theo speak to her like that? She thought of running after him to make him listen to her but she knew that would just have continued the argument and upset Honey again. She took one very big breath and started to trudge back to the boathouse. As she approached the little blue door she felt another wave of fury; how dare Theo use her grandmother’s studio and equipment to make his pots, she was the one who should be calling the Guards to report a trespasser.

Once back inside the little room Phoebe warmed her cold hands in front of the kiln. She remembered doing the same thing as a child after swimming in the freezing sea; jostling for the warmest spot with Nola.
Shove over, squirt
Nola would have said, probably issuing a hefty prod to Phoebe’s ribs with her elbow. What would Nola make of her behaviour since she’d come to Carraigmore? Drunken exhibitionism, vomiting in public, weeping and emotional displays, and now being threatened with the police by a stranger on the beach. Phoebe felt sure that Nola would say it was just the sort of behaviour she expected.

Suddenly Phoebe felt extremely tired, her hangover had subsided but the confrontation with Theo seemed to have drained her of all remaining energy. She climbed the set of wooden stairs and, after moving the book and pencils from the seat, flopped down onto the armchair. She sat very still and looked out across the sea. She dozed for a little while and when she woke up she noticed that the black rock threw a long shadow across the sand and an incoming tide was beginning to slap around its craggy base.

A gang of small boys ran across the beach laughing as they chased a football, trying to keep it from rolling into the waves. It must be past home time at the school, Phoebe thought. She ought to get back to the pub, pick up her bags, get in the car, and leave Carraigmore. She rubbed her eyes, where could she go next? She wished she didn’t feel so tired.

Her thoughts drifted to Honey; she hoped Theo hadn’t been too cross with her. Phoebe leant forward and picked up a biscuit from the windowsill and at the same time remembered the diary entry in the notebook Honey had been drawing in. Phoebe picked up the book and noticed the faded writing on the marbled inside cover,
Anna Shaw
. Slowly munching the digestive she began to flick through the pages of loopy handwriting to find the page that she’d been reading before.

Mother looks grey, like a ghost, even with her make-up on. After Father’s funeral she gathered us together in the drawing room and told us that all the money has gone and the Castle can no longer be our home – it belongs to the bank in Dublin now.

We were all quiet until Richard said that Father took the coward’s way out, and then Mother slapped his face and said that anyone can have an accident with a shotgun. Then she slapped his face again and started screaming until Mrs Reilly came running from the kitchen, and Mother stopped screaming and said that everything was quite all right and …

At that point Honey’s bright picture covered the next page and it was impossible to read the writing underneath. Phoebe turned the page over.

September 22nd, 1948

Richard and George are going to Canada. I have begged them to let me go with them but they keep telling me I am too young – at Christmas I will be nineteen, they are still only twenty-two. I must go to England with Mother, Aunt Margaret has agreed to let us live with her. They still have rationing in England and I’m sure everywhere will be bomb sites, and Aunt Margaret is a snob and Elizabeth is even worse – she has always treated me like the poor relation, goodness knows what she’ll be like now that I really am.

I looked on a map to find where Cheltenham is and it couldn’t be further from the sea. What will I do without the waves and rocks and sand, what will I do without the Castle?

I was walking Razzle on the beach when I saw that man again. He saw me looking at him and stared back at me. We leave in three days; I will never see him again.

September 23rd, 1948

Everyone in the village knows we have no money now. The postman told Mrs Reilly that he doubted she’d be seeing any more wages from us, and she put on her coat and left before she’d finished cooking dinner, the new Spong mincer in her bag, in lieu of outstanding debts she said. I tried to finish cooking the meal myself but I let the gammon pot boil dry and burned the meat. Mother pushed her plate away and it fell onto the floor. When I went to clear it up she told me to leave it for the bailiffs to clean.

Dr Brennan has visited Mother every day since Father died; he stopped me in the hall and told me her nerves are very bad. He’s a kind man as I’m sure he knows he’ll never get his bills paid.

September 24th, 1948

We leave tomorrow; Mr Flannigan will take us in his cart to the station at dawn. I packed what clothes I could into my old school trunk and I have spent the day wandering around the house, touching the walls, trying to take pictures with my mind so that I will never forget. I loved Father very much but I will never forgive him for what he has done to us.

I don’t think Mother will ever recover, sometimes I think she is going to go quite mad. She made George build a big bonfire and she threw on all the family portraits, she said she wasn’t going to let the bailiff’s men get their hands on our ancestors. Then she threw in all Father’s books and his rare map collection and boxes and boxes of letters. I took Razzle for one last walk along the cliffs and you could see the tower of smoke for miles.