Homecoming (44 page)

If he’s still talking to me, she added silently.

Anton’s presence filled the house on Golden Square as it always had. Somehow slender Rae and lean Will had produced this giant of a young man who topped six foot four and had to buy XL sweatshirts to fit his shoulders. The sports teams at school had always looked longingly at him, but Anton had never been a rugby or GAA man. He’d loved the chess club and fewer of the jocks had poked fun at the speccy-wearing chess nerds when Anton Kerrigan was on the team. Not that Anton had ever hit anyone, but only the foolish ever tried to find out what would happen if he did.

‘Mum!’ He grabbed her in a bear hug and whirled her around. ‘You’ve sent Granny home, have you? Has she got you drinking Earl Grey yet?’

Will laughed. Nobody could take offence at Anton with his gentle teasing. Even Geraldine adored him.

‘Lapsang souchong,’ joked his father. ‘And lemon, of course.’

They went to the kitchen where Rae busied herself with dinner while Anton and Will sat at the kitchen table and talked. Anton filled them in on his life, how the world of political writing was, and how he’d met this very nice girl whose father was half-Irish and owned a couple of horses in Millstreet.

‘Horses? Have you found yourself a moneyed girlfriend?’ joked his father. ‘They don’t have stables full of Arabian thoroughbreds and a hotline to the Gulf States, do they?’

‘No,’ said Anton. ‘Or at least, I don’t think so.’

‘I was reading a very interesting thing about new breeding techniques,’ began Will and they were off talking about that while Rae reheated the boeuf bourguignon and took the dauphinois potatoes out of the oven.

‘My favourites,’ said Anton appreciatively as he picked up his knife and fork.

Rae found that she couldn’t eat. Her stomach felt acid with anxiety and she pushed the food around her plate. The glass of red wine Will had poured her went untouched too. Even the very idea of eating made her feel ill. She had no idea how to broach this subject.

Finally, Will did it for her when he’d finished his meal.

‘We’ve got news for you,’ he said, pushing his cutlery together and leaning over to pour Anton another glass of red.

Anton looked at his parents cautiously, his gaze going from one to the other.

‘Mum,’ he said finally, ‘what’s wrong?’

Her mouth worked but nothing came out at first. ‘I have a daughter,’ she said finally. Bluntly; perhaps that was the only way after all.

Anton didn’t fall off his chair or scream. ‘A daughter,’ he said evenly. He hadn’t been a chess player for nothing. ‘You had her before you met Dad?’

She nodded. ‘A long time before. I was sixteen.’

Her son winced and one long arm stretched across the table to her hand.

‘What happened?’

She could tell he knew what had happened. She’d always been able to read Anton like a book. He understood it all in an instant. ‘She was adopted and she’s contacted me.’

‘Did Dad know?’ he asked.

Rae shook her head. ‘I kept it from both of you. When I met your Dad, there was never the right time to tell him, and then it was too late to tell him.’

‘Is that why you were estranged from your parents?’ Anton asked shrewdly.

This startled Rae. ‘No,’ she began, and then stopped. She’d never told Anton that much about her upbringing. She was afraid her bitterness over her parents would seep into him and she wanted to exorcise them from her new life. They were the past; he and Will were the future. ‘Probably that was part of it,’ she admitted. ‘I was ashamed. Not of getting pregnant, but of giving her up.’

‘So tell me everything you know about her,’ said Anton. ‘A sister,’ he added with a hint of boyish excitement. ‘I’ve got a sister.’

Rae sat on the edge of the seat in the hotel reception. She was so nervous and her bladder was playing up. But she daren’t leave to rush to the loo, in case Tricia turned up and Rae wasn’t there to meet her.

Tricia might think that Rae had changed her mind.

It had been a week since she’d opened the letter from her daughter.

Rae had wanted to phone Tricia instantly, but Will said she ought to sleep on it.

‘Not so you’ll change your mind,’ he said, holding her. ‘Simply so you can get your mind around this. It’s emotionally shocking stuff.’

‘You’re so wise and so good,’ Rae murmured. She leaned against his shoulder. ‘I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you.’

‘I wish you had. I hate thinking you couldn’t trust me –’ There was a faint note of reproach in his voice.

‘I’m sorry,’ Rae said again. Saying sorry felt so useless: if only there was something she could do to show him how sorry she was, but there was nothing. She could only explain what it had been like, how frightened she’d felt, how much pressure had been put on her to give Jasmine up. Even then, it was almost impossible to explain.

‘You’ve always been mysterious about your past,’ he went on. ‘I never quite knew if it was because Mother was so insistent about trying to ferret out details of your family and connections –’

At this, Rae laughed. Her secret was out in the open. Will hadn’t packed his bags with the news. Somehow, telling him had been the worst. She felt hopeful that Anton would take it the same way.

‘Telling you about my parents would have been impossible because they were so linked in my head with having to give up Jasmine – Tricia,’ she corrected herself.

Her daughter had been Jasmine for so many years, and it was hard to get used to another name.

‘If they’d been normal or in any way supportive, I’d never have given her up. But then, I’d never have left home so early, gone to college and met you, would I?’

‘No.’

After dinner, they’d gone upstairs and laid on their bed talking. Geraldine and Carmel wouldn’t be back for hours, and Will said he’d wait up for his mother.

‘She’d take one look at your face and want to know what’s wrong,’ he said.

Rae nodded. ‘In the early days, I wanted to tell you about Jasmine and my family,’ she said. ‘But when I went to your house for the first time and met your parents…’

She thought back to the early weeks of their courtship.

‘I had a baby when I was sixteen’ wasn’t something you could say on the first date. ‘It’s a defining part of me. I called her Jasmine.’

By the tenth date, she knew she had to say it. Will was special, kind. He would understand and attach no blame, even though Rae blamed herself.

And then he’d taken her home to meet his parents.

The Kerrigan family home was as far from Rae’s childhood home as it was possible to be. It was a detached house in Raheny, with a huge garden mowed in perfect stripes. Rae stared at the stripes as she and Will walked up the drive, and wondered how you achieved such a thing. Or why you would bother.

Will’s father was like his son, tall and genial.

In his presence, Rae managed not to feel like the cleaner’s daughter who’d come round the front door by mistake. She stilled her breath and allowed herself to admire the paintings on the wall, the flowers on the occasional tables, the bronze statue on a vast round table. And then Geraldine had come down the stairs, like a duchess bestowing her presence on her loyal followers, and Rae had realised she’d never be able to tell this woman’s son about her past.

‘I was too young and scared, to be honest with you,’ she told Will. ‘I was a bit over-awed by your home and your mother.’

‘She liked people being over-awed,’ Will said grimly.

‘Perhaps.’ Rae could be magnanimous now. ‘She did grow up in a big house with staff, stables and a chauffeur. She can’t have been happy to see her son turn up with a girl with none of what she liked to call “background”. I had a background, all right, but it wasn’t one she’d care for. So I said nothing. I made out my parents didn’t travel and there was no question of you going to see them.’

Over the years, Rae had told her husband a little about her upbringing, but never the whole unvarnished truth. He’d seen the Hennesseys a few times on neutral territory, like the time they met up at a classy hotel in Limerick when Anton was little. Paudge and Glory were on their best behaviour because Rae had bluntly told them she’d cut them out of her life completely if they turned up drunk.

‘They’re not that bad,’ Will said.

‘Oh, they are,’ Rae interrupted darkly. ‘I heard someone say recently that forgiveness means realising that the past is never going to improve. Your past is your past and it’s a waste of time to think “what if…?” I’m still not at that stage yet. I can’t forgive them for what they did to me and Jasmine.’

‘Maybe meeting Tricia will help,’ Will pointed out.

That had been a week ago. The following day, Rae had phoned the mobile number on Tricia’s letter. Will sat beside her in their bedroom – the only place where Geraldine wouldn’t interrupt.

‘Hello,’ said a bright voice.

Rae’s hand began to shake. ‘Is that Tricia O’Reilly?’ she said.

‘Yes, who’s this?’

Rae couldn’t speak. She might hang up, anything to avoid the anger Tricia would have for her. How could she not be angry? Rae had abandoned her forty-one years ago.

‘I’m hanging up,’ said the voice. ‘If this is a crank call –’

‘It’s not,’ whispered Rae. ‘It’s Rae Kerrigan, née Hennessey. I’m your birth mother.’

There was a power in words, after all, she thought suddenly.
I’m your birth mother.
She’d been waiting a lifetime to say that.

‘Oh my God,’ gasped the other voice. ‘It’s you.’

‘Yes.’ Rae breathed out. ‘I had a baby in the Blessed Helena Home on the date you were born. She was a little girl with dark brown hair. I’m tall, have dark hair, dark eyebrows and brown eyes.’

‘Do people say you look like that actress Ali MacGraw, the one who was in
Love Story
?’

Rae nodded tearfully and then realised that nods couldn’t be heard.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘I can’t believe this,’ the woman said. ‘I’m Tricia.’

‘I know. I’m Rae. I was Rae Hennessey when you were born and I’m Kerrigan now.’

‘Have you other children?’ Tricia asked hesitantly.

Rae knew the answer would hurt. She had a son whom she hadn’t given up for adoption. But she’d been pregnant with Tricia in a different time, a different world.

‘I have a son who’s twenty-nine,’ she said. ‘I was pregnant with you when I was sixteen. I had no support. That’s why…’ She couldn’t finish the sentence, even though she wanted to explain it all instantly.

‘You know, I’ve waited years to find out all of this, but it’s a bit much in one go,’ Tricia said. ‘Can I call you back another time? Or would you not like that? Does anyone know about me?’

It was the most heartbreaking question Rae could imagine anyone having to ask.
Was I remembered in your life?

‘My husband knows and you can phone me on my mobile number when you feel up to it,’ Rae said calmly. She must be strong for her daughter’s sake. ‘Giving you up broke my heart. I thought about you every day of my life. Every single birthday, I cried. I wondered where you were, were your new family good to you, what was your life like? Giving you away was the biggest tragedy of my life, Tricia. I just want you to know that.’

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

‘Have you got a pen?’ Rae added.

She listed her phone number slowly.

‘Please call me,’ she said.

‘Yes,’ Tricia whispered and hung up.

Tricia had sent a text message two days later.

Can you meet me near my home? I live in Mullingar and I can’t travel much right now.

With shaking hands, Rae had replied. Tell me when and I’ll be there.

Will drove her to the hotel in Mullingar and said he’d sit in the bar and wait while she sat in reception, as agreed.

‘I won’t come out unless you want me to,’ he said. ‘Now, Rae, she might not turn up. You’ve got to be ready for that. These reunions don’t always work out the way you want them to.’

Rae smiled at him. He’d been researching it all on the Internet and was terrified in case Rae was hurt by this long-lost daughter.

‘I don’t think she can hurt me any more than I’ve hurt myself over the years,’ Rae said simply. ‘It’s been torture. She has a right to be angry with me.’

Will stared at her for a while. ‘I can understand why you didn’t tell me,’ he said, ‘but it still hurts to think of you keeping it to yourself for so long.’

Rae knew it would take a long time, if ever, before Will could understand, but she simply couldn’t think about that now. This moment was about her daughter and forty-one missing years.

As she sat waiting, Rae took out the letter Tricia had sent her and traced the signature.

Tricia. She had to stop thinking her daughter was called Jasmine.

Rae hoped she’d be able to make Tricia understand that, no matter how phoney it sounded, she
had
thought of her daughter every day for forty-one years.

In the early days, she’d thought of Jasmine with enormous pain and sorrow. And as the years had gone by, she’d wondered what her daughter was doing. The summer Jasmine would be doing exams, on her eighteenth birthday, at New Year. What did Jasmine look like now? Where was she? And, the worst fear of all, was she happy? Had she been adopted by people who’d love her and take care of her properly, the way sixteen-year-old Rae wouldn’t have been able to?

Rae had been staring down at her letter, but something made her look up just as a tall, pregnant woman with dark hair and dark eyebrows walked into the reception area. It was like looking into a mirror from twenty years ago. Rae stood up as the woman’s eyes found her.

‘I can’t believe it’s you,’ said Tricia, coming face to face with her mother.

Rae knew all the right things to do. Will had been telling her them in the car on the drive here. Don’t crowd her, don’t hug her. She might not want that level of intimacy yet.

But despite all this knowledge, she put her arms around her daughter.

Then they were both crying, dark heads beside each other, making the same husky noises as they cried.

‘We even sound the same,’ Rae sobbed. ‘You should sit, you’re pregnant.’