The Delaney Woman (19 page)

“I want my daughter,” said Claire fiercely. “What I didn't want was a little girl visiting a prison, knowing her mother lived there. Until very recently I had no hope for parole. There was no point in knowing my daughter. I did it for her. Do you think I wouldn't have rather seen her if I was thinking only of myself?”

“What do you want now?”

“I want to know my daughter. I want to be her mother all the time.”

“That's a tall order, Claire.”

She lifted her chin. “A person can change.”

“Have you changed?”

“I'm not the person I was. If you give me a chance, I'll prove it to you.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “What exactly is it that you want from me?”

“I want to come home.”

“For how long?”

She wasn't getting through to him. He wasn't understanding. She drew a deep breath. “Permanently.”

F
or a third time Claire walked around the play- ground. Little girls in plaid skirts and blue jumpers skipped rope, bounced balls or hung upside down on monkey bars. She'd spotted Heather immediately. It was as if everyone around her moved in a blur of slow motion and her own child was the only sharply defined image in her vision. She would have known her anywhere, a slightly built little girl, all arms and legs with lovely bones, too large eyes and thick straight brown hair that hung together and swayed like a curtain when she moved. Heather Whelan wasn't pretty or even cute, but she had the promise of growing into someone unusual. Claire was delighted with the looks of her and petrified of meeting her face-to-face, hence the surreptitious walk around the grounds, the quick glances, the hope that no one would take notice and report her for suspicious activity in the vicinity of junior school.

So engrossed in the lovely, illicit pleasure of watching her daughter, she didn't notice the nun overtaking her. Not until the woman tapped her on the shoulder did she realize she wasn't alone.

Claire turned around, startled, her hand over her heart.

“May I help you?” the nun asked in a firm voice. She looked familiar. Claire frowned. “Sister Mary Carol? Is it you?”

The blue eyes narrowed. “I don't—”

“It's Claire Whelan.”

Recognition and then shock froze the nun's features. “My goodness. Claire. You've changed. I wouldn't have recognized you.”

“Yes,” said Claire.

“What are you doing here? I thought—” She stopped embarrassed.

“I've been released.”

“How long have you been home?”

“Since last night.” She nodded toward the playground. “I wanted to see Heather.”

“Heather. Of course. Does Tom know you're back?”

“I'm staying with Tom.”

“I see.” The nun held out her hand. “Welcome home, Claire.” Her smile didn't reach her eyes. “Under the circumstances, I can't release Heather to you without her father's permission.”

“Of course not,” said Claire softly, turning away. “I didn't expect it. I just wanted to see her.”

The nun's voice stopped her. “This is rather embarrassing, Claire, but your interest has been noticed. A few of the parents who live in the neighborhood are worried. I'll have to ask you to leave.”

“I understand.” She walked away, conscious of the nun's eyes on her back.

Claire hadn't expected to slip back into her past life without some reservations from the local community, but she hadn't expected it to hurt. Her own reaction puzzled her. She had never been particularly concerned about appearances. Somewhere that had changed without her realizing it. She wanted to fit in somewhere. She wanted to walk down the streets of the town where she was born and smile and wave at her neighbors. She wanted to bake soda bread and drink tea and wash sheets. She wanted to hold her daughter's hand and tell her stories and admonish her for eating too many sweets. She wanted her husband's eyes to light up when he saw her, just as they had years ago. For the first time, the magnitude of what she'd thrown away was clear. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. Horrified, she brushed them away. She never cried. What was the matter with her?

Tom was waiting for her when she arrived home. She knew what that white line around his lips meant and braced herself.

“May I ask what in bloody hell you thought you were doing?”

She didn't pretend to misunderstand him. “I wanted to see my daughter. Is that so unusual?”

“Why couldn't you wait a few more hours until she came home?”

“Because I wasn't sure you would allow me to see her,” she shot back.

“Are you insane?”

“No,” she said calmly, “just desperate.” She opened the refrigerator. Where was Kellie? He wouldn't show this side of himself if she were around.

He'd followed her into the kitchen. “If you are going to live in this town—” He stopped. “If you are going to be accepted in this town, your behavior must change.”

“That's the real question isn't it?”

He ignored her comment. “You can't simply go your way and not consider the consequences.”

“Why not?”

“Because, damn it, you have a daughter. She has friends who have parents who don't want their children associating with a child who has a strange mother.”

“If you're referring to my prison years, may I remind you that you are an ex-felon as well.”

“Don't be stupid. You know perfectly well why that's different. Unfortunately the world isn't as kind to women as it is to men. I'm sorry if you think it's unfair. I do, too, but it's Heather who will suffer unless your behavior is that of a completely rehabilitated woman.”

She stared at him poker-faced. “May I see my daughter?”

“Don't push me, Claire. I'm not predisposed to giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

“May I see my daughter?” she repeated.

He sighed. “Of course you may. I'd never intended it otherwise. She'll be walking home soon. We'll meet her halfway and then I'll leave the two of you alone.”

“Where's Kellie?”

“Out,” he said tersely, without elaborating.

Wisely, Claire kept silent. She wasn't interested in where Kellie was, only that she wouldn't be interrupted when she was with her daughter for the first time. She would allow Tom to arrange the details. He was the one who had complicated their lives with another woman. Let him work it out.

Heather stared at Claire and clung to her father's hand. Tom had said all he could. The rest was up to Claire.

“Hello,” she said softly and held out her hand. “It's lovely to finally meet you. I've thought of you every day since you were born.”

Heather, formally polite, took her mother's hand, gave it a brief shake and let go. “Are you really my mum?”

“I am.”

“You're very pretty.”

“Thank you. So are you. In fact I think you look like me. What do you think?”

Heather tilted her head, her eyes moving over her mother, from head down. “Yes,” she said at last. She looked at her father.

Tom cleared his throat. “I've a few errands to run, Heather. Your mum will walk the rest of the way home with you.”

“Where's Kellie?”

Claire didn't miss the note of panic in the child's voice. “Tom, surely your errands can wait. I think Heather would like you to come with us. Isn't that right, love?”

The little girl nodded. Claire could have wept at the look of relief that crossed the small features.

Tom looked confused but he didn't argue.

Heather slipped her hand inside her father's and Claire fell into step beside them.

“Why haven't you ever come to see me?” asked Heather.

“I wasn't able to get away, even though I wanted to very much.”

“Where do you live?”

Claire glanced at Tom. “I live here now, in Banburren, with you and your da.”

“Where did you live before?”

Claire drew a deep breath. She willed Tom to look at her. Somehow, he felt her need.
What shall I do?
Her eyes asked the question.

Tom squeezed his daughter's hand. “Do you remember when Sean Dougherty's father came home last year?”

Heather nodded. “He was sent to prison for fighting the British.”

“That's right. He spent a long time away and then he came home again. The same thing happened to your mother. She fought the British and, because of that, they put her in prison. Now she's home again. Do you understand, Heather?”

She thought a minute. “I do,” she said at last.

“We thought you should know the truth,” continued Tom, “because your friends may hear things from their parents. We wanted you to hear it from us.”

Heather looked at her mother. “Will you stay here long?” she asked.

Claire was nonplussed. This small, poised stranger shook her to the, core with the questions she asked. She swallowed and, like Tom, decided on the truth. “I came back to Banburren because you are here, Heather. Wherever I go, I won't leave you again. I want to know you that. I'd like us to be friends. If I move away, I would love to have you visit me as much as you like. What do you think of that?”

Again, something she'd said brought that look of painful relief to the child's face. Heather reached out to hold her mother's hand. “Sean Dougherty's mum and da don't live together. He lives with his mum.”

“Oh.” At first Claire didn't see the logic.

Tom cut in quickly. “That's because Sean has always lived with his mum. His dad came home only last year. It's the same with you. Your mum and I won't be living together but you'll stay with me because you always have. You'll visit her, of course, whenever you like, as she says, but you'll stay with me.

The firm deliberate tone of voice was like the lid of a pot clamped securely down. There was no room for deviation, disagreement or even suggestion. Claire would be allowed her daughter on a part-time basis and that was all. More to the point, Tom had delivered an irrefutable message: he and Claire were finished. They would not be making a home together. Claire wondered if she should believe him. Perhaps she should wait until his shock wore off before she pressed him for a definite answer. Meanwhile, Heather would be shared, unequally, but not unfairly considering the circumstances.

It wasn't what she'd hoped for, but it wasn't the worst case either. Tom could have tried to keep her from Heather altogether. Not that he could have done so permanently, but she would have had to hire a solicitor to see her daughter at all and that would have taken time and money she didn't have. No, she was satisfied. A part-time daughter was better than no daughter at all, and she knew Tom Whelan. If Heather was happy when she visited Claire, he would allow the child to visit as often as she pleased.

Suddenly Claire was content, more so than she'd been in a long time. She didn't want to go back to Tom's house. She didn't want to see Kellie, the woman who had taken her place. “Would you like to go out to dinner with me, Heather?” she asked impulsively. “I know it's early yet, but you could give Da your book bag and we could go for a walk first.”

Heather's eyes widened. “May I, Da? May I go out to dinner with Mum?”

Tom's steps slowed. Claire could see his reluctance but she wasn't backing down. He'd promised her time alone. Heather was agreeable.

“All right,” Tom said. “Remember that you have school tomorrow and homework tonight.”

She clapped her hands. Her eyes shone. The promise of a treat was stronger than her natural reticence at being left with a stranger.

They waited until Tom turned the corner before walking back in the direction they'd come from.

“Where would you like to go?” the child ask amiably.

“The beach,” Claire said promptly. “For seven years I never once walked on sand. I'd like to do that first.”

Heather laughed. “We should have brought Lexi. She loves the beach.”

“Next time,” Claire promised.

“Are you really going to stay here?”

Claire wanted to promise her the world but she was done with fabrication. “I don't know, Heather. That's up to your da.”

Heather considered her answer thoughtfully.

“What will you do if Da says no?”

“I'd like to go on to university. I never knew that I was smart until I was sent to Maidenstone. I took classes there. No one ever told me I could earn a degree and do something important. I'd like to try.”

“Aunt Mary went to university.”

“Aye.” Claire nodded. “Mary Catherine always was a bright one. She went to Galway.”

“I've been there,” said Heather. “Da goes to play the pipes sometimes and I go with him.”

“It's a lovely city, isn't it?”

“It's a huge city.” The little girl extended her arms. “Much bigger than Banburren. Won't you be lost in such a city?”

“Perhaps, at first. But after a while it will be just as familiar as here. Would you visit me there?”

“Can Da come, too?”

“If he wants to.”

Killean's Beach was windswept with wild grass struggling through the dunes. It was a beach too cold for swimming and too windy for bathing, a walking and thinking beach. Claire had always loved it because it was solitary. Many a decision she had made walking the shores of this beach. Now she was here with her daughter. Only a few days ago she would never have believed it was possible.

Heather stepped carefully to avoid sand in her shoes.

Claire sat down on the sand and began to remove her shoes and socks. Heather watched her for a minute and then did the same. Hand in hand they approached the crashing surf. Standing just at the edge of the encroaching tide, they waited for the icy lave of ocean water to cover their toes.

Heather couldn't stand still. Dancing on the balls of her feet, she ran backward and then forward and backward again.

Claire watched her, laughing. When the rise and fall of the waves no longer held their interest, they found an abandoned foam cup and began heaping wet sand into a pile. Claire dug a tunnel through the mound and around it. “Wait for a moment and then watch,” she told her daughter.

Within minutes, seawater rushed through the dug- out and around the moat. Heather giggled, delighted. She found twigs and bits of shells to decorate their creation.

Claire sat back on her heels, heedless of the cold wind and damp sand. Heather's cheeks were flushed with color and her eyes shone.

She looked at her mother and laughed out loud. Then her lips quivered. “I'm cold,” she said.

Claire brushed off her feet, tied her shoes and stood. “Let's find somewhere to eat. What would you like?”

“Spaghetti and chips,” the child said, without thinking. “It's my favorite.”