Page 49 of A Miracle on Hope Street
And even though the weather was against us, itwaswonderful.
We turn around a corner and although it’s a dark, dreary and miserable day in December, a thin beam of sunshine escapes the clouds and streams down onto the whitewashed cottage with its little red door and my heart . . . oh, my heart.
Michael parks the car and pulls up the handbrake as I just sit there and stare.
I’m so choked up that I can hardly speak, but just seeing this place again is perfect. Everything about it is perfect – the location, the views, the size, the peace and quiet, the feel of it – not to mention the most wonderful memories.
We step outside and are greeted by a howling gust of wind that sweeps up from the Atlantic Ocean, blowing a gale and pushing us through the light drizzle of rain along the gravel pathway as we look out on to the sea.
‘It’s so quiet and beautiful here,’ I say to him. ‘It’s heavenly.’
I close my eyes and breathe in the cold sea air, and in my head I’m a ten-year-old girl again who cried to her mother in this very cottage so many moons ago because she was scared and who was soothed so beautifully as her mother sang away her fears.
I remember waking up in one of the other rooms, shaken by the change of surroundings and climbing into bed beside her where she cuddled me until I settled, telling me about all the beautiful things she noticed about this house and how I would never come to any harm here. She told me of the apple trees in the garden, of the very special thatched roof that was so unique and so well-crafted, of the vegetables growing in the greenhouse, of the hundreds of books in the library room and the beautiful views of the sea that would keep everyone who stayed here at ease. I believed every word she said and went back to my own room where I slept so peacefully, content and secure that as long as we stayed there I’d be totally safe and have nothing to be afraid of.
‘Michael, I have the most wonderful memories of this place,’ I tell him as tears fill my eyes. ‘I can’t believe you brought me here to Rossnowlagh. It’s just magical. It’s so beautiful and I can’t thank you enough.’
He walks closer to me and wraps his arms around me, embracing me into a tight hug once more in Rossnowlagh, a place where I probably felt closest to my mother more than anywhere else in the world.
He pats my hair and holds me close and I rest my head on his chest, feeling so connected and so at ease in the strength of his arms.
He wipes away my tears with his thumbs and looks right into my eyes, deep into my soul.
‘Let’s explore the area a bit more,’ he says, just when I think he is about to take things further.
‘That’s a good idea,’ I reply, my heart beating in my chest with anticipation for what could have, but what didn’t yet, happen.
The wind catches us again on our way to the car and when we get to the top of the lane and out onto the main road, the heavens burst open, just like they did the last time I was here. I think of my mother who is out there somewhere, trying to get in touch at long last, but her pleas have been falling on deaf ears so far. She came to the funeral and we ignored that she was there; she wrote us a letter and we never replied. I’ve been holding on to my anger towards her like burning coal in my hands, not realising that the only person I’ve been burning is myself.
‘Are you hungry?’ Michael asks me.
‘Yes, yes I am actually. I think I’ve worked up quite an appetite with all that’s running through my head,’ I say to him. ‘Plus I owe you dinner for bringing me here today. When I come back down to earth I’ll be able to make sense of it all, but for now I’m so nostalgic and I feel so full up with excitement. Thank you.’
He gives my hand a squeeze and we drive until we come to a cute little restaurant nestled into a hill that overlooks the vast ocean. We dart in from the rain and dine in comfortable silence amongst the twinkling fairy lights as Christmas songs play in the background.
We tuck into a tasty seafood platter, both comfortable enough not to have to make idle conversation and, with our bellies full, we head to the beach where we run and play like teenagers, absolutely freezing to the bone but warm in our hearts, both knowing that we have each made some pretty life-changing decisions and, with clear heads having got away from the day-to-day life we lead, we are both ready to tackle the tasks at hand head-on.
I’m invigorated, I’m charged up, I’m ready to make contact with my mother and I’ll do it as soon as Christmas is over. Or maybe I’ll do so before then, who knows?
I’ve so much to do and think about, but I’m fully prepared to do what it takes to heal my broken heart; and maybe soon I’ll be ready to know and experience what love, just like Gloria described to me, is really all about, once and for all.
Chapter Twenty-One
Three Days before Christmas
My mission the next day is to track down Paul Connolly, my eighth and final guest for Christmas dinner, and since I’ve had no reply to my email I take a spur-of-the-moment decision to go and try to find him to extend my invitation personally.
I arrive at the city hostel where he lives with no idea what to expect when I come face to face with this twenty-year-old boy who wrote to me not so long ago, hoping he wouldn’t fall off the wagon and back into the dark world that had tangled him up for so long.
‘I’m looking for one of your residents,’ I say to the lady on the desk in the entrance area of the hostel. The place is cold and clinical, like a doctor’s surgery or a hospital waiting area, with plastic chairs, noticeboards full of rules, regulations and health warnings and the whole place smells like fresh paint.
The small-framed, red-haired lady looks over her glasses from behind the big brown desk, not very pleased it seems that I have interrupted her afternoon at all.
‘Name please?’ she says, without making eye contact and sounding as if she is talking to a robot.
A young family walk past me and as they climb the concrete steps up to wherever it is they are calling home, laden with bags of Christmas shopping that they probably can’t afford, I have to switch off my brain to prevent me from becoming so upset that some people get it so tough when others get it so easy.
‘I’m sorry? Pardon?’ I say to her, apologising for my momentary distraction.
