Page 226 of The Missing Sister
‘Who lives at Argideen House now?’
‘I’ve absolutely no idea. And do you know what, Jack? After this afternoon and last night, I feel too exhausted to even think about it.’
‘Of course, Mum.’ Jack came to sit on the bed next to me and put his arm around me. ‘All this has been really hard on you. We can talk about it tomorrow maybe. But whether or not you decide you want to have anything to do with Ally and her gang in the future, surely for your own benefit, while you’re here, it might be interesting to find out a bit more about this Argideen House?’
‘Maybe,’ I sighed. ‘I feel awful now for being rude to Ally. Could you speak to her and apologise, say I’ve had a long day, or something?’
‘O’course, Mum. And you’ve had a helluva time in the past few weeks. I’ll explain that to her, don’t worry. I guess you’re not up to eating downstairs tonight?’
‘No, and the good news is that this is one of the only hotels I’ve stayed at where the room service menu has sensible things on it, like toast and homemade jam. I’ll give Ambrose a call and see if he wants any company tonight, but I somehow doubt it. It’s been a very big day for him.’
‘Yeah, and you made it all possible.’ Jack hugged me. ‘You just take it easy, okay? Give me a call if you need anything, but otherwise, I’ll see you in the morning. Love you, Mum.’
‘Thanks, Jack, love you too.’
As the door closed behind him, I found myself on the verge of tears again.
Simply because I felt so lucky to have given birth to such a wonderful human being. ‘Now all he needs is the love of a good woman,’ I muttered as I went to start the bath running. But for now at least, I was glad to have him by my side.
Having taken a bath, I called Ambrose, who said that he felt too exhausted to do anything more than have some sandwiches in his room, so I ordered a platter for him, and toast and jam for me. Then I switched the television on and watched a bad Irish soap in an attempt to turn off my brain.
However, it didn’t work, and as I slid under the duvet, I couldn’t shake off what Ally had told me:
Argideen House...
Countless times on my cycle rides to Timoleague and walking home from school, we’d gone past the never-ending stone wall that cut the Big House and its residents off from the rest of us. I’d never seen the house myself; the chimneys were only visible in winter when the trees that shrouded its perimeter had shed their leaves. I knew my brothers had often climbed over the wall, looking for the apples and figs that grew there plentifully in the autumn.
Then I suddenly remembered the letter Ambrose had handed me was still sitting in my bedside drawer, as yet unopened.
Why are you so frightened? He loved you...
Yet, the whole point was that maybe he hadn’t, and I’d spent thirty-seven years picturing a thousand versions of a tragic love story that never was...
‘Just open it, you silly woman!’ I told myself, as I sat up and opened the drawer next to me. Tearing the envelope open, I took a deep breath and read the letter inside.
He had responded in the same guarded way I had written tohim. Except he had included a telephone number.
Please do call me with a suitable date and time for us to meet up.
I stuffed the letter back inside the drawer, lay down and switched off the light.
But sleep wouldn’t come, and why should it? I’d just had contact with the man who had haunted both my dreams and my nightmares for so long.
Then a thought made me giggle out loud. Wouldn’t it be the most ironic thing if I, brought up in a staunch Catholic family, whose life had been under threat because I’d fallen in love with a Protestant boy, had been born into a Protestant house myself?
With that thought, I finally fell asleep.
‘Would you kindly give me a lift up to this old people’s home where James lives?’ Ambrose asked us over breakfast the next morning.
‘Of course we will,’ I said.
‘I must admit, I’ve rather a phobia of such places,’ he said with a shudder. ‘Dear James did say – in confidence, of course – that half the residents are often chatting away to him as if they are still living in the 1950s. At the very least, both of us have our little grey cells still intact, even though our bodies are failing us by the day.’
Jack agreed to run him in to the home, saying he had a couple of errands to do in Clonakilty. So Mary-Kate and I sat finishing our coffee together.
‘Feeling better today?’ I asked her.
‘Yeah. You know I don’t drink much usually, and certainly not whiskey. Oh, by the way, Eoin, one of the cousins I met at the party who played the fiddle the other night, is a musician and songwriter, and gigs around the local pubs. He says I should come down and join him one night at the open mic session they have at a pub called De Barras. He’s just lost his female singer apparently, because she went off travelling.’
