I nod. ‘I can’t wait to start exploring tomorrow.’ I take my chance. ‘First stop, The Lake House!’ I tell her, hoping I can resurrect the topic.
‘Oh, that’s a grand plan,’ she says with a smile. She then bows her head as if remembering something. ‘You’ll be sure to enjoy yourself. But it might look a little different as the man who owned it died recently. Everyone knew him; he was a real character, always wearing that silly cowboy hat of his and making everyone laugh. Of course, it’s empty now since he passed; a terrible shame to watch it be left to rack and ruin.’
My heartbeat quickens as my mind races with questions, but I force myself to take a deep breath. To slow down. My curiosity is on overdrive, but Fintan’s warnings echo in my head. One wrong move could unravel everything.
My voice wavers as I finally ask my question, slowly and carefully. ‘What was his name?’
I know what she’s going to say, but I don’t want to leap in and push too far and lose my chance to learn anything else.
‘His name was Michael Kennedy, but everyone here called him Mick.’
‘A character, you say?’ I ask, smiling.
‘Oh, aye. That he was. You’ll be hearing stories about him for years to come, I’m sure. He was a bit of a rogue, but we loved him all the same. Well, most of the time – other times I could have wrung his neck, but it takes all sorts.’
Marianne’s eyes mist over with sadness and she takes a sip of her tea before continuing.
‘He was always one for a bit of fun, Mick was. He loved a good prank, and he was always up for a laugh. But he had a heart of gold, and he would do anything for anybody. He will be missed. Anyway,’ she says, shaking herself out of her reverie, ‘that’senough from me. I’m sure you didn’t come here to listen to me prattle on about the dearly departed.’
‘I don’t mind at all,’ I say truthfully. ‘It’s nice to get to know the locals. He sounds like he knew how to have a good time.’
Marianne lets out a soft, tinkling laugh, and the corners of her mouth lift into a warm smile. Her eyes twinkle with amusement as she says, ‘Oh yes. He sure did, but he always ended up going too far. Just like Red Fox inForest Fables! About this time last year, I went by his house – a beautiful spot on a fine day – to pick some wildflowers and, lo and behold, who should I see but Mick himself, skinny-dipping in the lake! In broad daylight! Buck naked! Not a stitch on him. Let’s just say, the water level wasn’t as high as I’d have liked that day.’
I can’t help but laugh. ‘Really! That must have been quite a sight!’
Marianne nods in agreement and takes another sip of her tea. ‘It certainly was.’ She chuckles softly, shaking her head fondly at the memory of Mick’s antics. ‘As bare as the day he was born – standing up stark naked as happy as Larry, like it was the most natural thing in the world! Not a bother on him. I called out to him – “Mick, you’ve lost your marbles! What will the neighbours think?” But he just laughed, waved and said, “They’re used to it, Marianne! And don’t bother looking for my marbles – I know exactly where they are.” I shook my head at him, though I couldn’t help but laugh. And then he beckoned me over – “Don’t be shy, Marianne,” he said. “There’s just about room for two.” I told him I wasn’t getting in the water with him. His only modesty was his silly cowboy hat and big red beard! He laughed and said, “Suit yourself, Marianne. But remember: To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that’s all!” And then he went back to splashing about in the lake like a big kid. Anyway,’ she says with a sigh, ‘that was Mick – wild and free as only he could be.’ She shakes her head and blesses herself. ‘And Godhave mercy on him, three weeks later he was dead. In the water no less… wanted to test out a boat James O’Connor had helped him build – of course, it sank like a stone…’
‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ I say with a heavy heart, finally understanding what Fintan had been trying to tell me about James and the tragedy. I’m in shock that Mick lost his life due to this ‘awful accident’. Connecting the pieces makes me feel queasy. I hadn’t expected it would be this bad, that such an accident directly caused his untimely death. James was clearly involved somehow, but I don’t want to delve in too deeply. I don’t want to delve at all. I recall how intrusive people were when my mother died; demanding grisly details and gory specifics as if those mattered more than her heart-shattering loss. The weight of the matter is palpable, and the little kitchen feels smaller, suffocating even.
‘Yes, well. He was lucky the whole lifeboat rescue team weren’t drowned along with him,’ Marianne sighs. ‘As for James O’Connor, he should just stick to his own business and leave everything else be – stop bringing trouble and tragedy.’
‘Was James in the boat also when it capsized?’ I ask.
Marianne shakes her head. ‘No, James was probably sleeping off pints of ale! He might have saved Mick if he had been with him!’
‘So he wasn’t even there?’ I ask, bewildered by James’s connection to Mick’s death.
She snorts, her opinion of the situation extremely clear.
‘Make no mistake, James is the one to blame for this catastrophe: a good lawyer should know all about liability, and he was helping Mick build this stupid boat, and then Mick set off with it before it was sea-worthy – and we all know what came after that.’
We sit in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. The atmosphere is fraught with an uncomfortable quietness as I tryto make sense of all this. I sip my tea slowly. It sounds to me like it wasn’t his fault at all, sounds like Mick had taken the boat out on his own, of his own free will. But clearly some people feel James was responsible. Perhaps even James feels responsible. Is that the reason he went to such ends to seek me out in London? Is he trying to atone for something?
‘James was afriend of Ciaran. They were born the same year.And from such a good, respectable family, not to mention James’ poor mother… Bad luck follows him around like a curse.’
Suddenly, Oscar screeches and lashes out, taking a swipe at Marianne’s wrist.
‘Oh, another feisty fella here,’ she says. ‘Two-faced as they come! One moment we’re best friends, the next sworn enemies – you never know what to expect from this one!’
I can’t help but laugh, and the tension in the room dissipates a little.
‘Anyway,’ she continues, ‘what I’m trying to say is that we must live and let live. No one knows what tomorrow will bring so you must take the bull by the horns and make things happen. Do what you can, when you can.’ Marianne’s eyes mist over, and she takes a sip of her tea. ‘He was a good man, the likes of which we’ll not see again.’
For a moment, she seems to recognise something in me, looking on every feature as if she’s trying to remember something. Her eyes peer more closely at me, as if she knows me from another time. But then her expression changes and her eyebrows narrow with confusion. She shakes her head quickly, as if trying to erase that thought from her mind, and I feel a ripple of anxiety trickle through my body.
Am I imagining things or is it possible that Marianne also thought she’d seen Rose Clarke’s ghost? Every fibre of me wants to ask everyone I meet in this town what they know about my mother, who she really was, what they think happened thatmade her leave… but I’ll watch my step. Not everyone wants the past stirred up, a stranger asking questions about years before.
A bright beam of light pierces through the kitchen window, leaving behind a searing white line in the night. The crunching of gravel and the rumbling of an engine follows as a car pulls up.
