‘Was it just you and your dad at home?’ I ask, wanting to understand his story without being too intrusive.
He nods solemnly, biting his lower lip. ‘Yeah, my mum died the day she had me due to sepsis. So, I never knew her. In the hospital, we spent a few hours together until they realised something was seriously wrong. Each year, on my birthday, my dad would tell me that when he woke up on this same day however many years ago, he was a happily married man with a beautiful wife but ended the day as a single father.’
James pauses and takes another sip of his whiskey, his eyes looking miles away. My heart aches for him; my mum had been taken away from me too soon but at least I knew her, remembered her, shared special times with her. But James’ situation is different, losing his mother and then never really knowing his father’s love either, it must be a unique kind of pain. Jonathan’s words cause a swell of anger inside me; how could he talk like that? How could he be so callous? I move closer to him, gently placing a hand on his arm. I can feel his sorrow as if it were my own. He looks at me, and I offer a small smile.
‘By the time I hit fourteen, things weren’t going well at home. So, I decided to leave, and I came down here and just slept rough, basically… And then Mick smoked me out one evening. I thought he’d send me packing, but he didn’t. He understood me, he listened to me, he bollocked me in a way that didn’t make me feel worthless. I started helping him out and then ended up staying with him. We became mates; he said I was the son he never had… nor wanted.’ He laughs and shakes his head.
I can sense how much he looked up to his older friend, for being there for him when no one else was. ‘No wonder Mick was so important to you. Sounds like he was a big support.’
He gives a definitive nod. ‘Mick was the one who put me on the right track, saved me from hanging out in bars and pool halls with a bad crowd. Without him, my life could have gone in a very different direction. He helped mend the relationship between my father and me. And then I grew up a bit and it was my turn to look out for Mick, so when he told me he wanted to build a boat…’ James sighs and pinches his nose between his fingers, squeezing his eyes shut. ‘I couldn’t turn him down: he’d taught me so much about woodworking that I could follow his instructions with ease. He only needed a strong hand and a younger set of eyes for some of the more manual labour. The design, the material selection – all of that was up to him. I wasjust here to do the grunt work and spend time with a great friend.’
His voice trails off and he looks at me, his blue eyes piercing in the lantern light.
‘I thought the silly beggar would wait until we’d finished it… but he didn’t… And one night, when the moon was full and the tide was out, he decided to take it out, a little test run… just to see how it went.’ James pauses and looks out the window, his face solemn. ‘But it didn’t go well. The boat capsized and Mick drowned.’
I reach out to touch his hand but stop, my fingertips half an inch away from his skin, before quickly drawing back and tucking them into my lap. I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for him, reliving those painful memories. He stares out the window, his eyes fixed on some distant point.
His lips are in a hard line and he shakes his head. ‘And I blame myself,’ he murmurs. ‘I should never have let him talk me into helping him in the first place.’ He turns to face me, his expression filled with anguish and guilt. ‘It was a disaster waiting to happen. If I’d talked him out of it or given him a dose of common sense, he’d still be alive. He’d be here this very day – I know it. I know it too well.’
‘It wasn’t your fault!’ I say desperately. ‘You couldn’t have known what would happen.’
‘I should have known,’ he says quietly. ‘I should have stopped him.’
After losing the only person who ever really understood him and now carrying this burden of guilt, it’s no surprise he’s clung to this spot, never wanting to forget Mick’s memory.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper.
‘So am I.’ He nods, a slight smile playing across his face as he begins to recall the adventures they had together, from sneakingout in the middle of the night to go fishing, to swimming in the lake in freezing temperatures.
As he talks, his face lights up and I can see that being here helps him feel just a little bit less alone in the world.
He eventually pauses, looking around as if awaking from a dream. ‘We should probably go now,’ he says softly. ‘Enough hearing about my sob stories.’
As we turn to leave, I glance back and something on the shelf catches my attention. It’s a postcard of Innisfree, encased in a heavy wooden box frame – a perfect copy of the one my mum owned. The one that had pride of place everywhere we moved to, the only item she truly seemed to cling to.
‘One minute.’ I reach up and take it down. ‘Do you know why Mick would have this?’ I ask.
James shrugs. ‘No clue.’
I hold it in my hands and wipe the dust from the glass.
‘Framing a postcard – I mean, that’s the kind of daft thing he’d do,’ James says as he looks at it more closely. ‘It’s Mick’s handiwork though.’ He runs his fingers along its edges in admiration before turning to me with a nod.
‘Would it be okay if I took this with me?’ I ask.
‘No need to ask my permission, Daisy. It’s all yours.’ He opens his arms wide and gazes around. ‘I mean that. It really is all yours.’
CHAPTER 25
THE NEIGHBOUR
We pull into the gravel driveway, and I step out of the jeep, taking in the postcard-perfect scene before me. The house, a lovely mix of rustic charm and old-world elegance, has unquestionably seen better days. But somehow, those imperfections only add to its beauty. The sapphire-blue lake gleams in the distance, surrounded by the lush, green hills of the Irish countryside.
‘So here it is,’ James says.
‘Just look at this place,’ I remark. ‘It’s absolutely breathtaking.’
James nods in agreement, eyes wide as he takes in the lake’s glassy surface, the blue-streaked sky and wisps of white clouds. ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’
