I take it all in, my head spinning with questions. ‘So why was it just my mum and Moya here? Where was the rest of Mum’s family?’ I ask softly.
Dom takes a deep breath before answering. ‘Your mother was running away from something, or someone – we’re not sure what exactly – but she found refuge here until she was ready to move on.’ He nods towards James. ‘Your father helped out – Mick explained the situation, and he gave up some of his time to help with reading and writing letters, filling out forms and the like.’
I guess that’s how Jonathan tried to give back, to atone, to make things right again. It sounds like it may have worked.
‘Things aren’t always easy for travellers,’ Dom continues sombrely, ‘they face discrimination from locals because they’re different – prejudice is alive and well in small towns like this.’ He pauses again, looking down at the ground before continuing more quietly. ‘And there will always be those who take advantage of the vulnerable – which is why we need to protect them.’ He gives me a knowing look before turning away and nudging James with his elbow. ‘By my life, spitting image!’
A smile twitches on my lips. I’m coming to love being recognised as my mother’s daughter – somehow it feels like she’s still here in some way, still connected.
We chat easily as James explains to Dom that we’ll be working on the house over the next few weeks so that should put a stop to anyone thinking it’s vacant and attracting unwelcome visitors.
‘Glad to hear it – and I’m here to lend a hand with whatever you need. I might not be as fast up and down a ladder as times gone by, but I do know a thing or two about fixing up old houses; I’ve done my fair share of patching things up over the years.’Dom pats me on the arm and says, ‘You’re part of this now, Daisy, part of something bigger.’ He lets out a deep chuckle and rubs his chin. His toothless grin widens as he says, ‘The apple never falls too far from the tree.’ His hand, calloused from years of hard work, grasps mine. ‘You look just like Mick. In fact, I’d say you’re even prettier.’ He laughs out loud and smacks his thigh.
Did he say Mick? I furrow my brow; he must have muddled his words. He must have meant Mum. Not wanting to embarrass Dom by pointing out his mistake, I glance over at James, hoping for some kind of validation that nothing is amiss.
But James just gives me a small smile and scuffs his shoe against the ground before saying simply, ‘I agree. That very thought had crossed my mind.’
We watch Dom disappear from our sight, and my mind is filled with questions. Before I can ask them, James takes off in front of me, at pace. I quickly try to catch up with him, so I can get to the bottom of what Dom said.
‘What was the meaning of that?’ I cry out into the wind, but my words fall on deaf ears.
He doesn’t answer, and his steps pick up speed as he marches away from me.
‘James!’ I yell after him. ‘Is he saying my mum is a traveller and Mick is my father? Is that it?’
He stops and turns to face me, his hands raised in surrender. ‘I don’t know!’ he says slowly, scrutinising me for any signs of emotion before continuing. ‘You may never know.’
My body stiffens, and I clench my teeth together to keep any other words from coming out. He’s right, of course. I may never get to the truth, and it isn’t James’ responsibility to tell me about my history. It’s not fair to expect anything from anyone here.
We walk in silence, surrounded by unspoken questions. I’d been hoping for something more concrete, but deep downinside, I knew there was more to this story, that somehow I’m just scratching the surface. But I can’t rely on others to piece it all together for me. To find out the rest of it, I have to do the work myself.
James touches my shoulder lightly and speaks in a reassuring tone. ‘Daisy, I can’t give you all the answers you want, but I can bring you to The Lake House, if you’re ready?’ he offers.
I look up at him, my heart beating fast with anticipation. I slowly nod and meet his gaze, feeling a tingle run down my spine as his eyes hold mine.
‘Yes,’ I whisper. ‘I’m ready.’
He smiles gently and removes his hand from my shoulder. ‘Then let’s go.’
CHAPTER 26
THE LAKE HOUSE
‘Welcome to The Lake House,’ James says softly as we approach the house.
I can’t help but marvel at how much bigger it is than I’d imagined. It stands three stories tall, with white walls and old-style roofing. A large terrace overlooks an expansive garden with overgrown bushes and trees, patches of grass and mossy stones on cobbled pathways throughout. To the left is a stable attached to an abandoned barn, and off to the right are several more outbuildings. The whole place is far from perfect – there’s some peeling paint here, a broken window there – but it has a certain charm that feels inviting and comforting all the same.
‘It’s been home to the Kennedy family for generations.’ He holds the door open for me, gesturing inside with his arm.
I step into a well-lit room full of antiques: wooden furniture that looks like it’s seen better days; yellowed paperbacks crowding shelves; milk jugs set out like decorations on ornate tables; faded tapestries hanging from walls; and even an old gramophone tucked away in a corner. It’s like stepping into another world entirely – one that speaks to me in ways I never knew existed before this moment.
James guides me through the living room, past a staircase to the second floor, and towards a hallway leading to other rooms in the house. We stand before the tall double doors, feeling a mixture of trepidation and curiosity. The doors are thrown open to reveal a spacious dining room, but it’s far from spotless. Bottles, cans and cigarette butts litter the filthy space like they were haphazardly strewn about. This must be where the ‘parties’ took place. I feel sick looking around this scene of debauchery, realizing that all of the warnings may have been true. He guides me downstairs into what was once a wine cellar but now seems devoted entirely to books – so many books they are spilling into every space available – and leads me around them to the French doors at the end of the room that open to the outside porch with its view of the sheer blue lake that spreads out in front of us. This is more than just a pretty view; it’s a world unto itself, one that stuns me with its natural beauty.
I recall the postcard my mum cherished: this view of the mountains, lake and sun. The same postcard from The Boatshed, held fast in a frame by Mick. I hold it up now next to the sky, trying to match the perspective as closely as possible. It’s an astonishing coincidence that all three of us have this image in common – my mum having it as a memento, Mick framing it and now me standing at this exact spot. I’m overwhelmed by this strange connection between us. Even though I may never understand why we’re bound together, just being aware of it is enough to give me some peace. I can feel something growing inside me, something that I’m not easily able to explain away.
I join James down by the hand-made wooden pier. The air is filled with the scent of damp earth, overgrown gardens and the faint perfume of wildflowers, carried by the gentle breeze that whispers through the tall, swaying grass. I take a deep breath, letting the peace of the place envelop me.
James, seemingly attuned to my thoughts, remarks with a half-smile, ‘This place is special, that’s for sure, and it’s in a perfect spot by the lake. But it’s been neglected for a while, and it doesn’t deserve that. We can have her shining again.’
