James nods and excuses himself, and I wave him goodnight.
I should be dancing for joy. I should be jumping up and down with excitement. I should be heading out to The Tap House to celebrate. Yet I feel stuck to this spot; my feet remain firmly on the ground. We’d all worked so hard on this project – repainting the walls, sanding the floors, fixing every broken window – and in the end, we gave a brand-new life to The Lake House.
But here’s the thing. And there’s always a thing…
Soon, it’ll mean giving all this away, handing it over, letting go and saying goodbye.
Soon, someone else will get to live their happily-ever-after here.
My heart sinks as I realise what this means. All of this, this quest for answers and sense of purpose, will have to come to an end. I’ll have to let go of this search for my past and the people who played a role in it. I’ll have to say goodbye to this newfound family, and leave behind their stories and memories.It’s a bittersweet realisation, one that leaves a hollow feeling in my chest.
But this is what I need to happen. This quest for answers and purpose has been my everything for so long. Too long. Maybe the closure of this chapter will allow me to move on to the next, to create my own story back in London with Ash and all the exciting plans we’ve made. There’s definitely lots to be excited about.
Definitely.
I take a long look around The Lake House, trying to commit every detail to memory, and I know that I’ll cherish this place, this time for years to come.
And who knows, maybe someday I’ll find my way back here; maybe someday I’ll have the chance to make new memories.
Maybe.
CHAPTER 30
THE TICKING CLOCK
The crisp evening breeze brushes against my cheeks as I unlatch the newly painted gate leading to The Lake House. I step onto the now lovingly tended gravel path and the scene before me is straight out of a folk ballad: a beautiful rural lakeside Irish house, standing as proudly as it did decades, even centuries,ago. Just four weeks ago, this place was ready to be torn down – but look at it now, restored to its full potential. I can’t believe the transformation that’s taken place in such a short amount of time – it proves that miracles can happen when good people work together. I’ll be sure to pass that on to Lenka.
Almost a month has passed since first arriving in Innisfree. It feels like only yesterday and a lifetime ago all at once. The last phase has been reached; I’ve gone to and from Jonathan’s office all week in order to wrap up the paperwork. All the administrative processes have now kicked into gear. It’s upped the ante in terms of final clearance and getting things moving with The Lake House.For the rest of this week, I’m tasked with clearing out the remaining contents and scrubbing away years of dust and grime. Finn and Liam are always willing to lend a hand, no task too difficult or menial. They never complain nor whine;in fact they seem happiest when the workload is heaviest, loving to paddleboard in the evening on the lake after a full day’s graft.
As The Lake House nears completion, I’ve grown ever more desperate for answers about my mother’s past over these last few weeks – a woman with a secret so great she spent most of her life hiding it. Since seeing that photo of Mick and my mum so in love, I know he’s somehow tangled in this mystery; I can feel it in my bones alongside the fact he left her this estate. Surely that speaks of their enduring bond, especially after so many years apart?
I need to find out before I leave Innisfree, and I believe Moya Collins holds the key to unlocking my mother’s cryptic life.
I haven’t seen her since my first day at the house when James called out to her in the distance and I went to see her in her caravan and she wouldn’t answer the door. Let alone speak to me. James suggested she could be afraid I was going to evict her. I realise he might be right – maybe she thinks I’m here to take away her home. Tears sting my eyes as I remember how it felt to be kicked out, moved on, pushed away – I wouldneverdo that to someone else. I know only too well the fear and uncertainty that comes with losing your home, your sense of security, in an instant. Somehow, I need to make it clear to her that’s not why I’m here. She needs to understand there’s nothing for her to fear. So I’m going to try again.
With determination lighting the fire in my soul, I walk through the brisk Irish mist towards Moya’s caravan. Its weathered exterior carries the burden of a thousand storms, with paint peeling in places like old secrets refusing to stay hidden. I rap my knuckles on the door, but silence meets my ears. My second knock yields a louder echo, but still nothing stirs inside.
I stand in the fading light on a patch of grass, the dew beneath my feet creating a damp, cool sensation. I reach out andplace my palm against the slightly damp wood, feeling the faint warmth radiating from within. My voice cracks as I earnestly plead, ‘Moya, if you can hear me, I understand why you’re scared. But please know that this land is your home now and for as long as you want it. James has already agreed to put a clause in the paperwork that ensures it stays that way, even if the estate is sold. Please let me talk to you before I go back to London.’
The clock is ticking on my time here. Will she ever let me in?
The stillness of the night is suddenly pierced by an owl’s call from somewhere nearby, its hoot reverberating through the chill air. I wait a moment and then realise that she isn’t going to open up. I start walking back to the house, turning around in the hope that she might change her mind.
As if slowly waking from a long slumber, the curtain near the window twitches, revealing Moya watching me as I walk away.
CHAPTER 31
THE SICKNESS
‘You still don’t look too good.’
I sit on the edge of Kayla’s bed, and she peers at me with a sour expression before sticking out her tongue. ‘I feel better-ish. My nose won’t stop running, my body aches, and I have this terrible headache. I feel like I want to puke, but I don’t… it feels worst in the morning; maybe it’s before the painkillers kick in, like I’ve been run over by a bus. Repeatedly run over.’
I think my beautiful friend may have been right all along – perhapsshe is allergic to housework. Or, more likely, has succumbed to the long hours we’ve all been putting in.
When I returned to the guest house at lunchtime to check in on her, she was fast asleep and snoring her head off, so I thought it best to leave her be.
‘How was today?’ I ask. ‘Anything I can get you? It’s nearly dinner time. You’ve slept most of the day.’
