‘Which was?’
‘Leaving here, making a fresh start, so you weren’t born under a cloud of judgement.’
‘Why didn’t she ever come back?’ I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
Moya looks at me for a long time before answering, as if she’s trying to decide whether to tell me something. Finally, she speaks. ‘It wasn’t easy for her. She loved Mick with all her heart, but she didn’t want to drag him away from here, from the place he loved, the only home he’d ever known. Of course, she was trying to do the best for everyone: you, Mick and herself. And it turned out well enough – you grew up loved and educated and healthy. That’s all she wanted. Isn’t that enough?’
I consider her question and then turn it back to her. ‘Do you think she made the right decision?’ I ask after a long moment.
‘Yes, I think she did. Mick never understood; it nearly killed him. He loved her very much. But he’d never have stood in her way; it wasn’t his place to tell her what to do or how to live. He wanted what was best for her, even if that meant running from here, from him and all she loved. It was best she never told him she was pregnant – it would have broken his heart twice over.’
I nod, understanding a little more. ‘What did you mean that I would have been “born under a cloud of judgement”?’
‘Well, they weren’t married and they were from two different worlds. She came to me in the middle of the night. She was terrified. I gave her the money for the bus fare to Dublin and promised to protect her from any questions.’
‘And Mick?’ I ask, my throat tightening.
‘I sealed my lips… until this very day. It was hard to hide the truth from him; he was desperate to find her, but I’d made an oath,’ Moya says quietly. ‘He took it very hard. He was told she was spotted in a London pub, and he went over to see for himself, but she wasn’t there. Nowhere to be found. After she left, he was never the same. Never went with another – and he had plenty of admirers…’
I sit in silence for a long time, digesting everything Moya has told me. My head is buzzing.
‘Try not to judge her too harshly. Try not to judge any of us too harshly. We all should have done things differently when it still could have meant something… God forgive us.’
Understanding what Mum, Mick and Moya went through makes my heart ache – my mother had desperately wanted to keep me and Mick safe, while Mick just as desperately wanted to reunite with her. And all the while, poor Moya found herself caught in the middle, a loyal friend until the very end. If Kayla asked something similar from me, I’d do it without a second thought.
I look outside and watch as the dark clouds grow thicker, and despite Mick and my mother’s story being a tragic Irish ballad, destined for tears and heartache, I feel a sense of peace wash over me. They were in love. And there’s happiness in knowing that my mother had known love. That I’d come from a place of love.
My entire life, I’ve wondered where I truly belonged, and the knowledge that The Lake House is my family’s home makes me swell with pride. While it breaks my heart that Mum never returned, I understand that some stories never get a proper ending. But in this moment, sitting in her caravan and surrounded by my family’s history, I feel a sense of closure.
‘When are you going back to London?’ Moya asks.
‘End of this week.’
‘That’s soon. You’re not staying for the auction?’
I shake my head. ‘I’ve got a lot on, and it’s best if I stop avoiding reality and just get back to normal.’
‘Is that right?’ she asks, her voice gentle.
‘Yes… I mean, I’ve got a whole life in London – boyfriend, job, flat. It’s where I grew up, me and Mum. All our memories are there.’ I shake my head, then look into Moya’s clear dark eyes once more and sigh. ‘I’m not sure what I want anymore, to be honest. Except that I don’t want to make the wrong decision and end up regretting it.’
‘Only one thing for it.’ She reaches under the table and pulls out a small wooden box. Inside, there’s a tarot card deck, cloaked in dark-red velvet. ‘Shall we?’ she asks with a knowing smile.
I look at her, not sure what to say. I’ve never had my cards read before.
She takes my silence as a yes and begins to shuffle the deck expertly. ‘Pick three cards,’ she instructs me.
I do as she says, feeling slightly ridiculous. If Ash or Lenka could see me now, sat in a traveller’s caravan, sheltering from a storm on the West Coast of Nowhere, trying to decide what to do with my life via the tarot, they’d never let me live it down.
Moya deals out the three cards I’ve selected in a line. She studies them for a moment before looking up at me. ‘The Tower.’
The card shows a castle being struck by lightning. A man and woman are falling from the parapets.
‘It’s not good, is it?’ I ask, feeling slightly apprehensive.
‘It’s not always what it seems,’ she replies. ‘Much like everything. The Tower can represent a time of change, upheaval. This is your past. It suggests that you’ve been through some kind of upheaval in your life, something that’s shaken you to your core.’
I think back to my mother’s death and then my stint in foster care. So far, spot on.
