‘Well, they do seem exceptionally happy,’ he said. ‘They are delighted with it all. I’ll just make sure all is well in the hotel.’ Again, that searching look from Bertie, as though he was worried about her.
‘I’ll go and help Dad for a moment,’ said Rosie. ‘And then I’ll be down to the marquee.’
Rosie felt the need to talk to her father, to tell him something of what was in her head. She needed his wise counsel, his calm approach. She just wanted someone to tell her that everything was fine and that she’d made the correct decision to run the hotel all those years ago, that her life was going the way it should go. She followed Teddy to the kitchen garden.
‘Do you want to help me water the tomatoes?’ he asked. ‘That’s the thing about tomatoes, is that you need to mind them. It gives one a sense of purpose to grow tomatoes. They require love and looking after. Just like humans.’
The greenhouse was hot and humid, the air redolent of earth and fresh vegetation, with the slightly dank and comforting aroma of leaves and soil.
Teddy began tying up his tomatoes, which were now taller than the bamboo poles, the red berries pulling the plants down. ‘I need to…’ He snipped at a leaf. ‘And just need to…’ He spritzed some water. ‘And a quick…’ And he poked a tendril around its stick. ‘There. Perfection. Now, what about a cup of tea? Shall we repair to the shed?’ Once there, in the warm, sheddy cocoon, Teddy lit his little Primus stove. ‘You have a seat there on the bench.’ Teddy put the kettle on to boil and then lifted a terracotta pot, where a carton of milk had been hiding. ‘And I have some biscuits somewhere.’ He smiled at her.
But she couldn’t speak for a moment, not quite knowing quite how to tell him how she was feeling or what was going on. She never wanted to worry him, and yet, being in his tomato-fragranced glasshouse, the sound of bees, the heavy air, her father’s slow rhythm, the simple life of weeding and tying, digging and sowing, she felt comforted, as though, at least, his life wasn’t quite so confusing. Teddy was looking at her.
‘Sweetheart, is everything all right?’
Rosie thought about it for a moment. ‘Dad, you don’t think I am trying to keep Mum alive by carrying on the hotel?’
He looked surprised. ‘Of course not.’
She nibbled at a corner of the shortbread. ‘It’s just that… I can’t help feeling that I’ve missed out. That there’s so much I missed out on. I don’t know… a family of my own?’
‘Why are you thinking about this now?’
She shrugged. ‘Don’t know… just am.’ But she knew why. It was the return of Patrick Power which had triggered all this existential doubt. She had been so sure that she was living the right life, and now she was full of uncertainties.
She hoped he might say that there was nothing she had missed out on and she was in the right place and everything was going to be perfect, but he didn’t. Instead, he said, ‘Well, you can start doing all the things you’ve missed out on now. And I know your mother would be very proud of you, but she would also say that you have your own life to live.’
But it wasn’t that easy, was it? She couldn’t leave the hotel, not after putting in all that work, not after insisting that she wanted to run it. Sometimes happiness lay a mountain range away and you couldn’t ever imagine how you were going to get there.
But Teddy was smiling at her, his eyes full of concern. ‘Only you know what you want,’ he said. ‘Only you know what’s in your heart. Just take time to listen to it, and then follow it.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small cherry tomato. ‘Sometimes you need to give yourself as much tender care as this little tomato. You need to mind yourself. And don’t worry about the next generation. They’ll decide for themselves. All you need to worry about is what’s right for you.’ He held out the tomato and she popped it in her mouth, it tasted like a sweet drop of sun.
34
PATRICK
Patrick was about to change for the evening when there was a knock on his bedroom door. It was Sandra, her small suitcase at her feet, her handbag strapped across her body.
‘Sorry to disturb you,’ she said. She looked hot and bothered, a slight sheen of sweat on her forehead, her white blouse crumpled, her hair flat as though it had given up any pretence of life.
‘That’s all right.’ He spoke gently to her, this woman he’d once blamed for why his mother became so ill and who he thought had destroyed their family life. But over the years, while he’d been away, a reckoning had taken place. It wasn’t her, she wasn’t remotely to blame, she’d been caught up in it all, like him and Seán, and like his mother. They were all managing an impossible situation, as well as an unstable, volatile man. Seeing her now, all he felt was compassion.
She gave a small smile. ‘I’m leaving,’ she said. ‘I’m going back to Cork now. And I’ve told your father that he is no longer welcome in my house.’
‘Would you like to come in for a moment?’
She nodded and Patrick stood to one side as she walked inside. She seemed resigned, a look on her face that people have when they have reached rock bottom and are yet to gather themselves.
‘How are you?’ he asked, gently. ‘Dad behaved appallingly. As always. He was always a drinker. He used to give Mam hell. And us too. I thought he’d knocked it on the head.’
‘No, he hasn’t.’ Sandra spoke quietly.
‘Would you like to sit down?’ He handed her a glass of water, which she took with a slightly trembling hand, and perched on the edge of the window seat.
‘I’m sorry.’ Sandra nodded. ‘That’s all I can say. I am sorry for any hurt I caused you, your brother and your mother.’
He nodded. ‘It’s okay. And I’m sorry too. But it’s not your fault. It was him.’
‘I believed him when he said he needed me. I was foolish. I see that now.’
