Page 21 of Beneath the Quiet

“Besides,” she sniffles, “since his accident, I need all the help I can get. I thought that you’d understand.”

Life can be so unfair. Just a few months before Jack was about to retire from his job as a site engineer, there was an accident, and he fell from the scaffold he was on. The fall was so serious that he’s lost the ability to walk, leaving him confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I do,” I reply thickly. “I wish I could help you, but...”

“I know, love, but you need to look after yourself first. We need you to get back to your old self again before you return to Dublin.”

“I’m…” The words get stuck in my throat, because what can I tell her? That I don’t know if I’ll stay or go back because I don’t know if that’s what I want anymore? That I don’t know if I’ll ever get back to who I was before?

That I don’t know if I want to?

“Are you still there?”

I tighten my hand on the phone. “Yes.”

“Jack needs me, so I have to go, but I’m glad you phoned. It means a lot to me.”

“So am I.”

“It’d be nice if you’d text me from time to time, let me know how you’re getting on.”

I know a gentle hint when I hear one. “I’ll try to do that. Please tell Jack I said hi, and that I miss him, too.”

“I will. Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

The line goes dead, and as my arm falls, so do my tears.

Chapter Seven

Maeve

Inever used to be a morning person – too many late nights and working all hours of the day and night does a number on you – but in the past two weeks, I’ve woken up well before my alarm’s gone off, ready to face the day.

Today’s no different.

I blink slowly and stretch my arms over my head. I slide further down the bed and turn my head towards the floor-to-ceiling windows to the east, admiring the sunrise for a bit, blinking rapidly to clear away the sleep in my eyes. Whoever built the cottage was a smart man, making sure that you wake up with a view of fields as well as the ocean farther away. Mist and the grey-bluish colours make for the kind of beautiful scene that can’t be captured, but that doesn’t stop me from reaching for my mobile lying next to me and taking one. Even if it’s unable to show the sheer beauty of the landscape surrounding me, it gives me a thrilling, childlike excitement to know that I caught it at the best time of day. The wee hours of the morning, when the darkness of the night slowly fades away, and the shadows give way to the light that chases away nightmares, melancholy, and your sorrows. Perhaps it’s a cliché, but a new day always signifies a chance to start fresh. Whatever happened yesterday is now in the past, and you’re given the chance to seize the new day with a different perspective. And if you’re lucky enough to have more good days than bad ones? That just gives you an even better start.

I might not have had many of the latter, but Aidan’s words from yesterday made me think long and hard about what I want to achieve by coming to Cloonmara. I’m not done thinking, but maybe it’s time to try harder to relax. To let the days pass without having a plan in mind all the time.

I glance down at my mobile when my alarm sounds and switch it off.

I yawn and kick off the covers, my feet getting tangled up in my flimsy, white nightgown, and then lean up on my elbows. My eyes linger on the last of the sunrise, my time of self-indulgence coming to an end for today.

Before I get too philosophical, I need coffee, and even though I probably shouldn’t, one of Roísin’s cinnamon buns.

Once I’m up, I groan and pull up the last half of the nightgown to examine the spot where the dull ache stems from, but when I catch sight of the black and bluish print on my right butt cheek, I can’t help but chuckle at the whole bull-chasing debacle. Well, I didn’t exactly chase Harry, but from the look of the massive bruise and the now-healed cuts on my hands, I did get some battle scars. I’m not in the mood to think more about Murdoch and his pet bull, so I push the thoughts of him away. I pad across the floor and can’t help rubbing my feet on the plush carpet as I head into the ensuite bathroom. I sigh in pleasure at the sight of the luxury I’m faced with each time I enter the room, because never have I ever stayed at a house with such understated elegance and homeyness at the same time.

Eliza and her professor husband, Hugo, have the best taste.

I glance with longing at the huge bathtub cut into the floor that holds the same view as my bedroom. It really is outstanding. There’s no other word for it. I’ve been looking at it with hearts in my eyes for the past six weeks, yearning to treat myself to the experience of taking a bath in it, only I haven’t felt I’ve had the time or the right mindset to indulge.

But that kind of thinking ends today.

“Soon,” I murmur softly, vowing to treat myself to a decadent bath this weekend when I won’t be on duty for the first time since coming here.

Satisfied with my decision, I pull the nightgown off, hang it on the wooden peg behind the door, and walk to the farthest end of the bathroom where glass panes separate the shower big enough for two from the rest of the bathroom. It even has two shower heads. Each day is a little bit of a luxury for me, and I doubt I’ll ever tire of it, even if the glass is a bit of a pain to wipe down. For the millionth time since arriving at Rose Hill, I wonder why Eliza and Hugo so rarely come here. If it belonged to me, I’d spend every holiday and long weekend here.