Page 8 of Coming Home to Inishbeg Cove

Chapter 6

Penny

I saw every hour change on the alarm clock that sat on the table beside my bed. I had lain awake all night, my mind racing with worries as the light creeping around the edge of the blind changed from deep navy, to pinky-orange, until finally it was a bright morning white. I felt a kick in my abdomen, then another jolt in my neck, and realised it was thanks to the deadly combination of Lucy’s heel and elbow. My three-year old had prodded me and kicked me all night long, leaving me clinging to the edge of the double bed we shared. She was lying horizontally now, her sweet face relaxed, lost in the land of nod. I loved watching her sleep, her small chest rising and falling reassuringly. Her mouth was half-open. How I wished that I could sleep the innocent sleep of a child.

I looked around my childhood bedroom. Yellowed Sellotape still clung to the walls from my teenage days, when I’d ripped posters of my teenage crushes out of magazines and quickly stuck them up, before pulling them down again in favour of someone new in the following week’s edition. I could smell fried bacon. My stomach growled, and I realised I hadn’t eaten since breakfast the day before. Gently, I woke Lucy, scooping her up into my arms. She was still in that enchanting half-awake, half-asleep state, burying her warm face into my neck while I carried her down to the kitchen.

‘Smells delicious, Mam,’ I said, coming into the kitchen.

‘Penny!’ Dad stood up and gave me a hug. ‘It’s great to have ye home.’

I had been in bed before they had come home the night before.

‘Sit down there, love.’ Mam pulled out a chair for me. Lucy stayed on my knee, still cuddly and sleepy while Mam served up breakfast.

‘How was the wedding?’ I cut into the rasher, almost salivating. Nobody cooked a breakfast as good as Mam did.

‘Ah, it was lovely – it would make you feel good about the world looking at the picture of happiness that Sarah and Greg are. They were made for each other.’

‘Here, I’ll hold her while you eat,’ Dad said, putting his hands out to take Lucy. ‘Come up here to Grandad, a leanbh.’

Dad cut up some bacon into small pieces and, even though Lucy was well able to feed herself, he speared them with a fork and fed them to her.

‘So, how’s Joe?’ he continued. I knew he’d guessed that something was wrong and was subtly trying to bring up the subject.

‘He’s good, really busy at the moment,’ I said, cutting into a sausage. ‘He has an exhibition later in the year so he’s flat out, getting ready for that.’

Mam pursed her lips in disapproval. ‘I thought you said he was working on a commission?’

‘He has that too—’

‘So how long will you be staying?’ Dad asked.

I twirled my fork between my fingers. ‘A week, I think.’

‘Well, take as long as ye need. This will always be your home.’

I felt a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. It was as if they could see through my charade and knew that this wasn’t an ordinary visit home. ‘Thanks, Dad. I think I might take Lucy down to the beach after breakfast, but I didn’t bring her swimsuit,’ I said, changing the subject.

‘You came all the way down to visit and forgot her swimsuit?’

I knew Mam was suspicious, but a swimsuit had been the last thing on my mind when I had been packing our bags.

‘Sure, a pair of shorts and a T-shirt will do her grand,’ Dad said.

∞∞∞

After breakfast I set off with Lucy on the short stroll to the cove. As we walked down the main street, I saw that little had changed since my last visit. But things never did in Inishbeg Cove. O’Herlihy’s had plastic footballs and bucket-and-spade sets hanging outside the window, trying to make the most of the summer season. I decided to go in and buy a set for Lucy.

‘Well, if it isn’t yourself!’ Mrs O’Herlihy beamed as I entered the shop. ‘I saw your mam and dad at the wedding last night and they told me you were home to visit all right.’

I wondered if my visit home had been the topic of the night, or maybe I was being paranoid.

‘Little Lucy is getting big,’ she went on.

‘She is, Mrs O’Herlihy.’ I knew I would have this same conversation approximately fifty times before the weekend was out. It was always the same whenever I came home. One of the things I had loved when I moved to Dublin was not having to make small talk with everyone I met.

I paid her and continued on through the village. I passed Sarah’s post office, although it was closed for the weekend. Someone had touchingly hung the same bunting used to decorate the village hall over the doorway.