A Keeper(30)
Elliot had called her twice but with nothing new to report. Further messages had been left for Zach and now it seemed there was nothing to do but wait. As if reading her mind, her ex-husband patiently explained that the cops couldn’t help because Zach was no longer considered a minor, and hadn’t been gone for long enough to be classified as a missing person. Again she suggested that she come and join him but once more he convinced her that there was nothing to be gained. She should get on with what she was supposed to be doing. Having a task would take her mind off things. The problem was that she no longer had any interest in the original reason for her visit. Even without the rats she had no desire to go back up to Convent Hill. In the brief amount of time she had spent there, she had already realised that there was nothing she needed in those abandoned rooms, no souvenirs of a long-ago childhood that she wanted to take back to New York. What filled her mind apart from her son was the opportunity to learn more about her father and her own origins. Her mother had done such a good job of suppressing her past that Elizabeth felt like an archaeologist finding a chink of light in the tomb or the glimpse of gold beneath the layers of soil. Everything in Convent Hill was familiar to her, but now she had a taste of the unknown.
Perhaps it was the dazzling low winter sun making the world seem simpler, or maybe it was just hearing the droning duet of Gillian and Noelle as they moved around the flat, but she found herself considering a trip. Lying fully dressed on her bed Elizabeth fondled the large key she had been given the day before. A greasy knot of string attached a crumpled brown label to it. The words ‘Castle House’ could just be made out in ancient biro. The thought of packing her car, planning her route, seeing where she had started her life, all seemed far more appealing than sitting in Buncarragh waiting for rats to die. An adventure would distract her and, in a way, deciding what to do with this new addition to her property portfolio was more pressing than clearing out her mother’s hoard of unwanted treasure. She couldn’t just ignore an entire house that belonged to her and surely, Elizabeth told herself, she should at least see it before instructing some County Cork estate agent to try and offload it for her.
Extricating herself from her relatives was not a simple job. Elizabeth felt she was caught in a dense, sticky web of objections. This was not the time of year to be exploring the wilds of West Cork looking for her roots. Where would she stay? No B&Bs would be open this early in the year. What if there was a bad frost, or even, God forbid, snow? They didn’t grit the roads down the country. How would she ever find the place? Fancy phones and apps wouldn’t help her down there. Why was she going? What did she hope to find? The last question she left unanswered for she had no desire to tell these people any more about her life than she needed to. She made no mention of the will or her unexpected acquisition of Castle House. In order to negotiate her release from Buncarragh, she reluctantly agreed to give them her mobile number, hoping that, given it was an American cell phone, the fear of expense would prevent them from ever using it.
Eventually she was behind the steering wheel. On the seat next to her was an unfolded map of Ireland provided by her uncle, which had the roads she was looking for highlighted in red marker pen – Noelle’s handiwork. Elizabeth waved at the Keane family lining the road outside the shop as if in a bad amateur production of The Sound of Music, and set off, letting out a long sigh of relief. She had only gone a few hundred yards past the bridge when she saw a familiar figure on the footpath. Rosemary was coming down the road with a red string bag of groceries. Her aubergine hair was being buffeted by the breeze and she was wearing a tartan overcoat that appeared to be for a much larger woman. She looked like an elderly children’s entertainer. Without really deciding to, Elizabeth pulled over.
‘Rosemary!’ she called through her open window. The older woman put her hand up to protect her eyes from the glare of the low sun.
‘It’s me. Elizabeth. Patricia’s girl.’
‘Of course it is. Sorry. I could hardly see you there.’
‘I’m heading down to Castle House.’
Rosemary looked blank.
‘The Foley place, where you went to find Mammy.’
‘Well, good luck to you. All I remember is that it was a hell of a drive. It’ll be a lot better these days, mind you. All those new roads and you won’t be worried about the engine falling out of your car.’ She laughed. ‘What brings you down there?’
‘I just thought it might nice to see it once. My birthplace and all that.’
Rosemary wrinkled her face, seeming concerned. ‘I see. But tell me, what do you think you are going to find?’
Elizabeth was slightly taken aback. ‘Well, I don’t really know. I just want to see it, I suppose.’
Rosemary nodded. ‘Well, don’t get your hopes up. I’ve always found there are far fewer answers than there are questions.’ She smiled and then slapped the side of the car with her free hand as if urging a recalcitrant horse on its way. ‘Drive safe!’
The roads might have improved but the traffic hadn’t. It was mid-afternoon and the light was beginning to fade as Elizabeth approached Cork. It was going to be dark soon and she didn’t feel confident about finding Muirinish at night. Even if she did, where would she spend the night? She decided to follow the signs to Cork Airport, reasoning that there must be a hotel there and it would avoid her getting embroiled in the city traffic.