The Ladies' Midnight Swimming Club(8)
‘Niall, look at you, you must be nearly…’ There were tears in her eyes and Lucy knew they’d left it far too long. ‘Six foot? You’ve grown so much.’
‘He’s not quite that yet, but you know the way it is, Mum, he goes to bed at night a little boy and before breakfast it seems he’s grown a few more inches.’
‘He’s twice as handsome with it.’ Her mother reached up to ruffle Niall’s mop of curly hair.
‘Aww, Gran.’ He smoothed it down again, a little embarrassed at anything that might serve as attention on him. Still, Lucy was glad to see he bent down and kissed his grandmother shyly on her cheek.
‘Come in, come in.’ Jo pulled them into the hall, led them into the snug sitting room where a roaring fire blazed in the hearth. ‘Oh, it’s just so lovely to see you both,’ she said again and Lucy couldn’t help assessing her, counting the years on her face. Her mother was veering towards her mid-seventies now. It was not old, but somehow, the years seemed to have crowded in on her all at once. Her normally straight and large frame had begun to droop in on itself, so it looked as if someone had come along and flattened her, just a little more into herself. But her eyes were bright, her smile was warm and if there were more lines on her face, they suited her. Her complexion told of a woman who enjoyed the sea air every day and there was no missing the sense of purpose that came of being interested in her neighbours and friends and lending a hand at any turn she could.
The rain started to sheet down. Half an hour later it seemed to batter all that was holy out of the sky. Lucy realised she had missed this, the feeling that the real world still happened, with rain that was raw and wind that bellowed.
‘That’ll likely be it for the day,’ her mother said softly as she stood looking out the front window towards the pier opposite. They’d had more tea and home-made brown bread, settled in and now Lucy could almost convince herself that she’d never left.
‘It’s no good,’ Lucy said eventually, pulling herself up out of the chair. ‘I can’t sit here for the night; I need to stretch my legs.’ She was too used to walking miles around hospital corridors to settle down just yet. ‘I’ll stroll to the pier for a breath of fresh air; give Dora a chance to have a sniff about too.’ She looked down at Dora then who nuzzled her snout deeply between her front paws. There was no way she was going out in that. ‘Niall, do you fancy getting a bit of fresh air?’
‘Are you joking?’ Niall eyed her from behind a giant wedge of apple pie. ‘No, Mum, I’m good here. I’ll keep an eye on Gran for you,’ he said before swallowing a large mouthful of pie.
‘You’ll get your death of cold out there,’ Jo said gently.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll just go to the wall opposite, breathe in the fresh air. We don’t get much of that in A&E. I’m not going to waste it now we’re here…’ Lucy knew she needed to feel Ballycove wrap itself around her and feel as if she really was home at last. ‘Wuss,’ she murmured at Dora who only dug deeper into the shaggy pile rug before the fireplace. ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes,’ she said then, putting Jo off coming with her. They both knew her asthma didn’t need a shower of rain to start it up again.
Outside, she pulled the door firmly shut behind her. The wind was biting cold and the rain, easing slightly, still felt like prickling stab wounds when it managed to infiltrate any area not covered by the oilskins. She made her way across the empty road, stood at the thick wall for a moment, looking down at the angry water beneath. She picked her way past the boats docked in preparation for the storm. The noise down here was orchestral, the wind and rain fighting against the harsh sea with a backdrop of clanging chains – they combined in an eerie endless symphony. This was what she needed. Why on earth hadn’t she realised it sooner?
She turned reluctantly back towards the cottage as the rain whipped about her, as if scurrying from all sides to toss her off balance. Making her way back across the road once more, she was struck again by her mother’s appearance at the sitting room window. When had she grown so fragile? Her mother had always been a robust woman, but here, with the light on her outline, there was no mistaking that her mother’s presence owed as much to legacy and more to bulky clothing than it did to any real weighty flesh upon her bones.
A strange, terrible recognition occurred to Lucy, only heightening as she passed by the photograph taken of them both a year earlier on the hall table. Her mother was not well. Lucy had seen that look too many times for it to dupe her now. Above all the shock waves that flooded her body, she wondered, a little absently, if her mother realised that she had silently taken a step on a journey that would entail months of treatment – if they were lucky enough to catch it in time.
3
Jo
Jo had never liked Jack Nolan. Not from the very first day Lucy had brought him home to the cottage. Maybe even before that, she had a feeling that he would not be good for her daughter. From the start she knew he couldn’t be trusted. He was far too good-looking for his own good or anyone else’s and he knew it; a womaniser, it was in his bones.
In the beginning, she’d hoped this thing – whatever it was between them – would fizzle out once they had each immersed themselves in the heavy schedules of being house doctors in a busy hospital. Then, Lucy told her that she was pregnant with Niall and that was that. It was too late to say a word against him and Jo simply had to bite her tongue. Of course Lucy knew it was an unspoken shadow in the corner of their relationship for years. Neither of them wanted to open it up and when the marriage broke down, they both knew that Jo had been heartbroken for her daughter. Regardless of what she thought of Jack, she’d never wanted to see Lucy or Niall hurt that badly.