The Boatman's Wife(47)

‘Well, it would take a real long time,’ Lily said. ‘But sure, yeah, I could.’

‘So why are you here?’ Aisling cocked her head on one side. ‘All on your own?’

‘Aisling is all about sailing,’ Noreen talked over her daughter. ‘During the summer she took lessons at the sailing club.’

‘I want my own boat,’ Aisling announced.

‘My family has a boat,’ Lily told Aisling, before realising in fact this wasn’t true anymore.

‘What’s it called?’ Aisling asked. ‘Is it a girl? All boats are supposed to be girls.’

‘My dad named her after me,’ Lily told her, feeling an ache in her heart. ‘Lily May.’

The Lily May, their little fishing vessel, was gone for good. Smashed up into pieces by the fury of the Atlantic Ocean. Buried in the seabed, just like her husband.

‘Oh, I want a boat named after me,’ Aisling enthused.

‘Ah sure, it would most likely be a dirty old rust bucket,’ Saoirse teased her sister.

‘Well, yours would be a manky rowboat with no oars,’ Aisling countered.

Lily looked down at her dinner plate, at the pale pink flesh of her salmon steak, and her stomach turned. Her appetite for fish suddenly vanished. She turned to the tiny new potatoes, spearing one on a fork and popping it into her mouth.

‘Saoirse, I told you not to look at your phone at the dinner table,’ Noreen said to her daughter again.

‘For God’s sake, Mam.’ Saoirse tossed her head in irritation, slamming the phone back down on the table and picking at her food, while giving her mother killer looks from under her eyelashes.

After a dessert of apple pie and fresh cream, Noreen’s daughters cleared the plates and went to wash up, while their mother made a pot of tea. Lily could feel her jeans digging into her waist. Since Connor had died, she’d been sitting around a lot. Comfort eating. Not caring how she looked. She hadn’t been out on a boat since, and the tough nature of their work meant she was usually lean. Noreen’s food had been so good, though. The potatoes sweet and buttery, and the apple pie with cream melting in her mouth.

Noreen invited Lily to share the pot of tea with her while the girls disappeared into their bedrooms.

They had eaten in the conservatory, a small greenhouse-style extension on the side of the lounge, filled with house plants and a big oak table and chairs. She could see nothing outside the windows but black night, but she could hear the distant rise and fall of the sea. The sound was comforting.

‘What brings you all the way to Mullaghmore?’ Noreen asked Lily, pouring her out a cup of tea.

Lily considered spilling her story, but she couldn’t bear to see pity in Noreen’s eyes when she told her what had happened to her.

‘Holiday,’ Lily said, taking a sip of her tea and averting her eyes.

Clearly, it was a lie. Who went on a holiday to the west of Ireland at the beginning of winter, and on their own?

‘How did you hear about Mullaghmore?’ Noreen asked Lily, her face bright with interest.

‘Oh, I just found it, I guess,’ Lily said vaguely.

‘It’s a little off the beaten track,’ Noreen said. ‘Have you been out to Mullaghmore Head?’

Lily shook her head.

‘Oh, it’s quite stunning out there, you must pay it a visit, and Classiebawn Castle, too,’ Noreen said. ‘I could get one of the girls to show you around the village.’

‘Oh, it’s fine, thank you.’ Lily didn’t fancy either the constant chatter of Aisling or the surliness of Saoirse.

‘We get a lot of tourists in the summer, but right now it’s very quiet. I hope you’ll not be bored.’

‘Oh no, I like quiet,’ Lily said.

After the chatter of dinner with the daughters, her conversation with Noreen now felt forced. She tried to hide a yawn, but caught Noreen looking at her.

‘Sure, you must be exhausted.’

‘Yeah, I guess I’m jet lagged,’ Lily said, finishing her tea and standing up.

Back in her room, she turned out the beside lamp, pulled back the curtain and stared out the window. Out there, across the vast Atlantic, was home. But it wasn’t home any more, because Connor was no longer there. She hugged her sides. Being here in Ireland was harder than she’d thought it would be. Everyone had the same accent as Connor, even a sort of look of him about them, around the mouth. The lips slightly parted, the ready smiles. Even the joking between Aisling and Saoirse reminded her of the way Connor had teased her sometimes.

Trailing back to bed, Lily got under the covers without even bothering to clean her teeth. She was tired now, from the journey, from her emotions.

As her eyes dropped, her thoughts returned to the author of the email. She wasn’t going to give up until she found out who had written it, and why.





Chapter Twelve





Mullaghmore, 12th August 1992





Niamh watched from the doorway to the boathouse, hanging on to one of the old faded green double doors as Jesse worked. He was standing on a box and caulking the stern of the wooden boat with his back to her. She could see he put his whole body into what he was doing. Totally immersed and focused. Niamh found herself mesmerised by the muscles straining in his arms as he worked away with the caulking mallet.