The Boatman's Wife(58)

Fumbling with the key, breathless, she managed to open the front door as quietly as possible. The last thing she wanted was to wake Noreen up and for her to see her drunk.

Inside her bedroom, she curled up on top of the covers, shivering, not even bothering to get undressed. She hugged her sides, trying to make herself as small as possible. She ached for Connor’s touch. No other man felt the same. She felt sick at herself for having kissed Daniel. But what had his warning meant? In particular, his reference to his hostile brother, Sean? What had Connor left behind, and what had she walked into?





Chapter Sixteen





Mullaghmore, 23rd August 1992





The day after the boat trip with Jesse, Niamh’s mam got out of bed. As if the passing of her husband’s anniversary had lifted the weight off her shoulders for another year. While Niamh was making her 5 a.m. cup of tea, feeling even more exhausted than the day before, her mam appeared in the kitchen, dressed in her An Post uniform. Without a word, she took the van keys off the dresser – much to Niamh’s relief. Kissing her daughter on the head, she left the cottage wordlessly, after which Niamh trooped back upstairs with Pixie at her heels. The two of them got onto her bed and Niamh crashed out immediately, Pixie curled up next to her.

That afternoon and the next, Niamh’s mam was still quiet, shut away in the front room, scribbling on pieces of paper. Niamh could hear the typewriter clacking as she made dinner. But by Tuesday, her mam had totally rallied. When Niamh got up at lunchtime, she found her mam standing at the stove, making lentil soup.

‘I haven’t seen the American boy in a while,’ her mam commented, putting a bowl of the spicy soup down in front of Niamh.

‘He’s leaving,’ Niamh told her mam, her voice tight with emotion. ‘In two days.’

‘Ah that’s an awful pity,’ her mam said, giving her a sympathetic look. ‘But why don’t you make the most of it? What are you doing, moping here with me?’

After their boat trip, Niamh had tried to put distance between herself and Jesse. She’d opened up her heart to him, only to discover her feelings were pointless. He was leaving. As soon as they’d hit dry land, she’d broken it off with him. Just as well, she kept telling herself. It would never have worked out. The trip up north had clearly shown that. Yet at night, she couldn’t sleep for thinking of him.

Now her mam was back on form, she wanted to make it up to Niamh, see her daughter happy. ‘Well, Niamh, you may as well make the most of his last two days, don’t you think?’ she said, ladling her own soup into a bowl. ‘Go on down to that boatyard of Joseph O’Reilly’s and say a proper goodbye.’

Niamh blushed. Her mam could be so strange sometimes. Very modern in her ideas, and yet resolute in her fidelity to her dead husband. The two of them were women who felt keenly. Her mam, of all people, knew that. And yet here she was, pushing her daughter out of the door towards heartache.



It was a wet August day, rain bucketing down, dripping off all the dense foliage as Niamh drove down the laneway towards Mullaghmore. She’d no idea what she was going to say to Jesse when she saw him, but her mam had a point. Things hadn’t ended right between them.

Jesse wasn’t in the boatyard. Niamh felt a little stab of panic as she knocked on Joseph’s door. Had he left already? There was no sign of his bike. Jesse still wasn’t coming into Murphy’s and anyway, she’d been off the past two nights.

‘Well hello, Niamh,’ Joseph said as he opened the door. ‘How are you? How’s your mam?’

‘Grand, thanks,’ Niamh said, feeling a little awkward. ‘Is Jesse home?’

‘Ah no, he’s gone to sell his bike,’ Joseph said. ‘I’m about to pick him up. He just rang me. Want to come?’

‘Well, I could go get him myself,’ Niamh suggested, indicating her old Toyota Corolla.

‘I didn’t know you had a car now, Niamh,’ Joseph said.

‘My father’s cousin gave it to me,’ Niamh said. ‘I’ve just got it registered down south.’

‘Well, it would be great so if you could go get him,’ Joseph said. ‘I’ve a lot of work. Especially now the lad is off back home.’

Jesse had found a buyer for his bike in Strandhill, on the other side of Sligo. Joseph told Niamh which pub he was waiting in, giving her a wink as he did so. Mortified, Niamh wondered if Joseph had ever seen her sneaking into Jesse’s attic bedroom – or even worse, heard them.

The drive took Niamh along the coast, the sea obscured by grey clouds and mist as the rain swept in off the Atlantic. She could smell it, though, even from inside the old Toyota. The scent of seaweed, and the dampness of sea grass and wet sand dunes falling all the way down to stony strands. It settled her nerves a little as she kept taking deep breaths in.

She pulled in on the seafront at Strandhill. The car park was deserted. She sat for a moment, looking at the surf crashing upon the shore. One lone surfer in a wetsuit was struggling to ride the waves. Her heart was thumping in her chest. What if Jesse was over her already?

She needn’t have been so anxious. As soon as Jesse looked up from his corner table in the bar and saw her walking towards him, he gave her a huge smile.

‘Hope you don’t mind, I told Joseph I’d come get you,’ she said.