‘It’s beautiful,’ she said and she meant it. The whole landscape that stretched before her looked like something she might have seen in a gallery in Dublin on a school trip.
‘It’s home,’ Edward replied matter-of-factly.
As the lane came down to the shore and towards the house Patricia could hear the waves and the rushing of the wind. She felt strangely invigorated, as if maybe she had made the right decision. The whole trip wasn’t the worst idea she had ever had.
Edward brought the car to a stop just before the house. Patricia could see that the lane continued on to a farmyard where a line of outbuildings joined up with the old castle and the back of the house to form a U shape. A sheepdog roused himself by the door to one of the outbuildings. His tail wagged but he didn’t approach them. When Patricia tried to open her door, it was yanked from her hand by the wind. Edward hurried around the car to help her out.
‘Are you OK?’ His voice was raised against the gritty din of the surf and storm.
‘Yes,’ she called back and stood up, the wind catching her hair and coat, tossing them without mercy. Edward was holding her case. ‘Let’s get you in.’ He led her through a small gate painted the same shade of Virgin Mary blue as the windows of the house. A narrow gravel path led them up the side and around to the front, where a neat grey-haired woman was waiting at the door for them. Her dark eyes quickly surveyed the new arrival and for a moment Patricia felt like a rabbit that had just been spotted by a fox. Her hostess bared her teeth into a smile and then waved Edward forward with one bony hand while the other held her lemon cardigan closed against the weather.
The door shut behind them, and it was as if heavy machinery had stopped. The silence was abrupt. Patricia tried to smooth down her hair and readjust her coat simultaneously.
‘You are very, very welcome. You must be Patricia. I’m Edward’s mother. Please call me Catherine.’
Patricia noticed a look flicker across Edward’s face. She guessed that not many people got to call Mrs Foley by her Christian name. The women shook hands and the lady of the house led them down the dark hall and to the left into a living room that seemed too small for the house.
‘I’ve just lit the fire. I wasn’t expecting you for a while. You made great time.’
Edward stood in the doorway holding the case and still wearing his coat. He looked as much of a visitor as Patricia did.
‘There was very little on the road.’
‘You weren’t speeding, I hope. Was he speeding?’
Patricia opened her mouth to reassure her that he hadn’t but it turned out the question was rhetorical. ‘Sit down there,’ Mrs Foley continued, patting the back of the small over-stuffed sofa. ‘Will you take the poor girl’s coat, Teddy? I have the kettle on.’ The last few words were called over her shoulder as she left the room.
Edward and Patricia stood and looked at each other. He reached out his hand and Patricia unbuttoned her coat and gave it to him.
‘Teddy?’
‘My mother calls me that.’ He paused and something unsaid passed between them. The sense that they were on one team and Mrs Foley was on another. ‘You can call me Teddy if you want,’ he offered.
‘I think I prefer Edward.’
He held up her coat and case to indicate he was going to deal with them. ‘Sit, so.’
‘Thanks.’
Alone, she looked around the small room. Everything seemed to be shades of brown and orange. The wallpaper was a dense mesh of autumn leaves and the fire burned in a small beige-tiled fireplace that looked much newer than the house. A rug in swirls of gold and hazel covered most of the floor, with a border of wood-effect lino covering the gap between it and the wall. Patricia was struck by how unlived-in the room seemed. Apart from an underwhelming oval mirror on the chimney breast, the walls were bare. Small wooden tables were pushed against the walls but there were no ornaments, books or magazines. The only light came from the shadeless single bulb hanging from the ceiling. It looked like the people who lived here had moved out.
The door burst open and Mrs Foley appeared with a tray of cups and saucers and a fat brown teapot. She hesitated, unsure of where to place it, and then opted for the low table to the right of the fireplace.
‘Where’s Teddy? Is he hanging your coat? You must be parched after that drive. I’m boiling a ham for the dinner. I hope that will do you. It’s Teddy’s favourite. Do you take sugar?’ A pause for breath. Patricia shook her head and took the cup of milky tea that she was being offered.