Soon Elizabeth was asleep in Patricia’s arms. When she tried to put the baby back in her basket, a flicker of distress crossed the little face and she gave a warning yelp. Patricia cradled her to her breast and went to sit by the window. Clouds were scudding across the sky and pools of sunlight picked out patches of the sea in a silvery blue. A lone seagull seemed suspended in the sky as it battled against the wind, but then, as if changing its mind, turned and allowed itself to be blown inland. Patricia remembered how beautiful she had found this view when she first arrived. Now it was a constant reminder of how isolated and alone she was. She tightened her hold around the baby.
About twenty minutes later she saw Edward walking along the top of the paddock in front of the house. She freed a hand to bang on the window. He didn’t seem to hear her so she knocked again with much more force. This time he seemed to have noticed the sound. He looked around as if trying to determine where it had come from. Patricia waved her free hand in order to catch his eye. It worked. Edward looked straight up at her window. Patricia stood and held out the baby, pointing at her. She could only imagine how shocked he was going to be by what she was holding, but instead it was Patricia who was stunned. Edward gave her a thumbs-up, smiled, and then waved before walking on. She stepped back from the window and placed her hand protectively on the baby’s head. He was as mad as his deranged mother.
NOW
This woman didn’t seem much older than herself.
‘Mrs Lynch?’ Elizabeth asked doubtfully.
The other woman seemed dressed to go out, her broad shoulders and stocky frame draped in a navy anorak.
‘No. I’m her daughter. Was my mother expecting you?’ She wasn’t exactly unfriendly, but she spoke with a degree of caution.
‘Who is it?’ a reedy voice from within called out.
The woman at the door shouted over her shoulder.
‘I don’t know. Some woman looking for you.’
‘Who? Who is it?’ came the distant response.
‘Sure, I’m finding out. Hold your horses.’ And then, turning back, ‘Sorry about that. You were saying …’
Elizabeth took a deep breath. She was still wound tight by Michelle’s email, but she knew she shouldn’t take it out on this woman. She smiled.
‘Oh, yes. My name is Elizabeth Keane but I’m a relation of the Foleys from Castle House.’ She was about to explain that Brian’s Auntie Eileen had told her to call, but then she realised that she didn’t know Eileen’s surname. ‘Someone told me your mother might be able to tell me a bit of the family history.’
A warm, damp hand with several surprisingly expensive-looking rings was thrust forward.
‘Cathy. Cathy Crowley. Nice to meet you.’
‘Nice to meet you too.’ The two women stood smiling at each other nodding until Elizabeth spoke. ‘Do you think your mother would be able to help me?’
Cathy opened the door fully. ‘Well, all you can do is ask. She’s a big age now but she’s still a great one for knowing everyone’s business. Come in.’
At the back of the cottage there was a small, dark kitchen. Seated at the table covered in a bright floral oil cloth was an old woman. She was a greyer, thinner version of Cathy. Blue-rimmed glasses were lifted and perched on her nose as the two women came into the room. A large black and white cat jumped lazily from a chair and sauntered towards the door.
‘Mammy. This is Elizabeth … sorry, what was your family name?’
‘Keane.’
‘Keane,’ Cathy repeated but at a louder volume.
‘Keane? I don’t think I know any Keanes.’ The old lady peered at her visitor through her glasses.
‘This is my mother, Ann Lynch. Mammy, will you have more tea?’
‘I will if it’s there.’
‘It is. I’m just after topping it up. Elizabeth? A cup for you?’
‘Thank you, yes, please.’
‘Sit down there,’ Cathy said, simultaneously placing a cup and saucer on the table. ‘There’s milk in the jug. Now you’ll have to excuse me. I have to go in to the optician in Clonteer and I’m already late. Mammy, I’ll be back to get you your lunch, so don’t be lighting the stove.’
Old Mrs Lynch dismissed her daughter with a wave of her hand.
‘Nice to have met you,’ Cathy said to Elizabeth from the doorway.
‘You too. Thanks for the tea.’
‘Not a bother.’ And then the sound of the front door slamming.
‘I’m a little deaf. You’ll have to speak up.’ Ann Lynch had the air of a woman for whom strangers calling to interview her were a regular occurrence.