When he had finished washing her feet, he wrapped them in an old towel and very gently pressed them dry.
‘There. That’s better.’
He gave a wide smile and before she could stop herself she had given a smile of thanks in return.
Edward folded the towel and stood up. He looked sad. Sadder than she had ever seen him. Had he washed Mary’s feet, she wondered. He put the basin outside the door and then looked back at Patricia.
‘Good night, so.’
‘Good night.’
‘Patricia?’
‘Yes?’
The light was behind him so she couldn’t see his face, but his voice sounded strained, almost cracking with emotion.
‘I am going to help you.’
NOW
Of course, the place was familiar, but it was more than that. Elizabeth found she had a silly grin on her face as she drove past the Renault dealership on her way back into Buncarragh. It was a relief to return to a world that held no mysteries for her. It felt like a refuge after the Pandora’s box of Muirinish.
The Christmas lights were still up, but the town didn’t look as melancholic as when she had arrived the week before. Shops were open and people trotted with purpose along the streets, greeting neighbours, pausing for gossip. Elizabeth decided not to stop in town but instead drove straight up to Convent Hill. She had to go a little way past number sixty-two in order to park and walking back to the house she had a clear view down over the whole of the town. The chapel, the church, the trees marking the path of the river. Buncarragh. Growing up here she had always felt like an outsider. It was the reason she had been in such a hurry to leave, but now it made sense. She had been from somewhere else all along. She stopped outside the house where she had been raised and thought about her mother. The woman she had always thought of as so conservative, worried about what other people might think, had turned out to be somebody else entirely. Risking everything, she had left her life behind to find a husband, and then returned alone, but with another woman’s child. Elizabeth wished she could see her mother just once more, to thank her for her life, to tell her how much she appreciated all the sacrifices, but also to ask her why she had kept it all a secret right to the very end? Why she had never returned to Muirinish and left Edward all alone on the farm? Maybe she had told the lie for so many years, she had forgotten the truth. Elizabeth looked at the tarnished door knocker and remembered the hours her mother spent with her tin of Brasso and an old cloth, making sure it shone like gold.
Tomorrow, she would leave here and, if she was being honest, she doubted that she would ever return. New York. She was looking forward to getting home and starting work again, but she dreaded her reunion with Zach and meeting the heavily pregnant Michelle. The night before, sitting in her bedroom in the Cork Airport Hotel, she had finally spoken to her son. It hadn’t been easy. She didn’t know how to be with him any more. How could she best be his mother? Part of her wanted to scream at him for being so stupid and irresponsible, but hearing the fear in his voice as he tried to sound capable and mature, she also wanted to hold him tight and protect him from this huge event that was going to derail his life. No matter what assurances Michelle might be giving, if Zach knew what the mother of his child had said to Elliot and Elizabeth about not involving him, he seemed to be ignoring it. He spoke at length about how he saw his role as a father. She didn’t mention the email. His na?ve desire to be more of a friend than a parent to the new baby broke Elizabeth’s heart. He was so clueless, still such a child himself. Of one thing she was certain: this situation was going to get much worse before it got better. She had also spoken to Elliot. It seemed the last few days of playing Daddy had been enough for him. Will had got him a Weimaraner puppy for Christmas so he wouldn’t be making it over to the east coast for the birth. For that at least, Elizabeth was grateful.
On the long drive back to Buncarragh, decisions had been made. The first and most important was that Convent Hill didn’t matter. Elizabeth wasn’t going to open another drawer or pack a single box to ship home. She was going to let her Aunt Gillian and Noelle loose on the place and then put it up for sale. Having made the decision, she felt released, as if a burden had been lifted. She had also decided that Castle House would be sold. She had to admit that there had been a small sentimental urge to keep it, maybe renovate it one day and retire there or use it as a holiday home, but unless she won the lottery that was never going to happen. Besides that, the house might be a part of her personal story, but it was such a dark, sad part that it made more sense to let it go.