Inside number sixty-two, Elizabeth picked her way slowly through the rooms. Piles of blue and white rat poison were scattered around the house, but happily she encountered no actual rodent residents. She had thought she might change her mind about not keeping anything, but room after room was filled with ornaments, pictures and pieces of furniture that she knew she could live without. Unless she was planning to open a Patricia Keane museum, what would she do with it all? Yes, her mother had loved all these things, but holding on to them wouldn’t bring her back or make her more present. If anything, looking at her sewing basket or the old toffee tin filled with random buttons made her absence more vivid.
The last room she went into was her mother’s bedroom. The curtains were still drawn from the night Elizabeth had spent there. She pulled them open. The view she could have described with her eyes closed. The telegraph pole. The dormer window in the roof of the house opposite that always reminded her of a ski chalet. That long crack running down the side of the house next to it, which had been there for as long as she could remember. Elizabeth reminded herself that she would never see these signs of her past again, but found she felt nothing. These things were just familiar, that was all, not special. She was surprised she was being so unsentimental. She wondered if she would have felt differently if she had a brother or sister to walk through the house with. Another person to share the memories. What did it matter? Then she suddenly remembered why she had come into this room. She opened the wardrobe door and retrieved the wooden box. Opening it to take out the package of letters, she found the knitted baby bootie. She had forgotten all about it. This must have been hers. She smelled the wool and smiled.
Noelle was in the window of the shop changing the display when Elizabeth arrived. She waved enthusiastically through the glass and began to reverse carefully through a selection of Hoovers and grass strimmers. Once inside Elizabeth was led upstairs to say goodbye to Uncle Jerry and Aunt Gillian. She quickly deflected any questions about her trip to West Cork by telling them that they could help themselves to the contents of Convent Hill, and when they were done she was just going to send in a firm that did house clearances. Gillian beamed at the news, whereas Noelle gave the impression of someone who had already had a good look around and hadn’t found anything to her taste. As Elizabeth had expected, Paul immediately offered to take the house off her hands. ‘Avoid all the estate agent’s fees,’ he explained. She was firm. It was very kind of him, but she wanted to keep everything businesslike and not mix things up with family. Paul hid his disappointment and immediately suggested that she hand the house over to Donal Fogarty to sell it for her.
‘Is that the Donal who was your best man?’
‘Yes.’
Elizabeth smiled. ‘Well, I’ll certainly think about it.’
She was offered a bed for the night but she had already decided that she would drive straight on to Dublin so that she could return the car and not get caught up in traffic the next day. She was done with Buncarragh.
The Keanes gathered on the pavement to wave her off. They promised to stay in touch. ‘See you soon!’ they called and almost sounded as if they meant it. Elizabeth waved and drove away. She hadn’t gone far when she indicated and turned down a side street on the left. It brought her past Busteed’s bar and on to Connolly’s Quay. She wasn’t sure if she’d stop but there was a space right outside Rosemary’s house, which she took as a sign.
The bell was followed by excited yapping before Rosemary appeared at the door, dressed in a long black velvet coat and a purple crotched hat that brought to mind an Abba album cover. She didn’t seem particularly surprised to find Elizabeth Keane on her doorstep.
‘You’re back.’
‘I am. But I’m actually just on my way to the airport.’
‘I see. How was Cork?’
The question seemed loaded, so Elizabeth took a hunch and answered it with one of her own.
‘Did you know?’
Rosemary pursed her lips.
‘Well, you’ll have to walk with me.’ She held up a red and blue string bag with books in it. ‘If I don’t get these back today, I’ll have a fine.’
‘Perfect.’ The library wasn’t too far.
Rosemary set off at surprising speed and it took Elizabeth a couple of strides to catch up with her.
‘So?’
Rosemary stared straight ahead and took a few more steps before answering.
‘I didn’t feel it was my secret to share. If your mother didn’t see fit to tell you, then I told myself it wasn’t my place to do it for her.’