Barefoot Over Stones (37 page)

‘It would be my pleasure.’

Alison answered the call from his mobile on the second ring.

‘Is it all right if I come over?’ he asked tentatively, trying to conceal his nerves.

‘Of course it is. I’d love to see you. Has your mother’s fussing driven you out?’

‘Well, sort of,’ he answered. ‘I’ll see you in a few minutes.’

Alison raced upstairs. At most she had about ten minutes before his car would pull in the gate. She was just out of a long, luxurious soak in the bath and she wanted to brush her hair, spray on some perfume and put on the nice dressing gown and not the towelling nightmare she had chosen
for pure comfort. She opened the door as soon as her low-lit living room was flooded by his car lights and waited to welcome him into the warmth of the house.

‘I had to come,’ he blurted out nervously. ‘I can’t hide how I feel about you any longer. I’m sorry for barging in but—’

Alison held out her hand and brought him inside, closing the door behind them. They made it to the couch in the living room lost in feverish kissing, touching each other hungrily and willing their bodies to communicate feelings that both had been afraid to give their voices to. They made love wallowing in the passion hidden for so long. They huddled under a few blankets from the couch until cold drove them to Alison’s bed in the early hours. They tiptoed past Lucy’s bedroom door which was always slightly ajar. There they made love again, more slowly this time, savouring every touch. At dawn Colm nuzzled Alison awake with a kiss.

‘I had better get home,’ he whispered, though it was the last thing he wanted to do.

‘What’s the matter? Is Iris withdrawing her Cinderella pass at first light?’ Alison teased.

‘No, it’s not that.’ Colm laughed. ‘I just want to be there when Tom wakes up. You understand, don’t you?’

‘Absolutely,’ she replied, pulling him to her for one last delicious embrace.

‘My mother is getting the early train back to Dublin. Some church function she wants to go to, so the coast will be clear. Will you and Lucy come over to the lodge for lunch with Tom and myself?’ Colm asked, desperately wanting to know when he could see her again.

‘Try keeping us away.’

She heard her front door close and his car leave before falling into a deliciously contented sleep.

The next day Alison heard Colm kick his boots off at the back door of Lantern Lodge. He strode in and parked himself next to where she was crouching down over the lacklustre fire that refused to catch properly. His closeness made her feel self-conscious, so she stoked a bit more until finally Colm broke the silence.

‘Alison, it’s always slow to take off when the wind is blowing up this way from the river. Give it a chance and it will get going.’

Her hair was damp. So much for being back at four, she thought. Ten minutes earlier he would have caught her at the kitchen sink scrubbing honey and oatmeal gunge from her face, trying to freshen her complexion a bit. Small mercies, she thought, extremely small mercies.

‘Are Tom and Lucy not with you?’

‘We were at the river building a dam. They are tormenting poor old Moll out there in the back yard. I think Lucy is going to ask you for a dog now. Sorry about that!’

‘I’ve told her before she can get a dog when I get the back garden sorted and a proper kennel put in, but patience is not one of Lucy’s best traits.’

‘I told them you would join me on quality control after they had finished the finer points of the dam. They have it decorated with weeds and everything. Are you up for a bit of judging? They are getting pizza in town and proper chips if they do well.’

‘Ah yeah, why not? Sounds like they are having a great time.’ The fire caught with an uproariously loud belch behind her. If she stayed there any longer she would lose the hem of her
skirt to the inferno. She stood up, summoning the courage to look at him at last.

‘You’ve got something stuck on your face, Alison. Is it porridge?’ He peered closer at her. ‘Yup, it’s definitely porridge. Did you sneak some of this morning’s leftovers from the pot?’ His tone was playful, enjoying her mortification just a little too much.

‘It’s a face mask – was a face mask . . . supposed to be very invigorating . . .’ She trailed off, her voice deserting her.

Colm’s hand moved to stroke her cheek. He flicked the offending piece of porridge into the fire. The heat of his fingers startled her. Once more she was scorched by his touch. It had lost none of its power despite being imagined a thousand times in her head.

‘They do say porridge is wonderful, but I think you have to eat it rather than plaster it on your face to get the benefit. I’m no expert, but that’s what I have heard.’

He cupped her face in his hands and brought his lips slowly to hers. Her kiss was hot and gorgeous, just as he remembered their first kisses the night before. It had been such a relief that she had wanted his touch as much as he had wanted her from the first moment he had seen her. They settled into a lingering embrace, losing themselves in each other’s arms. They might not have heard the upward latch of the hall door as it clinked open but there was no mistaking Tom and Lucy’s presence as their excited voices hollered through the echoing house, thundering up the hallway to where their parents clung together.

‘Mam! Colm! Wait until you see this.’ Colm stepped backwards from her just in time to beam at the overexcited children who had hauled themselves back from the river. Their clothes were covered in mud and their faces smeared like child warriors. They were unrecognizable as the clean-cut children who had left the lunch table a few hours before.

‘Out you both go before you destroy the house,’ chided Colm. ‘We will catch you up. Are you coming, Ali?’

‘You go on with them. I will have to root out a pair of boots in the back kitchen. I’ll follow you.’

They kissed again. His hands rested snugly on the small hollow of her back.

She was first to break away. ‘Go on, they’re waiting.’

Iris’s wellington boots were standing to attention under the stray coats in the back kitchen. She knew they belonged to Iris because they were in sterile condition, smelling strongly of all-killing bleach. Oh yeah, and the name label on the inside was a bit of a giveaway. Who in the name of God labels their wellingtons? ‘IRIS LIFFORD’ in bold block capitals and the date as if they would some day be of historic significance. They pinched Alison as she pulled them on. The grand matriarch’s revenge, she thought, for helping herself to what didn’t belong to her. She couldn’t help but laugh to herself. An oversized knitted cap completed her agricultural look.

In front of me on the damp and mossy path to the Bracken I could see Colm with his arm looped loosely around his son’s shoulder. Moll yapped excitedly as she rattled an awkward dance between their feet. Lucy ran ahead of them, buoyed up by a rampant sense of adventure. At first after Dan had gone I wondered if I would ever have the strength to make my daughter happy again. With what would I fill the void that his death had left in our lives? I hoped that if I could set aside my own sense of heartache and loss and just pretend, that might work. I would never
have imagined that Lucy and I would survive simply because Lucy expected us to do just that. My daughter’s instinct had no concept of giving in to despair. Children think things will get better because they trust the adults they love will kiss the bruise and make it right. They set aside the bad and seek out the good bits, clinging to little parcels of happiness that they recall from other days, and they survive. As I watched the lively crew weave noisily in front of me, I dared to think I could find a way to trust myself too and that my own happiness might just be there for the taking.

The path to the fields curled down to the riverbank. I quickened my step so that we might all arrive together.