Deceptions (37 page)

The relief of not having to justify, defend, comfort, console, pacify, pretend. Virginia had forgotten what it was like simply to be herself. Madeira’s height and corkscrew roads, the terraced farms and vineyards hacked from volcanic rock, were easy to explore. She walked in shaded parks blazing with Bird of Paradise flowers and trekked through the levadas. In bed, Rafael was a demanding lover, leaving her exhausted but satisfied when he slipped quietly from her side in the early hours. She suspected a wife or, considering his age, possibly a fiancée, but she had no interest in his personal life. Nor did he ask questions about the life awaiting her at home.

On the day before she was due to leave, he parked the car in a small mountain village. The shops were closed, siesta time. They sat on a stone bench beneath an overhanging tree and picnicked on cheese and wine. Lizards darted under the shade of stones; leaves rustled above them. She stretched out and rested her head on his knees. The spill of purple bougainvillea was a wafting scent, reminding her of the sweet-smelling pot-pourri in Sonya’s cushions, and she drifted deeper into childhood – hearing the canary singing and the glass hearts tinkling as they danced from the ceiling. She forced herself awake, the sun hot on her face, her mouth dry. As they gathered the remains of the picnic and returned to the car the beginnings of a headache throbbed against her temples.

Rafael continued his drive along the mountain, climbing higher and higher until they were travelling through a labyrinth of tunnels. Streams of water cascaded from the cliff face and played a dull rumbling tune against the side of the car. He assured her that a restaurant with a magnificent view over the coast awaited them at the end of their journey. It was owned by his friend who would be delighted to entertain a group of Irish journalists. She must definitely add it to her planned itinerary. He entered another tunnel. The car’s headlights cast a frail light into the pitch black interior. Each time they emerged into sunshine, Virginia thought they had reached the summit. Yet the road continued to narrow and rise. The view became even more spectacular. Scaling volcanic rock loomed on one side and, on their side, a narrow ledge separated them from the long drop to the ocean below. Tour buses increased in numbers. The bravado of the coach drivers had ceased to fascinate Virginia. They thundered towards the car, arrogant daredevils who signalled impatiently at Rafael to make more space and he, shouting insults back at them, casually manoeuvred the car closer to the edge. She huddled against the seat, eyes closed, her stomach churning. When she screamed the sound was detached, as if another entity had entered the car and was careering downwards with her towards the glittering ocean.

Rafael steered the car into a lay-by and tried to calm her down. Perspiration soaked her skin. He ordered her to breathe deeply, everything would be OK … OK … they were nearly there. He sounded bewildered, helpless in the face of her terror.

“Calm down. We’re safe … we’re safe. I know these roads like my own hand.”

This realisation made no difference. She wrenched open the door and was violently sick, her stomach shuddering, the bilious taste of wine making her eyes water. A bus thundered past, swerving treacherously around a bend, breaks squealing, exhaust fumes belching. She breathed deeply. Ten deep breaths would do the trick. Concentrate on the future. The future was all that mattered.

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY
-N
INE

“It will snow before nightfall.” Noeleen called to the house on her way to the village and cast an experienced gaze towards the sky. “It’s waiting to happen. Stock up on anything you need. We won’t be going anywhere in a hurry over the next few days.”

Brendan arrived shortly afterwards to make sure the central heating was in order. He was followed by his father with a trailer of logs, which his sons helped stack against the outside kitchen wall. In the afternoon Lorraine drove to the supermarket. Snow dashed lightly against the windscreen as she entred the car-park. Sophie was at the check-out, swaddled in a brown padded coat, her vibrant colours hidden. In the art class she painted sunshine. Golden orbs high in the sky, black upturned faces.

“This weather is destroying my life blood,” she moaned. “Each winter I say, no more, no more, but what can I do?”

The initial flurry of snow stopped as suddenly as it had started. Clouds were whisked aside and on the journey home the sun shone with sparkling clarity on the snow-covered hills. The branches, caught in the flash of sunlight, reminded Lorraine of supplicating arms reaching upwards into the wintry sky. She was relieved to see the school bus pulling away from the top of the lane. Emily was walking fast, her hands plunged deep into the pockets of her school coat, her scarf flapping wildly behind her.

“I’m freezing to death,” she whined, climbing into the car. “Everyone says we’re going to be marooned. I’d better make sure Antoinette and Janine are comfy.” She leaned forward to peer through the windscreen. “There’s a car outside our house. Were you expecting someone?”

“Not as far as I know.”

His car was parked against the hedgerow, already blanketed with a light dusting of snow, empty. She recognised it instantly and felt the wheels of her own car glide dangerously towards it. She had not expected him to arrive so soon. He had left the car doors unlocked.
The Irish Times
was folded on the passenger seat beside his mobile phone. A manuscript lay on top with pencil notes scribbled in the margins.

Emily was stacking groceries into presses when she entered the kitchen.

“Who owns the car?” she asked

“Michael Carmody.”

“My God! What’s he doing here? You said he wasn’t coming back again.”

Lorraine reached upwards to place the last of the groceries out of sight. “I can’t always be right, Emily.”

“Where’s he gone?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps he went to the farm to see when I’d be back.”

“I’ll check it out for you.” Emily grabbed her parka jacket and left.

Silence settled over the countryside. Even Hobbs was affected by the hush. Only the rooster, determined to outwit nature, crowed triumphantly into the muffled evening. Emily rang to report that Noeleen had earlier seen him crossing the stile and heading towards the beach. The snow was falling again, heavier now, and beginning to swirl on the wind. Lorraine hesitated no longer. Lights were already shining from the windows of the Donaldsons’ house. The beach was deserted. If he had left footprints they were already obscured. A cormorant was tossed like parchment against the pewter sky and the kittiwakes huddled on ledges, were silent for once. She called his name, forcing the sound forward into the rising storm. Again and again she shouted, cupping her hands to her mouth, her fear growing as the moments passed.

She heard something. It could have been an echo or the screeching of the cormorant. The old boathouse, barely visible, hulked above the rocky ledge on the half-moon turn. Boats had once slid effortlessly down the jetty when she was a child but over the years much of its wooden structure had collapsed into the sea. Only the shell of the building and its corrugated iron roof were still intact. She climbed from the sand into a tangle of dead fern and heather, searching for the trail that would lead her upwards. Again, she shouted his name. This time his reply was stronger, nearer. The mildewed smell of rotting seaweed reached her as soon as she approached the entrance. She gave a startled shriek when a rat scurried into a rocky crevice.

“Thank God.” He ground the words through clenched teeth, his back slumped against the wall. In the gathering gloom his face was a pain-stricken blur, his brown eyes shadowed with exhaustion. “I thought you might have been on the beach. It started to snow and I tried to find a short cut back to the lane. I hauled myself in here and hoped to Christ you’d find me before the waves did.” He rocked forward in agony. “I think I’ve gone and broken my bloody leg. Stupid … stupid thing to do.”

She removed her coat and put it over him, pulled her cap over his head, held his face between her hands. “Michael, listen to me. You’re safe here. The sea seldom rises to this height. I’m going for help.”

When he tried to move the pain jerked his head back with such force that she heard the thud of flesh on rock. He gripped her hand tightly. “Lorraine, I wanted to see you so desperately.”

“We’ll talk later. Everything’s going to be all right.”

She emerged from the shelter and heard, all around her, the fury of the sea as it struck the rocks, and the high screech of the wind, carrying its burden of snow. Unhindered by hills or walls, it almost tossed her off her feet. The Donaldsons responded immediately. Noeleen rang for an ambulance while Frank grabbed blankets and ran with his sons to the boathouse.

“Put this coat on you, for the love of the Lord Jesus.” Noeleen rushed after her and flung a coat over Lorraine’s shoulders. Michael fainted when they lifted him and laid him carefully on a plank covered with blankets. It formed a make-shift stretcher with Lorraine carrying the fourth corner. The journey back to the lane was hazardous and completed in darkness. Emily led the way, holding aloft a storm lantern. Lorraine felt the cold sinking into her bones. She imagined him dragging his body towards the boathouse. He must have screamed many times before he reached it. Perhaps he lost consciousness on the journey.

“The hospital can’t guarantee an ambulance for at least an hour.” Noeleen, dwarfed under a bright yellow oilskin jacket, met them at the stile. “I’m just hoping it’ll be able to make it down the lane.”

“I’ll bring him in the jeep.” Frank spoke with authority. “Even if the ambulance comes within the next hour it won’t get through to us. The man’s in deep shock. There’s no time to waste.”

“Better be on your way then.” Noeleen stared nervously into the night. “I’ll phone ahead and tell them to expect you.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Lorraine and held Michael’s hand as he was moved into the back seat of the jeep.

Accident and emergency was crowded. After an initial examination Michael was moved on a trolley into a cubicle. A young nurse apologised. Hopefully, tomorrow morning, a bed would be available. The woman in the next cubicle coughed persistently. An elderly man, injured when his car skidded into a ditch, loudly demanded attention.

“We’d better be starting back.” The drive to the hospital had been slow and Frank was becoming increasingly worried. “I’ll let you say your goodbyes. See you in the car-park, Lorraine.”

She lifted her coat from the chair. It felt damp and heavy, a wet-wool smell seeping from the fibres. Michael gripped her hand, pulled her closer to the trolley.

“I owe you my life, Lorraine.” He spoke quietly, his eyes half-closed, already drifting on the medication he had received.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“I needed to talk to you.”

The snow was turning into a blizzard. She could see it swirling past the window and imagined it settling on the lane, banking high between the hedgerows. She bent over him and kissed his cheek.

“I’d better not keep Frank waiting. We’ll talk another time. For now, you need to rest. If I’m able to drive I’ll be in to see you tomorrow. Do you want me to phone anyone … Killian?”

Her hair brushed his face. His eyes darkened, as if he remembered the spread of it on his bed. He tried to rise. The effort made him gasp and collapse back against the pillow. “Don’t worry about Killian,” he said. “I’ll take care of him.”

At the door she turned and waved.

“I love you.” He mouthed the words towards her.

Her fingers curled tightly into a fist. All the love she would ever need flowed across the distance and was accepted by her.

The countryside held its breath for three days as snow floated lightly from branches, crunched icily beneath their footsteps. The occupants of the lane moved within their marooned ambit, separated from the main road by sculpted drifts that sparkled like crushed shards of crystal but showed no signs of thawing. School was cancelled and Emily struggled regularly through the snow to check on the well-being of horse and pony. Frank and his sons arrived with spades to help Lorraine clear the way to her studio. An unfamiliar shape hung over everything. The clinking sound of shovels, the hidden caw of crows, the bold chirp of a robin on the window ledge and the gnawing wind, forcing its way through the trees, played an eerie melody as they worked.

The urge to paint was strong. If the bats flew above the windbreak trees she did not notice. Darkness was everywhere when she left her studio on the third night. Even the glow from the windows of Donaldsons’ farmhouse had been extinguished. Snow crunched underfoot. A new moon disappeared behind clouds and emerged again to float in its silver aureole. A distant reach. A promise waiting to be fulfilled. She walked forward into its pale, filtering light.

“The specialist says I’ll be climbing mountains as soon as I’m back on my feet.” Michael’s leg had been operated on and he had rung earlier in the day with a progress report. “Are you still cut off?”

“It’s possible Frank will be able to drive the tractor to the top of the lane tomorrow,” Lorraine replied. “If he can, I’ll follow in his tracks. The main roads are gritted. They should be fine for driving.”

“I don’t want you to take any risks,” he warned. “Promise you’ll only come if the way is safe?”

“Promise.”

“I want to talk about Killian.” His voice was still slurred from the anaesthetic. “It’s important that we meet as soon as possible.”

The following morning the thaw was underway. Water dripped from the eaves of the old house and the crunch beneath Lorraine’s feet became a squelch. Snow slid easily from Michael’s car. She opened the door and removed his manuscript and mobile phone. As she expected, the phone was dead. It was the same model as her own and she plugged it into her battery charger. Emily, muffled in scarves and a woolly cap, opened the kitchen door and stamped water over the floor.

“This weather is driving me
nuts
. Con won’t let me ride Janine until it clears.” She buttered bread, sliced cheese and tomatoes, switched on the sandwich maker. The smell of toasting cheese filled the kitchen.