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Authors: Santa Montefiore
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just grand, Peg,’ said Desmond, patting her shoulder.
‘Flattery will get you nowhere, Desmond Byrne. Now, out of my house, the lot of you.’ She herded them out like a pack of sheep.
‘You sure you won’t come to the boozer?’ Desmond asked, his gruff voice suddenly surprisingly soft and full of compassion.
‘No,’ she replied in the same tone, as if there was something unspeakable in the air between them of which they were both acutely aware but unwilling to articulate.
‘OK, then we’ll share a pint with our niece,’ he conceded.
‘Bring her back in one piece, won’t you?’
‘I’ll keep an eye.’
Peg noticed Ellen shrugging on her fur jacket. It was the most inappropriate coat for the countryside. ‘Take a pair of my boots, pet. You’ll get very muddy up at the castle with the
boys, and it might rain, so borrow an overcoat, too. Your furry thing looks very dear altogether, so you don’t want to ruin it.’
Ellen decided to wear her own jacket but gave in to the boots. They weren’t fashionable, but they were comfortable and fitted her perfectly. ‘You and I have the same size
feet,’ she called to Peg.
‘We must be related,’ her aunt replied with a chuckle. ‘I’ll see you later. Don’t be believing all Joe’s stories, now, will you? He’s full of
rubbish.’
‘I love ghost stories,’ Ellen answered, following the men outside.
‘So did I once,’ Peg added, almost to herself. And when Ellen turned back, her aunt’s face looked desperately sad, as if a fire had once burned through her heart, like the
lighthouse.
Chapter 4
I am in a limbo, bound to the earth but not of it. The fact that I can be anywhere I want at will is little consolation. I have no body. I’m like a wisp of smoke that
never dies, drifting from one place to another by the sheer force of my will. One minute I am in Dublin, the next in Connemara. How easy it would have been to have travelled like this in body! And
yet the years have made me lonely. I have denied myself heaven but play no earthly part. I can only observe the lives of those I love as if in a dream. I have no need for sleep and I am never
hungry. I don’t feel the cold or the rain upon my skin, and yet I experience a deep and lasting pleasure in the beautiful Irish countryside, just as I always did; perhaps even more so now,
because it is all I have.
The frustration I felt in the beginning has mellowed and I am resigned to this nonexistence. I am lonely, but not alone. Spirits pass through the corridors of the castle but take no notice of
me. I could drive myself mad trying to chase them, searching the rooms for their company. They are like mist that disappears into the air like breath on a cold winter’s morning. I imagine
they were there when I was living, existing in this parallel dimension, as disinterested in me as they are now. I don’t know where they go and why they won’t communicate with me. It
would be nice to have a friend.
I never liked Dublin. I’m a Galway girl born and bred, all right. I hated the noise and the concrete when I was alive and I still hate it now that I am dead. Yet I suffer it gladly to be
near my children. I enjoy their good health and their happiness, for I have to admit that they are happy. They have buried their desolation like dogs who bury bones deep in the earth but always
remember. One day they will dig me up and cry all over again for their loss, because that is the way grief works. It isn’t so easy to erase such deep pain. A person can only cover it up and
hope in time to forget. But inevitably, sooner or later, he will have to face it and overcome it because, just as the earth throws up all its buried bones in the end, so the human heart throws up
its pain. I might not be able to wrap my arms around them when they need their mother’s comfort, but I am right beside them like a shadow they cannot see, and I will be there when their loss
rises up to challenge them.
And what of
‘Flattery will get you nowhere, Desmond Byrne. Now, out of my house, the lot of you.’ She herded them out like a pack of sheep.
‘You sure you won’t come to the boozer?’ Desmond asked, his gruff voice suddenly surprisingly soft and full of compassion.
‘No,’ she replied in the same tone, as if there was something unspeakable in the air between them of which they were both acutely aware but unwilling to articulate.
‘OK, then we’ll share a pint with our niece,’ he conceded.
‘Bring her back in one piece, won’t you?’
‘I’ll keep an eye.’
Peg noticed Ellen shrugging on her fur jacket. It was the most inappropriate coat for the countryside. ‘Take a pair of my boots, pet. You’ll get very muddy up at the castle with the
boys, and it might rain, so borrow an overcoat, too. Your furry thing looks very dear altogether, so you don’t want to ruin it.’
Ellen decided to wear her own jacket but gave in to the boots. They weren’t fashionable, but they were comfortable and fitted her perfectly. ‘You and I have the same size
feet,’ she called to Peg.
‘We must be related,’ her aunt replied with a chuckle. ‘I’ll see you later. Don’t be believing all Joe’s stories, now, will you? He’s full of
rubbish.’
‘I love ghost stories,’ Ellen answered, following the men outside.
‘So did I once,’ Peg added, almost to herself. And when Ellen turned back, her aunt’s face looked desperately sad, as if a fire had once burned through her heart, like the
lighthouse.
Chapter 4
I am in a limbo, bound to the earth but not of it. The fact that I can be anywhere I want at will is little consolation. I have no body. I’m like a wisp of smoke that
never dies, drifting from one place to another by the sheer force of my will. One minute I am in Dublin, the next in Connemara. How easy it would have been to have travelled like this in body! And
yet the years have made me lonely. I have denied myself heaven but play no earthly part. I can only observe the lives of those I love as if in a dream. I have no need for sleep and I am never
hungry. I don’t feel the cold or the rain upon my skin, and yet I experience a deep and lasting pleasure in the beautiful Irish countryside, just as I always did; perhaps even more so now,
because it is all I have.
The frustration I felt in the beginning has mellowed and I am resigned to this nonexistence. I am lonely, but not alone. Spirits pass through the corridors of the castle but take no notice of
me. I could drive myself mad trying to chase them, searching the rooms for their company. They are like mist that disappears into the air like breath on a cold winter’s morning. I imagine
they were there when I was living, existing in this parallel dimension, as disinterested in me as they are now. I don’t know where they go and why they won’t communicate with me. It
would be nice to have a friend.
I never liked Dublin. I’m a Galway girl born and bred, all right. I hated the noise and the concrete when I was alive and I still hate it now that I am dead. Yet I suffer it gladly to be
near my children. I enjoy their good health and their happiness, for I have to admit that they are happy. They have buried their desolation like dogs who bury bones deep in the earth but always
remember. One day they will dig me up and cry all over again for their loss, because that is the way grief works. It isn’t so easy to erase such deep pain. A person can only cover it up and
hope in time to forget. But inevitably, sooner or later, he will have to face it and overcome it because, just as the earth throws up all its buried bones in the end, so the human heart throws up
its pain. I might not be able to wrap my arms around them when they need their mother’s comfort, but I am right beside them like a shadow they cannot see, and I will be there when their loss
rises up to challenge them.
And what of
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