SAFE PLACE: A Novel

By B Delamere

An intriguing family saga and love story spanning over forty years begins quite innocuously when a delivery driver (Rory) delivers a parcel to an elderly woman`s house (Rhona) and from there, begins a voyage of self-discovery after an unlikely friendship is formed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Independent Publishing Network
• Release date: Aug 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781800680845

Book preview

PART ONE

                                    Chapters 1-35

CHAPTER 1

Rory April 2011

Abruptly awoken by the familiar beeping of his alarm clock, Rory moaned, turned over in bed, and pulled a pillow around his ears attempting to muffle the noise. After a few minutes, he sat bolt upright as if awoken from a trance, and blinking through bloodshot eyes, leaned over, hit the snooze button, and sank back against his pillow with a sigh.

Damn! 

He had forgotten to switch off the alarm the previous night and looked blearily around him.

He was feeling uncomfortable having slept the night half-clothed, his mouth was parched and he had a searing pain in his left temple. His vision was slightly blurred as he tried to focus on the time, and seeing it was only six am, he groaned. He usually worked Saturdays, but this Saturday was different because he was taking his four-year-old daughter to the fair… or was he?

Coming to a bit more, he scratched his head trying to recall the events of the previous evening.

He remembered going to the pub after work, still clad in his work polo shirt and black trousers, and must have remained there for at least three hours.

After that, he recalled visiting the local open all hours shop, where he bought a bottle of cheap vodka and sausages, bacon, eggs, and baked beans for a rare breakfast treat the following morning.

He got himself unsteadily out of bed and after anxiously grappling around for his wallet, found it to his relief, on the floor next to the empty vodka bottle.

He quickly opened it and to his dismay found only £4.50 worth of coins inside.

Damn! he cursed.

Annoyance was growing inside him as he recalled what happened.

How could she let me down like that again? he asked aloud. 

Feeling queasy, he sat back on the bed and took deep breaths.

He had been so happy the previous day and breezed through the deliveries, knowing he would see his Little Princess, as he fondly called her, later. Lottie, his lovely, perfect little girl. But Josie had texted just as he was finishing work to cancel the planned day out that he had been looking forward to.

He had gone to the pub feeling tired and empty and immediately attempted to blot out the bad news with a mixture of beer and vodka chasers.

Sighing, he forced himself to get up and into the shower, hoping he would feel better.

After cooking the breakfast treat he planned, and eating it with two cups of strong sugar-filled tea, he began to feel considerably better.

He peered out at the small, dank yard adjacent to his ground-floor bedsit and watched the water slowly trickling down its green-tinged wall from the guttering above. He could only see the sky if he leaned out of the window, it was grim and he hated living here, but it was all he could afford. 

He pondered what to do with this unusual day off, watch TV? He did not have the money to go anywhere now.

He sat back on the bed, closed his eyes again, and felt his breakfast settling heavily in his stomach.

His mobile rang about ten minutes later.

Oy Rory, I`m sorry mate, but we're snowed under here, any chance you could do a quick delivery after you get back from the Fair, only all our other drivers are busy.

It was the instantly recognisable Cornish tones of his boss, Mark.

Rory looked at his watch, it was now only nine-thirty.

Ok Mark, I`ll be over soon, he said and glad of the

extra money, told him,

"I can do a full day’s work if you like, Josie has

cancelled on me again."

Less than an hour later he was on the road in his van.

Concerned about his vodka intake from the night before, he retrieved the warm bottle of water that had been rolling about under his seat all week, and steering with one hand, drank it down in large gulps.

He soon arrived at the main Depot in Trewith. collected his deliveries and set off again.

There was a local drop first, followed by fourteen more around Treyrow.

The traffic was worse than normal, and as he drove he noticed an abundance of dark grey clouds filling the skyline in front of him. The roads were always busier on Saturdays and having shoved the fourteenth brown parcel through yet another Treyrow letterbox, he returned to his van just as it began to rain.

After pulling off the road a bit more, he sat with his hands still on the steering wheel, daydreaming back to the last time they had all been together as a family.

Josie sprang into his mind, and he could easily picture her large brown eyes, beautifully sculpted facial features, and loose curls of shiny brown hair, which shimmered and danced around her face with her every move.

Feeling a deep yearning tinged with a sense of sadness, he surveyed himself in the rear-view mirror and told himself,

"She still loves me, I know she does. I`m not sure why,

but I know she does."

The earlier shower had considerably revived him, but the deep dark circles under his eyes and dishevelled unshaven appearance told a different story. He had not shaved since Josie had last kissed him and hardly recognised himself now, he looked so awful.

With his thoughts quickly turning to Lottie, he remembered how much she enjoyed the chocolate ice cream he had bought the last time he saw her. She had got most of it all around her face but had grinned from ear to ear as she did so.

He missed them both so much that it physically hurt.

A loud hoot of a nearby car horn jolted him out of his thoughts and reminded him he was blocking someone’s driveway. Gesticulating wildly, the impatient man hooted again and after glaring at him in his rear-view mirror, Rory put his foot down on the accelerator and set off again.

There was only one more delivery to an address he did not recognise. Guessing it must be over near the Trevaunce Beacon, his satellite navigation system confirmed this.

He always enjoyed the views from the high windy and exposed coast road that led him there, but it was a shame the weather was now changing. The storm was quickly worsening but even with the windscreen wipers on full, the ruggedness of North Cornwall Coast still looked beautiful and reminded him of the West of Ireland and his grandma’s cottage, where he had grown up.

Oh crap, he said.

He had forgotten to bring any waterproofs, but this was the last drop of the day and only fifteen minutes from home.

He eventually pulled off the road and into a little grassy dip outside a five-bar gate.

He could hear the rain beating heavily on the van roof and condensation clouded the view from the driver’s window, but he was sure this was the place.

The deluge continued, accompanied by strong gusty winds periodically shaking the van.

He pulled his polo shirt collar upwards around his neck, wishing he had worn something other than his woolen fisherman’s jumper, and jumped out of the van with a sigh.

After quickly extracting a small parcel from the back, he ran up to the five-bar gate and saw a wooden sign to his left, with Sunnyside etched into it, which confirmed he was at the right place.

Within thirty seconds, the rain had soaked through his clothes, water had dripped into his eyes from his hair and his rain-sodden jumper hung heavily on him.

Oh, this is just great, he mumbled.

Battling with the strong blustery wind whipping around him and shaking nearby trees, he negotiated the catch on the gate and continued up the grassy track.

He passed a small hut-like structure on his right and eventually reached the cottage’s front door. He huddled briefly under the overhanging dripping thatch and discovered no letterbox to post the parcel through.

Bugger! he cursed.

Annoyed, he stepped backward and narrowly missed one of the jutting granite rocks interspersing the grass.

Remembering the small hut-like structure he had passed earlier, while still safely under the overhanging thatch he scribbled on a card, and jammed it in the door as best he could.

He ran back to the hut as quickly as possible, his shoes sloshing in the little rivers of water running down the grassy furrowed track, and after leaving the parcel on a little table in the hut, hurried back.

By the time he reached the five-bar gate, he was cold and fed up with battling the incessant rain coming at him from all directions.

Back in the safety and relative warmth of the van, after turning the key in the ignition, an unfamiliar whirring noise could be heard and another attempt produced the same response.

Not now, please! he muttered.

He was getting angry and desperate to get home and be warm and dry, exclaimed loudly,

Fecking thing!

Then, having tugged the internal bonnet lever he jumped back out of the van, cursing again loudly into the wind.

It was like monsoon season outside now and he shivered violently as even larger raindrops fell in sheets from the dark sky down onto him. He was now so wet that he could feel icy rain trickling down his back, inside his polo shirt.

Knowing a little about engines, he scratched his head trying to identify the problem, checked all the visible major leads and fuses, and did not notice anything untoward.

Very annoyed, he aggressively slammed the bonnet shut and proceeded to further vent his anger by swearing violently and furiously kicking the passenger side wheel.

Aware that he had already dented the wheel arch, he stopped.

A faltering voice that appeared to have come from behind the van, interrupted his anger.

Hello, can I help you? 

This startled him and having turned angrily around, he was confronted by an apparition-clothed head to toe in green waterproofs and wellies and could see a tiny, wrinkled face and bright blue eyes peering at him through a hole in a draw-stringed hood. A small white dog also wearing a green waterproof jacket was staring back at him.

Although feeling more than a little embarrassed and foolish, he welcomed seeing the woman’s kind blue eyes glinting through the grey wet bleakness.

She walked around to face him.

"Come on, come inside with me. I`ll make you a nice

hot drink and, you can use my phone," she said,

smiling warmly.

It is ok, I`ve got my mobile thanks. I`m fine," he said

rather abruptly.

Kind of you to offer though, he added, realising

she was only trying to help.

She recognised his soft-spoken West of Ireland accent immediately.

No offense, she said.

But you don`t exactly look fine to me.

There was something about her, about how she spoke and those piercing blue eyes, which reminded him of his grandma.

He gave in, she was right he was not fine, and was cold, wet, and now incredibly stressed.

The woman’s voice was strangely comforting, and her general demeanor made him feel like a young child again and compelled him to belligerently follow her back up the familiar green, furrowed track to the cottage.

He had not really taken it all in before but as the clouds suddenly lifted, and took the rain with them and small rays of dusty sunlight shone down, he saw in front of him, an old traditional thatched stone cottage.

Through the now open front door, he could see into a large kitchen with an Aga against its far wall and an old pine farmhouse table in front of three windows, each boasting uninterrupted sea views.

He entered and stood with drips puddling around his feet on the flagstone floor, unsure what to do next.

Sit down, she said.

She pointed to a battered leather armchair, with a knitted blanket hooked over the back.

I`ll make you a nice hot cup of tea. 

He tried to protest, but she quickly added,

"Well, I may as well, I`m making one for myself,

anyway. Sugar?"  

He nodded, and she busied herself in front of the Aga with her back to him.

Now that she had shed her wet waterproofs, he could see the fragile-looking frame of a woman with long grey hair coiled into a bun that rested in the nape of her neck, and he guessed she was in her late sixties.

She looked around at him, having not seen his earlier nod.

Two please, he reiterated.

His attention was drawn to the small white terrier now curled up in its basket beside the Aga, and curiously eyeing him.  When he looked back, the woman was emerging from a narrow door to the left of the table, carrying a large towel.

Here you are, she said, handing it to him.

She turned back to remove the whistling kettle from the stove and made tea in two bright blue and white mugs, added sugar and, after stirring wildly, passed one back to him along with biscuits, on a separate saucer.

Thanking her he snuggled back into the chair and pulled the large towel around him. He then sipped the tea and ate the biscuits like a man starved, having not eaten since breakfast.

She observed him eagerly devouring the biscuits and was about to say something but decided against it. Instead, she thought to herself, he is not looking after himself properly.

The kitchen was very cozy, and he was warming up nicely.

Having lost interest in him, the dog had joined the woman as she pulled out one of the cushioned pine chairs from under the table and sat down. It then lay at her feet with its legs in the air for a tickle, which she happily obliged him with.

He felt awkward in this strange woman’s house, especially now she had gone quiet.

Feeling a compulsion to break the silence and realising he had left his mobile in the van, he asked her where her phone was.

She directed him through a door to the right of the kitchen which led into a back lobby, where he found an old-fashioned corded phone on a small table adorned with a dainty tablecloth. 

As he punched in the breakdown service number, he looked around him with the handset in hand.

At the far end of the lobby was a half-glazed stable door, leading out to the back garden. Through its rain-coated glazing, he could see the outline of a tall wooden stand to the right, with a ladder up to the side of it, which he thought looked strange.

To its left was a well-kept lawn bordered by a festoon of now very wet wildflowers and despite the increasing dimness, the continuous rippling of white-topped waves could be seen in the far distance, and a field of cows was beyond the garden.

The wind was still frantically blowing, and he could hear it whistling around the house through crevices and window edges. To some people that would have been eerie, but it reminded him of his grandma`s cottage and was a sound that he had grown to love as a child. 

To his right was another doorway to a small snug, the centerpiece of which was an enormous stone fireplace taking up its entire end wall. A small fire flickered in the grate and its fast-diminishing embers illuminated the room with a soft, glowing light. Surrounding it were old bread ovens and stone shelves stacked with seasoned wood.

There was a door to the right of the fireplace and two squishy blue settees lay at right angles to the vast hearth. He could also hear another familiar sound from his childhood: the howling wind down the chimney.

It was raining again, and wind-powered drops were hitting the windowpanes, sounding like grit flung at the glass. The wind noise was louder and deeper in this part of the house, but the room with its natural stone walls seemed peaceful and had a welcoming warmth about it.

Someone from the breakdown service finally answered and told him they would arrive within the hour.

Relieved, he returned to the kitchen, sat in the armchair again, and finished the rest of his tea.

Everything all right? the woman asked.

He nodded and decided it best to finish his tea and return to the van, where he would wait alone and not inconvenience her any longer. The tea tasted lovely and having finished it, he fell asleep.

She studied him while he slept, taking in his thick brown hair and dark, tightly closed eyes flickering slightly with every snore, and chuckled. It had been a while since a man had snored in her house.

She eyed his pale complexion, the dark circles and accompanying bags under his eyes, the deep furrows over his brow, and his generally unkempt appearance.

At least he ate the biscuits, she thought, even if they were the only thing he had eaten all day.

She picked up her knitting, sighed, and busied herself with her dog still curled contentedly at her feet.

Suddenly awoken by the dog barking and the woman tapping him lightly on his shoulder, he jumped up, uttered a quick, 

Thank you, and headed towards the front door.

As he opened it, he turned and said hurriedly,

"My name’s Rory and if there’s ever anything

I can do to repay your kindness…?"

Remembering suddenly, he added,

"Oh, I nearly forgot, your parcels in the hut.

I presumed that was your safe place?" 

She quickly shouted after him, 

Thanks, Rory, I`m Rhona. 

Pleased to meet you, Rhona, he shouted back.

By the glare of the outside light, she could see his dark Irish eyes smiling for the first time that evening. Then, after turning to wave again, she watched him disappear into the darkness.

She berated herself for not giving him a torch, but the wind had died down, the sky was now clear and moonlit, and she reflected on how lovely it had been to have male company again, no matter how brief. She had become so used to being alone with Dougal and the stray cat who sometimes deigned to visit.

She returned to her knitting with a contented sigh, completely unaware of just how important her chance meeting with Rory would turn out to be.

CHAPTER 2

Rory Easter 2011

With an influx of customers wanting parcels delivered before the impending bank holiday weekend, Rory`s next working day was much busier than usual. He worked flat out, with barely time to pause for breath, let alone stop for a toilet break or to eat anything.

Having received a call on his mobile from Mark, telling him he had a collection from near the Trevaunce Beacon, he decided to leave it until last, as it was closest to home. The owner, Rhona Harper, would not be in but would leave her parcel in her designated safe place for him to collect.

Arriving at about four-thirty, Rory pulled into the dip in front of the gate, just as he had done previously.

The entire area took on a different complexion in the lovely warm sunshine.

All around him hedgerows emerging skyward after the deluge, now glowed with an abundance of bright green shiny leaves. Interspersing these were wildflowers, a heady mixture of mauves, pinks, yellows, blues, and whites, and the previously sodden grassy track up to the cottage, had been dried into hard ruts by the warm sea breeze.

He was soon at the hut and immediately noticed the cardboard package awaiting collection. However, alongside it was a second parcel wrapped carefully in brown paper and secured with clear tape.

Seeing that it had his name on it, he picked it up, stared at it for a while, puzzled, and then quickly opened it.

It contained a brief note, on top of a couple of cling-filmed sandwiches, which read,

In case you forgot to eat again. R

Taken aback by the sentiment, he stared at the sandwiches for a while before hungrily devouring them.

He then left his usual calling card, but stopped to write in biro,

Much appreciated. Thank you, R.

The start of the following week was a Bank Holiday and quieter. He only had a half day’s work on Tuesday and by Wednesday, was worrying because his earnings depended on the number of parcels he delivered.

Having finished unusually early he phoned Mark, concerned about the situation, and was relieved to hear that the rest of the week was looking busier.

Unsure what to do with this unusual spare time, Rory thought he would drive back along the high coast road and pop in and thank Rhona personally for her kindness the previous week.

He wished he had something to bring her, but his £4.50 had not gone far.

After parking up, he walked cautiously up the track to the cottage, concerned that an impromptu visit might scare her.  After tentatively knocking, he immediately heard the muffled sound of a bark from behind the heavy wooden front door.

The door opened, and greeting him with a warm smile and an equally warm cup of tea was Rhona, who had seen him walking up the drive. Even the dog seemed to have accepted him and had silently returned to his bed by the Aga.

It’s too nice to stay inside, she said.

She ushered him into the familiar back lobby and the stable door was wide open.

Briefly blinded by the contrast of the cool shade of the cottage and the brilliant hot sunlight streaming in, he raised the back of his hand to shade his eyes and followed her outside, down tiny stone steps and into the main bit of the garden.

She had set out chairs and a table on a flat paved area to the left. The sun heading west shone low and across the neat lawn, leaving the right side of the garden in shadow.

"We can sit over there in the shade if you

prefer," she said.

She pointed to another seating area on the shaded side, at the foot of the strange tall wooden platform with the ladder.

No, this is great. I love the sun, thanks,

he replied, squinting back at her.

Have you had anything to eat today?

she asked.

"Yes, I managed to grab a snack earlier,

thanks."

It had been a small piece of leftover semi-melted chocolate bar he had found down the side of the driver’s seat, but he did not tell her that. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, enjoying the warm sun on his face.

Looking around him, he remarked,

It’s a lovely spot you’ve got here Rhona.

From where they were, he could see over the adjacent farmland towards the sea. Swallows and swifts were dipping and diving in formation in the sky over fields, and in the distance, small white-topped waves could be seen gently lapping the shoreline in an irregular pattern. He heard their low roar being carried towards him on the breeze and the far-off cries of herring gulls that, with their wings outstretched, were floating on air currents above the sea.

The surrounding garden was beautiful. Butterflies fluttered above abundant floral blooms and many different, but pleasant, scents were wafting in his direction.

He could hear the loud chirps of nearby birds and immediately to his left, a rustling sound in the hedge turned out to be a pair of robins, and he could also see sparrows emerging now and then from amidst the thick greenery in search of food.

It was an assault on the senses, but in a good way, a peaceful and very calming way.

Rory realized how much he missed the countryside that he had grown to love as a child. It had been long since he had last taken the time to observe the nature around him. He had always smirked when his grandmother told him it was,

Good for the soul.

Now, though, he understood what she meant.

He turned towards Rhona and smiled, and she met his smile with an equally bright one of her own.

I love hearing your accent, she said.

I recognised it the very first time you spoke.

After a slight pause, she asked,

Which part of Cullenmara are you from?

Surprised by her knowledge of his accent and that area specifically, Rory was intrigued and excited.

He explained,

"My father was from Cullenway and my

mother, Tullyvaughn."

It had been a long time since he had spoken to anyone about his past let alone a stranger, but there was something about Rhona that he had noticed the last time they met, that put him at ease and made him feel safe.

He told her,

"My grandma told me that my father had

grown up on a council estate in West

Cullenway and my mother, well, she couldn`t

have been more different. Her parents brought

her up in Tullyvaughn, a village on the coast.

Her father, Tomoltach, was the vicar of the

local parish church, and her mother, Mairéad,

was a teacher."

Yes, I know Tullyvaughn well, Rhona remarked.

She remembered Máirtin, the proprietor of the local pub who had been so kind when she had so desperately needed it, all those years ago. 

She went quiet and pondered that thought for a moment and instantaneously transported back there, was re-living it all again in her head and shuddered. Wishing she had worn sunglasses, she hurriedly blinked away tears collecting in the corner of her eyes and hoped Rory had not noticed.

But he had, and asked,

Are you ok Rhona?

She nodded and quickly brought herself back to the present.

Yes, yes, I`m fine, it’s just the pollen,

she lied,

"Do continue, I`m enjoying listening to

you."

He then relayed to her what little else he knew about his parents.

"They had met when my father was Best

Man at my mother’s best friend’s wedding."

He continued,

"As you know, weddings are a big occasion

in that part of Ireland. Her father took

the ceremony in Tullyvaughn and afterward

had their reception at a hotel in

central Cullenway. My mother told me

that following tradition, the wedding

party honked their car horns loudly as did

everyone they passed along the

eleven-mile drive. People came out of their

houses and onto the streets along the way

and laughed, waved, and joined in with the

carnival-type atmosphere."

Rhona listened enthralled and could vividly

remember exactly what an Irish wedding was like.

he added,

"An Irish wedding is always a good crack,

with plentiful food and copious amounts

of alcohol. It wouldn`t have been surprising

for the best friend and Best Man to get together."

He admitted he did not remember much about his parents at all.

"My grandma told me that although like chalk

and cheese, they fell in love easily and were

married within a year. They needed somewhere

to live and my father,  when searching for work,

took us to a local pub. The Seoltóireachta

Dearga Inn is named after the red-sailed hooker

boats out in the bay. It was just over the first

bridge onto the Islands and had a beer garden

above the rocky shoreline."

He had not been looking at Rhona as he spoke and she was glad, knowing full well where the pub was. She was picturing it clearly in her mind and trying to suppress the emotions rising inside her.

He continued explaining,

"Not long after they got married, they had me.

But when I was about six, my father ran off with

a bartender called Barbara. My mother got ill

and didn`t cope very well with me and the pub,

so that is when I went to live with my grandma.

But my mother then got cancer and died."

Oh, my goodness, that’s very sad, Rhona remarked.

She looked at Rory with concern and her eyes filled up again, but now for distinct reasons.

"I loved living with grandma. Grandpa the vicar

died when I was about eight, so it was just me

and her. He also had cancer, it`s like there`s

something in the water over there…." he said

somberly.

"We didn`t have money, but Grandma was

always there for me.

Even in her eighties, she insisted on standing out in

all weathers watching me play rugby."

Realising he had been hogging all the conversation, turning to face Rhona, Rory asked,

"So, what about you? How come you know so

much about the West of Ireland?"

By this time, the sun was dropping away; the warmth was gradually leaving the garden, and it was getting chilly.

Instead of answering, Rhona changed the subject,

It is getting cold. We’d better go inside now.

She then got up and asked,

"Would you like a bowl of my casserole?

I`ve made plenty?"

Rory followed her inside and sat at the scrubbed pine table looking out of the windows at the view, while she heated the casserole on the Aga. She then spooned the delicious-smelling meal into two large bowls, added a wooden board stacked with freshly baked soda bread to the middle of the table, and joined him.

Help yourself, she said, pointing at the bread.

She would have loved to have been able to talk about her past, but there was a part she had chosen years ago to never tell anyone about.

She kept it simple,

"My husband owned a property in Aitmháith

Cullenmara when I met him. After we married,

we bought this, it is remarkably similar to the

Cullenmara cottage."

She was reticent to divulge more.

Wow, that’s quite a coincidence, Rhona!

Rory exclaimed.

Did you live there then? he asked

incredulously.

"Well, we did for a bit, but not for long,

but we went over every summer."

She watched Rory hungrily devouring his casserole, while she merely picked at hers.

That was delicious, he remarked, sighing

contentedly.

After tearing off some soda bread and wiping the bowl clean, he stuffed it all in his mouth.

Rhona grinned and relieved that watching him had broken her train of thought, soon finished hers quickly.

Rory then got up, cleared the table, and washed the items up in the Belfast sink in the front window.

Rhona watched him from behind.

Ooh, you don’t need to do that, she said.

He insisted and having finished, turned towards her and asked,

Shall I put the kettle on?

She smiled at him. He had a tide line of washing up water across his front and had somehow, got the foam in his mop of brown hair.

I`ll do it, she said, getting up slowly and stiffly from her chair.

She walked over to the kettle on the Aga, turned up the heat, and stood drying dishes beside him, still reminiscing to herself.

Now very much used to living alone again, hearing Rory`s soft Irish lilt reminded her of happier times gone by, but after recent events, all her memories were tinged with sadness.

CHAPTER 3

Rory and Rhona April 2011

Having successfully curtailed the Cullenmara conversation and any further questions about her past while Rory was drinking his tea, Rhona asked him more about his Cornwall life, intrigued, as he explained how he had moved over to Cornwall from Cullenmara after his grandma died.

She’d had good innings, he said,

But I do still miss her, even now.

He explained how he had used his small inheritance as a deposit on a little ground-floor flat in Trewith, where he had lived for several years, surviving by doing a mixture of gardening, labouring, and driving.

"Driving was becoming more lucrative, and just

after Mark offered me a permanent driving job

back in 2008, I met Josie, and unexpectedly,

ten months into our relationship, little Lottie

came along. I had resigned myself to a life

on my own and never thought I would marry

or have kids."

He paused and stared down at the floor before continuing.

"I had an unpleasant experience when I was

twenty-two and decided I was better off on my

own, but meeting Josie changed everything."

He then told Rhona they had married one dreary, grey summer’s day, at Camluggan Registry Office, the previous year.

"I loved her to bits and Lottie my little princess,

well, words fail me. I adore her. She took my breath

away. She looked so cute walking in front of Josie

down the aisle in her little red and white floral dress

and with her head adorned with a daisy chain she

had made herself. She was smiling away, without

a care in the world."

Rhona was now sitting quietly sipping her tea in front of him and he continued,

"Josie grew up in a Children’s Home and had a

tough life. All I wanted to do was to look

after them both. But sadly, the job got

incredibly stressful and I couldn`t afford to

take much time off as I needed to provide for

the three of us. Tempers understandably rose,

as I was never home. Sometimes, I would lose

control and get angry, but I couldn`t seem

to help it."

He looked down at the floor again and Rhona could tell he was hurting, but he seemed to want to continue.

"I do not understand it, but when I hit thirty,

I felt different and was not myself, I started

having strange thoughts and even odder

dreams. My doctor said I was depressed,

but I refused tablets, deciding I would

sort myself out on my own. Things

weren`t helped by me staying out and

going to the pub after work. It cheered

me up for a while, but

that didn`t last, and looking back now,

I was scared to go home."

Already wondering if he had divulged too much, Rory had stopped talking and stared into space. But seeing Rhona`s continued interest, he continued.

"It wasn`t that I didn`t love them anymore.

I didn`t like myself when I was with them.

I hated the man I had become. Sometimes,

I didn`t recognise myself. I was moody and

irritable and became extremely angry over

the slightest things. I know I scared Josie

and Lottie when I threw my weight

around, shouting and throwing things

sometimes. But I didn`t mean to and

didn`t know why I behaved like that.

I couldn`t seem to help it."

Looking despondent, he sat himself down. Although it had felt good finally to tell someone, he was worried that he had said too much.

But Rhona leaned forward and, after touching him gently on the arm, said,

"Life`s full of frustrations and worries,

many of which we never properly deal 

with and carry around inside us. We work

too much, play too hard, and continue

with our lives. But we need to stop and

tune into what is happening  inside us.

It is like a pressure cooker: unless you 

let some of the steam off gently, you

will explode.  How can you look after 

others if you cannot look after yourself?

You need to give yourself  a break, Rory,

and be kinder to yourself. No one else

will do that for you."

Rhona sighed and then gently squeezed his arm, but his response to the truthfulness of that statement was to pull away.

"I`m sorry Rhona, is that the time? I must get

back," he said, quickly deciding he had to go.

Rhona was immediately worried that she had said something she should not have, knowing she could be quite intense sometimes. But Rory got to his feet, thanked her, and then planted a hurried kiss on her cheek before leaving.

As he was about to go out the door, he turned and asked,

"What’s that wooden platform thing

for in your garden?"

"I wondered when you’d ask about

that," she replied, smiling.

"I`ll show you next time you visit if

you still want to. You`re always welcome."

Rory smiled back, turned, and then was gone.

Rhona remained sitting at the table, deep in thought.

It was such a strange coincidence that Rory was from Cullenmara, and she marvelled at how poignant it felt to meet him now when she feared she might never be able to return there again.

Although meeting Rory had been quite a shock at first, it was nice to have him to talk to, and he was a welcome distraction from all her current worries.

CHAPTER 4

Rhona

Rhona was born on 12th January 1947 in a large house in Seaford Devon, a stone’s throw from the beach. Her mother Nancy was a kind woman, but maternal instincts did not come naturally to her. She was strong and opinionated, with a strong ambitious spirit, and was one of the few women running her own business in the town.

Her mother first met Lennard, who became her husband, when he was a straw hat salesperson. He had come into her shoe shop trying to sell her his wares, having not long returned from years of fighting for his country during the Second World War.

They married and soon after, Nancy fell pregnant with Rhona. Sadly, Rhona did not remember her father at all but had been told he was soft-spoken, kind, and the sort of person who thought of others instead of himself, something that Rhona as a child, presumed must have come in especially useful during the war. But he had returned with things physically and mentally wrong with him.

Her mother explained that she never knew the genuine horrors that Lennard had confronted during his service.

She told Rhona that he had suffered from weak lungs and, therefore, got infections.

Within a couple of days, he was diagnosed with tuberculosis, and died, leaving Rhona with only one tatty black-and-white photograph to remember him by. It showed him, her mother, and her as a small child, playing with pebbles on the beach.

It was after that everything changed. Her mother, who had grown up within the strict dictates of the local Brethren, turned even more to the church to help her manage the stresses and strains of managing a shoe shop, and bringing up a small child on her own.

Rhona hated school and although returning home afterward meant lots of chores, this was one of the few times in her life when she got quite close to her mother. She could tell she was grateful for her help around the house, they had a system: her mother cooked, and she cleaned.

But seven years after her husband Lennard died, her mother met Mr. Healey and when he appeared on the scene, everything changed.

Rhona was nine years old and played them both up considerably, partly as an act of defiance but in defense of her late father. She refused to call him by his first name as that would be too familiar and declined to do anything he asked, thinking why I should when he is not my father. She was full of contempt for his intrusion into their lives, but despite her rantings, her mother married Mr. Healey only six months after she had first met him.

He also grew up with staunch local Brethren ways, meaning that after school twice a week, Rhona had bible study and every Sunday, had to get up early and don her best clothes and wander up the road to the back room of the Chapel, for Sunday School at ten o`clock sharp.

Her mother and Mr. Healey would join her an hour later in the main hall for an hour of preaching, prayer, and contemplation. Or, in her case, an hour of fidgeting and fretting.

Rhona disliked Sunday School immensely and found it tiresome and an inconvenience. She also felt it all so hypocritical, knowing full well, that behind their little angelic faces, she, and her friends, were a very naughty bunch who would do anything to satisfy their craving for excitement in what at their age, appeared to be an extremely dull seaside town.

Having moved from the big house into the cramped maisonette above the shop, Rhona became increasingly stressed about Mr. Healey. Her schoolwork suffered, and she stopped bothering to try to learn anymore.

However, occasionally she got to escape the confines of her mother’s strict household routines by going out with her friend June, who lived next door. Her parents were part of the Brethren, owned a clothes shop, and allowed her to hang out with her. Sometimes they would meet up with other Brethren’s children who had also managed to escape their domestic drudgery for an hour or so.

Whenever they could and filled with excitement, they would sneak into the back of the Town Hall, which served as a Picture House. Crawling on their hands and knees in the dark after the films had begun, they could watch crackly black and white moving pictures, or Saturdays, technicolor films, in awe from the back.

The Brethren would not approve if they found out, so they all had to be careful not to get caught, but it was the only genuine excitement they got.

Rhona`s mother had taught her that, moving pictures were an evil influence and the trip to the cinema was very naughty.

If she and her friend June were lucky, a lady would come round during the interval, serving vanilla ice cream made with clotted cream and smothered in raspberry sauce. Having no money of their own, they would lie in wait, until the pink- pink-pink-overall-clad lady, complete with a matching checked hat, took ice cream, to eagerly awaiting customers further down the cinema. That was their chance to dash in the dark and grab what they could before she returned.

Rhona would always dutifully pray for forgiveness later, when kneeling to say her nighttime prayers. But despite knowing what they did was very naughty, she loved the excitement of it. 

The ice cream tasted lovely and much nicer than the hard rock cakes her mother cooked regularly and called a treat. To say her mother was frugal was an understatement. Years later, Rhona realized that her mother`s money went on her fabulous collection of hats, leather handbags, and gloves, rather than on her or any home comforts or treats.

Rhona`s grandparents farmed a couple of miles away, up at Cos Hill, on the road out of Axend and this was somewhere else, that she and June loved to go. Here, they would be allowed to help churn the butter, drink the warm creamy milk from a big jug fresh from the cow, and eat lots of cream from the creamery. They also got to play in the immense hay barns and could run for what seemed like miles, down grassy hilly fields, where they also picked wildflowers and put them in their hair. The pair would also roll themselves down hills at great speed, getting giddier and giddier with every turn and dissolving into giggling and laughter, when trying to stand up afterward.

Rhona left school when she turned fifteen and after that, her time was divided between helping at the shop and cleaning the tiny maisonette. She blatantly refused to attend Sunday School anymore, preferring to lie-in bed instead.

During the early years of her marriage to Mr. Healey, her mother Nancy gave birth to her brother Christian in 1960 and became pregnant with brother number two, who arrived in early 1962 and was named