Within You, Without You

By Sara O'Donovan

Kathryn Johnson's life is at a standstill. Stuck in a lacklustre marriage, the spark that once burned so brightly within her has since been snuffed out by the monotony of the everyday.

Returning to England after many years of living in Ireland, she is shocked to discover a familiar face on the side of the road one dark and stormy night. But a person can't just reappear like that. Not when they've been dead for twenty years.

Uncovering long-buried memories of first love and its devastating loss, Kathryn returns to the past to see if she can rewrite her present. But love divided by time is a complicated equation to solve.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Valley Press
• Release date: Nov 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9781915606211

Sara O'Donovan

Sara O’Donovan spent her early years in the UK, brought up in the world of horse racing, but now lives in Ireland with her husband and young family. A former equestrian journalist, horses and writing have been the two constants in her life. This is her first novel.

Book preview

Prologue

Recently, he had come to her in her dreams.

As she slept with the Atlantic waves crashing against the nearby rocks, she met him again. She could not remember what they spoke of or if they had spoken at all. But on waking, she could clutch at the glow of him before it ebbed to that place which lay beyond reach. Until the next time.

And now, although she could hardly make him out on a wet November evening, she knew that he was here again. But this time she was awake and this time he was real. Hunched against the driving rain, hands in pockets, head bowed, walking towards her on a darkening road.

The wipers were no match for the rain streaking down the windscreen so she leant forward, squinting to get a clearer view. She only saw him for a moment before bright lights appeared in her mirror. As the truck bore down, she accelerated past the figure now stepping onto the grass verge. She glanced to the left, glimpsing his face for a few seconds until the truck blasted its horn.

When the truck had rumbled past, leaving a dirty spatter on her windscreen, she pulled over and reversed into a gateway, returning the way she had come. She drove slowly, her heart hammering in her chest, expecting to see him walking towards her.

Nothing.

She stopped the car and jumped out, looking up and down the road. A car appeared, splashing her as it swept past. The red taillights disappearing around the corner.

His name hadn’t been on her lips for more than twenty years. But it had been on her mind so often.

‘Ed?’ she called, timidly at first. ‘Ed?’ This time louder.

There was nobody there.

But she was certain, more certain than she had ever been, that it had been him. She had recognised his walk, the way he had glanced across at the passing car. She had felt the essence of him.

But a person doesn’t just reappear like that.

Not when they died twenty years ago.

Chapter 1

The letter had come a few weeks earlier.

Her mother had never shown any interest in moving over to email, and Kathryn had to admit that she admired her determination to continue writing to virtually everyone she had ever started a correspondence with. She was like that, committed, and expected it of others. Which of course meant she was often disappointed.

Disappointment. Yes, Kathryn understood disappointment.

She opened the small envelope which had been waiting for her on the doormat. The neat handwriting clung to each side of the Basildon Bond paper. Champagne and watermarked – never plain white. Habits that endured.

Putting the letter back into the envelope, she clicked the kettle on. She hadn’t seen this coming.

Sitting down at the table with her cup of tea, she looked out of the kitchen window to the garden and beyond to the lighthouse on the peninsula. At night, flashes lit up her bedroom every minute, but over the twenty years she had lived here she had got used to it.

The lighthouse wasn’t the only aspect of her life that had become part of her everyday landscape as the years had passed. She looked around her and was once again struck by the thought that this could be someone else’s idea of heaven. Living the dream, the newspaper supplements announced whenever they wrote about celebrities who had made their homes in this remote part of Ireland. If it was on a Hollywood actor’s wishlist, shouldn’t it be enough for an ordinary woman just trying to make her way through life?

This wild promontory where land met sea in the south western corner of County Cork was where Kathryn and Mark had found themselves in their early twenties. It had been Mark’s suggestion to load the car up and just drive away from their home town on the Sussex coast, heading to the ferry port at Pembroke and on to a new life across the water. Their families had thought it unusually adventurous of them both and were further staggered to be told a fortnight later that the young couple had not only found jobs but a house to rent. Mark soon found himself in demand as an accountant in the local town and, before long, Kathryn was pregnant. By the time their landlord decided to sell the house, Mark’s salary had grown enough for them to put in an offer and the farmhouse and two acres became theirs.

Those years felt distant now. The enthusiasm with which she had decorated their home in lively shades of rich reds and oranges was now a memory. She had thrown herself into transforming the surrounding wilderness into a lawn and beds of buddleia and rose bushes. Just as the lawn took time to settle, so did she and, by the time the garden was established, the adventure was over and the demands of parenthood had begun.

Maybe everyone feels like this, Kathryn thought as she stirred her tea. Maybe it was normal to live on the edge of dissatisfaction. Maybe the sort of fulfilment that made you gaze out across the sea from your kitchen window with a smile on your face was only for those starting out in life.

The vibration of her phone in her pocket made her jump.

Hi mum, yes all fine. Off to theatre group in a minute. How’s dad?

It had taken Alice nearly a day to reply to her mother’s text but, still, it was good to hear from her. It wasn’t so long since her own university days in the early nineties when having no access to mobile phones meant you could keep your parents at arm’s length.

All changed now, she thought, glancing down at her mobile and the letter from her mother.

She tapped out a text to her daughter.

Dad’s very well. Have fun tonight and take care.

Words that skated over the surface of meaning. The shorthand of everyday life. She imagined her daughter glancing at the words which said so little yet would give her the reassurance she needed to enjoy her night without giving her parents another thought. What a relief it must be to be able to leave hints of others’ unhappiness aside and focus on being young and carefree.

Kathryn knew that domestic life would continue without disruption while she was away. Mark would make sure the dog was fed, the dishwasher filled, the washing hung out to dry. Now that Alice was at college, the chores that came with having a teenage daughter had come to an end – no more driving her to friends’ houses or drama lessons, no dirty clothes to pick up off the floor, no mouldy cups to be collected from every surface of her bedroom. Years of endless tasks had stopped abruptly when Alice drove out of the gate at the end of August with her little car loaded up with quilts, clothes and boxes.

Mark had reacted to her mother’s letter as expected, with a shrug. As always, he skirted around any possible objections, any complaints that she had to shoulder the burden while her sister moved through life free from responsibility.

‘You haven’t seen your mum in ages,’ he had said with what he probably thought was an encouraging smile. ‘It’s only for a fortnight. If you can’t take care of things while she goes down to help Joyce out, it’s a bad job. And besides, it’ll be nice to get back to England after all this time.’

Her mother had offered to stay with her sister, Joyce, while she recovered from a hip operation. She had asked Kathryn to come over so she didn’t have to ask the neighbours to keep an eye on the house and feed the cat. She wasn’t one to be beholden to strangers.

‘But why me? I bet she didn’t write to Beth.’

‘Come on, Kathryn. You’re here and Beth’s in Boston.’

‘And she’s got an important job, so she can’t leave. Is that it?’

‘No, Kathryn, that’s not what I’m saying. Although she probably can’t. It’s easier for you.’

He did what he always did and left the room without making it look as if he were walking away from the early rumblings of an argument.

Kathryn knew she should be glad that he was someone who didn’t make a fuss. He never had. When Alice was sick as a toddler, he had been calm and reassuring. When someone had driven into their parked car, he had been reasonable and told her that it was only a car and nobody was hurt.

Yes, life with Mark was calm. Like her parents’ marriage had been, it was smooth sailing, without upset. On the surface at least.

Chapter 2

As the plane began its descent into Gatwick airport, the clouds parted to reveal a khaki and brown patchwork of fields. The Irish landscape the plane had risen above just forty-five minutes earlier was richer with greens of every hue. This land was flatter with a busy motorway running east to west like a silver river threading its way between the expansive fields.

As the three lanes of traffic surging along the road came into view, Kathryn wondered how she would ever cope with driving in England again after so many years. The wheels of the plane dropped with a clunk and her ears popped. The ground seemed to be steadily rising to meet her and she closed her eyes and counted. Three, two, one… Kathryn felt the jolt of the plane hitting the tarmac and braced her knees against the seat in front. A screech of tyres and then the rain-lashed land speeding past her window began to slow until finally the plane stopped. People began to unclick their seatbelts, reaching up into the overhead lockers and pulling cases down as she continued to stare out of the window. She was here and would make the best of it. After all, it was only a fortnight.

#

The rain had stopped by the time Kathryn swung the hire car into her mother’s driveway. She switched the headlights off and sat for a moment, focusing on the white wall of the bungalow as she braced herself for her homecoming.

She knocked on the front door. Inside the house, a television was quietened.

This didn’t feel like home. Indeed it wasn’t her home. Her mother Valerie had moved to this secluded housing estate ten years earlier, after the death of Kathryn’s father. She hadn’t moved far from Kathryn’s childhood home but far enough to keep the reminders of what life had been like before they had lost him at a distance.

Kathryn decided not to let her mind wander down that path. Nothing good ever came of it. Losing her dad meant she had lost any chance of their relationship evolving, becoming something different. Somehow, she had always believed there would be time. Time to become close, time to connect as adults rather than as parent and child. Now a parent herself, Kathryn could more easily understand her parents’ focus on their children’s education. They had only wanted what was best for herself and Beth, even though it hadn’t felt like it at the time.

The light came on in the hallway and Kathryn could see the outline of her mother through the frosted glass of the door. A rattle of a chain being unhooked and a key being turned and then the door opened. Her mother, smaller than Kathryn remembered, had the stoop of an elderly woman.

‘Hi Mum,’ Kathryn said, with a forced smile. She hadn’t expected her mother to have aged so visibly.

‘Come on in then, Kathryn,’ Valerie said, turning back into the house. ‘I don’t want the cat to get out.’

After dinner, she sat listening to her mother talking about how quiet life was now that she was widowed and living amongst strangers. She was looking forward to staying with Joyce and catching up on old times. Now that Kathryn was here to house- and cat-sit in her absence, Valerie said that she would be on her way tomorrow.

She had mentioned people in her letters and it had been convenient for Kathryn to assume that these were friends. People close by who were somehow able to take the place of daughters who were either busy looking after a young child or looking after a blossoming career on the other side of the world.

‘The hospital had Joyce on a waiting list but she’d have to wait a year for her operation. I’m glad I could help her to go private. Your dad had a bit put away in the Post Office. He’d have been happy to help. He always liked Joyce.’

Kathryn gazed at the school photos of herself and Beth that lined the sitting room wall. If she had known, she could have sent money. Beth would have been able to chip in. Surely a high-flying job on Boston’s leading newspaper meant she could help the family out when they needed it?

‘How is Beth?’ Kathryn asked, pushing back her chair and taking her plate to the sink.

‘Busy. Well, she’s bound to be, with a job like that.’

Kathryn pulled a face, as she had done when she was a teenager. It had always been this way – Beth the achiever, who somehow never had to contribute. Even when their dad died, she could only spare a couple of days before flying back to Boston, to her exciting job and her flat in the salubrious Back Bay area.

Kathryn turned on the hot tap, squirted some bright blue washing up liquid into the bowl and watched the water rise. Her mother had always shunned dishwashers. She said that by the time the machine was filled with crockery, you could have washed, dried and put it all back in the cupboard.

‘Beth said she didn’t hear from you on her birthday. I thought you might have rung her,’ Valerie said. ‘You’ve only got one sister and one day you might be glad of her.’

Kathryn didn’t reply. She and Beth had long since given up any pretence of a close relationship.

As if reading her mind, Valerie continued.

‘Why can’t you two just get on.’

It wasn’t a question but a statement, laced with disapproval.

Kathryn turned the tap off.

‘I’m going to ring home. I’ll do this afterwards.’

Sitting on the edge of the single bed in her mother’s spare room, she stared at her phone. She didn’t want to ring home. She wanted to cast back into her memories, for that year with him, bring it up into the light and remember how it had once been. She wanted to feel again.

Chapter 3

1992

She wasn’t meant to be there that day. It was unusual for her to be at a racecourse on a Tuesday afternoon in August but one of the lads had called in sick.

While she waited for her university term to start, she worked in the mornings riding out for a local racehorse trainer. Her parents had given her riding lessons for her tenth birthday and she had ridden at the local riding school ever since. When she heard that the racing yard on the edge of town was looking for someone over the summer months, she jumped at the chance.

Her parents hadn’t been keen and would have preferred her to get a summer job waitressing in one of the cafes along the seafront. However, when Kathryn pointed out that she would be in the fresh air and getting fit, they had eventually agreed.

She heard him first. Or more accurately, she heard his horse walking towards her. A bright bay gelding, ears pricked, was striding keenly along the tarmac of the parade ring. He tossed his head impatiently and snatched at the lead rein as his stable lad tried to steady him. She was leaning against the rail and, as they drew level, the young man caught her eye and, smiling broadly, winked.

What happened in that moment? In the years that followed, she had never found an answer that encapsulated it completely. She was jolted, struck by a force she couldn’t put a name to and would never encounter again. It was certainly a recognition of sorts; a recognition of someone she had never set eyes on before.

Waiting for the horse to complete the circuit of the ring and pass her again, she pulled the race card out of her pocket and pretended to study it. A fluttering deep inside her which had started the moment she saw him, was now growing as the horse swung around the bend and approached her once more.

The clatter of hooves was now steadier and, glancing up, she could see that the horse had settled and the lad had fallen into a slower walk. His stride matched that of the horse; his eyes on the animal, giving her a chance to study him more closely.

He didn’t have that hungry, pinched look of the lads who were trying to keep their weight low enough to race ride. Anyone could spot the aspiring jockeys with their pale faces and gaunt frames from sparse diets and daily saunas where they sweated off extra pounds. He was about the same height as her, so not particularly tall, but he was broad-shouldered and strong, with dark brown hair cut short. His faded black suede jacket was zipped up over a navy blue polo shirt, his dark green corduroys were turned up at the bottom and his polished shoes gleamed in the sun as much as the horse’s oiled hooves.

He looked up suddenly. Again, that grin that spoke of fun, adventure, mischief.

‘All right?’ A jaunty, confident voice that immediately told Kathryn he was from the north of England.

Unsure if he had meant that greeting just for her, she smiled shyly.

When he had passed, she felt herself return to her body, now so electrified, so lit up; her heart racing as it had never raced before.

For the remaining months that summer, Kathryn volunteered to take horses to the races as often as she could and soon became familiar with all of the southern racecourses. Each time, she hoped they would park near his lorry, that the lad leading the horse down the ramp would be him, and that she would finally find out who he was. But just to know he was on the course somewhere would be enough. She hadn’t realised that hope could feel like excitement in the pit of her stomach.

One balmy summer’s afternoon at Lingfield, she was carrying buckets and her grooming kit through the archway into the racecourse stables. A leather bag containing a set of red and white striped jockey silks was slung over her shoulder. Lazy girl’s load, that’s what her nan would have said. Too idle to make two trips.

‘Here.’ His voice from behind her.

As she looked around, the bag slid off her shoulder spilling the jockey’s cap onto the gravel.

He was holding up a hoof pick that had bounced out of the kit as she struggled with her load.

Those dancing hazel eyes again. ‘You might need this.’

A variety of replies spun through her mind before being discarded as dull, idiotic or too eager. As he leant down to pick up the cap, she noticed his tanned neck, looking away suddenly as he straightened.

‘I’m Ed. You’re with John O’Sullivan’s yard, aren’t you?’

She nodded.

‘Fancy a cup of tea after the last race?’ he asked.

‘Um, yes, that would be nice. But we’ve only got one in the third race so we might have left by then.’

‘Okay.’ A shrug of the shoulders but still that smile.

And then he was gone. That loping stride, the confident tilt of his chin. She had thought about him so often in her quiet moments that his traits seemed strangely familiar.

Later that afternoon, she took a chair at one of the Formica tables in the brick hut where stable staff clustered, gossiped and swapped tips. A mug of tea in front of her, she pulled her book out of her bag. She might as well have a few minutes to herself before it was time to load the horses for home.

Disappointed that she was too early to bump into him, she took a sip and settled down to read. Fortunately, the canteen was empty except for a woman drying cups in the corner.

She felt a blast of warm air on her back as the door opened. Without turning, she knew it was him. The words on the page started to swim and she read the same sentence over and over again. Her mind was elsewhere. Behind her to be more precise, with him as he crossed the room. A tap of his boots on the flagstones; a murmur at the counter as he ordered. Wiping her clammy palms against her jeans, she hurriedly tugged her hair from its band and pulled it back into a tidier ponytail.

Seconds passed. Maybe he hadn’t expected her to be there and wanted a quiet moment to look at the paper. Maybe she should just leave him in peace, giving him a nonchalant nod of acknowledgement as she passes him. Yes, that’s what she would do. Act as if she hadn’t given him another thought since she’d seen him earlier. Act as if she hadn’t been thinking about him every moment since.

‘Can I sit down?’

She tried to look casual as she glanced up at him, standing there with a red mug in his hand.

‘If you want … yes, of course.’

‘Want another cup of something?’

‘No, I’m fine thanks.’

She glowed inwardly, noticing that he chose to sit directly opposite her rather than taking a chair further along the table.

‘Smoke?’

He pushed a half-finished pack of Benson & Hedges across the gap between them.

She shook her head, wondering if she should close her book or not. What if he wanted to know what it was about? Thought her pretentious?

He shrugged, pulling the packet back to his side of the table.

‘What are you reading?’ he asked.

‘Gaskell,’ she said.

He raised his eyebrows.

‘North and South,’ she continued.

‘The TV series with Patrick Swayze?’

‘No, a different one. Thought I’d make a start getting through my university book list.’

‘University?’ Now he was smirking.

‘What?’

She felt irritated with herself for mentioning university. It wasn’t how she wanted the conversation to go.

‘Well, I didn’t think you’d do anything as boring as that.’

How was it that when she replayed that scene, it wasn’t the fact that he thought university could be boring that stuck in her mind. If anyone else had suggested that, she would have been shocked. No, what she held on to was the fact that she was someone he had started to form an opinion about.

‘I’m studying English. You know, it’s what you do at university when you don’t have any other plans.’

She could feel herself becoming someone else in his company, dismissive, irreverent.

He took a cigarette, fished for a lighter in his pocket and lit it.

‘Unlike life, which happens when you’re busy making other plans.’

Seeing the quizzical look on her face, he said, ‘John Lennon.’

His stable pass was under the pack of cigarettes. She tried to make out the date of birth on the crumpled card as he got up to take a glass ashtray from a nearby table. It surprised her to see they were the same age. He struck her as someone who had experienced more life than your average nineteen year old.

‘So I’ve told you my name. What do they call you?’ he said, sitting down again and looking at her with a directness that surprised her.

‘Kathryn.’

‘Kathryn.’ He echoed her name, considering it for a moment before tapping the growing ash on the end of his cigarette into the ashtray.

She wanted to ask his full name, where he lived, what his life had been like up to now. All questions which seemed out of place in this moment. She passed each one through her internal filter and dismissed it, leaving a silence to descend.

He broke it by answering a question she hadn’t needed to ask, ‘I’m at Ron Hyland’s in Epsom.’

‘Yes, I know.’ It was out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

The hint of a smile on his lips. She could kick herself.

‘But I’m from Liverpool originally. That’s my real home,’ he continued, picking at one of his nails, already bitten down short. ‘I only came down here a couple of years ago.’

‘With your family?’

‘Nah. My dad and brother are still up north and my mother walked out.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

‘Why? I’m not.’ He shrugged and lifted the cigarette to his lips again, inhaling deeply. ‘I don’t remember her anyway. I was only a baby.’

She was at a loss, felt out of her depth and didn’t know what to say next.

But it didn’t matter; he continued, staring down at his fingers.

‘My old man loves racing. So I went into it. He’s happy,’ he said, tapping the cigarette against the edge of the ashtray.

‘And are you?’

‘What?’

‘Happy.’

‘Are you?’

His eyes held hers and she felt herself blushing.

‘Yes, I suppose I am. There’s lots to look forward to…you know – new places, new people to meet…’ She knew it sounded hollow, the sort of cliches you said when you thought they were expected of you, a chasm between what you said and what you meant.

Again, that shrug.

‘If that’s what you want from life.’

She thought about how she should reply, how to sound more interesting. So far she hadn’t done a great job. He probably found her insipid.

‘I suppose I don’t really know what I want from life yet.’

‘Who does?’

His gaze remained fixed on her and she wondered how she could paradoxically feel uncomfortable and thrilled at the same time.

Ed glanced at his watch and quickly drank the last dregs from his mug. Grinding his cigarette into the ashtray and gathering up his stable pass, he pushed his chair back.

‘I’d better get my horse ready for the second last. Or get sacked.’

She’d been so wrapped up in him, she had forgotten he had another runner.

‘I’m sorry for holding you up and making you late,’ she said, jumping up and knocking her book to the floor.

He reached under the table, wiping dust off the cover as he emerged again.

‘You didn’t hold me up and you haven’t made me late.’

He handed the book to