Then on through leafy Ballycarry station before emerging, finally, on the shores of Ballyfergus Lough.
The familiar beauty of the Lough brought a sense of peace to Lucy and she smiled at last as she caught her first glimpse of Ballyfergus in the distance. The town’s origins lay in the busy ferry port, around which the town had grown and expanded. And now, with a population of over eighteen thousand, the town sprawled up the hillside, engulfing the surrounding rural townlands. A town small enough to know like the back of your hand, big enough to pass through unnoticed, and the only place where Lucy felt at home.
An hour after leaving Belfast city centre, Lucy stepped onto the platform and into a quickening westerly wind. She took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh, clean air, then hurried to the car park. She spotted her mother’s red car straight away, the sound of music blasting across the tarmac even though all the windows were shut. When he saw her coming, Matt got out of the car, took her bag and threw it in the boot. Then he gave her a bear hug, nearly lifting her off her feet, and she smiled for the second time that day.
‘How are you, big sis?’ he said, releasing her.
‘Glad to be home.’
At six foot three, Matt had, like her, inherited their father’s height and slim build. He’d also inherited their mother’s good looks that had so cruelly passed Lucy by – thick, dark hair, an oval-shaped face, high cheekbones, large dark brown eyes, and a smile that was impossible to resist. Lucy, with her washed-out colouring, too-skinny figure and plain face felt as though she’d been handed the leftovers. And while Matt’s height was a blessing, hers was a curse. At five foot eleven, she towered over most guys, making her feel ridiculous and conspicuous. It was so unfair – why had Matt got all the trump cards?
Matt frowned. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘Your hair needs a cut.’
Matt pulled the cap off, ran his hands through his thatch of thick hair. He grinned, put the cap back on and said, ‘I’m growing it. Lots of chefs have ponytails these days.’
Lucy gave him a sceptical look and they both got in the car. ‘Would you turn that down?’ she shouted above the din – of a male rapper she thought, but couldn’t be sure.
‘Don’t you like Dizzee Rascal?’
‘Not my favourite,’ she grinned and rolled her eyes like she knew what she was talking about. Was Dizzee an artist? Or a band?
Matt turned down the music and Lucy breathed a sigh of relief.
She didn’t care for music – of any kind. It was a language she could not understand, a code she could not crack. Background music, whether in the communal kitchen of her digs or drifting down the hall from Matt’s room at home, was an unwelcome distraction, demanding her attention, interfering with her ability to think clearly. She preferred silence or the soothing sounds of the spoken word. For this reason, she listened to Radio Four – though she’d quickly learnt to turn it off when her flatmates were about.
Matt drove off, tyres screeching on the tarmac. Mum would have a fit if she saw the way he drove the Micra when she wasn’t around. But Lucy would never tell, not on Matt. She stared out the window as they drove the familiar route home. Away from the town centre the streets were all but deserted, save for the odd dog walker or kids wandering home late from school. Nothing much happened in Ballyfergus and that was part of its appeal. She found the continuity of life here reassuring.
‘I’ve got some news for you,’ said Matt, interrupting her thoughts. ‘I had an interview at The Lemon Tree today. I did text you.’
‘Oh, problems with my phone,’ said Lucy dismissively. ‘But what about the job? Did you get it?’ She clasped her hands against her chest praying that he’d been successful. Since he’d finished college three months ago he’d found only sporadic work at the local chippy. And it was getting him down. He’d started talking about leaving Ballyfergus for Dublin or London. So the prospect of a job that kept him so close to home was wonderful news.
He grinned, said nothing for what seemed like forever, and then blurted out, ‘Yes!’
‘Oh, Matt,’ she said, her eyes filling with tears. She touched him lightly on the arm. ‘That’s just the best news. Now you won’t have to move away from Northern Ireland.’
‘I won’t have to move anywhere,’ he announced happily, the optimism in his voice making her blink back the tears. ‘The job’s in Ballyfergus.’
‘Where?’ she said and sent up a silent prayer of thanks. If Matt had moved away, what would she have done? He was the one person who understood her best and loved her in spite of the way she was. Mum and Dad were always trying to change her, to mould her into the popular, cool daughter they so clearly desired.
Matt told her about the interview with someone called Ben, the new restaurant opening up where Peggy’s Kitchen used to be, when he hoped to start work. And Lucy listened to his animated chatter filled with joy. This was what she’d hoped for as they moved into adulthood – both of them living in, or close to, Ballyfergus.
Unlike her flatmate Fran, who came from Ballyclare, and Bernie, who hailed from Limavady, Lucy had never yearned to leave her small town roots behind. Fran and Bernie loathed the places they came from and vowed to never go back. Lucy, who listened with astonishment as they derided their hometowns, had no desire to live anywhere else.
She was not jealous of Matt. She loved him too much to envy him. But she could not help but contrast the direction his life was taking with her own. He had always known what he wanted to do while she, full of uncertainty and doubt, still had no idea.
‘Mum and Donna were having lunch there,’ went on Matt. ‘It was a bit embarrassing. Mum went all soppy when she found out I got the job. I thought she was going to kiss me at one point but, thank God, she only patted me on the cheek.’
They both laughed heartily at this and Lucy managed to say, ‘But you’d be disappointed if she did any less.’
‘I guess so. Though I’m still going to move out.’
‘But why?’ she said surprised. ‘You and Mum get on really well.’ If Matt moved into a place of his own, or worse, a shared flat or house, she’d not see so much of him. ‘And, it’s cheaper living at home,’ she argued, trying to think up reasons to deter him. ‘You’ll have more money to spend, and save, if you don’t waste it on rent. That way you could save up a deposit on a flat of your own.’
He cocked his head to one side, considering this. ‘That’s true but I really need my own place. I love Mum but it can be difficult sometimes, living at home.’
‘In what way?’ said Lucy, astounded. She knew that it would be difficult for her to live at home full time. Mum was always picking on her, moaning about how she managed her money, needling her about her social life, expecting her to do things around the house she didn’t ask of Matt. And though she would’ve died for her brother, there was no doubt in Lucy’s mind that Matt was the favourite.
‘Well, you know what she’s like about smoking in the house,’ he said, reluctantly, as if uncomfortable talking about their mother like this behind her back. ‘And she’s right, I guess. It’s her house, after all,’ he added hastily, and waited for Lucy’s nod of agreement before going on. ‘Well, Rory had a smoke in the TV room the other night and she was none too pleased. It wasn’t a big deal but it’s hard living under parent’s rules when
