said. ‘Tell me more about the wildlife.’
A sudden stir in the trees seemed to unsettle him. ‘I’d best get going,’ he said, and before she could say another word, he made a bolt for it, and it wasn’t long before he was out of sight.
Laura edged forward on her bottom, and dangled her bare feet in the clear, cold water, as a swan drifted by. Ten minutes passed in a daze, as she thought about Dillon, Caitlin, and Bridie. Were the children OK? Did Dillon even go to school? He’d told her he did, but she couldn’t be sure – he was often about during the day. Should she try to find out more about the children’s life at home? Introduce herself as their neighbour, perhaps?
It was almost seven, and she knew she would need to move fast if she wanted to get to the farm and back before dark. She dried her feet on the grass, slipped them into flip-flops, and grabbed her hessian bag.
It was dusk by the time she found the farm, a dilapidated two-storey farmhouse. A couple of run-down sheds stood nearby, and a small apple tree grew near the lake, near a moored rowing boat. She remained a good distance away, obscured by trees, watching as a small, dark-haired woman of around her own age gathered towelling diapers from a makeshift washing line. Hens darted around her feet, almost toppling her over, as she folded the diapers into a wicker basket.
Laura wanted to go over, introduce herself, but her legs refused to move; the woman looked stern, unapproachable, and anyway, she’d promised Dillon. As she watched on, the last of the sun went down, coating distant trees like liquid gold. The woman wedged the basket onto her hip, just as the front door was flung open, and a little girl toddled out, her head full of dark curls – one of the braces of her red dungarees was undone, flapping about as she moved.
‘Bridie!’ It was Dillon, following her out. He lifted her up and swung her round and round, and the little girl giggled.
From what Laura could see, they seemed happy enough – a normal family. A little rough around the edges, but she knew that much.
The woman looked about her, and ushered Dillon, with the girl tucked under his arm, inside, as though she sensed a storm coming. Moments later the door slammed behind them. If it hadn’t been for the hens scurrying about, pecking the ground, it would have felt as though nobody lived there at all.
The sun had dipped behind the horizon, and Laura hitched her bag further onto her shoulder, and turned for home. But as she stepped forward a searing pain made her tense. She grabbed her stomach, and bent over.
‘You spying?’ It was a male voice some distance away.
Laura stood upright, and looked about her, the pain easing.
‘I asked you a question,’ came the voice.
‘I was just out walking. I live about half a mile away,’ she called, trying to pick out the man in the darkness.
‘Lough End Farm is private property,’ he called. ‘You’re trespassing.’
‘Yes, sorry. I’ll be on my way.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Laura. Laura Hogan.’
‘The daughter of that couple who died at Devil’s Corner? I heard you’d moved in.’
She shuffled. ‘I should get back.’
‘I’m Tierney O’Brian.’ He was still out of view, although his shape was moving towards her through the darkness, tall and broad – still too far away to make out his features. ‘Just keep away from here in future.’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’ She dashed into the woods, another pain gripping her, as though someone had grabbed her around the middle and squeezed. She stopped, crying out, and grabbed a tree branch.
‘You OK?’ she heard Tierney call out, his footfalls approaching.
‘Fine,’ she called. Surely it isn’t a contraction, not this early.
She sucked in a breath, and hurried through the darkness, nerves jangling, Dillon’s words about Bridie being locked in a cupboard still in her head.
She picked up speed, weaving in and out of the trees, a sudden movement of a low-flying bat causing her to cry out. What the hell was wrong with her?
Relieved to see the welcoming porch light of her house, she fumbled with her key. Once inside, she pulled the bolt across and leaned against the door. The family at the farm looked perfectly happy, didn’t they? She could stop worrying about the children, couldn’t she?
Another painful contraction ripped across her stomach.
‘Oh God, no,’ she cried, as she slid to the floor in agony, her waters breaking.
February 2018
I arrived at Dream Meadows Care Home at two o’clock. Mum was in the communal lounge, a peaceful place looking out over the grounds.
I made my way through the people dotted about on chairs and sofas, reading, sleeping, or doing crossword puzzles, and sat down beside her.
Her blonde hair, not a trace of grey, hung loose and damp, from a recent shower I suspected. She looked younger than her years. Pretty in a flowing purple top with a ruffled hem, that I’d bought her for Christmas, over navy leggings, and a pair of fluffy slippers.
‘Mum,’ I said, taking hold of her hand, and she looked up, her eyes wide and vacant. I knew before she said a word that she didn’t know who I was.
‘Hello,’ she said, locking her eyes on mine. ‘I’m Laura Hogan. Do I know you?’ The question always stung. But before I could answer, my mother continued, ‘My daughter’s at school at the moment – she’s very clever. She came to see me this morning.’
I sighed inside. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ I said, trying to control the usual surge of tears burning behind my eyes. ‘Coffee?’
‘Are you my carer?’ She looked about her. ‘Where’s Margo today? I like Margo.’
‘I’m not your carer, Mum. It’s me. Rachel.’ I swallowed a lump rising in my throat. I had to keep from crying, for her sake.
‘I don’t want any …’ She stopped, and tapped her knee with her free hand, as though she was sending Morse code to her brain. ‘I don’t want any brown hot water … thank you. I’ve had several cups already. It keeps me awake at night.’
I squeezed her hand, wanting to ask her what she’d wanted to say the last time I was here, ask her about Mr Snookum, show her the painting, but what good would it do?
‘I love you,’ I whispered.
‘Love you more,’ she said, eyes still closed.
‘It’s still you and me against the world, Mum. It always will be.’
Her eyes flickered
