Bridget Kinsella

Chapter 1

Donegal, 1986

The day Fionn Power arrived started out like any other day.

Belle McGee was in her favourite place, perched in the boughs of an ancient sycamore at the edge of the field behind the barns, and reading the Agatha Christie novel she got for her birthday the day before.

‘Belle,’ her mother’s distant voice called, ‘Belle, you’re wanted in the house.’

She tutted but closed her book and, with the agility of a spider monkey, clambered to the ground. She hoped that whatever her mother wanted wouldn’t keep her away long from Poirot and all the mysterious carry on in King’s Abbot.

Running into the courtyard at the back of the farmhouse, she noticed a strange car with a Northern reg parked next to her father’s. A man she’d never seen before got into the driver’s side and drove off down the lane. Belle’s parents stood at the back door, watching the car disappear round the side of the house. Her mother looked up, spotting Belle. She smiled and waved her over.

‘What were you calling me for?’

From inside, she could hear her older sister Maeveen, laughing and giggling.

‘Come on into the house, Belle, we want to talk to you and your sister about something.’

Belle followed her parents into the kitchen where Maeveen was filling the teapot from a boiling kettle on the range. There, sitting at the end of their long, thin kitchen table was a boy, no not a boy, a man, but not a man like her father, younger, maybe a little older than the eighteen-year-old Maeveen.

Belle stopped in the middle of the kitchen floor, the oddest feeling coursing through her, starting in her stomach and like a wave, washing up into her chest before going back to her stomach. Her heart beat erratically against her ribcage, the way it would if she’d run the hundred metre sprint on school sports’ day.

She was transfixed on the exotic boy-man, scarcely able to describe him or understand why merely looking at him caused such a reaction in her body. He was tall; even in a sitting position she could see that. He wore a black muscle shirt, tight fitting and revealing tanned arms and muscles, and curiously he had a gold stud in his right ear—Belle had never seen a boy wearing an earring before. His hair was shoulder-length and the colour of dripping honey and his eyes the shimmering blue of flowering flax. He was… he was gorgeous, though she’d never thought of a boy as being gorgeous before; it had never occurred to her.

He looked up and when his eyes met hers, he smiled with a smile that stretched for a mile and lit up his face like a sunrise over a mountaintop. Only then did Belle notice her mouth was hanging open.

‘Are you asleep, Belle?’ her mother said.

‘What?’

‘Didn’t you hear me? Go and close the door.’

‘Oh, right,’ she came out of her stupor and did as she was asked.

Maeveen put a cup of tea in front of the boy-man, spilling a drop or two, and grinning at him, plopped herself on the chair nearest his.

‘Everybody, gather round,’ their father said, ‘take a seat at the table.’

When they were settled, he cleared his throat, and began to talk.

‘Girls,’ he started, ‘this is Fionn, he’s going to be staying with us for a while. Fionn, these are my girls, Maeveen and Belle, the baby of the family.’

‘We call her Baby Belle,’ Maeveen giggled.

Belle threw Maeveen the most evil look she could muster. She wasn’t a baby. Fionn flashed that mesmerising smile again, and Belle noticed the cutest space between his front teeth. Out of nowhere, Belle suddenly wished her long brown hair wasn’t tied up in its usually untidy ponytail, and she felt all the more dowdy beside her good-looking sister with had such lovely swarthy skin and long silky hair that shimmered when it swung from side-to-side.

‘How’s it going?’ Fionn said. He gave Belle a quick glance, and then turned to Maeveen. ‘Nice to meet yous.’

‘Fionn here is your cousin,’ their father said.

The grin on Maeveen’s face dropped faster than a dead bird from the sky.

Belle wasn't far behind. ‘Our cousin?’ she said. ‘But I know all my cousins.’

‘You mean first cousins, love,’ her mother said, giving their father a sideways glance, ‘Fionn’s a second cousin, the son of one of my cousins from County Derry, you’ve never met her.’

Belle thought about it awhile.

‘I didn’t know you had a cousin living in County Derry,’ Maeveen said. ‘I know our relatives that live in Derry city but you never mentioned County Derry before.’

‘Probably not,’ her mother said, ‘we were never close to that side of the family.’

‘But how’s your cousin connected to us,’ Maeveen went on, ‘who’s her parents, does she have brothers and sisters, are—’

‘I’ll explain later on,’ their mother said.

‘Why not now?’

‘Maeveen,’ their father said, with a cross look, ‘leave it.’

Maeveen frowned and folded her arms.

‘Anyway,’ Belle’s mother said, ‘Fionn’s going to be here a while.’

‘Helping Daddy on the farm?’ Belle said.

‘Probably not,’ her mother said, not looking entirely sure.

‘Is Fionn on holidays then?’ Maeveen asked.

‘I suppose that’s one way of putting it,’ her mother said.

‘He can come with me and my friends to Buncrana,’ Maeveen said. ‘We can go to the disco and the amusements.’

‘No,’ their father said, raising his voice, ‘no way.’

Belle jumped, startled by the unusual agitation in his voice.

‘Keep your hair on,’ Maeveen said.

‘Have some manners, lady,’ their mother said, ‘your father’s right, Fionn won’t be going to Buncrana or anywhere else with you.’

‘Why can’t he, if he’s on holidays?’

‘He’s not on holidays as such, more like a rest. He’s been, umm, sick, and he needs rest.’

‘Oh, sorry,’ Maeveen said, ‘that’s different. What were you sick with, Fionn?’

A red dot flared up on either of Fionn’s cheeks and he began to fidget with the stud in his ear. ‘Ah, I, well—’

‘Maeveen, mind your manners,’ their mother said. ‘Fionn, you’ve no need to answer.’

‘The main thing is this,’ their father said, ‘Fionn has to get peace and quiet. He doesn’t need us or anybody else annoying him.’

‘We won’t annoy him,’ Belle said, she turned to Fionn, who was still fussing with his stud, ‘we definitely won’t.’

‘That’s as it may be, Belle,’ their father said, ‘but we have other people, outside of us, to keep in mind too. So, and this is very important, you can’t mention he’s here, not to a single soul, not your school friends, not your cousins, nobody. And Belle, not Hunter Campbell. Is that clear?’

Maeveen nodded and Belle mirrored her but she couldn’t help wondering why her father singled Hunter out.

‘Speak up. What can’t you do?’

‘Tell anybody Fionn’s here,’ the girls chorused.

‘Good.’

‘It’s like we’re hiding him,’ Belle said.

‘Listen to me, now,’ their father said, his voice serious, a voice he didn’t use often but when he did they knew he meant no nonsense, ‘listen. Fionn is not hiding, never say that.’

Belle gazed at the floor, feeling small and told-off.

‘What happens when we get a visitor?’ Maeveen asked.

‘Fionn’ll just keep upstairs if anybody’s in,’ their mother said, ‘and we’ll not say a word about him.’

Fionn stayed quiet all the while, Belle noticed, his eyes following whoever was speaking. He didn’t seem to mind a bit that they were talking about him like he wasn’t there. A ray of the sun streaked across his face. In the golden light, he was like something painted rather than human, flawless, breath-taking. What was it her new favourite author called men like that? That’s right. Greek gods. Fionn was like a Greek god.

‘And if somebody comes to buy spuds or something like that,’ Maeveen went on, ‘what then? We get people calling all the time, even Fr O’Kane and Sergeant Buckley.’

‘Maeveen, for God’s sake,’ their mother said, ‘no matter who it is, we do the same thing.’

‘Can Fionn leave the house,’ Belle said, ‘to go for a walk or sit in the rose garden or something?’

Her parents looked at each other.

‘You can hardly expect him to stay in all the time,’ Maeveen said, ‘he has to get a bit of fresh air sometimes.’

‘We’ll see how that goes,’ their father said, ‘it’ll depend on how he’s feeling.’

‘Is he going to stay in the spare room?’ Maeveen said.

‘No, he’s going to be in the cubby hole—’

‘The cubby hole?’ Belle said. ‘That’s mad, you can’t make him stay in there.’

Their house was old—really old—maybe a couple of hundred years or more. For some reason that no one seemed to know, it had a secret room at the end of the landing. The room was about the size of a prison cell and had a door that merged seamlessly with the wall. They used it as a storeroom and the door was wallpapered over so that when it was closed, it was practically invisible to the casual observer. In front of the papered-over door—obscuring it more—was a sideboard.

Belle loved the idea that their house had this mysterious, hidden away place that no other house she knew of had. But it wasn’t exactly a nice place to spend a lot of time. She couldn’t believe Fionn would want to sleep there and she wondered if it had something to do with his illness.

‘He’s sleeping in the cubby hole,’ their father said, ‘it’s where he wants to stay. Your mother’s clearing it out today and making up a mattress on the floor.

‘We’ll make it cosy,’ their mother said.

Maeveen had a look of disgusted incredulity on her face.

‘If we all stick to these few ground rules,’ their father said, ‘we’ll get on grand and won’t have any bother. Can we depend on the two of you to do that?’

He looked at Belle and then her sister.

‘You can depend on me,’ Belle said.

‘Me too, I’ll not let you down,’ Maeveen said.

‘Good, that’s good, daughters,’ their father said, ‘I’m trusting the both of you.’

Belle's father seemed content. Her mother did too. But Belle couldn’t help thinking the whole thing was all a bit weird.

Chapter 2

Dublin, present day

‘Attention!’ a voice came over the microphone as the music faded into silence. ‘Can I get your attention?’

The crowded function room fell quiet except for a howl of boisterous laughter from a group in the corner who realised after everyone else that Alma Travers, Belle McGee’s boss and editor, had called for hush.

Good old Alma never missed an opportunity to take to the stage, Belle thought, as she nodded to the barman and raised her empty glass.

‘Another Morgan and coke, thanks,’ she said, ‘and a pint of Harp.’

She licked her lips, tasting the sweetness of the coke, and waited impatiently for the barman to return with her order. The night was proceeding along nicely, and she was enjoying the fuzziness brought on by early drunkenness. Pity she’d opted to go all out with getting dressed up for the occasion because she was starting to feel less and less steady in her high heels and her up-do hairstyle was wobbling a bit. Slacks or jeans and her hair tied in a ponytail were much more comfortable but she supposed it was nice to make an effort now and again. And the dress was flattering—it was a perfect fit for her tall, athletic frame, long legs and square shoulders.

‘I won’t interrupt the party for long but it’s time for the draw,’ Alma continued. ‘Get your tickets out.’

Belle’s colleagues began rummaging in their pockets and bags for the free draw tickets they got on the way in. Belle didn’t bother looking for hers.

The barman arrived with the drinks and Belle paid him, just as her date returned from the loos. Shane Reilly, her moderately handsome co-worker and drinking buddy, was also her part-time boyfriend and all-round nice guy.

‘What’s Alma doing?’ he asked.

‘The draw... there’s your pint.’

‘I was worried she was going to start singing.’

‘Don’t speak too soon, the night’s still young.’

Shane dug into this trouser pocket and pulled out a ticket. ‘Maybe I’ll win the weekend for two to Paris.’ He grinned.

Belle faked a smile back. You’ll not be going with me, she thought. She lifted her phone from the counter and checked for messages. There were none, only another missed call from Maeveen. Damn. That was twice she’d called that day. Belle had meant to ring her back but with one thing and another had forgotten.

‘So good to have you here tonight for the Spectator’s summer blowout,’ Alma said. ‘The newspaper’s way of saying thanks for your hard work and dedication during the year.’

‘Here, here,’ someone shouted from the crowd.

‘Before I get on with the draw,’ Alma went on, ‘I wanted to give a special mention to our star reporter, Belle McGee. Belle, where are you? Can anybody see where she is?’

‘She’s at the bar,’ Lisa from advertising shouted. Lisa waved to Belle.

‘Where else?’ another voice called out, though Belle couldn’t see who.

‘Ah, I have you now,’ Alma said, her face beaming with pride. ‘Belle’s been with us for nearly two decades—where does the time go?—and this year again, she’s been a winner at the National Journalism Awards, Investigation of the Year no less. Can I get a round of applause for Belle?’

The room exploded with clapping and cheering.

Belle cringed wishing the party would just move on. She loved her job, loved it to the point of being obsessed, but she hated this sort of attention. Alma knew that and yet, there she was, creating attention. Belle bore a smile until the racket died down, wishing she could drag Alma away from the mic. As much as Belle respected and liked her, there were times she wanted to strangle her too.

‘Okay, now it’s prize time,’ Alma said. ‘Can I get a volunteer to draw the tickets?’

Belle turned to her drink and threw it back in one go, skipping the mixer. The spicy vanilla liquid burned in her throat.

‘Bit early to forgo the coke, isn’t it?’ Shane said.

‘I’m congratulating myself,’ she said, her tone sardonic, ‘not that it’s any of your business.’ She checked herself. ‘That wasn’t nice, sorry.’

He shrugged and turned his attention to the draw.

Belle ordered another drink, a double. She was tired, dog-tired, the way you get when you’ve worked too many weekends and late nights. Her last assignment had been intense. Come first thing Monday she would ask Alma for a couple of weeks leave.

Her phone lit up and she checked the display. Maeveen again. Belle made a move to answer but decided it could wait ‘til morning.

*

Belle stepped out of the taxi and into the gentle night air. She swayed on her damned high heels, cursing herself again for wearing them.

‘Shane, do you mind if I don’t ask you in?’ she said, leaning into the back of the car. ‘I’ve a lot on tomorrow and, well, why don’t I give you a ring and we’ll arrange something for tomorrow night, something subdued.’

Shane was drunk but not drunk enough to hide the disappointment Belle saw in his eyes.

‘Oh right,’ he said, ‘whatever you say. Sure, you’re the boss.’

‘Thanks, Shane, I knew you’d understand.’ She patted him on the cheek like a pet dog.

‘Would you care if I didn’t?’

‘Don’t be a nag. You know I like to keep things light.’

‘You can take that too far, Belle.’

‘Think so?’ She chuckled. ‘This is all getting very serious. Look, we’ll have a nice time tomorrow night, just the two of us, no mad drinking, no crowd from work. Now, go home and get some sleep.’

Belle closed the taxi door as Shane’s huffed face turned away. The car drove off and she watched until the tail lights vanished at the bottom of the street. She inhaled slowly, turning her head to the heavens. The moon gazed down, a shiny orb floating in the vast blackness of the sky.

‘Aren’t you beautiful tonight?’ she said. She thought of home and of the same moon high above there too, above the sea and the hills and the woods... more befitting of it than this dirty town. Stop, she scolded, this dirty town is where you live now and where you’ll stay.

For the most part, she was content with that arrangement. Just sometimes, like after she’d had a skinful, did she dare to wish it could be different.

She stumbled up the path like a pony, her clip-clopping heels the only other sound apart from the low throb of the city in the distance.

‘Shush,’ she said, stifling a giggle.

Rummaging in her bag, she found what she was looking for. ‘There you are,’ she said, dangling her keys in the air with a smile. ‘Which one am I looking for here? Hummm, a-ha, in you go.’

The keys scratched against the lock a few times before finally finding home. Belle unlocked the door and stepped inside, pushing it closed with her back. She rested against it as her eyes adjusted to the gloom.

Silence leaned in on her, the kind of silence special to a house with a sole occupant, the kind that wasn’t merely the absence of noise. She observed a patch of silver light growing out of the shadows, the moon seeping through the casement window at the end of the hallway.

It was then she saw him.