A Father's Legacy

December 2015

The sullen sky unleashed another flurry of snowflakes as she dropped a spray of holly into the grave.

And this is where it all ends, she thought, all the years of running, hiding, not telling. A cancer ward, a spray of holly, some snow, buried among strangers.

Leonora turned on her heel to walk away. She couldn’t listen to earth being shovelled on the coffin or accept the sympathies of people she barely knew. Brushing through the crowd, ignoring outstretched hands she made for the sanctuary of the car. Once inside she was finally free to release the flood of emotion she had suppressed for the past month. Hammering on the steering wheel she could finally scream, Why Mother? Why, why? What did you do to deserve this? What did either of us do?

A tap on the window brought her back to her senses. It was Mark. Who else? Mark who had been away during those weeks while she waited in the hospice. Mark whose engagement ring was on her finger. The Mark who had been too busy to come visit her mother while she lay dying. On an impulse fuelled by grief and anger she locked the door before opening the window letting in snowflakes and Mark’s concerned voice.

You need to be back there. People want to meet you.

Mark, damn them, damn people. I need to be here, away from all that’s going on.

But the final prayers? The reception. My mother would like to talk to you.

His mother? How lucky! At least he had one.

Really? Mark, just go away. I am going back to the house.

You can’t do that. You have to be there, at the hotel.

They’ll manage. Already she had the key in the ignition, ready to swerve off into the steadily increasing snowfall.

Don’t Leonora. We all know how upset you are. Please, just think what people will say.

Let them say what they want. See if I care.

But my mother, my family?

She put her foot on the accelerator skidding on compacted snow, spraying him with slush and was gone, down the hillside towards the village.

Where is she love? his mother asked when he returned to the graveside.

Gone to the house, I think.

She has to be here and at the reception. His mother had pursed her lips and taken on that look as Leonora called it.

Not now, Mother.  They’re praying.

The ceremonies over, a small queue of people wanting to pay their respects formed seeking out the nearest relatives they could find in Leonora’s absence. The shortage of relatives was very obvious to Mark’s mother’s experienced eye. Given her graveside stance, Mrs. O Leary was inevitably in line for the sequence of, Sorry for your troubles,. Standing beside her a woman with two twenty something daughters, both bearing a resemblance to Leonora, had to be the Dublin relations. Well dressed and with good accents, not really what you would expect at a single mother’s funeral she thought silently, reminding herself to refrain from sniffing. Mark could be right, it really didn’t suit her.

And that gaggle of young men and women. The care home staff, well not exactly a care home, more a place for the children of down and outs. Leonora’s colleagues, Mark had called them as he pointed them out earlier. She would have to ask him again what that foreign looking man’s name was. If the girl was to become part of their family, then the more she knew about her the better. One couldn’t be too careful.

The priest in his winding up speech had welcomed everybody to refreshments at the local hotel. Not very wise in her opinion. Everybody would go, all looking for a free drink given that Christmas was almost upon them. She just hoped there was enough money to pay for that. Mark couldn’t be expected to pay his fiancée’s mother’s funeral expenses. And what money could the girl herself have? Silly girl. By all accounts she was bright but should have made better use of her intelligence.  Should have gone into IT or something that would do more than pay the bills. Too much nonsense with social work these days, minding people who wouldn’t mind themselves.

Pulling her fur coat tighter around her as a shield from the biting cold, she followed her son to the car, hoping the hotel would at least be comfortable.

A blast of warm air welcomed the funeral group thronging through the hotel doors. The manager, a close friend of the dead woman’s, was determined to give her a good send off. He only wished they could take down the Christmas decorations for the day. They seemed incongruous as a backdrop to a funeral party. But at least they had been able to turn off the piped Christmas music. No sign of the daughter but everything was under control. She had been very clear in her instructions when she had dropped in to arrange the reception.

In Leonora’s absence, the Dublin relatives were taking it upon themselves to circulate and thank people for coming. Out of a sense of shame maybe, the manager thought as he ushered people into the dining room. Noticing her Dublin accent he had asked Maria if her family got to visit her in this neck of the woods. Her response had been a shake of the head and a shadow passing over her face.

A discussion was breaking out among the group at the small table by the window. Leonora wasn’t there, where could she have gone to?

She probably couldn’t take anymore. Orla commented. It’s been a long few weeks, waiting for her mother to die. I guess she’s gone home to escape all of this.

Ask Mark, he should know, Alex ventured. We need to be sure she’s OK.

Orla rose to approach Mark who was sitting beside his mother at the Dublin family’s table.

She has gone back to the house, was his answer.

Maybe you could get her to come down, she should be here, his mother added.

Orla stifled the expletive that was coming too readily to her lips. Would they ever learn Leonora had too much on her plate to worry about appearances and doing the socially acceptable thing? She would like to see them if they had endured the weeks Leonora had. Grabbing her coat from a chair back and muttering a quick goodbye she was gone, out into the snow coming down thickly now.  

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On a boat off the shore a light flickered. An answering flicker signalled it was safe to land. Time to bring the Christmas supplies ashore. The thick set man on deck paused listening to the order to head for land. He had seen the death notice, he should have been there. Too late now, too late for all that. Would he have been missed? Unlikely, it had all been too long ago. Too much had happened, she had pushed him away. Maybe with good reason, he reminded himself. Yet he would go to the grave, pay his respects later. That much at least he owed her, even if she had separated him from the child they had given life to.

Chapter Two

Shit, I shouldn’t have driven up here, Orla swore as the car skidded again. Damn, they never grit these roads.

A final swerve and she was outside the house. Lights were on, at least that meant she must be in. Or maybe lights and fires were lit while the funeral was in progress. She had heard somewhere of the country tradition. Sinking her boots into slush she made for the door remembering to flick the car locked as she walked. Though why bother she wondered, nobody would be out on an evening like this.

The door opened on her third knock. A red eyed Leonora in pyjamas stood there an empty glass in her hand.

Oh Leonora, Leonora let me take that, get you warmed up and get you something to eat.

Leonora handed over the glass dumbly.  With an arm on her shoulder Orla walked her gently to the sitting room. At least a fire was lighting, a neighbour must have seen to that.

You’re OK Leonora, I’m here now. I’m going to rustle up some food. Then we’ll talk. I’m staying tonight, we can talk all night if you want to.

Orla, I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t stay and watch the burial. I know I should have, I should have gone to the hotel. But, but... Leonora stifled a sob.

Leonora, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You are allowed grieve in your own way. And right now this is the best place for you, sit by the fire and have some food.

Trust Orla to know what to do, she wouldn’t ask for explanations.

A comforting rattle of pans and cutlery came from the kitchen.  Orla was slicing mushrooms for the omelette when Leonora wandered in.

Ok, I’ve raided the fridge. Not a lot in here, you’ll have to do a shop if you are staying on for a few days. You are staying here for a while, aren’t you?

Maybe, I have a week’s leave but Mark wants me to go back. There are Christmas events he wants me to go to with him.

And you have just buried your mother? Orla arched an eyebrow. Listen honey, you stay here as long as you need. This will not be a regular Christmas.  You decide for once what it is you want. Orla arranged placemats and crockery on the table.

Thanks, Orla. I want to stay here. She twisted the ring anxiously on her finger. I’m not so sure I want to be around Mark right now.

That he will have to understand. I don’t recall you saying he rushed down here when your mother was sick. She deftly took the omelette from the pan. Eat up now. You probably haven’t tasted food in days.

The food was surprisingly good. She hadn’t realised how hungry she was or how foolish her plan of downing a bottle of wine had been. Orla was right, she would stay here, it might be her last chance before the house went up for sale. The thought up for sale threatened to bring tears to her eyes again. Suddenly she realised she wasn’t just mourning her mother’s passing but the passing of her childhood as well. An orphan now. Did that mean she was suddenly grown up? Probably but then she had been grown up for a long time, she thought wearily.

Now you can have that drink, Orla was moving the empty dishes to the sink.

The squeal of tyres on the snow outside alerted them to a visitor. Stay here, I’ll get it, Orla put down her glass and headed for the door. Leonora heard Mark’s voice through the open sitting room door.

She is here isn’t she? She had us all so worried running off like that. Can I come in? He was in the hallway kicking a flurry of snow off his shoes.

Come in, but no accusations of not doing the right thing. She has been through enough.

Orla, there is a right way of doing things, he looked at her askance, brushing the snow off his coat.

Not when you’ve lost your mother. But she’s in here if you want to see her.

Leonora love, he announced entering the sitting room we are staying at the hotel. It is too bad out there to travel. Come down and join us for a drink.

He took in the pyjamas, the blazing log fire and the newly opened bottle on the table.

What are you thinking? You should have stayed on to meet people.

What am I thinking? It is snowing. My mother hated the cold. Tonight no one can go to her and keep her warm. Don’t you realise what it feels like to know she is cold in that grave and not be able to do anything about it?

Oh Leonora, you must be sensible, you knew this was coming. Come down to the hotel anyway. Your Dublin relations have gone back already because of the weather. But Mother and I are staying over and there are locals there asking about you.

Leonora shook her head mutely.

Mark tried again. Just get ready. I can wait. You’re only upsetting yourself here.

But it’s not as simple as that, Leonora answered wearily. I want to be upset. Don’t you get it? My mother has died I’m allowed be upset. Anyhow I am staying here with Orla. She has been here through most of this, she added pointedly.

The barb wasn’t lost on Mark. You know I couldn’t get away.

No matter. Come back in the morning. We can talk then.

And that’s it? What will I tell them?

Tell them I am not coming down because I am tired and sad and need space. That they should understand.

She caught Orla looking at her open mouthed as Mark left.

Good on you girl! You needed to say that. She topped up Leonora’s wine glass and indicating an album on the table asked, Are those photos you were telling me about?

Leonora nodded, There may be more but for now they’re all I’ve found.

Leafing through the photos Orla raised her head. None here of your father. Did she tell you anything about him even towards the end?

Leonora shook her head. I asked but she didn’t want to talk about it. Then she became too ill to press it further.

And how are you feeling about all that?

I’m not sure. Hard done by. Very cheated but, pulling her feet under her on the couch, I’m sure I will be very angry when all the numbness wears off.

Understandably so. Orla with her big family could see how difficult life would be if it were only herself against the world.

Going to get another armful of logs to add to the blaze Orla twitched back a curtain. It was still snowing steadily. She shuddered suddenly. Beautiful as West Cork was in summer she wouldn’t like to be down here for too long in this weather.

You are sure about staying here for a few days? she asked Leonora.

Yes, I need to. Don’t worry, I’ll be OK.

Mark won’t be very pleased with that.

I know.

Orla spotted the ring that had adorned Leonora’s finger for the past months lying alone, with an air of abandonment on the coffee table. Something told her she had been wise not to buy an outfit for that wedding just yet.

Towards dawn the thick set man came to stand outside the house. His night’s work done, some better part of him had impelled him up the hill, through the snow. He had his farewells to say. But it was too late, many, many years too late. Even a visit to the fresh grave shrouded under a blanket of snow had done little to ease his conscience. Standing outside the house, looking at the darkened windows he contemplated ringing the door-bell. But a twitching curtain, a face regarding him briefly, caused him to turn on his heel and walk away.

Leonora woke from the first long sleep she had had in weeks to the sound of voices from the kitchen and the ringing of Angelus bills. Midday, could she really have slept that long? And that dream, it had been so real. Sitting bolt upright realisation dawned. It hadn’t been a dream. It had happened, her mother was dead, there had been a funeral, people gathered, open soil.

Fighting against the sharp pain where she thought her heart should be, she struggled out of bed reaching for the dressing gown. There was something she had to do.  Something she should have done weeks ago. The ring, where had she put it? It would have to go back to him. Breach of contract. The words were ringing in her ears. What had she said last night?

Orla’s words were coming back to her. My God when you decide to spill the beans, you don’t hold back. Do you?

Could they seriously have had that much to drink? Or had it been the effect of those weeks at the hospice? Either way she had to get downstairs, meet whoever it was Orla was entertaining in the kitchen. Putting the ring in her dressing gown pocket she shoved her feet into slippers and headed for the stairs.

The group in the kitchen fell silent when she pushed open the door. Realising how dishevelled she must look she made a quick attempt to push her mop of brown hair off her face. Alex from work was there, leaning against the stove, a mug of coffee in his hand, regarding her intently with those hazel eyes. What had Orla said about him last night? Worse again what had she said herself? And inevitably Mark had arrived. At least there was no sign of his mother, not yet anyway.

How are you bearing up? he addressed her now.

Okay.

Want to travel back with us? You could leave your car here for a few days.

No, Mark. I’m not going back today. But I need to talk to you. She had to deal with the issue immediately, otherwise it would become another of those things that never got resolved.

Mark raised his eyebrows, Sure whatever.

In the hall-way he made an attempt to put his arms around her. Pushing him away she put her hand in her pocket, taking the ring firmly between her fingers.

Mark, I’m sorry. This isn’t working for me. I want to give you back your ring.

A stunned silence met her words, followed by, This can’t be happening. You can’t seriously want to end things. You’ve just been under too much pressure.

He took a step towards her but Leonora held up a hand stopping him.

No Mark, no. I’m sorry, I should never have agreed to marry you It was a mistake, a big one. The tears were dangerously close again.

But, it was not a mistake. Not for me and not for you. he stopped.

Take it please and go, just go. I will explain when I get back. But not today, not now, please.

Baffled he looked at the ring in her outstretched hand.

You don’t really mean this. You are just stressed. Wait until you get back to Cork. Things will be different then.

No Mark, she shook her head. My mind is made up. Go, just go. Now, before I say something I will regret."

Can we wait until you get back? You will feel so much better then?

Wordlessly