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Before she knew it, she was thundering down the small lane that provided a shortcut into the village. Her emotions drove her, a mixture of grief, devastation and, yes, she could admit it to herself, jealousy of her sisters and the lives they’d made, which seemed to be so secure compared to her own. Her life was already a mess and this just felt as if she was kicking the can of sorting it out down the road for another six months. She was walking blind and it was little wonder that she wasn’t killed when a huge tractor careered around one of the narrow bends.
Nola felt herself fall backwards in a slow-motion dive that seemed to last for much longer than it possibly could have. One moment she was lost in thought and the next, she had landed in an ungainly heap in the ditch and was a little more than dazed when the farmer who was driving the tractor jumped down to pull her out of the long, wet grass and thorny brambles.
‘Are you all right? What in the name of all that’s holy were you thinking, walking along the middle of the road like that?’ he barked as he straightened her up, grabbing her deftly by her upper arms when she lost her balance and began to slide backwards again. She was, she knew, in complete shock. A matter of inches and she’d have been flattened beneath the huge machine. ‘I’m so sorry, people normally have the good sense to stay on the side of the road. You could get yourself killed with that sort of carry-on,’ he said then.
‘Excuse me? You were the one taking up the whole road and driving like a bloody lunatic.’ She pulled away from him, still slightly swaying.
His face contorted in disbelief. ‘Look, when you walk in the middle of a narrow lane—’ He stopped suddenly and stepped back, as if he too needed to take a long breath. ‘Nola? Nola Delahaye?’ He waited a beat. ‘It’s me, Ai—’
‘Aiden Barry,’ she said, her mind all of a sudden slotting his vaguely familiar face into place. ‘So, I should feel better that I might have been killed by a neighbour instead of some random stranger?’ Nola did her best to straighten out her clothes. She smoothed her hair and then looked at him. He was almost bloody smiling, as if there was something amusing in nearly mowing her down on the road. ‘I’m fairly sure this lane is still on our land, so it could be that apart from dangerous driving, you’re actually trespassing,’ she said haughtily.
He took a step back. ‘Well, now, is that right?’ He rubbed his chin and she had the distinct impression that far from being sorry for almost flattening her in the ditch, he was laughing at her. She felt a flash of anger.
‘Yes, that’s right. And another thing, if you’re going to drive that thing like a maniac, well, you should really…’ She ran out of words because as the shock was wearing off she realised that only an idiot wouldn’t have heard the roar of the tractor coming round the bend and only a fool would be standing here arguing with someone they hadn’t seen in years. She felt herself starting to blush.
‘Well, it seems there’s not a lot wrong with you that a teaspoon of common sense wouldn’t cure,’ he said, looking her up and down once more. ‘It’s a pity, but it seems London didn’t do a lot to put manners on you after all this time.’ He shook his head once more as he turned back towards the tractor. ‘It didn’t do a lot to give you much in the way of road sense either. God knows how you survived in a city with buses and trains when you’re not safe on a country boreen.’ He heaved himself up into the cab and pulled away, leaving her standing open-mouthed by the side of the road.
Nola watched as the tractor made its way back up the avenue towards the entrance to the farmyard at the back of the house. She felt that surge of loneliness for London, for the life she’d lost, for her father, well up in her and she started to cry, hot salty tears for so many things she couldn’t even begin to process. Here, in Ballycove, where she should feel at home, she was utterly lost. So much for being the city sophisticate back in the sticks.
When she got to the sea, she immediately felt her spirits lift a little. She walked the length of the beach until it felt as if everything had settled within her. It was really very simple. Even if she wanted to return to London, she couldn’t possibly afford to live anywhere near the café or the centre of London on the wages she was currently earning. There was no agent, no auditions, and no acting career to go back for.
It seemed the further she was from London, the more Nola could see what a flimsy foundation her whole acting career had been built upon. She hadn’t even found an agent on the basis of her talent, rather Maggie Strip had found her one dreary morning in Hammersmith as she queued outside an open audition for extras. Right place, right time. Maggie had needed a redhead for what was supposed to be two episodes in a soap. The two episodes had continued first to a month and then to a year, then longer. For a while, Nola had been a star. Until she wasn’t anymore.
Shalib would understand her having to go home. He was always saying that family is everything.
And she did have to come home. She knew that for certain as the wind whipped cold about her ears and the sand dug into her already stinging eyes. It was the very least she could do for her father. Apart from which, if she could just do this one thing – stay here for six months – and then they sold off the whole estate, Georgie was right: she would be able to afford to buy an apartment somewhere in London. It would mean at least some small piece of security in her life going forward. Otherwise, what was her option? Go back and rent somewhere even further out, probably for more money each week that she clearly couldn’t afford as things were. She sat for a while on some rocks, looking out to sea. Far out, a fishing boat bobbed on the water, weaving its way in before the weather made a meal of whipping up the waves about them and making unloading their catch ten times harder than it needed to be.
Yes. For once in her life, she would do the sensible thing. She would return to London and pack up her flat.
Later, when she returned and pushed open the door of the house, there was no mistaking the aroma of baked trout coming from the kitchen, and her stomach responded with a groan. She pulled the jacket from her shoulders. It was soaked. She was soaked.
‘I’m back,’ she called out as she walked into the kitchen. The blast of warm air that greeted her took her by surprise. They’d lit the stove and someone had taken down two candles and placed them on the table. A bottle of wine sat open on the worktop and Iris was squeezing lemons for the sauce at the dresser.
‘Ah, so you are. Nice walk?’ she asked, not lifting her head from what she was doing.
‘I’ve opened some wine.’ Georgie appeared at the door that led to the dining room with three of their mother’s heavy crystal wine glasses in her hand.
The whole place – the heat, the aroma, her two sisters here together waiting for her, as if they were looking forward to sitting down to dinner together – brought a lump to Nola’s throat. An almost overwhelming flow of gratitude flooded through her, to be here, warm, safe, home. In that moment, she couldn’t think why on earth she’d reacted so poorly earlier. What a spoiled brat she had been. Six months with these women in this gorgeous house couldn’t be that bad, could it?
‘I’ll do it,’ she heard herself say. ‘I’ll come back and stay here for six months, if that’s what it takes.’ And somehow, she managed to ignore Iris’s triumphant smile as she took her glass of wine from Georgie.
