The last ripples of conversation died and the audience turned to the stage. Haunting music filled the room. Katie Lawson stepped forward and began to sing. Shaun smiled. Here was his beautiful girlfriend, stunning the audience into silence with the sweetest voice he’d ever heard. She had changed his life. He had come to Ireland reluctantly, miserably, desperately missing baseball, cable, twenty-four-hour everything. And then came Katie. On the first day in his new school, she was all he saw. She was bent forward on her desk, slapping it with her fist, bursting with her contagious, singsong laugh. Then she sat back, pushing her dark hair off her face and wiping tears from her eyes. Shaun’s heart flipped as he walked towards her. She had the cutest smile and it lit up her whole face. She was all natural; glowing skin, fresh cheeks, sparkling brown eyes. Once they locked onto his, he was gone.
Katie left the stage to sit beside him, her head bowed, embarrassed by the applause.
‘Wow,’ Shaun whispered to her. ‘You were amazing. You blew everyone away.’
Katie blushed. ‘No, I didn’t,’ she said, shaking her head.
‘Shut up,’ said Shaun. ‘You rocked.’
Ali Danaher, Katie’s best friend, came next, with a poem she had written herself. Shaun was smiling before she even started because he knew it would be black and heavy, like her clothes and her eye shadow. Ali had dry bottle-blond hair and if she pulled her sleeves up too high, skinny razor marks on her arms – for effect. She never admitted she came from a happy comfortable home, because her art would suffer. She finished the poem solemnly:
“…rotten core
Seeping through, finally breaking the ivory surface
A tarnished history
No longer hidden, too late to hide.”
Shaun and Katie cheered over the parents’ polite applause. Ed Danaher rolled his eyes at his wife, but was the last one to stop clapping.
When it was over, Shaun took Katie’s hand and guided her through the hall.
Joe kissed Anna goodbye and left with Ed for Danaher’s. She turned away, still smiling, and saw Petey Grant, the school caretaker, loping towards her. Petey had sallow skin and dark brown hair cut tight before it started to curl. Under thick eyebrows, his almond-shaped eyes were a soft blue and rarely made contact with anyone else’s. When he spoke, he leaned to one side, holding his big hands in front of him, moving his slender fingers in and out as if he was about to catch or pass a basketball.
‘Hello, Mrs Lucchesi. Nice to see you tonight. Did you enjoy the performance? I thought it was excellent. Katie is a lovely singer. She’s also a pretty girl. I heard her practising the other day.’ He blushed. ‘Is Mr Lucchesi here? I wouldn’t mind dropping into his workshop tomorrow if that’s OK. Is he doing anything tomorrow? I have a day off. I wouldn’t mind helping him on that table he’s making.’
Petey liked to reveal every thought that came into his head. He’d had learning difficulties since he was a child and the kids in school were split between those who gave him a hard time and those who defended him fiercely. Anna adored him. He was polite, enthusiastic, sensitive and charmingly innocent for a twenty-five-year-old. From early on, Petey had found a friend in Joe and someone who shared his interest in lighthouses. Although, for Petey, it was his specialist subject and the only thing he would talk about if he could get away with it. When Joe was working on furniture for the house, Petey would come in, lean back against the worktop and talk for hours about the history of Irish lighthouses.
‘You’re welcome at the house any time, Petey,’ said Anna.
‘Thanks very much, Mrs Lucchesi. That would be great.’
He hesitated, never knowing quite when a conversation was over.
The keys to Seascapes were heavy in Shaun’s pocket. His job was to mow the lawns and carry out repairs at the holiday homes, but now it was September and most of the houses were vacant. His plan was to slip away with Katie to one of them later that night. She had told her mother she was going to his house, he had told his he was going to hers. Martha Lawson was a tough woman to get around, but she trusted her daughter.
‘There seems to be a bit of a mix-up about tonight,’ said Martha as she approached the pair. ‘I was just talking to Mrs Lucchesi and she says you’re coming to our house.’
‘I thought we were watching
‘No,’ said Shaun. ‘Playstation at my house.’
‘Well, I’m leaving now, so I’ll give you a lift,’ said Martha.
‘Shit,’ Katie mouthed at Shaun.
Anna stayed for another two hours, tidying up after the performance with some of the other ‘sucker moms’ as Joe called them. It was midnight by the time she left. She walked along by the church, lost in her thoughts.
‘Well, if it isn’t the beautiful Anna.’ The tone was all wrong.
She held her breath, then turned around. She was stunned at how John Miller now looked. The glazed eyes, the mottled red face and the unsteady legs she could put down to drunkenness, but everything else came as a shock: his hair, greying and greasy, his skin, puffy, his shirt straining across his stomach. He swayed in front of her.
‘I know I look like shit,’ he said, his arms outstretched.
‘No, you don’t,’ Anna said quietly. ‘Not at all.’
‘Fuck off! You’re French. You’re fucking perfect.’
She didn’t know what to say.
‘So, it’s Anna Lucheesy now or so I’ve heard. Very nice.’
‘Lu-caze-y,’ she said, trying to smile.
‘So, you married your cop then? Lucky guy. Lucky, lucky guy.’ He grinned. ‘Any chance of a fuck?’
‘Jesus Christ, John!’ she said, looking around. ‘What are you saying?’
‘That I want a fuck.’
‘And where is your wife?’
‘Still in Australia. Kicked me out. Hah! Can you fucking believe it? I’m back here living with Mother. Psycho up on the hill. About to take over managing the orchard. The one thing I swore I’d never do.’
‘I’m sorry, John.’ She turned to walk away.
‘You’re a great girl. A gorgeous girl,’ he called after her.
She kept walking. Her hands were shaking, her face burning.
Suddenly he was behind her again, grabbing her, forcing her up against the wall, his breath smelling of onions and alcohol, his clothes reeking of fish. There was a shiny smear on his chin and crusty white corners to his mouth. She pushed his heaving drunkenness away.
‘John, go home and sober up.’
‘You were always a tough bitch, Anna…you little ride.’ She stared at him, searching his face, but she found no trace of the John she used to love.
TWO
Stinger’s Creek, North Central Texas, 1978
‘He won’t bite you, Duke. It’s not his beak you gotta be worried about. It’s his claws. His claws’re his weapon. ’Bout sixteen pounds’ worth of pressure he can use to tear through your skinny little arm.’ Duke looked up at his Uncle Bill, worried. Bill was smiling.
