‘Yes,’ she said, her mouth curving into a smile.
‘That’s what life is supposed to be like, April. I want you to look around you, my girl, soak it in. I want this for you, all of this. We’re not going home, April. It’s just going to be me and you from now on, and we’ll be just fine.’ Her mother squeezed her shoulders, a loving gesture that warmed April through as the words washed over her like the waves behind her. ‘This is our second chance hotel, sweetheart. New life starts right here.’
***
April’s feet were moving, heading for the glass doors, key in hand, before she even registered the urge overtaking her body. This was what had been keeping her going, thinking of seeing that beach. Feeling the wind whip her shoulder-length brunette hair around her face, walking barefoot along the sand. She loved the beach, and always had – she thought back to the long summers she had enjoyed growing up. Crabbing off the docks, swimming in the clear blue waters, curling up with a fire and a hot chocolate on a dark night. After that summer at Shady Pines, the two of them had visited every beach they could find. She envied the child she had been, all innocent and full of hope. What did she have now? Besides wood rot, of course?
This, that’s what.
As she pushed on the doors, they resisted at first, stuck fast with dirt and grime, but then she gave them a shove and she was outside, half running across the grass as she shoved her keys into her bra and picked up the pace. Walking out of those doors felt like stepping out onto the moon’s surface. The grass led to a path cut out of the rocks and wild tufts, the thick carpet of green blades giving way to sandy dunes the closer she got. She kicked her shoes off, not giving a toss where they landed, and once her bare feet hit the wet sandy beach, she whooped with delight.
‘I’m here, Shady Pines!’ she yelled, her jean bottoms getting flicked with the sand she was casting off in her run to the sea. ‘I’m really here!’
The sharp shock of the cold water took her breath away momentarily, and she squealed to herself. After a few gentle steps, she felt her whole body sigh with the pleasure of the sensations. This was her favourite place, by the sea. She loved it, had always loved it, and once more she found herself marvelling at the journey she had just undertaken. A year ago, she would have laughed in the face of anyone who told her the story. It would have seemed so unbelievable, so daring. Like a lifestyle piece in the magazines she used to read, once upon a time. Before they seemed to mock her, show her what she was missing. When your life didn’t follow the usual expected path, where did that leave a modern woman? The knackers yard? Spinsterhood? She wasn’t ready to start knitting a straitjacket just yet, thank you very much. She still felt twenty-one most days.
Not today though. Today she felt about eight years old, holding her mother’s hand while she paddled in the sea, tiny toes wrinkling in the water. She felt brilliant. Right now, standing there in the sea, her old life miles away and out of reach, she felt amazing. This was day one of her new life. Peeling paint and broken doors be damned. Duncan seemed like a bad dream right now. Hoping the feeling would last once reality set in, she smiled to herself, turning to walk further along the shoreline, to leave her footprints in the sand, and make her own mark.
Chapter 2
Cillian O’Leary followed the sticky blobs of raspberry jam as they led a trail from the worn lino of the kitchen to the scuffed wooden floor of the lounge. He was spraying and wiping away the globules as he went, moving from the floor to the doorframe, where red seeded fingerprints were stuck to the white-painted wood. A cartoon pig was jumping into a puddle on the television in the corner, and a pair of bush baby green eyes followed the movements on screen.
‘Orla,’ he said softly, causing her brown wispy head to turn into his direction. ‘Daddy can make your toast, poppet. I told you, I’m here to look after you.’ His daughter regarded him as she often did these days, with a blank, open expression that made his heart break. He looked at the slice of toast, half eaten on the plate, buttered better than any girl her age should be able to achieve.
Orla’s eyes were already back on the screen, watching the pink, animated animals live their perfect, happy lives. What a crock we teach our children growing up. White picket fence, smiling parents, happy children, perfect homes. Baddies wear black, and the good guys wear white and always win, no matter what. White hat or black hat. Right or wrong. Good or bad. In Cillian’s world, the grey areas had overlapped, encircling him in a storm that he couldn’t see through, let alone get out of. Except, he did get out of it. They just needed that next step now, that little lifeline. Something to break them out of this rut and get them moving again.
He put the dirty cloth straight into the washing machine and flicked on the kettle, flicking it off a second later once he realised that the coffee jar was empty. He didn’t get paid till Friday, and he was staring down the barrel of a full five days with the tenner and change he had in his wallet. Thank God he had diesel at least for his van. He could still take Orla to school nursery and pick her up after. At least there she would get snacks of fresh fruit, and a hot lunch. By the weekend, he would have money to feed and
