He nodded again.
‘Does she never play games and give you hugs?’ I asked, watching as Elizabeth cleaned every inch of the already sparkling kitchen countertops, moving things half an inch to the right and a half an inch to the left.
Luke thought for a while and then shrugged. ‘Not much.’
‘But that’s horrible! Don’t you mind?’
‘Edith says that there are some people in the world that don’t hug you all the time or play games but they still love you. They just don’t know how to say it,’ he whispered back.
Elizabeth eyed him nervously.
‘Who’s Edith?’
‘My nanny.’
‘Where is she?’
‘On her holidays.’
‘So who’s going to mind you while she’s on her holidays?’
‘You,’ Luke smiled.
‘Let’s shake on it,’ I said, holding out my hand. Luke grabbed it. ‘We do it like this,’ I explained, shaking my head and my whole body, like I was having a convulsion. Luke started laughing and copied me. We laughed even harder when Elizabeth stopped cleaning to stare. Her eyes widened.
‘You ask a lot of questions,’ Luke whispered.
‘You answer a lot,’ I fired back, and we both laughed again.
Elizabeth’s BMW rattled along the bumpy track leading to her father’s farm. She clenched her hands around the steering wheel in exasperation as the dust flew up from the ground and clung to the side of her newly washed car. How she had lived on this farm for eighteen years was beyond her. Nothing could be kept clean. The wild fuchsias danced in the light breeze, waving their welcome from the side of the road. They lined the mile-long road like landing lights and rubbed against the windows of the car, pressing their faces to see who was inside. Luke lowered his window and allowed his hand to be tickled by their kisses.
She prayed that no traffic would come towards her as the road just about allowed her car through, leaving no room for two-way traffic. In order to let someone pass she would have to reverse half a mile back the way she’d come just to make room. At times it felt like the longest road in the world. She could see where she was trying to get to yet she would have to keep reversing in order to get there.
Two steps forward and one step back.
It was like when she was a child seeing her mother from a mile away but being forced to wait the twenty minutes it took her to dance down the road, till Elizabeth heard the familiar sound of the gate creak.
But thankfully, because they were already delayed as it was, no traffic came this time. Elizabeth’s words had obviously fallen on deaf ears because Luke refused to leave the house until Ivan had finished his cereal. He then insisted on pushing forward the passenger seat in the car in order to let Ivan into the back seat.
She glanced quickly at Luke. He sat buckled up in the front seat, arm out the window, humming the same song he had been singing all weekend. He looked happy. She hoped he wouldn’t keep his play-acting up for much longer, at least while he was at his granddad’s.
She could see her father at the gate, waiting. A familiar sight. A familiar action. Waiting was his forte. He wore the same brown cords Elizabeth could have sworn he was wearing when she was a child. They were tucked into muddy green Wellington boots that he wore in the house. His grey cotton jumper was stitched with a faded green and blue diamond pattern, there was a hole in the centre, and the green of his polo shirt peeked through from underneath. A tweed cap sat firmly on his head, a blackthorn cane in his right hand kept him steady, and silver grey stubble decorated his face and chin. His eyebrows were grey and wild, and when he frowned they seemed to cover his grey eyes completely. His nose commanded his face with large nostrils filled with grey hairs. Deep wrinkles cracked his face, his hands as big as shovels, shoulders as wide as the Gap of Dungloe. He dwarfed the bungalow that stood behind him.
Luke stopped humming as soon as he saw his grandfather and brought his arm back into the car. Elizabeth pulled up, turned the engine off and jumped out. She had a plan. As soon as Luke climbed out of the car she shut the door and locked it before he had a chance to push the seat forward and make way for Ivan. Luke’s face crumpled again as he looked from Elizabeth and back to the car.
The gate outside the bungalow creaked.
Elizabeth’s stomach churned.
‘Morning,’ a deep voice boomed. It wasn’t a greeting. It was a statement.
Luke’s lower lip trembled and he pressed his face and hands up against the glass of the back seat of the car. Elizabeth hoped he wouldn’t throw a tantrum now.
‘Aren’t you going to say good morning to your granddad, Luke?’ Elizabeth asked sternly, fully aware that she herself had yet to acknowledge him.
‘Hi, Granddad.’ Luke’s voice wobbled. His face remained pressed against the glass.
Elizabeth contemplated opening the car door for him just to avoid a scene but thought better of it. He needed to get over this phase.
‘Where’s th’other one?’ Brendan’s voice boomed.
‘The other what?’ She took Luke’s hand and tried to turn him away from the car. His blue eyes looked pleadingly into hers. Her heart sank. He knew better than to cause a scene.
‘The young lad who knew about them foreign veg.’
‘Ivan,’ Luke said sadly, tears welling up.
Elizabeth jumped in, ‘Ivan couldn’t come today, isn’t that right, Luke? Maybe another day,’ she said quickly, and before it could be discussed any further, ‘Right, I’d better go to work or I’ll be late. Luke, have a good day with your granddad, OK?’
Luke looked at her uncertainly and nodded.
Elizabeth hated herself but she knew she was right to control this ludicrous behaviour.
‘Off you go so.’ Brendan swung his blackthorn cane at her as if to dismiss her and he turned his back to face the bungalow. The last thing she heard was the gate creaking before she slammed her car door shut. She had to reverse twice down the road in order to let two tractors pass. From her mirror she could see Luke and her father in the front garden, her father towering over him. She couldn’t get away from the house fast enough; it was as though the flow of traffic kept pulling her back to it, like the tide.
Elizabeth remembered the moment when she was eighteen when she thrived on the freedom of such a view. For the first time in her life, she was leaving the bungalow with her bags packed and with the intention of not coming back until Christmas. She was going to Cork University, after winning the battle with her father but in turn losing all respect he had ever had for her. Instead of sharing in her excitement, he had refused to see her off on her big day. The only figure standing outside the bungalow Elizabeth could see that bright August morning as they drove away was that of six-year-old Saoirse, her red hair in messy pigtails, her smile toothless in places yet broad and wide, with her arm waving frantically goodbye, full of pride for her big sister.
Instead of the relief and excitement she always dreamed of feeling when the taxi finally pulled away from her home, breaking the umbilical cord that held her there, she felt dread and worry. Not for what lay ahead but for what she was leaving behind. She couldn’t mother Saoirse for ever, she was a young woman who needed to be set free, who needed to find her own place in the world. Her father needed to step into his rightful place of fatherhood, a title he had discarded many years ago and refused to recognise. She only hoped now that as the two of them were alone, he would realise his duties and show as much love as he could for what he had left.
But what if he didn’t? She continued watching her sister out the back window, feeling as if she was never going to see her again, waving as fast and as furiously as she could as tears filled her eyes