His eyes were blazing as he made this speech. She could see the passion surging through him like wildfire. They’d spoken before, a year or two ago, about the prospect of Irish independence, but had mostly been repeating what they’d heard their parents say. Ellen had never been sure whether it would be good for Ireland or not – would the country not be worse off if it threw off its connections to its powerful, wealthy neighbour and branched out on its own? Was it not better to be a little part of a bigger nation, than a small, poor nation that was independent?
But clearly Jimmy had made up his mind the other way. What would that mean for him? What would it mean for her, and the future she hardly dared dream about, a future with Jimmy at her side?
Clare, February 2016
‘So, how was the house, Mum?’ my son Matt asked, when I met up with him for our regular weekly coffee a few days after coming back from Ireland. Matt had graduated from university a couple of years ago, and now worked for an IT consultancy based in London, which meant we could easily meet up.
I sipped my Americano before answering, trying to decide how best to describe Clonamurty Farm. ‘Hmm. Dilapidated,’ was the word I picked in the end.
‘But with potential?’ Matt was studying me carefully. ‘Mum, there’s a twinkle in your eye. You can’t disguise it.’
I smiled. He probably knew me better than anyone, Paul included. ‘Yes, it certainly has potential.’
‘So?’
‘So what?’
‘So are you going to move there, do it up, get in touch with your Irish heritage and all that?’
‘Your dad doesn’t want to. He wants to sell it to a developer as soon as possible.’
Matt frowned. ‘It’s not his to sell though, is it? What do you want to do with it?’
I picked up a teaspoon and stirred my coffee, which didn’t need stirring, before answering. When I looked up Matt was still frowning slightly. I wanted to tell him to stop before the lines became permanent. I wanted to rub my thumb between his eyes to smooth them out. ‘Well. How do I answer that?’ I said, still playing for time.
‘Truthfully? Come on, Mum. You can tell me anything – you know that. I won’t tell Dad.’
‘OK. The truth is, I don’t really know what I want. Part of me says yes, your dad is right, we should sell it, take the money, invest it for the future, give some to you and Jon.’
‘And the other part?’
I took a deep breath. ‘Says I should move to Ireland, no matter what.’
‘With or without Dad?’
‘It’d probably be … without him, I think. He wouldn’t want to look for a new job in Ireland. Perhaps he’d come over at weekends, or …’
‘… or you’d use this as a chance to leave him?’
There they were. The words. Out there, in the wild. Matt had said it, not me, but I needed to answer. It felt like the point of no return. I took yet another deep breath, this one shuddering. ‘Ye-es. I suppose so.’
I don’t know what reaction I expected from him. But it wasn’t this. He leapt up, grinning, came round the table and leaned over me to hug me. ‘Oh, Mum. At last! You’re doing the right thing. You know you are. It’s time for you to have a life of your own, not dictated by Dad. He’s always putting you down and trying to stop you doing anything for yourself. I know you stayed together for me and Jon, which is lovely of you, but we’re grown-up now and if you two separate, we won’t mind at all. It won’t hurt us. Jon feels the same – I know because we’ve discussed it.’
I picked up a napkin and dabbed at my eyes, which had sprung a leak. It was a weird feeling, knowing our two sons had discussed their parents’ relationship and come to the conclusion I should leave my husband. Very weird. ‘We’ve been married twenty-five years, Matt. It’s a lot to throw away and I need to think it through carefully before doing anything.’
‘You’re not throwing anything away. You’re just moving on to a new phase in your life. It’s the perfect opportunity, Mum. You’ll have somewhere to live and money of your own, so you won’t be dependent on him or any divorce settlement. You’ll be far enough from Dad to stop him interfering. Because you know he’ll try to.’
I nodded. Yes, he would try to interfere. He’d try to stop me. ‘But I’d also be far from you and Jon.’
‘Ryanair fly to Dublin for about fifty quid return. We could come over to see you for weekends every couple of months. I’d love to see my great-grandparents’ farm.’ Matt sat down again opposite me, but kept hold of my hand across the table. I loved that my sons were so tactile and affectionate.
I felt a tear form in the corner of my eye. ‘Can’t help but wonder what your grandparents would have thought, if they’d still been here. Marriage is supposed to be for life.’
Matt smiled. ‘They’d feel the same way Jon and I do, I’m sure. They’d want what’s best for you, and it’s been obvious for ages that staying with Dad isn’t doing you any good. You know, Grandma used to pull me to one side and ask me on the quiet if I thought you were happy with Dad. I used to say yes of course you were, as I didn’t want to worry her, not when she was so ill at the end.’
‘Oh, sweetheart.’ I had to wipe away another tear at that. Mum had been in such pain in her final days as the cancer ate away at her. She’d been in a hospice, in a private room, with Dad at her bedside and the boys and me visiting as often as we could. I went every day at the end. Paul only came once, stayed five minutes then announced he had too much to do. I’d told myself it wasn’t his mum, and he was feeling uncomfortable not being part of her direct family. But the truth was he had never really wanted much to do with my parents. Dad had died only a year after Mum. But before he’d gone, he’d gifted me his car – a three-year-old Ford Mondeo that Paul had immediately appropriated as his own, trading in our elderly BMW. Until Uncle Pádraig’s legacy, the car was the only thing I owned outright, under my own name.
‘So, you going to do it, Mum?’ Matt said, dragging me back into the present.
‘I don’t know yet. I’m going to have a good long think about it.’
‘You do that.’ He was thoughtful for a moment, then looked at me with a smile. ‘Do you remember that poem Grandma used to quote? I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree. That’s what you should do.’
‘Go to Innisfree?’ I said.
‘Or whatever the farm in Ireland is called. Arise and go now. That’s my point.’ He pulled out his wallet to pay for our coffees. ‘This one’s on me. And don’t forget you can ring me any time if you want to discuss it more. Jon and I will do all we can to help you.’
‘Not if it puts your dad against you. I don’t want you to ruin your relationship with him on account of me.’
‘Mum, I don’t have much of a relationship