THE PROMISE OF HAPPINESS

Louise looked at the number scribbled on the piece of paper that Sian had pressed into her hand at Joanne’s party. It belonged to one of Andy’s close friends who, as well as being a site architect for Loughanlea, was also a member of the board. With one last glance at Oli, she steeled herself, picked up the phone and dialled. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I’m Louise McNeill, Sian’s sister. She gave me your number …’

The voice that replied was as rich and velvety as that of the Jamaican continuity announcer Neil Nunes on Radio 4 – though the accent was all Ballyfergus. ‘Hi. I’m Kevin Quinn.’

‘I was wondering if you could spare a few moments to talk about Loughanlea?’ said Louise.

‘So you’re Sian’s sister,’ said the voice like melted chocolate. ‘She said you might call. It’s great to hear from you. How are you settling in? Sian tells me you’ve just moved into a new flat on Tower Road.’

The personal nature of these questions threw Louise for a moment. ‘Why, yes, that’s right. I moved in a couple of weeks ago.’

‘Good. Good,’ he said, his bass voice like an instrument. ‘And how are you finding Ballyfergus?’

Louise felt herself go weak at the knees and then caught herself. She cleared her throat. ‘Not much changed to be honest, Kevin,’ she smiled into the phone.

He chuckled. ‘Well, that just about sums up Ballyfergus, Louise. You’re not in the big smoke now. Things move more slowly here, though Loughanlea might be the exception. I think it might just put Ballyfergus on the map.’

She could’ve listened to his voice all day but, realising this was her cue to get the conversation on track, she said, ‘Yes, tell me about the marketing job. It sounds interesting.’

‘Well, from what I understand, Louise, they’re looking for someone with the experience and drive to market a world-class venue. Do you think you’re up to the job?’

She gave him a brief résumé of her skills and qualifications and he gave a long low whistle through his teeth.

‘That sounds pretty impressive to me, especially what you did at Edinburgh Castle, not that I’m an expert. The Belfast office of the Hays Recruitment Agency will be handling the recruitment process on behalf of Loughanlea and your timing couldn’t be better.’

Louise’s heart started to race. ‘How’s that?’

‘An advert’s going to run in the quality papers next week. If I was you, Louise, I’d get an application in pretty sharp.’

‘Well, thanks, Kevin. Thanks so much – for your time and for the advice.’

‘Anytime. I hope we meet one day very soon.’

‘Me too.’

‘Good luck, Louise,’ he added and the phone went dead.

Louise put down the mobile and wiped her sweaty palms on the fabric of her trousers. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get involved in something really exciting right from the outset. The only way to make Loughanlea into a world-class attraction was through professional, modern marketing techniques – the post of Tourism Marketing Manager was pivotal to its success. Louise suddenly realised, guiltily, how much she wanted the job.

‘That sounded very promising, Oli. And what I need to do next,’ she said, opening a file on the computer, ‘is to brush up this CV of mine.’

There was no response. She glanced at Oli. He was sitting on his bottom, his legs sticking out in front of him and his eyes glued to the screen. She loved him to bits, but sometimes, just sometimes, it would be nice to have another adult to talk to. She liked the sound of Kevin Quinn’s voice on the phone – warm and friendly. And she found herself wondering idly if he had a wife – or partner. Almost certainly yes. All the good men, it seemed, were taken.

Oh, what was she thinking! Maybe she had never given up hope of meeting someone, not like some other single mums who more or less resigned themselves to celibacy. But she had to sort herself out first. She needed a job and a permanent home.

Louise turned her attention back to the computer. She only had a week – there was a lot to be done. Things were moving faster than she liked, but when would another opportunity like this present itself? If she didn’t go for it, she could end up unemployed for months. And that was completely out of the question.

The doorbell rang and Louise glanced at her watch. She couldn’t believe that three-quarters of an hour had passed or that Oli had managed to leave her alone undisturbed for that length of time. She glanced up – he was playing on the floor with his Planet Protectors from the Early Learning Centre – Max had bought him the entire collection for Christmas. An expensive gift to salve his guilty conscience.

Louise walked to the end of the hall, opened the door and frowned. It was her father, dressed in pressed slacks and an unzipped khaki blouson jacket with a crisp white shirt underneath. He had sunglasses on and sweat beaded his brow. The top of his balding head was sunburnt – it looked painful. He smiled widely, exuding a roguish, even boyish, charm with which he thought he could inveigle himself anywhere. ‘Can I come in?’

Louise said, unsmiling, ‘If you like.’ He hesitated just a moment at this frosty reception, then, when she turned and walked inside, followed her. He called for Oli and he came and stood at his bedroom door. Her father pulled a big family bag of Maltesers out of his pocket and Louise gasped. ‘You’re not giving him all those are you?’

Her father chuckled. ‘Sure I am. If his Papa can’t spoil him, who can?’

‘There’s more sugar in there than he normally gets in a month,’ said Louise sullenly.

Ignoring Louise, her father held the bag out to Oli. ‘There you go, son.’

Oli, who had never before received such a quantity of sweets all at once, opened his eyes wide in astonishment, then grabbed the bag out of his grandfather’s hands and held it protectively to his chest.

‘Here, let me open it for you,’ said her father. Oli handed it over.

‘Not so fast,’ said Louise. She snatched the bag and went into the kitchen followed by a whining Oli.

‘They’re my sweets. Give them back!’

‘Just a minute, Oli. I’m just going to—’

He stamped his foot on the floor and pouted his full, delicious lips. ‘Give them back!’ he screamed.

Something inside Louise snapped. ‘How dare you be so rude, Oli! Demanding sweets like that. Stop that at once! Do you hear me?’ She glared at Oli who lowered his head like a bull about to charge, folded his arms across his chest and glowered at her.

‘Don’t be so hard on him, Louise. He’s only a baby.’

‘Babies can’t talk and walk and demand sweets. He’s a toddler, Dad, and he has to learn what’s acceptable behaviour and what’s not.’ She took a deep breath, pulled a small green plastic bowl out of the cupboard and, addressing Oli, said, ‘I was going to say that I’m going to put some of the sweets in a bowl for you. And I’ll put away the rest for later. Okay?’ This was a lie – the rest would be binned. All that sugar and fat wasn’t good for anyone, let alone a tiny three-year-old. By tomorrow Oli would’ve forgotten all about them.

Oli nodded reluctantly.

Her parents had no sense – they always plied her son with excessive quantities of sweets. It hadn’t been a problem when they only saw him a couple of times a year. But if this was going to be a regular occurrence, she really would have to lay down a few ground rules. She held the bowl out to Oli, he grasped it and a short tug-of-war ensued until Louise commanded, ‘Say thank you.’

Oli complied and Louise released the bowl. He ran off into the bedroom clutching it in both hands.

‘What’s eating you?’ asked her father, who’d followed her into the kitchen.

‘Nothing,’ said Louise and she slipped past him into the lounge and went over to the table. She turned the papers she’d been working on face down and folded her arms defensively.

‘You and Oli shouldn’t be stuck inside on a glorious day like this,’ said her father, with a glance out at the cobalt blue sky. He acted as though he had not noticed her non-verbal signals, which only a blind man could’ve failed to see. ‘Why don’t we take a walk down to the front?’

Louise looked out the window, noticing properly for the first time what a beautiful day it was. On the other side of the street the grey-harled terraced houses, much older than the nearly new block she lived in, shimmered in the heat of the afternoon sun. Down on the street two small girls in vest tops and leggings played hopscotch on the pavement, their shrill voices rising like hot air. It was nearly two and she and Oli hadn’t set a foot out the door all day. It wasn’t, she realised, fair on the boy. ‘Okay. I’ll get him ready.’

Louise marched at a brisk pace down Tower Road. As they approached the promenade a light breeze, laden with the smell of seaweed and salt, played with her hair and clothes as she thrust the buggy forward like a weapon. Her father walked at her side, struggling to keep up. ‘Hey, what’s the hurry?’ he said, with irritation in his voice. ‘It’s supposed to be a walk, Louise, not a frog march.’

She sighed loudly and slowed down and they were both silent until they came to the promenade at the end of the road. Behind them lay the hulking grey building that had started life in the seventies as Ballyfergus Swimming Pool. With the more recent addition of a gym and two sports halls, it had been renamed Ballyfergus Leisure Centre. And straight ahead lay the Irish Sea, calm and inky blue, the surface of the water like ruffled lace in the breeze. On the other side of this sea, beyond her vision, lay Scotland – and Cameron. She wondered momentarily what he was doing now.

To their right lay the mouth of the harbour where a small sailing craft was making its way slowly into Ballyfergus Lough. And almost directly ahead was a long, straight path which led to a memorial tower erected some hundred metres offshore in memory of some long-dead merchant from Ballyfergus’s past.

The tide was out, revealing a shoreline of black, wet rocks rounded into orbs and strewn with flotsam and jetsam thrown up by the sea – uprooted seaweed, segments of brightly coloured plastic, a tangle of blue nylon rope, a smashed-up lobster pot, a brown leather safety boot. The stench of decaying seaweed was almost overpowering. It had always characterised this part of the town, Louise remembered. But the smell whilst unpleasant was also reassuring, timeless – a reminder that some things never change. Like her parents’ attitudes.

Her father leant on the blue railing, crusty with layers of flaking paint, a futile attempt to keep the rust at bay. The vertical posts were streaked with ochre red, like dried blood. He removed his sunglasses, narrowed his eyes and stared out to sea. ‘That’ll be the Cairnryan ferry,’ he said and she followed his eyes to the misty, hulking shape of a vessel some miles out to sea. Uninterested, she looked away.

‘You haven’t returned any of our messages. We haven’t heard a peep from you since the party. Your mother was worried.’

No answer.

‘Did you get the messages?’ he persisted.

‘Oh, I got them all right.’

He turned his head towards her, one foot on the lower rung of the railing, the stance of a much younger man. ‘Are you upset about something, Louise?’

Louise secured a stray lock of hair, blown about in the wind, behind her ear. ‘Why did you tell Auntie P that I’d got pregnant by some bloke who subsequently left me?’ she asked, locking eyes with him.

‘Ah, that,’ he said softly and looked away.

Louise crouched down in front of the buggy and unbuckled Oli. ‘Come on out, darling. Time for a little walk.’ Oli tumbled out of the buggy, picked up a stick and started whacking the metal railing with it. It made a tinny sound that was evidently satisfying to his ear. He whacked it again and again. To her father she said, ‘Yes, that.’

‘We didn’t tell her anything much. She came to her own conclusions.’

‘Delusions more like. And knowing Auntie P she’ll have gone about telling half of Ballyfergus. Why didn’t you tell her the truth?’

Dad sighed again and rubbed his forehead with his right hand. ‘We didn’t think it was anybody’s business to know how Oli came into this world. People think what they want to think.’

‘Rubbish,’ said Louise and her father baulked slightly. ‘People think what you let them think, what you lead them to think. And you were quite happy for her to assume that about me, weren’t you? You’d actually rather she thought that than knew the truth.’

Her father turned to face her then and regarded her thoughtfully as though deciding on something. ‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘We did think it was for the best.’

Louise’s head filled with fury. ‘You’re ashamed of me and Oli, aren’t you? Admit it,’ she demanded, her voice high like the wind.

‘Calm down, Louise,’ he said, not refuting her accusation. ‘Surely you acknowledge that what you did is … is unconventional to say the least.’

‘So was marrying a Catholic fifty years ago, Billy,’ she snapped and glared at him.

He shot her a warning look. A woman passed by with a Golden Labrador on a lead. It looked harmless enough but frothed at the mouth, its breathing laboured. Oli, cautious, scampered back to his mother’s side. She placed a hand on his head.

‘This isn’t about your mother and me, Louise.’

‘Well I see quite a few parallels myself,’ said Louise, who had given the subject considerable thought. ‘Mixed marriages are two a penny these days but back then you broke a taboo. In your own way, you were trailblazers.’

‘Don’t exaggerate, Louise. There were other mixed marriages.’

‘Not among any of the kids I went to school with, there weren’t.’

Dad sighed. ‘I don’t see what that has got to do with this discussion.’

Oli ran along the promenade, hitting the railing rhythmic ally with the stick like a drum. They started after him, but slowly. The road was a long way away and he was in no immediate danger. ‘Well, I would’ve thought that you of all people would be open minded, having experienced prejudice yourself. In a few years’ time what I did won’t be so exceptional. Lots of single women will have babies the way I did and raise them alone.’

‘I sincerely hope not,’ said her father glumly.

‘Pahhh,’ cried Louise in exasperation. ‘You will insist on seeing this in a negative light. And I absolutely refuse to. Look, it’s not how I wanted my life to turn out either. I wanted to have children with Cameron. But he didn’t and I’ve had to deal with that,’ she went on, her voice breaking. She paused to regain control and continued. ‘But having Oli is the most positive, the most empowering thing I’ve ever done. And I won’t let you take that away from me.’

‘No one’s trying to take anything away from you, Louise. But you can’t ignore the fact that the God-fearing people of Ballyfergus might find it unusual … hard to understand. We didn’t want people judging you, talking about you behind your back. We didn’t want Oli to be thought of as … different.’

‘He’s no different than any other child from a single-parent home with no contact with his father.’

‘Well I beg to differ, Louise. He is different. His story makes him unique – in Ballyfergus anyway.’

‘And that’s a bad thing?’ she said, almost choking on the words.

Her father fixed his gaze out to sea once more in the direction of the three small rocky islands called The Maidens. He squinted and sighed loudly. ‘There’s something … something unnatural about the way he was conceived. Children should be born out of love between a man and a woman.’

Louise gasped and the back of her throat swelled up until she could hardly breathe. Tears pricked her eyes but she would not let them fall. Her anger held them in check. She swallowed. ‘Oli was born out of love. No one could love him more than I do.’

There was a long pause and when he spoke again her father’s voice was quiet and sad. ‘I know you love him, Louise,’ he said, looking at his hands, ‘but a child needs two parents. No matter how much you love Oli you can never make up for that. There it is. I’ve said it. And I’m sorry if it hurts you.’

The words stung her like hard rain in a storm. She had wrestled with this belief herself over many months and eventually put it to rest – or so she thought. Now, it was being thrown in her face, like a bucket of icy water. Maybe it was true – maybe her attempt to raise Oli single-handedly, no matter how dedicated, no matter how well-intentioned, could never compensate for this fundamental handicap. It was her greatest fear. But even as these doubts crossed her mind she said stoutly, ‘You’re wrong. I don’t agree with you.’

He made a little tut-tutting sound and shook his head.

‘I’ve made a terrible mistake,’ she said, staring at the back of Oli’s head. She gripped the handles of the buggy so hard it hurt. ‘I never should’ve come back. I thought I could count on your support and Mum’s and everybody else’s. But you’re all judging me, even Sian and Joanne.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you can rely on us, Louise. And on your sisters. We’d do anything to help you. We all love you. And Oli. And by the way, what Auntie P and everyone else thinks has nothing to do with your sisters. It was our doing – your mother’s and mine. We thought we were doing the right thing. And we didn’t think it really mattered – you’d been away for so long we didn’t expect you to ever come home. Look,’ he said and paused. ‘If we’ve upset you, then I’m truly sorry.’

Louise hardly registered the apology. ‘I’ve never been ashamed of what I did and I won’t let you make me ashamed now.’ She turned her back to her father and pulled a hankie from her pocket. She dabbed at her eyes – tears had fallen in spite of her resolve – and tried to compose herself. Her father continued.

‘Look, I can’t lie to you about how your mother and I feel about what you did. You knew what we thought from the outset. You can’t make us approve, Louise. But we can accept. And we do. Look, perhaps it’s best if we just move on from here. Put all this behind us and concentrate on doing the best for Oli from now on.’

But that wasn’t enough, not for Louise. By sheer force of willpower and reasoned argument she had thought she could blast her way through every objection, every taboo and force her family to come round to her way of thinking. Now she realised that what she craved most was the one thing she would never get – her parents’ wholehearted approval.

‘Try to put yourself in my shoes, Dad,’ she said quietly. ‘What would you have done if your husband didn’t want children and time was running out? What if you knew you’d never meet another guy in time to have his kids? What would you have done if you’d been me?’

But there was no answer. She felt a hand on her shoulder, a gesture of reconciliation. But she did not want it, not without the approval that she so desperately sought. She dipped her shoulder – and the hand slipped away.

That night she dreamt of Cameron once more and in this dream he was on a small fishing boat with Oli out on the Firth of Forth, teaching him to fish for mackerel. The two of them wore matching yellow oilskins, Oli a mini-me version of Cameron. She was on the boat watching and yet she wasn’t – for they could neither see her nor hear her. She smiled at the tenderness with which Cameron positioned Oli’s hands and the patience with which he listened to the child’s disjointed chatter. And when she woke up – before she remembered that it had only been a dream – she was happy.

Chapter Five

It was early, but the day was already hot and sticky. In the kitchen, Joanne, in a thin silk dressing gown, wiped perspiration from her brow. She collected together the things for making sandwiches – bread, butter, ham, cheese and shop-bought egg mayonnaise. Heidi settled on the floor at her feet, nostrils flaring in the vain hope that a morsel of food might fall into her jaws. Two weeks had passed since the party and Joanne still couldn’t look back on the events of the day without flinching in embarrassment. She hoped no one outside the kitchen had heard her argument with Phil.

She laid six slices of wholegrain bread on the chopping board and buttered them haphazardly. She was still furious with her husband for coming home late and drunk that day and she was just as mad with herself for rising to the bait. She should’ve simply ignored him when he came in – she ought to have challenged him after everyone had gone. Not that the outcome would’ve been any different, she thought bitterly. He never took responsibility for his own behaviour. She put ham in the sandwiches, stacked them and cut them with a knife. Heidi made a pathetic whimpering sound and rested her head on her paws, her dark eyes staring up at Joanne like oiled chestnuts.

She sighed. Why couldn’t she and Phil get on these days? Why was it such mixed messages with him? He loved her food, wanted her home and yet, and yet … he didn’t see her as a person. Was that the problem between them? Because there was a problem, that much she had acknowledged to herself. The question was – was she at fault in some way? Was she bossy and controlling, like Louise and Sian said she was? Did that make her hard to live with? And, more importantly, what could be done to put things right between them?

It hadn’t always been like this. Once they’d worked together as a team, curled up together on the sofa at night with a glass of wine each, talking about their day, making plans together. She’d been warm and loving towards him, he’d been gentle and kind. But somewhere, in the hubbub of family life, that easy intimacy had been lost. If only he would spend more time at home, if they both made the effort, maybe they could find a way to reconnect.

Heidi licked the top of her foot making Joanne laugh – with no one about to observe the breaking of house rules, she tossed the dog a slice of ham. Heidi gobbled it up and slobbered over Joanne’s foot some more by way of thanks.

Holly shuffled sleepily into the room just then with her pink dressing gown hanging open and huge furry slippers in the shape of bunny rabbits on her feet. ‘What’re you doing, Mum?’

‘Making sandwiches for our picnic.’

‘Picnic?’ said Holly sleepily.

‘Yeah. Don’t you remember? We’re going to the beach today with Auntie Louise and Oli.’

‘Oh yeah. I forgot!’ said Holly, her eyes lighting up and a big smile spreading across the broad face she had inherited from her father. ‘Can I help?’

Joanne smiled. Holly was such a good-natured child – in marked contrast to her resentful little sister who walked around as though a black cloud hung over her. ‘I’m okay here. But I’ll tell you what you could do for me.’

‘What?’

‘Go and get dressed and tell Abbey to get dressed too. And while you’re upstairs tell Maddy it’s time to get up. In fact, go in and open her curtains. That should do the trick.’

Holly dashed out of the room. ‘Abbey,’ she shouted, ‘we’re going to the beach!’

Minutes later Abbey was in the room, her face contorted with rage. ‘I can’t go to the beach,’ she said. ‘Me and Katie-May are going to make a shop today.’

Joanne rolled her eyes, put a round of sandwiches in a sandwich bag and sealed it shut. ‘Look,’ she said, taking a bunch of grapes out of the fridge and rinsing them under the cold tap. ‘You can play shops with Katie-May any day of the week. We’ve never been to the beach before with Auntie Louise and Oli. Won’t it be fun? You can show Oli where the crabs hide.’

‘I don’t want to.’

Joanne turned off the tap, set the grapes on the draining board and turned to face Abbey. If her youngest daughter thought there was any mileage in putting up a fight, Joanne was determined to deal that misconception a fast and decisive blow. ‘You are going to the beach,’ she said with dark menace, enunciating each word like a child in the early stages of learning to read. ‘You are going to enjoy it,’ she said, her pace picking up to a canter, ‘and you will not spoil today for me or Auntie Louise. Now go upstairs, get dressed and pack your things.’

She turned back to the sink and, when she looked a minute later, the child was gone. She hoped Abbey wasn’t going to be this difficult all summer long. Joanne enjoyed fantastic school holiday arrangements from her job at the pharmacy – her employers were exceptionally generous in permitting her to take eight weeks off and she was grateful. But, still, she missed the work and her colleagues. She would be ready to go back when the holidays were over. But not yet – the prospect of a day at the beach filled her with excitement.