Fog Heart (39 page)

‘No problem.' Oona pulled the duffel bag in front of her and unzipped the main section. She opened it wide, revealing stacks of money bound in rubber bands. ‘I've got loads.'

‘Ah, Jesus. Where did all that come from?'

‘People like to help me.'

‘There's the phone. Call up one of them.'

‘It wouldn't work. It's you.'

‘Somehow I knew you'd say that.' Charley stared at her for a moment. ‘Where do you want to go?'

Oona frowned, almost cringed. ‘Honestly, it's the one place where I can do you some real good. You must believe me, Charley. You must
believe.
It's for you, too.'

He stared vacantly at her, and then he realized what she was saying. Charley's head began to swim. He took Oona by the shoulders and shook her angrily.

‘Ireland.'

‘That's right.'

‘No!'

‘Yes, it has to be,' she insisted.

‘Are you trying to destroy me?'

‘What would you do if I said yes?'

She was feeding off his rage, her eyes glittering, her face vibrant with sensual anticipation. As if she knew that he was so upset he wanted to hurt her just then, physically hurt her – and she was almost eager to see it happen.

Charley pushed her away.

‘I'd say fuck off.'

‘And if I said I was trying to save you?'

‘I'd still say fuck off.'

Oona smiled sorrowfully, and touched his arm. ‘Nobody's that strong, Charley.'

*   *   *

That night she cried and talked for more than an hour in her sleep. Oona's voice was as frail as a child's.

‘Roz … Roz … don't … no … don't go…'

Little-girl sobs. Lost and alone. It didn't get any worse than that, it never turned into another seizure, but that was bad enough. Charley sat in a cone of light at his desk, listening to her. It was impossible to read.

Thinking: You're a sorry specimen, you are. Hopeless eejit. If there was one constant in Charley's life it was this: that he had never found a way to say no to a woman. Most of the time, it showed up as an inability to keep his fly zipped. Funny. Now he had no difficulty restraining himself in that regard – Oona was safe enough in his company – but he seemed to be losing the rest of the battle. And he wasn't sure that he cared.

If Roz was home tomorrow he'd turn Oona over to her. But if there was still no sign of her, what then? He couldn't just drop Oona off at an institution like Connecticut Mental Health. He could not do that. Nor could he abandon her at the house in Westville. On her own, Oona was a menace to herself. So he'd still be stuck with her. So he might as well let her do what she wanted.

Besides, he told himself, what have you got to lose? Your life? Your soul? Yes, but anything that matters?

*   *   *

Oona drank before they left the apartment. She drank in the limo to JFK, sneaking little sips from a plastic juice bottle. A few more drinks in the bar at the departure terminal. Drinks all the way in the air. It numbed her some.

‘Too many people.'

‘You often find them on planes.'

‘I should live down there.'

Oona tapped the plastic window, pointing to the vast moonlit floor of clouds far below.

‘Up above the world so high.'

‘No,' she said. ‘I meant the bottom of the ocean.'

‘I thought the kelpie was a freshwater fiend.'

‘Ah, who's a clever boy?'

‘Would you say I'm one of your sensitive ones?'

‘No.'

‘Didn't think so,' he grumped.

‘But I still like you, Charley,' she said, smiling warmly at him. ‘I'm really very, very fond of you.'

‘Just don't fall in love with me.'

Oona found that amusing. ‘Why?'

‘Because there's less here than meets the eye.'

She giggled, then started laughing and couldn't stop. She bent forward and put her hand over her mouth.

‘What's so funny?' he asked.

‘Charley, I know
that.
'

‘I was only joking,' he muttered.

‘So was I.'

‘No, you weren't.'

‘No, you're right, I wasn't,' she said, still giggling.

‘A bit of shut-up from you would do fine about now.'

‘Oona Oona Mamouna … Oona Oona Mamouna…'

Thump. Charley looked at her. She was all right, for now. She had just bopped her head against the window and was off in a light doze. Tipsy doodle.

He stayed more or less awake for the entire flight, fearful that she might launch into one of her rants. He would whisk her away to the bathroom if that happened.

A few minutes later she rolled in his direction, and rested her face against his arm. She put her hand over his. Her eyes stayed shut, but she smiled sleepily and murmured to him, ‘Charley.'

‘What?'

‘Do you love me?'

‘Yes.'

Immediate, and unnerving. But Charley knew at once that in some obscure way it was true, even as it was true that he was not
in love
with Oona. She smiled again and rubbed his arm, although her eyes were still closed.

‘I knew it.'

‘Why'd you ask, then?'

‘I wasn't sure you knew it.'

*   *   *

She woke up, pale and shaking, as they made their approach to Shannon. The drink was wearing off. She was a bit tottery while they waited for their bags, and she struggled to maintain some of her concentration as they went through Immigration and Customs. Charley expected trouble about the money. At his insistence, she had changed a lot of it into travellers cheques, but she was still carrying a suspicious amount of cash. No search, however, and no awkward questions. Two weeks' holiday? Enjoy your stay.

‘Thank God for that,' Charley said, as they pulled away from the airport in a rental car. He'd half expected Oona to go into a full-bore spell in the middle of the terminal, spraying people with blood. ‘Are you all right?'

‘Better.'

‘You know, if it happens and you're totally out of control, I'll have to take you to the nearest hospital.'

‘Don't do that.'

‘I'd have to.'

‘No.' Pleading weakly. ‘That'd be the worst thing for me, Charley. Just let it run its course. That's all you have to do. Stay close to me, like the other night.'

‘But it looks like you're – dying.'

‘I never do.'

‘You'd better not. Not on my hands, missy.'

They stopped briefly in Ennis to buy some food. They ate it in the car, as he drove towards Galway. Charley was tired, but he seemed to have found his second wind. It felt good to be back in Ireland, as always.

‘I should take you to County Mayo,' he said.

‘Where's that?'

‘North of here. It's very beautiful, but desolate country. There aren't many people about.'

‘Sounds great. Like the Highlands.' Oona was sitting low in the passenger seat, her knees propped against the dashboard. ‘I'd love to go back to Scotland, but I can't.'

‘Why not?'

‘Probably cause a stir. The media, and all.'

He thought about it. ‘Oona, what actually did happen back then? Get it out.'

‘Nothing to tell.'

‘I've come this far with you. I have a right to know.'

‘I hit her in the head with a brick, okay? She was four and I was eleven. That's all there was to it.'

Oona tried to sound bored and impatient but didn't succeed. She was disturbed, agitated. Charley had difficulty grasping her words for a few moments. Four. Eleven.

‘What was – was it an accident?'

‘I was the accident.'

‘Oona, what – why?'

‘Now you'll really get me started.'

She reached into the carrier bag on the floor and took out a bottle of duty-free Powers. Charley shut up.

*   *   *

‘If I got into bed with you, would you just hug me?'

He smiled. ‘Yes.'

‘Thanks.'

Oona snuggled up against him. A woman-child in her pyjamas. It was still quite early in the evening, but they were exhausted. They had checked into the hotel just after lunch and hadn't left the room since. Charley had drawn the curtains, as it stayed light outside quite late in the Irish summer.

‘Charley?'

‘Hmmn?'

‘Does it make a difference?'

‘No, not to me.'

She snuggled closer. ‘Know what I think?'

‘I can't imagine.'

‘She's inside me. Has been ever since.'

‘Metaphorically, you mean.'

‘What's that?'

‘It means you might be haunted by her, in a way, but they're all your own thoughts,' Charley explained. ‘She's not inside you in any true physical or supernatural sense. It means that you're not literally haunted or possessed by a real ghost.'

Oona was silent for a moment.

‘No,' she said. ‘That's not the way I meant it.'

‘Oh, really, Oona. That sort of—'

‘Charley.'

‘What?'

‘If we could find a cottage in Mayo, far from anywhere, near a small village but with hardly any people around, would you live there with me? Would you stay and take care of me?'

‘For how long?' he asked warily.

‘For ever.'

‘No.'

‘Why not?'

‘Because I'd want to put my so-called thing in you.'

‘I've never had that.'

‘Ah, that explains everything.'

‘I don't see why I should start now.'

‘No wonder you're unhinged.'

‘Is that what you think? Never mind,' Oona added quickly. ‘It doesn't matter. You're doing your best as it is.'

‘I know.'

‘You never made love like the angels. I can tell.'

‘See? You don't know everything.'

‘What do you mean? You're not the type.'

‘Oona,' he said. ‘They're all angels.'

*   *   *

Ravenswood.

Charley held a tall styrofoam cup of coffee with both hands. It was just after six in the morning. They had awakened early, still adjusting to the time change. Oona wanted to go out there straight away. Get it over with first and have breakfast later. Very droll. But there was a kind of sense to it. Charley wasn't entirely awake, his brain felt sluggish, and perhaps that was the best way to approach the ordeal. He parked the car at the kerb, and they sat for a couple of minutes.

‘Which one?'

‘I'm not sure,' he said. ‘Hardly any of these houses were here at the time. It's all built-up now.'

There had been the fateful cottage, plus two or three other widely scattered homes. Rolling land, clusters of big old trees, and the sea view in the distance. One road through the area. It was quite different now. Lines of tidy middle-class houses with tidy little front gardens, the trees mercifully gone, and neatly paved streets winding throughout.

‘Come on.'

‘Where?'

But she was already out of the car, and Charley followed her reluctantly. They walked up the street and then back down to the car, and beyond it a short distance. He wouldn't be surprised if an early riser spotted them and called the police.

The remains of the cottage would have been razed years ago, and so much landscaping had been done in developing the area that Charley couldn't find a focal point he recognized. He could just see the ocean, far off, but that view of it was more or less the same all along the street, and his memory was imprecise.

‘What do you think?' Oona asked.

‘I'm not thinking yet.'

‘What do you feel?'

‘Sleepy.'

‘Come here.'

She took him by the arm and started to cross the street, but they stopped near the middle of it.

‘Now what do you feel?' she asked again.

‘Nothing.'

‘It was right here,' she told him.

‘No, I don't think—'

‘It was,' she insisted. Her eyes were shimmery and dancing, and she smiled as if she were enjoying a secret. ‘This is where your house stood.'

Charley looked around. She could be guessing, or she could be right. The road might have been moved. Odd to think that he might have just driven a car through the very space.

‘What do you feel now?'

‘The same,' he said. ‘Nothing. It's all different.'

‘Good. That's very good.'

‘What do you feel?' he asked.

‘I just see grey, like we're standing in a fog.'

It was a clear morning. ‘What's that mean? Grey.'

‘It means that's all there is.'

‘Is something supposed to happen? Am I meant to have some kind of a vision or—'

‘No. It's over, Charley. I thought it was for you, but I wanted to come here and make sure. I wanted you to come here and see for yourself. To feel for yourself. You said that you don't believe, but a part of you has always believed and always will. That's why this was so important. I had to get you here so you would know for sure. It's over.'

‘Great,' he said. ‘But I still don't understand.'

Oona smiled. ‘It was about your wife. She had Fiona inside her ever since that day.'

‘She felt guilty, of course. We both—'

‘Never mind the guilt,' Oona told him. ‘It's the loss. Jan survived the fire, but too much of her was lost. She was waiting for Fiona to come back and take the rest of her. To save her, in a way. Charley, a ghost is a form of redemption.'

*   *   *

A mile away, he suddenly pulled the car over to the side of the road and turned it off. For a minute or two he stared ahead blankly. His heart pounded in his chest and he breathed rapidly through his mouth. The sense of Fiona overwhelmed him, he could feel and smell her in his arms. Images of Jan, such a handsome young woman, the woman he'd crossed an ocean and half a continent to marry. Everything had been right – and then nothing was ever right again. All this time, and yet he felt he didn't understand anything of his own sorry life.