Page 52 of The Women at Ocean's End

‘No,’ she smiled and put up her two hands in a sign of peace, ‘hear me out now, there’s a government payment. It’s not huge, but she could have a part-time job as well. I know it’s probably unorthodox, that your carer is also your gardener, but I’d be signing off on the papers and I’d be happy to think you had someone close by, if only to give you reassurance,’ she said softly.

‘So, she could stay here and the government would pay her to live on the island and…’ The tears threatened to well upagain. ‘I’d love that, I really would if it was something that Ros wanted…’ Constance felt suddenly overcome, flooded with fears that had lived at the back of her mind for years when Sheila Deere had been visiting here as the district nurse. ‘You know, I was always afraid of getting older, not being able to cope. I thought the district nurse would want to ship me off to a nursing home and lock up this place behind me.’

‘Oh, Constance, why on earth would we want to do that? No, I’m all about community nursing and care. No-one does better in a strange environment than they do in their own home, but you need people around you, if only to sit down and have a chat with, that’s as important as any blood test.’

‘And Ros could stay here and get paid, if we did this?’

‘Not a fortune. But if she is living here,’ Avril looked around the house meaningfully, ‘then even better. Certainly enough to get by on, especially if she was happy here on the island.’

‘That’s… I never realised that could be… well, it’s good to know.’ Constance cleared her throat. She couldn’t help but feel it might be exactly the lifeline they both needed.

‘It’s really not very much money, I mean, she might like to have some other project as well, she’s very young to settle for a social welfare payment, but maybe think about it.’

‘Thank you, I’ll mention it to her and then we’ll see what the tests bring back, eh?’ Constance would mention it to Ros, but she decided she would wait and make sure that all those bloods were clear first of all. The last thing she wanted was Ros hanging about because she felt she had no choice; far better to have her here without it feeling like an obligation. And the bloods would be fine, of course they would, she was as tough as old boots, wasn’t she?

‘Right you are,’ Avril said, fastening up her bag. ‘Gosh, I don’t know where the days go to, I really don’t,’ she added, makingher way out the door and leaving in her wake a much more optimistic old lady than she’d found.

34

Heather

Heather had been sorely tempted to shirk off with Constance and Ros to see if they could spot the sharks, but the lure of Maggie Macken’s office and archives was too strong. In the end, she had to work hard to convince them that she was actually going to enjoy her morning pottering about in the office.

To be fair, she had already sent across the full list of Maggie’s published books. She didn’t tell the literary agency that the published work was only a drop in the ocean of the papers that were still to be sorted. Maggie Macken had by any standards been a prolific novelist, but it surprised Heather to learn that she had also penned notebooks filled with poetry and a great many number of plays for both the stage and the radio.

Regardless of what Constance decided to do with Ocean’s End, there was no denying that Maggie Macken had left a huge cache of intellectual property in the office.

Heather stood now in the centre of the room. A few days earlier, Ros had insisted on cleaning out the chimney. Surprisingly, thanks to the fact that at some point many years earlier a nest had blocked up the top of it, it was actually a much easier job than they had expected.

God, but she loved it here. The thought came to her out of nowhere, but really, once it settled on her, she knew it was the truth. It was a combination of the place, the people, the house and of course the work. Maybe it was a connection too with herown mother. After all, she somehow felt closer to her here than she had in a very long time indeed.

It was with that lingering notion that she was brought sharply back into reality with the pealing sound of her phone ringing out. It was a London number, she noticed, before she answered.

‘Hi, Heather Banks?’

‘Yes?’

‘Hey, it’s Wesley McVeigh here, I’m…’ But she knew exactly who he was. He owned the literary agency that were currently debating taking on the Maggie Macken estate.

‘You’re Gregg’s boss?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t say… we work together, sure…’ He paused. ‘You’ve really caused quite the stir here with the Macken estate.’

‘I’m only the lackey.’ She smiled.

‘We’re very interested in representing the estate. Of course, we’d need to meet with the current owners, but I think I can safely say we could do great things with this.’

‘The owner is Maggie’s daughter. She’s not here at the moment and I’m not sure she’s going to be up for flying over to London, but I can certainly put it to her, or maybe she could give you a call when she gets back?’

‘If she’s Maggie Macken’s daughter, I presume she’s not a young woman.’ He was being diplomatic.

‘She’s a very youthful lady of a certain age, if that’s what you’re asking, but she lives here in the house where most of the books were written. It’s on an island off the west coast of Ireland, so it’s quite a trek. I don’t know when she was last in London, to be honest with you.’

Actually, Heather had a feeling that the furthest Constance had ever travelled was as far as Dublin and that was many moons ago, but that was neither here nor there. If they were really up for sitting down and having a chat, they could just as easily come here, couldn’t they?

‘Your outlining submission was very impressive,’ Wesley said and it sounded as if he was thumbing through the pages as he spoke.

‘It’s easy to be impressive when you’re talking about Maggie’s books.’ It probably helped that she’d read most of them too and, unlike people who actually worked in publishing, she could spend all her time on just one submission.

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