Page 63 of The Women at Ocean's End

‘Maybe I hate you too,’ Constance said softly and when she said it she looked almost as horrified as ifshe hadbeen thrown over the cliff. ‘Maybe I hate what happened all those years ago and the fact that I’ve had to carry it with me ever since. Every time I look at you, I think of it, I can’t help myself. Having you here, now, makes me think the only thing I can do to be free is to tell the truth.’

Something in her eyes changed and Dotty knew she was deadly serious. She could march down to the local garda station this minute and tell them everything.

‘Maybe you’re right, maybe you were never worth the bother. If I never see you again, it’ll be too bloody soon,’ Constance said, then she stomped off, leaving Dotty standing there with nowhere to put her anger. She couldn’t risk Constance going to the police. Who knew what would come of that? Prison maybe and a whole lot of questions to be answered and memories dredged up. There was nothing else for it, but a firm decision that she would never,could never, come back here again.

41

Constance

Constance couldn’t say she was at peace with it. Far from it. She might only have weeks to live, but rather than tick off a bucket list as she might have imagined she would, instead, the two words that rolled around at the back of her brain were simple. Pancreatic cancer. It was silly. She was an old woman. She’d long outlived many of her contemporaries, she knew that by a country mile, and yet, she thought too, she’d never be properly ready to go.

Sometimes, she found herself looking back across the years and wondering where the time had gone. It was more like a whisper than a roar back to the mostly blissful days of childhood.

And those days, when they’d first come to the island, had been perfect. Constance remembered that first summer, tailing out into autumn when every day had been an adventure. Once she’d got her bearings – which didn’t take too long; Dotty led the way, of course, the cat trailing after them –they’d gone tramping along the cliffs and then later down to the village where she and Dotty met other children and played rounders and football and sat on the side of the pier with their legs dangling over the water. That first year here, it felt as if everything had been left behind, as if they’d gotten away with it. But you never really leave the past behind. Not really.

A light wind was beginning to whip in from across the sea. It moved like fingers stroking the grass in the garden. It would begood to have life in the housekeeper’s cottage again. It wasn’t Buckingham Palace, but Ros was delighted to have a base to call her own at last. Maybe, if Wesley McVeigh managed to get enough money for her mother’s books, they could make it into a proper home for her, modernise it a bit – it would be the best gift she could make to Ros, who had brought her so much joy these last few months. Maybe. Although, honestly, Constance still didn’t actually believe anyone would want to spend very much money on books that had gone out of fashion years ago.

She blinked; she had to stop worrying about it. There was nothing to be done now but put a little faith in the idea that it would all fall into place after her.

Constance was making tea when Heather threw open the back door, with Ros hot on her heels. She was holding the phone up in the air, her face flushed, the look in her eyes unmistakable. Good news.

‘Yes, Wesley,’ Heather said. ‘I’ll put that to her and see what she thinks. That sounds good though, thank you, I’m sure she’ll have lots of questions. We’ll get back to you in a day or two.’

‘What is it?’ But of course, with Wesley, it had to be about her mother’s estate.

‘That was the agent.’ Heather was beaming. ‘Ros, you got the gist of it?’

‘It’s unbelievable, I mean, it’s very good news.’ Ros was nodding her head as if it had loosened beyond her control.

‘Well come on, I’m bursting to know?’ Constance lowered herself gently into her chair. It was good to have a distraction. Tea could wait until after she heard.

‘They’ve made an offer. And it’s a very generous offer, according to Wesley. He’s really pleased with it, but…’ She paused, hardly knowing how to put it into words.

‘But what?’ Constance asked.

‘There are other publishers interested. It’s going to go to auction. You have a few days to see if you are happy with what they are offering and if there’s something you feel they are missing out on, then Wesley has said he’ll put it on the table so all of the publishers will have a shot at it.’

‘Like what? I mean, are they actually going to pay to take on the books?’ Constance wasn’t sure, because Heather hadn’t said anything about money.

‘Oh, yes, they are going to pay, plenty. Enough to do the roof, enough to do the whole house and build another right beside it if that’s what you fancy.’

‘How much?’ Ros breathed.

‘Six figures, but that’s only for the island books. You still get to sell the other series separately and you hold onto all the other rights. Unless you want them to take them too, then, according to Wesley, they’ll have to pay more.’

‘Six figures?’ Ros repeated.

‘So, that’s…?’

‘A hundred thousand, just for the first six books, Constance,’ Heather said softly. ‘You’ve done it. You’ve made enough to start off the Maggie Macken Foundation. You can secure the house and, more importantly, with further deals you can secure her place in history.’

‘You’vedone it, Heather,’ Constance said softly. ‘You’ve done it. You’ve saved Ocean’s End.’ She felt tears of relief well up inside her.

‘Don’t be daft, I didn’t do much at all.’

‘Well, that’s the biggest load of cow manure I’ve ever heard, Heather Banks.’ Ros roared with laughter. ‘Of course you did: without you, we’d never have thought of the idea that the books could be sold again.’

‘There’ll be enough money to do all those things?’ It was still sinking in, Constance had to ask again, just to be sure. ‘To fix the roof and secure the place so it’ll go on after…’

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