Page 177 of The Missing Sister
‘Of course I am,’ I said as we walked out of the lift and along the corridor. ‘I’d always known it was a possibility that one day you’d want to meet your birth family.’
‘Hey, slow down, Mum. We’re only going to email at the moment,’ said Mary-Kate. ‘The last thing I want to do, especially after losing Dad, is cause you any more pain.’
‘Come here.’
I pulled my daughter to me and hugged her. She snuggled into me, just as she’d done when she was a tiny newborn of only a couple of days old.
‘Right,’ I said, knowing I was close to tears, ‘pack up your stuff and I’ll see you downstairs in twenty minutes, okay?’
‘Okay. Love you, Mum,’ she said as she wandered along the corridor to her room.
Just as I was about to go downstairs, there was a knock on my door. I opened it to find Tiggy standing there.
‘Tiggy, come in!’
‘Hello, Merry, I just wanted to come and say goodbye. Jack said you’re leaving.’
‘Yes. I mean, we’re not leaving Ireland, just travelling down to West Cork where I was born.’
She stared at me. ‘Are you looking for answers?’
‘I suppose I am, yes, but whether I’ll find them or not is another story. I have no idea what to expect.’
Tiggy walked over to me and again took my hand in hers. ‘I’m sure you will, Merry. All of us sisters were sent on a journey into our past after Pa died last year. It was scary at times, but we each found what we were looking for and it made our lives much better. It will for you too.’
‘I hope so.’
‘I can feel you’re frightened, but wouldn’t it be so much better if you were finally freed from that fear?’
I stared at this young woman who looked so fragile, yet seemed so wise. Every time she held my hand, I felt a sense of calm sweep over me.
‘I’ve written down my mobile number,’ she said as she released my hand to reach into her jean pocket and give me a piece of paper. ‘Any problem, call and leave a message and I promise I will get back to you as soon as I can. The signal’s patchy where I live,’ she explained. ‘I’ve also written down my big sister Maia’s number, and the landline at Atlantis, our house in Geneva. Any help you need, just call.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘When are you all leaving for your boat trip?’
‘One week on Thursday. Some of us are flying to Geneva and others straight to Nice, where the boat is moored. We’d love for you to join us. All of you,’ Tiggy added firmly.
‘But... we don’t even know for sure whether Mary-Kate is the missing sister, do we?’
Tiggy looked down at my ring and brushed a finger over it gently.
‘Thatis the proof. Seven emeralds for seven sisters. The circle is complete. Goodbye, Merry, and I hope to see you all again very soon.’
On the two-and-a-half-hour train journey down to Cork City, I slept most of the way; just the touch of Tiggy’s hands seemed to have that effect on me.
‘Mum, we’re pulling into the station.’ Mary-Kate shook me gently.
I came to and looked out into Kent station, which I had come to know well between the ages of eleven and twenty-two. It had been modernised, of course, but it still had that grand old air of the past about it, with its vaulted iron ceiling and echo of voices and footsteps. In the early days, I’d been glad to arrive back here with Bridget for the holidays from boarding school. Her father had collected us in his shiny black car with the big leather seats, and driven us back to West Cork, because the old railway line that served it and had once taken Ambrose almost to the doorstep of Father O’Brien’s house had been shut down in 1961. I remembered how I’d always let out a breath of relief when climbing into that car, because I was on my way home. Then, when I went to Trinity College at eighteen, everything had swapped around, and on my return to Dublin, I’d seen Kent station as a gateway to my freedom.
‘So,’ Jack said, looking at me as we stood on the main concourse, ‘where to from here, Mum?’
‘The taxi rank,’ I pointed.
‘Hello there,’ said a cabby as we reached the front of the queue for a taxi. He opened the car doors and gave us all a smile. ‘Welcome to the city of Cork, the finest in all of Ireland. My name’s Niall, so,’ he added as he stowed my holdall and the two rucksacks into the boot, then climbed behind the wheel and turned round to me. ‘Now then, where’ll I be taking you?’
The sound of his lilting West Cork accent brought a lump to my throat. I took my purse from my bag and handed him the piece of paper with the address of the hotel on it.
‘Ah, the Inchydoney Island Lodge and Spa. ’Tis a grand hotel altogether,’ he added. ‘I don’t live so far from it myself it’s near the town of Clonakilty. Will you be on your holidays here, sightseeing?’
