Blackthorns of the Forgotten Page 11

  The family business was still in operation, although much scaled down. After the deaths of his grandfather and father, Gillean had tried his utmost to convince his mother to sell the old place. But Ena, being as stubborn as her son, had insisted upon staying in the home her husband had so loved. These days, however, neither she nor the rest of the remaining family had much to do with the day to day operations of the hotel. It was now only open four months of the year, and serviced a more well-to-do clientele.

  The preoccupied singer on the run pilfered a bottle of whiskey.

  “Night now, Mr. Faraday!” the bartender called, a bit perplexed that such a famous man would be making an appearance at this late hour.

  Gillean located an unoccupied guestroom downstairs. Tossing his coat onto the bed, he opted to forgo lamplight and instead opened the drapes letting in the natural light of the night sky. He grabbed a glass from the bedside table and poured himself a double. Taking a few quick gulps, he fixed his gaze on a distinguishable cluster of stars: Orion, the Hunter.

  As a boy, he and his grandfather would climb to the highest point of the castle and Gillean would proudly identify as many constellations as he could. His granddad’s arm draped over Gillean’s shoulder had provided a rare sense of confidence and security. At only ten years of age, he had been weary from traveling the globe—making friends only to be uprooted and transferred to other, foreign soil. Eventually Gillean learned to keep to himself no matter where he was. His grandfather became his best friend. It hurt less not having to say goodbye to anyone when the inevitable request would come for his father, a world-renowned archeologist, to embark on another dig.

  Gillean’s da had believed he was providing his family the greatest benefit by exposing them to as much of the world as possible. Dr. Milo Faraday had assured his protesting son that precious few children had such rare opportunities, and didn’t it make Gillean quite the spoiled little boy not to appreciate all he had been given.

  At seven years of age Gillean had enjoyed a period of happiness and stability when the Faradays returned to his place of birth. They had spent the next three years settled in one place, the beautiful and romantic Brazil. He had just begun to breathe freely, believing the family was finally going to put down roots, when his father had been offered a prestigious teaching post in Ireland. Once again, Gillean was instructed on the advantages of living in his ancestral homeland. And when the opportunity had presented itself to purchase the Teach na si`, his parents announced this would be their ’real home’.

  But Gillean had spent most of his time at Boarding school. His parents’ hands had been full enough—getting the castle ready for guests and discharging his father’s duties as a professor—without having the added responsibility of bringing up two children. Gillean had never given voice to the feeling, that his parents regarded the raising of himself and Joseph as the one full-time responsibility they did not wish to take on. Why else had the children been sent away only a few months after settling into their ’real home’?

  Star gazing with his grandfather had been one of the few things Gillean could rely upon. Many a song was inspired by those treasured evenings.

  He poured another drink, closing his eyes; he could envision his grandfather’s white hair, neatly trimmed mustache and dancing blue eyes. The earthy smell of the man’s after-shave and his gentle voice were always in the back of Gillean’s mind.

  “Don’t ever feel you are alone, my boy. You have the stars, the same ones that have been shinning down on young men for thousands of years. No matter where you go, you will always have the same sky. And you will always have the old chap here too.”

  The ringing of his mobile jolted him back to reality. He flipped it open, nearly shouting.

  “Hallo!”

  “I hope that’s excited anticipation I hear in your voice, Gilly.”

  He sat down on the bed, uncharacteristically lighting up a cigarette. He had recently resumed the unhealthy habit of his rebellious youth.

  “Hallo, my beautiful painter.” He blew a dense cloud of smoke high into the air praying there wasn’t a smoke detector in the room.

  “Everything alright?”

  He took another generous sip of alcohol. Together with the smoke it burned his throat.

  “Fan-fucking-tastic,” he gasped.

  “Yes, certainly sounds like it,” she laughed. “What’s the matter? Life in The Emerald Isle not so magical?”

  “A little too magical, maybe.” He took another puff, licking his lips.

  “Have you spoken with her yet?”

  “I tried to, but—”

  “Oh, please don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” He crushed out the cigarette in what he hoped was an ashtray.

  She was quiet.

  “Ciar?”

  “Don’t call me, don’t come to me, don’t contact me again until you are free to be with me—fully.”

  “Darling, it’s not so easy. She’s not well, and I have four children to consider.”

  “Of course, take all the time you need. Maybe I will be waiting, and maybe I won’t, little singer.”

  Her words hurdled him back to another time, another face, or was it? He held the phone out as if he had no idea what it was used for.

  “Do you love me, Gilly? You’ve never told me. Do you?”

  He shut his eyes, considering the stinging irony of her question. The man who had spent most of his life singing about love—of nature, family, exploration, and for one true heart—now doubted that he’d ever known the genuine character and course of love. Surely he had loved his family, most especially his children and grandfather. He must have loved Adara. She was after all, the person he’d built a life with. But when he considered love in all its complexities, it was a man he felt on the verge of hating who had taken full hold of Gillean’s heart.

  He was aware that his answer would irrevocably alter the direction of his life. Maybe this was his destiny. He was no longer sure of anything, except that everything changes and he could count on nothing.

  “Yes, Ciar. I love you,” he heard himself proclaim.

  “Say it again, little Gilly,” she whispered.

  “I love you.”

  Looking out the window, he could no longer make out any of the constellations. The stars seemed like a conglomeration of disordered, dim light.

  Gillean stretched out on the bed, fatigued and frightened. He had finally decided upon a course, but its direction felt far from secure. He would need more than the aid of the North Star to guide his floundering ship.

  Closing his eyes, he was thankful there were no images or voices to taunt him, only darkness. A single word stuck in a groove of his consciousness, kept coming at him—much like the Beatles’ Revolution #9. Only the word was not a number, but a pronouncement from his inner self. “Liar. Liar. Liar.”

  Despite his inebriated state he became aware of another presence. It dolefully pulled at him, meaning to keep him from rest.

  Gillean rose impatiently from the bed, momentarily latching on to the nightstand for support. He called out in a raspy, heated voice, “What the hell do you want, Sully?”

  Gillean paced the room.

  “Damn it to hell! I know you’re here, ya sneaky bastard. Let’s have at it then so you can leave me alone, for good!”

  Stumbling into the adjoining room, he found Sully sitting cross-legged on the floor facing an open window. His back was to Gillean, apparently taking up his charge’s tacit vigil of the sky.

  Irate, Gillean knocked a lamp from a desk and demanded, “Answer me!”

  Sully raised his head. “Do you remember Apollo 8?”

  “What?”

  “The space mission, Apollo 8. Do ya remember it?”

  Gillean hovered above clenching his fists. “You think I wish to discuss space missions with you?”

  “Three men boarded a craft, and became the first earthlings to fly to the dark side of the moon.”

  “So?”

  “A
nd ya fancy yerself a star gazer. Ya don’t even know the significance of such a happening?”

  Gillean yanked the curtains closed eliminating Sully’s view.

  “I’ll ask you one more time, what do you want?”

  “What do you want?” Sully raised his voice. “Is it this?” He waved his hand across the dimly lit room. “To hole up with alcohol and cigarettes and make yer deceitful phone calls? My how sophisticated ya have become, my friend. Yer a real artist.” His eyes heaved allegations.

  “Did you just call me a liar?” Gillean hissed.

  The word sounded even more menacing in the spoken form.

  “Aren’t ya now?”

  “Get up!” Gillean roughly took hold of Sully’s arm. “You said you would come to me if I called you. Well, I don’t believe I asked for you, so what business could you possibly have here now? Is it with Adara, perhaps?” He jabbed at the man’s shoulder with an open hand. “Maybe you could restore her sanity while you’re trespassing.”

  His laugh was hollow.

  “Ha! Get it? You’re an angel and you’re trespassing.” Rocking on his heels Gillean regarded Sully with watery eyes. “Go on, ask me to forgive you your trespasses.”

  Sully lifted his shoulders, he seemed taller somehow, and much more in control. “Ya think this is funny, that you’re funny?” He stepped forward forcing the inebriated man to maintain balance. “Ya think this is all a big joke, do ya?”

  Gillean’s voice wavered. “I don’t think any of this is funny.”

  “Then make it right,” Sully spoke softly. “Ya have it within yer power to do so.”

  Gillean threw his hands in the air, retreating back to the other room. “And so does she,” he retorted.

  “She?”

  “Adara, ya stupid bullock! I assume you mean to make things right with her, don’t you?”

  Sully followed, placing a warm hand on Gillean’s back. “’Tis a bigger mission than that.”

  Gillean turned a stormy face to the statement. “I’ve had about all I can stomach of you and your holier-than-thou attitude. You’ve got what you wanted from me, just like everyone else. So I suggest you walk, fly, slither, whatever it is you do, and leave me alone.”

  “And if it’s Ciar yer wantin’, you’ll be climbin’ into bed with the devil to be sure,” Sully admonished.

  Gillean stared blankly at the pictures his mind flashed at him, his safe life with Adara and their children, the forbidden life he had begun to imagine with Sully, and of his current life with Ciar—the latter being one of deceit and self-indulgence miles away from all he used to hold sacred. He blamed Sully’s presence for the ugly reminder of the conflict raging within.

  “You forget, Sully. Your silver wings are tied to my steal guitar strings.” Gillean smiled at his presumed wit. “You are obliged to follow my wishes. And I am telling you, insisting that you get the hell out of my life.” He set for the door. “I wonder, how is it you should know the devil so well?”

  Worlds Collide

  Gillean thrust open the door without the courtesy of knocking and promptly marched over to his wife who was in the midst of hurriedly packing suitcases.

  She looked incredulous as he barreled his way into the room. It was a little before six in the morning. The sun had yet to begin its steady climb into the misty sky. Gillean was in the habit of sleeping well past noon whenever he had the chance.

  His bloodshot eyes glanced at her half-full travel bags.

  He deduced that Adara had reached a decision of her own. Without a word to him, she continued gathering her things.

  “Going somewhere, darling?” He slammed shut one of the cases, confronting his unnerved spouse.

  Gillean’s belligerence was as predictable as the tides. He was always of a stormy nature, only keeping his true feelings in check when he was in the public eye. He had matured that much in the years she had been with him. But this gave him all the more reason to let loose when he was not under such relentless scrutiny.

  Even in showing the most unseemly side of his character, he was incapable of violence. No one knew this better than Adara and his mother, but that did not assuage the elder Mrs. Faraday as she positioned herself behind Gillean.

  “As God as my witness, I don’t know what has possessed you, Gillean. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” She opened Adara’s suitcase and reached for the clothing neatly stacked on the bed. “I am, to be sure. And if your father was alive—”

  “Oh spare me, mother. He’s not. And if he were here, he’d not have a clue as to what was going on in anyone’s life but his own, as usual.”

  Gillean was in rare form. Being exhausted allowed him to speak his mind completely uncensored.

  Striking like lightning, Ena slapped Gillean hard across the face. She had never raised a hand to either one of her sons, not even when they were children. The sound was as ugly as the gesture itself.

  Ena’s handprint colored her son’s pale cheek. “Like father, like son then, I’d say.”

  Gillean’s eyes watered from his mother’s unprecedented action. “Mother, if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with my wife—alone.”

  Adara spoke up. “Put your knives away.”

  “I’m so sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean to upset you. I don’t know what came over me,” Ena stammered an apology to her daughter-in-law, and not her offended son.

  “Like mother, like son.” Adara turned her back to them and resumed her packing.

  “I’ll leave you to your privacy,” Ena said quietly. “Gillean, please come and talk with me when you’re ready.”

  The beleaguered woman bowed out of the room.

  “May I ask what are you doing? Where do you think you’re going?” Gillean put to his wife.

  She retreated to the bathroom where he could hear water running.

  “Oh, Mother of…”

  Gillean was about to follow her in. His dependable wife had become as unpredictable as the March storms that blew in fast and fierce from the sea.

  Adara returned with a cold cloth, pressing it with care against his reddened cheek.

  “Please, you don’t have to do that.”

  He put his hand over hers, his fingers brushing against her wedding ring. She had insisted on keeping the tiny gold band, even years later, when he offered to buy her a much more elaborate symbol of his love and success. Maintaining his original offering was all she wanted. Looking at the bluish circles shadowing her eyes, he wanted to be twenty again, and she seventeen. Gillean believed he would have done many things differently given the chance.

  “I’m going home, with our children.” She slid her hand from under his and turned her attention to the suitcases.

  “Why do you say that as if I am not welcome to come with you?”

  “Why do you act as if you intend to come with us?”

  He thrust the cloth in the air. “I never said—”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  She drifted back to him. “Leave that on your skin. It will calm your nerves.”

  Her impulse to care for him produced an agonizing sense of culpability. He’d done nothing to assist her these past few months.

  She reached out and pulled a few hairs from his shirt and studied them like they were rare artifacts. Much like his father poured over dirt covered bones and clay objects unearthed at a dig.

  “Look here, lad!” His father would say enthusiastically. It was one of the rare moments when the old man was actually animated. “Come here, Gillean and see what life is all about.”

  Gillean never understood why it was so important to gush over things that had been buried in the ground for centuries. What use were they anyway? The people they had belonged to were dead and gone, and yet his da attached such value to these grubby items, finding them enormously more fascinating than his own living sons.

  He shook free from the memory. Adara was running her fingers the length of the long, black strands. She was lost again, wandering in the hidden retreat o
f hers.

  “Hallo!”

  She turned her face to his, looking as if he had broken some prayerful meditation. She carefully tucked the hairs into the pocket of jeans which were now at least two sizes too big. Her eyes shaded a rich violet. “Please excuse me. I have things I need to attend to. I imagine you do as well.”

  Gillean was panicked by her resolve. He never saw her more ready to sever their bond than she was at that moment. He was desperate, knowing he was to blame but not wanting to own it. He didn’t have the strength. He was forty-three and tired. He found that age brought more questions than answers.

  He thought of Sully, a being who unwaveringly knew right from wrong. This ignited Gillean. Sully! The dark hairs that damn near enchanted Adara. They must have been Sully’s. Gillian relished the one true power he possessed, the one thing he could depend upon—Sully’s unwavering faithfulness to him. Gillean knew he could wield it as a sword in whatever way he wanted.

  The clouds were lifting for him as they did amidst the sun speckled Maumturk Mountains of Connemara. Everything was so blessedly clear. Adara still groped her way in the darkness of ignorance. Gillean would hold on to his little nugget of certainty, polishing it until the time was right. But not now. He had to let Adara lead the way. She would be the one to trip up the haughty little spirit. He shoved his attachment to Sully into a corner of his mind reserved for things best not thought about. But there was no such corner of his heart to hide the feelings Sully engendered. Gillean’s consolation was that he could guarantee Sully would be sorry for judging him so harshly.

  ~~~

  A chilly wind stole its way into the tiny abandoned shed. Invisible fingers slithered in from underneath the wooden door.

  The air crept along the rotted floorboards, rising up in a lonesome whisper, rustling dead leaves and lifting the hair from her worried face. Adara chose this shed on the outer edge of the Faraday property believing she would not be disturbed. She was a bit apprehensive at the task she set about, so foreign to her was the concept of summoning a spirit.

  It was exactly a fortnight since she and Gillean had left the Teach na si` and gone their separate ways, deciding to wait until the summer months before telling their children of the break-up. Her husband assured her he could be reached any time on his mobile. But he gave her no word of where he would be, or with whom.