CHAPTER 18
‘Why the happiness?’ Franz asked when they were tucking into Tom’s idea of a light snack – two thick slices of toast each, piled high with scrambled eggs, mushrooms and tomatoes, with half a loaf of soda bread and a pot of jam. Having thought she was too tired to be hungry, Ella was surprised how fast the food was disappearing.
‘I don’t know. I feel like a child here, somehow.’
He grimaced. ‘Is that good?’
‘It is if you’re not one.’
‘Did you enjoy anything about your childhood?’
‘Lots of things. I just didn’t enjoy being a child. But then I never felt like one; I always felt like the adult.’
‘Did she ever look after you like a mother?’ Franz asked. ‘Or your brother?’
‘She looked after Sam a bit when he was ill but she told everyone how disruptive it was to her life. I think she saw it as something he’d done to her that she couldn’t see a way out of.’
‘She saw herself as the victim?’
‘It wasn’t as strong as that. I think she didn’t really see herself as a participant in anyone else’s life. She could never see why her life upset her parents. She saw each person’s life as separate. She used to say, “Everyone has to find their own way,” and that applied as much to a three-year old as to an eighty-three year old, in her view.’
‘To orthodox Jewish parents who’d hoped she would marry a rabbi?’
‘Sure. She couldn’t see what all the fuss was about, she said.’
‘She must have understood why they were upset, if she’d grown up in that environment.’
‘She was a rebel,’ Ella said. ‘Understanding how they felt made her more inclined to do the opposite.’
‘Rebellion again,’ said Franz thoughtfully. ‘What was she rebelling against?’
‘Anything. Any discipline or restriction that she thought might leave her less free.’
‘And was she free, without it?’
‘No way. She was driven by such an unlimited range of desires and compulsions that she never had a moment’s peace.’
Franz buttered a slice of soda bread liberally, as if cholesterol had come into fashion. ‘And was it rebellion that made you want your life to be different from hers?’ he asked Ella.
‘No. Common sense,’ she said, and he laughed.
‘And has common sense made you free?’ he asked, half-seriously and half-teasing her.
Ella stretched and yawned. ‘I’m free of childhood, anyway,’ she said.
His face clouded. ‘Is anyone ever free of their past?’ he asked.
‘You move on from it,’ Ella said.
‘Or you think you have till it catches up with you.’
She raised her eyebrows at him enquiringly, hoping he wouldn’t count that as asking questions, but he said no more.
Tom came in to clear the plates.
‘Have yez had enough to eat?’ he asked. ‘There’s only a bit of apple tart to follow.’
As they protested, he said, ‘You’ve hardly ate a crumb between yez. The Wicklow air will soon give you an appetite. Are you planning on going to Glendalough tomorrow?’
‘Sure,’ said Franz. ‘How could we miss it, being so near?’
‘Right enough,’ said Tom with approval. ‘Mary will do your breakfast early, then, because you’ll need to get there before eleven to see it at its best before the coach parties arrive. You’ve chosen a good time of year, as long as you wrap up warm. February is the quiet time and the mists and the fresh cold air will do you the world of good,’ he told Ella. ‘You’ll be eating for two, the way you should, by the time you leave here.’
‘You told him, Franz!’ said Ella accusingly, when he had gone to the kitchen to fetch – despite their refusal – the apple pie and cream.
‘I did not!’
She laughed, despite herself.
‘What?’
‘You’re speaking with an Irish accent!’
‘I am not!’
‘Yes, you are! So how did Tom know I should be eating for two? You’re not telling me he’s psychic, are you?’
‘They’re all psychic over here,’ said Franz gloomily, ‘or think they are. It’s no place for keeping secrets.’
‘What’s this?’ said Ella lightly. ‘Racism?’ But he was silent.
They made a token attempt at the apple pie then Ella, who couldn’t stop yawning, went up to their room.
‘I’ll go for a quick walk,’ Franz told her.
‘Isn’t it raining?’
‘It’s always raining in Ireland,’ he said. ‘I won’t be long.’
Ella took a quick shower then leaned out of the wide window in their room. In the gloom, she could see Franz’s outline appearing and disappearing as he walked, in the drizzle, round and round what she could only guess was the garden. He was pacing as he had been on the boat, like a caged lion.
Ella sighed and pulled the window to, hooking it with the old-fashioned metal bar so it was only slightly open. It was good to have the fresh air but it felt damp, even in the room. She got into bed and prepared to meditate till Franz returned but he was away for so long that drowsiness overtook her. She slid down in the lumpy bed with the heap of covers that reminded her of childhood again, and slept.
When she woke in the night, it was not with her childhood sense of wondering if anyone was there: it was Franz’s presence that woke her, the beating of his heart so loud that for a moment she feared it would disturb the whole household.
His arm around her was like an iron clamp. She wriggled, to loosen his grip.
‘Franz? Are you all right?’
‘Yes.’
She was not convinced. ‘What is it?’
‘Nothing. Why?’
Before she could answer, he said, ‘Turn over and go back to sleep.’
She turned over and he fitted his lean body around hers.
‘Ella?’
‘Yes?’
‘When will the baby start moving?’
‘Not for a good while. Why?’
A pause, then: ‘I want to feel it kick.’
She smiled in the silent darkness. ‘You will. I can feel it’s alive.’
‘Can you? How?’
‘I can’t explain. It’s like a warmth. A presence in there. See if you can feel it.’
He slid his hand over her stomach. She could still feel his heart pounding, even against her back. What was he so afraid of? Why couldn’t he talk to her about it? She stilled the thought. No questions, even in her own mind. She had promised him.
She didn’t ask if he could feel anything but she felt his panic subside. He fell asleep before she did, breathing evenly, his hand still held gently against the rising curve of her stomach, with what felt like reverence.
He would be all right. She knew it, knew it in the depths of her being, though she couldn’t have said why. However much he paced and pounded and panicked, her sense of contentment and wellbeing only deepened. He had been calm, smooth and self-assured when she first knew him. Even when overworked and beset with every kind of crisis in getting The Healing Place established, there had always been a serenity about him, as though he knew his plans could not fail.
Now, for reasons she didn’t understand, he was frightened and insecure – and more human, more real somehow.
Ella hoped it wasn’t callous of her to feel happy, but she could only see this trip to Ireland as progress and, she felt intuitively, some kind of resolution to the mystery that Franz Kane had always been.