Mrs. Taylor came back with a pot and a wooden spoon. “Who’s for scrambled eggs?” she asked. Ellen and Fegan refused. The little girl smiled at him when he wrinkled his nose.
“So, how’s old Hopkirk treating you?” Mr. Taylor asked.
“Fine,” Marie said. “We’re used to roughing it, anyway.” She looked at Fegan with a sly smile. “Aren’t we, George?”
It took Fegan a moment to remember the lie. “Yeah, we’ve stayed in worse.”
Ellen looked back and forth between them, a crease in her brow. Marie winked at him, and Fegan smiled back.
Mrs. Taylor finally settled at the table, her fussing done, and joined them in eating. The silence was only interrupted by the hostess slapping her husband’s arm when he fed the dog a piece of sausage.
“So, what brings you to Portcarrick?” she asked.
“We just wanted a bit of a break,” Marie said. “It was all very last-minute.”
“Well, yes, landing in Hopkirk’s in the middle of the night does seem a bit impulsive.”
“We meant to get away earlier, but George got held up at work.”
Mrs. Taylor turned to Fegan. “And what kind of work do you do, George?”
Fegan chewed and swallowed his food before answering. “I’m a Community Development Officer,” he said.
“In Belfast?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“Whereabouts? We’re both from Belfast, originally.”
Fegan scrambled for a lie, but came up empty. “Different places,” he said.
Mrs. Taylor seemed satisfied. “Did you hear the news this morning?”
“No, not yet,” Marie said.
“Oh, it’s terrible. A priest was killed in Belfast last night. Somebody broke into his house and stabbed him to death. Isn’t that awful?”
Marie set her knife and fork on her plate. “Dreadful,” she said, looking hard at Mrs. Taylor.
“And the funny thing is,” Mrs. Taylor continued, ‘he was the same priest who conducted the funerals for those two men who were killed this week. Isn’t that strange?”
“Did they say what time it happened?” Marie asked.
“Sometime last night is all they said. His housekeeper found him this morning. What’s the matter, love, aren’t you hungry?”
Marie stared across the table at Fegan. “I’ve had enough, thank you. Can I use your bathroom?”
“Of course you can, love. Just through the kitchen, first on your left.”
Marie stood and left the room, keeping her eyes on Fegan until she was out of view.
Fegan lost the will to eat.
“What did you do?” Marie asked.
“Nothing,” Fegan said. The sun warmed his skin, but a cool breeze came in from the sea. Clean, clear water rolled up to them. The white sand reflected harsh sunlight, stoking the throb behind Fegan’s eyes.
“I don’t believe you,” Marie said. They had left Ellen playing with Stella in the garden. She was under the watchful eye of Mrs. Taylor as she tended her plants.
“It’s the truth,” Fegan said. The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but he didn’t know what else to say. She could never understand.
Marie stopped walking and shielded her eyes with her hand. “You said you had something to do before you came for me last night. It was Father Coulter, wasn’t it?”
Fegan struggled with the urge to look away. “No. I had to get money.”
“Then why is McGinty after you? Why did someone try to hurt you yesterday?”
“Because I stood up to them when they came to put you out.”
“No, it’s more than that.” She started walking along the beach again. “They wouldn’t do that just because you helped me. There’s got to be more to it.”
“There’s not.” Anger at his own deceit flared in Fegan’s chest.
“And what about Vincie Caffola? Jesus, Uncle Michael?”
Fegan hated himself for lying. “Your uncle was getting mixed up in things he shouldn’t, and Vincie Caffola was mouthing off about the direction the party was taking. McGinty told me himself. There were plenty of people who wanted them dead.”
“You’ve killed before,” she said. “I know you can do it. Whatever part of you that’s missing, you’ve never got it back.”
“I’ve changed.” He took her elbow, turning her to face him. “You said so yourself. You said you could see it in me.”
Marie studied his face, her eyes red and angry. “Do you swear?”
“Yes,” he said.
She put her hand on his chest, over his heart. “Do you swear on your mother’s soul?”
Fegan didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” he said.
Marie kept her hand on his heart and stepped in close, her voice a desperate whisper. “Do you swear on Ellen’s life? Do you swear on my daughter’s soul?”
“Don’t ask me to do that,” he said.
Marie gripped Fegan’s shirt in her fist. “Do you swear?”
Her eyes flared with hope, but something else burned beneath. Something Fegan didn’t want to see.
“Swear and I’ll believe you,” she whispered.
“I swear,” he said.
Marie nodded slowly and turned to look out to sea.
They walked without words along the beach, across the bridge, and into the cottage garden. Neither Ellen nor the dog showed any signs of wearing each other out as they ran in circles around the shrubbery. Mrs. Taylor was on her knees, her bottom in the air, as she tugged grass from beneath a flowering bush.
She looked around at the sound of the gate. “You weren’t long,” she said. “Too fresh for you?”
“We’re a bit tired,” Fegan said.
“I’ll help you with that,” Marie said.
“Oh, no, sure I’m fine,” the bright-faced woman protested.
“Please, I’d like to.”
“Well, all right.” Mrs. Taylor looked up to Fegan. “Why don’t you go on inside? You can keep Albert company while he watches his films.”
Fegan questioned Marie with his eyes. She pressed on his arm, telling him to go. He went inside to find Mr. Taylor with his feet up on the coffee table, watching a John Wayne movie.
“Ah, George,” said Mr. Taylor. “Grab yourself a seat. It’s just started.”
“What is it?” Fegan asked.
“
The Searchers
. Have you seen it? It’s a classic. The Duke’s best.”
“No, I haven’t seen it,” Fegan said. “I’ll hang my jacket up.”
He walked back to the coat hook in the small porch. Voices drifted in from the garden through the slightly opened door. Soft voices, women’s voices, punctuated by a child’s laughter and a dog’s excited yips.