“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Finn tries several times to say something, but only his hands are successful at it. Eventually, he manages, “I thought something — how would I know if something had happened to you?”
“Why would something have happened to me?”
“Puck, it’s night. Where have you been? I thought — !”
Slowly it dawns on me. He’d seen me before I left for confession and must’ve expected me not long after.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
Finn storms mightily around the room, and I realize that he’s done all this cleaning because he was fretting over me.
“The house looks amazing,” I offer.
He snaps, “Of course it does! I cleaned the whole bloody thing! I didn’t even know how long it would be, if you died, before I knew. Who’d tell me?”
“I’m sorry, I forgot. Time got away from me.”
This makes Finn rage even more. I’ve never seen him in such a state. He’s like my father when he found out that my mother had bought a gray gelding off a farmer. He’d raged about, a furious silent storm contained by the walls, clutching the backs of chairs and staring at the ceiling, until Mum had agreed to sell the gelding.
“Time got away,” Finn says finally.
“I can say I’m sorry some more, but I don’t see what it will do.”
“No good at all is what it will do!”
“Then what is it you want from me?” The truth is that I did feel bad before, but now my patience is at a thread. It’s not as if I can go back and undo the past.
Finn leans on the back of my father’s armchair, his knuckles white around the top of it.
“I can’t bear it,” he says, and I suddenly see Gabe in him. “I can’t bear not knowing what will happen.”
I creep around to the armchair and crouch in front of it. I fold my arms on the seat and peer up at his face. I’m not sure why he looks so young, if it’s the worry that’s taking the age from him or if it’s because I’ve been looking at Sean Kendrick’s face. I say, “It’s almost over. We’ll be okay. Nothing will happen to me. Even if I don’t win, we’ll be okay, right?”
Finn’s face is bleak and terrible, and I don’t think he believes it.
I add, “Puffin came back, didn’t she?”
“Missing half her tail. You don’t have a tail to spare.”
“Dove does. And that expensive food means hers grows back fast.”
I’m not sure if he’s comforted, but he doesn’t protest further. Later, he drags his mattress into my room and pushes it against the opposite wall. It reminds me strikingly of my childhood, when he and I used to share a room with Gabe, before my father built another room onto the side of our house for him and Mum.
After the light is off, we’re quiet for several long moments. Then Finn says, “What did Father Mooneyham give you?”
“Two Hail Marys and a Columba.”
“Jesus,” says Finn in the dark. “You were worse than that.”
“I tried to tell him.”
“I’ll tell him again, when I go tomorrow. Did you already say them?”
“Of course. It was only two Hail Marys and a Columba.”
Finn rustles in the darkness.
“Do you still talk in your sleep?” I ask.
“How would I know?”
“I’m going to hit you, if you do.”
Finn turns over again, punching his pillow. “This isn’t for always. Just until after.”
“Okay,” I say. Out the window, I can see the shape of the moon, and it reminds me of Sean’s finger pressed against my wrist. I hold the thought carefully in my head, because I want to consider it some more once Finn has stopped speaking. But instead, as I wait for sleep, I find myself thinking about what Finn said about me dying. About how he didn’t know how long it would be before he knew or who would tell him. I realize then that I can’t remember how it is that we found out that our parents were dead. I just remember them going out to the boat together, a very rare occasion indeed, and then I remember knowing they were dead. Not only can I not see the face of who told us, I can’t even remember the telling. I lie there with my eyes tightly closed, trying to bring the moment back to focus, but all I can call up is Sean’s face and the sensation of the ground rushing by beneath Corr.
I think that’s the mercy of this island, actually, that it won’t give us our terrible memories for long, but lets us keep the good ones for as long as we want them.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
SEAN
The morning of the Malvern youngstock auction dawns exceptionally fair, too kind for October. I lost too much sleep after I left Puck behind last night, so I snatch an extra half hour to steel me for what’s to come, and then I dress and head down to the yard. There’ll be no riding Corr this morning, none of my usual stable work. The warm weather that would make the beach bearable is lost to the auction.
The yard is buzzing, full of mainland men holding champagne at nine in the morning and ignoring wives wearing absurd furs too warm for the weather. Every so often, the sound of a horse whinny peals out above their voices. These tourists are a tidier sort than those who arrived in time for the Scorpio Races, more kin to the gentlemen I’d seen staying at the hotel than to any local. Every man Malvern employs is out in force today; this auction funds the yard for the rest of the year.
I’ve only had my feet on solid ground for about a minute when George Holly catches my elbow. “Sean Kendrick. I thought you’d be out there among the beasts.”
“Not today.” The truth is that I’d rather be down there with the grooms, leading the horses into the ring for the buyers to look at. Instead I am to stay always within earshot of Benjamin Malvern so that if he catches my eye or tips a champagne glass in my direction, I’m available to sing the praises of whichever horse is about to go onto the auction block. “Today I’m to sell myself, not them. I’m the novelty.”
“Oh, hence the sharp apparel. I nearly didn’t recognize you in that suit coat.”
“I bought it to be buried in.”
George Holly claps my shoulders. “Planning on staying trim or dying young, then. Such a wise head on such young shoulders. If your Kate Connolly hasn’t seen you in that suit coat, she should.”
I doubt very much that Puck would be affected by the sight of me looking as if I am wanting only for a pocket watch. If she preferred this version of me, it would be unfortunate in any case. I lay a hand flat on the vest and smooth the buttons.
“It’s such a fine thing to see you uncomfortable, Mr. Kendrick,” Holly says. “She has got you bothered! Now tell me which horses to buy.”
Bothered isn’t the word for it. I can’t focus. I need to be on Corr instead of simmering in this coat. I say, “Mettle and Finndebar.”
“Finn-deh-bahr? I can’t even say it much less remember it. Did Malvern show her to me?”
I say, “Probably not; she’s a broodmare. Getting a little old, so he’s selling her.” I look up in time to see Malvern arrive with a posse of potential buyers following him. They look delighted by the island weather and these island racers and their droll owner. Malvern spots me and I see him filing away my location for future reference.