Love & The Goddess Read online

  I crawled into the living room shivering, despite it being a warm night. Wrapping a rug around my body, I curled up and sobbed until my nose became so stuffed I could no longer breathe. While I was daubing them with a sodden tissue, my swollen eyes caught sight of the hunting scene on the opposite wall. Scarlet-coated men sat on horses while a dog delivered a bleeding pheasant in its mouth. Trevor had bragged that it was an investment piece but I’d detested it from the minute it arrived into the house. There was my dishonesty again. I’d told him it was great, in an effort to please him.

  Jumping up from the sofa, I strode across the hall to open the closet door and pushed a line of coats aside. I rummaged around until my fingers came upon a large flat package. Hauling it out, I tore aside brown paper, revealing a silver-framed picture. I hurried back into the living room and lifted down the wretched hunting scene. In its place I hung “The Triple Goddess”, my cherished limited-edition print by Susan Seddon Boulet which I’d purchased from a Dublin art dealer.

  I would never forget the look of utter disgust on Trevor’s face when I’d excitedly showed him this print, holding it up in the hallway. He’d been about to leave the house for a game of golf. He’d scoffed, “God, Kate, it’s about time you grew up. It’s like some fantasy poster Julie had in her bedroom around the time she collected ‘my little ponies’.”

  I’d been shocked. “It’s by a very celebrated Brazilian Shamanic artist. I’d thought about hanging it here in the hall. Do you really hate it that much?” I had hoped he would see how much it meant to me.

  He stood sneering in the open front door. “Hippie stuff, no more than the silly dream catcher and carved wooden thing you bought at that Indian reservation outside Vegas. Return it to the gallery and get a piece of sculpture instead.” The door slammed shut after him as tears pricked my eyes. I’d felt angry and hurt but I’d decided not to force my idea of art on Trevor, convincing myself that he was right – that the print would not be in keeping with the décor of our home. So instead I chose to hoard it with all my other secret treasures in the back of the closet.

  Now, in defiance, my picture was hanging in pride of place. In shades of yellow, orange and green, the three faces of the Goddesses called to me – Virgin, Mother and Crone. I stood back and soaked it in. An eagle emerged from the central Goddess’s head, along with a variety of symbols from lizards to a full moon and a lioness guarding a human baby in a lotus flower. A secret passageway and butterflies blended subtly into the fabric of the Goddess’s clothing.

  Everything in the painting symbolised transformation.

  As I stood there entranced, I could almost imagine a mist enveloping me. Swept up in the picture’s dream-like imagery, something stirred from deep within. Throwing my shoulders back, I straightened my spine as a tingling started in my toes and travelled all the way up my legs. This picture had been my secret guilty pleasure and now it was my first act of rebellion. It was the proverbial two fingers up to Trevor’s stifling notion of convention. The feeling of a woman being one with nature was not something he would ever understand, never mind tolerate. In my defiance, I felt a spark of hope; a glimmer of the will to survive along with an urge to live life on my own terms from now on. Pleasing others had gotten me nowhere.

  Chapter Two

  Before I could do anything, Julie had to be told. It was terrible timing. She was a second-year law student in Dublin, and about to head off to Boston for a three-month placement with a law firm. Our only opportunity to tell her that her family had fallen apart would be during the fleeting visit she planned to pay us on her way to Shannon airport.

  Trevor collected her from the train station in Galway city. I stayed at home, busying myself in packing the clothes she had asked for from her wardrobe. As I was filling a plastic toilet bag with sun-block, sachets of shampoo and conditioner, I heard a key turn in the front door and hurried out on to the landing.

  Julie came through the door first and I ran down the stairs to embrace her, stroking back her long dark hair. “What’s going on, Mum?” Her tear-stained brown eyes studied me in disbelief. “He told me you two were breaking up!”

  Trevor was walking in behind her. “Come and sit down,” he said, steering us both into the living room and pointing to the sofa. I sat down, but Julie remained standing.

  “I can’t understand why you have to divorce at your stage in life,” she screeched at me.

  Taken aback, I jolted upright. Obviously, Trevor hadn’t told her the full story. “You’d better ask your father.”

  Trevor was shifting uncomfortably in his armchair. “Like I said, your mother and I simply grew apart. Our relationship has become a battleground. It must have been difficult for you to witness during the past few years.”

  “Oh cut the crap, Trevor, and have the guts to tell her,” I snapped.

  “Julie.” His eyes searched hers. His voice was pleading. “I’ve fallen in love with Martha. I’m not proud of the fact, but we can’t choose who we fall in love with …”

  Julie interrupted, her voice raised. “Martha? Your pathetic little secretary?” She moved to stand over him and he also stood up and tried to embrace her, but she crossed her arms like two swords to fend him off. A glimmer of satisfaction almost caused a smile to escape my lips. But I suppressed it. Right now, Julie’s feelings were more important than revenge.

  Trevor drew a shaky breath. “You have every right to be angry, Julie, but a part of me will always love your mother. I think she is the most wonderful woman I ever met. You were born out of love and nothing will ever change that.”

  “You love me …?” I was on the point of blurting out more, but thankfully stopped. A voice inside my head was telling me to hold still. Getting over-emotional could cause me to lose control and make a fool of myself. I wanted to be calm for my daughter’s sake. Julie didn’t seem to notice my tone; her eyes remained fixed on her father. “Well, don’t expect me to give you a blessing. For an intelligent man you’re a self-centred idiot. Now if you don’t mind I’m going to finish packing.” She moved away abruptly.

  I said, “I have the big black case laid out for you, Julie. I’ve added everything you put on the list. All you have to do is finish up. The kettle’s on for tea and there are sandwiches and scones in the fridge.”

  “Thanks, Mum.” She closed the door firmly behind her. Her footsteps faded down the marble tiles of the hall to the kitchen.

  I turned on him. “Why didn’t you tell her about Martha?”

  He avoided my eyes. “The words just wouldn’t come out. I knew this would be deeply upsetting for her.” He paused nervously. “I want to thank you for not labouring the fact that I am the one to blame. I appreciate that you didn’t point the finger at me, Kate.”

  “Good. I’m delighted you can appreciate something about me after twenty-three years together.” As I spoke, his head was turning in the direction of the Goddess picture. His face assumed a look of incredulity before filling with grave concern. He was obviously worried about the whereabouts of the hunting scene. For a moment, I wondered what he’d say if I told him I’d slashed it and thrown it out with the rubbish. I waited. He could choose to ask me directly or sweat it out until he came across it at the back of the wardrobe in the spare room.

  “Kate?”

  “Yes? What?”

  “I don’t want you to think I’m suggesting anything to you, but should you ever wish to live in Galway city, I’d have no hesitation giving you the apartment. You’ve always loved it.”

  Live in the apartment? It took me a moment to register what he was saying – he was expecting me to leave the house? I took a deep breath. “Well, thank you, Trevor. That may come in handy for the odd weekend. Yes, I think I could avail of that.” Judging by his expression, his offer hadn’t been received in the manner which he’d intended. I wasn’t going to give up my home that easily.

  There wasn’t much time to spare before Julie had to leave. Trevor waited in the car while we said our goodbyes. Julie thr
ew her arms around me and kissed me. “Look after yourself, Mum. I can’t believe he fell for her when you are so much better in every way.”

  “I know Julie. Don’t worry about me. I love you. Be gentle with yourself and eat well, won’t you?” She’d always seemed so capable, but I knew she could be hard on herself. I worried about her going it alone in a strange city after finding out her parents had separated, but the decision had been made months ago.

  “Yes, Mum.” She was smiling. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Look after yourself.”

  But as she sat into the car beside Trevor, she was obviously struggling to hold back the tears. Trevor was fussing over her, checking the seat was in the right position, that she was comfortable. It reminded me of the early days of our dating, when he used to call me ‘Princess’. I felt a strange tinge of jealousy that he would never again regard me as special.

  I knew it was only a matter of time before the whole village would be talking about the doctor ditching his wife for a younger model. Rumours must be spreading like wildfire with, I was sure, bits and bobs embellished as they went from person to person.

  I tried to live like a hermit by parking my car around the back of the house and avoiding people as best I could. But eventually, I knew I had to venture out. I needed bread and milk and I couldn’t drive into Galway again or call Tesco’s to deliver the basics. It was a case of visiting the local supermarket or living like a hostage for the rest of my life.

  I knew if Ella had been here she’d have come to my rescue with the essentials, but she was in Greece running a conference and I still hadn’t been able to speak to her. I’d left her all manner of messages but usually turned my own phone off, so when she did manage to get free from team building and marshalling two hundred executives from breakfast to dinner, all she’d been able to do was to leave voicemails: “Hang in there, Kate. I’m back next week. Just hold on.” She was my best friend, and I knew from her voice that she felt terrible about not being able to be with me.

  I drew in a deep breath, as I parked my car in the supermarket car park. I had to do this or I might starve. Heading for the back entrance, I passed the local bank manager’s wife, who I knew well. She had her head stuck in her car boot as she meticulously rearranged her bags of shopping. I glanced back as I passed her, to find her staring at me. “Hello, Sandra. How are you?” I summoned as cheery a voice as I could manage.

  “I’m fine. In a terrible hurry.” She blushed as she scurried around to the driver’s door. I felt my stomach turn over. Was this how it would be? People I’d met and chatted to every day until now, suddenly avoiding me, too embarrassed to speak to me? Grabbing a shopping trolley, I braved it and headed into the supermarket. It was early in the morning and members of staff were stacking the shelves. I lingered by the vegetables. Orange baby carrots gleamed through their clay coating, smelling of freshly turned earth. Cauliflowers plump like cabbage patch dolls winked at me, suggesting a killer soup, bursting with vitality. Beside them sat velvety aubergines and crinkly celery in pale green corrugated sticks. Focusing on what I could do with all these lovely ingredients distracted me for a moment. Food had always been my thing. Family celebrations had seen me spend days preparing gargantuan amounts of food to thrill everyone, from my gourmet father to my sister Liz, who qualified as the crankiest dieter on the planet. The role of nurturer sat well with me and I’d developed all sorts of tricks for making food irresistible. Nothing pleased me more than to see guests stagger out my door, not from drink but from a belly weighed down with overeating.

  Now there would no more celebrations to cook for. I found myself thinking it would seem like too much trouble to cook for myself. A shiver ran through me as I registered how lonely I felt as a single woman. Then a voice in my head scolded me with: So, are you going to abandon yourself and let yourself become a waif? A pathetic victim? And what about always warning Julie to eat well? You hypocrite! No. I wasn’t going to let Trevor take away my enjoyment of food and cooking. As I was filling my trolley, a voice cut through my thoughts: “So, how are you?”

  I spun around. An old woman was peering at me. Her face was familiar but I didn’t know her name. I said, “I’m well and how are you?”

  “I heard about your break-up.”

  I opened my mouth to reply but nothing came out.

  It didn’t stop her. “You’re lucky to be breaking free at your age. Men get very bossy as they get older. Set in their ways. Your fellah was too old for you anyway. I had to wait for my auld fellah to die before I could get a bit of peace.”

  How could I answer that? “Well, thanks for telling me.” I smiled and turned away. I understood the veracity of her words. But advice, no matter how wise or kindly the intention, now seemed overly intrusive. I somehow numbed out and began hurling whatever came to hand into the trolley. In my search for tinned tuna, I stumbled into the pet food aisle, looking at food for a pet I didn’t own. Instead of kitchen paper, I mistakenly pulled down a bag of disposable nappies. My heart sank as I registered this mocking reminder of my passing years. I suppressed an urge to scream and hurl them down the aisle before a cheeky thought intervened to cheer me up. Maybe I should bring them to the checkout counter. That would really give the locals something to talk about.

  It was clearly well known that Trevor had moved out, yet it didn’t stop some of his patients calling to my door “looking for the doctor” after hours. That was the problem with being married to the only doctor in a small village, especially one held in such high esteem. Later that evening an old man arrived, puffing pipe smoke into my face as he spoke. “As you know yourself, this house has been in Doctor Canavan’s family for three generations. I’m not taking no sides but I have to tell you the doctor’s family wouldn’t be too pleased to have you staying on here.”

  His words rattled me. I closed the door as politely as I could without slamming it shut and collapsed against it, my back to the cool wood. I felt the tears pricking. I knew it would be foolish of me to uproot my life in response to an old man’s ramblings, yet it felt like he was right. The house belonged to Trevor and I’d always felt it was only on loan to me. His family might descend on me at any time, like praying mantises. He had offered me the Galway apartment, an investment property he had purchased in the Celtic Tiger years. Clearly he didn’t think he had any chance of selling it for a profit now. And so why shouldn’t I live in it? I was beginning to think that it might be in my best interests to make a clean break from the small world of the village and start my new life elsewhere.

  Chapter Three

  Ten days later, after a morning spent shopping for household essentials, I drove out along the coast road to Salthill, taking a right up Taylor’s Hill. My apartment was in a restored former convent, elegant and stone-faced; set back off the road, it overlooked the promenade like an elderly aunt.

  Pulling into the hidden car park behind the building, I found James, my friend and colleague, had got there before me. He was leaning against his ancient blue Aston Martin, the back window of which was piled high with last year’s lecture notes and tattered cookery books. As I got out, he came towards me, put his arms around me and hugged me close. I reached up on my tip toes into his reassuring embrace. At least I still had one man in my life. Gulls squawked overhead and the westerly breeze carried the scent of seaweed from the beach.

  “How are you?” He relieved me of my shopping bag.

  “So-so.” I balanced my right hand like a weighing scales. “It’s still a bit of a muddle.”

  “Of course it is, but I have every faith in you building a wonderful new life for yourself.” He sounded very British. His eyes scanned the house with its tiered terraces and domed Mansard roof. “I have to hand it to you, this is some building.”

  “It was an old convent, developed during the boom.” I squeezed his arm. “Thanks for coming over.”

  “Delighted, my dear. But you do realise now you’re living so close, you may never get rid of me?” He paused to exclaim over
the fanlight and ornate stonework, as I turned the key in the double glass doors. On the far side of the hexagonal atrium, floored in mosaic tiles, was another door of heavy mahogany which led into the entrance hall. James opened it for me, with a flourish. His nose twitched as the scent of cooking greeted us. “Cloves. Someone’s baking apple tart. How delightful – you live in a communal kitchen.”

  I laughed. “That’s apartment living for you. Somebody on the first floor cooked a powerful curry last night.” I glanced up at the ornate glass roof, shielding my eyes from the sunshine flooding down. Rows of heavy dark-stained doors surrounded by bevelled wooden architraves formed part of a continuous curved wall, cleverly devoid of sharp corners. I led the way down the blue-carpeted stairway to the lower ground floor. James followed, stroking the polished mahogany balustrade of the staircase which snaked around all four floors like one huge serpent. “The Church didn’t spare any expense.”

  “Seems not. We bought the apartment from a developer before prices went sky high in the boom years, but we’ve had problems renting it lately – a sign of the times.” I turned the key in number two. The entire apartment was drenched in light, pouring in through the large casement windows, their shutters opened wide. I stepped over a CD player on my way into the living room. “Mind you don’t trip over any of the crates.”

  He wasn’t listening – oohing and aahing, he was taking in the high ceilings, wooden floors and original wainscoting. The day before I had scoured the local Oxfam shop for a patterned floor rug and two throws to cover the sorry-looking sofa. In shades of sapphire, amethyst and jade, they co-coordinated well with a curved Tibetan wall unit and the teardrop central light which tinkled like an earring in the breeze. I’d stumbled over the cabinet in an auction room and fallen in love with it immediately.