horizon.
She took a deep breath and her shoulders dropped. Here in this beautiful place she felt peace – the peace that comes only from being in harmony with nature. The feeling of joy was so
strong she began to cry. It was so surprising that she began to laugh at the same time. She had never laughed and cried together, and with such abandon. It was the most wonderful feeling she had
ever had. The clouds grew grey and heavy and it began to rain. Her faux-fur jacket, which was so inappropriate on that beach, quickly became sodden and clung to her like the soggy hair of a dog. If
it hadn’t been so cold she would have taken it off and tossed it into the sea, to die a watery death with her iPhone.
The trouble was, she didn’t know what or who she wanted to be. She just knew that she didn’t like the person she was. One thing she was sure about, however, was that she wasn’t
going to go back to London until she had achieved a sense of who she
really
was, beneath her parents’ conditioning. Until then, she was going to stay in Connemara. She began to walk
back up the beach in the direction of Peg’s house. The rain was falling heavily now and she was wet to the bone. She quickened her pace and shivered as a drop of water rolled down her back.
If she was going to stay with Peg, she’d better pay rent, she thought. It was obvious that Peg didn’t have a lot of money and it wouldn’t be fair to sponge off her, however
convenient that might be. If she stayed more than a week it would only be right to contribute something.
When she reached the hill she almost ran. The thought of a hot bath and a cup of tea spurred her on. She stumbled up the sodden grass, past nonchalant sheep who were perfectly dry beneath their
woolly coats, and the poor old donkey, who looked rather bedraggled and miserable in the rain even though there was a shed for him at the bottom of the hill so he could shelter out of the wind. The
house came into view and she wasn’t surprised to see more than one vehicle parked outside. It was becoming clear that Peg’s large family ensured that she was never lonely.
She burst in, sending Mr Badger leaping into the hall with excitement. Bertie the pig remained in front of the Stanley, snoring loudly. Peg jumped up from her chair where she was having a cup of
tea with a young man. ‘Jaysus, child, will you look at you? Where have you been? Did Johnny leave you up at the castle? Take that jacket off at once and I’ll hang it up to
dry.’
‘I went for a walk,’ Ellen explained, peeling off her jacket like a skin.
‘In this weather? Are you off your head?’
‘Throw the jacket away. I’ve ruined it.’
‘Animals are meant to get wet,’ interjected the young man dryly.
‘Not fake ones,’ Ellen retorted.
Peg gestured to the man. ‘This is my son, Ronan.’ The young man, who appeared to be about the same age as Ellen, looked up from beneath a thick blond fringe but didn’t
smile.
‘I would shake your hand,’ said Ellen apologetically. ‘But I’ll only get it wet.’
‘I’ll shake it when you’re dry, then,’ Ronan replied.
‘I think I’d better go up and have a bath.’
‘I think you’d better, pet. Really, you Londoners know nothing about the countryside, do you?’ Peg turned to her son. ‘You should see the boots she came in . .
.’
As Ellen made her way upstairs, she reflected on the members of her family she had met that day. They were all very handsome, with intense eyes and strong characters. It was
almost as if she had walked through C. S. Lewis’s wardrobe into an enchanting new world that had always been there beyond the fur coats. For a moment she felt a wave of anger that her mother
had hidden them all away: after all, they were Ellen’s family too! And what about Lavinia and Leonora? How could their mother have simply erased them from their lives as well? What could she
have done that was so dreadful as to make her return impossible? Didn’t the
She took a deep breath and her shoulders dropped. Here in this beautiful place she felt peace – the peace that comes only from being in harmony with nature. The feeling of joy was so
strong she began to cry. It was so surprising that she began to laugh at the same time. She had never laughed and cried together, and with such abandon. It was the most wonderful feeling she had
ever had. The clouds grew grey and heavy and it began to rain. Her faux-fur jacket, which was so inappropriate on that beach, quickly became sodden and clung to her like the soggy hair of a dog. If
it hadn’t been so cold she would have taken it off and tossed it into the sea, to die a watery death with her iPhone.
The trouble was, she didn’t know what or who she wanted to be. She just knew that she didn’t like the person she was. One thing she was sure about, however, was that she wasn’t
going to go back to London until she had achieved a sense of who she
really
was, beneath her parents’ conditioning. Until then, she was going to stay in Connemara. She began to walk
back up the beach in the direction of Peg’s house. The rain was falling heavily now and she was wet to the bone. She quickened her pace and shivered as a drop of water rolled down her back.
If she was going to stay with Peg, she’d better pay rent, she thought. It was obvious that Peg didn’t have a lot of money and it wouldn’t be fair to sponge off her, however
convenient that might be. If she stayed more than a week it would only be right to contribute something.
When she reached the hill she almost ran. The thought of a hot bath and a cup of tea spurred her on. She stumbled up the sodden grass, past nonchalant sheep who were perfectly dry beneath their
woolly coats, and the poor old donkey, who looked rather bedraggled and miserable in the rain even though there was a shed for him at the bottom of the hill so he could shelter out of the wind. The
house came into view and she wasn’t surprised to see more than one vehicle parked outside. It was becoming clear that Peg’s large family ensured that she was never lonely.
She burst in, sending Mr Badger leaping into the hall with excitement. Bertie the pig remained in front of the Stanley, snoring loudly. Peg jumped up from her chair where she was having a cup of
tea with a young man. ‘Jaysus, child, will you look at you? Where have you been? Did Johnny leave you up at the castle? Take that jacket off at once and I’ll hang it up to
dry.’
‘I went for a walk,’ Ellen explained, peeling off her jacket like a skin.
‘In this weather? Are you off your head?’
‘Throw the jacket away. I’ve ruined it.’
‘Animals are meant to get wet,’ interjected the young man dryly.
‘Not fake ones,’ Ellen retorted.
Peg gestured to the man. ‘This is my son, Ronan.’ The young man, who appeared to be about the same age as Ellen, looked up from beneath a thick blond fringe but didn’t
smile.
‘I would shake your hand,’ said Ellen apologetically. ‘But I’ll only get it wet.’
‘I’ll shake it when you’re dry, then,’ Ronan replied.
‘I think I’d better go up and have a bath.’
‘I think you’d better, pet. Really, you Londoners know nothing about the countryside, do you?’ Peg turned to her son. ‘You should see the boots she came in . .
.’
As Ellen made her way upstairs, she reflected on the members of her family she had met that day. They were all very handsome, with intense eyes and strong characters. It was
almost as if she had walked through C. S. Lewis’s wardrobe into an enchanting new world that had always been there beyond the fur coats. For a moment she felt a wave of anger that her mother
had hidden them all away: after all, they were Ellen’s family too! And what about Lavinia and Leonora? How could their mother have simply erased them from their lives as well? What could she
have done that was so dreadful as to make her return impossible? Didn’t the
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