Seacliff

Chapter sixty-two: History repeats

1939

"Saoirse... Saoirse, what are you doing?"

Saoirse was too busy packing to answer Sorley. Her bedroom was a mess of clothes and shoes and gaping suitcases.

"Mo chroí..." He walked up to her, grabbing her elbow.

She shook him off. "I have to go. I have to go find him, I have to go be with him."

"Saoirse, please..."

"I have to!" she bellowed, tears stinging at her eyes again.

"My Saoirse..." He squeezed her arms. "My love, you're only human. You might have been to war before, but it was a long time ago. Please..."

"It's because I've been that I know what it's like! My sweet boy needs me. My son, Sorley, our son!"

"What about our daughter?"

That simple question sliced her determination to pieces. The last time she'd left her daughter...

"She needs you more than he does," Sorley murmured, rubbing her shoulders. "Should any harm befall Aidan, I'll know right away. But he's a grown man now, he can look after himself. Aoife cannot. Please, my Saoirse, I couldn't bear losing you."

"And I can't bear losing him, Sorley. I've lost so much... so, so much..."

Weakened, Saoirse leaned into Sorley's welcoming embrace and wept at his chest. He held her tight, resting his chin on her head, stroking her hair. Little Aoife walked in on them, terrified, moved to tears of her own by her mother's crying. She came to cling onto Saoirse's skirts and Sorley hefted her up in his arms.

"Where did Aidan go, Mama?" the girl asked meekly. "I miss him."

"Oh, my angel, I miss him, too." Saoirse kissed her daughter's forehead and combed her fingers through the girl's tousled hair.

"When is he coming back?"

It killed Saoirse, not being able to answer.

"Come on, now." She took Aoife in her arms. "It's time for your nap."

The girl didn't fight it and turned her back to her mum as soon as she was put to bed. Her parents retreated to the front room downstairs. Saoirse poured herself a glass of the Irish whiskey she saved for occasions of special joy or, in this case, absolute misery.

"How long have you known?" she asked Sorley after a big, bitter gulp. "How long have you known that my son was away?"

"Not long," Sorley said. "I can find him if I let the feeling guide me, but I don't know where he is. Not in terms you would understand."

She stared at the glass in her hand, studying the intricacies of its engravings. "How is he?"

"He is..." Sorley fell back on the settee, his eyes closed. "Well," he said. "A little worried. Scared, perhaps. But he's staying strong."

"Foolish... foolish, foolish child." She downed another drink and set the glass aside with the bottle. Her hands had become too unsteady. "I don't know what hurts me more. That he's far away, likely to face unspeakable danger. Or that James... deceived me like that."

Sorley put his arm around her shoulders. "Don't be too hard on James. This can't be easy on him, either. You read our son's letter."

Aidan had written a lengthy missive explaining his decision and exempting his adoptive father of any blame. He would not have told James at all, he claimed, if he hadn't been the only doctor who could clear him for service.