Seacliff

Chapter seventy-two: Rebirth

1940

Saoirse joined the tea party without protest, folding her legs under her as she sat. Aoife stood on her knees over the coffee table, handing out little cups. Mama made a show of picking up her teacup with her pinkie raised. Joy filled Sorley's eyes at the sight of his enthusiastic daughter, a warmth that suffused Saoirse's own soul.

So, when a ripple of tension replaced that, it struck her stiff, too, and she knew.

"Tell me, Princess Aoife." She leaned in to capture her daughter's attention as Sorley stood up. "Do you know which gown you'll be wearing to the ball?"

Sorley slipped out through the back door. Aoife descended into a detailed description of her imagined dress and danced as if the ball had started already. Saoirse fetched paper and coloured pencils and encouraged her daughter to sketch out her design. She dashed to the telephone and dialled, with shaky fingers, a number she hadn't rung in weeks.

"James? James, come home. And... bring Natsume."

*

Aidan sat up among the folds of flesh and fat he'd been born – reborn – in, sticky with the mucus of the sealskin, dazed and dim-eyed.

"Aidan...," his mother murmured, barely audible.

He tried to look up at her. "Ma?" He glanced around himself, hesitant. "Am... am I... home? Alive?"

His disbelief made Saoirse cry.

"Yes," she croaked. "Yes, my boy."

She crouched to touch his arm and resisted pulling him in a hug. The poor boy looked like he'd break if she handled him too roughly. Silent tears overwhelmed him. He shrank into a sobbing mess and Saoirse fell on her knees in the dirt as she patted his back. It pained her that she couldn't do more to soothe his agony.

"Come." Sorley stepped in. "You'll feel better after a dip in the sea. We'll rinse you off and tuck you in."

Aidan didn't fight it as his da scooped him up and ferried him out of the shed. Saoirse ran to the house to make sure Aoife wouldn't see them. She couldn't let her daughter know the truth until they figured out what that was.

Thankfully, Aoife hadn't budged from her drawing at the coffee table. She was so concentrated on her colouring that not even the sound of an approaching motorcar disturbed her.

Saoirse rushed outside to forewarn her guests. Natsume climbed off the passenger seat and stood by the vehicle. James made a timid advance, fidgeting with his hat. She met him halfway on the gravelled path.

Even though she'd invited him, Saoirse now found herself at a loss for words.

They'd seen each other only sporadically for the better part of a year. She couldn't deprive Aoife of the man who'd raised her, but she also couldn't bear his presence for prolonged periods. James took advantage of the opening and cleared his throat to speak.

"I know I am your husband on paper only," he began, "but Saoirse..."

His fingers twisted the brim of his fedora.

"These past twenty years, you've been my best friend and my most trusted partner. Aidan is my son as much as he is yours. Aoife is my daughter as much as she is yours. I love them dearly, Saoirse, I love them more than life itself, and I love you because I am only free to be me when I'm with you. So please, I beg you, let me come home. Let me stay home."

Saoirse wondered for a second if he'd rehearsed that speech. She wondered if he'd come up with it on the drive here, uncertain why she'd summoned him. She wondered until different words echoed in her mind. Words from two decades ago.

Tusa atá gcuid Saoirse.

You are freedom. Their freedom.

For the first time, Saoirse grasped the whole meaning behind her aunt's message. Aside from being 'sweet and tender' like the elder Aoife had called them, the two fathers of her children had one major characteristic in common – they were both uncommon in a world that couldn't be bothered to comprehend them.

They lived their lives hiding their truths, hoping it'd be enough to survive. They lived in fear and loneliness. And yet, despite the darkness they were forced into, despite the shame and the pain, they were kind and good and decent. They loved as much and as hard as they could.

They both loved her and they loved her children, and it was that love, that unyielding desire to make her son happy, that had driven James to make that fateful, destructive decision.

Staying behind hadn't spared Dr Mortimer any suffering and he'd reasoned that Aidan could endure more physical damage than the average human. He'd weighed every possibility and come to the conclusion that he considered best at the time.

"Oh, get in here, you silly man!" Saoirse exclaimed at last and pulled him in a suffocating embrace, which he eagerly reciprocated.

Forgiveness had long ago eased into her mind, she realised, and now flooded every nook and cranny of her overexcited heart.

"Oh, Saoirse!" he wept into her shoulder. "Saoirse, I missed you so much!"

She cupped his head and held it at a distance, beaming. "Aidan's come home," she whispered. "Our son's home!"