The Lost City

EPILOGUE

Maggie Donovan liked to watch the weather coming in. It was one of the few things she could do at her age that didn’t make her bones ache and her eyelids heavy. Today was not disappointing. Everyone at the Haven Bay Nursing Home had been following the storm out in the Atlantic these last few days. It looked like a nasty one, and she pitied anyone caught out in it.

Now, the water in the bay was churning under a leaden sky and the coast guard had warned the trawlermen to come in, but it was warm and cosy in Maggie’s soft chair, and she celebrated the fact with a small glass of whiskey. She liked it without fuss, which the staff knew meant neat and at least three fingers high or it got sent back. She liked Tyrconnell, or maybe even Connemara peated malt, but that only happened if family brought it in. Usually she had to live with a blend.

“How are you this afternoon, Maggie?”

Maggie turned to see Grace enter the room. She liked Grace because she always plumped her cushions when she talked to her and today was no exception.

“I’m fine dear.”

“Are all your family coming in, Maggie? It’s not every day you turn ninety, after all.”

“Most but not all,” Maggie said with a hint of sadness. “My sister won’t be visiting.”

“Ah — your sister,” Grace said sympathetically. They’d all heard about the sister. Many of the staff thought it meant Maggie’s mind was finally going, but ninety was a good innings so it didn’t raise too much concern. “And how is Lea?”

“I haven’t seen her for a long time. It’s very sad.”

Maggie opened the drawer and pulled out the picture. She bumped her wrist on the wood on the way out and cursed with the pain. Her skin was like cigarette paper these days and she was lucky it hadn’t broken open again. “Here she is.”

Grace took the picture and smiled. “She sure is beautiful, Maggie. I’ll give you that.”

“Isn’t she just?” she said, beaming with pride.

“But she can’t be older than thirty.”

“I’d say about that yes, but my memory’s not what it was when I was eighty, you know.”

“Are you sure she’s not your granddaughter?” Grace asked quietly as she put the cushion back behind Maggie. “She must be sixty years younger than you.”

“Of course I’m sure!”

Grace gave another sympathetic smile and handed the picture back to Maggie, who looked at it long enough for a tear to appear in her eye, and then she put it back in the drawer.

“We’ll be having the party in the recreation room, Maggie. Is that all right?”

Maggie nodded, but said nothing. The storm was in now, and starting to whip up on the shale cliffs of the bay.

Grace moved to the door and turned down the dimmer-switch on the light. “I can’t tell you the details but some of the guests have a secret planned for you, is that all right?” A gentle pink glow fell over the room, and for a few moments the only sound was the quiet sound of ticking as the radiator pipes expanded under the floorboards.

“Oh yes,” Maggie said, a smile breaking through the wrinkles on her face. “I’ve lived with secrets all my life.”