"Bella says you don"t live here," she said.
Maria looked across the table and raised her eyebrows archly. Davy laughed and swooped on Bella, wrestling her onto his knee. Maeve felt a stab of envy. It was too late for her. There were so many things that she would never share with her father.
"Well, there"s truth and not in Bella"s story," said Davy. "I"ve never been good at staying in one place. There are two types of Irishmen, the ones that are bound to the land, with the good earth in their souls, and then there are the rest of us, the kind you find all over the world, children of the wind. I"m the wind-blown kind, Maeve.
"When I was a young man, in the 1980s, there was a recession here in Ireland. Not like now, with Ireland in the EU and the Celtic Tiger roaring like we"re all going to be rich as Midas. That"s why I was in Australia and how I came to meet your mother. The street people of London, so many of them are the lost Irish of the 1980s. See, we"re good at losing our way. Maria, she knows what I"m like and she puts up with me."
"So you don"t live here? You"re not a proper family?" asked Maeve. As soon as the words were out she wished she"d bitten her tongue. What was a proper family anyway? But no one seemed to take offence.
"I have a truck," said Davy, "down at the caravan park near Ventry. I keep it parked above the dunes. I can get up in the mornings and be painting at first light."
"I don"t get it," said Maeve. "You have this great house and you live in a campervan?"
"Why don"t you take Maeve down to Ventry and show her?" said Maria.
"We"ll have to be heading back to Tralee soon," said McCabe, glancing at his watch.
"Please, sir," said Maeve. "My dad and me need to be alone for a bit."
The adults all looked at each other. Then Davy slapped his knee and stood up.
"I want to come. I want to come!" shouted Bella, throwing her arms around Davy"s legs. But Maria peeled her off and held the wriggling girl firmly on her knee. "No you don"t."
The salt and sand stung Maeve"s cheeks until they tingled as she and Davy walked along the beach.
"When you come back, I"ll take you out in my corrach," said Davy. "There"s a dolphin in the bay, and sure if he doesn"t love to say h.e.l.lo."
"Come back?" asked Maeve.
"You can always come back, Maeve. And you will, everyone comes back to Ireland. You have roots here."
"I don"t know there weren"t many people in Dingle who looked anything like me."
"Sure, they"re not half as lovely as you, with their pasty skin and mousy hair. But that doesn"t mean you can"t find a place for yourself here. Your mam told me a Chinese saying once that I"ve always remembered. She said, "The cunning hare has three burrows.""
"Did Mum really say that?"
"Sure, that girl could recite Chinese proverbs all day."
"Get out. She said you were the one who was always reciting poetry Irish poetry."
Davy laughed. "She told you that, did she? What else did she tell you about me?"
Maeve thrust her hands deep into her pockets. "Not a lot."
"Good. Then we can start fresh," said Davy. Maeve looked at him and noticed a long, narrow blue scar running from above his eye all the way to his chin. In profile you could almost mistake him for a pirate. Was there something her mother should have told her?
Davy"s truck was parked on a crest of dunes among long, pale grey-green gra.s.s. It was painted dark red and a smoking, blackened stove-pipe poked out of the roof. Inside, it was not at all what Maeve expected. A double bed with a carved surround was built into one end of the truck and a beautiful carved table and chairs were set into the wall. There were sketches and small paintings scattered everywhere strange, swirling pictures of creatures that were neither human nor beast. Some had wings, others had fins coming out of the side of their faces and still others had black knives plunged into their chests.
"We can sit on the beach, if you"d rather," said Davy.
"No, it"s like a hobbit"s house," said Maeve. "I love it."
Davy shut the door against the wind and stoked the small Aga stove. From a cupboard set in the wall, he pulled out a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a gla.s.s.
"I don"t suppose you"ll be drinking the whiskey," said Davy. He reached back into the cupboard and pulled out a handful of small bottles of Italian sodas.
"Bella"s favourites," he said, pushing the bottles across the table toward Maeve. As he did so, Maeve saw more scars, blue lines like a strange pattern of lightning bolts running the length of his forearm.
Davy followed her gaze. "Your mother didn"t tell you about these?" he said, stroking the scars. Maeve shook her head.
"It happened in Sydney. Sue had arranged for me to meet her parents. I wasn"t ready. I knew they didn"t like the idea of me. She threw one of those proverbs at me. "If you do not brave the tiger"s lair, how can you capture the cub?" Sure, if that wasn"t guaranteed to drive me crazy." Davy looked out the window at the sea, remembering.
"You met Goong Goong and Por Por? My grandparents?"
Davy poured another shot of whiskey into his gla.s.s. "I met them. But before I did, I got completely smashed, utterly legless. I was thinking how they probably wished I wasn"t a white man and that their beautiful daughter should be loving a Chinaman and not a no-good Irishman. So I painted myself blue all over. Sure it was a great joke but then I walked through a set of plate-gla.s.s doors at the entrance of the bleedin" Chinese restaurant. Right at the last, just before the gla.s.s shattered, I covered my face with my arms. You can see the way the shards sliced up my arms. When Sue and your grandfather took me to Emergency, the blue paint was st.i.tched into the cuts. Instant tattoos."
"My grandfather took you to the hospital?" asked Maeve. She couldn"t make a picture of it in her mind. Davy covered in blood and blue paint, bleeding all over the back of Goong Goong"s BMW. No wonder Goong Goong thought he wasn"t "suitable". She laughed out loud. Davy looked relieved.
"There you have it," he said, slapping the table. "One of my dirty secrets. I was an idiot. I"m sorry that I met your mother when I was wandering through the realm of stupid mistakes. Things might have worked out differently if we"d met when we were older."
"Then I wouldn"t be here."
"And that would be a great loss to the world," he said. "Now then, I don"t really expect you to be telling me all your teenage secrets, darlin" girl, but I"d like to know more about you. In fact, I"d like to know everything you"re willing to tell me about the secret life of Maeve Lee Kwong."
Maeve propped her chin on her hands and thought. And then she began, at the beginning, telling her dad everything about the fourteen years he"d missed out on.
36.
A time to dance.
As the hire car drove up the winding road over the Connor Pa.s.s and headed back towards Tralee, Maeve glanced out the rear window. Below them the lights of Dingle harbour had begun to twinkle, and beyond, in the deepening evening, lay the Ring of Kerry, the water sparkling as the moon rose over the landscape.
"It"s a beautiful part of the world, isn"t it?" said McCabe. He glanced across at Deirdre, who was sleeping in the pa.s.senger seat beside him. "Deirdre and I hope to find a home here. I can"t take her back to Australia. It"s too far and it"s too late to uproot her. But I want to take care of her. I need to get to know her, while there"s still time.
"While you were off with your father, I talked to Maria about buying something on the peninsula. I couldn"t live in Dublin, not in that wretched house by the ca.n.a.l. But perhaps I could bring Deirdre west and make a home for us both. There"s music here, and my boys would love to come over and visit. It won"t be for ever, but this is my chance to be with my mother and I"m going to take it."
"I can understand that," said Maeve. "Meeting my dad . . . I can understand why you need to be with your mum. Thanks for giving me the chance, sir. I know it must have been tricky, me asking you to take me out here. I won"t tell my granny. She"d be pretty p.i.s.sed off."
"I wouldn"t have taken you without asking your grandparents first," said McCabe. "I phoned them last night."
"You"re kidding! Por Por said it was okay?"
"I didn"t speak to Lily. I discussed it with your grandfather and he gave permission. But he asked me not to tell you until after you"d met your father. Your family are fierce secret-keepers."
Maeve looked out at the darkening countryside, the first flush of stars twinkling in the night sky. Nothing could surprise her now.
That evening, all the St Philomena"s students and their hosts met at the pub for their final night in the West of Ireland.
McCabe parked the hire car behind the whitewashed building and Maeve helped Deirdre across the muddy ground.
Inside the pub logs blazed in the wide open fireplace. Bianca and Steph yelled and waved for Maeve to come and join them at their table.
"Oh-mi-G.o.d! What happened? What was he like?" asked Bianca.
"Tell us everything! Was it amazing?" asked Steph. "Did you sort of know him, like, instantly?"
Maeve took a deep breath. "He said I could come and live at his house," she said.
"What? Live in Ireland?" asked Steph, stricken.
"You can"t do that," said Bianca. "Not until you"ve finished school. Not until we can come with you."
Maeve was about to explain when Hannah"s mother came over to the table carrying a tray laden with pints of Guinness.
"I know you"re a little bit under-age, but you can"t be going back to Australia without trying a pint," she said, setting a gla.s.s down in front of each of the girls.
"Slainte," she said, raising her Guinness.
Bianca giggled and picked up her gla.s.s. "Slainte," she said, nudging the others.
Maeve licked the thick foam from her lips. "My dad bought me a pint of Guinness this afternoon, but I couldn"t drink it. It tastes disgusting. Though I guess if I"m half-Irish I should get used to it."
"There"s plenty of time," said Steph, frowning at her gla.s.s. "Anyway, you"re not really going to leave Sydney, are you?"
"Don"t worry. I"ve been thinking about it all the way back in the car. I don"t want to stay with him. It"s funny, before I met him I had this idea that maybe I would move in with him straight away that maybe he could solve everything for me. But it"s not about him."
"You"re not disappointed, are you?"
"No. He was great but kind of crazy."
"That explains a lot about you," said Steph.
"Maybe. There were some things about him that were like me. And I"ve got this little sister, who doesn"t look anything like me but she reminds me of Ned. She was so cute."
"Great, just what you need in your life. More rugrats," said Bianca. "He probably just needs you to babysit."
"I don"t think he needs me at all. He doesn"t really need anyone. He"s just that sort of person. But I"m not like that. I need you guys. And I need Ned and Andy. And Por Por and Goong Goong. And Jackson. I need all of you.
"My dad talked about being blown around by the wind and I know what he means. I had this weird feeling in Hong Kong, that there was a part of me that belonged there. And I get it here too, but I think, deep down, where I really belong is with you guys in Sydney."
Bianca and Steph giggled, clinked their gla.s.ses together and started singing "We Still Call Australia Home". Maeve clapped a hand over each of their mouths. "Stop it or Ms Donahue will make us sing it for the whole b.l.o.o.d.y pub!"
Over by the bar, McCabe had settled down at the piano and struck up a tune. Someone had given Deirdre a fiddle and she sat on a chair beside him, her head tilted to one side, her eyes closed as she soaked up the music. After listening for a moment, she quickly picked up the melody and started playing. Soon a guitarist joined in and people started getting to their feet to form a ceilis. A group of St Brigid"s students tried to show Ms Donahue and the St Philomena" girls how to dance a Galway reel and everyone"s cheeks were flushed, their eyes bright.
"C"mon," said Maeve, dragging her friends to their feet. "It"s time to dance. It"s time to really start living."
Author"s note.
Although this novel is contemporary in its setting, it connects to three earlier novels set in the 1850s, 1890s and 1950s. In creating the character of Maeve Lee Kwong, I drew on stories of girls I know from around Australia and I thought long and hard about 150 years of Australian stories, what changes and what stays the same.
The lives of Australian children have changed immeasurably over the course of the last 100 years. Children today have more consumer power and yet are much less likely to be employed than children of earlier generations. They are more likely to be well-travelled and have more privilege and yet, in many ways, less freedom. Their families are smaller but often more complex. Maeve"s life reflects these complex changes.
Like the Irish, the Chinese have made an enduring contribution to Australian history and culture, despite persecution and exclusion. In fact, both diasporas have helped build immigrant nations across the world. Maeve is heir to both these rich histories, but ultimately she is a very Australian character.
Australia, like all vibrant modern societies, is constantly changing and adapting to embrace new ideas and new influences. Sometimes that makes it easy for us to ignore the "hungry ghosts" from our past and forget the importance of listening to their voices. In writing Maeve"s story and the companion novels that form the Children of the Wind quartet, I hope to have made a small contribution to our understanding of the voices and stories that connect us across time.
OTHER BOOKS BY KIRSTY MURRAY.
FICTION.
Zarconi"s Magic Flying Fish.
Market Blues.
Walking Home with Marie-Claire.
Children of the Wind
Bridie"s Fire.
Becoming Billy Dare