The Boatman's Wife

by Noelle Harrison

Genres: General Fiction; Family Life; Women's Fiction; Romance; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

‘A heartbreaking story that you can’t put down. I was reading it every spare second I got until I finished it!… I’m in awe of this compelling, powerful story… A magnificent 5 star read!’ Rachel Bustin, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

There was some dark secret in this western edge of Ireland that her husband never wanted her to find out. She might never be able to lay his body to rest, but she could gain some kind of closure by finding out who the man she married was. When Lily married her soulmate Connor, buffeted by the sea spray and wild winds of her coastal homeland in Maine, she never imagined she’d be planning his memorial just three years later. Connor has been lost at sea, leaving Lily heartbroken. But as she prepares to say goodbye to Connor for the last time, she is shocked to discover a message to him that he never told her about: Does your wife know who you really are, Connor Fitzgerald? Don’t ever think you can come home. Because if you do, I swear I’ll kill you. Unable to bear living in the home she and Connor shared, Lily decides to find out her husband’s secret. She flies to Connor’s home town of Mullaghmore on the west coast of Ireland, a harbour town hugged by golden beaches. But when doors are slammed in her face, she begins to realise that she knows nothing about her husband’s past. Will Lily risk everything to find out the truth about the man she married? A completely heartbreaking story about the lies we tell to protect the ones we love. Fans of The Light Between Oceans, Lisa Wingate and Susanne O’Leary will lose their hearts to The Boatman’s Wife. Praise for The Boatman’s Wife : ‘ Make sure you have the tissues handy when reading this book as you will need them! What an emotional journey… I could not put it down until I had read that final page… had me captivated… a heartbreaking tale’ Once Upon a Time Book Blog, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ What a totally fantastic book, totally captivating from the very first page… I can't praise this book enough.’ Goodreads Reviewer, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ I read this wonderful book in a single sitting, only reluctantly putting it down when absolutely necessary.’ Books ‘n Banter, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘I devoured every page… Noelle Harrison is a new author for me and I am eager to read more. I enjoyed the way her characters developed through the chapters and the way the book is set between present day and Ireland in the early nineties. It covers some tough subjects but they were handled with sensitivity. I can highly recommend this book.’ NetGalley Reviewer, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ You will be captivated… This story of redemption will pull at your heartstrings and leave you with the biggest smile when you realize the lengths some women will go to find the truth… You’ll love this epic journey.’ Goodreads Reviewer ‘ Harrison is a gifted writer. Her vivid descriptions of ocean, nature, flora and fauna were brought to life… this is a heart-touching and breaking story about families torn apart, and how they build lives again. Beautiful story suffused with resilience, bereavement, family bonds, finding joy, and love.’ BluePink Books

Release date: January 14, 2021

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 350

Sample

Lily had always been lucky. Her daddy said it to her from when she was a little girl.

‘Darling, you were born under a lucky star.’

He described the night of her birth as if it were a fairy tale. Early December in Rockland, Downeast Maine, with the whole town coated in thick snow, the full moon iridescent and otherworldly. The lucky northern star beckoning as he held his newborn baby girl in his arms. Cradling her up to the winter night sky as if casting her in moonlit magic. Her parents had waited so long for her arrival. It had seemed a miracle. That was why her father had always said she was extra special, brimming with all the good fortune due her parents after years of disappointment.

Though Lily’s mom told her daddy off for filling their daughter’s head with nonsense, deep down, Lily had believed him. Her whole childhood, everything she had wanted had come true. Right from her first days in school, she had won all the competitions. Best at art, spellings, and sports. Lily had always been the first picked randomly out of the hat. Everyone wanted her on their team because that was the one which won. Her luck had lasted all these years.

She and her daddy had won the Lobster Races three years in a row. Of course, he’d named every one of his boats after her – Lily May – for luck. All those summers she’d spent working on his boat, early mornings banding lobster, shivering with cold from the streaming Atlantic chill, she’d felt lucky. Nothing was better than the look her daddy gave her when they brought back a big haul of lobster.

‘You’re a born fisher,’ he would say to her with pride.

Lily knew she was everything to her daddy: son and daughter. It was she who made each lobstering season better than the one before, as if she were a lucky charm bringing them good fortune as soon as they set out.

Her first memory was of being on the boat, despite her mom’s grumbling that she was too little. Lily had slipped out of her grasp and clambered onto her daddy’s boat. Let him swing her in the air, laughing all the while.

‘She belongs on the ocean, Sarah!’ he’d declared, letting Lily sit on his lap as he began to steer their boat out of the harbour. Out into the wide blue open, while her mother stood on the wharf and watched, arms crossed and frowning.

It was true. The ocean was home. Lily loved every part of it. The days of stillness when she’d catch her reflection in sheer pools of silken water, and the rough days when it felt like they were riding a wild horse. Bucking all the way back to port. She loved the smell of the ocean. It sank into the pores of her skin, and her hair was always tangled and wild from the western winds.

Of course, Lily had stood out a little at school. None of the other girls wanted to fish, and Lily had no interest in fashion or movie stars. That all seemed so fake to her. Lily’s idea of a great time was hiking. Scrambling up boulders, and dangling legs over ledges with fishing rods. She was too much of a tomboy for dates; had once punched a boy for trying to kiss her on one of those hiking expeditions. After that, none of the others dared ask her out. Lily hadn’t cared back then. At sixteen, she’d rated herself lucky to be single when she could count the number of hurried weddings among her school friends on both hands. Girls just out of her high school with babies, already worried their husbands might not come back from sea one day.

That was it. Where to have luck was a matter of life and death. Working as a lobster fisher would never stop being risky, no matter what. Because the Atlantic Ocean could never be tamed. But Lily’s star had shone bright. Always. So many times they’d been caught in storms, daunted by towering waves, but she’d never thought, not once, that she and her daddy wouldn’t make it back.

As the years passed, though, Lily changed. Four years ago, on the morning of her twenty-first birthday, she’d woken up feeling lonely. Realised every single girl she had known at school was married, or at least had a fiancé. For the first time, she’d felt sneaking envy. What did it feel like to be loved the way her father loved her mother? Would she ever find a boy for herself? Thinking of all her fishing mates, not one of them made her think so. She’d seen them covered in fish guts, stinking and swearing. They were her friends, and she couldn’t imagine touching any of them intimately.

On the December morning of her twenty-first birthday, on a rare day off lobstering, Lily had risen at daybreak and slipped outside. Icy air bit into her as she tucked her gloved hands under her armpits and made her way down the hill to the freezing wharf. It was cold, so cold, but there was no wind. Lily took the rowboat out, and as she rowed slow and steady through the thick, glacial water, she stared back to shore at the weave of white wooden houses along the craggy Maine coastline, the little one-rock islands and sparse pine woods. She lifted her face to the sky and asked silently for a soulmate. Felt the frigid air film her cheeks. She asked again, out loud.

‘I want someone,’ she said, unable to say the word ‘husband’ because it made her feel pathetic. In her heart, she wanted it more than her own luck. The husband and the babies. As she rowed back to shore, she felt a bit disappointed in herself. After all, she was like the other girls.

Here she was now. Four years later. Her twenty-first birthday wish hazy and near-forgotten. Yet it had come true. The very next summer, she’d met Connor. Had she ever thanked the ocean for him?

Lily turned over in bed and placed her hand on the empty space where Connor slept. So many hours had passed since he’d got up, the sheet had gone cold. She pressed her hand on the pillow where his head had rested. She reached out and pulled her cell phone off the nightstand. Connor had left her a message. She smiled to herself as she listened to his lilting accent. The love she could feel in the spaces between his words. Lily closed her eyes and rewound the past four years, remembering the first time she’d seen him: the tall, skinny young Irishman working in Moll’s Bar down by the port. She had noticed him as soon as she had walked in with Ryan and some of the other fishermen. Felt an almost physical jolt as her eyes were drawn to his thick dark hair, and when he looked up, his big brown eyes. The gaze in them so slow and steady, as if nothing in the world could rush him. So unlike any man she’d met before in Maine.

As she’d perched up onto a stool, she’d felt herself blushing when he’d asked her what she wanted to drink.

She was the only woman in the bar. It was three in the afternoon. The time for the fishers to unwind before they went home to bed.

Lily had felt the new barman’s eyes on her as she sat in the group of men, conscious of the old check shirt of her dad’s she was wearing. She had no make-up on and her hair was pushed beneath a baseball cap. She took it off and pulled out her hair tie. Let it fall loose.

‘Wow, Lily,’ her cousin, Ryan, commented. ‘Your hair has got real long. I remember when you used to cut it short. Folk always thought you were a boy. And you never told them otherwise.’

‘It was easier that way,’ Lily said, taking a sip of her beer.

‘Lily, is it?’ the barman asked, leaning across his counter, bar cloth in hand. He wasn’t from America. She could hear he had an accent. ‘Do you dye it, or is it naturally that shade of black?’

Ryan let out a laugh. ‘Course she doesn’t dye it,’ he said. ‘Our Lily is one hundred per cent natural.’

Lily wished Ryan would keep his mouth shut.

‘It’s like crow’s feathers,’ the barman said holding her eyes. ‘Or ink.’

She took another sip of her beer. ‘Say, where you from?’

His eyelids fluttered, and she noticed the curl in his lashes.

‘My name’s Connor Fitzgerald,’ he said, putting the cloth down and reaching out his hand, all formal. ‘From Ireland, west coast.’

‘Better shake the man’s hand, Lily,’ Ryan joked.

She felt everyone’s eyes on her as she took Connor’s hand and gave it a shake. His skin was warm and soft. Embarrassed by her own rough hands, Lily found herself wishing she’d put lotion on them at night like her mom had told her to. She snatched her hand away.

‘Nice to meet you, Lily,’ Connor said, locking eyes with her. Again, she could feel colour creeping onto her cheeks. Why was she so damn awkward with men? She could captain a boat on the roughest seas, haul up lobster traps as fast as any man, and work like a dog for hours without stop, but when it came to relationships, no matter how casual, she was stuck.

‘What’re you doing here?’ Ryan butted in.

‘Travelling,’ Connor said, answering Ryan but still looking at Lily. ‘Got this job for the summer. They took me on to cook.’

‘So are you Irish any good at cooking lobster the Maine way?’ Ryan asked Connor.

‘I’m curious,’ Connor addressed Lily, ignoring Ryan’s last comment. ‘Are you a fisherman too?’

‘I prefer the word fisher.’

‘She’s the only girl fisher in this town,’ Ryan continued to interrupt, clapping Lily on the back. ‘But she’s one of the best.’

Connor looked at her with interest. ‘Do you like it?’ he asked. ‘It looks like heavy work.’

‘It’s what I’ve always done,’ Lily said. ‘Sure it’s hard work, but nothing beats being out on the ocean.’

‘I know what you mean.’ Connor smiled. ‘I grew up by the Atlantic back in Ireland. Can’t imagine living anywhere but by the sea.’

One of the other guys called Connor over for another beer. Lily watched him move behind the bar. He had long legs and looked strong.

She glanced at her phone. It was time to hit the road, and get some sleep. She finished her beer and stood up.

‘You’re only in for one?’ Connor had returned. He appeared very interested in her, but then she was the only girl in the bar.

‘Yeah, I have to be up before daybreak,’ she said.

‘Now, that is tough.’ Connor’s smile opened up even more. Ryan had moved off to talk with some of the others, and it was just her and Connor. She wanted to stay drinking on the stool, talking to him all afternoon, but at the same time, a part of her wanted to run away. It was a strange feeling.

‘Do you surf?’ Connor asked her.

She nodded, pushing her hair back into her baseball cap.

‘Want to show me the best places, when you have time off?’

‘You want to go surfing?’ she asked, a little unsure. ‘With me?’

‘Yes, Lily.’

When he said her name, it sent a thrill through her. She looked at him and they just clicked. Lily knew straight out, from the first afternoon she met Connor, he was for her. By the end of the year they were married.

By the sounds outside and by the light, it was late. She picked up her phone off the bedside table to see it was nine fifteen. To think she was stretching in their warm bed, and Connor been gone since four in the morning, joining her daddy and Ryan to go lobster fishing in her place.

She had wanted to drive him down to the port, but he’d insisted she stay put.

‘May as well make the most of your day off.’ He’d kissed her on the lips. ‘What time is your appointment again?’

‘Twelve,’ she’d said, feeling a pinch of anxiety in her stomach.

‘Wish I could come with you,’ he’d said, looking rueful.

‘I know.’ Lily had pulled him back down for another embrace. ‘But one of us has to go out with Daddy. He only has Ryan.’

In the first year of their marriage, Lily and her daddy had taken Connor out with them to lobster trap. She had been proud of how Connor had thrown himself into the work. Following her instructions, he’d helped her pull up the lobster traps, emptying the old bait bags and tying in the new ones. But he could never go fast enough for her daddy’s liking, and he often suffered from seasickness. Lily had known what her father was thinking: Connor wasn’t a born fisher like the rest of them.

Eighteen months ago, Connor had got a job as a chef in town, and just a few weeks ago, he’d found the perfect lease for his own seafood restaurant. He’d handed in his notice the same day.

‘Your dad will have to find someone else to fill in once I open the restaurant,’ Connor had said that morning. ‘And you might be otherwise occupied.’ He’d given her a serious look. ‘You sure about this, Lily?’

‘I want to try,’ she’d whispered.

She’d heard his pickup drive off, before drifting back off to sleep.

Lily swung her legs out of bed now and pulled on a sweater. Her body still felt wrapped in the sensuality of sleep. It was strange to be at home at this hour, rather than out fishing with her father.

Putting on some woollen socks, she pattered across the wooden floor to open the drapes. She could look at this view for the rest of her life, she reckoned. Their little wooden house was situated on a rocky ledge above a few other houses, including her parents’. It faced out to the small wharf, which was empty of boats right now; the yard, stacked with lobster traps which needed fixing; trucks belonging to her dad, Connor and Ryan; and the boathouse. Beyond was the bay, and an archipelago of tiny rocky islands, their contours fringed with granite and pine. From this window, she loved to watch all the seasons unfurl before her eyes. The snows fall and thaw, the spring blossoms erupt, and the dreamy calm of summer seas. Right now, in October, it was fall, and the whole world was burnished. Golden leaves reflected in the seas, burnt sienna sunsets, and big harvest moons. Today, though, the weather had turned from the day before, and dark clouds were beginning to stack in the sky, the ocean ruffling as the wind picked up. Lily had been out in choppy conditions plenty of times before. Yet as the sky darkened and it began to rain and then snow, she felt uneasy, a small spike of fear taking root in her belly.

It was a new feeling. As Lily hugged her sides, scrutinizing the cloud formations in the sky, she realised it was the first time she had not been with her father on rough seas. Not in all her years as a fisher. Not only that: Connor was out there, without her.

A gust of wind pushed through the chestnut tree outside the window, showering the ground with gold, green and brown leaves. The branches kept waving at her and she looked past them at the ocean. Trying to remain calm, as if the softness of her gaze could soothe the ocean’s swells.

Dear God, make the storm go away.

She counted the boats returning to port, but none of them was the Lily May. She kept trying to push her anxiety away, but the fact was they should have been back by now if the weather was turning bad. Connor hadn’t been out in the boat for weeks. Would he be able to cope with the conditions?

Lily remembered one of the pure days of rest they’d had, last winter out of season. She and Connor had risen in darkness and headed down to the wharf. Gone out in the boat with no agenda for the day. Just her and Connor, sailing to the island of Vinalhaven on a still January day.

There had been a bite in the air. The darkness filling them like cold soup, and then the joy of watching the sunrise together. Pink and orange seeping skyward above the blue horizon. Standing in the wheelhouse in silence, the putter of the engine as the boat churned frothy, icy water. The scent of gas wafting. Her hat pulled down to keep her ears warm. Connor had produced two pastries he’d made for them – almonds and marzipan – and a thermos of strong black coffee. He’d poured out two cups. The steam had twisted in the air as Lily had lifted it to her lips and sipped. Her first taste of morning brew: a little too sweet, but just how Connor liked it.

Lily pressed her forehead onto the cool glass of her bedroom window and closed her eyes. Listened to the wind stir the branches of the chestnut tree outside. Twigs tapping on the pane. She counted slowly to ten, willing Connor to come back to her across the ocean. But when she opened her eyes again to look at the boats bobbing in the harbour, the Lily May was still missing.

Birds sang all around her. Dawn was a cacophony of sound and movement. Swallows swooping right in front of Niamh’s bicycle, so she had to keep applying the squeaky brakes, afraid she’d knock into one. She tried to identify the bird songs, but she was bad at it. Her mam had tried to teach her when she was a little girl. Countrywoman that she was, she knew them as if they were family. Niamh recognised the blackbird, its consistent treble, and the wood pigeon, of course. Who didn’t know their distinctive coo? But there was another bird, so loud this morning. A persistent rattle. She recognised its song, but couldn’t quite remember the name. Her mam would know.

Niamh braked, balancing each foot on her tiptoes on the road. She scanned the thick green foliage. She could hear the singing so loudly, and then she saw the little creature. Of course: the tiny wren, with such a big voice.

‘Good morning, Jenny Wren,’ she greeted the bird, before pushing off again. She felt happy to have seen the little bird; it reminded her of the times she and her mam had spent listening to birds when she was little. Her daddy there, too. How many years had he been gone? She had been twelve. So, ten years. Hard to believe. She kept on pedalling, feeling weary now.

So many hours had passed since Niamh had gone to work the day before, and yet the short summer night had felt so fleeting. One moment, Niamh had agreed to stay on for the lock-in, and the next they were all stumbling out the door of the pub at daybreak. It had felt like she’d drunk herself sober. She’d clambered onto her bicycle and pedalled off, waving her hand behind her as the others took off by foot.

Early morning was so pure. For the first time, she understood a little why her mam claimed her job was the best in the world. Up at the crack of dawn every day, in all weathers, driving around in her An Post van, delivering letters and parcels to all the local townlands. Up and down the twisty, bumpy boreens. Careful of all the little creatures of the hedgerows, which kept the same time as her mam. Right now, in the middle of summer, there were wild rabbits running hither and thither all over the road. Her mam was in a constant state she’d knock one down, taking hours over the post round, going at snail’s pace, just to make sure.

Niamh kept on cycling uphill, the final push making it worth the effort as she caught sight of the Atlantic Ocean winking blue in the distance across the marshy fields and tumbled drystone walls. Every day, the Atlantic Ocean looked different, the play of light upon the water constantly shifting and transforming.

With the sea wind behind her, she slung her bicycle down the other side of the hill, her feet lifting off the pedals. Imagined herself as if from above, a lone speck spinning her way home in a tiny corner of north-western Ireland.

There was freedom to be had, away from the city. The rules which applied to city dwellers didn’t stick to them. No one minded getting the post a little late because Rosemary Kelly didn’t want to run over a rabbit.

Still, there were many days when Niamh longed for the anonymity of city life. There had been talk in her last year at school of going up to Dublin, and sharing a flat with her best friends, Aileen and Teresa. But in the end, Niamh hadn’t bothered applying for college, and her mam had forgotten the closing date.

‘You’re so clever, Niamh,’ her mam had complained when she’d found out. ‘Why didn’t you remind me?’

Niamh had shrugged her shoulders. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she’d said. ‘I’ve the job in Murphy’s.’

Her mam had snorted. ‘You can’t spend your days working behind a bar. Don’t waste yourself!’

Niamh had known even then, three years ago, she couldn’t leave Sligo. Her mam was part of why, but she couldn’t tell her that. There was so much Niamh couldn’t tell her mam.

She thought of the great days, when her mam was full of the joys. Baking soda bread as soon as she got back from her round, and feeding crumbs to the robin redbreast on the kitchen windowsill. Catching hold of Niamh and making her dance with her in the kitchen. But then some days, her mam didn’t even make it out of her bed. The black clouds would descend and she’d burrow under the covers. Niamh would try to get her to shift, but her mam squeezed her eyes shut, begging her daughter to leave her be. On those mornings, Niamh had to deliver the post for her.

The truth was, her mam wasn’t the only reason Niamh couldn’t leave home. It was why she craved getting lost in a big city and disappearing forever. Becoming forgotten, in a way her father, and everything he stood for, could never be.

‘He’ll not be forgotten,’ her father’s cousin, Tadhg, had said to her at the funeral. Gripping her hand and squeezing it tight. Staring into her eyes with a look of fury which had matched her own. She’d been so angry.

Niamh pedalled hard up the last hill home. Could she ever move on? Aileen had got a green card in the lottery and was already set up in New York, and Teresa was in London. Her friends were in transition, but where was she going? She wasn’t even at a standstill. Her life was going backwards, always. Back to the day she’d lost her father.

Niamh paused on the top of the hill. Behind her was the vast sweep of the Atlantic Ocean, and before her, fields and bogs. In the distance, she could see the blue hills of Donegal. They lived just a few miles from the border with the North of Ireland. Crossing back and forth had been part of her life since she was little. Back then, the troubles hadn’t seemed to happen in the damp fields between counties Sligo, Leitrim and Fermanagh. They’d belonged in Belfast, with the car bombs and tit-for-tat shootings. Sure, Niamh had never considered how dangerous her home could be until that terrible day.

Niamh sucked in her breath. Why was she stirring it all up now? When her head was heavy from the drink and lack of sleep? She began to pedal down the last hill home, picking up speed, lifting her legs and letting the pedals spin. The rush felt good, as if she could take flight with all those sweeping birds. She let herself go faster and faster. There was nothing on the road; most people were tucked up in bed at this hour. The bike swept around the corner, and to Niamh’s horror, she saw a flicker of movement as a man stepped out from the bushes, his back to her.

‘Watch out!’ she shouted, pulling on the brakes, but they were old and rubbish. The man heard her just in time, and jumped to the right, but she couldn’t stop the bike now. She’d lost all control – it went spinning into the bushes as she fell off into the ditch.

‘Hey, are you okay?’

Niamh groaned. She was tangled up in brambles, but nothing hurt.

‘Give me your hand,’ the guy said.

She looked up, noticing the accent now. American. He was tall, with dark hair and brown eyes. Without waiting for her to reply, the guy took hold of her arm and hoisted her out of the bushes. She t. . .