The Burnt House on Navan Road

She sat on the bus thinking. How could she become one of them? That was the question. She just needed a chance. Just a tiny break. A miracle. But she lived in a world without a God, so miracles were out of the question. She was all on her own. No help, no guidance, no hope from the unknown.

She will never get in, she will never be able to achieve what seemed impossible. Oh, she was so annoyed and so overwhelmed. She did not know why she just did not give up, why did she still hope when there was no hope to be had.

She closed her eyes and she was there again and with a hurting soul caressed the walls, and took in the light of the living room. In the garden there was this purple lilac tree, she could see herself there with a cup of tea reading her book.

That would be the culmination of all her hard work. Why did she not win the lotto? Why did she not receive an inheritance? Why was she meant to struggle for every cent? She hated them, she hated them all with their big cars and buying power. All she wanted was that house and she knew there was no chance she would get it, that she will be outbid, like for all the others.

She needed to change the bus on Navan Road, so she got off and the cold made her shiver. She looked at the sign, 15 minutes. Fine, whatever, she was so upset that it seemed nothing mattered. She lit a cigarette and went to the side of the stop so she won't bother the other people waiting.

While waiting her eyes wandered to the side of the sidewalk, where there was a garden filled with trash. She looked again at the sign, 17 minutes. Sure, why not! She was used to the buses having a time of their own.

She left her spot and went to look at the garden. A washing machine, a broken wet couch, and lots of rubbish. She knew the house, she had seen its burnt roof so many times from the bus, but it was hidden under overgrown hedges and trees, so she never actually really saw it. She was afraid to go into the garden, so she streched her neck trying to peek inside. The walls were still standing, the roof was almost gone, only some charred beams were still up.

Margaret could see through the glassless doors that the walls had been vandalized and that there was trash everywhere.

'Excuse me!'

The cold voice coming from behind startled her. She jumped back and turned around.

A peculiar old man was looking at her as if he was waiting for her to apologize. Margaret found his looks funny and somewhat unusual. He was wearing an old tweed suit that seemed somehow to fit the upper part of his body, but not his belly as the only button that was fastened was crying for help, strangled over a shirt that from white had taken the color of Irish butter. His brown wool coat was wide open and he did not seem to mind the cold one bit.

'Hello.' Margaret replied, standing her ground in front of the garden dump, curious to see what he wanted.

'What are you doing?', he still sounded less than pleased with her presence there.

'I am waiting for the bus. 39A as a matter of fact. What are you doing?', she was not sure why she told him the bus number, she shouldn't have. Whatever.

His face became even more impatient and looked like an angry bird with his white hair moving in the wind and the tail of his coat fluttering.

'I saw you, you were looking at the house. Why?'

Margaret was in no mood for this crazy man's questions, he was getting even more agitated and she did not like that. She did not need the grief.

'I am sorry, I just thought that it must have been a gorgeous house before it burnt down, and this location, it is just amazing. I don't know why the owners don't fix it, it has everything going for it.'

'She is dead, that is why!'

The wind died with his words and in the stillness that followed Margaret saw him change in front of her very eyes becoming small and old, very, very old. His shoulders fallen and his eyes with no light. There was nothing she could say, she was stunned, by the words and the change in him.

This was for sure one of the weirdest things that had happened to her in some time.

She felt it would be inappropriate just to walk away, but there was nothing she could say. She looked at the bus sign, 2 minutes, she nodded in that direction and made to leave. He started talking so she stopped to listen.

'She was my daughter. The owner.'

The old man pulled out a cane from somewhere behind his coat and slowly approached the garden.

'She was my daughter.'

The grief in his voice made Margaret want to cry.

'I am so, so sorry!'

He turned to her and when he saw that she meant it, he went on.

'My reason for being. Gone. She loved this house. She just loved it. She is buried in Castleknock, but I visit her here, this is where her spirit lives.

They never found out what happened. All they told me was that there was a fire during the night, most likely she did not wake up and was poisoned by the smoke. When the firefighters came, it was too late. She was already gone. At least she did not suffer, or so they say.'

He was now leaning against the stone wall, sunk into his pain and the garden full of trash. Margaret's phone made a ringing sound and it brought her back. Her house. The bidding. The realtor. The meeting.

She picked up. She had been right, she was outbid and the house was gone.

'Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!'

The old man looked at her amused.

'Are you ok?'

This time it was Margaret who looked angry. She wanted to scream, she wanted to yell at him.

'No, I am not ok, I hate this fucking world and everybody in it!' But she felt broken, her anger died out and she just started crying in the bus stop, in front of this old weird man, next to a burnt, trashed out house on Navan Road.

The old man came closer and put a hand on her head, like you would pet a stray cat wanting to be kind, but at the same time not sure if she won't scratch you. He understood pain, he had lived with it for so long, he knew that sometimes we just need a quiet presence. He saw he bus pull into the stop, and took the chance to say something.

'Hey, your bus is here!'

Margaret looked up and started crying even harder. She had nowhere to go now, she would never have the garden with the purple lilac. She will never have tea there with her book.

She turned her back to the bus stop and frantically looked in her bag for another cigarette.

The old man understood that now, she had nowhere to take the bus to.

She stopped crying and was just smoking silently in the wind that had picked up again.

'Do you want to have tea or coffee?' he asked. 'We could go in Castleknock. There is a lovely coffee shop there. A bit overpriced, but then, everything is in Castleknock.'

'Except for the Lidl.' She did not know where that came from.

The old man smiled.

'Indeed, except for the Lidl. Come on!'

Margaret followed him in silence. They did not take the bus, they just walked in silence, pushed by the cold wind. Somehow Margaret felt comforted by the weather, it reflected how she felt inside. Cold and miserable.

Castleknock was as beautiful as ever with its big houses and secular trees. The footpath was covered in orange leaves that moved in the wind.

The old man led the way to a little posh coffee shop in the village, right next to an Italian restaurant.

He opened the door for her.

'They have the most amazing lime tart here.'

'Lime tart, she thought, of course, you don't have scones here in Castleknock.'

'And also some delicious brown scones.' He finished.

She half smiled feeling bad to have been unfair to the people of Castleknock.

They sat down, it was really nice and warm. The smell of cakes and coffee made it feel like a familiar place.

Margaret had tea, she cannot drink coffee without smoking.

After taking his coat off and making himself comfortable, the old man put out his hand in a very ceremonial manner.

'Allow me to introduce myself. Conal Duffy.'

Margaret instinctively responded and shook his hand.

'Margaret Murphy.'

She felt the need to explain her behaviour. From his attitude she knew she did not have to, but he had been so kind, that she wanted to.

She took a sip of her tea.

'So... I have been bidding on this house in Clonsilla... an amazing house. Two beds, two baths, a small lovely garden, nice, bright kitchen... and I lost it. I have been looking for almost a year now, and I seem to never get close.' She stopped and then abruptly added. 'I know the mortgage I can afford is small, but still, it is not insignificant either, and this is why this is so frustrating. I find houses that I could buy, but I am always outbid by somebody else. I do not want much I swear, a small house, with a tiny garden to call my own. But that will not happen, not any time soon anyway.'

Margaret went quiet and stared at the leaves moving with the wind outside.

Now that she had put it into words it was even more painful than before. She was about to give up on her dream and that hurt, it hurt so much that she felt like somebody had literally kicked her in the stomach.

Conal was looking at her with blue, age washed eyes, and he was moved by the suffering he saw on her face. He knew it all too well, he had seen it on people's faces numerous times in his practice as a solicitor. Mental turmoil transforming the body.

They finished their drinks in silence and somehow just each other's presence made them feel better, not so lost, not so alone in their pain.

When they parted they exchanged phone numbers and wished each other good luck, not knowing if their paths will ever cross again.

Margaret

The next day Margaret woke up really early, she had nowhere to go, it was her day off, so actually she woke up too early, but she just could not sleep anymore. Random thoughts kept going in circles in her mind.

She lost yet another house. She felt sick and had no desire to open daft.ie and check for any new listings. She felt heart broken. To have loved and lost ... The emptiness that lies behind ... She felt the need to regroup, to take a step back and reassess. Rationally she knew this was the process, emotionally she was drained. Still, she could not give up. She made her coffee and went out in the tiny yard. 'So cold!'

One of the things she liked about waking up early was the silence, it was so quiet that she could hear the leaves fall, and she found that outstanding. Standing there, in the cold, barely touching the wet garden chair, under the stary morning sky, listening to the leaves, sipping her hot coffee and having a smoke, she felt her determination coming back.

She had worked so much to get that freaking mortgage, she scraped for every euro for that deposit, she will find it, her house was somewhere waiting for her to find it, her forever home.

The morning went by uneventful split into house chores and TV shows, and just as she was getting ready to go out and do some shopping her phone rang. It was Conal.

'Hello?'

'This is Conal Duffy. We met yesterday.'

'Yes. I know. Hello.'

Margaret was surprised and suspicious. Her philosophy was that everybody wants something. Either to sell you something or to get you to do something for them. And she was actually right.

Conal seemed a bit embarrassed.

'Could we meet? I would like to discuss something with you.'

Margaret was not sure, she was not comfortable with meeting somebody she did not know very well. Conal guessed as much from her silence.

'It is important.' He added to help her decide.

'Oh, ok. Sure. The cafe in Castleknock?', she proposed a place so she can make sure they met somewhere she felt safe.

'Great. It is just two minutes from my office.' Conal seemed relieved now.

'Ok. I will meet you there in about an hour and a bit. I have to shower and get dressed...' Why did she tell him that? So stupid. He did not need to know she needs to shower.

'Sure. I shall see you then. Bye, bye!'

'Byeeee!'

Margaret showered and got dressed feeling quite curious and a bit apprehensive.

Something important. A stranger had to discuss something important with her. Hm. Curiosity started to grow bigger engulfing the apprehension. It is fine, they are meeting in a public place, and he is old, I mean she could knock him over and run if he tried something. Margaret started laughing at her own anxiety.

'You are mad, you are absolutely mad.'

Anxiety controlled her life for the most part, but she learnt how to live with it, how to manage it and even how to make it work for her. She got to a point where she could see the dysfunctional thoughts and could distance herself from them, not letting them control her. This worked most of the time, not always, but still, she had come a long way and was really grateful that she could live a functional, relatively content, life.

'Yeah, I could knock him over!' and she felt very amused all the way to the bus stop.

It was just a few stops from Blanchardstown to Castleknock, but she did not feel like walking, so she went to the 38. No rush. He can wait. He called all of a sudden, he can do at least that.

In the bus stop, to make the time pass, she counted how many of the people waiting were wearing sports shoes. 9 out of 11, not counting her. She found this interesting and a bit annoying. Sport shoes are for sport, she felt people are getting soft, they cannot tolerate any kind of restriction anymore. The kinder side of her urged for tolerance. Maybe they walk a lot. Walking is a sport too, you know. Yeah, whatever, not so sure about that.

The bus came and interrupted her thoughts. She got on, found a seat and automatically took out her phone and opened daft. She had been doing this for so long that it had become a habit, a routine gesture.

Her breathing slowed as she saw a recent ad. 3 bed, 3 bath, Balbriggan, 135.000. She opened the ad quickly. Crap! Pyrite affected property, cash buyers only. She looked at the photos. Gorgeous! But she was not a cash buyer, and even if she was ... pyrite affected ... that would need a mountain of money to fix, money which she did not have.

Oh well, whatever. She put the phone in her bag. Thank God her landlady is a sane person! She was grateful for that! Rents were mad and she felt really grateful she had a decent rent.

She looked out the window at the big houses in Castleknock. Way over her budget! And even if she had all that money she would not buy here, she would buy one of those big houses on Cabra Road, big front yard, big back yard, big house, close to Tesco, close to the city, what more could you want? Yes, she would buy one of them.

Her stop was next so she got up and went to the door, a quick thank you to the driver and she was out. The cold surprised her and she smiled feeling happy she wore her wool jumper. 'Sheep have it, they know why they wear wool!'

And thinking about sheep and wool and cold and warmth she got to the cafe.

Conal was there, funny enough at the same table as the day before, he saw her and waved.

She waved back and went to meet him.

'Hello. How are you?'

'Hello. Good. Have a seat. Tea?'

She nodded.

They were sipping hot tea and looking at each other. A weird sort of silence hovered above the table. He seemed to want to say something, but did not know where to start. Margaret decided to help.

'So, why did you want to meet?'

Conal smiled amused by how direct she was. She was right, things should be clearly stated.

'I have a proposition for you.'

Margaret leaned back in an unconscious gesture of retreat. A proposition from an old stranger can never be good. Part of her was curious to see where this was going, part of her wanted to get up an leave. She frowned and Conal saw that, he hurried to clarify his statement.

'Not that kind of proposition. Hear me out.'

Margaret looked around at all the people and felt more at ease. She could at least listen.

'Go on.' Her voice was cold and matter of fact.

Conal smiled looking embarrassed.

'I have been thinking since I've met you. The house. Her house. It could be your house. I would sell it to you, if you wanted it.'

Margaret was dumbfounded, she expected anything else but not this. As the idea sinked in, she saw the house in her minds eye and it was burnt, it was a ruin.

'I don't have the money to buy it and fix it.' And that was the truth, the house would need a lot of repair. 'The roof is all gone, the interior has been vandalized and the garden is full of junk.'

Conal did not seem deterred by her objections.

'Yes, but if it were fixed up you would buy it right?'

Of course she would, but it would be way outside her budget.

'I could not even dream of affording it if it were fixed up.'

'Ok then. I will fix it up and sell it to you. Would you like that?'

Margaret was speechless. What was the catch?

'Yes, but why would you do that? What do you get in exchange?'

Conal smiled and found her endearing.

'Until I met you I never thought I could sell that house, or even fix it up, it has always been a sort of sacred painful memento of the biggest loss of my life. Words cannot express what I feel or how much pain I am in, and will always be. Somehow when I met you and saw your despair to have your own house I felt like my own despair would be eased if that place managed to make you happy. I am not sure I am explaining this right, I have never been too good at expressing what I feel.'

Margaret was looking at him not knowing what to say.

He went on.

'And I think Joannie would have liked you, and would be pleased for you to have her house.'

This was his closing statement and Margaret understood this from his tone.

'I ... I really do not know. I need to think about it. I ... it is a lot to take in, there are so many things to consider... I ...' She was not sure what to say.

Conal nodded.

'I understand. I do not need your answer now. I will go ahead with the repair anyway, you think about it and let me know. And don't worry about the logistics of it all, I am a solicitor and know exactly what to do.'

'Ok.' Margaret's voice was shaky.

'We will keep in touch!' Conal put out his hand and she shook it.

'Sure.'

He left as he had an appointment and Margaret was left there at the table, staring outside at the leaves swinging in the wind, not knowing what to make of it all. She felt a bit dizzy and sick to her stomach, somewhat excited and a tad terrified.

She needed to think about it and this is what she did for the next few days not knowing exactly what to make of it, what was the catch?

The House

Except for the location Margaret did not know much about the house. She had peeked at it from the street, but that did not give her an exact idea of the layout, the number of rooms or anything else that you would usually look at when buying a house. So when she got an email from Conal with the house plans she was quite grateful that she did not have to ask for them.

The plans made her decision even harder, as annoyingly enough, the house was exactly what she was looking for. Margaret did not know what to do, what to feel, it was the strangest thing. There she was, an inch away from actually getting the thing she most wished for in the world, and she was not sure.

She was so unsure just because of the way it was happening. If the house had been up for sale, if she would have won the bidding war, if she had gotten it the normal way, she would be over the moon, but this way ... The strangeness of it all made her uneasy. Why was he doing this? What did he want from her? People don't just do this kind of things.

A week passed without any news from Conal. He changed his mind for sure, Margaret thought, better this way, and a tinge of disappointment clouded her mind. She had to go into town the next day, she will pass by the house then and see if indeed anything was happening.

Strangely enough in all this time, not trying to think about the house, about the entire thing, made her get in a way attached to it. The next day, on the bus, her stomach was all in a knot. She went upstairs and sat glued to the window feeling like she did on Christmas Eve when she was little, and was hoping to catch a glimpse of Santa crossing the sky.

The bus passed Castleknock, and after Travelodge her heart skipped a beat at the sight of the house. She could not believe it. Conal actually did what he said. In the seconds the bus passed by the house she could see the garden had been cleared of all the rubbish, the gate replaced, and in the garden there were all sorts of building supplies.

Margaret felt like crying and in that moment she realized she did really want the house, so the decision was made. What happens, happens, she thought, but she could not miss this chance. Once in a life time. She did not need more time, she took out her phone and wrote an email to Conal. She would be happy to take him on his offer, and she is very grateful to him, and she can never repay him ... Sent.

Now she hoped for a reply confirming he did not change his mind. Squeezing her phone she sank into the chair trying to calm down her excitement. No reply yet.

Usually when she went into the city she would take a moment to enjoy it, to look around, to bask in the feeling of belonging to this place she loved so much, not today though. Today she was agitated and distracted, she walked, head down, sunk into herself. If only he would reply.

When she got back it was already dark and she was on the other side of the street, but even so, she peered through the darkness into the direction of the house, she knew it was there, she longed for it. Margaret thought she saw a little flicker of light. Guiding light, she thought, missing the house she had never been into.

And then the email came. All set then. The builders are doing the structural work now and he got a permit to also convert the attic. He will let her know when it comes to painting, flooring and the kitchen so she can choose them herself.

Margaret was speechless. He would let her choose them? This had so many elements of a dream that she wondered if it was actually happening to her. She decided not to dispute it. She never questioned the hardships, she just lived through them, so now she will not question the miracle and will just ride it out, come what may, she was determined to make the most of it.

The bus had long passed the house, but Margaret looked back as if she could still see it, and silently waved to the darkness welcoming her dream.

Conal

There is no point in anything we do, but all of it is vital to our survival.

He had read this once somewhere, and when he did, it rang so true that it stuck with him. He would sometimes think about it and smiled, and then went back to his work. He loved working and planned to work until he died. He sometimes fantasized that he would die at his desk and they would find him there, surrounded by the things that meant so much to him and had accompanied him for most of his life. But then again, it did not really matter where he died, he just hoped it to be a decent quick death. Dying in the shower that would be an indecent death, he wanted to die fully clothed.

Passing through the living room with his cup of tea he said good morning to Eveline. Eveline smiled back at him from that beautiful photo he had taken of her in Gran Canary. How she loved it there. When she died, just two years after Joannie, Conal stopped existing in a way. They had been his world, his loves, and now they were gone while he had to go on living, so he worked, it was the only thing he knew and the only thing that kept him sane.

He no longer had friends, he did not have the patience for them, self-centered annoying people talking all the time about nonsense. He did not care to listen to anyone unless he was paid for it.

All his days were the same and he liked it that way. Wake up, have coffee, go to work, come home, eat, watch TV, sleep, and the same the next day.

Conal hated cleaning but liked a clean house, Eveline had taught him that, so he had to hire a cleaner. He did not like her, he was suspicious of her, but had come to appreciate her skills and her reliability. They had an agreement, she would only come after he left for work, she would make sure to leave before he came home. She would also cook his dinners and leave them for him. He had employed her almost two years ago, a few months after Evie died, as he could not stand the state of the house anymore.

Now the house was clean and well taken care of, Evie would have approved, he knew that and it made him feel grateful to the cleaning lady. It may seem insignificant, but an orderly house gave him a sense of normality, and he needed that in order to go on, not to just crash and end it all. It is the little things, he thought while sitting down at the kitchen table to look over the plans for Joannie's house.

It hurt him to do that, but somehow this whole process, helped him deal with the void inside, the painful emptiness her death had left. Such nonsense, such a tragedy, such a waste. For a long time he tried to find a reason, but he could not, so he had just to let go and accept there was no reason, there was only pain and regret.

He knew people would say he is mad, to fix up the house and then sell it for less than it was worth, but it was they only way he could do it, the house had made Joannie so happy, to honor her it needed to go to someone that would appreciate it as much as she did. Margaret was that person, he had seen it in her, the desire, the longing to belong to a place that was hers.

Conal had money that he did not really need. That thought made him smile. What strange lives we lead. He could remember when he was young, not a penny to his name, and all he could dream of was a fortune, stability, a home for his family. Now he was old, he had accomplished everything he had dreamt of, and it did not mean that much. Things change, I assume, he told himself while getting up to leave for the office. Things definitely change.

The Miracle

Margaret got off the bus feeling like she will throw up. Don't throw up, she kept repeating to herself barely breathing. For the first time she was going into the house and she felt more sick than happy. These things do not happen, not to her, not to anyone. She stopped for a bit in the bus stop trying to regain her composure, but no point, she was in bits, so best just get on with it. With little steps she walked towards the gate, it was newly painted and shiny. So pretty! She thought and and forgot about throwing up.

Conal was on the other side of the gate and when he saw her he waved and came to meet her. Margaret found his appearance amusing and intriguing, this overweight old man, wearing clothes from a different era, not looking like much, was in the process of changing her life forever and making her dream come true. A very unlikely angel.

Conal opened the gate and welcomed her in:

'Welcome home! Come in, I can't wait for you to see what we've done!'

Conal was surprised to feel joy, he had not felt this in so long that now, when he did, he was surprised about it. He took Margaret's elbow and positioned her right in front of the house so she would get a complete picture of the work so far.

Margaret was stunned. The house had actually been rebuilt. The walls were no longer black, it had windows, the roof was back up, it looked amazing. She could not hide her contentment.

'Can we go in?' Her voice was trembling a bit.

'For sure! Come on!', Conal grabbed her elbow again and dragged her to the door.

And what a beautiful composite door it was.

When they went in Margaret felt like in a dream, like it was not her that was there, it was somebody else, wearing her dress, her shoes, somebody that looked like her, but it was not her, because this kind of thing does not happen to her, it just doesn't.

Conal showed her the living, the kitchen, the bedrooms, the attic conversion, the bathrooms, everything was just amazing.

'So? What do you think?' Conal was a bit worried about her lack of comments.

Margaret did not know what to say, she was overwhelmed.

'It is perfect!' she managed to squeak out before starting to cry uncontrollably.

Somehow Conal understood her reaction, even more, he was grateful for it, as it was the confirmation he was doing the right thing, for the right person.

'Ok. Cry for a bit, but then we need to talk flooring, kitchen cabinets and other bits and pieces.'

Margaret nodded and smiled to his practicality.

This was actually happening. When he went out she went to a wall and touched it with the palm of her hand. She closed her eyes and in a childish way she tried to feel the house and let the house feel her.

'I love you.' She whispered hoping the house will feel all she feels.

Everything after that was a whirlwind. Conal seemed to know all that needed to be done, he had the right contacts for anything that was required. Margaret did not have too much to do, except for trusting Conal with all her papers and signing when he told her to.

It was not even a month and a half when he told her everything had been sorted. As crazy and unreal as it seemed the house was now hers. Margaret was in awe and she still could not really believe what happened, although she had been to the house numerous times, she chose the paint, the floors, the kitchen furniture. It was only when she got the letter from the bank congratulating her on HER new house that she really knew it was real, it had happened her miracle.

Us two

She could barely sleep all night, she tossed and turned and felt excited and a bit uneasy. She decided to get out of bed, no point in lying there without sleeping. She walked to the kitchen navigating between the boxes and the bin bags that crowded the floor.

Margaret looked at the clock. A quarter to seven. The van would come at around nine. I must pack the clock, she thought, while starting the coffee. She had left out just the bare minimum and she had a bag ready to throw in it all the bits and pieces before leaving. Moving out day, but even more important, moving in day.

Margaret still felt like she was dreaming, it was such an amazing dream though that she hoped she will never wake up.

She could not believe Conal. He had been so amazing and she was so grateful to him. Everytime she saw him she just felt the need to express her gratitude and thank him efusely. He had done so much, this strange old man she met in a bus stop. The unlikeliness of it all was so weird and wonderful.

Margaret sat on the couch with her coffee and looked around. The house was all packed. It had been such a good little place. I hope you get good people little house, to take care of you. The landlady did not do any viewings yet, she wanted to do some repairs and then put it on daft. Margaret knew it would let out instantly and she was surprised to feel a tinge of regret that somebody else will live there. She had been very happy in the tiny house despite all her little problems. Thank you and take care. She had her own house now. This was major. Margaret's heart swell with joy. Let's do this!

When the man with the van came she was all ready and waiting. They jammed everything in the van and off they went. The distance from Blanch to the house was very short, but even so, Margaret had the time to grow even more excited. She just wanted to unload everything and be alone.

The weather was cold and rainy so all the contents of the van got dumped in the living room. She would have liked to unload them outside and then distribute them in the rooms they were meant to go into, instead she had to cram everything in the living room and now it looked like Hoarding Central. No matter though, all her worldly possessions were in her house now, and she will sort them out.

When she closed the gate after the man she ran quickly in the house and shut the door behind her. She was so happy, so unbelievably happy, happier than she ever thought it is possible to be. Margaret felt like she would explode of happiness, a coffee will solve that, she smiled and went to the kitchen, HER kitchen.

Margaret took her coffee, had a smoke outside in the rain, something she was used to do, given the Irish weather, and then went back in where it all dawned on her. The realization that she had finally done it, she finally got her house. It is a strange feeling when you accomplish something you had been dreaming of for years. It is real and it is not, you feel happy with a tinge of disbelief.

She decided to take a tour, which she hadn't been able to do by herself since this whole process started. Now it was the first time she was alone in the house and was able to really look at everything.

The builders had done an amazing job, by looking at the house you would have never imagined it ever got burnt. The walls were perfect, the fixtures looked expensive, it all looked and smelled brand new. Conal had kept his word and the attic had been converted into this spectacular huge room with fitted wardrobes and an ensuite.

'Geeeeeeeeeez ...' Margaret's jaw dropped. 'It really is stunning!'

She felt like she was moving around in a magazine, this cannot be hers. Can it?

A strange little feeling crept into her heart as if she was living in someone else's house. She shook her head waving it away.

'I just need a bit of time to get used to it.' Margaret encouraged herself.

The TV will help. In a weird manner the TV always made her feel like home. She was grateful Francis, the TV guy had come earlier in the week and installed her TV and internet. All she had to do was plug it in.

'See if I find it first... and the cables? Where did I put the cables?'

She started moving things around trying to find the TV, the box, the cables. She looked at the mountain of stuff and regretted not having been more strict when she was clearing out. Maybe she should have thrown more things out. Well, what is done is done. Best go hunting.

Twenty minutes later she had everything she needed, and as a bonus she sorted the stuff a bit so now it was not just one huge menacing pile. This will take a while she thought, but part of her hoped she was not right that she was impatient to see everything in its place.

She managed to set up the TV, connect the box and the cables and presto, the Hairy Bikers started cooking for her.

'Great stuff!' and she gave herself a virtual pat on the back. Much better. Now she had to sort out the urgent bits. Sleeping accommodation, the bathroom, some clothes and some food. Everything else could be done later.

She had not picked out a bedroom yet and while she was thinking about it she realized that she did not know where Joan was when she died. Margaret's heart shrunk. She did not want to sleep in the bedroom where Joan had died. The thought gave her the chills. Right there on the spot Margaret decided that her room will be the attic. She looked at the stairs and then at the pile of stuff and admitted to herself, that for sure this will take some time. Good thing the inflatable bed was not heavy. She smiled thinking that the furniture guys will hate her, but oh well, it only had to be done once.

Conal had converted the attic to her exact specifications. All the walls were white and the three lights in the ceiling did not allow for any shadowy corners. Margaret carried the inflatable bed and dropped it in the middle of the room, she looked around at the big empty space, and the light, the warmth, the rhythmic noise of the rain on the ceiling windows made her feel content. Yes, this was going to be her eagle's nest. She loved it. It wasn't long until she had brought up everything she needed, she just wished the bikers had come up with her. She will have another TV up here once the furniture was in, but till then she had to do with her laptop and Prime.

She went downstairs, made sure all the doors were locked, grabbed a bag of nachos, sinful nachos, and some milk to wash them down and then made the final trip of the day.

She was not sure where the day had went, it was like it was all a vacuum in her mind. Now she was at the old house, then carrying stuff in the van, then taking stuff out of the van, followed by a thorough inspection of the house and the cooking session with the bikers, they are not really that harry are they? Margaret smiled at the thought and as she was looking at her ensuite realized she forgot the towels. Geeeeez. Where did she put them?

She went to the stairs and looking down the house seemed so much bigger now during the night. Somebody was fighting on her laptop and the noise made her feel a bit safe.

Once she was downstairs, right before turning the light she saw a different type of light coming from the smaller bedroom, a weird flickering light.

Margaret's heart shrunk and her breath became very deep, she felt herself freaking out, so she tried to encourage herself. Most likely a street light, she was right on Navan Road so there were plenty of them. Without making any noise Margaret went to the door without turning on the light. She opened the door slowly and was surprised to smell smoke. She was really freaking out now.

As the door opened slowly she realized it was very cold and the smell of smoke was even stronger.

When the door fully opened a huge gust of wind blew the curtains up and Margaret though she saw a woman standing by the window looking outside. That was enough to push her over the edge, she started screaming and ran into the attic where she locked the door after herself.

Everything was just as she had left them, nice and ordered, and the room was bright and warm, Margaret felt overwhelmed and hid into a corner.

She grabbed her phone but she had nobody she could call, except maybe Conal. She had to call or she will go mad during the night.

'Hello?'

He picked up, thank God!

'Conal, please help me!' her voice was hysterical and high pitched.

'Margaret? What's wrong?'

'Please help me! She is here!'

Conal's voice at the other end of the line froze.

'Who is there Margaret?' he asked on a frosty tone.

'I don't know, a woman, she smells like smoke... Help me please!'

'I am coming over! Stay where you are!'

As he was hanging up Margaret heard the squeaking of bed springs and then realized in was almost 12:30 at night.

Margaret did not move, he will come, she just had to wait.

The house went all quiet when the laptop stopped playing. She was grateful for that, as now she could listen to the house. Nothing moved, nothing happened, just the rain falling on the roof and the windows. She just wished he would come already. And soon he did, she heard the doorbell in the hallway, she was afraid to move but knew she had to. There was the ring again. Ok, now! She sat up quickly, opened the door and ran downstairs.

Margaret never thought she could move so fast and swift. Like a quick passing shadow she got to the door and opened it full of hope. Her heart sunk and she froze as she looked at the person standing in front of her, it was not Conal it was a woman, a strange looking woman in a flowing night gown, with steam coming out of her as the rain drops fell on her shoulders. Margaret was stunned and horrified, she could not move, or scream, or breathe, all she could feel was fear increased by the emptiness her dead hope had left.

The woman seemed to barely notice her, she passed her by and went into the living room leaving a strange smell of smoke and water behind her. Frantically she started taking things out of boxes and sorting out the room, but Margaret was surprised to see that what she was taking out of the boxes were not her things, but somebody else's, things that she did not recognize, stuff she had not brought in. Little porcelain figurines, a vase with purple flowers in it, books, lots of books, an old wooden clock.

The scene was more than Margaret could bare, she was afraid, she did not understand what was happening, she needed this to end. The woman did not mind her at all, she was arranging things and seemed happy and tranquil despite her strange grayish look.

In a split second Margaret took the decision to run upstairs, she could not bear this anymore, she just wanted to be far away from that image that made her sick. She ran quickly and was grateful that the stairs were new and did not squeak. Funny what strange thoughts we can have even in the most dangerous situations.

When she touched the door she was surprised to find that it was warm, and when she opened it she was struck by a heat wave that pushed her back. The heat and the smoke were so overwhelming that she started to choke and cough. On the floor panic set in and she started to suffocate, air would not get into her lungs and she was fighting for every breath. The end of the line, she felt it. Before closing her eyes she could see the woman standing next to the wall and melting into it, becoming part of it, spreading to all the walls in the house.

Margaret woke up in panic, coughing and drenched in sweat. It was a dream. She started crying and tried to calm herself down. She was so afraid. Too afraid to move, to look around, to sleep. She just sat in her bed crying, in damp clothes until the first ray of sunshine peeked through the window.

It was just a dream, but such a scary dream. Margaret could still feel everything she felt while she was sleeping, the fear, the hairs raised on the back of her head, the desperation when she opened the door and Conal was not there, the confusion of watching the strange woman arranging things in her house, the panic when she could not breathe, the astonishment of seeing the woman melt into the walls.

When she got out of bed she was still in shock, but she had to get up as she needed to go to the loo. Downstairs everything was just as she had left them the night before, nothing moved, no windows open, the door firmly locked. Outside the sun was shining and spring seemed to be on its way. Margaret caressed the green kitchen cabinets and whispeded 'My house.'

There was such quiet determination in her words and she felt so resolute, that somehow the unease started to fade away.

Later that day she was supposed to meet Conal, she was not sure if she should mention the dream, she will see.

It was the first time Margaret went to Conal's house. It was huge, surrounded by grown trees and with an alley going up to it. Way too big for just one person, she thought while waiting for the door to open. Conal opened the door himself and immediately Margaret was put at ease by his big, crooked smile.

'Hello. Nice to see you. Come in.'

Conal seemed genuinely pleased to see her and that made her warm up to him quickly.

'Hello. Thank you for having me. Your house is huge.'

'I know, I know. I want to die here though, it is our house, our life happened here, I do not want to live anywhere else. I have a cleaner though. She helps out a lot.'

'Good. It is good to have someone.'

They passed the impressive hallway and went into what Margaret assumed to be the library as it had walls covered with books and huge comfy chairs.

'It is so funny, I feel like in an institution, everything is so big.' She was sorry as soon as she had ended the sentence, but Conal did not seem to mind, he laughed.

'I will take that as a compliment. I always wanted to live in an impressive house, and it seems I managed, only took me about 50 years but I managed.' He laughed some more at his own joke.

'Don't you get lonely?' Margaret's voice sounded interested and concerned, Conal saw that, and although he felt it was a bit too personal he did offer an answer.

'No, I have my work, my memories, my pictures.' And he pointed to the mantelpiece crowded with photographs. 'Plus, this house is my shell, it protects me and it contains me, if that makes any sense to you.'

Margaret smiled, it did.

She was now looking at the photos, and, when she saw the photo of a woman in a room with a vase  with purple flowers, surrounded by porcelain figurines and books, she froze. Was she still dreaming?

'Oh, you are looking at Joanie. My heart, my soul. Isn't she beautiful?'

Margaret could see the pain on Conal's face and she wished there was a way to make it better.

'What did she like to do?'

Conal's face brightened up like we do when we get the chance to talk freely about someone or something we love.

'Oh my, she was and amazing gardener, she could make anything grow. She loved to cook. Joanie made the best, best meatloaf. She loved this house and your house, she took care of it quite a lot.'

Margaret was grateful he had said the house was hers and not Joanie's, it was like a silent blessing.

'Evie loved it when Joanie cooked, she would just watch her and then tell me how lucky we were to have such an amazing person as our daughter. And we were, we truly were. And even now, I am so happy just to have met her, just to have been part of her beautiful life for as long as I did.'

Margaret could not stand the sadness anymore and started crying.

'I am so sorry, so sorry you lost them, I cannot and I do not want to imagine how you feel.'

'Oh my dear, I am so sorry, I did not want to make you cry. As cruel as it seems, it is life, it is not something we control, it would be great if it did not happen, but it does, and that is it, not much we can do about it, and we will always have to live with the pain.'

Margaret understood, but she could not find it in herself to accept it.

Conal watched her tormented face and in a strange way felt the need to make her feel better.

'At least, they are in a better place now! We just have to go on ...'

'But are they ... ?'

Margaret's voice sounded sad and hollow.

'They are, and they are watching over us, they have become our angels, we need to lead good lives for them.'

It got too heavy for both of them. They stopped. They sipped their tea, they made some chit-chat and said their good byes, and a bond was created, a bond that they both knew will last until one of them died, and maybe even after.

And then there were three

When Margaret got home she felt somehow tranquil, somewhat freed, some way in control.

She remembered the dreams so well, so vivid, all the little details, and now she understood the woman did not want anything to do with her, she was just living there, the same way she, Margaret, did. They shared the same house, at different times, with the same passion. Her house was her house, Joanie's house was Joanie's house, it belonged to all those that had loved it, there and beyond.

The next few days passed by uneventful, Margaret got to unpack, to get her furniture in, to make the space her own, and when it was all done she felt happy, she felt like at last she had found her place in the world.

Sometimes, when she would feel a chill or a draft, Margaret would think of Joanie and imagine her living in her house, and that made her grateful because it meant that Joanie did not stop being, she just moved on, and the shared love for the house created that connection between them that allowed Margaret to find out something she was not really meant to know.