The Inheritance by Cauvery Madhavan - read an extract

We present an extract from The Inheritance, the new book by Cauvery Madhavan - the author talks to Oliver Callan above.

It's 1986 and 29-year-old Marlo O'Sullivan of London-Irish stock has just found out that his sister is his mother. To steady his life, he moves to Glengarriff, to a cottage he has inherited, in the stunning Beara Peninsula. When a neighbour dies unexpectedly, Marlo takes over his minibus service to Cork. There is nothing regular about the regulars on the bus - especially Sully, a non-verbal 6-year-old, who goes nowhere but does the journey back and forth every day, on his own. Marlo is landed with this a strange but compassionate arrangement, fashioned to give the child's mother respite from his care. Sully's obsession with an imaginary friend in the ancient oak forests of Glengarriff slowly unveils its terrible secrets - a 400-hundred-year-old tragedy reveals itself.

Glengarriff, Ireland, April 1986

It all began the day he found out that his sister was his mother. As the minibus hiccupped its way up the steep rutted road, Marlo repeated that to himself: This journey started when I found out that Mary was my mam. And Mam was my nana. The revelation had made his head spin for a good few days. In fact, his whole life was still spinning out of control, nearly. Maybe things would be better now that he was finally in Ireland – at least, that's what everyone had said repeatedly. It had taken him several weeks before he agreed that heading to the Beara peninsula, to the old cottage in Glengarriff, might be a move in the right direction. Perhaps.

'A chance to start afresh, son.’

‘Don’t fecking call me that, Mary. You’ll never be me mam.’

She had teared up. ‘Ah, Christ! Don’t be like that, Marlo. It is what it is now, for God’s sake.’

He looked at his sister and his mother facing him across the table in their new avatars as his mother and his grandmother. ‘You keep telling me no one in Glengarriff knows – but are you sure?’

They both nodded. ‘No one, not in Ireland and not even here, in London.’ Mam reached out and took his hand in hers, squeezing it hard as Mary continued, ‘Any other way and we’d have lost you. I’d have lost you.’

Mam wiped her eyes. ‘Yes, Mary would’ve lost you, d’you understand?’

Four months later, at the airport, Mary had pressed a medallion into his palm and hugged him. ‘Write every week and ring us when you can. Mam said there used to be a phone box by the Garda station in the village. Ring me at the surgery – I know Dr Khan won’t mind.’

‘I’ll ring Mam when I can. Mrs Kelly won’t mind giving her a shout across the landing.’

‘OK, but call me too.’

Now, as he peered into the darkness outside the bus, he ran his finger around the smooth oval edge of the holy medal in his coat pocket. St Jude! What the feck, Mary? I’m not a fecking lost cause.

The bus came to a stop and the driver turned round to him. ‘Right, lad, journey’s end but it may as well be land’s end. This here’s your house, nobody lives past this cottage. The road rises up another mile and stops at the lake with nothing beyond except mountains, higher still, and heavy bog.’ The man was smiling now. ‘You’re the image of your mam, d’you know? I was in school with Agnes right the way through from Low Infants. Ask her about me – Mossie Hanley. She’ll remember me for sure. Meself and Agnes, we used to walk to school together.’ He pointed into the dark with his chin. ‘Just down that boreen there. Five minutes if we decided to race, ten if we walked. Below that gate and across the footbridge to Youngfields. A Dutch family bought the old schoolhouse a few years ago and, fair play to them, at least they’ve kept it standing. Put in a new-fangled sun room from Holland and all, they did. Tell Agnes, you tell her that our little school’s still standing.’

Then he slapped his forehead. ‘Ah, shite! I meant to show you as we passed by it in the village – the phone box is beside the gates at the Garda station. The coins jam it up sometimes and then you can blather on for ages for the cost of nothing. Tell Agnes when you ring, tell her I married Assumpta. But Jesus, would you look at the time, it’s late and I’m back on the road to Cork early in the morning so I’d better be heading home meself. I drive five days a week and never let me customers down. All year round, bar Christmas Day. Assumpta wants that painted on the side of the bus.’

His hands made a wave with a flourish. ‘The Beara Bus Company. Allihies–Bantry–Cork. Monday to Friday. But I said to her it’s a paint job or the new oven, and good woman that she is herself, she went with the oven. Right, lad, grab your bags, don’t be keeping me now, I’d best be off. Be sure to tell your mam I asked after her.’

Marlo shuffled his large duffel bag down the steps of the bus. Will I tell him Agnes is actually my nana? ‘You’re good to have dropped me right to the house, Mossie. I’d never have found my way here from Glengarriff.’

‘Ah, no worries, lad, sure aren’t we your nearest neighbour? That was my house we passed there – before that last bad bend, when I stuck her into first gear to bring us up the mountain. I’d go the extra mile seeing as you are Agnes’s lad, but sure, there wasn’t even the extra mile in it, no there wasn’t.’

With that he tooted the horn and began executing a deft three-point turn in the small cobbled yard. Another toot of the horn and he drove off, leaving Marlo in pitch dark.

Jesus. Mam had said it would be dark, but he couldn’t even see his own hands. He fumbled for the small torch in the pocket of his backpack and sighed with relief when the thin beam of light came on. The key will be inside the house on the kitchen table, the solicitor had said over the phone. The back door is on a latch, just walk in and it’s all yours.

And here I am, walking into what’s all mine.

The Inheritance is piblished by Hope Road