One beautiful morning in June many years ago it seems like now, I left my three kids to their respective schools and set off home. For some reason I didn't choose to drive the old, familiar route home. Instead I followed the path of the River Lagan. When I came to the park at Minnowburn I felt drawn to park the car and take a walk. Now I often came here when my children were younger, to catch sticklebacks from the river to put in jars until it was time to go home, or to search for tadpoles and observe their stages of growth as they changed into frogs. We would collect leaves from the trees which we would later press between the pages of the ancient, family bible. Today I was alone. No kids, no dogs, just me.
The Lagan Valley was at its best. The trees were in full bloom and this morning the blue sky reflected in the river which was flushed from a fall of rain the night before. I felt at peace with the heat of the sun on my face and aware of the beauty around me. I walked aimlessly, reluctant to turn back home. I forgot about the Monday chores and the debris left at home after the weekend. The sun brings out the best in people in Ireland as we celebrate it and never take it for granted, so many of the people who walked past me bid me good morning with a big smile on their faces. I stopped to admire a Tibetan Terrier as it bounded past me, its owner in hot persuit. I enquired the age of the tiny baby in a pram whose proud parents were walking her, obviously for the first time. I reached out to touch her tiny hand and she wrapped her fingers around mine. Her name, I remember, was Amber and she was ten days old.
After walking for perhaps three quarters of an hour I suddenly felt tired and looked for a seat to rest a while before starting the walk back to the chair. I saw one on the banks of the river. It was situated in front of a tree so I only noticed the old lady sitting there when I reached the water's edge. I smiled hesitantly and she gestured with her hand for me to sit down. Her hair was white, piled on top of her head with untidy tendrils escaping at the side of her face. She wore long, gold and amythist earrings and she was dressed in a long, purple, velvet dress. Her wrists were covered in gold bangles which jangled as she replaced her hands on her knee. I noticed her hands. Old and knarled but with rings on almost every finger. Her nails were long and painted with scarlet varnish. I turned away, aware that I was staring. I looked to my right, anxious not to disturb the peace and quiet she had enjoyed until my arrival. It was she who broke the silence. 'Lovely to be able to enjoy it on your own, isn't it?' she said and I realised, startled, that it was precisely what I was thinking. No children to demand my attention, no constant answers to constant questions. 'It is,' I simply replied.
'There aren't many days like this my dear, so grab the moment.' I smiled back at her, not speaking, but in agreement.
'Children are such a delight but so demanding of our time.' Was it so obvious that I was a tired mother?
'But you are good at it,' she added, assuringly. I didn't ask her why she said that but I found myself replying 'Sometimes I wonder.'
'Don't,' she said, 'You do it well. More than well. And time will bring its rewards for you.'
I sat quietly, wondering was she speaking in a general fashion or was it directly to me. Somehow I felt the latter to be true.
'You're very beautiful,' she said suddenly, looking at me in a very direct way.
'Thank you,' I said, feeling neither embarassed nor flattered.
'It's a fact,' she replied. 'You could have done a lot with those looks. Modelled, acted,' she continued.
I turned round sharply now to face her. 'But you chose to become a mother and you made the right decision. My name is Polly,' she added, reaching out her long, narrow hand towards me.
'I'm Elaine,' I replied offering her my right hand which she held for what seemed like minutes but was probably only seconds.
'Ah, Elaine. The poet Keats wrote about The Beautiful Elaine,' she smiled.
I looked at her even more keenly now. 'That is why my mother called me Elaine. She was given a book of Keats when she was young and always loved that poem.'
Polly said nothing but nodded as though she already knew.
I felt uneasy now. I wanted to get up and start the walk back, yet somehow or other I felt compelled to stay. 'Acting was what I did best at school,' I told her, 'but I never had the confidence to pursue it. I often wish I had though.'
'It's a gift, but it can be used in other ways. You will find that out in time.'
'I almost became a model,' I explained, 'but then I met my husband and he didn't want me to go into it. By the time I was 21 I was a mother.'
'Yes, and as I told you, you are an excellent mother. Those children of yours will bring you much joy and a little sorrow. Your son will one day bring you enormous pride.'
'But I have two sons,' I told her.
'Yes, and they will both be successful but one will surprise you. Your daughter will use her beauty but she will leave it behind for love.'
I didn't ask her how she knew this. I will never know why I didn't. I have often thought of the questions I could have asked Polly that day. I looked at my watch and I knew I had to go now. As if she read my mind she said, 'Before you go, let me tell you something important. One day you will find your soul mate and you will find true happiness. You will have more sons but you will not give birth. You will find a way to use your talents which will surprise you. Yours is a rocky road but there will always be sunshine at the end of it. Go home now Beautiful Elaine and remember my words.'
I shook her hand warmly as I left and I took time to stare at her face. Her eyes were green, the greenest eyes I have ever seen or have seen since. She had a face that whilst it had aged had remained beautiful. I didn't ask her where she came from or where she was going. This, to those who know me, was the strangest thing. I have always had a keen interest in people and a curiosity to match it. I thanked her for her kind words and said Goodbye.
Years later I often think of her words. I told my mother about her and she told me to forget it immediately. She was just a fortune teller and you know that is against everything the Bible tells you, she told me. When I was 40 I divorced my husband. When I was 41 I met my soul mate. I married him when I was 42 and became stepmother to his two sons who I brought up as their mother. My second son is tall, handsome and successful in what he does. My daughter won a major modelling contract when she was 20. She gave it up when she met the man she married. It is a love match. My eldest son is a story in itself. He has done many things in his life and has caused us a lot of laughter and many tears. Just recently he was told that his idea for a major world television series might receive funding. It hasn't yet, but it's underway. And me? I'm mostly happy and contented and whatever talents I have I use within my church. They tell me I have a gift of prayer. My husband and children tell me I am the greatest actress in the world, but somehow I think they are a little tongue in cheek when they say that. I wonder why! And Polly? I never saw her again or met anyone who knew her. But I have never forgotten her. How could I!
