‘Frankie!’ Horrified, Pat turned to Fury in distress, but he didn’t seem disturbed. With a flicker of a sidelong glance at Des, he said he’d love to help, but his back was at him.
Pat gasped. ‘Ah, no, Fury! And you down on your knees laying carpet! You should have said.’
‘Not at all, Mrs Fitz, that wouldn’t take a feather out of me. I’m just explaining to Frankie why I won’t be doing his lifting for him this time.’
To the others’ surprise, Cassie rose to her feet and glared at Frankie. ‘Fury’s been very helpful to Pat, so I don’t think you should be rude to him. And I’m perfectly happy to help Des with the furniture.’
‘Oh, I bet you are.’ Frankie returned her glare. ‘Don’t think I haven’t seen your game, girl!’
Cassie, who’d been bristling, looked bewildered. ‘What do you mean?’
‘How well you’ve got your two feet under the table. I suppose you spotted over in Toronto the way it was with Ger, and decided to get in a plane with them and be here at hand when he died.’
Pat gave a little cry, and Cassie took a step forward. ‘None of us had any idea that Ger was ill. Not then. He even kept it from Pat as long as he could. So, no, I didn’t see it in Toronto. And what exactly are you saying?’
Without moving, Fury intervened. ‘He’s saying you only came here for what you could get.’
The Divil growled fiercely, deep in his throat. Cassie went scarlet. ‘That I’m looking for money?’ Pat reached out to Cassie, who gently pushed her away. ‘No, wait, I need to understand this. Is he saying I’m here because of Granddad’s will?’
Frankie shrugged his shoulders. ‘If the cap fits, wear it.’
Pat spoke before Cassie could reply. ‘Cassie is here looking after me out of pure loving-kindness. And you should be ashamed to say such a thing of your own brother’s child!’
‘Ah, for God’s sake, Mam, would you have a bit of sense? Wasn’t she overheard inside in the library asking straight-out questions about the will? Didn’t you hear her yourself, and she fishing about the price of the very tiles on the shop walls? Weren’t you there when she tried to deny she was out walking the bounds of the farm? She was totting up the value of the land, trying to guess the worth of it.’
‘I was not!’
‘And you didn’t drive over to my place wanting to talk about sharing things out?’
Cassie turned frantically to Pat. ‘I wasn’t totting up the worth of anything. It never occurred to me. I didn’t ask questions about the will. I didn’t! Well, I said something to Hanna about it when you and I got back from Resolve but truly . . .’ She faltered, unable to remember exactly what she’d said to Hanna on that first jetlagged day. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Fury looking at her.
But Pat’s attention was on Frankie. ‘What? When did she drive out to your place?’
‘Oh, she didn’t tell you that? She wouldn’t, of course. She told me she’d sneaked out of here while you were asleep.’
Cassie was aghast. ‘I wanted to talk about ways of helping Pat. I’d been worried about her, and she was asleep, and I thought you and Fran and I could sit down for a family talk . . .’ Her voice trailed away, and she found herself shaking. ‘I mightn’t have made myself clear, but that’s why I came.’
Frankie raised his eyebrow at her scornfully. ‘Ay, you were real careful not to spell things out. But I could tell fine well what you meant.’
Chapter Thirty
Cassie sat in the nuns’ garden knowing she ought to be at work but needing to process what had just happened. She wasn’t even certain how the scene in the flat had ended. Frankie’s accusation had left her gaping and, before she could summon a coherent response, Pat had gently pushed her out, telling her she’d be wanted in the library. Then she’d found Fury had opened the door and, somehow, she’d had her bag in her hand and was walking down the stairs. Frankie had remained in the kitchen, looking belligerent, and the door had been closed firmly on whatever was said next. But Pat hadn’t seemed angry. Or, at least, not with her.
In the garden the warmth of the morning sun had been trapped by brick and stone. At Cassie’s back was the wall of the old refectory, where the stained-glass windows shone beneath the martins’ nests in the eaves. The birds were swooping to and fro, catching insects, darting from their roosts to skim the library courtyard, perching briefly on the telephone lines, and wheeling back across the garden. To her left, late clumps of delicate snowdrops were flowering under the row of tall cypresses, which grew parallel to the granite boundary wall. Light sparkling off flecks of mica in the stonework echoed the effect of the gleaming snowdrops under the dark trees. In the centre of the fountain, where the statue of St Francis extended its welcoming arms, someone had poured birdseed into the saint’s stone hands, and fluttering wheatears and chiffchaffs were squabbling over the bounty, their wings whirring as they paused in flight.
Slumped on a bench between the herb beds, Cassie felt dreadful. She had mentioned the will when talking to Hanna, and Fury had known that in the pub, so the conversation in the library must have been overheard. And she’d said that the vintage tiles in the shop would be worth a fortune, these days. And when Frankie had found her and Pat picking shamrock, she’d called out that he needn’t think they’d come to walk the bounds. But that had just been a stupid joke, made to cover up the fact that she hadn’t been pleased to see him. And – of course – that was why Frankie had been creeping her out lately. Ever since she’d visited him that night when Pat was asleep, he’d thought she’d tried to involve him in a conspiracy. So his every look and word had been loaded with horrible implications, which she hadn’t understood.
A footstep crunched on the gravel and, looking up, she saw Fury and The Divil approaching from the other side of the fountain. Fury was strolling purposefully, his hands buried in his torn pockets pulling his shabby waxed jacket around his skinny hips. The Divil was trotting beside him and, seeing Cassie, bounded forward, scattering gravel in his wake. Cassie wasn’t in the mood for conversation but, knowing there was no point in trying to dodge Fury, she shuffled along the bench so he could sit down. Instead, he stood over her, with no discernible expression, while The Divil made a flying leap and landed on her knees. The compact little body with its warm, wiry coat was oddly comforting. Having turned on her lap a couple of times, to find an acceptable position, the dog settled down with his nose between his paws. Fury cocked an eyebrow at Cassie. ‘I hope you know you’re honoured. I’ve never seen him do that before, and I’ve known him all his life.’
Cassie ran her fingers along the little dog’s back. ‘Is Frankie still with Pat?’
‘No. She showed him the door.’
‘Did she? You mean she didn’t believe him?’
Fury sat down beside her on the bench. ‘She had more sense.’ He turned his head and looked down his nose at Cassie. ‘It’s a pity you hadn’t.’
‘I know but, honestly, I never meant—’
‘Of course you didn’t. Only an eejit like Frankie would think you did.’
‘But that’s just it. I’ve been trying to work out what he was thinking. I mean, you can’t change the fact that Ger left everything to Pat.’
‘Ay, well, hard facts have never bothered Frankie.’
‘So he thought that he and I could somehow overturn the will?’
‘Ah, Holy God Almighty, girl, how do I know what he thought? I know how his mind works, though. He’s always been able to get whatever he’s wanted, and he’s always imagined everyone else is as greedy as himself.’
‘But then why blurt it all out in front of Pat?’
‘Well, I’m no mind-reader but, if you ask me, he just lost his temper when you stood up to him. He’s always been like that. I’m surprised he’s kept his cool so long when Pat had already crossed him.’
‘You mean about The Divil being in the shop?’
The Divil wriggled at the sound of his name and Fury gave Cassie a knowing grin. ‘I mean a
bout me coming in and out of the flat. That’s what’s been getting to Frankie.’
‘Why?’
‘Because when Ger was alive Frankie could always manipulate him, and now he’s trying to do the same to Pat. He doesn’t want me there to see it.’
Cassie scratched The Divil’s ears. ‘You mean, even though Ger left things to Pat, Frankie wants to take control.’
‘I do.’
Cassie said she supposed that was understandable. ‘After all, Frankie was in charge of things before Ger died.’
Fury snorted. ‘It might be understandable if that was true. But it isn’t. Mind you, like I said before, I wasn’t here when Frankie, your dad, and your uncle were growing up. But, by all accounts, Frankie was born lazy. He has the house and the big car and plenty of swagger, but I doubt he’s done a day’s work in his life.’
‘Then how come Ger gave him the house and stuff?’
‘I don’t know, girl, and it’s none of my business. They say Ger was fierce protective when Frankie was small. Maybe he wasn’t born lazy. Maybe he grew up work-shy. Or maybe Ger just favoured his eldest, the way my dad did.’
‘But if that was so, wouldn’t Ger have left him everything? Like your dad left the forest to your brother?’
Fury shrugged. ‘I told you I don’t know, and it’s none of my concern.’
It was Cassie’s turn to raise an eyebrow. He saw it and grinned. ‘You’re as bad as Frankie, you are! You want to know why I’m hanging round if I’ve no dog in the fight.’
‘Well – yeah. And before you say that’s none of my business, the bottom line is that I’m here for Pat.’
Even though she liked Fury, her eyes had narrowed and there was a sharp note in her voice. The Divil turned to look at her reproachfully. Fury grinned. ‘Don’t go confusing him now that he’s nailed his colours to the mast. He had you down as someone who could be trusted.’
‘Well, I am. The question is are you?’
Fury turned and looked at her with no trace of his accustomed irony. ‘Frankie’s no drunk but he’s a waster, just like my brother was. If he gets hold of the reins he’ll have the farm ruined. Or he’ll sell off the fields for the kind of housing locals can’t afford. Nothing will matter to him but making money. At least Ger had an honest trade and knew how to work the land.’
‘You mean Frankie might get rid of everything?’
‘That’s what I said. And you know what? Then it would be gone.’
There was a pause in which Cassie digested this idea. Then Fury chuckled. ‘So he wasn’t altogether wrong, was he? You do have a bit of an eye on the land yourself.’
Cassie turned on him in outrage, causing The Divil to wobble on her knee. She put her hand on his wiry head and he settled down again, snorting through his whiskers. Relaxing, she nodded at Fury. ‘Okay. I see what you mean. I hadn’t thought of it that way.’
‘No, you think about land the same way I do. That’s the difference between wanting to own it and feeling it might own you.’
She nodded again. Then she glanced at him. ‘But if that’s why Frankie doesn’t want you there, shouldn’t Pat be told? Ought I to say something?’
‘If you’ll take my advice, you’ll keep your beak shut and stop thinking you’ve got all the answers. Nothing in life is black and white, and people need to work things out in their own good time.’
The Divil shifted his weight on Cassie’s knee. The bench was in full sunlight and, beside her, a bee was droning in a rosemary bush. Autumn leaves still lay at the foot of the old convent wall, sheltered by protuberant stonework above them and already half rotted into the loamy soil. Beside her, Fury was watching the swooping house martins. Their glossy backs flashed in the sunlight and their white underparts gleamed as they passed overhead. He spoke again, looking straight ahead. ‘Round here we tend to keep an eye on each other, though. Your gran’s a decent woman and I don’t like to see her having to cope on her own.’
‘She’s not on her own, she’s got me.’
‘That’s true.’
In the silence that followed Cassie realised how far out of her depth she had travelled. ‘Do you think I should call my dad?’
‘No, I don’t.’ Fury’s reply was emphatic. When he went on, Cassie could feel him thinking she wouldn’t understand him. ‘I’ll tell you what it is, girl, it’s always complex when people go away. Doesn’t matter why they leave, if they put down roots elsewhere, they’re strangers when they come home. And people who stay where they were born tend to stick together. If your dad and your uncle Jim came back and started to meddle they’d find they weren’t welcome. It wouldn’t matter what the neighbours thought about Frankie, or even how much everyone likes Pat. Unless Sonny and Jim have developed some kind of amnesia, they’ll know that well.’
Cassie frowned. ‘But there’s nothing Frankie can do, really, is there? As long as Pat’s alive she’s going to have the final say.’
‘That’s true too.’
Realising what she’d just said, Cassie stiffened. Then The Divil sneezed and Fury gave her a sharp dig with his elbow. ‘Frankie’s as thick as two short planks, but he’s not the type to push his mam downstairs. This is real life, not a detective story. Don’t let your Transatlantic Book Club put notions in your head.’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘You were so.’
Cassie admitted to herself that she kind-of-sort-of had been. For the first time since she’d come to Finfarran, she felt like a stranger lost in a strange land. She didn’t really understand what Fury had meant about people who went away and those who stayed. And she still wasn’t sure why her dad and Uncle Jim had never come on a visit. Despite what Fury had just said, it did feel a bit like a detective story. But she decided he could be trusted and she was glad to know he was keeping an eye on Pat. Aware that she ought to be at work, she got to her feet, tipping The Divil onto the gravel path. Then she stopped and looked down at Fury, who was still lounging on the bench. ‘Do you think I ought to go and check on Pat?’
‘No. Because I can tell you what she’s doing.’
‘What?’
‘When I left she was making a pavlova.’ Seeing Cassie’s disbelieving expression, he added, ‘Did you not hear her say she was going to bring one over to the library?’
‘Yes, but she’s had a shock. She won’t want to come out.’
‘Do you know what it is, you’ve a lot to learn about living in Finfarran. If your gran promised to make a cake, she’ll do it. And she’ll carry it across Broad Street with her head held high. Someone will have seen Frankie come out her door with a face like a smacked arse. If Pat missed the do in the library now there’d be all sorts of talk going round.’
There was a pause in which Cassie fought tears. ‘You don’t think that my being here has made things worse for her? I was the cause of that row back there with Frankie. It wouldn’t have happened if I’d kept my big mouth shut.’
Fury stretched out his long legs and looked up at her. His habitual air of disparagement had returned. ‘You’re right about that. It wouldn’t. On the other hand, some things are better out than in. But you needn’t expect me to give you absolution. You have The Divil’s seal of approval, so I don’t know what more you can want.’
Chapter Thirty-One
There was a stream of people clattering up the library steps, carrying plates of homemade biscuits and tins containing cakes. Making no comment on Cassie’s lateness, Hanna handed her a box of mugs borrowed from the delicatessen. ‘Take these through to the reading room, will you? And keep an eye on them. People will offer to help wash up later on but there’s hardly room to turn round in the kitchen and I don’t want anything broken.’
Cassie said Pat would be over soon, bringing a pavlova.
‘Perfect. There are paper plates in that box, too, so will you help cut things up as they come, and lay them out? Everyone gets a coffee and a plate of cake or whatever, and they’ll know to put some money in the box. Leave the amount to their d
iscretion but, if anyone asks, suggest a five-euro donation. Have you got that?’
She had no time to ask why Cassie had arrived looking so distracted. The fundraiser was an annual library event and, aided and abetted by other communities up and down the peninsula, Lissbeg always came out in force to support it. Frequently, more cakes were donated than could be consumed on the day, but most people enthusiastically bought up the leftovers. Many arrived with homemade scones or tray bakes, ate and drank very little, pushed twenty-euro notes into the collection boxes, and left with less impressive offerings than the ones they’d brought. Ultimately, in excess of a thousand euros would be raised for the struggling hospice in Carrick, which couldn’t survive without this kind of support. It all took a great deal of work and coordination and, between playing hostess and trying to ensure that no one got jam on the library books, Hanna was always rushed off her feet.
Keeping people in the reading room was like trying to herd sheep. Numbers of those who came were avid readers, and Hanna hated to make them feel confined. But her primary duty was to her stock, so she tended to stalk the shelving, watching wanderers discussing books with pieces of cake in their hands. Some made it back to the reading room without disaster. Others would leave their paper plates precariously balanced on her displays. The worst offenders would try to turn pages while holding large slices of Pat’s pavlova. In those cases, the only option was hasty intervention, which made Hanna feel like a hovering hawk constantly waiting to pounce.
Fortunately, the mood was always good-humoured. Even a text from Mary at seven a.m. had made Hanna smile: DONT PICK ME UP IVE MADE A BATTENBERG
It was followed by another, which read, STACIA HAS ME FIXED
Shooting back a thumbs-up emoji, she’d reset her alarm to snooze time, grateful to the neighbour who must have offered to drive Mary to the event.
Mary arrived, bearing her cake in a Cadbury’s Roses tin. Hanna took her through to the Reading Room and handed it to a volunteer, who was rapidly slicing tea brack. Mary announced that, while some put fondant icing on a Battenberg, she had been sticking to marzipan for years. ‘And if strained apricot jam was good enough for Queen Victoria, I’ve no call to go fiddling round with rose pistachio cream.’
The Transatlantic Book Club Page 20