The Silent Ones: Could You Leave A Child Behind? (Chrissy Livingstone Book 3)

by Linda Coles

  “For a quick look. I might need a sweater while I’m here,” she said, as if she needed an excuse to browse.

  Chrissy followed her sister inside, slightly annoyed that she was shopping already and not taking in the sights as she herself was doing. Still, Julie had at least wanted to see the castle first, so she’d show willing and pretend to look at the garments on offer, feigning interest.

  The small cramped space was filled with heavy knitted sweaters and cardigans in all shapes and sizes. Throws and scarves, hats and gloves all fought to be seen, some draped from already full drawers or hung loosely, dangling over the backs of chairs or from hooks on any available wall space. The room had a distinctive but pleasant oily wool smell and Chrissy breathed it deep into her lungs – the essence of a warm woolly sheep. As Julie picked out a creamy cable-knit sweater and held it to herself for size, Chrissy couldn’t help but admit how good she’d look in it, the colour perfect to complement her hair and complexion.

  “You should get Richard one too. You could matchy, matchy,” she said, mocking and smiling at the same time.

  “I know when you’re taking the mickey, you know,” Julie said.

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Yes you were, so don’t bother denying it. Anyway, if the weather turns cooler, I might just come back and yes, get us both one. If that’s okay with you?” Julie was being petulant, and the question didn’t require an answer so Chrissy smiled her understanding as they headed back outside.

  “Which way?”

  “From memory of my research, there’s a pub up this way,” Chrissy said, pointing. “Let’s take a look at the menu for dinner. I’m thinking informal tonight since we’ve been travelling all day. I really can’t be much bothered for dressing up.”

  “Sounds good.”

  The two made their way further along Fisher Street and a moment or two later, Gus O’Connor’s pub came into view, its smart black facia set back in local stone. It looked inviting. Two planters filled with late pansies added a splash of colour to the entrance and the two women headed inside. The dark-walled interior gave the place a warm and welcoming feel which was added to by the huge open stone fireplace where logs burnt brightly, crackling from new wood recently added. Various prints and documents hung in frames along the walls adding to the feeling the place had been around a good deal longer than its owners. Wooden tables and chairs stood on a tiled floor, or was it stone flags? Pointing to the various musical instruments adorning one wall, Chrissy said, “I bet they have live music in here regularly.”

  “I wonder if they will tonight then.”

  “I expect so on a Saturday evening, that could be fun. And I bet it’s traditional Irish.”

  They approached the bar where a tall man with tight blond curls meandered over and asked, “What can I get you?” He wasn’t a local, he sounded more Oxford than Doolin.

  “I fancy a whiskey of all things,” announced Chrissy. “Want one?” she asked, turning to Julie. Somewhat unsure, Julie took her time to decide and the barman made a suggestion.

  “If I may?” he said, reaching for a bottle of Dingle single malt and offering it to Julie. “I suspect you enjoy the finer things in life, and if you’re not really a whiskey drinker, I can almost guarantee you’ll enjoy this.” He had an easy way about him that was in no way pretentious or cloying and Julie nodded her approval as two glasses were poured. Chrissy watched for her reaction before taking a sip of her own. A perfectly sculptured mouth took the tiniest of sips followed by a deeper, much longer drink as she gained confidence that it was in fact delicious and wasn’t going to bite her. Chrissy smiled inwardly and followed suit, enjoying the warmth and fruitiness as it slipped down her throat. She outwardly groaned.

  “Now, that is nice,” Chrissy said, watching Julie take another large mouthful that drained most of the glass. “Steady on, sis. You might not weigh much but I don’t fancy carrying you all the way home.” The barman caught her eye and smiled. While he was cute, he wasn’t a patch on Adam. She was reminded of the woolly-sheep-smelling shop; his curls weren’t too dissimilar. Licking her lips, Julie placed her empty tumbler on the bar. “I’ll have another one when we come for dinner later,” she said matter-of-factly. “Do we need to book?”

  “Best to, yes. It gets busy in here, particularly on a Saturday when the band is on. Be here by 7 pm, just the two of you?”

  “Four actually,” offered Chrissy. Did she imagine it, or did he look a little disappointed at that piece of news? They were two women in their early forties. Still, they were both in good shape, though with rather different physiques and outlooks on life. Julie in particular turned heads wherever she went, both men and women, and Chrissy observed their reaction almost as a hobby. She knew her sister enjoyed the attention and acted purposely dumb as though she never noticed it. She gave her details for the booking.

  Chrissy was glad of her jacket as they stepped outside since the temperature had dropped a handful of degrees. She pulled her collar up around her ears, Julie did the same, and they linked arms.

  “He was nice. As was that whiskey,” said Julie.

  Chrissy raised an eyebrow at her. She wasn’t normally one to comment on the male form.

  “What? I’m not allowed to look?”

  “I’ve not said a word. You just tickle me sometimes,” Chrissy said, smiling and pulling her close for a moment. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of him, and his whiskey choosing talent.”

  “Starting with dinner later.”

  “Indeed.” Chrissy turned to face her sister. It felt great to be getting on so well, getting closer again as they had once been as children. Their father dying and their mother not speaking to either of them had somehow drawn them together again. A trip to France on a case had also helped renew their friendship. “Let’s have the best time while we’re here, eh?”

  “If I can have another of those whiskeys, you can bet on it,” Julie giggled.

  They arrived back to the house just as a fine misty drizzle began to fall. Julie almost stumbled through the door and a waiting Adam raised his brows at his sister-in-law and the comical smile on her face.

  “Don’t ask,” said Chrissy, thieving a cracker as she passed by a tray of nibbles he’d organised.

  “In that case, I won’t.”

  Chapter 3

  By the time everyone – read Julie Stokes – was ready to head out for dinner, it was almost 7 pm, and they still had a good walk ahead of them.

  “I’ll drive, else we’ll miss our table,” a concerned Richard suggested as he checked his watch yet again. Even though he was used to his wife being behind schedule, it still frustrated the hell out of him. He knew, though, exactly why she did it, but in this instance it was totally unnecessary. They were going to a pub for an informal dinner; there would be no grand entrance to be had, no one would be watching or waiting for Julie Stokes to appear. He figured in a spot such as Doolin, they’d be more focused on their beer or the plate of food in front of them than a woman on holiday. When she finally breezed in wearing a glorious pair of leather trousers and a cashmere sweater, she achieved her grand entrance anyhow, even if it was to her own small group. Chrissy had to admit her sister had impeccable taste in clothes, though usually a good deal more formal than her own style. Lately, she’d noticed the relaxed change in what Julie wore, and it suited her.

  “Finally!” Chrissy quipped as Richard grabbed the car keys anyway.

  “Let’s get moving then,” he said and everyone filed out to the hire car. Julie got in first as usual; it meant she’d be last to get back out.

  A few minutes later, they pulled up just along the road a little from Gus O’Connor’s pub. It sounded like it was busy already. As the front door opened and others went inside, snippets of loud conversation drowned out the music as both fought for ear time. Chrissy thought back to what the barman had said earlier. If it got busy later on, the place must physically heave. She waited for Julie to get out and the two women led the way, Adam and
Richard bringing up the rear quietly. As they approached, Chrissy caught a fast-paced fiddle on the airwaves and wondered if it was coming from a jukebox or if the band had struck up already. She held the door open for Julie, who went inside, followed by Richard and Adam. Another couple, a young woman and a man, waited to enter and Chrissy played doorman for the two of them.

  “Thanks,” they chimed. The woman had long, wavy red hair and Chrissy couldn’t help but wonder if it was the woman she’d seen at the castle earlier.

  “You’re welcome.”

  When everyone was safely inside, she joined her family at the bar, which already was a bit of a crush. Conversation and spirits were high, and the tourists among the locals stood out like heavy rockers at a folk festival. She hoped their spot booked for dinner was in a quieter back room someplace or else conversation would be pointless.

  She was amused to see the barman from earlier was still on duty. As she watched Adam get the drinks in, she considered his tight blond curls again. It was unusual for a man to have such coiled hair, though it suited him and would be low maintenance for sure. Adam turned her way to enquire about her drink choice using a mixture of rough sign language and facial expression. She was normally a white wine drinker, but it seemed appropriate to have a Guinness and she pointed to the beer tap. Adam nodded his understanding with a downturned smile, and she wondered if Julie would opt for another whiskey. No sooner had she thought it, a tumbler of deep, honey-coloured liquid was handed across and she watched Julie take a sip. She could see her sister was enjoying it and wondered quite how many more she’d have before the night was up. Still, if you couldn’t relax on holiday, when could you? Adam must have told the barman they had a table booked because the moment everyone had a drink in their hands, a waitress was at Chrissy’s side, ready to escort them through.

  She’d been right. The dining room was a good deal less raucous though filled to capacity, suggesting the only empty table left must be theirs. The four arranged themselves around the large table, Julie and Richard with their backs against the wall, looking out into the room, and Chrissy and Adam facing them. At least they had plenty of room to spread out; the table meant for six. The pretty young waitress handed out menus and explained the night’s specials, before leaving them alone to decide.

  “Beef and Guinness stew for me,” Chrissy announced, laying her menu down and taking a sip of her drink. Adam dittoed her choice, as did Richard, leaving Julie to ponder between the seafood and the chicken. The waitress returned with a basket of bread to nibble on in the meantime and took their orders. Julie opted for the supreme of chicken, which was a good choice in Chrissy’s book since she couldn’t see her sister picking out crab claws or dealing with mussels. When the waitress had everyone’s order down, she hovered for a moment looking a little sheepish. Then, in a broad local accent, she asked:

  “Would you mind awfully if two people joined the end of your table, so? Only we’ve had a booking mix-up and there’s nowhere for them to sit and eat.” Chrissy could see the young woman’s cringe in anticipation they would say yes and unburden her of a problem. And possible trouble from her boss most likely. The waitress added, “Of course it’s our mistake and it’s perfectly fine if you decide not to, we don’t want to spoil your evening.” She smiled in hope. Chrissy glanced around at the table. Surely no one would object? She made the decision for them.

  “Of course they can, that’s fine. As long as they don’t mind us!” she said, laughing, allowing the waitress to relax her shoulders and smile.

  “A round of drinks on the house, as a thank you,” she said, before leaving them to give the table-less couple the good news. A moment or two later she was back, a young duo right behind her.

  The woman had long, wavy deep-red hair. Her name was Ciara.

  Chapter 4

  It turned out that Ciara was the same woman Chrissy and Julie had noticed at the castle, or rather it had been her distinctive hair on view. After initial introductions, which were only mildly awkward, the couple had eaten their meal alongside the rest of the group and kept themselves to themselves. Until coffee and more drinks that is. Chrissy had complimented her new acquaintance on her hair, and Adam being Adam, and always easy to get along with, had talked in great detail with the man whom they now knew as Lorcan. The two, it turned out, were staying in the castle for a while. They were on an extended break, though neither of them alluded to the reason behind the extended part. Chrissy being the more curious of the group would find out, of that she was sure. Being a private investigator, her antennae were naturally tuned into anything even slightly out of the ordinary, even when she was away on an autumn break with her family. Richard hardly said a word to the couple though, in his defence, he was sat at the far end of the table and likely couldn’t hear much of the conversation with the music and loud chatter that had risen a notch or two. Julie sipped on her drink quietly and people-watched from her spot next to him.

  “So, you are all staying nearby?” Ciara asked. Her Irish accent was as warming as the fire in the hearth nearby, as soothing as a mother’s kiss.

  “I guess you’d call us almost neighbours,” Chrissy replied. “We’re just over the way from you – the big house with the lovely front-deck area? I imagine you’ve probably seen it. An Airbnb actually, though I wish it was ours. It’s a real find, beautiful inside and loads of room. Perhaps you might pop over for a coffee at some time. We’re here all week.”

  “Thanks, I might do that. The castle is lovely and all, but it’s tiny inside. Great view from the top though. And the stairs keep me fit, though a bit awkward with Flynn.”

  “Flynn?” enquired Adam, joining in the conversation.

  “Sorry, yes, Flynn. He’s the little one, coming up to twelve months old now,” she said. Chrissy could tell the woman doted on the little boy, her wistful smile giving her feelings away.

  “Such a lovely age,” Chrissy said. “Our two are almost grown now, boys, fifteen and sixteen, and right at that age where they don’t want to be anywhere near their parents. So enjoy the early years while they let you,” she said, laughing. Chrissy wanted to ask where Flynn was now since both his parents were at their table. It would seem rude though and she assumed the young boy would be with a relative or being babysat, perhaps by a local. Since neither Ciara nor Lorcan volunteered where he was, Chrissy didn’t push it. Her antennae buzzed a little.

  “So, Lorcan,” Chrissy said, turning her attention to him. While he didn’t have Ciara’s fiery red hair, he was as equally natural blond as the barman. She imagined little Flynn would have beautiful hair colour himself with such parents. “What do you do when you’re not on an extended break?”

  “The fancy title is logistics and distribution, but between you and me, it’s a glorified lorry-driving role,” he said. The smile told her he’d used that particular line before, though he sounded almost embarrassed about his occupation.

  “I bet you see the country doing that then.”

  “And the continent. I go all over Europe throughout the year, though most of my journeys are across to the main northern England ports.”

  “And your accent, I can’t quite detect where you might be from, but I’m guessing you’ve spent some time away from Ireland?”

  “You’re very perceptive,” he said, smiling somewhat slyly. “I’m from Galway originally, a good many years ago, but I’ve been living in Manchester for the best part of my life.”

  “That is a change. And here you are now, in a Doolin pub sharing a dinner table with us four from Surrey.”

  “So it seems.”

  Chrissy was about to carry on her interrogation of him when a man with a microphone announced the live music was about to start and no sooner were the words out of his mouth, a fiddle made its spirited entrance. Even from the dining room, there was no way to have anything resembling a conversation, all words drowned out by either the button accordion, the tin whistle, or folks joining in clapping their encouragement to the beat. A man at a tab
le nearby asked his companion for her hand in dance and the two performed a pretty good jig, spurring on the hand clapping and foot tapping. Chrissy glanced across at Richard and Julie who seemed a little uncomfortable in their seats, unsure what to do. Not one to be shy, Chrissy stood and took Richard’s hand and she almost dragged him up to join in the fun. Lorcan, almost a local, took the hint and made a beeline for Julie, who looked as startled as a rabbit at the prospect of dancing like the others now enjoying themselves. He wasn’t taking no for an answer and after whispering something in Julie’s ear, Chrissy watched her smile broaden as she escorted him and let him lead her in what to do. Looking over Richard’s shoulder, Chrissy vowed to find out exactly what he’d said that had persuaded her to dance with him. Since there was only Adam and Ciara left at the table, the two joined in the fun effortlessly, Adam as confident in Irish dance as he was in everything else he did, even though he’d no clue what he was doing. With a redheaded stranger on his arm, he allowed her to take the lead and instruct him, making it look like it was all his own doing.

  It was the call of last orders when everyone finally stopped for a nightcap before eventually heading home – Chrissy and her family to one house, Ciara and Lorcan back to their castle. As she watched the two casually stroll away, she wondered once again about their extended holiday.

  And where their son was.

  Sunday

  Chapter 5

  The following morning, Chrissy sat in the sun-drenched kitchen on her own, with a pot of tea to herself sat on the wooden table in front of her. It was almost 8 am and she was the only one in the house that had stirred, the others sleeping heavily after an exhausting and late night dancing at the pub. She smiled to herself at the memory of Julie and her version of a jig, something far away from her normal more sedate style of dancing, but it was good to see her laughing so voraciously. Even Richard had had to admit on the way home that he’d had fun, though Chrissy wasn’t sure if he’d be up for another rendition on another night later in the week. Maybe the redheaded Ciara had cast a spell on him; Julie certainly hadn’t complained, but then Lorcan was a good-looking bloke to enjoy the company or attention of. What exactly had he whispered in Julie’s ear? She sipped on her tea and stared out the huge glass window towards the castle, the Atlantic Ocean visible to her right, falling away from the cliff edge. Ciara had said it was a cracking view from up the top of their castle, and Chrissy wondered if she might get an invitation to take a better look. Footsteps padding about made her turn, someone was up and moving.