by Mary Malone
“Coming back for the funeral was only supposed to be a flying visit, pay my respects, do my duty and leave . . .”
“And now?”
He shrugged. Pier Road definitely drew him in. His adventures on the continents had been terrific, one blending with another, the length of time he’d been spending in locations lengthening, his hunger to move on waning slightly. What harm would it do to let Schull be another on his map? A coastal town with a definite tourist feel wouldn’t be the worst place to hang about for a while. Providing the family don’t drive me cuckoo, he thought.
Jess spoke again. “What an opportunity! And at our age too! Play your cards right and you’re set up for life now.”
“But live in one place for a year?” he repeated, giving a shudder and shaking his head, still very unconvinced. “Doesn’t feel like my kind of thing.”
Jess was equally adamant, letting her heart lead her mind. The idea of him living next door was taking hold. “Fifty-two weeks, 365 days, you will get out the other side.” Wait and see, she thought privately. She knew that no matter how bad things seemed, nothing stopped the passing of time.
Kieran went outside and stood on the footpath, inhaling the sea air, his love for the place rushing back. He swivelled around to face Jess. She had Greg in her arms again, balancing him on her hip and planting soft kisses on his cheek. The bright sensor light shone on them. Silhouetted in the doorway, the pair looked vulnerable. For the first time that Kieran could remember, the display of neediness didn’t unnerve him or make him want to turn and run as fast and far as possible. Quite the opposite – the young mother and son made staying around a little longer a much more attractive prospect.
And as he opened his mouth to reassure Jess he’d be in the vicinity for a while – to get the place tidied if nothing else and ensure it was looked after properly and not left unlocked as he’d found it this evening – he noticed Greg’s eyes widen dramatically. Kieran watched the young chap clutch his mother’s shirt tightly. He strained to hear the words he was uttering, barely catching his loud whisper in the still night.
“Daddy! See, Mum, he’s there again!”
Kieran followed Greg’s gaze but the road behind him was empty. He turned back to Jess, puzzled.
But Jess had disappeared. In the couple of seconds it had taken him to turn around, she’d retreated into the house and closed the door. The last sounds Kieran heard before leaving her garden were shooting bolts being snapped into place. He couldn’t help wondering if she was locking both of them in or locking somebody else out?
Returning to Number 5, Kieran went up the stairs and into his old bedroom. Flicking the light switch, the room lit up. Layers of dust covered the furniture and every surface in the room. Visually, nothing much had changed. Moving further into the room, he unlocked the wardrobe and peered inside. A few jackets hung on the rail, his jackets he realised, checking the pockets and exploring further. He moved toward the window seat and sat with his back to the glass.
His thoughts flew back to Jess and her son and the incident on the road outside. Greg’s father must be a local, he mused – but not living with them it seemed, if he was to judge by the boy’s reaction on seeing him. And Jess had said she was unattached. But why had the man suddenly disappeared like that? Was it because he’d seen him, Kieran, at Jess’s door? And Jess’s speedy departure added another layer of mystery. Something was seriously amiss between them. Had they married, he wondered. It hadn’t dawned on him to enquire when she’d introduced her little son. No doubt I’ll find out in time, he thought, his curiosity definitely piqued but instinct warning him to wait until Jess decided to share the details with him.
He gazed around the room. The furniture hadn’t been moved as much as an inch in all the years – a single bed under the Velux, the oversized wardrobe in the corner and a matching dressing table facing the bed. His reflection was barely visible through the layer of dust on the mirror. How he’d hated that mirror on the mornings he’d been hung over, bloodshot eyes and a pale green complexion staring back at him. Mostly Aunt Polly pretended not to notice apart from the few occasions when he’d pushed it too far and she’d threatened to call his father to come and collect him. But she never followed through and invariably she’d forgiven him by lunchtime.
Spotting an ancient photo album sitting on the dressing table, he wiped the plastic covers with his sleeve and studied each one. A mixed-up selection, they brought a smile to his face, several photos taken from an upstairs window as she captured him and his friends in a variety of poses. A loose photo – obviously from a different time – had been left inside the back cover. He grinned at the image of himself and Jess laughing, Jess looking as though she was about to fall off the crossbar of his bike and his arm outstretched to catch her.
Polly must have been bored, he thought, imagining her clicking away to her heart’s content and then wondering how she ran out of film! Laughing as he left the album where he’d found it, he remembered numerous occasions she’d been snapping him and the lads – and sometimes Jess too – only to discover there was no film in the camera! And it was obvious she watched a lot more than she’d let on to him. Such a great loss, he thought with a pang.
He turned to look outside, his breath fogging the grimy window pane. Clearing a patch with his elbow, he looked toward the water in the distance, glad there were no houses directly across from Number 5, the unobstructed view magnificent on a bright sunny day. Things were quiet now, very little movement apart from a fishing boat coming to shore. Hearing the muffled sound of a door closing through the bedroom wall, he thought of Jess and Greg again, his eyes still following the mooring boat.
Not knowing why exactly, apart from the bond they’d shared a decade before, Kieran’s interest in Jess’s life was more than fleeting. Questions floated around his head. Did Greg’s father contribute to the unease he’d sensed in his old friend? Had she been through a bad relationship? Perhaps the father wanted custody of the child now or something awful like that.
In a flash, Kieran’s mind was made up. He’d accept Polly’s challenge. He’d stick around and rekindle his relationship with Schull and its inhabitants. A year would be manageable – even for him, plenty of time to travel afterwards if he so desired. And after that, if that were his decision, he could make a respectable rental income from Number 5 if he found it impossible to stay. What’s the worst that can happen, he thought, his green eyes following the lights of the fishing boat until it veered around the headland and disappeared from sight.
Chapter 8
Kieran’s text had shocked his parents and sister. Marian and Beth were still digesting the fact he had inherited the Schull property. Frank had gone to bed to ease his splitting headache.
“Beth, love, please sit down!” Marian pleaded with her irate daughter.
“I can’t, Mum. How can I relax after what’s happened?” She stared at the floor, eyes downcast, lower lip wobbling, very close to tears.
Marian chewed on her lower lip, her daughter’s distress worrying, how to find a solution and a way out of her financial difficulties more worrying still.
“I must make you a hair appointment and get something done with those split ends,” she tried, stalling for time and making a futile attempt to distract her daughter.
Beth’s head shot up. “Mum! My hair is the least of my worries. It’s not as if I’m going anywhere important to show off a new hairdo! Don’t you get it? If I don’t do something soon, I’ll barely be able to afford shampoo, never mind a visit to a salon!” She fiddled with the fruit bowl, arranging and rearranging red apples, kiwis and overripe bananas.
“Sweetheart, please calm down. I know you’re surprised about the inheritance but –”
“Surprised?” Beth shook her head. “I’m shocked, disgusted, any number of things. But surprised isn’t one of them! What am I going to do?” She looked at her mother, huge eyes pleading, fingers pulling anxiously at the ends of her hair until it came undone and fell arou
nd her pinched face. “What’s going to become of me? Polly’s will was my last chance, Mum, my only chance!”
Marian took a deep breath, struggling to maintain composure. One of them hyperventilating was enough. Into the bargain, she worried that if she began a tirade on the subject of Polly’s will, she wouldn’t be able to stop. And whatever hope she had of helping her daughter, keeping Frank on side was crucial. Criticising Polly would get his back up, make him dig his heels in and support the decision his sister had made. And though he’d gone to bed already, she didn’t trust that her words wouldn’t carry up to the room overhead. She had made that mistake many times over and wasn’t about to do it again.
“Should I approach Kieran, Mum?”
“I wish he’d come home and tell us exactly what the will entailed. His text was brief – there must be more than that to it – some smaller bequests. She must have left something to your father after all.”
“Smaller bequests? That won’t help me, Mum.”
“I know, love.” Marian bit her lip.
“Maybe he isn’t going to stay the year?” Beth pushed the fruit bowl away from her, the bananas now resting evenly on the apples with the kiwis clustered on top.
“He’s hardly going to walk away, though, is he? And you know how he idolised Polly.” Marian took a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge and filled two glasses, handing one to Beth. Kieran’s loyalty to Polly could be enough to make him stay the twelve months, maybe even get a job and act responsibly for a change, she thought. At any other time she would have been thrilled to see her son was settling down. It was what she and Frank had been nagging him to do for years. But Polly’s meddling, how she was orchestrating Kieran’s decisions, infuriated her. Sighing, she tightened her grip on the glass and brought it to her lips as a familiar knot of resentment lodged in her throat.
Damn you to Hell, Polly Digby, she uttered silently, her daughter’s anguish pulling at her heart. You’ve done this on purpose, upsetting my girls and driving a wedge between them and their brother. And I’m not allowing you to get away with it – not again and not any more. My three children deserve equal treatment and I’m going to see they get it – in spite of and to spite you and your intentions.
“I have been trying to get my hours back with the airline, Mum,” Beth interrupted her thoughts, “but with the reduction in domestic flights and Michael O’Leary cutting every corner he can think of in Ryanair, I’ve had no success so far. I should never have walked away from it in the first place.”
The income statement her employers had given her had secured the damn mortgage that was crippling them now. Her modest redundancy payment had barely put a dent in the cost of installing an electric shower and upgrading the bathroom. She had assumed – wrongly as it turned out – that she’d pick up another job easily and now she was suffocating with enormous debt and long days and nights with nothing to do except despair about the situation she’d found herself in. What a disaster!
“What about Carl? Has he tried getting a second job or perhaps looking around for something that’s better paid?” Marian enquired.
“He says being on shift work makes it too awkward to commit to anything else.” Beth shrugged her shoulders.
Her mother bit her lip, deciding it best to change the subject or she was liable to ridicule her son-in-law. “What pressure are the banks putting on you? Are you meeting your monthly outgoings?”
Beth nodded. “Barely. And that’s only the mortgage interest and nothing off the loan itself. Every day I expect a letter from them saying we have to pay more. I don’t know what we’ll do then.”
“Pity you can’t hand back the keys,” Marian said.
“If only it were that simple. I could fly out to see Charlotte and try out Canada for a while.”
“Is that what Carl wants too?” Marian’s question was loaded.
Beth shrugged again. “It’s not going to happen so there’s never been any point in asking. Charlotte’s so far away, isn’t she, Mum?”
Marian nodded, her blonde highlights glistening under the spotlight. “I don’t suppose she’s ready to come back?”
“Nowhere near – she’s getting on with things but I often wonder if it’s only because she’s in a strange continent thousands of miles away. Everything looks different when you’re away and responsibilities to home are non-existent.”
“You’re thinking of your time in France?”
“Yes. Eight years ago now. I was a different person then, with different priorities and definitely an obscured vision.”
Her thoughts drifted to sun-filled days hugging the seat of Carl’s rented convertible when she should have been observing researchers in a university laboratory. Realising too late that she had cast away a once-in-a-lifetime offer for exciting science ventures would remain the single biggest regret of her life. Instead, she’d huddled against the breeze, heart racing in her chest as he’d accelerated faster and faster and transported them from the non-stop buzz of the city to the wide open space on the outskirts, coasting through rolling hillside and miles and miles of open plains. His impromptu decisions and extravagance took her breath away, his natural charm and joie de vivre proving irresistible. She was putty in his hands. The college boys she’d dated back home paled into insignificance, their boyish pranks and all-night parties seeming pathetic and childish by comparison. Her planned six months in the French city extended indefinitely, a period where her studies went by the wayside and eventually life in the fast lane caught up with the young couple. Her regret at not completing her Science degree had gnawed inside her for years. Autumn after autumn she’d contemplated registering as a mature student. But the course had evolved and the exams she’d already taken (and passed) were worthless now. She’d need to start from scratch again.
Imagining a world of lab coats, test tubes and explosive experiments brought a rush of blood to her head, the memory of dissecting, analysing and researching filling her with a hunger to return. But her fear of failure held her back, Carl’s disinterest an additional factor. Finding excuses to miss enrolment dates had been easy, her confidence diminishing with each passing year.
Marian sensed her daughter’s regret and sympathised. With the benefit of hindsight she could see what a wasted emotion it was, dwelling on what could have been instead of focusing and making the best of what lay ahead. But she didn’t voice this to Beth, not now when desperation rested so heavily on her daughter’s young shoulders.
“Every experience becomes part of who we are, love,” she said. “What’s going on now is merely a passing phase in your life.”
“I wish it would hurry up and pass me by then.”
Her attempt at a smile melted Marian’s heart. There had to be a way to alter the will. Kieran wouldn’t lose out. He’d get a fair entitlement.
Placing the palms of her hands on Beth’s cheeks, she met her gaze. “I’m going to do everything in my power to have that will overturned. I’m not standing for this farce. You’re all entitled to an equal share.”
“And Kieran?”
“He’ll get a third, as will you and your sister. It’s the fairest, it’s the decision your aunt should have made in the first place. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“Oh, Mum, I don’t think . . .” Beth pulled at her hair again.
“Beth, it’s not like you have any other choice. You said so yourself.” Marian struggled to keep her tone even, lowering her voice so Frank wouldn’t hear. “What will happen if we don’t do this? You’ll lose your house, lose your credit rating and still owe the banks a fortune.”
Beth gulped, unable to find a response. Her mother was speaking the truth. Without the inheritance, she and Carl hadn’t any chance of surviving financial doom. As for surviving marital doom, she wouldn’t bet on that either. She’d been the one to keep a roof over their heads in Paris, getting a part-time waitressing job out of necessity and slogging long days and nights. She took whatever pleasure she could between shifts and joined h
im on some of his ridiculous escapades – it was either that or sit alone in their tiny studio apartment. Carl would follow his dream. Regardless.
“Live on the edge while we’re young, babe – lots of years ahead to be sensible and do what’s expected . . . trés boring,” was his stock answer to the practical suggestions she’d put his way. And while his life-was-for-living attitude seemed perfectly acceptable in the bright lights of the most romantic city in the world, there had come an unforeseeable moment when it had all come crashing around them. Carl’s idea of trés boring gave living on the edge a whole new perspective.
“Beth?” Marian’s interruption saved her from reliving the horrific ordeal. “What do you think?”
“What’s involved?” she conceded. “I suppose there’s no harm in finding out what would need to be done . . . just in case . . .”
Marian drew her daughter into her arms, her lips shaping into a grimace at the prospect of contesting Polly’s will. With a bit of luck, Number 5 will be sold and a new family will take it over, she thought. Then it mightn’t be such a constant reminder of Kieran choosing to spend every possible hour in that end-of-terrace with his quirky aunt instead of being at home with her, Frank and the girls. She pressed her lips against her daughter’s cheek, steely determination taking a tight grip inside her.
Chapter 9
In Toronto city, Charlotte Dulhooly was face-down on a massage table, Giovanni’s hands pressing into the hollow between her shoulder blades. Arms stretched in front of her, she clutched the frame of the plinth while the Italian masseuse increased the pressure on her spine. Moments later, her tight grasp relaxed as his kneading fingers trailed to the outward extremity of her back, close – sensationally close – to her full breasts. A familiar tingle of desire rippled through her body, his touch feather-light on her skin and she was instantly transported between reality and fantasy, between what he was actually doing and the climactic heights they were about to reach together in her imagination.