by Mary Malone
“And that’s it? I just go back and live there and call you in twelve months? I don’t have to do anything else?” Too simple, Kieran thought. There has to be a hitch!
“Eleven months and three weeks to be exact. Polly left instructions that I was to count in the time it took you to make up your mind.”
The phone still at his ear, he stared at another photo. She was older in this one, a closer resemblance to the person he’d sat for hours chatting with. His expression softened. What had been going through her mind when she’d plotted her will? Why was it so important to her that he remained in the house for a year? He’d do his best not to let her down.
“She left another note for you. I’ll include it with the documentation. Is there anything else, Kieran?”
“This is mad! I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this but in for a penny and all that . . .” He laughed with Olivia about his aunt’s clever insight, ending the call shortly afterwards and shaking his head in wonderment. What the hell was he letting himself in for?
A bubble of rising excitement gurgled deep in his stomach, followed closely by a nudge of apprehension. What would the next year throw his way? Living back in the nucleus of his family and an assortment of neighbours and friends he’d grown up with would take a little – or maybe a lot – of getting used to. And if he survived the year and beat Polly’s challenge – after that, would he sell and run? Anybody’s guess but he had to wait for eleven months and three weeks to pass before he could think about that decision.
A pounding on the front door interrupted his thoughts. Descending the stairs, he pulled opened the door to see an eager Greg and embarrassed Jess standing on his doorstep.
“He says you offered to fix his bike?” Jess blurted out, her son clutching the handlebars of his bike, her hands on his shoulders, standing behind him as though he were her shield. Her face was flushed and her eyes were darting between Kieran’s face and the top of Greg’s head.
Kieran nodded, his mouth drying. He hadn’t expected them so soon, hadn’t expected them at all if the truth were known. “I sure did. I was throwing a ball over the school wire and met himself here.” He was sorry he hadn’t taken the time to clean up a bit more, at least spray some air freshener to give the place a lived-in smell. Too late now, he thought, pulling the door back to allow them pass through the narrow hallway.
“See, Mum, I told you!”
Kieran laughed at the young boy’s sincerity. “Wheel in your bike, Greg. I’ll have a look.” As he issued his invitation he realised he didn’t have any tools, not unless there was a supply in the shed. He still hadn’t ventured to the wooden shed at the bottom of the garden to see what was inside – junk if the shabby outside was anything to go by. It’d be worth a look, an excuse to delay Jess and her son longer, a prospect that sat well with him.
“When I was here before, I told the lady her house is like a rainbow!” Greg gawped around him, peering into the sitting room, fascinated by the array of bright colours.
“Greg, where are your manners!”
“What, Mum? It is like a rainbow.” He pointed at the red carpet on the stairs. “Red and yellow!” He pointed at the orange walls, looking around for something pink and spotting a cushion on the sitting-room couch. “See, there’s pink and I bet there’s blue somewhere too!”
“Kieran, are you sure you’ll want to help this cheeky little boy?”
He laughed at Greg’s astute observations.
“But you promised!” Greg insisted, pulling a puncture-repair kit from his pocket and shoving it into Kieran’s hands.
“Greg!”
“Leave him. He’s perfectly right. Aunt Polly loved loud colours. Bet she has all seven colours of the rainbow if we checked the rooms. I hope to get around to calming the colour scheme a little but God only knows when –” He shrugged his shoulders and laughed, leading his visitors through to the kitchen.
The gingham curtains flapped in the breeze, his breakfast bowl and coffee mug sat unwashed on the draining board.
Greg’s simple truth amused him. Pity that outspoken attitude changed with maturity. Life could be a lot less complicated, Kieran thought, maybe, if people spoke their minds and paid less attention to what was politically correct or socially acceptable.
“It hasn’t changed a bit,” Jess commented, glancing around the room where Polly had poured them endless glasses of lemonade and served homemade cookies and chunks of brown bread slathered in butter and strawberry jam. In those days, the old range was always warm, the distinct aroma of baking lingering long after they’d demolished the last cookie or slice of bread. “I’m trying to recall the last time I stood in this kitchen with you.”
Kieran shook his head. “That time I came home?”
Their eyes met.
Jess swallowed hard, her gaze shifting from his handsome face, a flush warming her cheeks as yet again his words transported her back in time. “Ah, Kieran, I’m not that bad! I have popped in and out to Polly over the years. We had some great chats!”
“Thanks for that, Jess. It’s good to think she had someone to keep an eye on her.”
“She was a howl, great company,” Jess remembered fondly. “And sharp as a button too!”
“My bike!” Greg was growing impatient, his timely demand a welcome interruption for his flustered mother.
Kieran ruffled his hair. “Sorry, mate. Wheel it through to the back garden and turn it upside down on the path outside. Think you can manage that by yourself?”
“Let me, pet.” Jess hurried to do it for him.
“No, I’ll do it. I’m not a girl!” He brushed away her offer of help, determined to show off how capable he was, then pushed the bike through the kitchen and out the door which Kieran had opened for him.
Kieran put a hand on Jess’s elbow. “This is a job for the boys. Why don’t you stick on the kettle and have a cup of coffee ready for the workers – well, maybe a glass of milk for himself there?”
“Are you banishing me to the kitchen?” Jess looked around, grabbing a tea-towel from the table and swiping it playfully at him.
Kieran ducked and took the keys from the counter. The intervening years fell away. Their deep friendship surged through the time they’d been apart. He couldn’t deny how good it felt.
He opened the repair kit and peered inside. The contents wouldn’t get the job done. “Let’s see if Aunt Polly left any tools in the shed, Greg.”
“Are we getting hammers and stuff?” Greg skipped alongside Kieran down the garden. His eyes were bright with excitement as he watched Kieran try a few keys. “I didn’t know old ladies had tools. Would they know what to do with them?”
Jess had followed them. “Honestly, Kieran. Please don’t go to any trouble. I can easily put my hands on what you need next door.”
“Mum! It’s okay. And this is man’s work. Kieran said so!”
“You’d better not hurt your mum’s feelings,” Kieran winked at Greg, “or we mightn’t get our drinks afterwards.”
The young boy giggled and shrugged his shoulders. “What if you don’t have the right key? What will we do then if we can’t open the shed? Will you still fix my bike?”
Jess gave up and, shrugging her shoulders, returned to the kitchen.
“Let’s try this rusty old key . . . gotcha!” Kieran said, unhooking the lock and pulling back the wooden door.
The hinges squeaked as it opened out against them. He swiped at the cobwebs and stood in the entrance, gazing in amazement at the contents of his aunt’s shed. It was packed to capacity, resembling a dumping ground if he’d ever seen one, everything in disarray, a disaster waiting to happen if things began to fall. Clearing it out would be at least a week’s work, something to fill his time if nothing else.
Feeling Greg pushing against his legs, trying to get past him, he turned on his heel and lifted the little boy up overhead, swinging him around in the air to distract him from the contents of the shed. “It’d take hours to find tools in there, I
’m afraid, not the type we’re looking for anyway. We’ll have to improvise.”
“But what about my bike?” Greg repeated between giggles.
Kieran lowered the little boy onto the ground. “Run back inside and see if you can find two dessertspoons.”
As soon as Greg had turned his back, Kieran closed the door and snapped the padlock shut. Destroying the shed and contents without even going through everything was very tempting. He couldn’t imagine it held anything of value, considering the mess it was in. But Olivia’s suggestion that Polly had left some sort of treasure trail of cash for him halted his train of thought. Nothing could be thrown out until it had been thoroughly searched.
Greg was looking through drawers when Kieran went back inside.
“Greg!” said Jess. “Come away from that drawer this instant.”
“It’s okay, Jess. I told him to get me two spoons. They should do the job. The shed’s in a right mess, not a hope of finding anything in there.”
Spoons found, they trooped outside again and set to work.
“We’re having spag bol for tea,” Jess said when the puncture was repaired, the chain links tightened and the bike fit for purpose once more. “Will you join us as a thank-you?” She turned to her son. “What do you think, Greg?”
Greg nodded as he threw his leg over the saddle and cycled unsteadily down the garden path, shrugging his shoulders and squealing in delight. He had his bike back. Dinner didn’t quite hold the same importance.
“What time suits?”
“Around an hour? Would that suit?” Jess’s face flushed. She hadn’t considered that he’d have other plans. Running her fingers through her hair, she smoothened it on to the nape of her neck, the short style feathering around her face and neck.
“An hour is perfect. I’ll grab a bottle of wine – red or white?”
“You choose,” Jess said, her face breaking into a grin.
“What’s the joke, Mum?” Greg stopped the bike with the toes of his runners. Seeing his mother in such a good mood made a nice change. She might let him stay up late.
“Use your brakes, not your shoes,” she responded, dodging his question. She didn’t think her five-year-old would appreciate being told that Kieran made her feel warm and gooey inside! And she certainly wasn’t revealing that in front of the man in question. She was confused enough herself.
Kieran leaned against the door frame, enjoying their exchange. Like Greg, he’d noticed the great big grin on her face and wondered what was behind it. Unable to resist teasing it out a little further, he probed the reason behind her smile. “You didn’t answer his question. What’s so funny?”
She cocked her head to the side. “Just think it’s amusing that we’re finally going to share a civilised drink with a very normal dinner. Makes a change from the soggy sandwiches and the metal taste of cheap and often out-of-date beer from mangy cans we normally had in each other’s company.”
He pointed toward the sitting room. “I can always grab the rug from the couch and meet the two of you for a picnic on the beach.”
“A picnic?” Greg pulled the brakes so hard the back wheel went in the air and swung around.
Jess ignored his suggestion, unsure how to take it. Was he being flirtatious? She was struggling to interpret his signals. “Greg, you’ll hurt yourself if you don’t stop messing. Come on, let’s go – we’ll go out the side gate. Time to do some cooking. It’s not really the weather for picnics yet. Maybe in another few weeks.”
Greg flipped the pedals backwards, spinning them as fast as he could. “Is fixing bikes your work, Kieran? My friend’s dad fixes trains. That’s his job. Cool!”
“At the rate you’re spinning that chain, I’m guessing I’ll have a full-time job fixing your bike!” Kieran went ahead of him and opened the side gate.
“We’ll see you later then,” Jess said, holding the saddle of Greg’s bike to prevent him from cycling too far ahead.
Waving his neighbours off, Kieran watched them go down the passageway that ran between the house and an old stone wall, then closed the gate after them and returned to the shed, pulling the door open wide and staring aghast at the mess. Travelling the world on a shoestring budget had forced him to stay in several questionable addresses, the array of rubble heaped in Polly’s shed reminding him of one that had been in particularly bad repair. Rubbing his scalp, he contemplated where to start clearing out, his deliberations interrupted when he heard his name being called.
Going back into the garden, he was surprised to see his father and mother coming through the side gate. Receiving an unexpected visit from them was peculiar in itself. They seldom did anything or called to anyone without a huge announcement.
“Back door’s open!” he called, snapping the padlock shut on the shed door and following them into the house.
“Can I get you a coffee?” he offered.
“No, thanks,” Marian said, glancing around her and screwing up her nose. “Place smells musty, doesn’t it?”
“What do you expect?” Frank reacted instantly. “It’s been empty for weeks!”
Kieran sighed. And so it goes again, he thought, Mum unable to resist her snide remarks about Polly and Dad permanently on the defensive. He wished they’d get to the point of their visit and leave him get back to what he was doing. Inviting Frank out to the shed on some pretence or other was tempting but no doubt Marian would follow and pass another comment about the amount of rubble hoarded there.
“How’re you settling in, Kieran? Are your feet getting itchy yet?” Marian enquired.
“It’s still a bit like being on vacation to be honest, too soon to judge.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier on you to share the responsibility with your sisters?”
“Marian, I thought we’d agreed to butt out and mind our own business?” Frank glared at his wife, clutching the back of a kitchen chair, his knuckles white. “Kieran’s a grown man, entitled to and capable of making his own decisions.”
Kieran was struggling to contain his rising anger. Not once had his mother wished him well with his new venture. “Maybe you should listen to Dad. He has a point,” he said through gritted teeth. “I am an adult and have managed to make decisions for the last number of years, unaided by you or anyone else.”
“Yeah, but Beth . . .” Marian stammered then pursed her lips in annoyance. She wasn’t as surefooted as she’d been when she’d arrived.
Kieran turned away a moment, wondering what on earth she expected from him. “What about Beth? Nobody twisted her arm behind her back when she married Carl or bought that massive house.”
Frank cleared his throat.
Kieran and Marian turned to look at him, waiting for what he had to say.
“Polly would be delighted to see you living here, son.” He glared at his wife. “Marian, can’t you let go whatever ridiculous notion is going on in your head and wish your son well?”
Ignoring her husband, Marian appealed to Kieran once more. “Dividing everything three ways makes more sense. You would still get a substantial amount – more than enough to fund another trip and you’d be free of the burden of taking care of the place. And your sisters would benefit too – there would be a much better sense of fair play.”
Kieran gave a hollow laugh. “Anyone would think you’re trying to get rid of me, Mum,” he said. “When I was travelling, you spent your time nagging me to settle down and get a proper job. I wish you’d make up your mind.”
“Of course I’m not trying to get rid of you! But this,” she paused and waved her arm around, “playing house isn’t you!”
Frank released his grip of the chair. “I’ll be in the car, Marian.” He turned to his son. “Do you fancy a game of golf one morning? Give us a chance to catch up properly?”
Kieran shrugged but didn’t reject his father’s invitation. “I can’t say I’ll be much in the way of opposition but why not!”
Marian waited until her husband had left the house. “I’m sorry if
I’m upsetting you, Kieran. Despite what you might think, I don’t begrudge you this windfall.”
“Don’t make me laugh, Mum. If you don’t begrudge me, why are you trying to convince me to release ‘my windfall’ as you put it?”
“What one of you gets, so should the other two.”
He sucked in a breath, his next statement coming out in a rush. “What’s really galling for you is that Polly has done things her way, Mum.”
“That’s not one bit fair, Kieran. Polly was entitled to her decision but she’s coming between you and your sisters. That’s why I’m concerned, no other reasons.”
He snorted. “Don’t make me laugh. Beth hasn’t been exactly rushing here to find out how I’m settling in or ask me straight out if I’d prefer not to be stuck here. And Charlotte hasn’t even picked up her free office phone to get in touch.”
“And if they did, would it make a difference?”
“Not really. It must have been important to Polly that I live here. So I’ll give it a shot. Out of respect for her.” He didn’t meet his mother’s eye, but imagined she was furious.
“But Polly’s not here any more. You’ve got the opportunity to make your decisions, help your sister.”
“The will specifies that I live here for twelve months. And that’s what I intend to do.” This time he looked directly at Marian, defiance in his expression and tone. “For Polly,” he repeated.