by Mary Malone
Hearing the front gate creak, Kieran listened attentively and waited for the familiar rattling of the letterbox. At least he assumed it was the postman. Who else would be calling at this unearthly hour of the morning? He leapt out of bed when he heard something fall on the floor below, his curiosity piqued. A letter wouldn’t make such a noise, he thought, it had to be something bulkier. Perhaps Aunt Polly was a mail-order fan, and this was something she’d ordered before she died. He went to investigate, his interest heightened when he saw the brown package lying on the floor.
Stooping to retrieve it, he turned it over in his hand, pressing gently against the edges, even going as far as shaking it. The small parcel felt light. A slim box wrapped in a padded envelope was the nearest he could guess. Nothing rattled – no defining scent. He smoothened out the crinkled paper as best he could, reading the printed label and wondering if it had been addressed incorrectly. It was addressed to neither him nor Polly. The packaging was ripped at the corner. The recipient’s name, however, was printed in clear bold print: John Kilmichael. The name meant nothing to him. He’d never heard of him. Why was this guy’s post being delivered to Number 5 Pier Road, care of Pauline Digby? Kieran had no idea but inexplicably it filled him with unease. He hoped this John Kilmichael person hadn’t been taking his aunt for granted or using her in any way. Though he knew he had little right, he resented this stranger’s intrusion on his aunt’s home and privacy.
Flipping the envelope over in his hands a few times, Kieran scrutinised it more carefully, searching for a postmark, turning it this way and that – looking for a stamp or post office franking or label. But there was none. He pulled open the front door and peered up and down the street. No sign of a postman or anyone else who could have delivered it either. So as well as wanting to know who John Kilmichael was, Kieran also wondered who’d dropped it through the letterbox.
As he pondered on the delivery, the doorbell went.
“Yes,” he grumbled, peering around the door, conscious he wasn’t even dressed. “Registered mail,” the postman replied in a bored voice, handing him a pen and showing him where to sign.
“Thanks.”
Opening the envelope, he took out a number of documents, sighing at the number of them. Included was a small brown envelope with his name on it, written in Polly’s handwriting.
Just then his mobile phone rang upstairs. He dropped the John Kilmichael package into the drawer of the hall table and made for the stairs, shoving the small brown envelope into the inside pocket of the leather jacket hanging in the hallway as he went. He’d be going out later and would read it then.
If nobody turns up to claim the package, he decided, stretching across the double bed to grab his phone from the bedside locker, I’ll ask Dad about this John Kilmichael when we’re playing golf. He’d surely know Polly’s friends and might be able to shed some light on him. Yes, he thought, he’ll probably know how I can get in contact with him.
Hearing his older sister’s voice on the phone came as quite a surprise. “Charlotte!”
In truth, they rarely kept in contact, their parents being the main link between them, keeping each of them informed of the other’s movements. Of his two sisters, Charlotte was the one he’d always connected with best. She didn’t beat about the bush, didn’t hide her intentions and generally accomplished most of what she set out to do. He’d always admired her for that. Beth, on the other hand, had been spoilt and attention-seeking from the moment she’d entered the world. She was dramatic and childishly impulsive, prepared to blame unfortunate circumstance for her misdemeanours, seldom adult enough to accept responsibility and loath to admit that her poor decision-making had got her into yet another mess.
Getting the usual intro of pleasantries out of the way, Kieran mentally calculated the time difference between Ireland and Canada.
“What on earth are you doing making phone calls in the middle of the night? Is something up?”
“Ah, I couldn’t sleep and I’m toying around with a trip home so readjusting my body clock won’t do me any harm. But there’s something I wanted to talk to you about first.”
He opened his eyes wide at his sister’s announcement, not only amazed that she was considering returning to Ireland but also that she was going to the trouble of telling him personally instead of letting him hear about it through their parents. That in itself was a first. Then, he supposed, he’d hardly been top of her list of priorities when he’d been halfway across the other side of the world. It wasn’t as if her movements affected him very much – apart from the free accommodation she’d given him when he’d arrived unannounced on her doorstep in Toronto.
“Why are you coming back now?”
“Ah, with Aunty Polly and everything, makes you think . . .”
“But I thought you left on a one-way ticket? That you’d left for good? Wasn’t that your intention?” He had a hazy memory of a long, deep and meaningful conversation they’d shared in a Toronto bar, both of them inebriated and well past caring about protecting personal pride. They’d both suffered massive hangovers the following morning, and neither took the plunge to extend the conversation into the cold and sober light of day.
She changed the subject. “From what Mum’s saying you’re planning on sticking around long term. You – the guy who swore hell would freeze over before he’d live in Ireland with its squinting windows and telltale culture ever again.”
There was something about her tone that set off a warning bell in his head. This isn’t a social call, he decided. “No doubt you’ve heard about the inheritance?” he said, cutting short her cat-and-mouse game.
“Mum mentioned it. And says you’re settling in. It must be strange?”
Kieran pondered on her question. Could the feeling of calm that came over him as he stared at the ocean and watched how the water glistened in the sunshine be described as strange? Certainly not, anything but. “I’m going to give it a go anyway, take one day at a time. I owe Polly that much at least.”
“So you are setting down roots – didn’t you say you’d never spend more than six months at the same address?”
“Perhaps I’m maturing. At last. Who’d have thought?”
“It’s a big commitment. Are you sure it’s what you want?”
Ha, he thought. I know why she’s calling me. It’s all making sense. She’s in cahoots with Mum and Beth and she’s been nominated to convince me to share my gains with them. Holding his breath, he worked particularly hard not to rise to her bait and to figure out the best way to respond to her question. The years they’d been apart slipped away, taking him back to when they’d been squabbling kids in their parents’ home. He recognised the defiance in her tone, visualised her bottom lip protruding and imagined the fire emanating from her green eyes. He’d watched her explode often enough, had often been the cause of her rising temper, most often deliberately. Charlotte wasn’t one for holding back.
“Kieran? Are you still there?”
“Spit it out, Charlotte. Be straight with me. If you’ve something to say, just say it.” His transcendent calm was under pressure to survive.
“It’s Beth, she’s at her wit’s end, could do with a dig out – her rightful share – of the place.”
“Rightful share? What the hell!”
“She is – I mean was – depending on it,” Charlotte spelt it out. “Come on, Kieran, she’s worse off than the two of us put together. And you said yourself, you’re not even sure it’s what you want.”
“Whoa there a moment,” Kieran ran a hand through his hair, inhaling sharply. As ever, somebody else’s predicament had to come before his. Didn’t they think he could do with a leg-up in life?
Barely out of bed an hour and already he’d had two surprises. The day was shaping up to be interesting to say the least. It might have helped if he’d had his daily breakfast of strong coffee, cereal and fruit inside him before launching into this particular argument. But that luxury would have to wait.
“Polly’s choices were of her own making. They had nothing to do with me, Charlotte.”
“They have now though,” his sister shot back. “And you’re in a position to help Beth out of a major hole. Don’t you think Aunt Polly would understand? She’d trust you to make choices of your own.”
He ran his hand through his hair. God but he could do without this hassle, yet he was determined not to be railroaded.
“The fact you and Beth couldn’t stand her probably had something to do with the fact she didn’t leave you anything. Ring a bell, Charlotte? Rake up a few memories?” He hadn’t meant to lash out but sometimes the truth was the only option and, in this case, his sisters couldn’t deny the little regard they had for their aunt.
“That’s not true! We respected her.” His sister was indignant.
Kieran scoffed. “Both of you used every possible excuse in the book not to visit and on the odd occasion you made an exception Aunt Polly couldn’t wait to see the back of your spiteful attitude. That nasty undercurrent wasn’t lost on her.”
“Don’t know why we bothered so!”
“She knew only too well that her quirky décor and simple lifestyle was beneath your standards!”
Charlotte’s gasp came down the line. “Says the perfect teenager who kept his dear old aunt awake half the night with loud music and gangs of friends, bringing them to the house even though you’d been told not to!”
Kieran laughed this time. “That’s Mum’s version you’re spinning, Charlotte. Goes to show how little you knew. Polly loved company, always had room for an extra mouth at the table, told me to bring whoever I wanted back, that all my friends were welcome.”
“Easy to say now she’s gone, Kieran.”
He ignored her barb. “She told me over and over to treat the place like home. Comical, really, as that was the last thing I wanted her house to be like – our home! How did you and Beth stick it?”
Charlotte muttered something under her breath, then brought the subject back to the will. “It still doesn’t explain why we’ve been ignored in her will. We’ve the same relationship to her as you. How often did you visit during the last five years?”
But Kieran was on a roll. “Anytime I was home – not enough, I admit, but at least I made a genuine effort. You, on the other hand, turned your nose up at her and refused to hold a conversation she’d be interested in, snapped answers to her questions – and now you want to turn that memory around and make it sound like you were a devoted niece! Don’t make me laugh!”
“You only went to Schull to get away from Mum and Dad, not to mention running wild and flirting with foreign students for the entire school holidays! I can’t see it had anything much to do with a great desire to see Aunt Polly or spend some quality time with her.”
Rubbing a hand across his forehead, Kieran swallowed back resentment. To think when he’d answered the phone, he’d been stupid enough to believe he had a connection with his older sister. Based on this conversation, he reckoned he had as much of a connection with Charlotte as he had with the mysterious John Kilmichael, a faceless man he’d never heard of in his life.
“Kieran, have a re-think about the inheritance. We’ll put it on the market. The area is still very popular. We all know you’d prefer to be riding the highways or sailing the high seas without a care in the world. Keeping your feet in one spot for twelve months is neither who you are nor who you want to be . . .”
“Eleven,” Kieran muttered. He winked at the framed photo of Aunt Polly on the dressing table. She seemed to be looking right at him, willing him to do her bidding and not be diverted from course.
“Sorry? Excuse me?” Charlotte asked.
“Not even eleven months left to be precise,” he determined. “Good few weeks gone already. The twelve-month period started the day of the funeral.”
“You’re counting the weeks! That says enough.”
“And I’ve never been as ready to settle down in one spot as I am now if you want to know the truth. So you can fly home, hire the best solicitor you can and contest the will, do whatever the hell you want, Charlotte, but I won’t be breaking the terms and conditions set down by Aunt Polly. Her dying wish has become my living goal – we’ll call it my mission statement. What I’ll do after the twelve months have elapsed I’ve no idea but for now I’m going nowhere so get used to it! And you can repeat that back to your minions.”
Charlotte fell silent on the other end of the line. His little speech had floored her. She had no further argument. Her brother’s voice returned on the line.
“I’ve got to go, Charlotte. Have a nice day – or do they say something different in Canada?”
“Kieran, don’t be so bloody stubborn. At least think about it for Beth and leave me out of it,” she tried one last time. “I’ve no interest. It’s Beth who needs it.”
Kieran gave a hollow laugh. “Look, I’m enjoying it all the more now I know it’s driving the rest of the Dulhoolys insane.”
“Selfish!” came his older sister’s retort, before the line went dead. She’d broken the connection.
Long after their conversation had ended, Kieran continued to stare through the window, the sense of calmness he’d savoured long gone. Fighting against the suffocation of being cocooned in one place, he watched neighbours passing by outside, some stopping to chat and bid each other the time of day and others rushing along on some mission or other. Was this a life he wanted? Was it a life he could enjoy, knowing his family would stick their noses in his business whether he welcomed it or not? Kieran’s doubts were returning, fighting for a place in his head over so many other emotions. Glancing at the photograph, he picked it up and stared at his aunt. What do you want from me, Polly, he asked silently?
Up to now, he’d been enjoying his return to Schull, feeling he actually belonged somewhere, a place he loved. Being with Jess and Greg had stirred something inside him. Life on the road – or on the run as he was sometimes accused – had been amazing, and no doubt could be again. But if he bailed on Aunt Polly’s challenge now, he knew he’d live to regret it. And he’d carry the guilt of not giving it a decent shot with him. Maybe one day he’d return to that lifestyle but for now it would be put on hold.
He was well aware that his telephone conversation with his sister would be relayed to Beth and his mother. He didn’t doubt he had entered into Battle Stage 1 for Number 5 Pier Road. The Dulhooly family were anything but shrinking violets. He’d be confronting them en masse, his father included he suspected. Although Charlotte hadn’t mentioned him.
On my own again, it seems, Kieran sighed, his spirits lifting when he noticed Greg and Jess on the street below. He pulled open the window and leaned out, calling to them and beckoning to them to come in. Company for breakfast was exactly what he needed to take his mind off his family. It was only when Greg started pointing and mother and son burst into laughter as they stared up at him that Kieran realised that his Bart Simpson boxers were on full view – much tighter than they should be thanks to his lack of understanding of Aunt Polly’s ancient washing machine!
Definitely a crazy day ahead, he thought, grabbing the nearest pair of jeans, a T-shirt and a hooded sweatshirt and pulling them on before running down the stairs to open the door to his amused guests.
Chapter 17
Charlotte was livid when she got off the phone. Livid with herself.
Prancing around her apartment, giving up any intention she had of dropping to the floor and doing her morning routine of press-ups followed by gruelling tummy crunches, she hovered near the drinks cabinet, reluctantly moving away a moment later without succumbing to the temptation of opening it. Pouring a double or treble whiskey on the rocks held so much appeal. But she didn’t trust herself to stop at one and neither did she relish the probable consequences. Arriving into HSBC intoxicated and applying a fuzzy brain to the management of million and billion-dollar corporate accounts would horrify her colleagues, not to mention her clients.
Morning televisio
n did little to distract from her frustration. The smiling blonde presenter’s scripted speech irritated her as she listened to her fake enthusiasm droning on about the perks of Canadian winters, emphasising the tourist advantages of ski resorts and mountain adventures.
The phone call to Kieran had gone any way but the way she’d hoped. And in truth, she only had herself to blame. I should have given it more thought, she realised, grabbing the remote control and flicking through the channels, making the smiley blonde and the snow-capped peaks disappear from the large flat screen.
Beth’s desperation when they’d spoken on the phone, combined with Marian’s dramatic plea to challenge Kieran’s inheritance had put her under pressure. But looking back she realised she’d omitted one very important factor before dialling her brother’s mobile number. She had neglected to consider her brother’s feelings. She could see that now – bright and clear – when it was too late to undo their conversation.
Seething that she’d totally ignored Kieran’s perspective and jumped straight to Beth’s defence without giving any time or attention to his feelings, she knew that given another chance she’d handle the situation very differently.