by Mary Malone
For all my supposed business acumen and tact in the boardroom, I’d want to work on applying the same precision to personal situations. I could at least have congratulated him, shown him a bit of understanding and put out feelers about Beth’s financial problems. He might have volunteered a bit of help or support that could have made a huge difference.
She pressed frantically on the buttons of the remote control to find a less irritating programme. Putting myself in his shoes for a moment would have helped me see things from all sides, she thought, flying through the channels in a blur, barely letting them set on the screen before flicking ahead again. What do I know about his life or dreams any more? He’s no longer the wild teenager who’d stop at nothing to have some fun. Maturity has more than likely changed him, as it has me.
Her mind drifted back to the enjoyable few days they’d shared when he’d travelled around the east coast of Canada and stayed a few nights in her apartment. He’d been good company, had shown her tremendous support as he’d listened to her pour her heart out, never once displaying a modicum of criticism as she explained how her manipulating behaviour had put her in an impossibly dangerous situation and she’d been lucky to escape with her life.
Feeling an uneasy ripple of guilt coursing through her, Charlotte’s face flushed. Had she not learned anything from the horrific experience she’d suffered literally in Philip Lord’s hands? Other peoples’ emotions weren’t playthings. She deeply regretted her accusing words to Kieran, cringing inwardly as she remembered her nasty insinuations, the way she’d belittled his close attachment to Polly. She’d displayed no concern at all for his feelings. How could she blame him for being defensive – what other way could she have expected him to react?
She put her head in her hands and groaned. Bringing her channel-surf to a stop on a music channel, she increased the volume significantly and watched Adele performing ‘Setting Fire to the Rain’.
As Charlotte’s body swayed in time to the music, her mind devised a way of making things up to her brother.
She tossed the remote away from her. What a bitch I was to him, she thought. Why on earth should he turn his back on the inheritance? Why should he step back from good fortune? Would Beth? Would I? Highly unlikely. And Kieran wouldn’t expect it from us.
Having come to a decision that she knew would infuriate her mother and sister, she took her exercise mat from behind the couch and dropped it on the wooden floor.
Throwing herself into her morning exercise routine with gusto, Charlotte couldn’t get Kieran from her mind. Looking back on their sibling relationship she remembered how they’d adored each other in equal measure before Beth had burst into the world, bawling and screaming and demanding more attention than normally required by an infant. Four years older than Kieran – sensible and mature for her age, used to a predominantly adult world – Charlotte had assumed the role of protector the moment she’d laid eyes on her little brother. Barely bigger than her favourite doll, she’d fallen instantly in love, his arrival brightening her world and turning a shy and introvert little girl into a devoted big sister.
Content to be the apple of his big sister’s eye and claim her attention as he progressed from infant to toddler, Kieran hadn’t put up much objection to her incessant fussing – at least not while it suited him to have her as his personal playmate, at his beck and call for every whim. Their stints playing doctors and nurses gave them endless hours of entertainment, with him receiving pretend injections, tittering when the blunt ‘syringe’ tickled his soft skin. His turn at being doctor invariably involved cutting open some part of Charlotte’s anatomy with a plastic knife from her doll’s house. His giggles could be heard throughout the house when he ran after his patient, his chubby legs struggling to catch her, the gun and holster buckled around his waist weighing him down. And after a marathon session of cutting her open, followed by a major bandaging drama with one of Marian’s clean tea-towels, he’d pull his gun from his holster, aim and fire! Charlotte, needless to say, dropped to the ground and lay completely still as any good victim would.
On the days Charlotte was in school, Kieran missed her company and waited eagerly with his mum at the school gates. He was beside himself when his adored sister emerged, seeing it as his excuse to jump out of the buggy and grab her hand so the fun would begin all over again. She never disappointed, every day bringing a new adventure, their bond tightening all the while.
Charlotte exhaled slowly as she flexed first one foot and then the other, stretching her arms and touching her toes, feeling the strain behind her knees until her legs trembled and she rolled on to her side to begin a series of leg lifts, ignoring the strain on her muscles as she remembered Beth’s arrival. A little more than two months after Kieran’s second birthday, she’d arrived into the world with screaming attitude and strong lungs, her presence turning the Dulhooly serenity on its head and drawing a halt to their fun-filled hours. Doubled over with colic pain, her stomach cramping, Beth wailed day and night. Her demands exhausted Marian, changing her from a caring, carefree mother to a snappy, impatient crank who was constantly exhausted. Tension built in the house, nobody escaping its wrath, tempers frazzled and arguments regularly brewing. Detesting returning to a stressful household, the number of hours Frank spent at home shrank on a continuous basis, his relationship with his children deteriorating with his increased absence. His working day lengthened, his hours on the golf course even more so. Playing a four-ball when he was supposedly working late became a regular excuse.
Struggling to cope in his absence, an embittered Marian begged the six-year-old Charlotte to take her younger sister in her lap and pay her some attention at any given opportunity, leaving her very little time to entertain Kieran.
Quickly realising that his playmate had shifted her attention to the red-faced screaming baby who’d entered their household and ruined everything, Kieran made a brief attempt to secure attention from his mother. But soon tiring of her abrupt dismissals, he gradually mastered the task of self-entertainment, content to receive the odd word of praise when the others – anyone, in fact – had a moment to notice him. The more attention Beth demanded, the less Kieran expected to receive, his independent streak a natural development in the circumstances.
Panting for breath, Charlotte took a break to get a glass of iced water, mopping the perspiration from her face with a towel before taking a long cold drink. She watched the sun making its first appearance of the morning and her stomach sank as she recognised the connection between present and past. Once more, as per her mother’s instructions, she was being pushed to silence Beth’s screams. Regardless.
She turned and spilled the remaining water down the sink, watching it bubble before disappearing down the plughole – a bit like her relationship with Kieran if she allowed it to disintegrate again, like it had when her baby sister came into the world. At six years of age, she’d been too young to understand the damage Beth’s interference and her mother’s instructions had done to her fun-filled relationship with Kieran.
Shaking out her arms and legs, she began her cool-down regime, inhaling a deep breath, stretching her arms high over her head and holding the position for a count of twenty. I’m not six any more, she thought, dropping her arms and exhaling slowly before repeating the exercise three more times. And I have a mind of my own to use as I see fit, something she’d proven to herself on numerous occasions since emigrating – or running – to Canada.
As she peeled off her lycra shorts and top, she considered calling Kieran back to apologise and explain her change of heart. But then she decided against it. The mood he’d been in, he probably wouldn’t believe her anyway. Instead she stepped into the shower and allowed the power jets do their job, her body savouring the familiar tingling as the warm water bounced against her skin.
Beth and Marian wouldn’t understand her change of heart so she’d play along as though she were going to support their objection to the will. Her brother deserved family support instead of t
he stab in the back they were planning for him. And in the absence of anyone else, she’d see he got it.
Chapter 18
A family who had lived independent lives up to the time of Polly’s will reading, the Dulhoolys were more than making up for lack of contact. In an attempt to have an honest conversation with his son, Frank had collected him early that morning, taken him to Bantry for breakfast and then driven to Bantry Golf Club.
Out on the course, Frank winced as he watched Kieran’s clumsy efforts.
“Try this club, might be better for you,” he said.
Kieran took the second club from his father. “The fault lies with the player not the clubs, Dad,” he laughed. “I haven’t set foot on a golf course in years. And it shows!”
“Time to remedy that then.” Frank flinched as he watched his son swing the club. “Bring your hands closer together. It’s not a hurley you’re swinging!”
“I’m a long way from being a pro like you, Dad! A lot of hours to clock up.”
“I’ll have to organise a few lessons for you.”
Kieran laughed at his father’s eagerness. “Are you trying to make yourself look good, dragging me around the green behind you?” His club connected with the ball but unfortunately it veered to the right of his target, his father’s sharp intake of breath speaking multitudes.
“Just thought it’d be nice to share a game now and then.” Frank took his shot with ease and accuracy, following the ball with his eye until it dropped on to the green and rolled close to the hole. “And it’s easier to talk without your mother constantly badgering on about the will.”
“Beth hasn’t approached me for help, Dad. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen much of her, not since the funeral. I get the feeling she’s avoiding me.”
Frank took a towel from his golf bag and cleaned his club. “She’s been badgering the rest of us about it instead, probably afraid you’ll shoot her down if she asks. She has always been a bit spoilt, not great at making decisions.”
“If she can wait until the year’s up, I’ll do what I can. But my hands are tied until then. They’ll have to find another way to get out of their mess.”
“My sentiments entirely. As for Carl – another example of her decision-making – he’d want a shake. Going around as if he hasn’t a care in the world, leaving Beth to do all the worrying.”
“Can’t say I’ve seen much of him, wouldn’t really know him.”
“You and me both! But what I do know is enough.”
Kieran followed his father along the course, admiring the magnificent grounds, the vivid green grass reminding him of his intentions to get the gardens in order at Number 5. “Talk about hitting the ball off focus,” Kieran laughed, stopping to line up his next shot, holding his hands closer together as per Frank’s instruction and glancing from the ball to the flag.
“Just to be clear, Marian and Beth know exactly where I stand on the situation and without me – whoa, that’s not a bad shot at all, lad!” Frank said, diverting from what he’d been about to say as Kieran’s shot travelled towards the hole. “A few lessons and plenty of practice and you’ll be a worthy opponent in no time!”
“Don’t get carried away, Dad! Beginner’s luck, that’s all. Give me a few hours’ sailing around the coastline any day!”
“Hi, John,” Frank said to one of the men in a nearby group who were waiting to tee-off.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Kieran said as they moved towards the next hole. “You ever hear Polly mention a person by the name of John Kilmichael?”
Frank let go of the hold he had on his golf bag, ignoring the sound of clubs clinking against each other as it dropped on the ground, his face turning a shade of grey. “Don’t tell me that bastard has been mooching around?”
Taken aback by the shocked reaction, Kieran put a hand on his father’s arm, his eyes filled with concern. “Take it easy, Dad. I haven’t seen him. Nobody has called. A package arrived in his name and I was wondering how to get in contact with him to pass it on. That’s all.”
Frank stooped to pick up his bag, stumbling slightly on his feet as he did so.
“Let me, Dad.” Kieran picked up the bag for him.
“Don’t encourage him around the place,” Frank instructed, fiddling with the strap of the leather bag. “He’s bad news. Polly should have left well enough alone.”
“But who is he?” Kieran was intrigued.
There was a silence. Frank stared into space.
“Dad?”
“Let’s just say, Polly took Kilmichael under her wing some time back.” He stared into the distance, his eyes narrowing, a pensive look on his face. “Against my better wishes I might add.”
“Took him under her wing! Where did she meet him? Were they, eh, you know?” Kieran took extra time positioning his tee, finding it difficult to verbalise his question. Imagining Polly in a relationship felt a little strange. “She hardly befriended some random stranger?” he asked finally.
“It’ll be dark before we get to the eighteenth at this stage,” Frank complained, misjudging his next shot entirely and cursing as the ball went into the rough area. He had sidestepped Kieran’s question.
“That’s all you’re going to tell me?”
“Another time, son. As you can see the mere mention of him is already putting me off my game.”
Kieran badgered him further, refusing to accept that the subject was closed, feeling that Frank’s reluctance to talk about Kilmichael was creating far more intrigue than an explanation ever could. But his questions fell on deaf ears and Frank ignored them. Eventually his son relented and allowed him to continue with the game in peace.
“Cheers for springing for the round, Dad,” he said as they drew up outside Polly’s house, “and for almost letting me beat you in those last few holes!” Noticing the concern still lingering on his father’s face, he nudged him with his elbow. “I enjoyed the morning. Want to come in for a drink or coffee?”
Frank shook his head. “I’ve a few things to get back to,” he explained. “But whatever you do, Kieran, don’t encourage John Kilmichael. Promise me you won’t. In fact, don’t even tell him she passed . . . don’t tell him she’s dead. Just get rid of him as quickly as you can.”
“If I get to meet him, I’ll keep that in mind but so far all I have is his post. But if he does come knocking, I’ll be at a loss unless you tell me what the hell’s going on.” He got out of the car, letting the door close gently behind him.
Frank clutched the steering wheel in a tight grip, chewing on his inside lip and gazing at his sister’s house. Shifting the gear lever, he put the car in first gear, his foot on the clutch so it wouldn’t jump forward. After another moment’s thought, he leaned across and lowered the passenger window.
“Kieran, wait!” he called, beckoning him to come back to the car window. Watching his son double back he continued to stare at Number 5, remembering his sister taking him into her confidence, and pausing a few further moments as he made up his mind about sharing her secret with Kieran.
Crouched down on his hunkers, Kieran put his head in the window to hear why his father had called him back. “Dad?” he prompted. “Was there something you wanted to tell me?”
“John Kilmichael is Polly’s son. He lives in Dublin and turns up here now and again – he’s a sales rep.”
Kieran’s mouth dropped open and he almost lost his balance at his father’s announcement, regaining it before he toppled onto the concrete. Staring in disbelief at his father, their eyes met in the dimming light. Kieran knew Frank was telling the truth.
“No way! And I’m only finding out now, like this? You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“Do you see me laughing?” Frank asked gravely.
“But why didn’t she leave the house to him? Her son! That precedes a nephew who hasn’t visited in quite a while! But where has he been all these years? Why did you keep it a secret from me? Who else knows?”
“A story for another day, son. I e
njoyed the golf – pity this had to spoil it though.”
“But Dad, come on, what aren’t you telling me? And who’s the father?”
Frank evaded Kieran’s last question. “Polly lied to John. She never told him he was her son.”
“What? She never told him!”
“No. And neither can you.”
“Me? Unlikely, seeing as I’ve never met him!”
“Kieran, listen to me: only you and I know about his relationship to Polly. And I’d like it to be kept that way!”
“So you’ve kept this from Mum too? But she must have known Polly was pregnant?”
“No. Polly took care no one did.”
“But why is it such a scandal? We’re no longer in the Dark Ages and Polly was one of the most liberated, broad-minded women I ever knew!” This form of underhanded behaviour didn’t match the aunt he’d known and loved.
“Circumstance can lead to difficult choices, Kieran. Over forty years ago, times were very different. And so were social attitudes.”
His father’s words went around in his head, his confusion lingering long after Frank had pulled away from the kerb. Remembering his father’s reaction to his announcement that Kilmichael’s post had landed in Number 5 had been a huge eye-opener for Kieran. Exploding in such a fashion was out of character for Frank, maintaining control and keeping emotions under wraps more his usual behaviour.
Why wouldn’t his father elaborate and tell him the full story? Why the big mystery? He tried to imagine what kind of relationship Polly had built with John Kilmichael. On what premise had she welcomed him into her life? Mystifying to say the least.