by Brothers
‘Louise, I’m not a total prick, I wanted to stay in Dublin, with you, I didn’t want to come back but I thought I’d be able to hold McCarthy off, leave you to spend some time with Alex. You had just talked about how much you missed her and that you didn’t see enough of her.’
‘You could have said more in your text though, or why the hell couldn’t you have just come back to the restaurant and told me to my face, for Christ’s sake, you just disappeared, left me like a jilted sixteen-year-old.’
‘Part of me knew you would have insisted on coming with me and I didn’t want you missing out on time with your sister.’ He fumbled with the window lock and gave up, opting instead to unlock the double back doors. A bracing breeze swirled in around them when he opened it, lifting a bundle of newspapers and scattering them across the room. ‘Shit,’ he said.
‘Close the door.’ Louise giggled as she leapt to gather up what she could. Sheets of paper fluttered around the room. ‘Talk about throwing caution to the wind.’ She laughed and Kelly joined her. ‘There is so much wrong with what you have just said, I don’t know where to start.’ Louise bent in front of the table and scrunched up the last sheet that had blown away.
‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll find a way.’
‘Well, for a start…’
‘You see, I told you you’d find a way.’ Kelly smirked.
‘Will you shut up and listen, Jesus, you can be annoying,’ Louise said. ‘A mysterious text and disappearing act is not okay, not one hour after we have just spent the evening in bed, not ever.’ Louise pointed to her first finger. ‘Secondly, you don’t get to make decisions for me, I do very well making my own.’ She pointed to her second finger. ‘The next time, you don’t do either of those, wait, what was the story with McCarthy about the car then?’
‘I was nearly back in Kilkenny and I still hadn’t thought of a good reason to tell McCarthy why you didn’t come back with me, so I pulled in and texted him from the side of the road, told him we’d be a bit late, that the car had broken down.’
‘But why did he say then, that he waited and we didn’t show?’
‘Well I tormented him at bit.’ He couldn’t control the grin that formed on his face. ‘I sort of kept the texts going and made him wait in the station for us, knowing I had no intention of showing up. I’d text him every half hour or so. He must have got pissed off around one and then went home.’
‘Are you serious, well then why did you bother going down in the first place.’
‘Ah, I only thought of it when I was nearly there, and besides, he might have called my bluff.’
‘You are devious, taking advantage of the man’s good nature.’ Sarcasm came easy to Louise, especially when she spoke about the Inspector.
‘Well he deserved it; he ruined my night, so I wanted to ruin his.’
‘Well, I had to get a train from Heuston station because you abandoned me. In Dublin.’
‘Abandoned you, what are you, a puppy?’ Kelly couldn’t help but laugh at her. His voice was much softer now as he realised the mess he had made of everything.
‘Well, I still can’t get over the fact that you decided not to tell me that McCarthy wanted me back in the station, that you were protecting me or something?’
‘Seriously, does every argument have to turn into a sexist rant with you, I was just trying to do something nice for you, I wasn’t trying to protect you, I promise.’ His voice trailed off softly. ‘So I don’t want to protect you then, is that better.’ He stepped a little closer to where she stood and placed the remaining three newspaper sheets down out of his hands.
‘Well, I don’t know.’ Louise moved closer to him as she spoke. ‘I think it’s you that’s going to need protecting.’
‘Okay, then can we establish that it is you who will protect me if there is any protecting to be done.’ Tentatively he reached for her, it had been torture not to be able to touch her.
She didn’t push him away. ‘Well, in the interest of fairness then, seeing as you protected me the other night, it’s only fair that I protect you now.’ Louise softened her body against his. He wrapped his arms around her waist and brushed the ringlets of black hair that had fallen from her ponytail back behind her ears.
‘I’m all yours for protecting,’ he said.
‘That’s the type of submissive attitude that I want to hear more of,’ she said.
He took her by the hand and led her upstairs. He stopped to kick off his shoes at the bottom step. ‘New carpets.’ He smiled and she slipped out of her shoes as well. She followed him up the stairs. ‘And if there are any more comments out of you about the style of my house or the type of décor that you just didn’t expect from me when you go inside my bedroom, I’ll put you out.’
‘Oh,’ she laughed. ‘I’m really excited now to see your bedroom, is it all silk sheets and velour pillows?’ She joked; he didn’t answer. ‘Would you really put me out though?’ she asked outside his door.
‘Well, maybe not straight away.’ He pushed back his bedroom door and pulled her inside.
Chapter 31
Sunday Morning – 2016
It took Rose a moment to remember where she was, when she woke. With the wall-to-wall damask curtains closed, the plush hotel room was in darkness. She concentrated on opening her eyes, flickering as a sliver of light crept through a parting at the top, casting an elongated ray over the foot of her bed. She closed her eyes again, adjusting to the brightness. The bizarre events of the funeral, meeting Michael and his family and returning to the hotel played on a loop in her head, like an old familiar advertisement, the accompanying jingle being the warm tones of his, her secret son’s, deep voice. Rose, I’m so glad you could come, he had said. She was heady with joy, a feeling that she never thought she could associate with Kilkenny or anyone who lived there. She dissected every word that was spoken and every gesture that was made, every expression on his face, reliving the first time she had met her son, over and over again. A cesspool of murky memories drained, scrubbed and power-washed, and in its place the fresh sparkling waters of Michael, a reason for it all, a purpose for all her pain. She flicked her eyes open again, lasting a little longer this time.
Secretly allowing herself some of the credit, she thought about how handsome and strong Michael was and how relaxed he appeared, surrounded by his beautiful little family. She had listened carefully to Michael and Marie as they retold anecdotal stories of the events throughout the years, searching wildly for any clue of his life that might have been similar to hers or, dare she say it, because of her. She was fascinated by the man. He seemed cool, calm and collected. She wondered for a moment would it ever have been possible to be his mother. Would it ever have been possible for him to have known her as his mother without him having to get hurt? No matter how many times she wondered, she always came to the same conclusion. He was better off because she left him. They both were. Pragmatism couldn’t be argued with.
Stretching, she pressed her foot against the weight of the woollen throw at the bottom of the bed and kicked down the crisp white linen covers. ‘Bloody legs,’ she said out loud, her mouth dry and tacky. She was becoming used to the dreaded sense of tiredness that she felt every time she woke, and like a tsunami, it descended upon her in slow motion, creeping stealthily through her body; her muscles refusing to work the way she wished them to, ignoring her commands. Her concoction of pills lay prepared in their individual compartments by the bed with a bottle of water. As had become the norm, she needed to take the blue ones as soon as she woke, to get the best effect for the day.
Rolling her heavy legs to the side of the bed, she urged her torso to sit up, helping herself by pulling at the sheets. Satin pyjamas, her secret weapon when it came to being able to move under sheets, helped her to slide her limbs across to the edge; her strength alone, not enough to move them. She was already exhausted. It was ten, she noticed from the clock on the TV.
She wished she could jump up and throw back the curtains and open th
e windows wide. She sat silently, listening for rain; she couldn’t hear it. She heard the sounds of heavy doors swishing open along the corridor and the gentle clunk and thump as they closed. The patter of feet, both large and small drummed lowly on the mink wool carpet by her door and faint excited voices slipped through the keyhole as shadows peeked across the threshold. Tim and Robert would have already eaten breakfast, she suspected, and knowing Robert, he would have Tim out in the gardens by now. She smiled as she imagined Robert’s exasperation at Tim’s disinterest.
It had been surreal having both her beautiful daughter and her secret son in the old farm house on Fitzpatrick Estate. Lizzie and Michael in the same room, she could never have imagined it. The farm now owned by her son Michael. A question, no doubt that she would still have to answer, if Detective Kelly had anything to do with it. The extraordinary circumstances were almost implausible. However the stars had aligned, she didn’t know, but the four-pound-sized hole in her heart had been filled. Not that she would, but if she told someone what had happened, they would never believe her.
She was glad she had decided to decline the breakfast invitation, knowing how long it would take her to get a shower and prepare for the day; she had taken the pressure off by bowing out of any morning get-together well in advance.
She steadied herself in a sitting position at the side of the massive four-poster bed; the morning dizziness rendering her momentarily immobile. Her first morning tablet would soon rectify that, she thought. It was her hands that let her down the most though, she noticed; once dexterous and strong, now frail and spindly. She fiddled, tediously with the stubborn water bottle top, screwed tight, defying what little strength she had. ‘I should have poured a glass last night,’ she rebuked herself, criticising her lack of forethought.
‘Bloody hands.’ Growing exasperated with the unopened bottle, Rose threw it on the bed. Frustrated, tears escaped from her eyes. With a deep sigh she resigned to lying back against the pillows. It wouldn’t have taken much to use her phone. She could have called someone and they could have done it for her but she just didn’t want to. She lay uncomfortably in silence as the waterworks continued down her cheeks, wishing that the heavy wall of curtains would disappear and her room would be filled with brightness and air.
‘Right, I hear you.’ She spoke again to the room. She liked to imagine Matt was speaking to her. He wouldn’t have allowed the pity party. Determinedly, she tried the bottle again, still to no avail. ‘Bloody thing.’ The first tablet of the day was her lifeline, the pill that helped her with her blood pressure and helped dispel the dizziness, without it, it would take her an age to right herself. She attempted to sit upright at the side of the bed. It was always the mornings when she was at her worst and her symptoms the most pronounced, by lunch, she’d be a little more energetic, more like herself. Which is why, she supposed, she was able to keep it from Tim for so long. ‘Right, this time.’ She forced the bottle top with all her might, but she still wasn’t strong enough. She closed the lid on her pill box, clasped it in her hands and neglecting her better judgement, she pushed herself to her feet, water from the bathroom tap would have to suffice. Her right foot slapped on the ground as she took the barefooted steps on the carpet, there were only seven to the bathroom door. She hoped she would make it.
A rush of pressure exploded in her head, her blood pressure plummeted, undermining her ability to continue. She lunged for a desk chair and sat with her head between her knees. There were only two steps left.
‘Blooming nuisance,’ she exclaimed as she felt the dizziness abate somewhat. As she sat with her head towards her lap, she could feel the pressure ease and a gentle tingling spark across her skin. She reached from where she sat and switched the bathroom light on. The door was slightly ajar and the extractor began to hum. Pushing the door with her foot, the light flooded into the room. The toilet seat was down, she noticed. She could reach the tap if she sat there.
Short of breath from her exertion, she pulled herself again to a stand. Her satin pyjamas clung to her clammy pale skin. Relentlessly, her blood rushed again from her head as though somebody had left a valve open in her toe. As best she could, she continued, her flat foot dragging on the ground. Feeling the cold tiled floor underneath her bare foot, she lunged to the toilet seat to try and sit down. The tingling numbness that started in her lips danced across her skin like a flame across paper, its heat searing her chest. A thumping pain of pressure rolled heavily from her head down her spine as she struggled, with all the strength she could muster, to pry open her eyes. Her vision made the ground sway and when the tiles rose up to meet her, her hands hung like heavy curtains, draped frozen by her side, her pills clenched inside of them. She screamed at them to move but they disobeyed her commands, immovable by desire alone. Slowly, she felt her body thud to the ground.
A warm wetness oozed around her legs as her skin prickled on the cold tiled floor. She opened her eyes and gasped for breath, like the last gasp of someone drowning. Pain pricked on her eyes like sandpaper, blurring everything in her sight, her focus skewed and irregular. Instinctively, she grasped to her face, her arm finally obeying the command her brain had sent moments ago. Everything felt wet, viscous. Her stomach began to retch, deep constricted strains in quick succession. Bile erupted and flowed like lava from the corner of her mouth as she lay on her side; each surging spasm chucking out watery bile. Her eyelids grew heavy and a pungent smell drifted up her nose. A trickle of hot, viscous blood crept across the laneways of grout to the left and right. Tinged with yellow, the red liquid became brown and congregated in a pool just in front of her. Swallowing, she could taste it, almost metal like. Her eyelids flickered open and shut. Her body shivered, it was cold on the tiles. She allowed herself to drift asleep. She didn’t feel any pain.
Chapter 32
Sunday Afternoon – 2016
A collection of papers were strewn across the sofas as Tim and Robert each sipped coffee from the hotel’s mugs. They sat in contented silence at either end of the sumptuous sofas in a cosy corner of the lobby.
‘Morning gorgeous uncles.’ Lizzie leaned in, kissing them both in succession. ‘Have you had breakfast?’ she asked.
‘Afternoon, you mean,’ Tim stretched his cheek upwards. ‘And yes, we have, you?’
‘No, actually, I was going to meet a friend, if that’s okay?’ she said, reluctant to elaborate. She decided to meet Lucas at his hotel, just a short walk away. ‘At twelve actually,’ she added, looking at the large brass clock on the metallic silver wallpaper behind the reception desk. ‘I was hoping to see Mum before I went though.’ She looked expectantly at her uncles. ‘She not down yet?’
‘No sign yet.’ Tim looked under his glasses as he creased the paper back into its folds. ‘But, she did say she wouldn’t be down for breakfast and we have a late checkout so there’s no rush. We’ll probably grab some lunch here before we hit the road.’ Robert nodded in agreement.
‘Any coffee left in that pot?’ She reached to lift the silver pot to check its weight. ‘I have ten minutes before I leave,’ she said.
‘Sure,’ Tim said, watching her as she poured. ‘What did you think of the house yesterday?’ Tim noted the happy expression on her face.
‘Oh, there are no words, amazing, I loved it,’ she said. ‘I wish I had known it before, you know, you and mum sold it, I could see myself, all lady of the manor, there’, she smiled. ‘But I don’t think I could have stayed there full time, it would have had to be the country residence’, she smiled.
‘I thought you would have loved it, all right,’ Tim said. He knew she had a passion for all things interior, especially design.
‘Well actually,’ she paused, ‘I did want to do a little more research before I said anything.’ She looked excitedly at Robert and then to Tim. ‘But I was thinking I might,’ she hesitated, ‘go back to college in Dublin, maybe do a course in architecture, interior design, something along those lines?’ she said, her insecurity evident in the t
one of her voice. ‘And Mum’s been through so much this past year what with losing Dad, now this diagnosis, the more I think about it, the more it feels right.’ Her face was alight with excitement. ‘That’s why I wanted to speak to Mum, see what she thinks,’ Lizzie said. She glanced at the clock again. ‘Actually, I’m surprised she’s not down yet,’ she said.
Tim turned his wrist to check his watch. ‘Not like her to sleep in, although she is still getting used to the medication. The tablets have her all over the place,’ he said. His expression changed. ‘Hmm.’
‘Maybe she had fallen back asleep?’ Lizzie offered. It was so unlike Rose to be late. ‘I’ll ring her and see.’ As Lizzie dialled her number, an ominous feeling came over her. ‘No answer,’ she said, slightly alarmed. ‘I think I’ll go up and see what’s keeping her.’ Already deciding she wasn’t waiting for the call to be answered. She rushed to the lift.
‘I’ll come with you.’ Tim already on his feet, behind her. ‘Do you have a key for the door?’
‘No,’ she answered.
‘You go. I’ll get a key from reception. I’ll follow you up.’
Lizzie took the lift and pressed the button for her mother’s floor. She slithered in, just as the doors glided shut.
Robert gathered up whatever had been abandoned and met Tim at the reception desk. It hadn’t taken long to convince the receptionist to call someone more superior. Tim managed to remain calm. He supposed that maybe he might be overreacting, but overreacted anyway.
‘I can’t give you the room key but I can use mine to enter if needs be,’ the manager explained calmly. It was just past twelve, Robert noted from the clock behind the reception desk.
Tim, Robert and the manager made their way to the lift, none of them able to speak.
Lizzie stepped out onto the floor and quickened her step towards her mother’s room, her face creased with worry. Her heart raced as she knocked on her mother’s door.