Things We Never Say

by Sheila O'Flanagan

  Wouldn’t miss it, she lied in response to Zoey’s message. Am sure will be the event of the year.

  She closed her laptop. Gareth had fallen asleep on the sofa beside her. She leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. But she couldn’t sleep herself. There were too many worries still whirring around in her head for that.

  Chapter 13

  Abbey told Ryan Gilligan that she’d go to Ireland and meet Fred Fitzpatrick, but not before Pete and Claudia arrived home from the Caribbean at the weekend.

  ‘I’m house-sitting,’ she explained. ‘And dog-sitting. I can’t just walk out.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Ryan. ‘Mr Fitzpatrick will be delighted. I’ll try to organise flights for as soon as possible. My client …’ He broke off and considered for a moment before continuing. ‘I should stop saying “my client” and call him your grandfather, shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Whatever.’

  ‘Anyway, he’ll be delighted to see you, and the sooner the better.’

  ‘I guess it’s costing him a fortune keeping you here,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s OK. I’m not on billable hours this week.’

  ‘You’re on vacation?’ Abbey grinned at him. ‘I should show you a bit of the city in that case.’

  ‘I’ve done the bus tour,’ Ryan said.

  ‘I guess that takes in most of it,’ agreed Abbey. ‘Have you been to the Rock yet?’

  ‘No. I’ve seen the movie, though. As well as Escape from Alcatraz and the TV series,’ he added.

  ‘It’s my favourite place,’ she told him. ‘You should come with me. I’ll try to get tickets for tomorrow.’

  ‘OK,’ said Ryan. ‘Should be fun.’

  As the ferry docked at the island, Ryan remarked that the chill breezes and damp mists that the brochures had threatened hadn’t materialised and that the heavy fleece he’d brought with him was totally unnecessary.

  ‘People like to think of Alcatraz as cold and grim.’ Abbey glanced down at her T-shirt and capris. ‘But sometimes it can be warm and welcoming.’

  They turned towards the prison block and Ryan murmured that welcoming wasn’t exactly the word he’d use for it. It was smaller than he’d imagined, he told her. And cramped.

  ‘It’s like stepping back in time,’ she said. ‘That’s why I like it. It doesn’t matter that the world has changed so much outside; in here it’s always 1963.’

  ‘And you prefer the past?’ asked Ryan as he looked at the breakfast menu (assorted cereals, steamed wheat, scrambled eggs, stewed fruit and toast) for 21 March 1963, the day on which Robert Kennedy had ordered the closure of the prison.

  ‘No,’ said Abbey. ‘But I think it’s important.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Ryan. ‘So does Mr Fitzpatrick.’

  She glanced at him, but he was still staring at the menu.

  Ellen would’ve been five years old when the men in the prison were tucking into that breakfast, thought Abbey as she looked at it too. She’d have been in Boston, with Gramma and Gramps, not knowing that in Ireland there was another family waiting for her. Or not, obviously. She chided herself for being sentimental. The Fitzpatrick family hadn’t been waiting for Ellen. Only Mr Fitzpatrick had even known of her existence, and he’d conveniently forgotten about her until now.

  She shivered.

  ‘Cold?’ There was a mixture of concern and surprise in Ryan’s voice.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Just, you know, thinking.’

  ‘Come on.’ He led her out of the prison block and into the fresh air. The sun scorched down from the cloudless blue sky as they walked to one of the walls and stared back across the bay towards the city.

  ‘It’s emotional,’ said Ryan.

  ‘You’re the first person who’s come here with me to ever say that.’

  ‘Of course it’s emotional,’ he said. ‘To be so near and yet so far … but,’ he added briskly, ‘they were hardened criminals and deserved it.’

  ‘That’s what Pete says too.’

  ‘I think I’m going to like Pete,’ said Ryan.

  And Abbey couldn’t help thinking that Pete would probably like Ryan too. He was an easy person to like.

  ‘Stay there,’ she said suddenly.

  ‘Why?’

  She opened her bag and took out a notebook and pencil.

  ‘Don’t move,’ she ordered. ‘Keep looking in that direction.’

  Her pencil raced over the paper while, in between shooting glances in her direction, Ryan stared out over the bay. After a few minutes she stopped, tore out the page and handed it to him. He looked at it and then at her, a surprised expression on his face.

  ‘This is brilliant,’ he said. ‘Really good. Although I didn’t think you saw me quite like that.’

  She’d drawn him as a prisoner, staring across the water, a pensive expression on his face.

  ‘When we were first talking about my mom, you had that expression on your face,’ she said. ‘And suddenly it came back to me and I wanted to capture it.’

  ‘You’re very talented.’

  ‘Adequately talented,’ she told him. ‘Anyway, I did it as a present for you. For being good company.’

  ‘I’ve enjoyed the company too.’ He looked from her to the drawing and then at the dilapidated prison block. But he didn’t say anything else.

  As she’d already suspected, Pete and Ryan got on well together from the moment she introduced them. Pete quizzed the Irishman on his background, and Ryan explained that although he had a legal qualification, the firm where he worked had an investigative division and that was what he specialised in.

  ‘I’m not exactly a PI,’ he said, which Abbey couldn’t help feeling disappointed Pete. ‘I mostly do corporate work.’

  ‘Industrial espionage?’ asked Pete hopefully, and Ryan said it was a bit more mundane than that usually, but from time to time, yes.

  The two men spent a lot of time discussing differences in US and Irish law before turning to the issue of Fred Fitzpatrick and his sudden desire to meet the daughter he apparently hadn’t thought about for over fifty years. When Pete heard about Ita Dillon and the Magdalene laundries, he was as shocked as Abbey had been and their eyes met in a complicit look that Ryan didn’t see.

  ‘Abbey is going to Ireland simply to meet with this guy and talk about her mom?’ said Pete. ‘There’s no other reason?’

  ‘Well, Mr Fitzpatrick is hoping she’ll be able to persuade Ellen to visit him too,’ said Ryan. ‘I appreciate that there seem to be logistical difficulties about this, but I’m sure it can be arranged eventually.’

  ‘What d’you think, Abbey?’ asked Pete.

  ‘It can do no harm to talk to the man,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell him everything he needs to know about Mom.’

  ‘Is it likely she knew about the adoption?’ she asked Pete later that evening, after Ryan had gone.

  ‘She never told me,’ he replied. ‘Not that she had to, of course, but we talked about a lot of things, back in the day.’

  ‘I can’t make up my mind whether she knows or not.’ Abbey looked at him with a worried expression. ‘Although if she does – d’you think it explains anything?’

  ‘With your mom, anything’s possible,’ said Pete.

  ‘I keep wondering if I should contact her straight away,’ said Abbey. ‘I feel as though this man, her father, deserves something from her, and that she should know what’s going on too. But it seems wrong to email her out of the blue, and besides, I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘I think you should go to Ireland. Tell him everything and let him decide what he wants to do. Then you can worry about your mom. Keep in touch with me the whole time. You don’t have to stay for a second longer than you want.’

  ‘He’s paying for the flight and putting me up in a hotel for as long as it takes,’ said Abbey. ‘It’s a bit weird, someone doing that. It must matter a lot to him.’

  ‘Hey, I paid for you to stay in a ho
tel once,’ teased Pete. ‘Remember when we all went to Santa Barbara?’

  Abbey grinned. ‘Sure do. Poolside room, great food. Can’t imagine it’ll be like that in Ireland.’

  ‘I’m sure it’ll be awesome.’ Pete leaned forward and ruffled her hair. ‘You’ll have a great time.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Abbey looked at him doubtfully. But she felt an unexpected thrill at the idea of travelling again. Besides, she didn’t want Ryan Gilligan to have to report that he’d failed in his mission to bring at least one member of Fred’s family home. And, quite unexpectedly, she also wanted to see her unknown grandfather for herself.

  The flight arrived in Dublin at 8 a.m. Abbey stared out of the window as the plane descended over the steel-blue sea followed by a chessboard of green fields before touching down gently on the runway and taxiing to the gate. As she gathered up her things, she was conscious of a sudden increase in her heart rate. Until now she hadn’t felt as though coming here was really happening. Now, quite suddenly, it was real. She was in her mother’s homeland, preparing to meet her mother’s father, someone she hadn’t even known existed a couple of weeks earlier. She hesitated for a moment.

  ‘Everything all right?’ asked Ryan as he took his computer bag from the overhead bin.

  ‘It’s all been a bit of a whirl, to be honest.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘However, now that I’m here …’

  ‘You’ll love it,’ he assured her. ‘Ireland’s a great place.’

  ‘So I’ve heard.’

  She stepped into the aisle and moved towards the exit. She was reminded of her childhood, getting off planes with her mom, wondering if this time they’d arrived somewhere they were going to stay for ever.

  ‘We’ll collect the cases and then get a taxi to your hotel,’ said Ryan as he steered her towards the baggage hall.

  ‘If Mr Fitzpatrick and I don’t get along, it’ll be a short stay,’ observed Abbey.

  ‘You can leave any time you like.’ Ryan’s voice was reassuring.

  ‘He might not even want me to hang around,’ Abbey remarked as they stopped at the carousel. ‘He might be madly disappointed in me.’

  ‘Hey, I thought all you American girls were full of confidence and no false modesty,’ said Ryan. ‘He’ll love you.’

  Abbey laughed. ‘You have some skewed notions about the States,’ she told him.

  ‘Too many reality shows.’

  She laughed again, and then clapped her hands in delight as her case appeared on the carousel.

  ‘Good omen,’ she said as she grabbed it. ‘My bag has never appeared this quickly before.’

  ‘They obviously threw the smallest out first.’

  Ryan had been surprised at the size of her luggage when he’d met her at San Francisco airport, but Abbey told him that she always travelled light.

  They walked through the arrivals hall and out of the terminal building. Abbey stood still for a moment, then smiled.

  ‘It’s warm,’ she said.

  ‘That surprises you?’

  ‘Gramma hardly ever talked about Ireland. But when she did, she said that it was cold. And that it rained.’

  ‘She wasn’t wrong,’ agreed Ryan. ‘But occasionally we can surprise the visitors and ourselves by having a bit of an Indian summer. It’s been nice for the past fortnight, apparently. And they’re hoping for another week of it. Which would be a total heatwave.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Abbey as they got into a taxi.

  ‘Howth,’ Ryan instructed the driver, and got in beside her.

  Abbey didn’t speak until the car pulled into the pretty Northside village, but then she exclaimed in pleasure.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ she said, looking at the harbour with its multitude of sailing boats and the clusters of people already strolling along the pier. ‘Pretty.’

  ‘Like Sausalito,’ suggested Ryan, which made her smile.

  ‘A little, I guess.’ She sounded doubtful.

  ‘Wait till you see the views from your grandfather’s house. He overlooks Dublin Bay. Not quite the same as San Francisco, I’ll admit, but still amazing.’

  She said nothing.

  ‘This is your hotel.’

  The cab pulled up outside a double-fronted building which faced directly on to the street and therefore had views across the harbour and towards the sea.

  ‘It’s a small, family-run place,’ he said. ‘Boutique is how they describe it. I hope it’s OK.’

  ‘It looks perfect,’ she told him, thinking that although it certainly looked boutique, she’d been right in thinking it would be a far cry from the uber-luxurious hotel that Pete had arranged in Santa Barbara.

  Ryan paid the taxi driver and ushered Abbey inside. The entrance hall was small but pristine, with a black and white tiled floor and a large floral arrangement in an empty fire grate surrounded by brass trims.

  ‘Hello,’ said the receptionist, who Abbey thought must have come direct from central casting, because she had glorious red-gold Irish hair, green eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose. ‘You’re very welcome, Miss Andersen.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Abbey.

  ‘I know you’ve had a long journey and you’re probably tired. Your room is already prepared, so you can go straight up. But if you’d like breakfast, it’s being served now.’

  ‘That would be nice,’ said Abbey, who, although she’d eaten everything that had been put in front of her on the plane, was feeling hungry again. She turned to Ryan. ‘Would you like to join me?’

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ he said. ‘But I’ve got to check in at the office and catch up on some paperwork. So …’

  ‘Sure, no problem.’ It occurred to Abbey that over the last few days she’d thought of Ryan Gilligan as a friend. As someone who had her best interests at heart. Someone who cared about her. But he was nothing of the sort, just someone doing a job. She’d forgotten that. ‘Thanks for looking after me so well,’ she said.

  ‘No problem. It was good to meet you.’

  ‘You too.’ She held out her hand and he took it, before dropping a swift kiss on her cheek.

  ‘Take care of yourself,’ he said. ‘A cab will be here at one o’clock to bring you to Mr Fitzpatrick’s. OK?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Good luck.’ He released her hand and walked out of the hotel.

  She wanted to call after him, to tell him that she was nervous and ask him to stay with her. But she knew she was being ridiculous. She took her room key from the receptionist and picked up her bag.

  She suddenly felt very alone again.

  The room was beautiful, and the views across the water were breathtaking. Abbey stood in the bay window, watching the sailing boats as they skimmed across the entrance of the harbour, and a tug boat as it chugged its way to its moorings. She was glad that she was staying here, near the sea, in a place that, although nothing like San Francisco’s Fisherman’s Wharf, was still a working harbour. She could smell the salt of the water and the hint of tar through the open sash window, and she could hear the screech of the gulls as they wheeled overhead. It was comforting.

  Her phone rang, startling her. She took it out of her bag and answered as soon as she saw Pete’s name.

  ‘How’re you doing?’ he asked.

  It was good to hear his voice.

  ‘I’m standing in the cutest little hotel, overlooking a miniature harbour,’ she told him. ‘The sun is sparkling off the water, there are fishing boats and artists and people walking along the pier.’

  ‘Sounds like home from home,’ said Pete.

  ‘Not entirely,’ she said. ‘But it’s very pretty. You’re up late.’ She glanced at her watch and realised that it was the middle of the night in San Francisco.

  ‘Wanted to make sure that my girl was all right,’ he said. ‘Besides, I needed to do some catch-up, and night-time is good for that. No interruptions. What are your plans?’

  ‘I’m going to have breakfast in a few min
utes,’ she told him. ‘Then I’ll take a walk around the town. And after that, I’ll be meeting Mr Fitzpatrick. My grandfather.’

  ‘You’re OK about talking to him?’ asked Pete.

  ‘I’ll tell him everything he wants to know,’ said Abbey. ‘I guess he deserves that. Though I’m not sure how he’ll feel about it. But hey, what odds? He’s here, Mom’s in Los Montesinos, they’re both doing their own thing, and I’ll assure him that one way or another she definitely forgives him.’

  ‘Are you nervous?’ asked Pete.

  ‘I don’t know exactly,’ admitted Abbey. ‘I feel a bit weird about it, but it’s not like I’m going to get involved with the whole family or anything.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ said Pete.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Abbey assured him. ‘Now go to sleep.’

  ‘Good night, honey.’

  ‘Good night,’ she said and ended the call.

  The hotel breakfast was lovely – lots of fresh fruit and yogurt, meats and cheeses, all of which Abbey loved. Usually her breakfast was a coffee and Danish from Starbucks, and although she was a big fan of their coffee, a skinny latte and Danish on the go couldn’t match having a sit-down breakfast overlooking the ocean. (Sea, Abbey reminded herself when she thought this. She wasn’t near an ocean. Dublin overlooked the sea.)

  After breakfast she went outside and walked along the pier, the lower level first, where it was warm and sheltered, and which seemed to be popular with mothers and babies out for a morning stroll. When she reached the lighthouse at the end, she stared across the water at the small island known as Ireland’s Eye, which was accessible to visitors by boat. She thought about taking a trip, but decided to wait for another day. After all, she had a whole week for tourist things. Unless she bailed out early.

  She turned around and followed the walkers returning to the town along the higher pier wall. The sun was still warm but the wind buffeted her as she picked her way along the uneven surface. It was exhilarating, though, and she felt awake and refreshed when she’d completed the walk. She continued her stroll around the marina and then back through the town towards the hotel.

  All of a sudden she experienced another flashback. To a time when she and her mother had walked along a pier together, towards the hotel they were staying in. She’d been young at the time and she couldn’t remember what country they’d been in. All she remembered was Ellen pointing at the building and saying ‘home at last’ because it had been a long walk and Abbey had complained about feeling tired. She remembered thinking that the hotel wasn’t home, but that it was somewhere she could lie down and rest. She remembered wishing that her mother wasn’t so energetic, always wanting to be different places, do different things. She remembered promising herself that when she was old enough, she’d find a place she loved and live there for the rest of her life. Ellen had done that now, in Los Montesinos. Abbey had tried to achieve it in San Francisco. She thought she had. She felt more at home there than anywhere else in the world. She had everything she wanted on her doorstep. She hadn’t had the slightest desire ever to cross the Atlantic. But now that she was here, she was glad she’d come. Even if things didn’t work out the way her new grandfather wanted them to.