‘That’s very good of you,’ said Lola.
‘I’m a good person,’ said Philip. ‘You never gave me a chance.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Lola wondered if she’d have to spend the rest of her life apologising to Philip Warren.
‘Drop her to us in the early afternoon,’ said Philip. ‘She can stay overnight.’
‘OK,’ said Lola.
When she told Bey about the plan, her daughter looked at her dubiously.
‘Are you sure that’s what he said?’ she asked. ‘A whole day?’
‘A whole day and a sleepover,’ Lola confirmed. ‘It’ll be fun.’
Bey looked even more dubious.
‘Don’t you want to go?’ asked Lola.
‘Not really,’ Bey said. ‘I thought we were going to Cloghdrom, like always.’
‘I realise it’s not what we normally do,’ said Lola. ‘But your dad is making a huge effort and you should be glad he wants you there.’
‘What about you?’ asked Bey. ‘Are you going to Cloghdrom without me?’
‘Of course not,’ replied Lola. ‘We’ll go the next day. I’ll help out at the Golden Apples senior centre with Shirley.’
Bey looked at her uncertainly. This wasn’t what she’d expected when she’d asked to meet her dad. And it wasn’t what she wanted. But it looked like it was what she was going to get.
At first, on Christmas morning, she thought she wouldn’t be going to Cleevaun House after all. Snow was coming down in frenzied flurries from dark grey clouds, spinning dizzily outside the window and covering the ground with a thin sheet of white. But by midday it had stopped, and although the sky was still grey and heavy, the forecast was for no more snow that day.
I should’ve kept my mouth shut, Bey thought as she packed her overnight bag. I should never have asked about my dad. Mum and I were fine on our own. I’ve messed thing up for no reason at all.
And yet she knew that she’d had to find out. Lola had always been so reserved and cautious when she’d asked her about him in the past that Bey had been quite sure there was some glorious mystery about her father. She’d imagined him as a fairy-tale prince who’d been in love with her mother but had had to go back to his country to marry a woman he hated. She’d thought that perhaps her parents had been torn apart for some other tragic or romantic reason that Lola hadn’t been able to tell her. Or that for some reason she hadn’t yet decided on he was living alone and miserable in a dreary house, wishing he had a family who loved him.
She’d invested a lot of emotional time and energy in building up a picture of a father who wanted to be with her. Yet she couldn’t help feeling that Philip was irritated by her more than anything else. And it was perfectly clear that he resented her mother. Which was sort of unbelievable, Bey thought, because Lola was one of the nicest, kindest people you could ever meet.
‘Parents are weird,’ Áine had commented after the Bellamys’ separation. ‘They tell you to be nice and polite and respectful and to love each other and then they don’t do any of it themselves!’
Bey was very conscious that Lola, who was one of the most capable and serene people in the whole word, was stressed about her relationship with Philip Warren. She was bemused by it. Áine’s mother wasn’t flustered about Johnny Bellamy, although as Áine said, they were like complete strangers when they talked to each other now. Far too polite, she’d said; it freaked her out.
Bey had desperately wanted to love her father and for him to love her too. But on that first outing together she’d found herself looking at the Swatch on her wrist more often than she’d expected, willing the time to pass as they walked around the zoo. She’d been taken aback at how much he’d talked about Donna and their twins. He hadn’t asked her much about herself at all.
She realised her dreams of them all being a family together had evaporated the moment he’d walked through the front door. And she felt guilty about having thought that way in the first place because she and Lola – as well as everyone in Cloghdrom – were a family already.
She’d heard her mother and Shirley talking about it over coffee one Saturday, although they’d clammed up when she’d walked into the kitchen. Lola had been saying that it had all been very unnerving and perhaps she shouldn’t have been persuaded by Richard after all, to which Shirley had remarked that Lola could only do what she thought was right at the time and that it had been a good deal. Then Shirley had asked if she’d ever got any use out of the sweetener and Lola had laughed and said no, and that was when Bey had joined them and they’d changed the subject to other things.
‘Stop fidgeting,’ Lola ordered now as she turned carefully onto the narrow road, still lightly dusted with snow, that led to her father’s home. Bey already knew that this area near Killiney Hill was popular with rock stars and other celebrities, along with anyone else well heeled enough to afford the expensive houses with views over the sea. The reason Philip and his family could afford to live here was down to the ever-increasing success of the family business. Bey hadn’t been to the flagship store in Duke Lane; she hadn’t even realised at first that the Warrens were Warren’s the Jewellers. Nor had it occurred to her that the necklace design she’d copied that summer had been from one of the famous Adele collections. But when her father had started talking about the shop, she’d been entranced. It had been the only time in their outings together that she’d listened to him properly.
Cleevaun House was set behind a high wall and wooden gates that effectively hid it from view. Lola eased the car to a gentle stop beside a steel post into which a grey intercom was set.
‘Do I have to stay tonight?’ asked Bey while they waited for someone to answer Lola’s buzz. ‘Couldn’t you just come and get me later?’
‘You’re going to have a great time and you won’t want me turning up,’ Lola assured her. ‘Besides, as soon as I get back from the Golden Apples dinner, I’m going to put my feet up in front of the fire. You wouldn’t be so heartless as to ask me to come out in the snow again, would you?’
‘I suppose not,’ conceded Bey.
‘Honestly, sweetheart, you’ll be fine,’ said Lola. ‘I bet your dad and Donna have a wonderful day planned. I’m sure you’ll have great fun with the twins.’
Bey stared ahead of her and said nothing.
‘It’s Christmas,’ Lola reminded her. ‘Everything’s fun at Christmas.’
It was Astrid who was the problem, Bey realised. She was afraid of what other barbs the younger girl might throw at her. Because it was perfectly clear that her half-sister didn’t like her one little bit. And Bey didn’t like Astrid either.
But she didn’t say this to Lola, who was looking at her anxiously. Instead she smiled and said that she was sorry she was being a bit of a pain about everything but it was just that this would be the first Christmas they hadn’t spent together and it felt strange. And then Lola hugged her and told her that there’d be lots more Christmases in the future and that she was to enjoy herself as much as she possibly could.
Bey took a deep breath and nodded. She’d make an effort, she decided. After all, it was only one day.
The gates glided open to reveal a house and garden that looked exactly like a scene from a traditional Christmas card. The wide lawn was still and serene beneath its sugary dusting of snow. Snow also covered the branches of the trees that lined the driveway, while white lights had been arranged around the eaves of the house to look like falling icicles. The enormous wreath of holly on the red-painted front door added the finishing seasonal touch.
Lola stopped the car outside the front door, which opened as she switched off the engine.
‘Hello, Bey,’ said Philip as his daughter stepped out onto the snow-covered gravel. ‘Happy Christmas. Welcome to Cleevaun House.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It’s lovely to be here.’
‘Happy Christmas, Philip,’ said Lola.
‘Same to you,’ he said, although, to Bey’s ears at least, it didn’t sound like he mean
t it.
They stood in an awkward circle for a moment, then Lola told them that she had to get back to town. ‘I’m helping Shirley with the senior citizens’ Christmas Day lunch,’ she explained to Philip. ‘I said I’d be there about an hour from now.’
‘I’m sure you’ll get your reward one day.’ The edge to Philip’s voice was unmistakable.
‘I’ll get it sooner than that,’ Lola told him. ‘The seniors are a great laugh.’
‘Yes, well . . .’ Philip shrugged. ‘I’d better get Bey inside before all the heat goes out the door.’
‘I’ll be back for you in the morning.’ Lola bent towards Bey and whispered, ‘Have a good time. Behave yourself,’ before kissing her and getting back into the car. Bey stayed at the door clutching her overnight bag until Lola had driven through the gates and they’d closed behind her again.
‘Right,’ said her father. ‘That’s that. Come on.’
Bey followed him across the wide hallway with its polished parquet floor and deep-pile rug and into a spacious living room. She was already intimidated by the sheer size of her father’s house. She reckoned that the entire downstairs of their own home would fit into Cleevaun’s living room alone. It was very impressive, with pale carpets, high ceilings, and patio doors right across the back looking over more snow-dusted garden.
She took a deep breath. She wanted to turn around and run after her mum, but it was too late. Besides, Philip had his hand at the small of her back, ushering her forward. And she could hardly run away when the room seemed full of people.
All of whom were looking at her with undisguised interest.
It was Donna, slender and pretty, her silky fair hair held back by a red velvet band, who spoke first.
‘Hello, Bey,’ she said. ‘I’m so pleased you could come. Happy Christmas.’ She walked over to her and gave her an awkward hug. ‘I’ll take your bag and put it upstairs. You can go to your room later. Sit down and make yourself comfortable.’
‘You’re in the dormer guest room,’ said Astrid. ‘It’s a very nice room. You’re extremely lucky.’
Bey stared at her. She was convinced her half-sister was wearing make-up. There was a light silvery shimmer on her eyelids that could only have come from a palette, while her lips were suspiciously glossy. Her hair fell in a sheer curtain of pale blond just past her shoulders. She was wearing a pastel-pink dress and matching ballerina pumps and looked like the fairy on top of the Christmas tree.
Bey smoothed her own hair with her palms even though she was wasting her time; despite her robbing Lola’s mousse again that morning, it had reverted to its usual wild tangle.
As on the previous occasion she’d met him, Anthony ignored her completely. Which was actually more comfortable from Bey’s point of view than the scrutiny of the other people in the room.
‘Say hello to your grandmother and grandfather,’ said Philip, introducing them first.
Bey looked at them uncertainly. Adele Warren was a truly beautiful woman, as different from Granny Fitzpatrick as it was possible to be. Not, of course, Bey said to herself, that Granny Fitzpatrick wasn’t beautiful in her own way. Her mum’s mother was rounder and softer, and her steel-grey hair was permed into tight curls around her dimpled face. She was, Bey decided, a comfortable person. A proper grandmother. Adele Warren could never have been described as comfortable. She was slim and angular, and her shoulder-length hair was a fine ash blond. She was wearing a berry-red satin dress with matching red shoes, and her expensive Warren jewellery – a stunning ruby necklace with matching earrings, bracelet and ring – glittered in the light of the lamp on the wall behind her. Richard was handsome and, although in his sixties, still had an almost full head of silver hair. He was dressed in a smart suit with a tie that matched Adele’s dress. His piercing blue eyes regarded Bey speculatively.
‘Don’t you speak?’ asked Adele. ‘Your father asked you to say hello.’
‘Hello, Granny,’ said Bey.
‘Nobody calls me Granny,’ Adele told her. ‘It’s ageing. You may call me Adele.’
Bey blinked a couple of times. She’d never be able to call this absolute dragon of a woman by her first name. It would be utterly impossible.
‘It’s nice to meet you, Bey,’ said Richard. ‘I hope you have a good day today.’
‘I didn’t think there’d be other people here.’ Bey turned to her father. ‘You didn’t say anything about meeting anyone else.’
‘Of course we’re here,’ said Adele. ‘We always get together at Christmas. And you’re lucky to be joining us.’
Bey didn’t think she was lucky at all. Her feelings about the day were getting more and more unsettled by the second.
‘I’m delighted to meet you,’ said a man around the same age as her father. ‘I’m your uncle Peter, your dad’s younger brother, and I’ve heard a lot about you.’
‘You have?’
‘All good,’ Peter assured her.
He was lying, thought Bey. He hadn’t heard much about her at all. But it was nice of him to say so. She smiled tentatively.
‘And this is Cushla,’ he added. ‘My girlfriend.’
Cushla gave her a beaming smile. Unlike the Warrens, she wasn’t startlingly attractive; her dark hair was almost as unruly as Bey’s own and she lacked the sense of style that was evident in Adele, Donna and even Astrid. Bey warmed to her immediately.
‘Well,’ said Donna. ‘This is nice.’
‘It’s something we should have done sooner,’ Richard said.
But not something they wanted to, thought Bey. The invitation had been extended out of some misplaced sense of duty. Not because they cared. Just because they felt they should. She thought longingly of the farmhouse at Cloghdrom, of the roaring fire in the hearth and the smell of the turkey roasting in the Aga, and wished that she was there, being teased by her cousins and teasing them in return, safe in the comfort that everybody in the room loved her and she loved them too and there was nothing going on that she didn’t understand.
‘Now that we’re all finally here, we can open the presents,’ said Philip when Donna came downstairs again.
‘I hope you weren’t waiting for me before you did that!’ Bey looked at him in horror. It was nearly two o’clock. She and Lola had exchanged gifts at seven that morning. She couldn’t imagine hanging around for hours to unwrap Christmas presents.
‘We thought it would be polite to wait for you,’ said Adele.
‘Though it’s been an awfully long time,’ complained Anthony.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Bey. ‘We came as quickly as we could. Mum couldn’t drive fast because of the snow.’
‘Your pile is over there.’ Donna indicated some beautifully gift-wrapped packages beneath the tree.
‘They’re all for me? Thank you,’ said Bey. ‘I have presents for you too, but they’re in my bag upstairs. I’ll go and get them.’
‘There’s no rush; you can wait until these are opened,’ said Donna.
‘I’m afraid there’s nothing from Cushla and me,’ Peter told her apologetically. ‘Your dad didn’t tell us you’d be here until it was too late to do anything about it. But . . .’ he reached into his pocket and took some notes out of his wallet, ‘here you are. Buy yourself something nice with that.’
‘Oh, Uncle Peter, that’s very good of you, but I couldn’t possibly take money.’ Bey looked longingly at the two twenty-pound notes in his outstretched hand. ‘Besides, it’s far too much.’
‘Not at all,’ said Peter. ‘I hardly ever see you. Look at it as a cumulative present stretching over a few years.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Oh, go on and take it,’ said Peter. ‘It’ll probably be ages before I see you again anyway.’
Bey glanced at her father, who shrugged. She took the notes and put them carefully into her denim purse.
‘You always were one for the extravagant gesture, Peter,’ murmured Adele. ‘I do hope you’re more careful with the Warren finances. It wo
uldn’t do for our accountant to be so blasé with company funds.’
‘A hundred quid would have been extravagant, Mum,’ said Peter. ‘Forty is just nice. And given that I’ve only just met my eldest niece, a bit of largesse is long overdue.’
‘Very generous, Pete,’ said Bey’s grandfather.
Bey was conscious of a slight edge between the adults. She wasn’t used to it. The Fitzpatricks never spoke to each other like that. Perhaps it’s my fault, she thought. I’m messing the whole day up for them. She stayed silent, not wanting to say the wrong thing.
‘Open your presents now,’ said Donna. ‘All of you.’
Although they hadn’t opened the family gifts, Anthony and Astrid had already unwrapped the ones from Santa, which were a bike each and a Nintendo console with a Super Mario game between them. Bey couldn’t remember when she’d stopped believing in Santa herself, but she had a feeling it was younger than eight. She hadn’t wanted to stop, though. She would have liked to believe, or at least pretend to believe, a little bit longer. But she knew there was no point in kidding herself. It was Lola who bought the presents and Lola who deserved to be thanked, not some unknown man in a fur-trimmed suit.
The remainder of the gifts, all in individual piles, had each person’s name written on a card sitting on top of their pile. Bey carefully removed the red and green paper from the first of hers, which was from her grandparents. It contained six scented soaps.
‘Thank you.’ She didn’t say that she and Lola agreed that soap was the most horrible gift you could give anybody. Lola’s view was that unless you lived on your own, it was always going to be shared with the rest of the household. And Bey reckoned that a present that dissolved into a slimy mess the more you used it was pretty gross even if it did smell, as these did, of freesias and lilies.
However, her next gift, from her father and Donna, was a pretty silver locket that could be opened to put a photo inside. It came in the distinctive Warren’s plum-coloured box, embossed with the Warren name in gold and tied with a purple satin ribbon. Bey took it out and carefully fastened it around her neck. It was a lovely present and she said so.
What Happened That Night: The page-turning holiday read by the No. 1 bestselling author Page 12