“Well, why don’t you just go to the doctor, or gargle with some lemon and hot water like the rest of us?”
“You’re so right, Mrs O’Shea, but I just thought I’d try it. Sorry for disturbing you. I didn’t realise how bad the soundproofing is in these apartments.”
Lacey flashed a fake smile at the woman, hoping she wouldn’t decide to chat for any longer. She certainly wasn’t asking her in for a tea or coffee.
"You’d be surprised what you can hear through the walls. Not that I’d be listening or such.” The older woman backed off.
"Sorry again for disturbing you,” Lacey simpered with as much false sympathy as she could rustle up towards the nosy cow before her. Then, rather than waiting for an answer, she closed the door and, smiling, headed to the kitchen to make a cuppa for herself.
Perhaps there was more of her father in her than she realised. After all, she had found the lies for Mrs O’Shea from somewhere. They’d come quite easily to her, like they must have for him when he had deceived both Lillian and the family! Oh, Joe Taylor, will we ever know the real you?
* * *
Robert wasn’t looking forward to Tuesday evening with his sisters. Things were hectic at work and he really wanted to go home and chill out with a beer, instead of hearing how his father had cheated on his mother. Lillian’s face flashed before him. How he missed her! She had never let a week go by without inviting him for dinner. He often brought her a box of her favourite hand-made chocolates and she would lovingly scold him that he was trying to fatten her up.
Lillian Taylor had always kept her appearance in tip-top condition, never seen without her hair styled and her lipstick applied. But she had been a warm woman; a good mother, he remembered. How difficult it must have been for her harbouring his father’s adultery.
She had often bailed Robert out after he moved from home and his finances were tight. She would slip him a €50 here and there and say, “Treat yourself, pet.” Those €50s often meant the difference between having petrol in his car or not. But now that he was successful, he liked to pay her back with little presents – a trip to her favourite spa hotel, or a meal in a top restaurant.
At least he had introduced Aoife to her. His mother had approved, too. She liked that Aoife joined them for lunch sometimes, and always called her Mrs. Taylor. It showed the girl had manners. “She respects her elders,” his mother had confided in Robert.
But now his mother was gone. No more time to spend chatting together over a pot of tea, discussing the politics of the day, or trying to finish a crossword. Lillian had loved her crosswords.
If Tuesday’s meeting took a turn for the worst – although it shouldn’t – Robert just didn’t know how he would cope.
CHAPTER SIX
Willow put the phone down to Sally. Her sister was looking forward to the evening ahead, with the family all together for the first time since the solicitor’s office. Willow didn’t share her enthusiasm, but agreed that it would be good to sort out the sorry mess. And she was desperately keen to know what was in her mother’s letter.
Luckily, Derek would be staying over in Cork tonight, so Willow didn’t have to serve up dinner before she went to Lacey’s apartment. What she needed now was a nice warm bath, with candles lit, and her favourite CD of Phil Coulter playing while she tried to relax before joining the others.
Her home was everything to Willow. She had put great thought into each and every detail of the expensive décor. Every surface gleamed and every piece of furniture was spotless and luxurious. Yet she often wondered if she would trade it all for a few sticky fingermarks on the patio doors or coloured crayon scribbles on the walls. It didn’t occur to her how Derek would feel about children, nor did she want to know. Now climbing those dark timbered stairs, she felt the loneliness of her home. There were no family photos dotted about, only cold impersonal artwork that spelt wealth rather than warmth. Since her mother’s death, Willow had been left with more time to spend in the big silent house.
She had loved her chats and shopping with Lillian. They would travel to auctions and soak up the atmosphere of the auction houses. Twice they had been bold enough to place bids. Once, on a beautiful walnut writing desk, and later, on a Queen Anne chair that was upholstered in deep pink velvet. Back home they had celebrated with a bottle of sparkling white wine and giggled like schoolgirls as the drink made them tipsy. Derek used to be amused to come home and find his wife and his mother-in-law singing along to the kitchen radio, an empty wine bottle on the table.
“Why, Mum? Why did you have to go?” Sobbing, Willow ran the warm water and added some herbal mix bubble bath, which promised to soothe and de-stress a troubled mind. Sinking into the inviting bath, her tears continued to fall. Her mother’s death had unleashed a whirlwind of emotions within her and Willow was not happy. How could she be? Not just the loss of her mother, but maybe a sister, too. Here she was, rattling around in an empty house, alone with the pain of not able to phone her mum.
Willow had been shopping at the Blanchardstown Centre the day her mother died. She and Derek were due to attend a business dinner later that night and she had needed a silk scarf to finish the soft caramel outfit she intended to wear. Willow loved the west Dublin shopping haven – Blanch, as it was fondly referred to. There was a homely feel to it, Willow felt. The Dundrum Town Centre was delightful, but full of designer posers who flashed their labels while dashing around with their skinny lattes.
As she’d finished paying for a light blue scarf, her mobile had rung. The shop assistant had been so helpful when Willow burst into tears, offering her glasses of water and getting her a seat. She’d sat there unable to take it in – her mother, Lillian Taylor, was dead. The mother she’d lunched with every Thursday, sharing life stories and gossip, always laughing and hugging each other goodbye, knowing they would be on the phone chatting in a few hours time, was gone. Derek had come to the shopping centre to collect her; Willow’s world was shattered.
Who would mourn her when she died? There were her sisters, and Robert and, of course, Derek. But was that it? Who would shed tears day in day out, not accepting her death, feeling the need to hear her voice and her laughter each day as a child does for their parent? As she did now for Lillian?
Eventually, the bubbles in the bath went flat and the water began to cool. Sighing, Willow climbed out and got on with her day. She would dress later. The softness of her dressing gown was comforting like a hug. She relished the closeness of it around her sad self.
Tonight she could ask the others how they were coping since the revelation of Lacey’s true parentage. Did they have the jungle of mixed emotions to struggle through each morning? She decided she would have to ask; she needed to know that they, too, were suffering.
* * *
Sally felt strange to be back living in the family home again. She walked around the house looking at the many photographs her mother had placed here and there. Family group photos were displayed alongside individual portraits of the children as they were growing up. Lillian had been very proud of her children, but did that include Lacey? Sally had never looked at the photos properly before, never really studied them. Everyone seemed happy enough in most of them. Could you tell from a photo, though, what was really happening behind the scenes? What was the old saying? Ah yes, the camera never lies! Well, let’s put it to the test, thought Sally.
The kitchen table would be the place to examine them – plenty of room there, and she could make a cup of tea while she played detective. Her mother had kept a clean and tidy house but it was beginning to show the signs of no longer having her capable hands polishing and dusting. When Sally picked up some photos from the mantelpiece, the dust marks remained on the wood. It was the same with the side table and also on the shelves.
A normal domestic routine of playing housekeeper would never appeal to Sally; travelling was the real way to live. Picking up bar work, fruit picking, even writing travel pieces for different newspapers and magazines, had all pa
id her way. Of course, she would have to tackle the dusting and cleaning eventually, but not just yet. God, how monotonous her mother’s life must have been, each day the same, each morning getting up to start the routine of almost fifty odd years! But times had changed. Women were no longer tied to the kitchen sink unless it was their choice. And it certainly wasn’t Sally’s.
With her sun-kissed skin and auburn hair, she loved the freedom of being on the road. The cultures and the people of far distant places lived in her heart and flowed in her blood. She adapted easily, whether it was China or Australia, North America or South America; she soaked it all up like an eager, willing student.
Though Lillian had been houseproud, the children were always encouraged to play as long as they tidied up after they finished. Funny, though, Sally couldn’t recall any times when Lacey had played in the sitting room with her dolls scattered around her, or with the jigsaws their dad always bought them. But then, Sally had been young when Lacey was a little girl, so she wouldn’t have been interested in how her sister’s social skills were developing.
Determined to unravel this mystery, she gave it more thought. She recalled Lacey playing in her bedroom by herself, and sitting quietly reading on their dad’s favourite armchair. Surely this hadn’t been a sign of a lack of affection or love on Lillian’s behalf, had it? Was it punishment? But Lacey was an innocent child in their parents’ mess.
Sally let out a heavy sigh. Looking at the photos gathered together on the table before her, she gasped out loud as it dawned on her. From the outside, they were like any other family photos. But on closer inspection, Sally noted there was not one single photo which showed both Lillian and Lacey.
The clicking of the boiling kettle startled her out of her discovery. Distracted, she hastily threw a teabag in a cup and added the smallest drop of milk. She placed the hot tea on the table beside the photos and sat back down. What a discovery! It had to mean something.
“How did Mum achieve that?” Sally spoke out loud to herself. If Lillian was in a photograph, then Lacey wasn’t; if Lacey was in a photograph, their dad, Joe was, but not Lillian. It was as though Lillian would only be photographed with her three children.
“Oh God, tonight will indeed be a good one,” Sally whispered, and sank back in the kitchen chair, sipping her drink in disbelief. Should she share her revelations with the others, or would it be better not to? Did it really mean that much in the order of things? She mused, her fingers tapping nervously on the kitchen table.
* * *
Lacey cleaned up her apartment that afternoon, polishing tables and shelves with such gusto that her arms ached. She washed the floors that already gleamed, and placed candles in what she thought were strategic places for best effect. She rushed out to the Shop Express and bought their deluxe bouquet of fresh flowers. The colourful blooms certainly helped to brighten her day, as her mood was far from light. It was important to her that tonight went well. She needed her half-siblings to understand that she loved them, that their presence in her crazy life was important, and had not changed. She hoped they would feel the same way.
She hadn’t heard from any of them since she’d contacted them to inform them about tonight, even Robert. And that surprised her. It was unlike him not to check if she wanted to meet up for coffee at the weekends. She hoped he would be the first to arrive; he always knew the right thing to say and do. She missed seeing him, and their long chats about anything and everything. He was the best big brother anyone could ask for; she had so many happy memories of times shared with Robert. But now that Aoife was more involved in his life, it was only natural that he would have less time for Lacey.
Of course, Willow was always kind, too. She adored her baby sister and loved being the grown-up of the four children. She had always organised games and stuff to do when they were on family holidays as kids. Maybe, being the eldest, she would have answers for Lacey; for all of them. Maybe she could shed light on this awful darkness that had totally clouded their lives. She hoped their awkward conversation on the phone had only been a one-off. After all, they had both been in shock. Those awful lines Mr. Sherman read out had caused such ripples through their lives.
After a hot soapy shower, Lacey wrapped herself up in a soft cream towel and stood in front of the mirror. She stared hard at her reflection and scrutinised each detail on her face. Did she have her real mother’s eyes? Her nose? Hair colouring? She was auburn, but then so was Sally; that must be Dad’s side. Robert and Willow had freckles – just a few – but she didn’t. Lacey couldn’t recall if Sally had. Actually it would be quite difficult to tell with Sally, on account of her permanent tan from her overseas travels.
Lacey definitely had her dad’s nose, the way it went at a nice slant downwards with a slight tilt upwards at the end. So what part of her was her real mother, then? Was it physical or personality? Did she share her real mother’s talents? If so, what were they? Was it her love of animals? She adored Milly, who had been a rescue kitten. Passing the local vet’s practice one day, Lacey had seen the poster looking for homes for some kittens. It was the poster photo that did it to her. It melted her heart; the cute black and white face with big blue eyes. Without thinking further, she’d found herself inside the practice declaring she wanted a cat.
Neither Milly nor the mirror before Lacey was forthcoming with answers.
Her frustration built up again and she wanted to scream, but that had brought nosy Mrs.O’Shea to her door the last time. Instead, this time she strode into her bedroom and pounded her pillows like her life depended on her knocking the stuffing out of them. Once she felt better, she started to get dressed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lacey,
What do I say? Where do I start? Yes, you are your father’s daughter but I am not your mother. I tried my best for you, at times it was unbearable and I would just walk away. Your father was adamant that you did not find out about your birth mother unless there was a true need for it. While he lived, I agreed. But after his death, I decided to write this letter. You are the result of an affair and, because of other circumstances that surrounded our marriage at the time, your father and I came to an understanding that we would stay together. These reasons were between me and your father, it is of no benefit to anyone what they were or why.
Your mother didn’t want to raise you as a single mother and happily left you in our care. I was angry, hurt, and totally against such a thing, but in the end it was agreed. Your father named you Lacey and truly did love you. I could not.
At times when I looked at you, it seemed you were destined to be a thorn in my side, so embedded in my flesh that I could not be relieved of you.
Life is cruel and I do not write this to damage you further, but only to clear the air between us. You must on occasions have felt the anger and contempt I held you in. Well, now you know why. My only regret is that my darling three children will probably be dragged into this horrible secret. There is no point in seeking answers or asking questions. Accept this and get on with your life.
I did. So can you,
Lillian.
Lacey read the letter out to them, then passed it around to each one. No-one offered a word as they allowed the whole truth to sink in. In the pristine sitting room, tension and awkwardness filled the air. No amount of scattered scented candles could hide the discomfort that surrounded the Taylors.
“Anyone like something to drink?” It was Lacey who shattered the fragile bubble they’d found themselves trapped in since they’d arrived at the apartment. Doing something physical, something practical, might calm the charged atmosphere encircling them.
“Have you vodka?” Willow seemed totally taken back by the letter. She held the sheet of paper in her hand and looked at it with distaste; she looked stunned. Perhaps a drink might go some way toward clearing her thoughts.
“I’m fine. Nothing for me, thanks.” The normally strong voice of her brother seemed shaken, and his appearance visibly pale.
“Want ice
in the vodka?” Lacey asked from the kitchen, as she fixed the drink for Willow. They hadn’t jumped to any conclusions against their parents so far. In fact, the silence was torture. It was murderous to sit there with them, each one feeling numb and in disbelief.
Willow joined her sister in the kitchen.
“If you have ice, fine. If not, no worries.” The older woman held up the glass of vodka to check it. “Add another bit, would you? I’ll drink it straight.” She gestured with the glass towards Lacey.
“Are you sure?”
“After what I’ve read tonight, I need a drink. And anyway, I didn’t know you were counting.” The clipped tone was a slap to Lacey. The sharp words stung her with surprise.
“So, ladies, what’s the verdict?” It was Robert who threw down the gauntlet. He got up and paced around the room.
“A bastard, that’s what I think. He was a complete bastard.” Willow sat down and knocked back the clear drink in her glass.
Sally remained quiet. She was well known for thinking things through before speaking. Not reacting to the mutterings of Willow, she curled up in the armchair and wrapped herself in a red check throw then silently re-read the letter.
Lacey could almost imagine what was going through Sally’s mind. Why had their mother felt obliged to turn Lacey’s life upside down? Why discredit their father so much? He’d had an affair; that wasn’t earth-shattering, surely? A lot of men and women have affairs. Why didn’t she just leave him? Why not abandon him and let him raise the child by himself? So many questions, so much unanswered. Sally sighed and placed the letter back on the coffee table.
Robert reached for it again. “Where do we even start? I mean, Dad had an affair, Mum and he agreed to stay together, all that I can comprehend. But what did she mean by…” he searched for the sentence he needed and continued, “...‘because of other circumstances that surrounded our marriage’? Anyone got any ideas or thoughts on that?”
My Husband's Sin Page 3