He looked around at his sisters. Lacey recognised that he was keen to treat this like an everyday problem he could solve in the boardroom. Staying detached and focussing on the words to be clarified might allow him to keep his calm appearance in place. Perhaps letting it get more personal would be too difficult for him to handle. He sat back down on the sofa.
So far, Lacey had been out of the firing line, their thoughts were all aimed at their parents.
“How dare he upset Mum with some young floozy.” Willow was angry. The eldest Taylor sat upright to take command of the room, making sure her feelings would be heard.
“Probably some young one who saw dollar signs and filled Daddy’s head with nonsense. A mid-life crisis, definitely, I’m sure of it! Poor Mum.” She handed her empty glass to Lacey and indicated a refill.
“Are you sure?” her youngest sister asked.
“Of course I’m sure, all men go through these mid-life crises – they think it’s great to be able to hop on some cheap young one and feel they are eighteen all over again. Disgusting, that’s what!”
“Actually, I meant another drink,” Lacey sighed. She had never seen this side of Willow before. Usually she was always so calm, so together, so...sensible; that’s the word she was looking for. Not this ranting drunk going on about old men’s sex lives!
“Look, Lacey, if you are going to start keeping check on what each of us is drinking, then I’ll happily bring over a bottle to you another day to replace tonight’s one, okay? Now be a good girl and just fill it up.” Lacey was dismissed to the kitchen.
Robert threw an angry look at Willow, who was well past tipsy, then turned to try and catch Sally’s eye. She remained silent, her expression giving nothing away. Wrapped in the throw, her legs tucked under her, she appeared indifferent to the carry-on around her.
Lacey returned from the kitchen with her sister’s glass and the bottle of vodka. She plonked them both in front of Willow then sat next to Robert on the sofa. She was so unsettled by the earlier comments that she wished her eldest sister would go home.
With some kind of order restored, Robert spoke again.
“Lacey,” he turned towards her, “how do you feel, or what do you think about the letter? I mean, it’s your life that has collapsed, and I know Willow…” he shot a sharp look over at her and continued, “well, all our lives have been hit hard. But you talk, Lacey. Tell us, what did you make of it?”
He ran his hand through his hair, despair in his eyes, the corners of his mouth down-turned and his jaw muscles tense. Robert Taylor looked completely at a loss.
Lacey shook off her shoes, pulled her feet up, and sat hugging her legs to her chest. She stared at the floor and shook her head. No voice would come. She opened her mouth and tried to say what was going through her mind but remained silent. Sensing the distress and difficulty his sister was suffering, Robert put his hand gently on her shoulder. “It’s okay.”
Lacey knew what her feelings were, but it was Willow’s reaction to the letter that frightened her most. Willow had intimidated her tonight, so she felt it better to remain silent in her eldest sister’s presence for now.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was nine am. Sally had not slept well. She had wakened a few times with a sudden start, drenched in sweat. Her duvet and sheets, all in a tangle, revealed how much she had tossed and turned in her sleep.
Pulling on her baby pink dressing gown, Sally went to the bathroom. Staring into the mirror, she wondered who she most resembled, her father or her mother. Right now, she didn’t want to be reminded of either of them. Last night had been too much for her to get her head around. Her happy childhood now had a dark cloud hanging over it. A question mark hovered accusingly over every memory she held. Damn her parents! Damn, damn, damn! Now her whole life was filled with doubt, and Sally knew her only way of regaining control was to face her demons.
She was relieved that she had not added to last night’s events. Willow had really gone for it – just stopping short of insulting Lacey – and some of her comments had hit rather close to the bone. It wasn’t like Willow to be sharp and biting to her family. Obviously their mother’s death was playing on her mind a lot. She wondered if she shared her thoughts with her husband; maybe it would help Willow to talk more.
* * *
It was ten-thirty, and Robert rubbed his face wearily. He had been glad of the brandy he’d drunk last night after arriving home, but now his head was filled with a dull ache. Some peppermint tea would soothe the body but not get rid of the mess his parents had heaped on them. Peppermint tea in his cupboards was Aoife’s touch. He liked that their relationship was moving forwards. From the day she had started work in his company, they had clicked. But he’d never thought that they would end up together.
Christ, wasn’t life meant to get easier as you got older? He couldn’t face the office today; his mind was racing with daft thoughts and he was in no mood to deal with trivial issues at work. Blast his parents. He was angry with them; he hated wasted days.
This whole bloody thing with Lacey was huge. Sinking back on his pillows, he rubbed the stubble on his chin. Did he actually believe that issues from work were trivial? Issues that involved multi-million Euro deals, other peoples’ futures and livelihood – all unimportant now because of his father’s great bloody love affair? Why couldn’t the bastard have kept his pants on? It was a sham; his whole relationship with Joe Taylor was tainted. “Honesty”, that’s what he had preached to his son. The mighty Joe Taylor had so often sung about it being the best policy, yet he’d gone to his grave withholding a secret so damning that it undermined everything he used to stand for.
How had he got his wife to agree? That was the big question for Robert. It would take all the skill of a shrewd businessman, and then some, to get your wife not only to forgive an affair, but to agree to raise the love child it produced! Oh God, he felt he was going to be sick, and rushed to the bathroom.
Standing at the sink a few minutes later, he rinsed his mouth. He refused to look in the mirror, afraid that he would see his father looking back at him. So many times he had been told that his father couldn’t deny him, they were so alike. Robert recalled all the deals in business he had clenched by fast talking and reeling in the clients, letting them believe that they were part of some major decision and that without their input, the deal was worthless.
Is that what Joe had done with Lillian, reeled her in with some false promise for the future? She already had two daughters, so it wasn’t the desire for a daughter that did it. Money? No, Joe Taylor had always provided a better than average lifestyle for his family. There was something, though, there had to have been, something that meant so much to Lillian that she’d agreed to raise Lacey. Robert was determined to find out what it was. He would not rest until he got his answers.
* * *
It was eleven am. Lacey was acting on auto-pilot. She had so much going on in her life that she hadn’t even noticed that Milly was not around, until she locked up last night. Normally the cat would be purring contentedly in her bed while Lacey went about securing the doors and windows.
In robot mode, she showered and dressed and then reached for the kettle. A cup of tea was what was required. After all, it was an Irish miracle cure for all things surprising; the one thing guaranteed to right the world’s wrongs.
“Here, Milly! Come on, lazy bones, it’s breakfast time,” she called out, opening the balcony doors to look for her wandering pet.
“Milly, where are you?” Lacey searched outside and then inside the apartment. Usually the smell of food in the bowl was enough to bring the little cat running. That’s strange, she thought, but when had she actually last seen her pet? She couldn’t remember. Was it last night, or the day before? Her life was so messed up even her furry friend had been ignored lately. This had to stop. Lacey needed to restore order to her life again. Her heart sank further.
Maybe the cat was hurt, or maybe she was visiting a feline friend elsewhere. B
ut Milly was always around for breakfast. In fact, Milly normally came home every night.
Lacey left the patio door open; the fresh air was uplifting. Sitting at the breakfast counter with her hot drink, she leaned back into the soft red cushions on the high chrome chair. The only signs of a life in turmoil were the empty wine bottle and glasses on the coffee table. The vodka bottle, half emptied by Willow, joined them. Now she could add her missing Milly to the list. As her globetrotting sister often quoted, “Life’s a bitch.”
So, where to and what next with her miserable life? If only Lacey could flip a switch and change everything back to before Lillian’s death. She wondered if her siblings hated her for creating this debacle. Hundreds of questions raced through her mind, but who to ask? How do you go about unravelling a puzzle that started twenty-three years ago, and two of the main characters are dead? This was stuff you read about in novels, not something you had to deal with in your everyday life!
There was only one person who could help, one person who knew why the Taylor marriage survived and Lacey had been left with her father. There was one person who owed Lacey the answers to all of her questions, and that was her birth mother. Find her birth mother, and maybe order could be restored to her life.
Feeling new energy and life seep into her body now that a sense of direction had been achieved, Lacey headed towards the counter tops to tidy up. Putting empty cartons into the rubbish bin and food into the fridge, her kitchen took on a clean, well-organized look. Soon her life, too, would be back in order. She had a purpose once more. It felt good to have something positive to focus on. Finding her mother would solve it all.
Maybe Robert would come on board, or Sally. She had been quiet last night, and Lacey worried about what her sister was feeling. Maybe they could investigate together! It might help restore the family unit and seal the cracks that were threatening to demolish the remaining Taylor dynasty.
She hadn’t included Willow in all her thoughts. Willow seemed to have hit a self-destruct button and Lacey wondered if it was all to do with their father’s affair. Pushing thoughts of Willow to one side would be best; Lacey had more than enough to contend with at present, and the others would surely keep an eye on their disturbed sister.
She would put it to Robert and Sally, and then maybe all would be right with the world again. She buzzed with the joy of having a solution; she so desperately wanted her world to be normal again. She better search again for Milly, too.
* * *
It was noon. Willow was still suffering with a hangover; mixing the grape and the grain was never a good idea. How did alcoholics do it? Did they have a permanent hangover, or did they just readjust their life to misery mode? Derek wouldn’t be home until the evening so she had ample time to tidy up and prepare dinner.
What a nightmare last night had been. Her parents’ marriage a sham, their father a no-good – oh, what was the word she was looking for? a no-good scoundrel, or a no-good failure maybe, or a plain damn crook? None of them. Bastard was better.
Looking at the silver-framed photo she kept on her side table, all she saw were two people smiling back at her. Two people, who had loved her, had held her within their hearts and had always been there for her. How did Joe and Lillian battle through living with secrets for all those years? Is that what true love is about? Surely not, love is meant to be happy and...and...what? What was true love and marriage all about? Did anyone really know?
She thought about her own marriage. Derek was easy-going. The issue of children raised its head now and then, but he never really pushed it. Then, of course, she never pushed it either, because deep down having a family wasn’t part of her plan for life at this stage. Image was more important. So her marriage ambled along. Truth be known, Derek was often pushed to one side; everything she shared, she had shared with her mum.
Willow fixed herself a cup of strong coffee. She would have to apologise to Lacey for her rudeness. She had been rather sharp with her. She wondered what it felt like to have your mother taken from you twice over; once in death and again in a letter. How damaging a piece of paper could be. Just ink on paper, yet the power those words wielded was mighty. It was true, the pen is mightier than the sword.
Willow was numb when it came to her feelings at the moment. Leaving her coffee to go cold, she wandered through her house in the soft cream dressing gown with her initials embroidered in gold on the lapel. WTS. She rubbed her thumb over the raised stitching, remembering the morning her mum had presented her with the gown. It had been her 35th birthday and they’d gone for lunch and then on to an evening show, enjoying a few post-theatre drinks. They’d giggled and whispered like the close friends they were.
Willow plonked herself into the recliner in the conservatory. It was placed so she had full view of the garden, yet shielded from any nosy neighbours. She valued privacy. Looking out, she noticed the garden had become neglected. Debris was gathering and weeds were poking their heads up. The grass verges were tatty and the lawns appeared as if they were having a bad hair day. She knew unless it was she who put on the gardening gloves and outdoor shoes, those weeds would remain.
Derek had no interest in gardening. He saw golf as the way to relax. When she had broached the subject of having a gardener in to maintain it just once a week, the answer had been a resounding “NO”. It was fresh air and exercise for her, he said. He reminded her she was always telling anyone who would listen at those boring business parties, how she loved her garden.
Willow had been upset. Derek rarely raised his voice, but when he said no it meant no, and don’t ask again; so unlike the usual easy Derek. Other issues niggled their way into her thoughts. Like her married name; it wasn’t aristocratic enough, just plain old Shaw. How many Shaws were out there? When she had checked the phone book, her disappointment had only deepened. That was why Mum had WTS sewn on her dressing gown. Willow Taylor-Shaw sounded more upmarket, more important, and more significant.
Willow was still in a nostalgic mood. She needed to grieve for her mother, yet everything was in a mess with this Lacey business. Mum could have stayed quiet and left the past in the past. Why did she have to throw open this can of worms? Didn’t her mother know how it would impact on all of them? On her, Willow?
How could she have been so selfish in revealing it all? Willow wasn’t good at coping with difficult issues, her mother knew that. Lillian, not Derek, had always been her shoulder to lean on. She understood Willow’s yearning for an upmarket niche in society, to be someone of standing – even minor importance – amongst her upper-class friends. It was the little touches, like making her name double-barrelled, going to the theatre, attending readings by poets and authors who came during the Arts Festival. It was the little things that meant a lot, but also made a difference to their social life.
But now her life would change. Derek wouldn’t accompany her to those outings. He saw enough people at work and had no desire to mingle for the sake of appearance; golf and a quiet pint in their local was enough for him.
She recalled the bright hot summer’s day they buried her mother. The people gathered at the graveside had queued to shake her hand and offer their sympathy. How many times did she hear “sorry for your troubles”? She and the others had stood there, going through the rituals, the murmuring of prayers, the sea of black clothing, so dull and dreary on such a beautiful July day. The memories of lowering Mum’s coffin were a foggy recollection because of her tears that fell non-stop that day. It was like looking at everything through a mist.
Now she was on her own. Willow faced the horrible truth – without her mum, Willow Taylor-Shaw would be lonely. It was Joe’s and Lacey’s fault, her dear mother having to carry that burden each day alone. What a horrible ordeal it must have been. If her father had been man enough and told Lacey himself, if he’d owned up to his mistake, her mother might still be alive. Anger stirred inside her. It would be hard to forgive her father this awful revelation. Having Lacey to remind her would not dampen her spirits
any less.
She needed a drink, something to steady her thoughts. Just a small glass of wine would be soothing. By now it was no more than two-thirty, it could be her lunch-time drink, like the times she and Lillian had often enjoyed a glass with their lunch.
The rich red berries of her claret came through as she inhaled deeply, so comforting in her now miserable world. Tears fell unchecked and Willow poured another drink. Time slipped by in silence without her noticing or caring that it had. Her life was a sea of tears.
* * *
“Hi, sweetheart, where are you?” Derek called out as he hung up his jacket. Taking his tie off felt good, those after-lunch meetings could be tough. Better to have them in the mornings when everyone was mentally alert and present. Some of the older employees were a bit slack in their lunch time-keeping and often returned late, messing up the day even more.
Strange he couldn’t smell any dinner; usually the aroma of a nice roast or casserole would greet him as he came in. The kitchen radio was off. Usually Drivetime on Radio One echoed around the kitchen, filling it with chatter.
“Willow, honey, where are you?” Heading for the conservatory, Derek heard glass shattering.
“Christ Almighty, Willow, are you okay? What on earth happened?” He helped his wife up from the cool tiled floor. Glass splinters and shards scattered around her.
“Well, well, you’re home then?” Her words came out slurred and awkward.
Holding his wife steady, he guided her towards the hall. She didn’t seem to have cut herself with the broken glass but she was clearly drunk, and he spied the empty red wine bottle rolling on the floor by the shattered wine glass.
“You’re drunk, woman. Let’s get you to bed.” Holding her, he steered his wife upstairs. Leaving on the dressing gown, he settled her on the bed and pulled the duvet around her.
My Husband's Sin Page 4