Dreaming About Daran (Whitsborough BayTrilogy Book 3)

by Jessica Redland

  ‘I half-want to come to make sure he’s really dead. And I want to be there for you. But I don’t want to turn it into a circus.’

  Aisling pulled me into her embrace and whispered, ‘You do what’s right for you. Don’t mind the rest of us. If you decided to pelt spoons at his coffin, nobody could blame you.’

  I stepped back. ‘Why would I pelt spoons?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea. It’s the first thing that came into my head and it’s one of the worst turns of phrase ever.’ She hugged me again. ‘I’ve got to get back to the kids, but let’s talk again tomorrow. Oh my God! Speaking of kids, I haven’t asked you where Luke is. Has Ben got him? Will you have to go home before the wake?’

  ‘It’s okay. Callum’s moved back into a visitor’s room at Jimmy’s and he’s off his crutches now so he can have Luke with him. I miss him, but it’ll be good for them to have some family time. Maybe they’ll decide where they want to live and whether they want me to move near them. Life feels a bit on hold at the moment.’

  ‘I bet it does!’

  I caught a taxi back to the hotel, where a wall of sound hit me the moment the sliding doors opened. A St Patrick’s Day event was in full swing in the bar, with live music and laughter. I hesitated for a moment in the lobby. Not that long ago, I’d have joined the party, not caring that I was on my own. I’d have chatted and flirted and slipped away before any expectation that it would go further. At that very moment, though, I was aware of being alone and I didn’t like it at all. Somehow, I’d gone from being fiercely independent and happy in my own company to someone who longed to be surrounded by my family and friends. My arms ached for Luke. I missed Shannon’s sharp tongue, her zest for life, and the softness in her eyes when she let her guard down and allowed a moment of closeness to pass between us. I missed Callum’s eternal optimism and his passion for his family.

  Crossing the lobby, I caught the lift up to my floor. Without switching my light on, I crossed the bedroom and looked out over the River Lee. Yes, I’d admit it, I missed Ben too. As a companion, though, not anything else. I closed my eyes and pictured a typical Saturday night in his cosy terrace, curled up on the sofa with a takeaway and a bottle of beer, watching a film, an easy banter flowing between us. I’d have done anything at that very moment to open my eyes and be there with him.

  Chapter 36

  ‘Clare? Is that yourself? Come in, child, come in.’ Father Doherty shuffled back to let me pass the following morning.

  ‘These are for you,’ I said, handing him a large carrier bag bursting with fresh fruit and vegetables. ‘And because that’s all very healthy, I have a little treat too.’ I handed him a chocolate orange.

  ‘My favourite,’ he said. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I asked the warden.’

  He smiled, but tears glistened in his pale eyes. ‘I don’t deserve your company or your kindness.’ He lowered himself into his armchair and I sat on the sofa.

  ‘You know I’ve forgiven you,’ I said. ‘Because you asked and you apologised. Which is more than I can say for the guiltiest party.’

  Father Doherty nodded. ‘I heard about your da. How do you feel?’

  ‘I don’t know. I cried when I found out, but not because I’m sad that he’s dead. I’m not glad, either. I’m not sure what I am.’

  ‘You don’t have to know at this moment. You may not know how you feel for a long time to come. He didn’t ask for forgiveness, then?’

  ‘I didn’t think he would. He called for me so I jumped on a plane like an eejit. I suspected there’d be an ulterior motive and there was. He knew I’d been searching for Shannon and wanted me to stop bringing shame on the family.’

  Father Doherty’s shoulders sagged. ‘He never did. Oh, Clare. I’m so sorry, child. What did you say?’

  ‘That he needn’t be concerned, when he’d already told me last time that I was no daughter of his. Then I told him about Shannon’s baby.’

  His eyes widened. ‘You found her and she has a baby? You have a family?’

  ‘It seems that I do.’

  Father Doherty listened attentively while I told him everything that had happened. When I finished, he sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. He kept them shut for so long, I thought he’d fallen asleep.

  ‘Father?’ I whispered. ‘Father?’

  He muttered, ‘Amen,’ then opened his eyes. ‘Sorry, child, but I felt a prayer was needed for your poor Shannon, who has had far too much suffering for one so young. I’m so happy for you. You’ve found your little girl, thanks be to God, and she has a child of her own. You may have lost one family, but you’ve gained another. I believe it’s God’s way of putting right for you the wrongs that others – including myself – have done to you.’

  I was about to retaliate and say I didn’t believe in God, but I stopped. A wave of comfort swept over me. Whether there was a God or not, I did believe in the concept of karma and that was essentially what Father Doherty had just described. Very comforting.

  I drove back to the hotel a couple of hours later, abandoned the car I’d hired that morning and walked along the river into Cork. A dull, grey sky threatened rain, and a cold wind pushed my hair across my face and tickled my nose. I bought myself a sandwich and coffee and headed for Bishop Lucey Park. I shivered as I sat down on a bench, feeling the cold metal through my dress. Office workers scuttled past on their lunch breaks, and women pushed babies and toddlers in prams and buggies. I watched for a while before digging out my iPhone and calling Sarah. My conversation with Ben on Sunday morning was niggling at me. I wanted her in my life, I needed her in my life, and it was time to reconnect. Unfortunately, the only connection available was with her voicemail. I hung up without leaving a message. ‘Sorry I’m a lousy friend, hope your health/business/marriage/everything else is okay. By the way, my da’s dead’ didn’t seem like an appropriate message to leave.

  It was pointless calling Ben; he wasn’t allowed to take personal calls at work. Elise would have her mobile switched off on the ward and, if Stevie wasn’t with her, he’d have work to do so I didn’t want to disturb him. I thought I might manage to catch Aisling on her school lunch break but I got her voicemail instead, so I left a message telling her that I was definitely going to the wake, even though I knew Ma would make a scene.

  I looked at my watch. I hadn’t caught Aisling on her lunch break, but was it worth trying Ben in case he was on his? No such luck.

  ‘Hi, Ben, it’s Clare. Just thought I’d let you know that the old git is dead. I’m going to the wake tomorrow and the funeral on Saturday, although I suspect my ma will throw me out of the wake and have Satan on hand to brandish a pitchfork at me if I turn up to the funeral. I expect I’ll be back on Sunday afternoon, so maybe we can do a curry and get pissed or get pissed and do a curry. Or just get pissed, because I think I need to. I’ve texted Shannon and Callum to let them know. I know it’s a big ask, but I’d be really grateful if you could visit them and let me know they’re okay. Bye.’

  I put my phone back in my bag and opened my sandwich. A woman in her late 60s ambled past pushing a buggy as I took my first bite. She was clearly the granny. I doubted anyone would imagine I was the granny when they saw me out with Luke. Next to her, an older man – presumably her husband – pushed an older lady in a wheelchair. She must be the great-grandmother. How sweet. It was a shame that my ma would never get to enjoy that role, or at least not with my side of the family. Then it hit me. Christ! What about Daran’s mother? She’d lost her son, but did she have any idea that she had a granddaughter by him? If she did, she certainly wouldn’t know that she also had a great-grandson. Father Doherty must have met her at Daran’s memorial service. Perhaps he had her contact details.

  I finished my sandwich and drink. It was time to shop. I had a funeral and a wake to attend, and I stupidly hadn’t packed anything black.

  Chapter
37

  I twisted and turned so I could see the black skater dress from all angles in the full-length mirror on the wall of my hotel bedroom. Not bad. Not that he deserved black, but I didn’t want to make a scene by turning up in head-to-toe scarlet, especially as that’s probably what Ma and her cronies expected. Mind you, I’d snuck in some colour to show I wasn’t really in mourning. The dress had an Aztec-style embellishment in red, burnt orange, turquoise and green across the waistband, and I’d teamed it with a red silk scarf. Ha!

  For the funeral, I’d purchased a classy below-the-knee shift dress with a square neck and capped sleeves… and a hot-pink belt around the middle teamed with hot-pink stilettos. Double ha! He wasn’t worth the expense, but I was!

  I ran my brush through my hair, then, in another streak of rebellion, applied some bright-red lipstick. Picking up my handbag and coat from the bed, I took one last look in the mirror and nodded approvingly.

  By the time I’d descended to the hotel lobby, my confidence had well and truly evaporated. I glanced towards the hotel bar to my right and had to fight the urge not to walk right in, sit in a corner and drink myself into oblivion. Maybe offering Father Doherty a lift had been my way of ensuring I went through with it.

  ‘Are you nervous, my child?’ I pulled out of my space outside his retirement home.

  ‘I am, Father. The whole extended family will be there, along with most of the village, and I don’t know who knows what. I’m a pretty strong person, but even the strongest would hesitate at being thrown into the lion’s den.’

  I could see him nodding in my peripheral vision. ‘I wish I could offer some words of comfort and suggest you’re exaggerating what it will be like…’

  ‘I know.’ I turned my head slightly and smiled. ‘I’ve been through worse.’

  ‘Hindsight is a wonderful thing,’ he said. ‘And I know that everything we do is all part of God’s plan, but I do so wish that I’d known then what I know now and guided your father to show forgiveness and compassion, instead of stirring up accusations of sin.’

  ‘Please don’t punish yourself, Father. Even if you’d done that, I don’t think he’d have listened.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

  I laughed. ‘If we’re going to remain friends, I think you’ll find I’m always right.’

  Father Doherty laughed too. ‘I’d like to be friends. You’re a wise woman, Clare O’Connell.’

  ‘Well, before he started spouting hell and damnation at me, I was tutored by a pretty good priest.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And, even though he decided against the priesthood, Daran taught me well too. He taught me so much about the world, about myself, about the person I wanted to be…’ I tailed off, as the words stuck in my throat.

  Father Doherty lightly touched my hand on the steering wheel. ‘I know,’ he said softly.

  We left the city behind and headed into the countryside towards Ballykielty. I didn’t like the silence. It gave me too much time to think about what I was about to face. ‘I wondered something yesterday,’ I said. ‘Daran’s mother. Did she know about me?’

  Father Doherty paused for a moment before answering. ‘I can’t be certain, my child, but I know they were very close.’

  ‘Do you know where I might find her?’

  ‘Assuming she hasn’t moved since he died, yes, I do.’ He fidgeted in the pocket of his cardigan. ‘Oh, now, what’s this, then? I do believe this is the address of a certain Mrs McInnery. Just how did that get in there?’

  I gasped. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I had a feeling that you’d be thinking of family and your thoughts might naturally stray to Daran’s. Another chance to grow that family of yours, so it is.’

  I linked arms with Father Doherty as we walked slowly along the lane packed with cars. I knew that he knew my grip was more for my benefit than his. I felt sick as we turned the corner and walked down the driveway of my childhood home.

  Aisling was on door duty. She hugged Father Doherty, then me. ‘Be brave,’ she whispered in my ear.

  ‘Does she know I’m coming?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Does she know I’m here?’

  ‘No. She’s in the garden with Mrs Leary at the minute. Nia’s in the kitchen, though. Will we go inside and reacquaint the two of you?’

  I nodded and followed her. The living room was packed with people, but I kept my head down as I let my big sister lead me by the hand towards the kitchen. I had no idea who any of the people were; to me, they were just black blurs.

  ‘Nia,’ Aisling said.

  A petite woman with shoulder-length, mousy-coloured hair had her hands in the sink. She jumped and turned, dropping her dishcloth onto the floor with a splat as she spotted me.

  ‘Hi, Nia,’ I said. ‘Long time, no see.’

  ‘Emm, hi, uh, Clare,’ she stammered, pulling a shapeless, grey cardigan tightly across her tiny body. Her big, brown eyes kept flicking fearfully over my shoulder. ‘You look a lot like I remember. But prettier. And taller. You’re very tall, aren’t you?’

  I shrugged. ‘It might be the heels?’

  ‘There are people out here needing tea,’ boomed a man’s voice from the living room. ‘Stop gossiping and get on with your work, Nia. It’s embarrassing having people desperate for some basic hospitality and knowing it’s my wife leaving them parched and starving.’

  I cringed. So that was Nia’s husband? What an absolute prick, shouting like that and humiliating her in front of all those guests. My fists clenched by my side and I bit my lip. I wanted to march into the living room and give him an earful, but I could tell from Nia’s expression that it would only cause her more problems.

  ‘Sorry, Jim. It’ll be ready in a minute.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have to remind you, Nia. Should I?’

  ‘No, Jim. Sorry, Jim.’

  Nia swiftly retrieved the cloth from the floor, tossed it into the sink, grabbed the kettle and filled it.

  ‘Charming,’ I muttered.

  ‘Shhh,’ Aisling whispered. The doorbell rang. ‘Nia, I’m needed out front. Will you let Clare help you?’

  Nia dropped a teaspoon onto the worktop, and it bounced and clattered to the floor. ‘There’s no need. Really. I can manage.’

  But I’d already put my bag down, rolled up my cardigan sleeves and put my hands in the sink. ‘Will you sort out the drinks while I finish this lot?’

  Nia stared at me for a moment as if she were about to protest, then a flicker of something resembling relief passed across her face and she muttered, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t mention it.’

  The only problem with being stuck in the kitchen was that it was at the back of the house. Which meant it overlooked the garden. Which meant I could see Ma and Mrs Leary from the window above the sink. Ma looked angry, pacing up and down on the lawn. In one hand, she held a tumbler of dark liquid – brandy, perhaps? In the other, she held a cigarette. I didn’t know she smoked. As she talked – or shouted – the liquid sloshed over her hand. Mrs Leary, seated on the garden bench, kept making calming gestures with her arms. I’d liked Mrs Leary as a child. She’d been a teacher at school and had always been friendly.

  ‘How many’s she had?’ I asked Nia, who’d wandered back into the kitchen with a tray full of empty cups and glasses.

  ‘Ma?’ She placed the tray down next to the sink and peered out the window. ‘I lost count after number six.’

  ‘Jesus!’

  ‘Clare!’

  ‘Sorry. It just slipped out.’ I loaded the dirty pots into the sink while Nia emptied a box of assorted shortbread biscuits onto a plate. ‘The anger is because…?’

  Nia stopped and looked at me with her eyebrows raised.

  ‘Because of me,’ I said. ‘Of course. You think I should leave?’


  ‘I, emm… I haven’t really got an opinion on the subject.’ She put the last handful of biscuits onto the plate and scuttled into the living room.

  I picked up a tea towel when she returned and started to dry the pots. ‘So, Nia, why don’t you tell me about yourself.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’ She looked scared again.

  ‘Anything. What you do for a living, for example?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t work,’ she said. ‘Jim likes me to keep house for him.’

  Christ alive! The 1950s called and they want their protégée back. ‘Hobbies and interests, then. What do you like doing?’

  ‘I… uh… I cook.’

  ‘Do you enjoy cooking?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘So, what do you enjoy doing?’

  Nia shrugged. ‘I don’t really have any hobbies and interests. I go to Mass and I help out arranging the flowers for the altar every Sunday.’

  ‘But you don’t like either of them?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not really. But Jim says we need to be active at the church and I want to please God so…’ She tailed off.

  I decided to change the subject. ‘How long have you been married?’ I had to stop myself from adding ‘… to that gobshite.’

  ‘Fifteen years.’

  ‘Any kids?’

  ‘No.’ Her eyes seemed to plead with me not to explore that any further, before she turned away and busied herself loading some clean cups and saucers onto a tray. As I watched her, I found myself wondering whether she’d been unable to have children. She was a timid little mouse of a woman, all skin and bones, hollow cheeks and wispy hair. She didn’t look strong enough to grow a baby inside her.

  ‘So, what’s your name now?’ I asked, when I couldn’t stand the silence any longer, yet couldn’t face going into the living room.

  ‘Cullen.’