My Mother's Secret

by Sheila O'Flanagan

  ‘The garage is on the left,’ said Davey as they peered through the windscreen. ‘A few minutes after the crossroads.’

  ‘I remember it,’ Colette said. ‘There was a shop there when we were kids. We used to buy ice creams. You introduced me to the Wobbly Wobbly Wonder.’

  ‘Did I?’ Davey grinned. ‘It was my favourite.’

  ‘I liked Brunch,’ she told him.

  ‘A good one too.’ He nodded.

  They fell into an almost companionable silence as they each recalled their childhood summers. And then, about half a kilometre before the garage, Colette gave a cry and brought the Santa Fe to a stop. She and Davey exchanged worried glances.

  Because in the ditch at the side of the road was Steffie’s blue Citroën.

  The passenger door was wide open.

  And there was no sign of her.

  Chapter 23

  Steffie couldn’t decide if her blurry vision was due to the tears that were continually welling up in her eyes, the rain beating against the windscreen of the car, or the fact that she’d been drinking champagne earlier. In her frenzied dash out of the house, she’d forgotten about the alcohol, and even though she’d switched to cranberry juice later, she was uncomfortably aware that it would be better not to be driving at all. Which meant that she should really turn around and go home. But even if she wanted to, turning around in the narrow country road was impossible. She remembered a garage further up the road that would be a better place to stop. With a bit of luck she could get some hot coffee there and drink a gallon of it before … Well, she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do or where she wanted to go yet. Maybe she’d be in a better frame of mind to figure that out after the coffee.

  She sniffed a couple of times and rubbed the back of her neck. Her eyes were hot and stinging and her head ached. The rain drummed even harder against the windscreen and Steffie had to squint to see through it. Then she shrieked in disbelief as a dark shape shot across the road in front of the car. She yanked the steering wheel to avoid what she supposed was a fox or a cat (and hoped wasn’t a ghoul or a murderer) and felt the Citroën skid on the surface water. With an increasing sense of horror, she realised that she wasn’t in control any more and that she was heading for the ditch on the opposite side of the road. She tried desperately to correct the skid but the wheels had lost traction, and despite her turning into it as she once remembered being told to do, the car wasn’t responding. She couldn’t believe that she was about to crash. Yet there was nothing she could do to stop it. The Citroën hit the grass verge with a jolt and for a second she thought that everything was going to be all right because the impact hadn’t been forceful enough to deploy the airbags. But then she felt the ground give way beneath her as the vehicle toppled slowly and inexorably into the ditch, taking her with it.

  Her seat belt kept her anchored in her seat, although her head bumped sharply against the driver’s door window when the car tilted sideways, stunning her for a moment. When her vision cleared, she could see the hedgerows and grass of the ditch through the window. She could also see that the ditch, normally dry, was full of water, which was already trickling into the footwell of the car. She felt a rising sense of panic as she scrabbled frantically at her seat belt without managing to release it. She recalled again her childhood fantasy of pretending to be a drowning princess, lying in water with her hair spread out, about to be rescued. But that had been in the safety of the bathroom, knowing her family was nearby. Who was going to rescue her now? Even as she felt around for it, she remembered with a sense of despair that she’d left her mobile phone at Aranbeg. She couldn’t call for help. Her mind was swamped with images of people finding her dead body anchored in the car, and the type of story that might be on the evening news. She imagined Sophie Fisher reporting on the devastation wreaked by the storm. Sophie was always good with the tragedy stories. Her lyrical voice with its soft cadences sounded both sympathetic and reassuring. Perhaps Alivia would do a programme on the storms too, full of human interest and drama and the sad story of her drowned cousin. And after the TV reports, there’d be a photo in the paper and an interview with her grieving mother … At the thought of Jenny talking about how much she loved her, Steffie gritted her teeth.

  Pull yourself together, she told herself. You’re not dead yet. And you’re not going to die either. The water isn’t even in the car yet, for crying out loud. All you have to do is to stop panicking, undo the seat belt and get out. Having given herself the lecture, she immediately felt a bit better. She took her time with the belt, finally managing to release it, then clambered across the centre console of the car to open the passenger door. It took some effort but she eventually succeeded. She pulled the jacket she was wearing more closely around her – it was a man’s jacket that she’d taken on her race from the house and it didn’t fit her properly, but it offered some protection from the relentless rain.

  A moment later she was standing at the side of the road, looking at the car and thinking that she’d been lucky to get out when she did, because the rising water had now covered the floor beneath the driver’s seat. She was trying to figure out precisely where she was, because she was confused about which direction the car was now facing. She hoped her disorientation was simply due to shock and not the bump on her head, which was now throbbing fiercely. She looked around her, trying to spot a landmark. In the distance, along the road to the right, she thought she could see a faint glow of light. That must be the service station, she thought with relief. She’d be fine once she got there.

  She started to walk, the slight heels of her sandals unsteady on the uneven surface of the country road. The further she went, the more she began to think that she’d made a mistake and that she was walking in the wrong direction. But there was definitely light ahead. The best thing to do was to keep going until she reached it.

  Davey and Colette spent ten minutes searching the immediate vicinity of Steffie’s car to make sure that she hadn’t collapsed anywhere nearby because of an injury.

  ‘She must have got out herself,’ Davey said. ‘The windscreen is cracked but intact, so she wasn’t thrown out.’

  ‘Maybe someone helped her,’ suggested Colette.

  ‘I guess. But she would have let us know, wouldn’t she?’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ Colette replied. ‘Should we call Roisin, d’you think?’

  ‘Let’s go to the garage first,’ suggested Davey. ‘If Steffie’s there, or has been there, at least we’ll have something more useful to tell her.’

  Colette nodded and the two of them set off in the 4×4 again. They were both thoroughly soaked by now, and as Davey turned the heat up, he felt a wave of anger towards his younger sister. My younger half-sister, he corrected himself, if we’re being technical about it. And suddenly his anger disappeared, replaced by a surge of sympathy for her. It had been a shock, no doubt about that. He couldn’t really blame her for wanting to get away for a while. It was just a pity that she’d hared off on the worst night of the year. And that she’d managed to crash her car – the very thing that Jenny had been so worried about. Davey didn’t think Steffie had been drunk, but she definitely shouldn’t have been driving. And whatever condition she was in now, she clearly shouldn’t be wandering around dark, narrow roads in this weather. He hoped she’d made it to the garage. He hoped she was still there.

  But the attendant behind the till shook his head when they asked whether a rain-soaked fair-haired girl had come into the garage any time within the last forty-five minutes.

  ‘It’s been dead quiet,’ he told them. ‘Not a sinner. Not that I’m surprised in this weather.’

  ‘Well look, if she does come in, will you get her to call me?’ asked Davey. ‘She doesn’t have her phone with her and we’re worried.’

  ‘You need to contact the police,’ said the attendant. ‘Nobody should be out in that.’

  Davey and Colette exchanged glances. Calling the police would make it seem so formal. It would be admitting tha
t something really had happened to Steffie, and he wasn’t ready to accept that. But perhaps it was time he did.

  ‘Let’s get back to Aranbeg,’ said Colette. ‘We’ll talk to your parents before calling in the guards.’

  ‘OK.’ Davey was glad that Colette was with him. She was so solid and sensible, despite the mad hair and the bumblebee dress. But then she’d always had a strong streak of common sense running through her. He remembered thinking the same thing when she’d stayed at Aranbeg all those years ago during her parents’ horrible break-up. When she’d spoken to him about them it had been with a despairing practicality that he’d found refreshing.

  He strapped himself into the passenger seat again and let her drive him home.

  The lights were further away than Steffie thought, and by the time she reached them she had blisters on her feet and was wet through and shivering. She’d definitely managed to get lost, because the building in front of her wasn’t the service station she’d been expecting, but a converted two-storey house with a cube-shaped extension to the front. It was well lit and welcoming and she recalled that a long time ago it had been Mulligan’s pub. But now there was a large sign outside that said ‘Cody’s’.

  Cody’s. She frowned. That was the restaurant her parents had been supposed to go to tonight. The restaurant owned by Liam Kinsella. He must have transformed the old pub into his high-class eatery. It wouldn’t do his image any good for her appear on his doorstep like a survivor from a shipwreck. But she couldn’t go anywhere else. She was too tired and too cold. And apart from a few houses she recalled further down the road, there really wasn’t anywhere else to go.

  She walked up the steps to the door, then pushed tentatively against it a couple of times. It didn’t budge and she feared that, despite the lights, the restaurant was closed. She felt a wave of despair as more tears stung her eyes. She couldn’t walk any further. She really couldn’t. Then she gave the door a tug. It flew open and she wobbled on the threshold before regaining her balance and stepping inside. Her first emotion was one of relief at being out of the interminable rain. She looked around the small entrance hallway, which contained a coat rack, a small desk and a large mirror. Another door, of frosted glass, with ‘Cody’s’ etched on it, led into the cube and what had to be the restaurant itself.

  She hesitated for a moment, then opened the door. The room in front of her was intimate, with about a dozen tables cosily arranged around banquette seating. However, there were only two diners, seated at a table in the corner. She stared at them in astonishment.

  ‘Bobby,’ she said. ‘Tom.’

  Her cousin Bobby and his partner, Tom, had left the party at the same time as most of the other guests. They must be staying nearby, she thought, although why they’d come out for something to eat on such a horrendous night and when there’d been plenty of food at the party was a mystery to her.

  ‘Steffie, sweetheart!’ Bobby put his knife and fork on the table and looked at her in astonishment. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘And what in God’s name happened to you?’ asked Tom.

  ‘I … um …’ She felt herself wavering on her feet as the warmth of the restaurant and the sight of familiar faces overwhelmed her.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Both of them spoke at the same time.

  She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She swayed on legs that had turned to jelly beneath her. It was Bobby who jumped out of his seat and caught her as she fell.

  When she opened her eyes again, she was on a chair, with Tom holding her hand and Bobby’s arm around her shoulders. And when she eventually raised her head, she also saw Liam Kinsella standing in front of her. He was dressed in his chef’s whites and was wearing a pair of bright green Crocs on his feet.

  ‘Glad you’re back with us,’ he said. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘I …’

  ‘You need to change out of those wet things,’ said Liam. ‘And then I’ll get you something hot to eat.’

  ‘I’m fine. Really. There’s no need to get me anything.’

  ‘You fainted,’ Tom said. ‘You’re not fine.’

  ‘And you’re soaked. You’ll catch your death unless you get out of those clothes and have something to warm you up,’ Bobby added.

  ‘I’m OK,’ she said and then shivered. ‘I don’t have anything to change into.’

  ‘I’ve spare stuff,’ said Liam. ‘A bit big for you but much better than staying in wet things. Give me a minute and I’ll get it for you. You can change in my flat upstairs.’

  ‘Oh look, I don’t want to cause trouble,’ she said through teeth that were starting to chatter.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Liam. ‘It’s no trouble and you’ll catch pneumonia otherwise.’

  She didn’t have the energy to argue with him.

  ‘Are you all right, sweetie?’ asked Bobby when Liam disappeared into the kitchen. ‘Is everything OK at Aranbeg?’

  ‘I will be.’ She rubbed her arms as briskly as she could. ‘And yes, more or less they’re fine at home. What on earth are you two doing here?’

  ‘Eating dinner,’ he replied.

  ‘But … but there was a ton of food earlier. How can you possibly be hungry now?’

  Bobby looked guiltily at her. ‘We don’t really do mass catering,’ he said.

  ‘Bobby Sheehan!’ Steffie felt her strength returning. ‘That was good food, not mass catering.’

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ said Bobby. ‘I meant … well, we don’t like turkey and ham salads, that’s all.’

  ‘There were vegetarian options too.’

  ‘We didn’t have very much,’ said Tom. ‘And when your mum dropped her bombshell and everyone left early, we decided to see if we could find somewhere to eat. Mrs Brannigan in the guest house told us about this place, and it’s so close it seemed like a good idea. Did you know that Cody’s is considered the best restaurant for miles? And that Liam has won awards?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Mum and Dad were supposed to eat here tonight, but because of the party they had to cancel. At least, Roisin cancelled for them.’ She looked around her. ‘Which I’ll bet Liam wasn’t too happy about. It doesn’t seem to be very busy.’

  ‘The weather,’ said Liam as he walked back into the dining room carrying a bundle of clothes. ‘We had plenty of early diners but most of the later sittings cancelled. I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t come out in this myself. So I sent the staff home and I was going to close the kitchen when these guys showed up. Here.’ He proffered the clothes, some T-shirts and chef’s trousers. ‘It’s spare gear we keep in the kitchen,’ he said. ‘If you’d like a jumper or socks as well, I have some upstairs.’

  ‘These are great,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘This way.’ He led her through a door at the back of the restaurant and pointed at a narrow flight of stairs. ‘First on the right at the top,’ he said.

  ‘You’re sure it’s OK?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She climbed the stairs, conscious that she was dripping rainwater on to the pale hessian carpet. She opened the door to Liam’s flat and stepped into a small living room furnished with a couple of two-seater sofas either side of a rectangular coffee table. She had to lean over some brown cardboard boxes to draw the curtains across the windows. She supposed that during the daytime Liam would have a view of the chequered green valley that stretched towards the town, but in the blackness of the night and with the rain beating against the glass, it was hard to see past the car park.

  She didn’t want to undress in the living room, so she opened the first door she saw but closed it quickly when she realised she was looking into a small room dominated by an enormous bed. When Liam had spoken about the flat, she hadn’t thought he actually lived here.

  The bathroom was as compact as the rest of the flat and she peeled off her wet things awkwardly before putting on a T-shirt and loose chef’s trousers from the freshly laundered selection Liam had given her.
After towelling her hair and running her fingers through it, she felt marginally better. She wished she’d had the wit to bring her bag with her when she’d stalked out of the house, because her face could have done with some repair work – her make-up and mascara had smudged in the rain, and after washing it off she looked pale and wan. She pinched her cheeks and bit her lips a few times to bring some colour into them, then went downstairs again.

  ‘Better?’ asked Bobby as she walked into the restaurant.

  ‘A lot.’ It was true. She didn’t think she was going to keel over any more and she felt warm for the first time since she’d stormed out of Aranbeg.

  ‘Good.’ He slid along the red banquette so that she could sit beside him.

  ‘You look better,’ observed Tom. ‘You scared the living daylights out of me when you walked through that door first. I thought you were a ghost.’

  Steffie smiled faintly. ‘You’re a desperate man for the exaggeration,’ she said.

  ‘He’s not,’ Bobby told her. ‘You looked awful. But, like he said, a lot better now. You’re totally rocking the trainee chef look.’

  ‘Don’t think I’d make it in the kitchen somehow,’ said Steffie.

  ‘Oh, we could train you up, no bother,’ said Liam, as he placed a bowl of steaming soup in front of her. ‘Here. Get this into you.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’ She’d remembered again why she was there in the first place. The reason she’d left Aranbeg in a daze. Her stomach flipped.

  ‘Of course you are,’ said Liam. ‘Have a little. It’ll warm you up.’

  ‘I’m not that cold now,’ she said truthfully. Nevertheless, she picked up a spoon, because despite her unsettled stomach, the aroma of the French onion soup in front of her was totally irresistible.

  ‘My own secret recipe,’ Liam told her as she took a tentative taste.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘It’s the best soup I’ve ever had in my life.’