He put the key in the lock and pushed open the door. There was a tranquillity about the apartment, too, about its Nordic simplicity, its clean lines and its functional furniture. It returned to Davey the sense of order that had totally vanished from his life while he’d been in Ireland.
‘That’s what I meant when I said we were hopelessly chaotic,’ he told Camilla when they were sitting on the white Karlstad sofa, drinking decaf. ‘Even when we plan things, someone always throws a spanner in the works.’
‘A spanner?’ she queried. ‘I saw lots of things in your parents’ house but not a spanner.’
‘It’s an expression.’ He grinned. ‘It’s good to know that your English isn’t quite perfect yet. It means that someone does something to mess things up.’
She nodded. ‘I understand. I can see what it means. It’s a good expression.’
‘And apt for the Sheehan family,’ said Davey. ‘Every single time we get together, something unexpected happens. There was a pretty memorable dust-up at Alivia’s twenty-first birthday too. And there was one Christmas my dad and Uncle Seamus nearly came to blows about something – I’ve no idea what. That time Colette pushed Steffie out of the tree …’ His voice trailed off.
‘Colette seems to be a large part of your family’s activities,’ said Camilla.
‘Not really,’ Davey said. ‘When we were kids, she and her brothers stayed with us, that’s all.’
‘And this weekend she was a key part of everything.’
‘I don’t have feelings for her.’ Davey wanted to reassure Camilla. ‘Not those sort of feelings anyhow.’
‘I know,’ said Camilla. ‘I’m being a little silly.’
‘You don’t have to worry about Colette. Honestly.’
‘Clearly.’ Camilla stretched her hand out in front of her. ‘After all, I am the one wearing the ring.’
Davey grinned. ‘Indeed you are. And it looks wonderful on you. I’m very glad you said yes, Cam.’
‘So am I.’ Camilla smiled in return.
‘When do you want to get married?’
‘I don’t know. I’m getting used to being engaged. Which is nice too.’
‘We should have a party ourselves to celebrate,’ said Davey.
‘Here? In Denmark?’
‘Well, we had a celebration in Ireland,’ he said. ‘Admittedly a glass of champagne the morning after the night before isn’t what I’d ideally have had in mind, but nevertheless the important people were there to congratulate us. So we should do something here too.’
Camilla nodded slowly. ‘Our good friends will want to celebrate with us.’
‘And your family.’
‘Not all of them,’ she said. ‘They would not want …’
‘Camilla! Don’t be silly. Of course they would.’
She gave him a wry smile. ‘There have been lots of engagements and weddings in my family,’ she reminded him. ‘It’s not exactly a new thing.’
‘It is for you,’ he said. ‘And for me. So we’ll have people around for drinks and canapés and it can all be very quiet and sophisticated and not at all like the party at Aranbeg.’
Camilla grinned. ‘The party at Aranbeg was fun.’
‘Nevertheless,’ Davey said. ‘Let’s go for something a little less dramatic.’
‘OK.’
They put their cups in the dishwasher and went to bed. Davey, as he always did, fell asleep almost immediately after they’d made love. But Camilla spent another hour awake, gazing into the darkness and wondering how it was that she suddenly felt happier than she’d done in years.
Jenny was sitting on the sofa staring into space when Pascal walked into the living room, a large mug of hot chocolate in his hand.
‘Here,’ he said. ‘To help you sleep.’
It was a joke between them. Jenny was a light sleeper who woke regularly through the night but who nonetheless was always bright and cheerful the next morning, whereas he, who always had a good night’s sleep, was a grouch until well after ten.
‘Thanks.’ She took the hot chocolate and gazed out over her bedraggled garden. The water from the flash-flooding of the stream had completely disappeared, as had the puddles of sodden grass. But the garden looked sad and careworn. Rather like me, she thought, it can’t cope with unexpected shocks.
Pascal sat beside her and rested his arm on the back of the sofa. He’d always known this day would come, when everything would be brought out into the open. He’d hoped that it would be at a time of his and Jenny’s choosing. And in some ways it had been of Jenny’s choosing, although he wished she hadn’t blurted out her confession of their deception in front of everyone like that. Yet he was relieved that she had. He’d always felt guilty about the anniversary cards that arrived every August, wishing them well and expressing delight at how long they’d been married. It had all been a pretence and Pascal didn’t like pretences. But as the years went on, it became harder and harder to admit to the truth. As for Steffie … Pascal sighed. He’d dreaded her birth, expecting that despite what he’d promised Jenny, he’d feel differently towards the child who wasn’t his own. And yet from the moment he’d seen her, wrapped in a white blanket, a tuft of golden hair on her head, he’d loved her unconditionally. And he never for a second thought of her as another man’s daughter. To him, Steffie was, and always would be, his own.
Deep down, he liked to believe that she was. From the moment he’d decided that he was keeping the family together, he’d also decided that Steffie was his. Her sunny, accepting nature always lifted his spirits, and even when things weren’t going well for her – like when she’d lost her job over the jewellery ad – she took it on the chin and got on with life. And, of course, she had that artistic, dreamy streak that he so loved in her mother, that way of thinking that everything should turn out OK in the end because she wanted it to. They were more alike than either of them realised and he hoped that they’d reconcile soon. More than anything he wanted to have his family back together again, and the sooner the better.
But he had a feeling that it would take longer than he’d like for that to happen.
He hoped he was wrong.
The Wedding
Chapter 35
The snowflakes that were drifting languidly past the window landed gently on the ground beneath, before slowly melting. As she peered anxiously skyward, Steffie hoped the snowfall wouldn’t get any heavier and the roads would stay clear. Otherwise the trip to Wexford would be far more fraught than she already expected. She wasn’t a fan of driving in snow, and even though her little Citroën hadn’t given her a moment’s trouble since it had been rescued from the ditch in Wexford more than three months earlier, she didn’t want to risk another mishap with it.
The smattering of snow hadn’t been entirely unexpected. Immediately after the previous night’s chilly weather forecast, she’d looked up half a dozen weather sites in the vain hope that they’d be somewhat more benign than Met Eireann, but they’d confirmed the sweep of Arctic air and heavy cloud advancing southwards from Siberia. And all of them had mentioned the possibility of snow while hedging their bets by saying that it might be confined to higher areas. At least Camilla will feel at home, thought Steffie, as she allowed herself to be mesmerised by the swirling flakes. It’ll be properly Nordic today.
She shivered, then tightened her fluffy robe around her. The central heating had come on an hour earlier, but it was still cool in the house. She hoped it would be significantly warmer in the restored hall of the castle, which was the venue for the winter wedding. She wasn’t entirely convinced about that, because despite it being a stunning building, it could be draughty. The restoration a few years previously hadn’t allowed for the installation of central heating in the two-storey hall, which was the only remaining building in the original castle complex where Steffie used to play when she was younger.
Following the restoration, the castle had become a very popular venue for cultural evenings, but an even more popular choice for w
edding ceremonies. On the rare occasions when she’d thought about getting married, Steffie thought it would be a wonderful place to tie the knot. But she’d been beaten to it now and would have to find an alternative venue for her hypothetical wedding. Not that there was any chance of that happening any day soon, she thought, as she turned back into the bedroom and looked at her outfit hanging on the door of her wardrobe. Her life had been a man-free zone of late and she was content to keep it that way.
She held the green silk dress she’d bought at the tail end of the summer sales against her body. It was very pretty, but not exactly made for warmth. Her new green angora jacket would help to keep the chill out, but the truth was that she’d put style before comfort for today’s ceremony. She wanted to look good at the first family occasion since the anniversary party. She wanted to feel good too. And although there’d been no wedding date fixed when she’d bought the dress, it was totally appropriate for the day. Provided she didn’t die from hypothermia.
She went downstairs and took a packet of rashers and a couple of tomatoes from the fridge. It would be a long day and she needed something hot and filling to keep her going, which was why she planned to make the tomato and bacon dish that Liam Kinsella had rustled up for her the day he’d driven her home from Aranbeg. It had become a staple meal for her – she regularly made it for breakfast, brunch or a light snack, and every time she did, she marvelled at how such simple food could taste so great.
If nothing else, she thought, Liam had made her rethink the contents of her fridge for ever. And weaning her off frozen crispy pancakes was as dramatic a change in her life as everything else that had happened since the day of the anniversary party. It was the one good thing sandwiched between the awfulness of the party and the even greater awfulness of the day after she got home.
She shuddered as she remembered. It had been the ringing of her mobile phone plugged in beside her bed that had woken her from more a coma than sleep that morning. She’d lain beneath the duvet, not wanting to be awake and not wanting to feel the pain of remembering. Not only the events of the party, but also the pain she’d felt when Liam had walked out of her house, clearly untroubled by the fact that she seemed to have someone else in her life. In fact, she’d thought bleakly as she curled up in the bed, possibly even relieved that Steve was there so that he wouldn’t have to extricate himself from a relationship he didn’t really want. Men are different, she’d mused. Having sex isn’t the same to them as making love. They can walk away and not care. And then she’d reminded herself that she too had wanted to walk away and not care. But the problem was, she did. It didn’t matter how stupid it was to think there was something between her and Liam Kinsella after just one night. It didn’t matter that she told herself it was the circumstances of the storm and the power cut that had drawn them together. That it was a temporary thing. A one-off. It made no difference that she’d told Alivia she’d be fine. When Liam had walked out of her house, she’d felt as if a part of her had left with him. And it had been awful sitting beside Steve, knowing that she’d already distanced herself from him but not wanting him to think it was because of Liam, because she didn’t want to make him feel bad. And then thinking that he wouldn’t feel bad anyway. And worrying about that too.
In the end, after he’d finished the pizza and before he’d had the chance to open another bottle of beer, she’d told him that he couldn’t stay with her that night. He’d looked at her in complete astonishment.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I really appreciate that you came here, Steve. But it’s not going to work.’
‘What’s not going to work?’ he asked.
‘You and me.’
He stared at her and an expression of disgust crossed his face.
‘Don’t tell me it’s because of restaurant van man. That you went behind my back and—’
‘It’s not because of Liam.’ She knew she was on shaky ground but she was comforting herself with the fact that she’d planned to break it off with Steve long before she’d hopped happily into bed with Liam. All the same, she thought, I clearly take after my mother in the cheating department. I deserve everything that’s happened to me.
‘Oh come on.’ He snorted. ‘I saw the way he was looking at you.’
‘What way?’ Even as she asked the question, she wanted to think that Liam cared, even a little bit.
‘He wanted you,’ said Steve. ‘Anyone could see that.’
Steffie tried to keep her face as expressionless as possible. Liam might have wanted her. He’d already had her. Three times. And he’d still walked away.
‘It’s nothing to do with him,’ she said. ‘It’s about loads of stuff, Steve. It’s not you. It’s me.’
‘For crying out loud.’ He stood up. ‘You’re parroting those stupid women’s magazines. “It’s not you. It’s me.” What a load of horseshit.’
‘But it is!’ she cried. ‘Steve, all sorts of things happened at the party. Family things. I don’t want to talk about them again, but—’
‘Again?’ he said. ‘You didn’t talk about them at all to me. All I got was a litany of how annoying your sister was and how mad some of your relations were. Is it any wonder I didn’t want to go to the party in the first place? And now you’re blaming me for not being there and using something I don’t even know about as an excuse for breaking up with me. Well if that’s how you feel, that’s fine. I don’t need to be messed around. I’m out of here.’
And she’d watched as another man she’d slept with walked out of her house.
That was when she’d started on the wine. It had done the job. When she eventually went up to her bedroom, she’d passed out, but not before remembering to plug in her phone. When it had buzzed insistently the following morning, she’d ignored it and the ping of a voicemail being left. It was nearly two hours later before she crawled from beneath the duvet and looked at the number of the missed call. When she realised that it was from the company to which she’d submitted her branding and logo proposal, her heart started to beat faster even as the pounding in her head increased. She pressed the dial button and then disconnected. It would be better to listen to the voicemail first.
‘Hi, Steffie, this in Gerald Morton,’ she heard. ‘I’m ringing to say that the management group really liked your proposals. They were very fresh and interesting. But on this occasion we’ve decided to go with a different company. Thanks for all your hard work.’
Her stomach plummeted and she thought she was going to be sick with disappointment. She’d tried and tried ever since she’d submitted the proposal not to get too excited about it. But she hadn’t been able to help thinking about what it would mean to get the job. She hadn’t been able to push out of her mind images of her logo on their corporate website, on their headed paper, on everything they did. She’d told herself not to get carried away, but she’d really believed in her design. And now they were telling her it wasn’t good enough. That she wasn’t good enough.
Why? When Roisin was so damn capable, when even laid-back Davey was now settled in a good job and engaged to the gorgeous Camilla, why was she still the utterly hopeless one in the family? She didn’t get it from her mother. Jenny wasn’t hopeless. She’d managed to work things out in her favour even when she’d totally messed up. So was it the fault of the nude sheep farmer? Had he been utterly hopeless too? But no matter what, he couldn’t have been as hopeless as her. She’d messed up with two men in as many days. She hadn’t landed the contract. She couldn’t go to her parents for support any more. She was on her own and useless with it.
She’d thrown the phone, with its already cracked screen, across the room, then pulled the covers back over her head. Some days simply weren’t worth getting up for. At that moment, she didn’t feel like ever getting up again.
‘It’s snowing, Mum!’ Dougie squealed with delight as he looked out of the window.
Roisin turned from the cooker where she was preparing breakfast. It was a full Irish – sausage, bacon, eg
gs, potato cakes and beans. Roisin was proud of her cooked breakfasts, which always went down well with both Paul and the children. But she knew that everything, even food, paled into insignificance for Dougie in comparison to snow.
‘It’s not much,’ said Paul, who was looking out of the window too. ‘And it’s not sticking. It won’t be a problem.’
‘I want to build a snowman!’ cried Dougie.
‘I don’t think we’ll get enough for that, pal,’ his dad told him. ‘But if we do, then you and I will definitely build one.’
‘I’m crossing my fingers.’
‘Please don’t,’ begged Roisin. ‘We can’t have snow today. Can you imagine if we don’t make it to Aranbeg? We can’t miss the wedding. That would be a nightmare.’
‘I don’t want snow either,’ said Daisy. ‘I’m looking forward to wearing my dress and my shoes and everything. And doing my make-up.’ She peeped at her mother from beneath her sweeping black lashes, but Roisin was busy turning sausages and didn’t reply.
‘Ooh, we might get stuck at Gran and Gramps’. Like in the summer.’ Poppy was thrilled at the prospect.
‘I sincerely hope not.’ Roisin began to load the plates with food. ‘Getting trapped at Aranbeg again is something I don’t want to repeat.’
‘But it was fun,’ said Poppy.
‘Y’see.’ Paul walked away from the patio doors and slid his arms around his wife’s waist. ‘Our children look back on that day with pleasure.’ He nibbled the back of Roisin’s neck.
‘I don’t.’ She relaxed into the warmth of his body instead of wriggling free as she’d first intended. ‘However, I appreciate that I might have been a teeny bit stressed at the time.’
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