by Ber Carroll
Katie lit a cigarette and agitatedly puffed her frustration out the window. In Dublin for almost two months now, she had absolutely nothing to show for her efforts. In two more months she’d be back in Sydney and, the way things were going, she wouldn’t have satisfied the aching need to uncover her family roots.
The cigarette extinguished, she went back to the sofa and stretched out along the length of it. She watched a few minutes of the evening news before something registered in her head.
‘Liz moved down to Cork,’ Father Flanagan had said.
Was it a coincidence that Katie had talked to a Liz Carey in Cork? She remembered the call very clearly. It had been so promising to start off with; the woman had a sister called Rose. However, she had quite definitely said that her sister was dead.
But what if her sister isn’t dead? The very thought propelled Katie into an upright position. Could Liz Carey be wrong?
The crazy thought would not go away. All night long, through disturbed sleep, and the next morning, when there was more than one occasion that Mags had to repeat herself, it played havoc with her mind.
Could Liz Carey be wrong? Could her sister, Rose, be alive?
‘What is wrong with you today?’ Mags asked in exasperation when Katie didn’t respond to yet another question. ‘You’re away with the fairies.’
Katie apologised. ‘I’m sorry.’ She added, ‘It’s just a family thing,’ for fear that Mags might think she was daydreaming about Jim.
Should I phone Liz Carey again? Or would it be better to see her face to face?
As the morning progressed the clinic got busier and Katie found it impossible to reach a decision. There was such a backlog that shutting shop for lunch hour was out of the question.
Mary, on her way out, bustled into the room. ‘I’ll bring you back some sandwiches,’ she offered. ‘The queue is all the way down the hall – you’ll need three of you at this rate.’
‘She’s not far wrong,’ said Mags when she was gone. ‘Though I can’t figure out if this is a short-term boom or a more permanent trend.’
Much later in the afternoon, when Katie was finishing off a consultation, her phone beeped with an incoming text. The client, a woman who liked the sound of her own voice, was hard to shake off.
‘I’ll make him sorry – not that I’m vindictive, mind – it’s just that I don’t let anyone get away with doing me wrong. When I was younger, I did. But I’m older and wiser now –’
‘Thank you, Mrs Connelly. I’ll let you know the outcome of our enquiries,’ said Katie pointedly.
But she still lingered on. ‘You never know with people, do you? He seemed so nice at the start, but it was all put on. A right con artist, he was –’
‘Yes, it certainly seems so. Have a nice evening, Mrs Connelly.’
She finally took the hint and Katie had a few free moments to check her phone.
Dinner tonight?
Jim. She smiled. She hadn’t seen him since the awkward lunch in Fitzsimon’s. But he had sent a number of text messages, and she knew that he was thinking of her. As she was of him.
Take me to one of your haunts, she texted him back.
Then the next client came in, and it wasn’t long before she was caught up in another sad story.
Mary had gone home by the time they finished, and Mags did all the locking up.
‘I’m going your way tonight,’ said Katie and the two of them started off down the street, neither one aware of the hooded figure that followed some distance behind.
They walked along in silence. Mags had been a little on the quiet side these last few days. Katie was unsure if it was to do with Jim’s arrival or the upset with Seamus. Maybe it was a combination of both.
‘What’s the best way to get to Cork?’ asked Katie as they approached O’Connell Bridge.
‘Depends what part you want to go to,’ replied Mags, turning her face away from the forceful wind that blew up the river.
‘Ballincollig.’
‘I think that’s outside the city centre. You’d be better off driving there, I’d say,’ was her advice. ‘Is that what’s been distracting you today?’
‘Yeah,’ Katie confessed. She had decided that she wanted to go to see Liz Carey. A two-minute phone conversation might not be enough to determine if it was possible for her dead sister to be alive. ‘I just wish the weekend wasn’t so far away . . .’
They came off the bridge and waited at the pedestrian crossing.
‘Take a day off if you need to,’ Mags suggested.
Katie frowned. ‘But that would mean we’d have to shut for the day, and it’s been so busy this week . . .’
‘I’ll call Ted tonight and ask him to send over one of the graduates,’ was Mags’s solution.
The light flashed green. Katie and Mags blended into the surge of crossing pedestrians and left the hooded figure behind, standing motionless on the side of the road.
‘I have to cross again for my bus,’ said Mags, stopping on the corner. ‘Unless I hear otherwise, I’ll assume that I won’t see you till Thursday. Bye!’
Katie continued on to the General Post Office. With its granite façade, complete with bullet holes from the 1916 Rising, it was a popular meeting spot. Dozens of pairs of eyes glanced her way to see if she was their tardy sister, colleague or friend. Jim was already there, and he claimed her for his by lifting her up in a tight hug.
When he set her down she noted that his eyes were hollowed and his face drawn. Dublin held a lot of personal baggage for him, and the strain was taking its toll.
Taking her hand, he led her down a maze of back streets until they came to an Italian restaurant with a rather nondescript front.
‘One of my old haunts,’ he said as he opened the door to let her through.
Small square tables squashed up against each other in the poorly lit interior, yet the patrons didn’t seem to mind the lack of space, their loud conversation, laughter and scraping cutlery indicating they were all having a good time.
The only free table was down the back of the restaurant, almost in the kitchen itself.
‘I used to know all the staff here,’ said Jim when the waitress had taken their order, ‘but none of the faces here tonight look familiar – I guess it has been two years.’
The wine came quickly, a sure sign that the food wouldn’t be quite so prompt.
‘Cheers!’ Jim raised his glass.
She followed suit. Their glasses clinked. In the ensuing silence Katie tried to banish Liz Carey from her thoughts.
‘Penny for them,’ she heard Jim say.
‘Sorry.’ She looked up apologetically. ‘I was just wondering where I can hire a car around here.’
‘Why?’ he asked.
‘Because I need to go to Cork tomorrow.’
‘I’ll drive you there,’ he offered unexpectedly.
‘That’s very kind of you, but –’ she started to protest.
‘Let me do it. Please.’
‘What about your family?’
‘I think I’ve earned some time out.’
‘Okay. Thanks.’ She took an uneasy sip of her wine. ‘I guess I should explain why I want to go to Cork.’
‘Well, it is your turn at two truths and one lie,’ he said, giving her the perfect opening.
‘So it is.’ She suddenly wanted to tell him all her dark secrets. ‘Right. Pick the lie. Patience is not one of my virtues; my ex-fiancé gambled away our house and left me up to my eyes in debt; I think I have an aunt in Cork who my mother hasn’t spoken to in thirty years.’
Katie looked at him intently, daring him to be shocked.
He appeared to be weighing it all up.
‘From what I’ve observed, patience is certainly not one of your strengths. I also recall that you went all funny when we started to play poker at the Hunter Valley – your experience with your fiancé would explain that. So,’ he raised an eyebrow, ‘is the lie about your mother and aunt?’
She smiled cynic
ally. ‘Correct. They haven’t spoken in forty-three years. In fact, my aunt thinks that my mother is dead – that’s if I have the right woman.’
Their starters arrived, and she was just about to begin eating when Jim said, ‘If you’re trying to scare me off, Katie Horgan, you’ll have to try a lot harder than a gambling ex-fiancé and some family skeletons down in Cork.’
The wine, plus Jim’s charm, eventually lightened Katie’s mood. By the end of the meal, the laughter and sexual tension of the afternoon in the Gresham were back in full force. Every time their hands touched or their eyes met, there was a promise of something more . . . later on, when they were alone.
Jim had asked for the bill when the waitress arrived with two glasses of port.
‘We didn’t order these,’ he said.
She jerked her head towards the bar. ‘Compliments of the manager.’
A bald man raised his hand in recognition as soon as Jim looked his way.
‘That was nice of him,’ Katie commented.
She really didn’t want another drink: she was intoxicated enough as it was. However, neither did she want to insult the spirit in which it had been given, so she drank back its heavy sweetness in one gulp.
On the way out, Jim stopped by the bar to thank the manager. Their voices were low and Katie’s head fuzzy, but she did catch the manager saying ‘It’s good to see you happy’ at the end of their conversation.
Outside was cold in comparison to the cosy warmth of the restaurant. Katie left Jim to his thoughts as he led her through unfamiliar streets. They eventually came out at the Ha’penny Bridge and crossed over its dainty arch, the black Liffey underneath.
The fresh air had cleared Katie’s head by the time they reached her apartment. She didn’t ask Jim if he would like to come in – they had gone beyond that point. She shut the door behind them and stepped into his arms, his kiss.
Light from the quay filtered through the blinds in her bedroom. It cast shadows on his face and blackened his eyes as he paused to look down at her.
‘Okay, Katie?’
Jim, the gentleman, giving her a chance to change her mind. He couldn’t know that she’d been waiting for this moment ever since the day he’d brushed the chocolate muffin from her face. Three long months had passed since that first touch, that spark of attraction, and now she wanted him so much that she couldn’t bear for him to stop.
‘Yes.’
Her affirmation sealed it and at last he was kissing her again, passionate demanding kisses, while his impatient fingers dealt with the inhibiting buttons of her shirt and, soon after, her bra.
‘I’m feeling decidedly underdressed in comparison to you,’ she said in a husky voice that didn’t sound like her own.
He looked up, a mischievous glint in his eye. ‘Please, Miss Horgan, feel free to address the imbalance as you see fit.’
She slid her hands under his T-shirt, his torso smooth and taut to her touch, and she lifted the brushed cotton up over his head. It fell to join her bra on the floor. Keeping his gaze, she undid the heavy buckle on his belt and the metal studs on his fly. She inched the denim downwards. His naked body was lean and muscled. It melded perfectly with hers.
When he moved inside her, her body rose to meet him, wanting to let him in. He clasped her hands above her head and grazed her mouth with his lips. It seemed that they were joined in every possible way.
Chapter 20
Despite the early start, the traffic heading south was bumper to bumper. Katie didn’t care. She could have quite happily sat in the car for the whole day as long as she was with Jim.
This morning he was wearing his customary casual wear, T-shirt and jeans. She was getting used to this Jim, the dark-suited litigator a foggy memory. However, both versions were as sexy as hell.
‘What are you smiling to yourself about?’ he asked, shooting her an amused glance.
Her cheeks flushed. ‘Nothing.’
Last night, in the afterglow of their lovemaking, they had cuddled up in bed and exchanged confidences, trivial stuff about families and friends, but deep things too. Jim told her more about Laura, the aftermath of the accident, the shock, the grief. She told him the full story about Geoff, all the chances she had given him, how he’d betrayed her trust until it ran out altogether. As they talked into the early hours of the morning, it became clear to Katie that their hopes and dreams matched. Combined with the physical chemistry, it made something very special; something good enough to last.
Once they got past Kildare, the traffic unclogged and Jim put his foot down. Katie looked out the window at the rich green fields and grazing livestock.
‘I can see why songs are written about the green fields of Ireland,’ she grinned.
For the next few hours, the sun played hide and seek in the patchy blue sky. However, just after they crossed the Cork border, the windscreen speckled with drops of rain and she couldn’t help but think it was a bad omen.
‘Do you know how to get to Ballincollig?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘I once handled a case for a plastics manufacturer out there. It’s been a few years, though.’
Katie felt a knot of nervousness form in her chest as he drove through the bustling centre of Cork city. Her brief impression of Patrick Street consisted of old buildings, wide pavements and colourful umbrellas.
‘UCC – University College of Cork,’ Jim pointed out a short while later when the people walking the pavements were mostly late teens with backpacks.
‘Cork County Hall’ was the next landmark he pointed out. ‘The tallest building in Ireland – all sixteen storeys of it.’
Then the city was over and they were driving through green fields again.
‘Ballincollig is Cork’s biggest satellite town,’ Jim informed her, ‘or at least it used to be.’
It wasn’t long before suburbia started up again and housing estates swallowed the countryside. Soon Jim was driving down the main street of a village that looked quite modern.
‘Time to get a bite to eat,’ he said, ‘and discuss strategy.’
They parked almost directly outside a pub called the Darby Arms, and it seemed obvious that they should go in there to eat.
‘I’m starting to think that this wasn’t such a good idea,’ Katie admitted as she sat down. ‘This woman will think I’m a nutter for coming all the way down from Dublin without calling ahead. She probably won’t even be home. I’m so sorry for dragging you into this . . . Once again, I’ve let my impatience get in the way of my common sense.’
Jim grasped her hands with his and she felt an instant steadying effect.
‘Don’t be apologetic, Katie. You’re following a hunch, that’s all. You aren’t committing a crime.’
She gave him a wry smile. ‘I think my mother, if she could see what I’m doing, would think it’s a crime.’
‘Maybe you don’t know your mother as well as you think.’
‘That’s precisely the problem,’ she told him.
‘Now you’re being stubborn.’
‘Funny, that’s exactly what my mother says about me.’
Some of the tension eased away with their laughter.
The food was good but Katie couldn’t fully appreciate it. Jim asked the waitress for directions to the housing estate and left her a generous tip as thanks for her detailed instructions.
‘Number 64,’ muttered Katie a few minutes later. The estate was a loop of redbricked semi-detached houses with an oval green in its centre. ‘That was Number 30 just there. Keep going.’
They came to a stop outside a house with a varnished door and well-tended garden. Unlike some of the other houses, there was no car in the driveway.
‘There’s no one home,’ said Katie, suddenly relieved beyond description.
‘Go and knock,’ was Jim’s patient response.
The drive was puddled from the earlier rain. Katie knocked. So sure that no one was home, she jumped when the door opened.
‘Hello.’ The woman
looked to be somewhere in her fifties. She was nicely dressed in beige trousers and a black scoop-necked top. Her short hair was fair, her face petite and her blue eyes inquisitive as they looked at the stranger who obviously wasn’t a door-to-door salesperson or charity collector, the usual kind of callers for this time of the day.
‘My name is Katie Horgan . . .’ she began awkwardly.
The woman clearly had a sharp memory, for she immediately said, ‘The girl who phoned a few weeks ago?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry to trouble you, but I have some more questions and I thought it would be easier face to face.’
The blue eyes shifted from Katie to the car parked at the end of the driveway. ‘Is that your husband waiting?’
‘No, a friend.’
‘Does he want to come in?’
‘He’s okay to wait in the car.’
Liz Carey led the way down a narrow hallway into the neatest kitchen Katie had ever seen. Everything was so precisely in its place that she could instantly tell Liz lived on her own. There was no way she could have maintained this level of order with a family.
Liz took the kettle from its stand and filled it with fresh water. While it boiled, she arranged some sweet biscuits on a plate. Katie had lived in Ireland long enough to understand the routine, and she sipped the hot tea and ate one of the biscuits.
She had already rehearsed what she would say. She had decided that it would be too confronting to directly suggest that Liz’s sister might not be dead. Her parents, possibly Katie’s grandparents, were a better place to start.
‘Liz,’ she began, ‘were your parents called Seán and Maureen by any chance?’
Liz replied slowly, ‘Yes, they were.’
‘And do you have another sister called Carmel?’
‘Yes.’
Katie’s heart thudded. ‘I think my mother, Rose, must be your sister.’
Liz looked utterly shocked. ‘But they told us Rose was dead . . . Mam and Dad . . .’
‘She’s lived in Sydney the last forty years,’ said Katie. ‘She’s married to Frankie. He’s Irish too. Did you know him?’
Liz shook her head slowly. ‘Ours wasn’t the kind of house that you’d bring a boyfriend home to. Our parents were very strict . . .’ Then, her tone both disbelieving and bewildered, she asked, ‘Are you sure it’s the same Rose?’