First We Take Manhattan

by Colette Caddle

  She smiled as she gazed around her at the busy restaurant buzzing with conversation and full of dramatic, beautiful and confident people. ‘I find New York pretty inspirational.’

  He laughed. ‘I’d noticed. You have worked so hard these last few months, as if you’re possessed. The floodgates have opened.’

  ‘I know, I can’t quite believe it. I get so lost in what I’m doing the day flies by.’

  ‘Because you’re finally doing something you love. When are you going to go public?’

  She nibbled on the skewer of chicken. This was a regular topic of conversation. Karl was a man of action and he was eager to see her shine. ‘It’s too soon. I’m still finding my way. And I don’t want to draw attention to myself, certainly not after what happened today.’

  ‘You’re Donna Cassidy now,’ he reminded her. ‘Forget that woman. There’s no way she would have recognised you. You’re safe, darling, stop worrying.’

  ‘Unless of course I’m an overnight success and become famous. And the hacks start to dig into my mysterious Oirish roots.’ She grinned. ‘Seriously, though, I’m in no rush to go public, Karl. I’m having fun developing my style.’

  He smiled. ‘Then that’s all that matters. I suppose I’m just dying to see what reaction you get. It’s tough being your only audience.’

  ‘I wonder what your friends think I do all day,’ she mused.

  ‘They think you shop, hang out in expensive spas and do lunch, what else?’

  ‘What else indeed?’ She laughed. There had been some women who had invited her out when Karl first introduced her to some of his friends, but she had been afraid that she would say something to give away her identity and so always declined. It hadn’t bothered her. She was enjoying the solitude. It had never occurred to her in the past, but she had spent little time alone. She was also quite enjoying being spoiled. Karl was so obviously thrilled to have her here that it bowled her over.

  Of course, she thought about her family and Philip, especially with Christmas looming. Would he be able to cope without her? He certainly wouldn’t cancel. This was the time of year when Philip thanked staff, party members and his most loyal constituents. And would the family still congregate in her house now she was gone? And what about Aunty Bridie? Would she be left in the home, out of sight, out of mind? She felt guilty at the thought. Poor Bridie. For all her faults she didn’t deserve to be abandoned.

  How different her life was now, she thought, as they strolled back, arm in arm, through the streets to his penthouse in Gramercy Park. No more worrying about Philip’s schedule or schmoozing retailers, or trying to balance the books. Now each day was her own and she lived it at a gentle pace, working when she felt like it, taking long walks and cooking for Karl.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Karl looked down at her.

  ‘Fine,’ she assured him and they continued on their way in comfortable silence. It was one of the things she liked most about Karl. He was quite content to be silent and he didn’t plague her with questions.

  They had exchanged life stories and knew everything there was to know, the good and the bad. It had been a wonderful release and brought them incredibly close very quickly. She felt happy with him. She still had to pinch herself sometimes, unable to believe she was here. She never thought she would have the opportunity or the strength to change her life so radically, but she’d done it.

  Kieran Fields puffed a little as he reached the top of the hill. Pulling out his cigarettes, he sat down on a bench to get his breath back. Of course he probably wouldn’t need to sit down if he gave the bloody things up and took some exercise. Sinéad and Max were always on at him to socialise more, to join a club or take up golf or bridge, anything rather than sit at home all day. But there was nowhere Kieran wanted to go and no one he wanted to talk to. And whenever he put his nose outside the door there was some bloody do-gooder giving him pitying looks and asking him if he was okay. What kind of a question was that? How the hell could he be okay? He would be sorely tempted to jump into the sea himself if it weren’t for Sinéad. If he went he knew that she wouldn’t be far behind.

  He took a last long drag on the cigarette and started up the narrow path, his head bent against the biting wind. He was grateful for the miserable weather lately that kept most indoors by the fire. There wasn’t a soul in sight. He laughed out loud at the phrase that had come to mind. He stepped between the headstones to reach his wife’s grave. ‘The Dead Centre of Dublin’ was Glasnevin Cemetery’s nickname. Every landmark in the city had a nickname. The statue of Molly Malone was ‘the Tart with the Cart’ while the Anna Livia sculpture was quickly dubbed ‘the Floozie in the Jacuzzi’.

  Kieran didn’t like graveyards.

  ‘Who does?’ Bridie had snapped when the maintenance of her sister’s grave was left to her. He’d only started to visit after Sheila died. Not that she was here, but it was where he felt drawn to, probably because it was the resting place of her mother. He couldn’t bear being near the sea, and you certainly wouldn’t catch him in Sandycove. He knew every inch of that piece of coastline since they’d joined the rescue services and volunteers in the search for Sheila.

  ‘It’s your bloody fault, Maggie,’ he said aloud at his wife’s graveside. ‘If you hadn’t died things would be very different.’

  He patted the stone. ‘Sorry, love, sorry.’ He knelt down and tugged up some weeds. ‘I didn’t bring you any flowers but that’s nothing new, is it? Women and flowers – what’s that all about, anyway?’ He tossed a weed aside, sat back on his heels and dusted off his hands.

  ‘Why did Sheila do it, Maggie? She was the sensible one. You and Sinéad were away with the fairies but Sheila was our rock. She always had such an old head on young shoulders, didn’t she? Even as babies, remember, Maggie? Sinéad would be gurgling and smiling all the time but Sheila would be watching, taking everything in, always so serious, so wise.

  ‘I’d like to think she took after me but there was some of Bridie in her.’ He sighed. ‘Ah, your poor sister, she’s not good, Maggie. And I know I should be looking after her, the way she looked after me and the kids, I know that. But I’m no good at that sort of thing – you know that better than anyone.’ He sat down heavily on the edge of the surround. ‘It’s so hard to see her like that. God forgive me but she’d be better off dead and you know she’d prefer it. Sheila was great of course; went to see her nearly every week. Took her out from time to time, brought her home for the holidays. She was like a daughter to her.’ He pulled out a hankie, dabbed his eyes and blew his nose. ‘I’ll never understand why Sheila did it, Maggie, I won’t.

  ‘You know, I used to be able to tell the girls apart by their eyes, but now that Sinéad is so broken-hearted she’s never looked more like Sheila. I can’t bear to look at her. It’s a mess, Maggie. It’s all a bloody mess. If it wasn’t for Max . . .’ He smiled. ‘Ah, love, he’s nothing like you or the girls but you’d be proud of the way he’s turned out. Sharp as a tack, he is, and doing so well for himself. A fancy car and a posh apartment in Donnybrook and a steady flow of girlfriends. I’d like to see him settled. Still, I suppose there’s plenty of time. Sure he’s only, what, twenty-six?’ He scratched his head as he tried to remember. ‘I’m lousy when it comes to remembering stuff like that. Sheila always used to remind me.’ He sighed again. ‘Ah, Maggie, this is all your fault.’ He scowled. ‘I don’t know why Sheila did it, but I know she would still be here if you were. And poor Sinéad wouldn’t be in the state she’s in.

  ‘She’s always been so bubbly, talking nineteen to the dozen, on her way to or from somewhere, never sitting still unless she was working, though according to Sheila she usually did that standing up or sprawled on the floor. She’s a very different girl now. You should be here. Sheila should be here!’ He pulled himself to his feet and paused to lay his hand on the headstone. ‘See you next week, Maggie.’

  As usual after he left the graveyard, Kieran bought a newspaper, went into the pub across the road and order
ed a pint and a sandwich. As he waited for his food, he spread the paper out and bent over it. He had no real interest in reading, but it stopped people bothering him. He didn’t know anyone in the area, but if there was a funeral the pub was usually packed afterwards and you just never knew who you’d bump into. He kept his eyes fixed on the page but his thoughts were of Sheila. She had seemed content to him. Always busy, she was a great woman for planning. She left nothing to chance. She had bossed them all about, taken control of everything, and they were all only too happy to let her.

  Kieran could understand why Sinéad was suspicious of Philip. She couldn’t accept that Sheila had taken her own life and he was the only other person she was close to. They had seemed happy, but who really knew what went on behind closed doors? Much as he’d like to be able to blame his son-in-law, much as he’d love to think that Sheila hadn’t taken her own life, he couldn’t believe that Philip would hurt her, or anyone for that matter. Behind all the bluster and posturing, Philip was a gentle person.

  The man had lost more than any of them, really. The saying that behind every good man there’s a good woman was never as true as it was for Philip and Sheila. He had taken a risk going into politics, but she had backed him every step of the way and, despite running her own business, had still made herself available to go to functions with him and help him on the campaign trail. She’d also brought an element of glamour to politics when she acquired some degree of notoriety for being one of the designer twins, the latest Irish success story. There was no doubt that Philip was photographed more than most politicians and that was because his beautiful and successful wife was on his arm. But quite apart from Philip appreciating Sheila being so supportive, Kieran had always got the impression that they were an excellent team because they were happy together. He couldn’t remember them ever having a cross word, and even in a crowd they were never too far away from each other. No, he was sure that Philip was innocent and in as much of a turmoil as they were.

  ‘Kieran Fields, is it you?’

  He jerked his head back, startled, and saw a woman standing over him. Her face was vaguely familiar. ‘It is.’

  She sat down opposite, not at all put off by the newspaper or the fact that he hadn’t asked after her health. Some women couldn’t take a hint.

  ‘Good to see you again, although not eating alone like this. You need your friends around you, dear. I’d never have coped after Gerry died if it wasn’t for them.’

  Gerry McKenna’s widow, that was it, though he couldn’t remember her name. ‘I’ve got my son and daughter and plenty of friends,’ he said curtly.

  ‘That’s good, I’m glad to hear it,’ she said, not seeming to notice. On a cloud of perfume, she made herself more comfortable in her seat, and smiled.

  Oh, not again. Kieran was used to single women of a certain age chatting him up. They saw a widower with a good pension and a nice house as prospective husband material, insurance for when they got old or sick. In the good old days women came after him for other reasons.

  ‘So, how are you keeping? How are the family?’

  ‘We’re okay, thanks.’ She was still a good-looking woman considering she was in her sixties. She’d looked after herself, but her heavy makeup and even heavier perfume didn’t do her any favours. He’d always leaned towards the natural look. He had a sudden flashback of Maggie playing in a paddling pool in the garden with the children wearing a light summer dress, her skin pale, her hair held back in a colourful scarf. She had never looked more beautiful.

  ‘You must come over for dinner.’

  He looked at her in alarm. She was more forward than most. ‘I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble—’

  ‘Cooking for two is as easy as cooking for one, and it would be nice to have some company. I hate eating alone, don’t you?’

  ‘It doesn’t bother me,’ he said and then, realising he was being unnecessarily rude to the wife of an old friend, he gave her an apologetic smile. ‘You must miss Gerry. How long has it been now?’

  ‘Almost three years and, yes, I do. It’s the little things, you know?’ She gave a sad smile. ‘I used to give out to him about leaving the toilet seat up, not putting the top back on the toothpaste, not hanging up his coat when he got in or not cleaning his shoes on the doormat and walking dirt all over the house. Now I don’t have to worry about any of that. My house is always clean and tidy and so, so empty and lonely.’

  Kieran looked away. This was a little more sharing than he was comfortable with, but he was touched by her words nevertheless. Perhaps he’d been too hasty in judging her. ‘I suppose I didn’t have that problem. I had three noisy children to distract me when Maggie died.’

  ‘Yes. Children do make it easier. My son, Gavin, and his wife are in Melbourne now and I have a wonderful little grandson. We chat on Skype and I’m going out there in the spring but, I have to admit I’d prefer it if they were here.’

  ‘I suppose I’m lucky that I still have Sinéad and Max.’

  ‘Now, that’s not what I meant at all.’ She looked at him, obviously distressed. ‘You lost your poor daughter; you must be heartbroken.’

  ‘I am,’ he admitted. ‘The kids say that I should get out more but I can’t be bothered.’

  ‘In your position I’d find it difficult to get out of bed,’ she retorted.

  ‘Some days I do.’

  ‘Do things in your own time.’ Her smile was sympathetic. ‘Everyone expects me to be over Gerry, but though I’ve developed a new routine it doesn’t mean I’ve got used to living alone or that I’ve forgotten him.’

  Kieran thought of his former colleague. He had been a fit and active man and it had been a shock when he died suddenly of a heart attack. ‘He was the last person I’d have expected to die so young – he seemed so healthy. I smoke, drink and don’t take enough exercise. It doesn’t make sense, does it?’

  ‘He suffered badly with his nerves,’ she confided. ‘And there was a history of heart disease in his family.’

  A waitress came to clear the table. ‘Can I get you anything else?’ she asked.

  ‘Will you have a drink?’ Kieran said, amazing himself that he wanted to prolong the chat.

  ‘A cup of tea would be nice.’ She smiled. ‘If you’re sure you don’t want to be left to read your newspaper in peace.’

  ‘I wasn’t really reading it,’ he admitted. ‘Two teas, please,’ he told the waitress. When she was gone he decided it was time to come clean. ‘I’m really sorry, but I can’t remember your name.’

  She threw back her head and laughed. ‘It’s Beth and there’s no need to apologise. I wouldn’t have remembered yours either, but for your daughters. When I saw them on The Late Late Show I made the connection. I was at Sheila’s memorial service. You seemed overwhelmed.’

  He nodded. She really had the kindest eyes. ‘I remember, thanks. It was very nice of you to come.’

  The waitress brought their tea and Beth poured. ‘How is Sinéad? It must be very hard for her to carry on in the business without her sister.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, feeling guilty. When was the last time he’d even asked Sinéad about the business?

  ‘You were close?’

  He sighed. ‘Very. Sheila was the organiser, the glue that kept us together. She’s left a huge hole in our lives.’

  ‘It must be even harder for Sinéad, losing her twin like that.’

  ‘Yes,’ he mumbled, his guilt mounting.

  Obviously sensing his discomfort, Beth changed the subject. She told him about her plans to visit her son, but confided she’d never flown before and was terrified at the prospect.

  ‘Why not take a trip to London or even just down to Cork first, break yourself in gently?’ he suggested. ‘Get a friend to go with you and the time will fly,’ he grinned. ‘Sorry, pun not intended.’

  She laughed. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘So, have you never been abroad?’ he asked, incredulous.

  ‘Oh, yes, but always
on the ferry. We had some wonderful holidays in Britain and Europe. I miss them. I haven’t been away since Gerry died.’

  ‘Haven’t you any sisters or friends you could go away with?’ he said, surprised. She was good company and he imagined she’d have no problem finding someone to go on holiday with.

  ‘No sisters, but some good friends, though none that I would really want to spend all day, every day, with. I like some quiet time too, you know what I mean?’ She threw back her head and laughed. ‘Would you listen to me? I said I was lonely. I’m a mass of contradictions.’

  ‘No, I understand what you mean. I like quiet time too and there aren’t many people that you can be silent with.’

  She smiled into his eyes. ‘That’s it exactly.’

  He stared at her for a moment, mesmerised. ‘More tea?’

  She glanced at her watch. ‘Oh, no, goodness I must run. I’m in work in an hour.’

  ‘What do you do?’ he asked curiously.

  ‘I just have a part-time job in my local library, but I enjoy it.’

  ‘Plenty of silence there.’ He smiled and stood to help her into her coat.

  ‘Indeed!’ She chuckled. ‘Thank you for the tea and the company, Kieran. I enjoyed it.’

  ‘Me too,’ he said and surprisingly it was true.

  ‘You’re welcome to come over for some lunch on Sunday if you’re at a loose end,’ she said almost shyly.

  ‘Sounds good,’ he said, and it did.

  She gave him the address and they exchanged numbers and, after a quick kiss on his cheek, she was gone. Kieran absently touched his face knowing it was probably covered with red lipstick. But he didn’t care. And he was still smiling.

  Chapter Six

  ‘Okay, Sinéad, I’ll look forward to seeing you then. Take care.’ Philip banged down the phone with a scowl. He’d had just about enough of his sister-in-law. He thought he’d got through to her, then he noticed the last time they met that the suspicious look was back in her eyes and on the phone her voice was like ice. But he was determined to keep close to Sheila’s family. He could just imagine the gossip if there was any suggestion of a rift.