Rafe nodded understandingly.
‘Thank you for driving me all this way, Rafe,’ she said. ‘I really appreciate it.’
‘No problem,’ he said. ‘I was happy to.’
‘Could I ask you one more favour? About tomorrow?’
‘Of course. Anything.’
‘The graveyard is a little way out of town and I’ll need a lift—’
‘Of course I’ll take you. I presumed I would be.’
‘But ... would you mind not actually coming to the funeral with me?’ She felt awful asking him this when he’d been so kind to her. ‘It’s just ... I don’t want to cause a fuss, and if I turn up with you ...’
‘Sure,’ he said, with a nod; ‘I understand.’
‘Sorry, it’s just ...’
‘Stella—’ he leaned across the table, taking her hand ‘—it’s fine. Please don’t worry about it. I’ll drive you to the church and wait outside to take you to the graveyard. It’s not a problem.’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled, blinking back tears. He really was so kind.
He continued to hold her hand, and something shifted between them as their eyes locked.
‘Well,’ he said hoarsely, ‘would you like to get a drink? Or do you want to go to bed?’
Rafe saying those words to her stirred something inside Stella that she hadn’t felt in a long time, causing her stomach to flip and heat to spread through her. She thought how nice it would be to go to bed with Rafe, to feel his arms around her, to have him kissing her, touching her ...
‘I’d like to go to bed,’ she said, her voice coming out croaky. She cleared her throat. ‘I mean, I’m really tired.’ She had been exhausted from the strain of the day, her nerves stretched taut. But now she was suddenly invigorated, a different kind of nerves filling her with a weird energy.
‘Yeah,’ Rafe said, releasing her hand. ‘Early start in the morning.’
41
Stella was glad her father had at least had the good grace to die in the summer, and during a spell of good weather, so she had an excuse to wear dark glasses at the funeral. She pulled them on as she sat in the car with Rafe, watching as mourners gathered outside the church. Her breath caught in her throat as the hearse arrived, and she saw her mother and Dan emerging from the funeral car. She should have been in that car with them. It felt so weird to be sitting here outside it all, watching from a distance, like she was a spectator to her own life.
‘Well, here goes,’ she said as Dan and her uncles shouldered the coffin, and the other mourners followed them inside.
Rafe gave her hand a quick squeeze. ‘I’ll be waiting here,’ he said.
Her legs were shaky as she got out of the car. She was so nervous, she felt she might throw up. She pulled her wide-brimmed hat down, shading her eyes, hanging back as she joined the last of the stragglers making their way inside.
It was a big funeral – not so much, Stella suspected, because her father had been such a beloved local figure, but because it was the only show in a town where there was nothing to do. They spoke about a person she didn’t recognise – a generous big-hearted man, a pillar of the community who was mourned by his wife Nora and son Dan. She had been obliterated from the ceremony as thoroughly as she had been from his life – unlike his drinking buddies, whose great loss was acknowledged repeatedly.
She stayed at the back of the church, hidden among the throng, and kept her head down as everyone exited the church. She’d texted Dan this morning to tell him she’d be here, and she could see him looking out for her, scanning the pews as he and her uncles carried the coffin down the aisle. He threw her a brief, furtive look of sympathy when he saw her. She shivered as the coffin passed, trying to feel something other than cold indifference. That was her father. But she couldn’t summon any emotion.
She waited until everyone had filed past, following the coffin outside into the churchyard. She didn’t even allow herself to look at their faces in case someone would recognise her. When the church was empty, she slipped out a side door and stood at the edge of the crowd gathered in the churchyard. Out of the corner of her eye she located her mother and Dan standing side by side, surrounded by friends and neighbours offering their condolences. No one seemed to notice her, apart from the odd curious glance.
Her heart pounded as she waited for her mother to spot her. Surely she would. She had dressed carefully for the funeral, and she realised now she had worn the chic black vintage Chanel suit with her mother in mind. She was a traditional woman, and she’d appreciate the mark of respect. But she also loved clothes, and Stella remembered her poring over fashion magazines when she was a child, gazing longingly at clothes she couldn’t afford and would never have an occasion to wear. She’d always admired women who dressed stylishly, and Stella was sure she’d love her outfit.
She tried to get up the nerve to approach her. But the longer she stood there on the sidelines, watching her mother surrounded by friends and neighbours, the more she felt like an unwelcome intruder. Maybe she should just slip away quietly now, and her mother wouldn’t even have to know she’d been here. Or should she stick around and wait until later, after the graveyard to talk to her, when the crowd would have thinned out, and they could meet without the whole town watching? As she pondered this, a light breeze lifted her hat, and she took it off, shaking out her hair.
‘You!’ Suddenly there was a shout from across the churchyard, and Stella turned to see her Uncle Pat looking right at her, pointing a finger accusingly. ‘It’s you, isn’t it?’
Stella started as he began shouldering his way through the crowd towards her.
‘You’ve got a feckin’ nerve showing up here!’ he roared. ‘After what you put your poor father through.’
Faces turned towards her to see what the fuss was about, and Stella suddenly found herself the focus of attention. She turned to Dan, who stared back at her wide-eyed with alarm. He jerked his head in the direction of the gate, telling her to run, but she couldn’t move. She felt rooted to the spot as Uncle Pat barrelled towards her.
Then her mother whipped around and saw her, and Stella felt the look in her eyes like a punch. Initial shock and disbelief was followed by horror and ... hatred.
‘Could you not have had the decency to stay away?’ she said, her eyes narrowed as she advanced slowly towards Stella. ‘Haven’t you done enough? Isn’t it your fault your father’s in an early grave. You broke his heart—’
Stella didn’t wait to hear any more. Suddenly galvanised into action, she turned on her heel and ran as her mother and uncles descended on her from all sides. Her heels caught in the gravel, and she slowed briefly to take them off, hopping on one foot at a time. Then she raced down the long driveway of the church, three of her uncles chasing after her, shouting.
‘Come back here, ya bowsie!’ Pat panted as he chased her.
‘Wait till I get my hands on you!’
‘Look at what you’ve done to your poor mother!’
Stella shot out the gate, tearful with gratitude at the sight of Rafe waiting patiently in his car. She tore open the door and flung herself inside.
‘Drive, drive!’ she hissed.
Rafe shot her a startled look, but quickly threw down the book he’d been reading and started the car. They sped away just as her uncles came barrelling through the church gates, looking around for her and shaking their fists.
‘Jesus, who were those nutters?’ Rafe asked.
Stella glanced behind her. The three of them were all bent double at the gates of the church, hands on knees as they tried to catch their breath.
‘My uncles,’ she said, adrenaline pooling in her body as she laid her head back against the headrest. ‘Lucky for me they’re not very fit.’
‘So much for not creating a fuss.’ Rafe threw her a worried look. ‘So ... I guess you’re not going to the graveyard, then?’
Stella gave a hoot of laughter, but her eyes welled up with tears. ‘No,’ she said. ‘And I think I can skip
the tea and sandwiches at the pub too.’
Rafe was obviously baffled, but Stella was grateful that he didn’t ask any more questions. He drove back to the hotel and led her straight to the bar.
‘I think you could do with a drink,’ he said, eyeing her with concern.
She nodded. She felt dazed, and she was grateful that he was taking over. She sank onto a seat while Rafe went to the bar. What the hell had she been thinking? How could she have imagined for one second that her mother might have been happy to see her? She had been kidding herself. Her parents were a pair, united in everything, including their rejection of her. It was probably true what her mother had said, that she’d driven her father to an early grave. That kind of hatred was poisonous, corrosive – maybe it had eaten away at his heart until there was nothing left.
Rafe came back with whiskey and sandwiches. ‘You hardly ate anything last night,’ he said, pushing the plate towards her. ‘You should have something.’
Stella ate and drank mindlessly, her mind in a whirl.
‘I booked the rooms for another night,’ Rafe told her, ‘so you can take all the time you need.’
She nodded gratefully.
‘So that funeral ...’ Rafe prodded gently.
‘It was my father’s.’ Stella took a gulp of whiskey.
‘I’m sorry,’ Rafe said.
Stella shrugged. ‘There was no love lost. As you could probably tell.’
‘But I thought—I mean Dad said—’
‘That my parents were dead.’ Stella nodded. ‘I know. He knows it’s not true, but that’s what I tell people.’ She sighed. ‘They disowned me. Threw me out when I was sixteen, and I haven’t seen them since. So I tell people they’re dead. It’s just ... easier.’ She took another swig of her drink. ‘At least, I thought it was.’ Suddenly it felt very complicated, and she was overwhelmed with weariness from it all – the pretending and lying and hiding.
Rafe still looked confused. She could tell he had a million questions, and she was hugely grateful to him for not asking any of them. All he asked was ‘Another?’ as she drained her glass. She nodded and he went to the bar.
He’d just gone when Dan walked into the lounge. His eyes darted around, scanning the room, and she stood and waved him over.
‘Dan, what are you doing here?’
Wordlessly, he pulled her into a hug, his arms wrapped tightly around her as he pulled her into the pillowy softness of his body, as if trying to absorb all the hurt of a lifetime. She laid her head on his chest and for a moment they just stood there, holding each other.
‘Jesus, Stella!’ He released her and they flopped down onto the couch beside each other. ‘Never a dull moment with you around. What a fucking circus!’
‘I know.’ She bit her lip. ‘I shouldn’t have come. It was a stupid idea.’
He sighed and leaned back against the sofa. ‘Well, you certainly livened things up,’ he said, smirking. ‘I’ve never seen anyone being chased away from a funeral before.’
Stella couldn’t help smiling back at him, her brother’s laid-back attitude dispelling her gloom.
‘At least you gave them all something to talk about.’
‘Is this guy bothering you?’
Stella looked up to see Rafe scowling down at Dan.
‘Seriously?’ Dan grinned, raising his eyebrows at Stella. ‘Mr Fucking Darcy is threatening me?’
Stella giggled. ‘I’m fine, Rafe. This is Dan. My brother.’ Rafe put the drinks on the table. ‘Dan, this is Rafe.’
‘Your brother?’ Rafe raised his eyebrows at Stella before extending a hand to Dan. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘Yes, I have a brother,’ she said to Rafe as he sat opposite. She didn’t know if it was the whiskey or finally publicly acknowledging Dan after all these years, but she felt quite giddy.
‘Dan, will you have a drink?’ Rafe asked him.
‘No, thanks. I have to get back to Dad’s send-off, unfortunately.’ He turned to Stella. ‘I brought you something,’ he said, reaching into his pocket. ‘I was looking through all the old photos for one to put on Dad’s coffin, and I found this.’ He handed her an old photograph, wrinkled at the edges. It was her and Dan, both in their teens, dressed up for some school disco.
‘We look like a right pair of eejits,’ Dan said, looking at it over her shoulder.
‘Speak for yourself,’ Stella said, with mock indignation. She was wearing what Dan used to call her ‘mermaid wig’, long snaky tresses streaked with pale blues and pinks. ‘I looked fabulous.’ She’d known that wig would get her into trouble, but she’d worn it anyway.
‘May I see?’ Rafe asked, and she handed it to him.
‘You were so pretty,’ he said softly, looking down at the image. Then he handed it back to her.
Stella looked at the photo. She didn’t see pretty, but she tried to view it objectively, through Rafe’s eyes, and she could see why he might think so. She’d forgotten what a good job she’d done even back then. ‘I was always good at make-up,’ she said. ‘It’s just smoke and mirrors.’
‘Well, I’d better get back to the pub and rescue Annie.’ Dan gave Stella an apologetic glance. He stood, and she walked with him to the door.
She grabbed his hand as he turned to go, holding him back. ‘Did Mam—Did she say anything about me?’
He shook his head, giving her a pitying look. ‘No. Dad’s death hasn’t magically transformed her into a human being with actual feelings. Sorry.’
Stella shrugged and gave him a rueful smile. It was exactly what she’d been hoping for after all.
‘It’s such bullshit all those people pretending they don’t know you exist. I told her you should be mentioned in the service. But I’m sure you can imagine what she said to that.’
Stella nodded. ‘That they don’t have a daughter. That they never had a daughter.’
‘Yeah.’ Dan sighed. ‘She’s just as much of a gobshite as he ever was. There was a pair of them in it. Makes you wonder where they got us, doesn’t it?’
‘I know! I mean, we’re great.’
‘Sorry I can’t stay longer, but I don’t want to leave Annie alone with that lot too long.’
‘No, of course not. Go. God, she must be wondering what that was all about at the church.’
‘Can I tell her ... about you?’
‘After all this time ... what would you say?’
‘That I have a sister. That I’ve always had a sister.’
Stella’s eyes stung with tears.
‘And that my sister’s a fucking legend.’
She took Dan’s hand and nodded as she gave it a squeeze.
‘She’ll want to meet you.’
‘I’d like that.’
‘Okay, I’ll be in touch.’ He gave her a final hug and left.
42
‘Wow, what a strange day,’ Stella said when she rejoined Rafe, sinking back onto the sofa. She hardly knew how she felt, her emotions pulled in multiple different directions at once, veering dizzyingly between relief, melancholy and a devastating sense of loss that she couldn’t even comprehend. Because what had she lost? Nothing she hadn’t already left behind a long time ago. Her father had been dead to her for years. Her mother’s rejection was nothing new. It shouldn’t feel so sharp and shocking. If nothing else, this morning was confirmation that she’d been right to cut her ties to her parents. She’d wondered sometimes over the years if she should attempt a reconciliation, if things might be different, if they might regret how they’d treated her and just be waiting for her to make the first move ...
But nothing had changed. She hadn’t been missing out needlessly simply for want of trying. At least she knew now she’d made the right choice, living the way she did. And what did it matter if her mother didn’t love her and her family rejected her? It made no difference to the life she’d made for herself. She didn’t need them. She had people in her life now who loved her for who she was. She had Peter ...
‘Are you okay?
’ Rafe asked, sitting beside her and looking at her with concern.
‘Yes.’ She shook herself out of her stupor and gave him a reassuring smile. ‘I’m fine.’ In truth, she wasn’t sure how she felt. Suddenly, her carefully coiled life was beginning to unravel, and even though it was scary and confusing, and her instinct was to wind it all up tight again, there was also relief in the thought of just letting go ...
‘Well, I suppose we should be going,’ she said, glancing at her watch. It was just after three.
‘There’s no rush. Whenever you’re ready. Would you like anything else? Another drink?’
‘No thanks,’ she said. ‘Let’s go. I think I’m done here.’
They went to their rooms to change and pack their bags. Back in her room, Stella kicked off her heels, and threw her overnight case on the bed. She opened the wardrobe to grab the clothes she’d travelled in last night, and froze when she caught sight of herself in the mirror on the door. She felt a sudden stab of self-pity as she looked at her reflection. How ridiculous to have thought her mother would be impressed by any of this. The beautifully tailored suit was exquisite, her hair smooth and straight, with not a strand out of place, her nails perfectly manicured. She looked like she’d stepped out of the pages of Vogue. But it was all just surface polish, and her mother saw through it to the same grotesque, unlovable creature she’d always been. She flung off the jacket and threw it on the bed, blinking back tears as she unzipped the skirt and stepped out of it. She was pathetic, she thought, as she automatically folded her clothes neatly and put them in the case, her movements precise and robotic.
She tried to concentrate on the positive things that had happened today – like seeing Dan and introducing him to Rafe as her brother. But it was all tinged with such sadness and loss. Suddenly overwhelmed by all the turbulent emotions of the day, she sank onto the bed in her underwear, unable even to summon the energy to pull on her jeans, and gave into full-blown heaving sobs that racked her body and tore at her chest. Once she started, she couldn’t seem to stop, and it was as if every unshed tear from the past twenty-six years was finally being unleashed.
For Love or Money: A laugh out loud, heartwarming romantic comedy Page 29