This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, businesses, organisations and incidents portrayed in it are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published 2020
by Poolbeg Press Ltd.
123 Grange Hill, Baldoyle,
Dublin 13, Ireland
Email: [email protected]
© Fran McDonnell 2020
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
© Poolbeg Press Ltd. 2020, copyright for editing, typesetting, layout, design, ebook
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978178199-360-6
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
www.poolbeg.com
About the author
Fran McDonnell was born and raised in Newry, County Down. She has a degree in Nursing and worked as a nurse in England. She also has a Master’s in Women’s Studies. After travelling, Fran did a Diploma in Kinesiology and set up her kinesiology clinic in Limerick city. She lives in County Tipperary where she grows vegetables and enjoys watching beautiful sunsets.
What Lies Hidden is her debut novel.
Acknowledgements
Thank you to Paula Campbell at Poolbeg Press for believing in my book and for the attention and enthusiasm she gave to every aspect of the process. Thanks also to Gaye Shortland for her insight, finesse and commitment which polished what I wrote into this form.
Anne said I should do something creative with my time during my recovery and this is it. Thanks also for reading it, Anne, and for the feedback.
I want to thank my beta readers, my mum, my sister, my dad, my brother and his wife and my cousins. Your encouragement and feedback made me believe that this book was worth working on. A special thanks goes to my nephew Liam McDonnell, my alpha-beta reader. He maintained that this book could get published from early on and without his insistence that I persevere I would have given up. Thanks also to my mum who has read every word of every draft and painstakingly given me feedback. We did it, Mum.
Words seem so inadequate to convey the depth of gratitude I feel to the nurses and doctors of University Hospital Limerick who looked after me during my cancer treatment. Your kindness and care were out of this world. Thanks also to the staff of the Cancer Support Unit – you were a real comfort to me in those difficult times.
Thank you to all my friends who rallied around and took me to chemo, cooked for me, shopped for me, drove me around and generally got me through what had to be faced. They sent cards, prayed, lit candles and texted until I felt that I was wrapped in a net of love and care and support.
Thank you to Anne Marie who sent me pictures of rainbows to keep my spirits up. Thanks especially to Nuala and Denise who were with me for every important appointment, helping me cope with what I heard. Thank you to my family who were with me through the pain and who celebrate with me now. I love you.
For my family, friends and carers. Without your love, support and care I wouldn’t be here.
Chapter 1
Monday 21st May 2018
Isobel McKenzie stopped walking and placed one hand on her hip. “Are you here to make sure I get on the plane?”
A step later her escort stopped too. The stream of people behind them flowed out around the sudden obstruction.
“I thought –”
“You thought I might chicken out.”
A young girl slowed, interested in this unfolding drama but her mother, oblivious, pulled her on impatiently before she heard the reply.
“I thought you might be nervous and appreciate the support.”
Isobel swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. Dave touched her arm and turned her towards a café. Isobel found a table, wiped her eyes and took some deep breaths. She watched her older brother as he busied himself getting coffee. There were only three years between them and, while that made him only forty-two, he seemed older. His six-foot-two frame was straight and imposing and his dark hair had only a smattering of grey at the temples. Isobel was a whole foot shorter and was inclined to curves. Her hair was dark but now sported an ash front.
Dave brought the coffees back to the table.
“I’m sorry,” Isobel said. “I am nervous. Very.”
Dave nodded. “I encouraged you to take this trip. Peter is a good guy. I’ve known him a long time. I trust him. He asked for your help and since you’re not working at the moment . . .”
Isobel played with her spoon. “Maybe I won’t be able to help him.”
“Maybe not.” He shrugged. “Look – he wants your opinion on a case. He obviously thinks you might see something that he’s missing. If you can’t see anything, fine, he gets his mind put to rest and you get a couple of days in London. How bad is that?” He relaxed back in his chair.
Isobel shrugged. In the face of such logic there was no room for anxiety and doubt. She wrinkled her brow. “I know you’ve been worried about me but I just need some space, some time out.”
Dave leant forward. “I understand, but I thought this trip could help you remember some of who you are, what you can do, what you could do again – that’s all.” Sensing her withdrawal, he sat back again.
Isobel took a deep breath, exhaled and then nodded.
Dave reached out and squeezed her hand. “It’s only a few days in London. It might help you.”
“I’ve never consulted on a legal case before. What can someone who listens to people’s problems do on a legal case?”
“I don’t know.”
Isobel raised an eyebrow.
“Remember, Peter knows you from college here,” he said. “He knows that you studied psychology and he asked me a lot of questions about the other things you’ve done. I told him about your work with addiction, with couples separating, divorcing and getting back together and with all sorts of abuse. Obviously he wouldn’t tell me about the case, but he said he wanted an outside opinion from someone who knew people, not a legal one.” He frowned. “I don’t think he’s done this before either.”
Isobel made a face, then sipped her coffee.
He hurried on. “And, I think he wanted someone he could trust because he’s in uncharted territory too. Your qualifications as a psychotherapist speak for themselves but I think it’s really your experience that interests him.”
Isobel nodded. “We’ll see.”
“Hopefully it won’t be too taxing. Make sure you rest.”
She grinned. “Stop fussing. I’m going to mind myself.”
Dave stood up. “We’d better get you through security or you’re going to miss your flight. Ready?”
Isobel nodded.
“Let’s get you airborne then.”
Just over an hour later Isobel landed in Heathrow. It was a simple matter to get the shuttle from the airport and the Tube to Hammersmith where she checked into her accommodation. As part of her consultancy expenses, Peter had offered to book her a room in a hotel convenient to his office but she preferred to stay in the Temple Lodge Club where she had stayed before. She loved this place. It was like an oasis in the middle of London, with organi
c food and cotton sheets and a marvellous vegetarian restaurant at the bottom of the garden. She had always felt comfortable here and this familiarity might make these next few days and this new assignment more manageable.
She unpacked and, since she was here working, changed into a pair of black trousers, a blouse and a jacket. She grinned at herself in the mirror. Now she looked like a professional. Whatever help Peter expected with this case she could fake it until she made it. She straightened her collar, squared her shoulders and, with a last encouraging look at herself, she set off.
She walked to Hammersmith Tube station. She looked at the Tube map, at the different-coloured lines, all of them different paths, different journeys. Her life had had a few line-switches recently and that had been very challenging and stressful. For the city she needed the District line. It was green – maybe that was a good omen that things were moving forward.
Chapter 2
The office on Queen Street was a very impressive concrete and glass edifice. An efficient lady at the reception desk directed Isobel to the third floor. Stepping out of the lift, she saw more glass doors ahead which led through to an open area where two women were sitting at desks typing. They both looked up – a lady with white hair who after a cursory glance resumed typing, and a younger blonde woman.
Isobel smiled slightly. “I’m here to see Peter Wright.”
“Isobel McKenzie?” said the blonde, getting to her feet.
Isobel nodded.
“I’m Patricia, Peter’s secretary.”
She was taller than Isobel, about five foot six, and slim. She gave off a general aura of being efficient and capable.
“Peter is expecting you. Please come this way.”
As Isobel followed her down the corridor, she turned and said, “Was your flight all right?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Here we are.” Patricia swung the door open and ushered Isobel in. “Ms McKenzie,” she said then withdrew, closing the door.
The room was not huge, about the size of an average sitting room, with a desk facing the door. Behind the desk was a window letting in as much light as the buildings around allowed. There were two chairs for clients, filing cabinets lined up on the righthand side and above them shelves of what looked like legal reference books.
The man at the desk rose. Peter Wright was tall, six foot, with short blond hair and tanned. He held himself with an easy confidence yet Isobel detected a level of stress and uncertainty beneath his urbane manner. He stepped out from behind the desk and held out his hand. Isobel extended hers and found it cupped in both of his.
“Isobel, thank you so much for coming. I realise that this has all happened rather fast.”
“Yes.”
“Sit down, sit down.”
The chair was surprisingly comfortable.
Peter hesitated and then sat back behind the desk. “I remember you from when I was at college. I think we met a handful of times when I was out with Dave.”
Isobel nodded. “I remember you too.”
“I know you’re on a sabbatical at the moment, so I appreciate you taking the time to help me with my case.”
Isobel inclined her head. “I’m not sure what kind of help I can give you.”
“Well, your experience would lead me to believe that you can.”
Isobel raised an eyebrow. “Dave was a bit mysterious about it all.”
“Dave doesn’t know anything.” Peter pushed forward in his chair, leaning his arms on the desk.
Isobel sat back in her chair.
Peter waited and when the silence lengthened he broke eye contact and stood up. He put his hands in his pockets and paced behind the desk.
“I find myself in an unusual position.” He paused and looked at Isobel.
She maintained eye contact.
Peter resumed pacing. “I think there’s a problem with one of my cases – but there may not be. I suspect something is going on but it’s not obvious and I need someone who can see beyond the nose on her face.”
Isobel said nothing. The silence lengthened.
Peter sat down, rubbing his hands down his face. “You probably already think I’m crazy, bringing you to London to talk to you.” He paused but Isobel stayed silent. “I just thought that with your experience you might give me a second opinion.”
“Why not ask one of your people from here?”
Peter pursed his lips. “On the surface the case is fine.” He hesitated. “What I feel is a hunch.”
“So you prefer not to deal with one of your professional colleagues and instead use an old acquaintance.”
“Something like that.”
“Obviously this case has got under your skin.”
Peter looked away and then nodded. “I’ve been a divorce solicitor for twelve years. Something feels off about this case.”
Isobel rubbed her lips, her forehead wrinkled. “Under your skin to the point that you flew me in from Ireland.”
He looked at the desk, then at his hands. “Maybe I am overly involved but I’m concerned that I’m doing the right thing, for me and for everyone.” He lifted his head then and met her gaze.
“I’ve been on sabbatical for a year and a half now.”
“I know.”
“Maybe my skills won’t be up to the task, maybe I’m out of practice.”
“Your experiences with addiction, with couples separating – you can’t lose that – and I want the benefit of it.”
Isobel pursed her lips. He seemed a harmless guy, kind almost, and it was hard not to be softened by his genuineness. She could feel a war inside. Did she really want to get involved? At the same time, she had to confess that she was intrigued – and, he was just asking for an opinion on what was going on – how big a deal was that? The latter side won.
“Why don’t you tell me about it?”
“As I’m requesting your services, I can cover you under client privilege.”
Isobel nodded and, when the pause was extended, she said, “Let’s hear it.”
Peter’s eyes moved from her face to the wall. “It all started with a new client, Anne Banks. She made an appointment and arrived with her husband, Thomas, to get a divorce. They said that it was amicable, and so all they needed was a solicitor for her – he had one, and they had already agreed on terms that they were both happy with. Unusual.”
“In what way?”
“Well, normally we have to help the couple reach an agreement. We started going through the terms of the divorce. He was getting sole custody of their nine-year-old son, Tommy, uncontested, and she would have visitation which they would organise themselves. He was also getting their home so that their son could stay in familiar surroundings. There was to be no payment to her in terms of alimony. She was getting nothing.”
“And, you queried that, naturally.”
“Yes, and they assured me that her soon-to-be-ex-husband would pay for her rental flat, and later purchase a home for her, but that was not to be in the papers. Likewise future visitation with her son was to be agreed verbally and not mentioned in the divorce agreement.”
“So how come he was getting everything?”
“I asked that and they explained that Anne, my client, was an alcoholic who had just finished rehab recently. They felt that he should be in charge of their money in case she started drinking again. In terms of Tommy, their son, and seeing him, it depended on her sobriety.”
“Is that not normal? If she has a huge problem with alcohol then that might not be safe for her son.”
“Yes, but usually there is provision made for visits when sober, or supervised visits. This mother has not seen her child for three months. According to her she’s getting sober and dealing with her guilt and shame. She is going to see him but not yet. But there’s no legal protection for her. I asked how bad things had got and Anne said her drinking had wrecked their marriage and she needed time to get herself sober and back on her feet. Of course I understand all of this but to get noth
ing formally agreed on to protect her future seems a bit much and also I’m concerned about her son not seeing her, when she is sober.”
“But, realistically, what can you do? The decision on all of these things is up to the couple.”
“Yes.”
“So what’s the problem? Are these two people not being responsible and doing their best to negotiate a divorce and protect their son?”
“Yes, but . . . I asked to confer with Anne privately and they declined politely. They maintain that they are a family who are going through a divorce but they know how to work things out and they just want the legalities sorted. Essentially, I am only there to sign as her solicitor. They want to do this as soon as possible. They gave me their documentation – birth certificates, their marriage certificate – and we have an appointment next week on Wednesday. But I’m concerned that this is not in my client’s best interests, despite what they say. This doesn’t feel right to me and I can’t get it out of my head.” He paused. “With all of your experience, I thought if you met them you could see if anything struck you about the situation.”
Isobel looked at him speculatively. She could feel her old training coming back. She felt Peter’s tension when he’d spoken about the mother working on her relationship with her son was personal. There was something there and the problem was that it could be clouding his judgement. Maybe what was driving him mad wasn’t the case but something personal the case was reminding him of?
She decided to take a chance. “So what happened with your mother?” she asked, looking him in the eye.
His eyes widened then showed a deep emptiness. Within a second it was gone. A flush appeared on his cheeks, his chin rose and his jaw tightened.
Isobel waited.
“I don’t think my personal life is pertinent to the situation,” he said.
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