‘Could be a plan,’ said Aline.
When she’d ended the conversation, Grace took a couple of paracetamol to combat the tension headache that was starting to form at the base of her skull, mainly as a result of the unwelcome thought that she might have underestimated Ken and his lecture tours. She wondered how he’d spent his time after his talks. She’d never asked. She’d assumed it had all been academic stuff that would be above her head. But had it mattered to him that she hadn’t been bothered enough to want to know? Was this why he’d wanted her to come here now? To show her how well regarded he’d been? To prove a point?
She thought about the clues for Pamplona. Ken had said they were easy, and they were. She hadn’t needed Deira to tell her that the Old Man was Hemingway. That was obvious. And given that Ken had actually booked her into his room, she knew the answer to the clue already. The number was 201. All she needed now was to take a photo of Hemingway near a place he had loved. She’d agreed with Deira it was probably the café that had featured in The Sun Also Rises. The Café Iruña. It was nearby. There were even information leaflets about it in the room. So it would be no trouble to find it, upload a photo and solve the clue before dinner.
Deira had been right when she’d told Grace not to worry about her, because it took her less than five minutes to find her own hotel. It was smaller than the photos on the website had made it appear, but it was clean and well maintained. A tiny lift brought her up to the top floor, where her room looked out over the old town. She left her case against a wall and took her phone out of her bag.
There was one message.
From Gavin.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she opened it.
I can’t believe you had the nerve to contact me. This is bordering on harassment. And you have form in harassing me. For your own sake, Deira, you have to stop. I’m not getting in touch with you again. Please don’t even think of responding.
She exhaled slowly. The text she’d sent him before setting out on the drive had simply asked him to call her. She’d said it was urgent. She hadn’t said anything about the car.
Maybe that had been a mistake. Maybe he’d been thinking about the last time she’d asked to talk to him urgently.
So she couldn’t really blame him for his response.
It had been at the office. She’d been sitting at her desk, staring at her computer screen without seeing the images of the vintage clothes that were to be a part of her next exhibition for the insurance company. Ireland – Fashion Through the Ages was the title, and she’d been thrilled by the response she was getting from the people she’d contacted to help. She’d shared her excitement every day with Gavin, who’d been enthusiastic too. And then he’d dropped his bombshell about Afton, and the bottom had fallen out of her world.
After that, she’d simply gone through the motions. Although Gavin had moved out, she knew that every single day he was sitting at his desk two floors above her. She sometimes saw him in the communal breakout areas, or at the coffee dock, laughing and talking with colleagues as though he hadn’t a care in the world. She couldn’t understand how he could be getting on with his life while her heart was broken. But not because he’d left her, she decided that day as she gazed blankly at the photo of a tartan miniskirt, circa 1967, which she was sure had scandalised rural Ireland; her heart was broken because he’d left her without giving her the chance to have what Afton was going to have.
A child of her own.
It had come to her then in a wave of grief and fury, and she’d hit the sleep button on the computer, grabbed a couple of files and got up from her desk. She’d walked the length of the open-plan office, ignoring the furtive glances of her colleagues. They all knew about her and Gavin. The entire company knew. And they felt sorry for her, because people always felt sorry for the woman when a relationship went sour. She was almost invariably seen as the loser. No matter how or why things ended.
People turned to look at her when she arrived at the quieter setting of the fourth floor. She could feel a ripple of tension follow her as she strode towards the corner office with the glass windows, where Gavin’s attention was focused on the screen in front of him.
She heard an intake of breath from his assistant, Kamala, as she pushed open the door and stepped inside.
‘What the hell do you want?’ demanded Gavin as he looked up from the report he’d been studying.
‘To talk to you.’ Deira pressed the button that turned the glass walls opaque. ‘In private. It’s urgent.’
‘We’ve nothing to talk about,’ said Gavin.
‘Yes, we do,’ she told him as she sat opposite him. She moved the tall glass trophy he’d received at the industry awards the previous year to one side so that there was nothing in their line of sight.
He exhaled slowly and pushed his chair back from the desk. But he didn’t get up. ‘I’m all ears,’ he said.
‘You slept with Afton even though you didn’t love her,’ said Deira.
‘Look—’
She held up her hand to stop him talking. ‘You can’t have been in love with her that first time. It was just a thing.’
‘I don’t know what it was,’ said Gavin.
‘A thing,’ Deira repeated. ‘Let’s face it, you were still coming home to me. And still sleeping with me too. So you were sleeping with her for the sex and yet you were telling me you loved me. You do remember saying that, don’t you?’
‘I don’t see—’
‘But maybe I’m wrong and you were in love with her even though you were sleeping with me. So maybe you were having sex with me and in love with her?’
‘We can’t help who we fall in love with,’ said Gavin. ‘And I don’t have time for this conversation.’
‘Yes, we can,’ said Deira. ‘And you do. It’s all about choices, Gavin. You chose to walk away from me. Same as you chose to walk away from Marilyn. Were you sleeping with her too, when you were telling me it was over?’
‘It’s completely different.’
‘It’s not. But what I’m getting at is that you’re perfectly capable of sleeping with someone you don’t love. You have form.’
‘Look, I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry it’s happened this way. But you’re embarrassing yourself here, Deira. You’ve got to get over it.’
‘Oh, I’m over you,’ she said. ‘I absolutely am. No need to worry at all about that. I was angry and, yes, embarrassed that I’d made such a stupid mistake, but I’m over you.’
‘So what’s all this about?’ He picked up his mobile from the desk and glanced at it. Deira sat silently in front of him until he put it down again.
‘I want something from you,’ she said.
‘What?’ His tone was wary.
‘I want you to get me pregnant.’
‘Huh?’ He looked at her in astonishment. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘We’ve established that you’re perfectly capable of sleeping with someone without loving them,’ said Deira. ‘We’ve also established that you’re packing healthy swimmers. You’ve managed to get two separate women up the duff, after all. So that’s what I want from you, Gavin. A baby. I realise . . .’ She held her hand up again as he tried to interrupt. ‘I realise that you wouldn’t want anything to do with me or the child. That’s fine. But I want a baby, and the least you can do after all our time together is give me one.’
‘You’re off your head,’ said Gavin. ‘I’m not sleeping with you to get you pregnant.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s a ridiculous idea.’
‘I wanted a baby before and you said no. You were totally into our power-couple lifestyle, and because I loved you more than I loved the idea of having a family, I went along with it. But I wanted a baby all those years ago, Gavin, and that’s when I should have had one. The ridiculous thing was me giving in. I’m running out of time. So I need you to do this for me now.’
‘No,’ he said.
‘Don’t make me beg.
’ Deira’s voice cracked. ‘I don’t want to have to beg.’
‘Listen to me,’ said Gavin. ‘You’re asking the impossible. I can’t sleep with you now. I’m in another relationship.’
‘You slept with her when you were in another relationship,’ said Deira. ‘You slept with me when you were in another relationship. I don’t see what the problem is.’
‘I’m not a performing seal!’ cried Gavin. ‘I can’t just—’
‘Oh, I bet you can,’ said Deira.
‘Even if I slept with you, I wouldn’t want you to get pregnant,’ said Gavin.
‘It’d be none of your business.’
‘It would be my child,’ said Gavin. ‘And no matter what you think of me, I’ve never walked away from my responsibility to my children.’
He was right about that, thought Deira. Even when they had been so angry with him they didn’t want to speak to him, Gavin had kept in touch with Mae and Suzy. She’d always had to take their feelings into account. He hadn’t been a bad father to them. He wouldn’t be a bad father to any child.
‘You could be as involved as much or as little as you like,’ she said.
‘No, I couldn’t,’ he told her. ‘Because it’s not going to happen. Afton is pregnant now and we’re going to make a life together. I’m not about to jeopardise that for a whim of yours.’
‘It’s not a whim!’
‘If you want to have a baby, feel free to find another father,’ said Gavin. ‘But it’s not going to be me.’
Deira sat in silence. She’d been sure he’d say yes. Sure she could have persuaded him. And yet he’d refused her the only thing she’d ever really asked of him. The one thing he’d given to the woman before her and the woman after her. Why? What was wrong with her?
She wanted to ask, but the question she put to him was entirely different.
‘Are you happy?’
‘Huh?’
‘In your life? With Afton? Are you happy?’
‘Mostly,’ he replied.
His answer caught her like a blow to the solar plexus. If he’d said yes, she might not have believed him. But his reply had been honest, because the truth was that nobody was happy all of the time. He’d always been honest. Except when he’d been cheating on her.
She got up abruptly from the chair and turned towards the door.
‘Oh, Deira!’
She turned back towards him, thinking that maybe he’d suddenly changed his mind, that he would sleep with her after all.
‘The house,’ he said. ‘I know it’s in your name. But it’s still our family home. I don’t mind you living there. But you have to buy your half from me. It’s the only fair thing to do.’
She felt herself trembling with rage. He was right, of course; he’d put money into the house and he was entitled to his share. But how dare he call it a family home when they weren’t a family? They’d never been a family. And they never would be.
She picked up the glass award and threw it to the floor, where the slender, tapered spire snapped in two.
‘Fuck you, Gavin Boyer,’ she said, and walked out, slamming the door behind her.
Chapter 21
Pamplona, Spain: 42.8125°N 1.6458°W
Grace had fallen asleep after talking to Aline and didn’t wake up until almost six thirty in the evening. She was shocked at having slept for so long but pleased that she was feeling refreshed and alert, with no trace of her earlier headache. She picked up her phone and saw that Deira had sent a message half an hour earlier asking if she wanted to join her on a walk around the town.
She responded by telling Deira about her unexpectedly deep sleep and asking what time she’d like to meet to chat about the clue. And have something to eat, she added.
Café Iruña at 7.30? replied Deira after a few minutes.
Grace sent a thumbs-up emoji in reply before heading for the shower and then changing into a pretty floral dress and a pair of flat sandals with multicoloured jewels on the straps. She tidied her hair and hung the blue pendant around her neck again. Then she took a map of the town from the information folder on the bureau and went outside.
The plaza was busy, with plenty of tourists sitting in the many cafés that surrounded it. Grace walked towards the famed Café Iruña, not because she expected to see Deira there, as it was far too early, but because she hoped to find a statue or plaque relating to Hemingway outside. Once the photograph was taken, she’d have all the elements of the clue. However, even though she walked the length of the small block, she didn’t see anything referring to the great writer.
She completed a circuit of the plaza, looking out for whatever might seem obvious, though given that the clue said ‘near a place he loved’, she was sure it was the café. Perhaps, she thought, the tribute was inside.
As it was still far too early for Deira to show up, and Grace didn’t want to sit there alone, she decided to continue her stroll by walking along the narrow street that ran alongside the hotel. At ground level, the shops were a mixture of old and new; above them were old apartments with wooden shutters and wrought-iron balconies. Grace liked how people on the Continent still lived in old buildings in the centre of the city, something that had become increasingly rare in Ireland. She’d grown too accustomed to her own house and garden to ever want to live in an apartment in the centre of town herself, but there was a part of her that loved the sheer vibrancy of city living. However, even though it made sense for her to downsize to a smaller home with a smaller garden, it was easier said than done. Homes weren’t only physical structures. They were everything that structure represented.
She thought of the kitchen wall where she’d carefully marked off the heights of the children on their birthdays, and the way the afternoon sun slanted through the Velux window in the kitchen, which always lifted her spirits. She thought of the garden that she’d tended so lovingly, and the organised chaos that was still Ken’s office because she hadn’t felt able yet to sort it.
When I get back, she promised herself. I’ll deal with everything when I get back.
She turned onto a street that she assumed would take her back to the Plaza del Castillo and her hotel, but realised she’d somehow lost her sense of direction and hadn’t a clue where she was. The plaza at the end, which she’d assumed was the main square, was actually much smaller, shaded with a few trees and with a water fountain in the centre. There was a bench near the fountain, where she sat down and consulted the tourist map, although as it only showed the main streets, it wasn’t much help. Nevertheless, the dappled sun, slanting through the leaves of the trees, was warm on her shoulders, and a soft breeze cooled the hot air. She folded the map again and closed her eyes, filled with a sense of tranquillity, a peace in both mind and body, that she hadn’t experienced since Ken’s diagnosis. She realised too that the burden of guilt, which had never left her, had eased a little too. She was in the moment, and the moment was perfect.
She released her breath in a long, heartfelt sigh and wished it could last forever.
Not having had an immediate response to her text, Deira had opted to go for her walk by herself. Her own ramble had taken in many of the same streets as Grace, although she’d also found time to explore the area around the city walls, which included a large park where tourists and locals alike were relaxing in the shade of the spreading trees.
She pulled out her phone to take a photo of the city walls, and at that exact moment, it buzzed. As always, her heart skipped a beat, but it was only Gillian.
Just to let you know I’m home. You might like to text a good luck message to Bex.
Deira made a face at the screen. Once again Gill was telling her what she should do, and it irked her, especially as she’d sent a message to her niece.
It gave her a certain satisfaction to reply, Already done to Gill.
It was ridiculous to think that at this stage of their lives, their relationship was still more or less the same as it had been in their teens, a regular series of meaningless batt
les for one-upmanship. Somehow neither of them had got past Gill’s self-promotion to mother status; Deira hadn’t stopped resenting it, and Gill had never stopped flaunting it. ‘Or meddling in my life,’ muttered Deira as she closed the cover on the phone.
Of course if Gill had left well enough alone when they were younger, things might have turned out very differently and their relationship might be less fractious than it was. But she had meddled, and Deira had never quite forgiven her. It didn’t matter that it had been (at least in Gillian’s eyes) for Deira’s own good. It didn’t matter that Deira had forged a successful career doing what she loved afterwards. Gillian had interfered and changed everything when she should have minded her own damn business.
Deira never really knew if it was Gill’s innate snobbishness or simply her distrust of Thomas Kinsella and his family that had made her get involved. Not that her motives mattered; the result was still the same.
Thomas had been Deira’s boyfriend back when she was in her final year at school, and she’d been head over heels in love with him. At first Gillian hadn’t said anything, but over time she began to make offhand remarks about the unsuitability of a boy who hadn’t gone to college and was working full-time at a petrol service station on the Oughterard road for a girl who was smart and pretty and could do better for herself.
When Deira protested that they loved each other, Gill snorted and asked if she really thought he was what her mother would have wanted for her.
‘She would have wanted me to be happy,’ Deira replied. ‘Thomas makes me happy.’
And he did. He was a kind, uncomplicated person, lacking the nagging sense of injustice that both Gill and her father always seemed to carry with them. (Peter didn’t count; her brother did his own thing, untroubled by Gillian’s efforts to boss him around.)
‘You’re too young to know about love and happiness,’ Gill said. ‘The problem with you, Deira O’Brien, is that you think you know it all, but you don’t.’
Maybe Gill had a point now, Deira conceded, but she hadn’t back then. And yet she’d managed to split them up, though at the time Deira had had no idea about her interference. She didn’t know that Thomas stopped calling because Gill had gone to the service station and told him that Deira was going to college when she left school and that Thomas would hold her back by stopping her forming new friendships and making new connections. She didn’t know that Gill had told him that ending their relationship quickly and cleanly would be better for everyone, especially Deira. She didn’t know that Thomas, thoughtful, gentle Thomas, had taken Gill’s words to heart. Had believed them. And had broken up with her the next day without ever saying why.
The Women Who Ran Away: Will their secrets follow them? Page 19
