‘Are you okay?’ Dee asked.
‘I think so,’ Emer said. ‘It’s a bit difficult to process, that’s all.’
‘Did you ever get any counselling?’ Dee asked. ‘After Kitty died, I mean.’
‘You think I’m crazy.’ Emer smiled.
‘I think you’re still grieving,’ Dee said. ‘And maybe you need some help with that. I admire you for refusing to believe your sister was really dead. It takes a lot of courage not to accept something everyone else is telling you has to be true.’
‘But now it’s time to start accepting it.’ Emer nodded. ‘You’re right. God, it’s almost a relief, you know? I spent so long wondering what had really happened. Now I know for sure, I guess.’
‘Perhaps this was inevitable,’ Dee said. ‘Sooner or later, you were bound to see someone who reminded you of Kitty. I wonder if this was what you needed so you could finally let go.’
‘Possibly.’ Emer placed her knife and fork together on her plate. ‘This food is lovely, but I’ve lost my appetite, I’m afraid. Please let me pay for this?’
‘Not a chance.’ Dee pulled out her card and gestured to a nearby waiter to bring the bill. ‘This is my treat.’
‘That’s very kind,’ Emer said. ‘But next time we meet, I’m paying. Okay?’
‘You think there’ll be a next time?’
‘Of course. Why wouldn’t there be? You’re my cousin. I know I’ve been too busy to spend much time with you, but hopefully things will change once this contract’s over.’
‘You want to go for a walk or something before you go back?’ Dee asked.
‘I’d love to,’ Emer said, ‘but I really should be getting back.’
‘You sure you’ll be okay to work?’ Dee asked.
In fact, Emer seemed to be handling the news remarkably well. Dee hoped the realisation that her sister really was gone wouldn’t hit her later, when she was alone.
‘I’ll be fine.’ Emer smiled. ‘Really. And I’m so grateful to you for everything you’ve done.’
‘You’re making it sound like a goodbye,’ Dee said. ‘But we’re only starting to get to know each other. I’m still hoping you’ll come to Eastbourne soon. What’s your work schedule looking like over the next few weeks?’
‘Crazy,’ Emer said. ‘But I’m sure I can squeeze in a trip to the seaside. God knows, I’ll need the break soon enough.’
‘I’ve got another cousin, on my mum’s side of the family – Louise. She’s really keen to meet you. She’ll kill me if I don’t organise something soon.’
‘Sounds great,’ Emer said. ‘I’ll call you over the next few days and sort something out.’
After Dee paid the bill, she insisted on walking Emer back to her office.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ Emer said.
‘Nonsense,’ Dee said. ‘I’d like to see where you work. Besides, it’s not like I’ve got anything else to do.’
They went outside into the warm sunshine and walked along the wide streets lined with glass and concrete skyscrapers, looking for Emer’s office block.
‘I always get confused,’ Emer said, when they’d walked down the same street for the third time. ‘Everywhere looks the same, doesn’t it? Ah. Here it is.’
She stopped outside one of the skyscrapers which, in fairness, looked pretty much like all the other buildings on this street.
‘I’d invite you to come in,’ Emer said, ‘but I’ve got a meeting in a few minutes. Thanks again, Dee. For everything.’
‘My pleasure.’ Dee leaned in to give Emer a hug. ‘Promise you’ll call?’
‘I promise.’ Emer extricated herself from Dee’s embrace. ‘Enjoy the rest of your day. See you soon, okay?’
As she walked through the revolving door and disappeared inside the building, Dee had a sudden rush of panic, fear that she might never see her cousin again. That Emer might simply disappear, just as Kitty had done all those years ago.
Here one minute, gone the next.
* * *
Later that evening, when she was back home, Dee called Leonard.
‘I’ve been to Annie’s studio and met her mother,’ Dee said. ‘It’s pretty clear she is who she says she is.’
‘Hardly a surprise,’ Leonard said. ‘Have you told Emer?’
‘Yes. She took it better than I expected, actually.’
‘So I can stop following Annie?’
‘God yes. I feel bad enough about intruding into her personal life.’
‘And the bloke in Stockwell?’
‘What bloke?’
‘The one I told you about. Annie went to meet him the other night. Old bloke, looked like he could be her dad maybe. I followed her. Didn’t you get my text? Hang on, let me check. Oh bugger. It didn’t send for some reason. Ah, I forgot. I can’t send text messages with attachments. Should have used WhatsApp. My neighbour set me up with that recently. We’ve got a group thingy so we can share information. Although, if you ask me, all they seem to do is send stupid bloody jokes to each other.’
‘Leonard. Stop speaking for one second, could you? It doesn’t matter about the man she met in Stockwell. It’s none of our business. Don’t send me the text, and make sure you delete any photos you’ve taken. From now on, Annie Holden is nothing to do with us.’
Fifteen minutes later, Dee managed to end the call. Despite what she’d said to Leonard, there was a part of her that still wanted to find out more about Annie and her mother. She couldn’t quite forget the flicker of recognition she’d felt the first time she’d seen Fiona Holden.
Opening her laptop, Dee went onto the gallery’s website and reread Annie’s biography.
Originally from Sussex, Annie now lives in London and is a member of the Bow Artists’ Collective. Following a long tradition of artists inspired by the Sussex countryside, Holden is one of the rising stars of the thriving east London art scene.
The biography didn’t state where in Sussex Annie had grown up, but if it was close to Eastbourne, that might explain why Fiona had seemed so familiar. Mystery well and truly solved, then. Dee was tempted to do a bit more searching and see if she could find out exactly where Annie had grown up, but a knock on her back door and the patter of small feet on the outside decking put all thoughts of Annie instantly out of her mind.
Knowing there was only one person in her life who ran along her decking like that, Dee hurried to open the door.
‘Surprise!’
Ella and Jake were standing there, big smiles on their faces.
‘Thought you might want a bit of company?’ Ella held up the bottle of wine she was carrying. ‘Tom’s away and Jake’s been asking about you all day. I probably should have called first, but…’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Dee leaned down and grabbed Jake. ‘I was just thinking of making a peanut butter sandwich. What do you think?’
Holding him tight, she carried him into her house, letting the babble of his little boy voice soothe her. Not allowing herself to think of the time – too soon – when she wouldn’t be able to do this any longer.
Nineteen
For the rest of the week, Dee focused on her book. The only time she took a break was Wednesday morning, when she met Louise for an early morning walk. They’d arranged to meet at Holywell, at the western edge of the seafront, beside the white cliffs and the beginning of the South Downs Way.
Louise was already there when Dee arrived, sipping a drink from a brightly coloured reusable thermal mug.
‘You’re late,’ she grumbled, as Dee climbed out of her car.
‘Sorry,’ Dee said. ‘I forgot my bank card and had to go back for it. I’m dropping into the supermarket when we’re finished. There is literally no food at all in my house.’
‘I don’t understand why you don’t do a weekly online shop like most normal people,’ Louise said. ‘I wouldn’t survive without Ocado.’
‘Most normal people are shopping for an entire family,’ Dee said. ‘I’m only shopping for myself, rememb
er. It’s not worth doing a big shop every week.’
They walked down the hill that led to the beach and turned left, without either of them needing to check this was what the other wanted. They’d been taking regular morning walks together for a while now, and had several routes. This one, from Holywell to the pier and back, was one of their favourites.
As they walked, Dee told Louise about her recent trips to London and her realisation that Annie Holden was exactly who she said she was.
‘You can’t be too surprised,’ Louise said. ‘I mean, you didn’t really think she was anyone else, did you?’
‘I suppose not,’ Dee said, ‘although of course there was a part of me that wished – for Emer’s sake – Kitty was still alive.’
‘Does this mean you’re letting the whole thing go?’
‘I guess so,’ Dee said. ‘Although there’s a part of me that’s still wants to know the truth.’
She thought of the conversation she’d had the previous evening with Shay Flaherty, the journalist who’d covered Lucy’s disappearance back in 1997. He’d finally got back to her and they’d spoken on the phone for almost an hour yesterday.
Shay had told Dee he’d never stopped believing Lucy’s disappearance and Kitty’s drowning were connected.
‘But I’ve never been able to prove it,’ he said. ‘Everyone was so convinced Kitty drowned that day. I wanted to look into it in more detail, but my editor told me it was a waste of time.’
‘You think there’s a chance Kitty didn’t drown?’ Dee asked him.
‘Maybe,’ Shay said. ‘But it was never an option anyone properly explored.’
Shay also confirmed that Kitty’s father hadn’t joined his family on holiday because he’d had a last-minute offer of some work. Although he couldn’t now, all these years later, remember who Eamon had been working for. He promised Dee he’d look back over the notes he’d kept from that time and, if he found anything interesting, he would let her know.
‘Isn’t the truth simple?’ Louise said now, dragging Dee’s mind from yesterday’s conversation to this one. ‘Kitty drowned, and that’s all there is to it.’
‘But what about Lucy?’ Dee said. ‘What happened to her?’
‘Maybe no one will ever know,’ Louise said. ‘I know it sounds awful, but sometimes there are no easy answers.’
‘I know that,’ Dee said. But she already knew she wasn’t ready to let it go completely. At some point, maybe when she’d finished this book, she was going to go back to Ireland and spend some time investigating the disappearance of Lucy Ryan.
‘When do I get to meet Emer?’ Louise said. ‘Is she planning a trip to Eastbourne any time soon?’
‘I hope so. Although I’m not sure she wants to. She’s a bit hard to work out, actually.’
‘I guess having all that crap to deal with so young has left its mark,’ Louise said.
‘You’re probably right,’ Dee said.
She looked out at the sea, rougher than normal this morning because of the wind, thinking about her father’s family. She’d hoped meeting Emer might lead to a reunion with her uncle. But Emer claimed she didn’t even know if Eamon was alive or dead.
‘Her stepfather’s someone important,’ she told Louise. ‘His name is Robert O’Brien. Apparently, he’s in with a shot at being the country’s next Taoiseach.’
‘Next what?’
‘Taoiseach,’ Dee said. ‘It’s what Irish people call their prime minister.’
‘Wow. Wouldn’t that be cool if it happened and you got to meet him?’
‘I don’t think there’s much chance of that,’ Dee said. ‘Apparently Emer’s mother has zero interest in hearing from me. There was a lot of bad blood between my dad and his brother. Some of it obviously rubbed off on her as well.’
‘Except she’s not married to your uncle anymore,’ Louise said. ‘Or is she? How long has she been with her new bloke?’
‘She married him two years after her husband walked out on her,’ Dee said. ‘Somehow, she managed to get her first marriage annulled. Divorce would have been practically impossible in Ireland back then. I wonder if she married him for security? You know, after being married to a man like Eamon. Robert’s reputation is squeaky clean. He was a successful businessman before he went into politics.’
‘What sort of business?’
‘Property and retail,’ Dee said. ‘Probably other things too, but they’re the two main areas. He does a lot of charity work as well, most of it around helping Travellers. According to one article I read, he only went into politics because he felt there was no one else representing the needs of Ireland’s underprivileged. He sounds really fascinating, to be honest.’
Louise snorted. ‘He sounds like a fraud, more like.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘He worked in property and retail and now he’s a politician? Come on, Dee. I’ve never met a property developer or a politician who is one hundred per cent squeaky clean.’
‘Maybe he’s the exception,’ Dee said. ‘I read an interview with him where he spoke about growing up in a family who had no money and the importance of giving back to the community. He sounded completely sincere.’
‘Of course he sounded sincere,’ Louise said. ‘He’s a politician. They’re trained to sound sincere even when they’re lying through their teeth.’
‘It’s not like you to be so cynical,’ Dee said.
‘And it’s not like you to believe everything you read about someone. Listen to me, Dee. Isn’t it possible that you want to believe all these things about him because it makes it easier for you?’
‘How does it do that?’ Dee said, not sure she liked where this conversation was going.
‘You’re such a kind person,’ Louise said. ‘You want the best for everyone. You know Emer’s had a tough time so you’re hoping some of that can be helped by having a stepfather who’s a good man and who will take care of her. In other words, a stepfather who’s nothing like her own father.’
‘I don’t think that’s true,’ Dee said. Pointlessly, because Louise was spot on. She had been naïve, believing the one-dimensional profiles she’d read about Robert O’Brien. The simple truth was that, on the whole, people were people – which meant they were neither all good or all bad. Even her uncle, Eamon, had no doubt had his good points as well as his weaknesses. Robert O’Brien was no different. Perhaps his good points outweighed his bad ones, but of course there had to be a dark side to his personality as well. It was there in all of us, no matter how hard we tried to pretend otherwise.
Twenty
Dee spent the rest of the week focusing on her book. By Friday, she had written another 20,000 words. Pleased with the progress she was making, she had emailed her agent and agreed a deadline for when the book would be finished. She was enjoying the process more than she’d expected. At first, the prospect of writing a 70,000-word book had been daunting. She hadn’t been sure she’d be able to do it. Now, she was already thinking about other books she might like to write, and could see a future where she divided her time between writing features for newspapers alongside a series of non-fiction books. During the week, she’d come up with an idea for a book exploring the experiences of single women in their fifties and sixties. She’d done a shout-out on social media, asking women to contact her if they were interested in being interviewed. So far, she’d been overwhelmed by the number of women who’d got in touch.
Work helped keep her mind off other matters. Like Emer, who hadn’t returned any of Dee’s calls or emails. And Ella and Jake, who would be gone by the end of the month. Each time Dee thought of them not being here, it felt like her heart was cracking all over again. She didn’t know how she was going to get through the first few weeks after they left.
Annie had called during the week, too. Dee’s painting was ready. Annie had got it framed and was keeping it at her house until Dee was able to come and pick it up. Which is how Dee found herself, Friday afternoon, parking her car outside
a row of red-brick terraced houses on a quiet street in Wapping, east London. She rang the bell for the address Annie had given her, and waited.
The house was nothing special, but some effort had gone into adding character to the place. The door was painted a deep shade of red that stood out from the other doors on the street. The glass in the front window had been replaced with small square panes of stained glass. And pretty purple flowers bloomed from window boxes on each windowsill.
She didn’t have long to wait before the door opened and Annie’s mother was greeting Dee and telling her to come inside.
‘Your painting’s in here,’ Fiona said, leading Dee down a narrow hallway into a bright, open living-kitchen area at the back of the house. ‘Annie’s asked me to check you’re happy with it. Anything you don’t like just let me know.’
‘What’s not to like?’ Dee said.
The painting had been placed upright, on the stripped floorboards, leaning against the wall so it caught her eye as soon as she came into the room. In its new frame, it looked better than Dee remembered. She couldn’t wait to see what it would look like in her living room.
‘Annie can’t be here, I’m afraid,’ Fiona said. ‘Something came up in the gallery and she had to go in at short notice. She asked me to pass on her apologies.’
‘It’s not a problem,’ Dee said. ‘I’m glad to get my painting. I hope you didn’t have to drive up to London just to let me in?’
‘I’ve been staying for a few days,’ Fiona said, ‘so it’s not a problem. Annie’s always inviting me to come and stay.’
‘That must be nice for you.’
‘It is.’ Fiona smiled. ‘I’m very lucky. And, of course, now that Annie doesn’t have to work in the pub, I’m hoping we may get to spend even more time together.’
‘I imagine she’s got a great future ahead of her,’ Dee said. ‘She’s really talented.’
‘I think so,’ Fiona said. ‘Although I’m biased, as you can imagine. She didn’t really take to art until her teens. There was a teacher at her secondary school who really inspired her. By the time she was fifteen or sixteen, creating art had become her life. She studied the subject for GCSE and A-level, then went on to do her degree. She went to Central Saint Martins. I was worried about her coming to London, at first. It was a big change from the village she’d grown up in. But luckily, one of her friends was already living in London and he helped her find her feet. Oh dear, I’m forgetting my manners entirely. Can I get you something to drink?’
Before You Were Gone Page 12
