by C. L. Taylor
Clogherhead. So that’s where you headed. I’ve looked it up on the Internet. A fishing village in County Louth with a population of 3,026. Three pubs, three restaurants and a takeaway. Even if you’ve holed yourself away in one of the holiday chalets you’ll have to leave at some point to get food.
Are you wondering how I found your old address, Jo? Guess what? Your daddy was in the paper. Brigid was right. Your daddy was a bad man. He was a very bad man. I understand why she didn’t tell you why he disappeared.
But I will.
And I’ll enjoy seeing the look on your face when I tell you. You won’t want to stay in Clogherhead after I’ve left with Elise. And I’m pretty sure the locals won’t want you to either.
Chapter 58
Mary slips out of the front door of the B&B. She doesn’t pull the door shut behind her. Instead she leans forward ever so slightly, so her body remains hidden, and glances up and down the road. Helen is already halfway up Strand Street, pushing the little girl in her buggy. Mary was in the back room, putting a load into the tumble dryer, when she heard the front door slam. She’d hurried into the dining room and pulled back the net curtains to see who’d left but the street outside was empty. All morning she’d heard footsteps clomping around upstairs and doors opening and shutting. At first she’d thought it was the little one, playing, but when she hovered at the bottom of the stairs, pretending to polish the banister, she heard voices. Sean said, ‘I’ve found it,’ to which Helen replied, ‘Brilliant’. A couple of seconds later a door closed and the house fell silent again. Mary waited a couple of minutes then climbed the stairs. The only sound from Helen’s room was the jangling noise of children’s television. Sean’s door was ajar. A quick peek revealed that he wasn’t inside.
Mary ran a finger over the pearls at her neck. Normally their weight on her collarbone gave her comfort but now they felt too tight, almost as though they were strangling her. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her guests striking up friendships. She’d seen some great relationships grow and develop over the years, especially from some of the older regulars who wore their loneliness like overcoats, but there was something about the frantic activity on the first floor that made her feel uncomfortable. Sean hadn’t come down to breakfast that morning and he never missed a meal. Helen and her daughter had shown up though. Mary had walked into the dining room to find them sitting at the table by the window; Helen with a glass of orange juice and the little girl with Niamh’s pull-along wooden dog that had a spring for a tail. It made Mary’s heart hurt to see them sitting there, looking so contented when she’d barely had a wink of sleep. Everything she’d done for little Lee she’d done out of the kindness of her heart. And how had she been rewarded? By Helen storming into the post office and glaring at her like she was some kind of child abductor. There’d been a moment when Mary had felt drawn to Helen’s vulnerability and fearfulness but she was no different from the school-run mums who’d smile tightly as they walked past Mary’s window, whilst simultaneously placing a protective hand on their child’s shoulder. She could almost read their thoughts: I mustn’t let my child leave my sight or what happened to Mary could happen to me. Poor Mary. Opening her home to strangers because she has no family of her own to care for. It’s a lesson to us all.
Helen tried to apologise. Mary lost count of the number of times she said sorry over breakfast, and afterwards. She knew that the right thing to do would be to forgive the younger woman and tell her that it wasn’t a problem – but it was a problem, wasn’t it? She was angry. More angry than she’d been for a long time. Angry with Helen, angry with Sean for avoiding her, angry with the world. She was a good mother. She cared for Niamh. She washed her, dressed her, played with her. All she did was turn her back for a couple of seconds and her daughter was taken from her. One … two … gone. But Helen still has her daughter. She dresses him in boy’s clothes and calls him by a boy’s name. A boy’s name that changed from Ben to Lee in a heartbeat. Helen says she’s a widow but the patch of pale skin on the third finger of her left hand suggests she only recently removed her wedding ring. When she arrived, her dyed red hair was tightly curled and she was wearing glasses. But she never wears the spectacles to breakfast, only when she leaves the house, and if her hair isn’t as curly as normal she pulls on a hat over it. The look of fear in her eyes is constant though. That never changes. What is she so afraid of?
Mary waves at little Aoife Flannigan, scooting down the street on her balance bike, then she steps into her car and starts the engine. Helen is hiding something and she intends to find out what.
Chapter 59
Mary followed me to the post office. I’m almost certain it was her in the silver car that parked up on the opposite side of the street when I went in, then swiftly drove off when I came out. I noticed a silver Ford Fiesta parked up outside the B&B when we arrived and it hasn’t moved since. If it was Mary she must have quickly circled Clogherhead and returned to the B&B because I can hear her clattering around upstairs.
‘Mary?’ I unstrap Elise from her buggy and carry her up the stairs. ‘Mary, are you up there?’
The door to my room is ajar. My suitcase is still open and there are piles of clothes on the floor from when I had to abandon my packing and sorting when Elise upturned Henry’s memory box.
‘Mary?’ I step into the room. ‘Are you in here?’
‘Yes.’ She steps out of the en suite, bathroom cleaner in one hand and a cloth in the other. She’s wearing her apron and slippers but the pearls have disappeared from around her neck. She looks from me to my daughter but her eyes remain blank and glassy. It’s the same look she had on her face after Elise ran out of the door.
‘I was … I was going to finish packing,’ I say.
‘No need. I can clean around the mess.’
‘But wouldn’t it be quicker if—’
‘It would be quicker if you just let me get on. Your flight isn’t until this evening. Am I right?’
‘That’s right, but—’
She turns her back on me and flicks her cloth over the television. ‘The sooner I get on, the sooner I’m finished.’
‘Mary, I’m so sorry about what happened yesterday. Honestly, I was up half the night thinking about—’
She walks back into the bathroom without saying a word and drowns me out by running the taps. I know I should just leave but I hate the thought of Mary having to pick through all my things as she cleans.
‘Why don’t you go to the beach?’ She reappears in the doorway to the en suite as my fingertips graze an abandoned pair of Elise’s socks.
‘I …’ I want to tell her that I don’t want to go to the beach. I want to get my stuff, get my car and go. But I don’t want to upset her more than I already have.
‘OK,’ I say. ‘We’ll be back in an hour.’
Chapter 60
You know what, Jo? I really didn’t expect Paula to send someone to beat the shit out of me. I thought she’d get bored or give up. But I wasn’t scared as I picked myself up off the ground, my eye split and my body pounding. I was fucking angry. Who the hell did she think she was? The money wasn’t hers. She hadn’t worked her arse off for it. She’d sucked Ian’s dick and filled her nose with coke. She’d laughed when one of Ian’s goons told her how he’d intimidated a single mum with a baby in her arms. I’d exposed that shit. I’d risked everything to expose the evil bastards. I wasn’t going to let her intimidate me and my family. But I wasn’t going to put them at risk either. When I say ‘family’, I mean Elise. You were a lost cause, Jo. You’d become so unpredictable, so devious, so wrapped up in your own head you’d completely abandoned your grip on reality. If you weren’t knocking yourself out with drugs you were screaming down the phone or lashing out. It wasn’t just Paula I needed to protect Elise from. You were so unstable you’d become a danger to her too. Screw the court order. I knew the courts would award me a residence order but it would take too long. I needed Elise with me. Now.
As I approac
hed the house I saw two cars parked outside. I didn’t recognise one of them and felt sick with fear. What if the man who’d beaten me up was in the house? What if you’d changed the locks and I couldn’t get in? But no, you’re not that smart, are you, Jo? If you were you’d have realised that I’d taken the spare key from inside the front door when I planted the drugs, but you never once mentioned it.
I was still drunk when I let myself in. My plan was to snatch Elise and then get Henry’s box from the living room. I’d moved the money there when I ransacked the place. I didn’t feel safe keeping it in my sports bag in the hotel room, not after Paula showed up outside work. But I knocked against the shoe rack as I weaved my way down the hall. One of my work shoes tumbled onto the floor. The sound seemed to reverberate around the house and I nearly walked right back out the back door. But nothing happened. The house fell silent again and I crept up the stairs. It didn’t wake Helen, who I discovered lying flat on her back in the spare room. It woke Elise though. She was halfway out of her cot. And you know the rest.
When I woke up the next day, sober and in pain, I realised what a fucking idiot I’d been the night before – pumped up with hurt pride, booze and bravado. Screw the money. I’d give it back to Paula. I’d shove it in her smug face. What mattered most was keeping my Elise safe. But when I turned up at the house to get her I discovered that you’d gone – taking Elise and the box full of money with you.
Max stands outside the cottage, hands in pockets, as he takes in its whitewashed walls, small, deeply set windows, thatched roof and bright-red door. Ard na Mara, Main Street. According to the newspaper report it’s the house Liam O’Brien was living in with Brigid and Jo when he was arrested. It’s where Jo grew up. He’s never seen a photo of the house – Jo’s always bemoaned the lack of photos of her childhood in Ireland, but it makes sense. It’s small, homely and he can imagine Brigid inside, bustling about in the kitchen, wiping down surfaces and rearranging the cutlery drawer. And Jo, in the living room, sitting cross-legged on a rug in front of the TV. Would her dad have been in there with her, slouched in an armchair with a newspaper spread over his lap, or was he more of an absent dad, like Max’s? Never there when you needed him and everywhere when you didn’t.
He reaches into his back pocket as he approaches the door. His fingers close over the glossy photo of Jo and Elise, taken six months ago at Elise’s birthday party. Not that it was much of a party – just him, Elise and Jo. Brigid couldn’t come down from Chester and Jo didn’t want to invite anyone from nursery. When they’d discussed it she’d said the thought of people she didn’t know in the house made her feel panicky.
She’s smiling at Elise in the photo. Elise is staring wide-eyed at the two candles on the cake Jo is balancing on one hand. His daughter won’t have any more quiet birthdays, not once he’s got her back. He’ll invite the world and its mother round for her third birthday. No, screw that. He’ll rent a hall. He’ll pay for a magician and a caterer and someone to decorate the place with balloons and streamers and banners with his daughter’s name on. He’ll do whatever it takes to give her the best damned birthday she could ever wish for.
He clenches his right hand and knocks on the red door. There’s a car parked up outside and he’s pretty certain someone’s in but he’s not pinning his hopes on Jo being inside. The chances are the house has been sold on several times since Brigid upped and left but the current owners might know Brigid’s relatives. Or, even better, have seen Jo and Elise.
‘Hello?’ The door opens and a tall woman with short dark hair looks out at him. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I hope so.’ Max shows her the photo. ‘I’m looking for this woman and this child. Have you seen them?’
The woman peers at the photo then reaches for it. ‘I haven’t got my glasses. Do you mind?’
‘Of course not.’
He waits as the woman extends her arm and narrows her eyes as she tries to focus on the image of his wife and child.
‘Police, are you?’ she asks, looking at him.
‘No. I work for Heir Hunters. You might have heard of us. We reunite people with money they’ve inherited from distant relatives’ wills.’
‘Ooh, is that so.’ The woman glances down the street. ‘No TV cameras with you?’
Max shakes his head. ‘No. This isn’t for a TV programme. It’s a private firm.’
‘Oh.’ The look of excitement on the woman’s face fades.
‘Have you seen them?’
‘No, I’m sorry.’ She shakes her head. ‘They live here, do they? I know a lot of people in Clogherhead but they don’t look familiar.’
‘They’re visiting. But they’re from the area originally. Do you know of a Liam O’Brien or a Brigid O’Brien? Her maiden name was Gallagher.’
The woman shakes her head again. ‘There are a lot of O’Briens and Gallaghers about but I don’t know those names. I’ve only lived here a couple of years. You could ask at the post office. Clodagh’s lived here her whole life. If anyone will be able to help you she will.’
Max flashes the woman a smile then tucks the photo back into his pocket. ‘Thank you, you’ve been very helpful.’
‘Nora Kennedy,’ she calls after him as he turns and walks back down the path. ‘Let me know if there’s any money coming my way, won’t you!’
Money. Another cheap bitch obsessed with money. Just like Paula. I thought she was the main threat to Elise, but it was always you, wasn’t it, Jo? You trapped her within the walls of our house, you neglected her, you forgot about her and then you abused her. I will never forgive you for hurting our little girl, for covering her little body in bruises and, when I get her back, I will ensure that she hates you as much as I do.
Chapter 61
Mary stands slowly and presses a hand to her lower back as she surveys the tiny but sparkling clean en suite bathroom. For fifteen minutes she’s been spraying, scrubbing and wiping. Her forehead is damp with perspiration, her arms ache and her back is spasming, but the anger that was building all morning has subsided. She didn’t discover anything when she followed Helen earlier, just that she popped into the post office. Mary had parked up outside, hoping to see something, but the weak February sun was glinting off the window, making it impossible to see inside. She’d quickly returned to the B&B, hoping Sean would shed some light on the conversation she’d partially overheard after breakfast, but there was a space outside where his car had been and no answer when she knocked on his door. So that was that. In a couple of hours Helen would collect her car, pack up, pay and leave – taking her daughter with her, the little girl who so resembled Niamh it made her heart ache just to look at her. In that split second, when she’d seen the child sitting on the edge of her bed in her pants, Mary was convinced that her daughter had come back to her. But then she’d blinked, and she’d vanished. She tried to explain it away as a trick of the light, the reflection of the television on Lee’s face or sheer wishful thinking, but no amount of logical thought would remove the image of Niamh’s small heart-shaped face from her mind. Her child had been dead for over thirty years and she’d never once appeared to her. Why had she appeared in Helen’s room? Was Niamh trying to warn her about something? Or was her own subconscious warning her that another child was in danger?
Mary steps out of the en suite and into the small bedroom. Helen had her handbag with her, strapped across her body, under the child, when she came in earlier but all the rest of her belongings are in the room. Mary moves towards the open suitcase then stops. She’s never gone through a guest’s things. Never. But this isn’t about curiosity. She’d invited Helen into her home in good faith. She’d given toys to the little one, she’d offered her phone when Helen needed to call the UK and she’d taken the girl out for a lolly when she was distressed. And what had she received in return for her kindness? Abuse, mistrust and lies. Helen had told a barefaced lie the moment she’d walked through the door – letting her believe that the child was a boy. What kind of woman would do that
? You wouldn’t lie about something as big as that for no reason. No little girl would willingly agree to wear boys’ clothes and have her hair hacked off. Helen must have forced her to change her appearance. It makes Mary sick just thinking about it.
She reaches for her neck, touching the space where her necklace should lie, as a horrifying thought occurs to her. What if Helen isn’t the child’s mother at all? That would explain why she’d gone to so much trouble to disguise the girl’s appearance. It would explain everything. If only she had broadband she could check the news to see if there were any reports of snatched or missing children. Mary doesn’t read or watch the news because she finds it too depressing. But there’s no time to buy a newspaper now. She has to discover the truth before Helen returns and packs up her things.
She crouches down by the suitcase, glances behind her to check that the bedroom door is still closed, and roots around in the pile of clothes and toiletries. She doesn’t find anything of interest so stands up again and casts her eye around the small room. There are various toys on the floor, a plastic bag on the bed, half stuffed with clothes, and another plastic bag on the top of the wardrobe next to a wooden box. She reaches for the box, then sits down on the bed and rests it on her lap.
HENRY
She traces a finger over the engraved name on the top, then carefully lifts the lid. Her heart thuds in her chest as she lifts out a tiny knitted hat. She glances at the door again, certain she heard a sound on the landing. She gets up to lock the bedroom door then returns to the bed and picks up the hat again. It’s so small it fits in the palm of her hand. Instinctively she lifts it to her nose and sniffs at it but it doesn’t smell of anything. It’s too small to be a baby’s hat and it wouldn’t fit a dolly. Mary takes another knitted item out of the box. It’s a blanket, but a very small one, maybe twice the size of her hand. There’s a teddy too, with pale-brown fur and a blue ribbon around its neck. And a scan picture. Mary never had one for Niamh; they weren’t available in the 70s. She didn’t even know what gender her child was until she was born. She traces a finger over the black and white image. It’s clear it’s a baby. She can even make out the umbilical cord, twisting its way out of the baby’s abdomen, but what’s this?
