by Brothers
‘When are these tablets supposed to start working?’ Rose directed her attention to her hands, drawing Tim’s focus there as well. Her frustration was unmistakable.
Tim held her cold hands in his as he spoke. ‘You need to give it time.’ Tim moved to hug his sister, feeling her small waiflike size in his arms. He noticed that she had lost weight. She was fading before his eyes. ‘Come on, let’s get back in.’ Tim said. Rose wiped her face and brushed her hair from her eyes. She straightened herself up and brought the tray from the kitchen to the living room.
‘There’s one other thing,’ Tim said. Rose cradled her mug in her hands, hoping that the heat might help the pain. Lizzie froze; the fear was etched on her face. ‘As you know, your mother and I grew up on a farm, an Estate, they are calling it now, in Kilkenny.’
‘Yes,’ Lizzie’s brow scrunched, she hoped that this was the news about the body, the reason she had come home in the first place, she wasn’t sure if she could take any more surprise announcements.
‘Well, there’s good and, well I won’t say bad, but more sort of, nuisance news, attached to this one,’ Tim reassured. ‘Well, neither of us have any love for the place.’ Tim looked at Rose and Lizzie followed his glance. ‘We decided to sell it, just at the beginning of the year.’
Lizzie watched the expressions that her mother and her uncle shared and tried to decipher them.
‘This is the good news part.’ He smiled. ‘We, your mother and me, we’ve put the proceeds of the sale in a trust for you, to get you started in life.’ Tim’s eyebrows rose. ‘It’s a substantial amount; we want you to set yourself up with it.’
Lizzie looked at her mother and then back at Tim, speechlessly.
Tim paused and drank some of his tea before he continued. ‘It’s had the same tenant in now for nearly a decade. And this tenant made an offer to buy,’ he looked at Rose again, ‘and we accepted,’ Tim said. ‘Just at the beginning of the year, there.’
Rose remained silent; she was unable to speak.
‘I honestly don’t know what to say,’ Lizzie shook her head incredulously.
‘It’s decided. Both Tim and I are fine financially. Maybe buy a house, travel the world. Whatever you want. It’s for you, for your future.’ Rose’s voice broke as she wondered how much of her daughter’s future she would be around for.
‘It’s settled. The solicitors need your bank details to do the electronic transfer,’ Tim added. ‘But that’s about it.’
Lizzie felt relieved when she heard the news and very quickly felt guilty for even thinking about finances when she had just been told about her mother’s illness, although, she thought, having money meant that her move home from London was infinitely more possible.
‘And the nuisance part?’ Lizzie asked.
‘The body that they dug up…’
‘Yeah.’
Tim’s voice began to weaken and he cleared his throat. ‘The thing is, it happens to be the body of an old uncle of ours, who went missing in the seventies.’
‘Seriously,’ Lizzie answered. The Fitzpatrick family history had been sketchy at best, when she was growing up and it had never occurred to her to ask if she had any more relatives that she hadn’t known about. She knew about her grandparents but they had died when she was very small, this was the first she was hearing of her mother’s uncle.
‘Seriously,’ Tim said. ‘Which is why,’ he looked at Rose’s pale face, ‘both your mother and I are still involved in the investigation,’ he said. ‘Us being the only ones still alive who would have known him,’ he added. ‘So now that they are finished with the autopsy, it’s down to us to have to bury him,’ Tim said.
Lizzie could tell by Tim’s tone that this was something he didn’t want to do and she was curious as to why. ‘What was his name?’ she looked at her mother to answer but Tim interjected.
‘Patrick.’ Not wanting to waste his breath on mentioning his name, Tim exhaled as he spoke.
‘This is just bizarre, crazy’ Lizzie said.
‘I know, love’, Rose spoke softly.
‘When, then?’ Lizzie asked, ‘when is this funeral?’
‘Tomorrow,’ Tim answered.
‘Funeral’s tomorrow,’ Rose confirmed.
‘And do we even know what happened to him, who killed him, who killed Patrick Fitzpatrick?’ Lizzie asked.
‘No’. Tim answered, afraid to meet his sister’s gaze.
‘We’ll probably never know’. Rose added.
Chapter 25
Saturday – 2016
Tim pulled up outside the old country church, Rose could barely remember it. Despite the morning sunlight a cold crisp breeze, the kind that would cut you in two, whipped around them and Rose shivered. Vaguely, she pictured herself here as a child, but she couldn’t remember the specific occasion or event. The small church, by the looks of it, could hold maybe one hundred people, and even though it was small by Catholic Church standards, it was still too big for the event it was hosting that morning, surely no one else would show up?
‘Apparently these gates only get opened for funerals and weddings,’ Tim whispered to Lizzie as she walked by his side. The black wrought-iron gates were held open by metal hooks that were fixed to the stone ground. ‘It costs extra,’ he said, a disapproving smirk flashed across his face. Lizzie nodded her response. It was just one of the gripes on a very long list that they could fault the Catholic Church in Ireland for. ‘Mind you, there’s only the four of us, it was hardly necessary, seeing as the graveyard is in the grounds,’ Tim added, he could hear Rose and Robert’s footsteps behind him. ‘Okay?’ He turned and waited for Rose to catch up.
‘Fine,’ she answered. ‘Let’s just get this over and done with,’ she added. ‘And, Tim,’ he stopped and looked at her, ‘thanks for taking charge, you know, for arranging everything.’
He smiled his response. Had it been possible he would have had Patrick cremated, burned, just as he deserved, but to return with the remains to the crematorium in Dublin would have only prolonged the entire event. It was much easier to phone the local funeral director and have him arrange everything. ‘I expect, we will be over and done with in no time,’ he reassured her, knowing how difficult it was for her to return.
Rose frowned, she had dreaded the idea of it; getting in and out as quickly as possible, so that she didn’t see anyone she wasn’t meant to, was her focus. They walked towards the old wooden arched door across the weathered grey slabs. They were just in time.
As much as Rose didn’t want to be in Kilkenny any longer than she had to, she knew that she wouldn’t have been up to a return journey that day, so they had booked themselves in to Lyrath Castle to spend one night. It was a treat, a way of compensating for having to be there and go through the motions in the first place. Tim knew, as well as Rose did, with such a high-profile case, that if the next of kin weren’t even bothered to show up for the funeral, questions, the type of ones that they couldn’t answer, not without consequences anyhow, would be asked.
The oak coffin stood in the centre of the aisle and Rose couldn’t bear to look at it, she drew a deep breath through her clenched teeth. The coffin and its contents did nothing to ease the invisible fury that burned like hell inside of her.
‘May he rot in hell,’ Tim spoke quietly in her ear. She reached for his hand and he for hers. ‘I can’t tell you how angry he makes me feel.’ She patted his arm. The charade was taking its toll on both of them.
A waft of incense filled the small space and a subtle bell indicated the priest’s arrival on the altar. Avoiding the attention from the pulpit, Rose focused her gaze on the beautiful interior of the church. The bright morning outside filtered through the stained-glass windows, throwing chasms of colour and sparkles of light across the dull stone floor. She followed the lines towards the ornate statues, both larger than life, that stood on either side of the altar; like sentries guarding the tabernacle and other sacred ornaments. Seven bronze lamps hung from the newly restored ceil
ing, reflecting the sunlight as it bounced and ricocheted around the high spaces. Tim reached for her clenched fists on her lap; he didn’t need to speak.
A gust of damp air rushed in and around the church, as the heavy door clunked open behind them. Curious, Rose turned, glancing in their direction; instinctively, she knew it was him, she knew it was her son, Michael. She had never allowed herself to imagine seeing him again, she had kept true to the promise she had made to Mrs McGrath but now, with him a mere two feet away from her she had to restrain herself from throwing her arms around him and holding him just like she had done before she left him.
She remained silent, unable to speak. Her heart began to race, the thump so loud, she feared that everyone in the church could hear it. Her mouth was as dry as sand as she swallowed hard. She opened her bag and clenched her hands around a plastic bottle, her fingers turning white; she handed Tim the bottle and he opened it for her. The congregation could hear the whispering apologies as Michael, Marie and George McGrath took the row behind them.
‘You okay, Mum?’ Lizzie whispered, noticing her mother’s pale face. It was as though she had seen a ghost.
Rose wasn’t able to speak, she opened her mouth but there was nothing in there. She nodded and shrugged, vague memories and hidden feelings jousting their way to the front of her heart.
Tim could feel Rose tense beside him, like plaster of Paris stiffening around a limb. He had a feeling he knew why.
The sound of the Angelus bell resonated from the small but perfectly engineered steeple as they wheeled the coffin outside. Wrapped in her Catholic guilt and draped in her sorrow, it took Rose by surprise when the handful in the congregation stood, solemnly waiting for her to follow, as though she was to be commiserated with.
‘Rose.’ Tim waited in the aisle and dutifully she followed, afraid to look in Michael’s direction. Tim linked Rose’s arm for the short walk to the graveside, her feeble legs tired and unreliable, finding every step a chore. He squeezed her arm, both of them connected in their shared thoughts. She was afraid to look up, afraid to meet his eyes. Every single day, since she had left her baby, she made a wish for him, a wish that he was happy, a wish that he was kind, a wish that he would never have to know the awfulness that had brought him to life in the first place. She had kept the secret, like Mrs McGrath had asked her to do and it had worked. He had been loved, he had been taken into Mrs McGrath’s home, into her heart but most of all, he was safe, safe from the horrors of her past.
*
Out of the corner of her eye and over the shoulders of those waiting to offer their condolences, Rose watched as Michael spoke to the woman he was standing next to, his wife, she presumed. She felt weak with nervous energy. Rose drew a deep breath, savouring every snippet of fresh air she could, in an attempt to settle her nerves; she couldn’t believe that she was standing across from him.
‘How are you doing?’ Tim asked.
‘Holding on,’ she said. ‘Barely.’ She exhaled slowly as she saw Michael McGrath approach. ‘Tim.’ Her voice wobbled.
‘Ah, Michael, very kind of you to come, thank you.’ Tim extended his hand. The undertakers lifted the coffin onto the wooden posts that straddled the grave and threaded through the lengths of sturdy belts to lower it.
‘Not at all,’ Michael shook his hand, looking him in the eye. ‘You remember Marie, and my brother George.’
Rose stood wide-eyed beside him. She felt as though her skeleton was dissolving inside of her like wet chalk, as the little strength she had left seeped out through her toes.
‘Michael, this is my sister, Rose.’
She snapped at the air grasping whatever air she could find, as though she was about to go under.
‘Rose,’ Tim cleared his throat, ‘this is Michael McGrath.’
She mustered a feeble amount of strength to shake his hand.
‘His wife Marie,’ Tim continued, Rose forced a smile. ‘And Michael’s brother, George. You might remember him from years ago,’ Tim added. He continued to link Rose’s arm while he made the introductions, he didn’t want her to collapse, not in front of everyone.
‘I’m so sorry for your loss, Rose. I hope you guys are holding up,’ Marie said, smiling gently at both of them.
‘Of course, it’s very thoughtful of you to come, though, you really shouldn’t have,’ Tim said, knowing Rose wasn’t able to speak. The glare of the sun bounced from the white marble cross causing all but Rose to squint.
‘Really awful, what happened,’ Marie continued. ‘Were you close?’ she asked sympathetically.
‘Well, em, we were only children, really.’ Rose’s voice broke as she tried to answer her, grateful for the priest as he tapped the microphone and silenced the gathering at the graveside.
Chapter 26
Saturday Morning – 2016
Louise leaned against the car, looking back towards the congregation at the graveside. Not wanting to appear disrespectful, she checked if she could be seen and then pulled out her phone. The funeral had been a tense, but quiet affair. Sometimes in times of grief, people talked more than they needed to. But no one had offered anything and now it was over, she was heading back to the station.
‘Jesus Christ,’ she muttered to herself as she scrolled through the number of missed calls and messages, all of which, bar one, were from Kelly. She had texted him earlier, avoiding having to talk to him, and told him that she would go to the funeral. She had been so pissed off at him for leaving her in Dublin without a proper explanation that she refused to answer any of his calls.
‘You rang.’ Louise yanked her seat belt around her and started the engine of her car. She had a good mind not to answer at all. She craned her neck sideways, pulled out on the empty road and made her way back to the station.
Kelly swung around on his office chair and placed his elbows on his desk. ‘Hey,’ he paused, he could hear the annoyance in her voice. ‘Why haven’t you answered me, I’ve been calling you since yesterday.’
‘I’ve been busy.’ She was short with her answers, she was trying as best as she could to avoid a fight.
‘I see.’ Kelly didn’t realise she had been so pissed. ‘I was a little worried about you.’ He shot a look around the office to make sure he wasn’t overheard. Since he had left her in Dublin, he hadn’t had a chance to explain to her why.
‘Well, no need, I’m fine.’
‘Are you pissed, Louise?’ It was dawning on Kelly that he had done something wrong, but what, he wasn’t quite sure.
‘Nope.’ She exhaled loudly.
‘Okay.’ Kelly shook his head, he couldn’t understand why she was so curt. ‘I think he’s looking for a bit of publicity, you know, with all the attention this one is getting,’ Kelly quipped but Louise remained silent.
They all knew the attention that the station would receive in the media for solving a forty-six-year-old case, especially with the likes of McCarthy loving the idea of being interviewed by television. But Louise was still not convinced that arresting Timothy Fitzpatrick was the right or, more importantly, the just, thing to do. Kelly could hear the tension in each of her sighs.
‘Apparently there is some freelance reporter covering it from the UK as well,’ Kelly said, regurgitating everything the Inspector had told him, nearly word for word. He really had had an earful of McCarthy and was losing patience with the case for that reason alone.
‘Mmm,’ Louise answered. ‘There was a hire car parked there all right. Male, in his thirties driving it,’ Louise said. ‘Although, he appeared to be the only one, I’d have thought the crew that were hanging around the Estate would have followed the McGraths to the church,’ she added.
‘So the McGraths were there?’ Kelly said, flicking back through his notebook, looking over the notes.
‘Yes and what appeared to be Rose’s daughter,’ Louise answered.
‘And what about the interaction between the McGraths and the Fitzpatricks, anything, you know, familiar between them?’ Kelly asked.
‘Not that I could see.’ Louise took her turn for the station car park and parked in her usual spot.
‘Louise, are you sure you are okay?’ He wanted to talk to her about what they had shared together, he wanted them to have private jokes and connect like they had in Dublin, and he couldn’t understand why she was so stand-offish. He shook his head, knowing there was no way he was going to get to the bottom of her apparent annoyance, over the phone.
‘Yeah,’ she said, her voice a little softer. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Are you still at the funeral?’ he said. He wished they were back in Dublin, wrapped in the sheets in the Camden Court Hotel, that was the only type of electric tension he wanted between them.
‘I’m outside the station, I’ll be in, in a sec,’ Louise answered, reaching across to the floor of the passenger side for her bag.
‘Wait there.’ Kelly grabbed his wallet from his jacket on the back of his chair. ‘I’ll come to you.’ He raced down the rubber-covered stairs, two steps at a time. He wanted to be able to touch her, look her in the eye, and he knew he wouldn’t have the peace of doing it inside the station.
Louise sighed deeply and drew in a lungful of air. She wiped away the crumbs that her garage-bought breakfast had left on the passenger seat and crumpled up the white paper bag. She leaned into the back seat and grabbed a plastic Tesco bag to use as a bin. She was in the middle of scooping up day old empty water bottles and week-old plastic sandwich cases when the passenger door opened.
‘Louise.’ The side of the car shifted as Kelly’s weight flopped onto the passenger seat. ‘What happened?’ He shrugged his shoulders and opened up his hands in despair. He had thought that what they had in Dublin was special. A quick flash of her naked body in his hotel room sparked through him as he glanced at her, her gold chain, the same that she had worn when she was underneath him, sat delicately on her clavicle, just inside her crisp white blouse. He could nearly taste the almond flavour from her skin again. If he wasn’t so worried, he would have enjoyed the flashback and the joke he had made then, about being allergic to nuts.
