by Zara Keane
A leprechaun leapt out in front of them, wielding a shamrock. All thanks to bloody Darby O’Gill and the Little People. Jonas hated that film. It was a faux Irish freak fest, and Sean Connery’s terrible accent grated. Yet it was shown on TV around Easter and St. Patrick’s Day every year without fail. People had no taste.
His eyes wandered over the crowd. And froze. Across the street, Aidan Gant was holding court with a bunch of local bigwigs. Olivia stood beside him, expressionless but beautiful as always. His gut twisted at the sight, and the familiar longing made its presence known.
“Dad, it’s too loud,” Luca whined.
“All right, mate. Let’s head away from the crowd.”
“Can I get a lolly first?”
“You haven’t had your lunch yet.”
“I won’t need lunch. I had an extremely enormous breakfast at Uncle Gav’s.”
Jonas smiled. In many ways, Luca was an odd kid, yet in others, he was like every other little boy. “I suppose you want one of those hideous green shamrock lollies.”
“They do look yummy.”
“Okay. One revolting mass of green sugar coming right up.”
They crossed the road to the lolly stand. Jonas set Luca down and purchased an overpriced green monstrosity. As he was slipping his wallet into his pocket, he saw Olivia barreling down the road. Her snug green pullover and tight jeans drew his attention to her slim curves. Not that he needed any help in noticing them—more was the pity.
She stumbled to a halt in front of him, blinking as though surprised to find an obstacle blocking her path. Neither of them spoke for a beat, letting the sea of background noise wash over them.
After a long moment, she tore her gaze away from his and shifted her focus to Luca. “Are you okay?”
Luca opened his eyes and regarded her solemnly.
“Does the noise hurt your ears? Or is it an infection? I see you’re pulling at your earlobes.”
Luca glanced up at his father, then back to Olivia.
“You have an earache?” Jonas inspected his son’s ears but couldn’t see inside. The possibility of Luca having an ear infection should have occurred to him before. Luca’s case manager had mentioned acute hearing and other sensory issues, and that’s what he’d assumed was the problem. He slipped his hand down the neck of the boy’s pullover. The kid’s skin was burning with fever.
Shite. How had he missed this? What did one do when a kid had an earache? Take him to the doctor straight away? Wait to see if he improved? Mam would know. Unfortunately, she was somewhere in the Caribbean.
“Should we go home?” he asked Luca.
The boy shrugged. “No, just away from the noise.”
“You could take him to the beach.” Olivia’s voice was bland but he was acutely aware of her watching him. “I don’t see anyone down there. It will be quieter than here.”
Jonas peered over the wall and down to the strand. The tide was out, exposing a vast expanse of wet sand. “Okay, Luca, what do you say? Will we go and build sandcastles?”
“We have no bucket and spade.”
“We can improvise,” he said with false jollity. “We can find shells big enough to dig with, and we can use our hands.”
The boy was dubious. “I guess we can try.”
“Great. Let’s go.” Jonas nodded to Olivia, the movement as stiff and awkward as their entire interaction over the past decade. “Thanks for noticing his ears.”
She shrugged. “My brother Kyle always had ear infections when he was small. I got used to noticing the signs.”
As he edged past her to the flight of steps, the familiar electricity between them crackled. She licked her pink-tinged lips, and his tangle of emotions tumbled to the fore. For an insane moment, Jonas had the urge to kiss her.
“Dad?”
He whipped round at the sound of Luca’s voice. “On my way.”
Without looking back at Olivia, he followed his son down the steps to the beach.
***
Olivia leaned against the wall and watched Jonas and Luca walk along the sand. Her reaction to Jonas was unnerving. Why did he, of all men, possess the power to get under her skin?
Above the surface of the sea, two seagulls took flight, flapping their way toward the Atlantic Ocean. She envied them their freedom. Heaving a sigh, she hurried across the road to where Aidan was standing with her family and his political cohorts.
Her father was his usual jolly but vague self. He disliked large public events, particularly those that required him to wear a suit. The sole reason he was present today was out of loyalty to Aidan—his employer, creditor, and oldest friend. Oldest, not best. There’s a distinction, Dad, even if you don’t see it.
Olivia glanced around the group. Kyle had disappeared with friends, but Ronan stood to the side of the group, his thin shoulders hunched. Her mother had poured herself into a clingy, thigh-length dress and was in full-flirtation mode with various male members of the town council—including John Jobson, father of Julie and James, the boy Kyle and Ronan had allegedly punched. Although flirting was more natural to Victoria than breathing, it rarely went further than that. Nonetheless, it was bloody embarrassing to witness, particularly when she was loud and tipsy.
“Olivia, darling. You’re finally here.” Victoria gave her an air kiss. “Why aren’t you smiling? It’s the start of the long weekend. You should be happy.”
Happy…right. Happy to have to spend three long days traipsing around after Aidan while he schmoozed his future constituents and made a token appearance at church? She thought not. “When did you get back from London?”
“Yesterday. The art exhibition was simply divine.”
“Did Dad tell you about the boys’ suspension?”
“Oh, yes.” Her mother giggled. “Kyle is delighted to have time off school.”
“Given how close Kyle is coming to failing several subjects, he should use the time to study.”
Victoria waved her hand in breezy unconcern. “You’re such a stick-in-the-mud, darling. I don’t know how I produced a daughter like you.”
Aidan was standing beside Julie Jobson, who was tittering at one of his off-color jokes. His eyes turned to slits when he registered his wife’s presence. He plastered a rictus on his face and grabbed her arm, yanking her away from the group. “Where have you been?” His fingers dug into her skin, making her wince. “You should have been here an hour ago.”
“Your mother’s Jimmy Choos and Ballybeg’s cobblestoned streets had a disagreement.”
“Why aren’t you talking to the other town councilors? You’re supposed to be playing the role of my devoted wife, remember?”
How could she ever forget? “Why would they want me to talk to them?” she asked in exasperation, trying to wrench her arm free. “I’m not on the town council. I doubt they want to hear my views on what should be done in Ballybeg.”
“Of course they’re not interested in your opinions,” he snapped. “Be sociable. Mingle, for heaven’s sake. Why can’t you be more like your mother?”
Why, indeed? Aidan chose to forget Victoria’s frequent social lapses and disappearing acts. As far as he was concerned, she was his first crush and his oldest friend’s wife. Olivia had always wondered if Aidan’s rose-tinted affection for Victoria was part of the reason he’d chosen to marry the woman’s daughter.
“Kyle is the only one of my children to inherit my artistic talent,” Victoria was saying loudly to the elderly councilor at her side. “Ronan tries, but the poor boy simply hasn’t a hope.”
Ronan’s cheeks turned red with shame.
Olivia yanked herself free from Aidan’s grasp. Her arm ached. She’d have bruises. It was unlike Aidan to be so careless, but he probably thought it didn’t matter in this weather when she wouldn’t be wearing short-sleeved tops. She moved beside Ronan. “Don’t mind Mum,” she whispered. “You know what she’s like. Always needs to be the center of attention.”
“I don’t know if I can take much
more,” Ronan bit out. “Living in that house is hell. How can I tolerate them for another three years?”
“You’ll manage. I did. Once you turn eighteen, you can come and live with me. I’ll have my own place by then, and the café will be established.” If all went according to plan, he and Kyle could move in with her far sooner, but it would be cruel to give him false expectations.
He gave a bitter laugh. “You’re deluding yourself. Aidan will never let that happen. You’re stuck in that marriage until Mum and Dad repay their debt to him. We both know that’ll be when hell freezes over.”
His words were a slap. “Don’t say that. I have to hope things will change.”
“What will change?” Olivia whirled around at the sound of Aidan’s voice.
“Ronan’s grades in art,” she improvised.
Aidan snorted. “He should concentrate on learning to read. You’d think he’d have mastered that simple skill by the age of fifteen.”
“He’s dyslexic, not stupid.”
Ronan flushed and dug his thin hands into his coat pockets. “I’m going for a walk.”
“You do that,” Aidan sneered. “Just don’t wander so far that you’re reliant on street signs. We both know that won’t end well.”
“Leave him alone.” Anger scorched her vocal chords. “Why do you always pick on him? He’s a fifteen-year-old boy. Can’t you find someone your own age to bully?”
She started to run after her brother, but Aidan grabbed her shoulder.
“Your duty is to stay here with me,” he hissed into her ear. “We have a deal, remember?”
Olivia fixed him with a fulminating glare. “Go to hell and take your deal with you.” She pulled her arm free and raced the street in the direction her brother had taken.
Ronan disappeared down the steps toward the beach. Her heart rate accelerated, but her pace didn’t falter. Taking the slippery steps two at a time, she soon reached the sandy beach below.
The roar of the sea rang in her ears like a warning. “Ronan?”
Damn. She’d lost sight of him the moment he’d vanished between the boulders that led the way to Craggy Point. Pulling her thin jacket close, she shivered in the salty air. The beach gave her the creeps. She never ventured too near the water, not since the night Bry drowned. But she had to find her brother.
Why did Aidan have to goad the boy? Couldn’t he confine his bullying to her? Why did her parents turn a blind eye—and a deaf ear—to Aidan’s insults?
She’d passed the public toilets and reached the dunes when someone grabbed her by-now aching left arm. Her heart lurched in her chest when she smelled his cloying after shave. Aidan.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He twisted her shoulder with vicious force.
“Get off me.” She wrenched herself out of his grasp and took a step to the left.
He kept approaching.
The hairs on her skin stood to attention. She surveyed her surroundings, hoping to see someone, anyone. From what she could ascertain, they were alone in the dunes. If she screamed, her cry would be lost in the wind.
Her pulse pummeled in her wrist. Aidan had cornered her before in a rage, but she’d managed to wriggle her way out of the encounter. On this deserted area of the beach, there was no chance of escape. Why hadn’t she taken the potential danger seriously? Because he hasn’t hit me in almost a year. She’d grown lax in taking precautions to avoid these situations and arrogant in her assumption that she’d be out of his life within a couple of months.
She retreated a few steps, only to catch a heel on a stray rock and stumble in the sand. Her panic rose in time with her staccato breathing. Aidan continued his approach with clenched fists. The punch to her stomach was swift and brutal. The impact sucked the air from her lungs and the pain curled her into a comma. “You. Bastard.”
His attention was fixed on her breasts, making her wish she’d chosen a loose top instead of this tight pullover. She drew her jacket across her chest. His lips curved into a leer. The pounding in her chest accelerated.
“You’re still my wife, whatever lies you delude yourself with. Give up your plans to open that silly café. It’ll never happen, and I’ll never sign divorce papers.” He squeezed her breast painfully.
She squirmed against him. “Stop it!”
Suddenly Aidan flew backward and Olivia was temporarily blinded by sand. When she registered what was happening, she saw Jonas on top of Aidan, punching him in the face. Aidan’s head lolled, and blood spurted from his nose. Olivia was too shocked to emote.
Jonas got to his feet and offered her his hand. He was breathing heavily, and his dark hair was wild and disheveled. “Are you all right?”
“Now I am. Thanks for your help.” She caught sight of little Luca standing outside the men’s bathroom, staring with horror at the scene unfolding before him. “I’m sorry your son had to witness this.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He didn’t relinquish her hand, and his touch sent a tingling sensation down her arm. “Has he done this before?”
She glared at Aidan’s prostrate form. “On occasion.”
“Jesus, Olivia. You have to report him.”
“You don’t understand. He’s my father’s boss and my parents’ creditor. Until I have the funding for my café secured, I can’t afford to piss him off.”
“So you’ll let yourself be a punching bag for their sakes?”
“This town runs on cronyism, and Aidan’s a solicitor. I don’t stand a chance at making charges stick.”
His features hardened. “Bollocks. Your parents’ debt is not your responsibility. They need to cop on and grow up.”
Olivia bristled at his words even though she knew he was right. He wasn’t saying anything she hadn’t thought a million times.
In the background, Aidan moaned, rising unsteadily from the sand and clutching his nose. “I’ll get you for this, O’Mahony. I have influential friends in this town. You won’t get served in any shop, pub, or restaurant within a twenty-kilometer radius.” He sounded like a ham actor in a third-rate play. Hysterical laughter bubbled in Olivia’s throat, but she had more sense than to indulge the impulse.
Jonas cast him a withering glare. “I’m not letting a wife-beating scumbag intimidate me. How would that information be received by your influential friends, not to mention the voters of Ballybeg? You’re not our mayor yet.”
“Fuck you,” Aidan snarled. “I’ll make you pay, see if I don’t. Olivia, stop sniveling and come here.”
Jonas’s fingers hovered over her shoulder. “You don’t have to go with him,” he said gently. “Fiona and Gavin are at the parade. Why don’t I give them a call?”
“I don’t want to drag my friends into this mess. I haven’t been entirely honest with them about…about how bad things are with Aidan.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t you think it’s time to confide in them?”
She bit her lip. “Perhaps.”
“And you do have somewhere to go. On a more permanent basis, that is.” His steady gaze fixed her to the spot. “If you still want it, the lease for the cottage is yours.”
Chapter Ten
IT WASN’T JONAS’S FIRST TIME in Ballybeg Garda Station. He’d interviewed countless Guards, or Gardaí, for the Detective Inspector Brady series, including several who worked here. In his relentless quest for accuracy, he’d visited morgues, law courts, and other places of relevance to a homicide detective. He’d shadowed policemen at work, observed an autopsy, and spent countless hours reading police training files. So he was familiar with the sounds, sights, and smells of a country police station.
What he was not used to was being the person interrogated. Hours had passed since Sergeant Seán Mackey showed up on his doorstep to “invite” him to answer a few questions regarding his “unprovoked attack” on Aidan Gant. Barely home from the after-hours doctor with Luca, he wasn't in the mood to deal with this crap. “I told you before. Gant was hurting Olivia, and I intervene
d. Would you stand by and let a guy abuse a woman?”
“I don’t hold with domestic abuse.” Sergeant Mackey’s mouth was a tight line. “And I’m sure Garda Glenn here agrees with me.”
Brian Glenn glanced up from his notebook and nodded. “Shame the man you’re accusing happens to be Aidan Gant.”
“Esteemed solicitor and member of the town council?” Jonas spat. “Bollocks. Brian, you’ve been stationed in Ballybeg long enough to have formed an impression of the man. And you don’t strike me as a fool either, Mackey. You must know Aidan Gant is a sleaze.”
Mackey shifted in his seat, a frown highlighting the fine lines etched around his mouth and eyes. Jonas had heard whisperings of some past scandal to do with the Ballybeg’s new police sergeant, but he neither knew the particulars nor cared to ask. “I’ll not comment on Gant,” the sergeant said. “That’s more than my job’s worth. The problem is that the only adults who witnessed the fight are you, Gant, and Olivia, and you don’t want your son questioned. At the moment, it’s your word against Gant’s. And there’s no denying the man has a broken nose.”
“And I’m not denying I broke it.”
“No, you’ve been straight with us on that score. But that’s where your and Gant’s stories part ways.” Mackey ran a hand through his closely cropped hair. “Gant claims it was an unprovoked attack. You say it was in defense of his wife.” With a sigh, the man pushed back his cheap plastic chair. “Come on, Brian. Your notebook is needed elsewhere. We’ll have to see what Olivia has to say for herself.”
“She’s here?” Thank feck. If she backed up his version of events, he might make it home to Luca before midnight.
“Yeah. It took us a while to track her down. She’d gone out for a meal with a friend, but she checked in a few minutes ago.” Mackey paused in the doorway. “Can we get you a coffee?”
Jonas had drunk more than his fair share of station coffee on previous visits and knew better than to accept. “I’ll pass, thanks.”
“Suit yourself. You’ll have a wait ahead of you, mind.”
