Dreaming About Daran (Whitsborough BayTrilogy Book 3)

by Jessica Redland

  ‘Are you going?’

  I looked at Ben again. ‘Ma ordered me not to.’

  ‘So are you going?’

  ‘I just said—’

  ‘You just said that your mum told you not to. The Clare I know does her own thing, not what others tell her. In fact, the Clare I know is more likely to do something that she’s told not to do.’

  ‘What if that Clare is sick of fighting? What if they’ve broken her?’

  Ben reached out and gently pushed a tress of hair behind my ear, revealing my bruised cheek. He looked at me with sadness in his eyes. ‘No. She’s not broken. She’s been bashed about a lot, physically, mentally and emotionally, but she’s not broken. She’s too strong for that.’

  ‘Do you really think so? I don’t feel very strong at the moment.’

  He smiled. ‘That’s because you’re hungover, wearing your PJs and you have a bit of a panda-eye situation going on with your mascara. I guarantee that you’ll feel better after a shower.’

  ‘Have the leprechauns turned it into magic water that’ll take away the memories of what Jamie Doyle did?’

  ‘Of course. I ordered it especially.’ Ben put his arm around me and I cuddled into his side as he kissed the top of my head. ‘You and I both know that a shower is going to make sod all difference to the trauma that your mind had managed to bury. Only time can do that. I know a great counsellor who specialises in this field and I’d urge you to see her. Your friends will get you through this, your family will get you through this, and you’ll get yourself through this. You could choose to let your mum and that rapist win, but you’re not going to, are you? Having seen you going after that king with such determination, I know how competitive you are. You’re going to win this time, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered.

  ‘Sorry, did you say something?’

  ‘I said, yes.’

  ‘I think I might be going a bit deaf in my old age. I’m sure I heard a noise, but I couldn’t quite make it out.’

  I laughed. ‘YES! I’M GOING TO WIN!’

  He hugged me tighter and kissed my head again before releasing me. ‘And she’s back in the room!’

  ‘Thanks, Ben. I can’t remember if I said it last night, but I’m glad you’re here.’

  ‘You did. About 20 times, as it happens, but it’s good to hear it sober. You don’t have to go through any of this alone anymore. I know you kept Daran and Shannon secret from everyone for 17 years, and that your mind kept what that Jamie Doyle did secret from you for all that time, but we know now and we’re here to help you get through it. If you want to talk, we’ll talk. If you want to focus your mind elsewhere, we’ll do that. You know me. I can talk mindless bollocks any time you want!’

  I laughed. He really was an amazing friend.

  ‘Go on, get yourself in the shower, because the only thing you’re going to win looking like that is a Halloween competition for scariest make-up.’

  I rolled off the bed and looked in the mirror. My eyelids were black with mascara and eyeliner smudges, and my cheeks were covered in black streaks. ‘Jesus! Would you look at the state of me? I’m surprised you didn’t jump on the first flight home last night.’

  ‘Believe me, it was very tempting.’

  I shook my head in disbelief at my reflection. Had I really let them do that to me? Ben was right. I was a fighter and I was going to win. It was easy to think of it as a façade that I’d built up to cope with my exile and Shannon being taken away from me, but I’d always been strong and confident, even as a young child. It was just who I was.

  ‘I’d better get myself ready for a funeral, hadn’t I?’

  Ben smiled. ‘Will you be taking a handbag?’

  ‘Of course. Why?’

  He reached into his pocket and took out the king. ‘Because you’re going to need somewhere to keep this.’

  Chapter 42

  ‘Wow! You look amazing,’ Ben said.

  I smoothed down the sides of my straight black dress and adjusted the hot-pink belt slightly. ‘You’ll notice I’m not fully embracing the black-for-mourning concept,’ I said, indicating the belt and the matching pink stilettos.

  ‘Why should you? You’re not in mourning, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I think more people should wear sparkly pink stilettos for funerals.’

  ‘Men included?’ I asked.

  ‘Especially the men. In fact, you don’t have a spare pair for me, do you?’

  ‘I’d happily lend you a pair, but your enormous, hairy hobbit feet won’t fit into them.’

  ‘How rude!’

  ‘How true!’ I reached for my coat. ‘You’re sure you don’t want to stay here?’

  ‘And miss the fireworks when your mum sees you? No chance!’

  I laughed, but my stomach churned. Despite the splash of daring colour, and all the bravado, I was absolutely bricking it, and I knew Ben knew that I was.

  When Ma had thrown me out on Thursday, I’d told Aisling I’d slip into the back of the church, but I’d changed my mind as I’d leant against the car. What was the point in attending? I’d already sought the reassurance I needed that he was really gone and I had no intention of crossing swords with Ma again. Yet, lying in the spare room at Mrs Shaughnessy’s yesterday morning, I’d found myself wanting to attend again. I’d thought about Daran and what he’d say. He’d have acknowledged that Da was a cruel man who, on the face of it, didn’t deserve my forgiveness, but he’d also have reminded me that Da had thought his actions – however selfish or wrong – were the right actions for Shannon. It could be argued that my actions in giving up Shannon were selfish or wrong, but they were also the ones I believed were right for Shannon. She’d (sort of) forgiven me. Well, God would judge Da and decide whether or not to forgive him; I didn’t need to. My role was to say goodbye and perhaps even feel sorry for a man whose narrow-minded views had pushed aside his chance of a happy, loving family.

  Aisling had made it clear that she visited as infrequently as possible and tried to keep his only grandchildren away from him. From what I could gather, Éamonn and Keenan weren’t exactly close to him, and the attack following the divorce announcement certainly hadn’t helped their relationships. It seemed that poor Nia had been terrified of him. Mind you, after what she’d probably been subjected to at the hands of Jamie Doyle over the years, Nia was likely to be terrified of most men, understandably so.

  Nia. She was another reason I wanted to attend the funeral. Although she was older than me by two years, she seemed like a baby sister whom I wanted to protect. I needed to know she was safe and was going to be able to walk away from Jamie Doyle and start living her life at last. The funeral could be my only opportunity to talk to her.

  My legs shook as I walked slowly along the path to the entrance of St Mary’s in Ballykielty.

  ‘Who’s the winner?’ Ben whispered.

  I lifted my head and pushed my shoulders back. ‘I am.’

  ‘That’s the spirit. So your mum doesn’t want you here. What’s the worst that can happen?’

  ‘She creates a scene like at the wake and throws me out?’

  ‘So what if she does? You’ll have paid your final respects, you’ll have shown support for your family – the ones who count, that is – and you’ll have held your head high, showing that you won’t be bullied or intimidated by a lonely old woman.’

  He was right. What was the worst that could happen?

  Éamonn and Keenan stood in the entrance, welcoming the mourners. Aisling had told me they’d both stopped by Mrs Shaughnessy’s while I’d been sleeping and had been very concerned about me. Éamonn was deep in conversation with an elderly couple I didn’t recognise, but Keenan looked up and spotted me.

  ‘That’s one of my twin brothers, Keenan,’ I whispered to Ben. ‘The other one’s Éamonn. O
h bollocks, he looks angry.’

  Keenan strode towards me. It took every ounce of strength not to turn on my pink heels and leg it. I stood my ground but was nearly knocked off my feet as he grabbed me in a tight bear hug. He didn’t say a word, just squeezed me tightly. What could you say when you discovered that your youngest sister had been raped by the man who then married your next-youngest sister and beat her regularly?

  Éamonn appeared by my side and tightly hugged me too. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered into my hair. ‘We didn’t know. We should have known. I’m so very, very sorry.’

  When he released me, I could see pain and confusion painted across both of their faces.

  ‘Don’t be blaming yourselves for any of this. I never let on back then, and Nia never let on either. You weren’t to know.’

  They both nodded, but I could feel their guilt.

  ‘Is Nia here?’

  ‘She’s at the front,’ Éamonn said. ‘With Ma and Aisling.’

  Keenan’s eyes widened. ‘You’re not going to…? Are you?’

  ‘I’m not going to what, Keenan? Make a scene? Of course not! Oh, unless you’d call tap dancing on Da’s coffin in my glittery pink stilettos making a scene.’

  His eyes widened even further. Éamonn nudged him in the ribs. ‘She’s winding us up, you daft eejit.’ Then he frowned. ‘You are, aren’t you?’

  I smiled. ‘It’s tempting, but have you seen how straight and tight this dress is and how high my heels are? If I attempted to get up there, I think I’d end up laid out in a coffin myself.’

  Stepping through the church doors again was like stepping back in time. My eyes were drawn immediately to the pulpit, where I could vividly picture Daran reading the Gospels during Mass, with so much passion for the message conveyed.

  St Mary’s felt cold and strangely empty without him, despite the packed congregation. I ushered Ben into a pew at the back and slipped in beside him. Another couple of people squeezed in next to me, but I didn’t recognise them and they paid little attention to me.

  Most of the Mass was uneventful. When the homily was delivered, I’d swear that the priest was talking about someone else entirely. If Keenan and Éamonn hadn’t greeted me at the door, I’d have thought we’d walked into the wrong funeral. Loving father? Dedicated husband? Devoted to his family? Yeah, right, and I could sneeze butterflies from my arse!

  ‘Pádraig’s wife of 41 years, Maeve, would like say a few words,’ said the priest.

  I found myself shrinking a little further into my pew. The church wasn’t that big. If she stood up on the altar, she was bound to see me.

  Ma, wearing a shapeless, ankle-length black dress, lace-up black flats and a baggy, long, dark-grey cardigan, slowly staggered towards the altar. Her long hair was pulled back into a severe bun, but she’d missed a bit. In fact, she’d missed a couple of bits. A long straggle of hair hung down the side of her face and another clump stuck out of her bun at a funny angle. She looked like a bag lady. She’d never bothered with her appearance much, but today she looked extra dishevelled. I tried to feel sympathy. She’d just lost her husband. Washing her hair and putting on nice clothes weren’t going to be top of her priority list.

  She lifted her foot to step up onto the altar and somehow missed, falling forward but steadying herself just in time. A gasp went around the congregation. She regained her composure and somehow made it up and over to the lectern, but as soon as she spoke, it was obvious why she’d lost her footing: the woman was blind drunk.

  ‘Forty-one years,’ she slurred. ‘Forty-one long, long years. And for what? Look at them! Look at the state of them. Two divorces. Two! What a disgrace.’

  A murmur went around the congregation. People started nudging each other and giggling. Jesus wept!

  ‘Three of them incapable of producing offspring of their own. Wouldn’t be surprised if those poncey twins prefer men to their wives, bloody disgrace to God and mankind.’

  I closed my eyes, willing someone to shut her up, but everyone seemed rooted to their pew, no doubt shocked at what they were hearing.

  ‘That one there!’ She pointed to Nia, head bowed in the front row. ‘That pathetic mouse of a woman with no idea how to please her man. No wonder he had to keep her in order. And don’t even get me started on the other one. Biggest embarrassment of the lot. At least she’s had the decency to stay away today after ruining the wake, the little whore.’

  It seemed to happen in slow motion. Like a Mexican wave, heads turned from all directions to look directly at me. I could see Ma following the movement. And then she spotted me. ‘You!’ She turned and raced down off the altar. ‘I asked you for one thing, but you couldn’t grant me that, could you? Had to waltz in here, showing off, and showing everyone up.’ She marched down the aisle towards me. Ben grabbed my hand.

  Éamonn raced after her. ‘Leave it, Ma. This isn’t the time or the place.’

  Keenan appeared by his side. ‘Let’s lay Da to rest. Clare’ll go, won’t you, Clare?’

  I nodded, but I was trapped in the pew by the two strangers.

  ‘I never wanted you,’ she cried. ‘Did you know that?’

  I rose to my feet. ‘Yes, because you decided to tell everyone at the wake and, even if you hadn’t, it was obvious from how you treated me my entire life. You made it very clear that you never wanted me.’

  ‘Is it any wonder, in light of where you came from? You’re just like her, you know, with your big green eyes and your perfect blonde hair. Should have known you’d behave just like her too.’

  ‘Just like who?’

  ‘Her!’ She spun around and pointed at Mrs Shaughnessy. ‘Dirty Jezebels, the pair of you. Like mother, like daughter, so you are.’

  Jesus, Mary and Joseph! I stared at Mrs Shaughnessy, who stood a little way behind Ma, open-mouthed and pale-faced, as I took in her bobbed blonde hair and green eyes. Aisling and the twins were brunettes like Ma, and Nia had mousy hair like Da. None of them had green eyes. How had I never questioned it before?

  ‘Is this true?’ I asked her, although I knew at that moment that it was. I could see the similarity.

  Mrs Shaughnessy nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Clare. I wanted to tell you, but not like this.’ Suddenly, her kindness made sense, her insistence that I stay overnight, the huge hug and the request that I call her any time I needed anything. And a million comments that Ma had made over the years now had context too.

  ‘You and Da?’

  ‘We loved each other.’

  Ma turned on her. ‘Loved each other? What a pile of shite. You were just a tart who offered it up on a plate, and he was an eejit who couldn’t keep it in his pants. A leg-over with consequences, that’s what you were.’ She turned around again and pointed to me. ‘Bet you weren’t expecting that, were you?’ She swayed in the aisle and grabbed hold of the end of the pew to steady herself.

  ‘It wasn’t like that,’ Mrs Shaughnessy cried. ‘It wasn’t just one night.’ She clapped her hand over her mouth, as though she hadn’t meant to let that slip.

  Ma turned to face her again. ‘Yes, it was. That’s what you both told me. One drunken mistake on what would have been your dead husband’s 30th birthday.’

  ‘No, Maeve, it wasn’t.’

  Ma looked her up and down, contempt written across her face. ‘So he came back for more, did he? Once? Twice?’

  Mrs Shaughnessy pushed her shoulders back. ‘Twice a week for about 20 years.’

  Another gasp went around the congregation. When they’d woken up that morning, I bet none of them had expected a sombre funeral would descend into an episode of The Jeremy Kyle Show.

  ‘You’re lying,’ screeched Ma.

  Mrs Shaughnessy shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Maeve. We never meant to hurt you.’

  The next moment, all hell broke loose. Ma let out a high-pitched shriek akin to a battle cry, the
n hurled herself at Mrs Shaughnessy, kicking and screaming, then trying to throttle her. The priest, who’d maintained a dignified distance until that point, sprinted down the aisle, begging them not to fight in God’s house – a place of peace and forgiveness. Keenan and Éamonn tried to drag Ma off, but she was like a woman possessed, with the strength of decades of betrayal pushing her on. Mrs Shaughnessy didn’t fight back. Poor woman probably thought she deserved it.

  ‘I’m sorry you had to find out like that.’ Mrs Shaughnessy leaned back in her armchair and winced as I placed a bag of frozen mixed vegetables against her neck. Ma had really gone for her. I could actually see handprints and nail imprints. Just as well Ma kept her nails short; long ones would have definitely punctured the skin.

  ‘Were you ever going to tell me?’ I asked.

  ‘I wanted to tell you yesterday, but you’d had such a shock already. I didn’t want to add to it. I was hoping I’d catch you before you returned to England and, if I didn’t, I was going to fly over to tell you.’

  ‘Why now?’

  ‘Because Pádraig – I mean your da – begged me not to say anything while he was alive and I respected that. I might have taken the secret to my grave, but I heard what she’d said at the wake. It didn’t seem right to let you go on thinking that she was your mother when she clearly wanted nothing to do with you.’

  Ben came through from Mrs Shaughnessy’s kitchen with two mugs of tea, plus a coffee for me. ‘Would you rather I went?’ he asked, placing the drinks on the coffee table.

  ‘No.’ I turned to Mrs Shaughnessy. ‘If that’s okay with you, Mrs Shaughnessy.’

  ‘Of course it is. Ben, is it?’ She looked at me. ‘Your boyfriend?’

  ‘No. He’s a friend. An amazing one.’

  Ben smiled and took a seat on the sofa.

  ‘So, you and my da?’

  Mrs Shaughnessy sighed. ‘Yes. Me and your da.’

  I shrugged. ‘For 20 years?’

  ‘Yes. Right until the day he told me he’d banished you to England. The Pádraig I knew and loved would never have been so cruel. He’d changed over the years, but he changed that day beyond recognition. I think it broke him.’