My Mother's Secret

by Sheila O'Flanagan

  Seeing Roisin in the kitchen, clearing the debris from the table into a black refuse sack, Jenny could hardly believe how terrified she’d once been both of her and for her. It was hard to believe too that Roisin’s conception had been the catalyst for the route her life had taken. That because of Roisin, she and Pascal had become a family when the truth was, she’d had other plans. She stood and watched her daughter until Roisin looked up and asked if she was going to stand there watching, or if she was going to lend a hand.

  ‘I thought it was my party,’ said Jenny. ‘I thought I wasn’t allowed to lend a hand.’

  ‘Just this once,’ said Roisin. ‘You can hold the refuse sack while I put the last of these bits into it.’

  Jenny did as she was asked. She’s turned out fine, she thought, as Roisin added the final bit of rubbish to the sack. She’s where she wants to be. If only my other two children were as settled, I’d be happy. She laughed at herself. Being settled had never been a priority for her; it had happened without her thinking about it. She shouldn’t wish it on her children. And yet, she thought, there was a comfort in having accepted your place in the world, a tranquillity in knowing that you were content with how things had turned out. It was a tranquillity she’d allowed herself over the last few years even though, she reminded herself now, she hadn’t yet earned it.

  ‘It’s getting awfully dark.’ Roisin’s words jolted her back to the kitchen. ‘I think the storm might reach us after all. Bugger.’

  ‘That would be a pity,’ said Jenny. ‘It’s been such a sunny day so far.’

  Nevertheless, many of the guests were drifting to the veranda in case it rained.

  ‘It’s as well I got those extra lanterns; light them, Davey, will you?’ Roisin looked at her brother as he walked into the kitchen.

  Davey nodded, and the glow of the lights brought most of the guests to the veranda. It was welcoming and cosy, but there were too many people to comfortably fit and so some of them moved into the house.

  ‘As everyone is here, this might be a good time to cut the cake,’ Roisin suggested to Jenny.

  ‘Do we really have to do that?’

  ‘Of course you do.’ Roisin looked horrified. ‘It’s traditional. And Paul has a speech.’ She didn’t say anything about the crystal bowl. That was meant to be another surprise.

  ‘Sweetheart, it’s been a lovely party, but cutting a cake isn’t necessarily—’

  ‘It’s the most important part of the day,’ Roisin interrupted her.

  ‘I’d rather you simply cut it and handed it around,’ said Jenny.

  ‘Oh Mum, don’t be silly. You have to do it properly. We want to be able to cheer about you and Dad and the longest marriage in the whole family. Maybe even in Wexford if you think about it.’

  Jenny didn’t say anything.

  ‘So that’s sorted,’ said Roisin. ‘I’ll get everyone up here for the big event.’

  Jenny stood in the kitchen and watched her daughter march through the garden. Roisin meant well, but Jenny wished she didn’t always have a plan. That she’d listen to other people sometimes.

  She opened the door to the fridge and saw the celebratory chocolate cake with the ruby-red frosting.

  She felt sick.

  Roisin was struggling to round up the guests who’d chosen to remain in the garden while the thunder and lightning, now virtually overhead, crashed and flashed around them. These included her own children, and as she saw Poppy climbing one of the apple trees, she hurried towards her.

  ‘Get down this instant,’ she ordered. ‘It’s dangerous.’

  ‘I’m a good climber,’ protested Poppy. ‘I won’t fall.’

  ‘I’m not thinking of you falling,’ said Roisin. ‘I’m thinking of you being hit by lightning.’

  ‘I won’t be hit by lightning,’ protested Poppy as she climbed higher.

  ‘Ooh, Mum, would that kill her?’ Dougie’s voice was full of ghoulish anticipation.

  ‘Yes, it probably would. You too, Dougie. Into the house and away from the trees. Poppy, get down this instant.’

  Poppy was protesting vehemently when more lightning split the sky. There was a loud bang, followed by an equally loud crack and the smell of burning. For a moment Roisin thought that the apple tree – despite her actual belief that it was pretty safe – really had been hit. But it was still standing, although Poppy, with an almighty shriek, had fallen from the branch and landed with a thud at her feet.

  There was a moment’s silence in which Roisin felt her heart skip multiple beats, and then Poppy started to cry. Roisin heaved a sigh of relief as she bent down to her daughter. At least when they were crying they were conscious.

  ‘My head hurts,’ moaned Poppy. ‘And my arm. And my leg.’

  ‘Don’t move,’ said Roisin. ‘Stay still.’

  As she spoke, there was another shriek, this time from Dougie, as flames erupted from the massive chestnut tree in the field adjoining the house.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Roisin couldn’t believe what was happening. ‘Fire! Fire!’

  The male guests raced down the garden, followed by all of the children, ignoring Roisin’s entreaties to stay where they were, as well as some of the women who’d realised that Poppy was hurt.

  ‘Was she hit? Is she burnt?’ cried Paul, who’d been around the front of the house so that he could puff another cigar in peace but who’d instinctively known that the shrieks from the garden were from one of his children.

  ‘No, but she fell. I’ll look after Poppy. You do something about the fire. We need to stop it before it takes hold.’

  ‘Do you have a fire extinguisher in the kitchen?’ Paul turned to Pascal, who’d made it from the house to the end of the garden with a speed that belied his years.

  ‘We have one of those fire blankets,’ Pascal replied. ‘I’m not sure how much good that’ll do, but I’ll go check.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Carl. ‘You stay here, Pascal.’

  ‘Do you want to try to sit up now, sweetheart?’ Roisin asked Poppy, who whimpered and said that everything hurt.

  ‘Let me.’ Bernice made her way through the cluster of people, whose attention was divided between Poppy and the burning chestnut tree. Roisin looked at her in relief. She’d completely forgotten that Bernice was a nurse.

  ‘Let’s have a look at you, honey,’ said Bernice.

  ‘Fire!’ yelled Dougie. ‘More fire.’

  ‘Oh shit!’ cried Roisin as the flames from the chestnut tree fanned towards the garden. ‘Everyone who doesn’t need to be here, get back to the house. Bernice, we have to move Poppy.’

  ‘In a minute.’ Bernice’s voice was calm and reassuring.

  At that moment Davey returned carrying a large bucket full of water, Carl following behind with the fire blanket. Davey threw the water at the chestnut tree. The fire sizzled for a moment and the smoke turned black, but there were still some yellow flames licking the base of the tree.

  Carl had begun to edge closer with the fire blanket when the rain started. It fell from the sky in a heavy downpour, soaking everything and effectively putting out the fire for them.

  ‘Well thank God for that,’ said Tom, who’d already called the fire brigade and now began to dial again to cancel the emergency.

  ‘Talk about luck,’ said Paul. ‘It would’ve been a challenge to put it out ourselves.’

  ‘We dodged a bullet there,’ agreed Pascal as he turned towards his daughter and granddaughter. ‘How’s Poppy?’

  ‘I think she’s OK,’ replied Bernice as she pushed her wet hair out of her eyes. ‘Nothing broken as far as I can see, although she’s got a few bruises and I think she’s damaged her wrist a little. I don’t think there’s internal bleeding or anything as serious as that, but she should really go to hospital to be checked out.’

  ‘Should I call an ambulance?’ asked Roisin.

  ‘An ambulance.’ Poppy sounded both thrilled and slightly scared.

  ‘I don’t think—’ began Bernice
when Paul interrupted to say that it’d be much quicker if he drove his daughter to the hospital himself.

  ‘Don’t be daft, you’ve been drinking. I don’t want you ending up in a ditch with her.’ Roisin gave him an irritated glance.

  ‘I’ll bring her,’ said Davey.

  ‘What is it with you guys?’ demanded Roisin. ‘You’ve been drinking too. I’m not letting her in a car with anyone who’s had alcohol.’

  ‘I’m sure I’d be OK,’ said Pascal. ‘I’ve only had a glass of the fizzy stuff and a pint.’

  ‘I’ll do the driving.’ Bernice spoke firmly. ‘I’ve been drinking sparkling water and it’s probably a good idea for me to be with her in any case. Plus my car is in the driveway so we wouldn’t waste time collecting it from the GAA car park.’

  ‘Oh Bernice, would you? That’d be great.’ Roisin looked at her in relief. ‘I’ll grab my bag and come with you.’

  Paul scooped his daughter into his arms and walked back to the house. By now, everyone who’d been in the garden, including Poppy, was soaked and bedraggled as the rain continued its relentless downpour.

  ‘Oh, you poor pet!’ cried Jenny as Paul walked into the house with her. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m going to hospital.’ There was a touch of pride in Poppy’s voice. ‘Bernice is going to bring me. It’s in case I’m bleeding internally.’

  ‘Poppy!’ Jenny looked anxiously at Pascal and then Bernice.

  ‘I think she’s fine,’ said Bernice. ‘But we’ll let A and E have the last word.’

  ‘Thank you so much,’ said Jenny.

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘Accident and Emergency?’ Breege Behan grimaced. ‘You could be there all night.’

  ‘Hopefully not,’ said Roisin.

  ‘You need to dry off before you go anywhere,’ Jenny said. ‘I’ll get towels for everyone who’s wet through. And if any of you need a change of clothes, we can muster up something from the wardrobes.’

  ‘We’ll go now,’ said Roisin. ‘I’ll take a towel with me.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Jenny looked at her daughter and at Bernice.

  ‘Yes.’ Roisin nodded.

  ‘Come on then,’ said Bernice as she led the way to her Volkswagen. Roisin got into the back seat with Poppy and Bernice set off.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Steffie when they were out of sight.

  ‘A few hot whiskeys might be a good idea,’ suggested Davey.

  ‘Now you’re talking,’ said Paul.

  ‘I’ll help you.’ Summer smiled at him while Jenny handed around towels and told the guests who’d been in the garden that she’d find them something to change into. The men insisted that they were fine and didn’t need to change at all, but as most of the women were soaked to the skin and shiver-ing, she insisted they needed dry clothes.

  ‘I have jogging bottoms and fleeces upstairs,’ she told them. ‘You can come and try them on.’

  ‘There are some T-shirts in my wardrobe too,’ added Steffie.

  Jenny led the way upstairs, the sodden guests following her. Is it wrong, she thought, to be relieved that the cake cutting and speeches have been disrupted? And is it wrong to hope that they’ll have been forgotten by the time Roisin, Bernice and Poppy return?

  Chapter 14

  The sound of thunder and the flashes of lightning had begun to lessen, but the rain was even heavier as Paul, Davey and Summer offered a choice of tea, coffee or hot whiskey to anyone who wanted a warm drink. Those who hadn’t been outside when the rain started were beginning to look a little out of place among the T-shirts, fleeces and sweat pants that had been substituted for dresses and heels.

  ‘In a million years I didn’t foresee this.’ Steffie, who’d been in the house and so hadn’t needed to change, turned to Alivia. Her cousin hadn’t changed either but had dried her fuchsia-pink dress with Jenny’s hairdryer. She’d also dried her hair and repaired her make-up and was looking as good as she had when she’d first arrived.

  ‘The best-laid plans and all that,’ agreed Alivia. ‘I hope Poppy’s OK.’

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ said Steffie. ‘After all, I fell out of that tree too and I’m still here.’

  ‘You ended up with a broken arm,’ Jenny interjected.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ said Colette, who’d been standing nearby.

  Steffie stared at her. ‘I never said it was.’

  ‘Yes you did. You didn’t speak to me for ages afterwards.’

  ‘Oh!’ Steffie remembered now. ‘We were both pushing and shoving, weren’t we? We were struggling over something.’

  ‘My diary,’ said Colette. ‘You’d robbed it.’

  ‘So I had,’ recalled Steffie. ‘Gosh, that was horrible of me. Sorry, Colette.’

  ‘Steffie Sheehan! I didn’t know that.’ Jenny gave her a stern look. ‘You should never rob other people’s diaries.’

  ‘I know,’ said Steffie. ‘But back then – well, she used to spend hours and hours scribbling in it. I wanted to know what she was writing.’

  ‘It was none of your business,’ Colette said.

  ‘I know that too,’ said Steffie. ‘We were kids when it happened. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Did you read it, Steff?’ Alivia was amused at the passion in Colette’s voice.

  Colette gave her cousin a concerned look. ‘Did you?’ she asked.

  ‘If I did – and I don’t think I got around to it – I don’t remember what was in it.’

  ‘Oh look, young girls write all sorts of nonsense in their diaries,’ said Jenny. ‘Mine was full of tortured soul stuff.’

  ‘You had a diary, Jen?’ Sarah, who’d drifted across to join them, looked interested. ‘I wish I’d known that when we were smaller.’

  ‘Why? Would you have tried to read it?’ asked Jenny.

  ‘I certainly would,’ Sarah said. ‘It might have given me an insight into why you were so …’

  ‘So what?’ Jenny stared at her.

  ‘Oh, nothing.’ Sarah shook her head. ‘You were different to me, that’s all.’

  Steffie could hear the tension in her aunt’s voice. It had never occurred to her before – at least not in a conscious way – that her mother and her sisters could have had the same uneasy relationship that she felt she had with Roisin. But she could hear it now.

  ‘I don’t have a diary,’ Summer said. ‘But I have a blog and loads of followers. On Twitter and Facebook too, obvs.’

  ‘That’s what you should’ve had, Colette.’ Steffie winked at her. ‘Then it wouldn’t have mattered.’

  ‘A diary is private,’ said Colette. ‘You had no right to look at it. That’s why I pushed you and you fell out of the tree.’

  ‘In which case perhaps I deserved the broken arm,’ said Steffie.

  Alivia smiled. ‘But you still don’t remember any salacious details from the diary?’

  ‘I must have bumped my head too,’ said Steffie. ‘Amnesia.’

  Colette stared at her. She wasn’t entirely sure she believed her. She felt herself grow hot with embarrassment. As she did every time she remembered her damn diary.

  ‘We should get Mum and Dad to cut the cake now.’ Davey caught Steffie by the arm. ‘We need something to distract this lot.’ He encompassed the guests with his look.

  ‘You’re right about a distraction, but we can’t possibly do it until the others get back,’ she said. ‘Roisin would never forgive us. Apparently she has some kind of presentation to do as well.’

  ‘Presentation? From whom? Her and Paul, or the three of us?’

  ‘I dunno,’ replied Steffie. ‘But we can’t do cake cutting without her. She’d have a fit, you know she would.’

  ‘Why do we let her run our lives?’ demanded Davey.

  ‘We don’t know how to stop her,’ said Steffie.

  ‘I can’t believe she didn’t plan for a storm, a lightning strike and someone having an accident,’ Davey remarked.

  ‘Even Roisin can’t think
of everything.’ Steffie sipped the coffee that Paul had given her. ‘Mind you, there have been a few distractions today. Like Carl and Summer. And Bernice.’

  ‘Carl’s convinced she came to have it out with him but that she was stopped in her tracks when she saw Summer.’

  ‘That girl would stop anyone in their tracks!’ said Steffie. ‘Did he tell you what the break is all about?’

  ‘Nope. But he’s pretty sore about it.’

  ‘So’s she. This day is getting a bit tense,’ she added. ‘Carl, Bernice and Summer are loose cannons. Plus I thought Colette was going to explode over that diary.’

  ‘Did you read it?’ asked Davey.

  ‘A few pages,’ admitted Steffie. ‘But it was all soppy stuff about her unrequited love for someone who …’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘Who what?’ asked Davey.

  She shook her head. ‘Nothing, nothing. An idea struck me, that’s all. I’d better steer clear of her for a while. Keep the drama to a minimum.’

  ‘I bet the neighbours are loving it,’ said Davey. ‘It’ll keep them in gossip for years.’

  ‘Poor Mum and Dad. You know she doesn’t really like surprises and the gossip factor is off the scale! The anniversary party where the house nearly burned down, the guests were soaked in a downpour, a kid fell out of a tree and a Jeremy Kyle situation is ongoing.’

  ‘Sounds like almost every party I’ve ever been at,’ Davey said.

  ‘Even in Denmark?’ asked Steffie.

  ‘I’ve never been to a family party in Denmark,’ he admitted.

  ‘Ah, they’re probably much the same,’ said Steffie. ‘I bet Camilla is thinking that she could just as well be at home.’

  He grimaced. ‘I doubt that’s what she’s thinking.’