Irish Secrets

by Paula Martin

  "Perhaps he wanted to tell you, but couldn't."

  "Which means he didn't trust me."

  "Or was it because undercover work involves adopting another persona, and living the pretence all the time?"

  She shrugged. "I don't know. Just as I'll never know whether his suspicions about the cottage were the only reason he started to date me."

  "But he gave you a lot of help with the search for your mother's birth, didn't he?"

  "A means to an end? To earn my gratitude so I'd tell him about the cottage?"

  Guy raised his eyebrows. "Aren't you being rather hard on him? It sounds like he was very supportive."

  "Okay, I admit that, especially when he went out of his way to take me to see places and meet people, and he asked his friend to find out—oh!"

  "What?"

  "His friend, Declan. I assumed he was interested in genealogy, but he was probably a police researcher. They have access to far more records than the general public."

  "It seems the friend was the means to your end," Guy said with a small grin.

  "When you put it like that, I guess he was."

  "So Ryan being a cop worked to your advantage, didn't it?"

  "Maybe, but even so, relationships can't work without trust, can they? Anyway, I don't think he's in Clifden now. Liz said the taxi office had closed. Not that he was ever a genuine taxi-driver, of course." Her hands locked into fists as her indignation surfaced again. "I can't believe I made the same mistake twice."

  "Twice?"

  "Yeah, before I came here, I dated a cop in New York for six months, until I discovered he'd lied to me. Ironic, isn't it?"

  "I'm so sorry, Kara."

  "I'll survive, I guess. Besides, I have more important things to think about at the moment, such as how I'm going to tell Margaret and Jon their daughter doesn't want to know them."

  Guy pursed his lips. "I wonder why your mom won't listen to you?"

  "I don't know. I tried calling her earlier this week when they came home from vacation, but she became angry with me, and then I called my dad, but he was more concerned about me upsetting Mom, so I didn't even manage to tell him the full story."

  "Do Margaret and Jon know why you're going to visit with them today?"

  "No, I couldn't tell them over the phone. I need to see them again, but it's going to be so hard."

  Guy dropped her off at the bus station in Galway, and Kara had time for a quick coffee before boarding the Dublin bus. She gazed out of the window as the gentle Irish countryside flashed past, and tried not to think about the last time she'd travelled along this road. A few weeks ago, she'd been eagerly anticipating her weekend with Ryan. Now she winced. Even though they'd shared a bed and made love, he hadn't shared the truth with her. Although the heat of her anger had lessened, the sharp edge of resentment and hurt persisted.

  I still wish he was with me today.

  The thought sneaked, unbidden, into her mind, and she couldn't ignore it, however much she tried. Telling Margaret and Jon about her mother was going to be heart-breaking, and Ryan's strong hand gripping hers would have helped.

  As the bus approached Dublin's suburbs, she forced herself to shake away the thoughts of Ryan. Now she needed to concentrate on how to phrase her words to soften the blow for her new-found relatives.

  Guy had told her where the bus would stop in the centre of Dublin, and she recognised the street. It was one Ryan had driven along, past Ha'penny Bridge, with the River Liffey on her right.

  Dammit, why was everything reminding her of him?

  Several taxis slowed up as they passed the bus stop, and it took her less than a minute to hail one and give the driver Margaret's address.

  "Are ye American?" he asked as she settled in the back seat.

  "I think my accent gives me away, doesn't it?"

  Another reminder, this time of her first meeting with Ryan, when he commented on her American accent, but this driver was in his fifties, with thinning hair.

  "Come here to find yer ancestors, have you?"

  She smiled. "Actually, I've found them."

  "Is that right? I got some relatives in America, their grandfather was my granddad's brother, but they've never been over here. Anyhow, here ye have O'Connell Street, and the statue of the great man himself, and soon we'll pass the GPO. That was the headquarters of the leaders of the Easter Rising in 1916, and if ye look to yer right, ye'll see…"

  He proceeded to give her a commentary about various buildings and statues they passed, until they reached the suburbs, when he rattled off several jokes. She tried to relax, but her nerves tightened when he turned into the small avenue and pulled up outside the house.

  She paid the fare, and the front door opened before she was halfway up the path.

  "Oh, it's grand to see you again, my dear."

  Margaret enfolded her in a tight hug, which was followed by Jon's hug.

  "Is Ryan not with you?" Jon asked.

  "Erm – no. That is – well, we broke up."

  "Oh, that's a pity," Margaret said. "He seemed such a nice young man. Did someone else bring you?"

  "No, I came by bus, and then caught a cab."

  "You should have asked me to pick you up," Jon said. "But come in, come in. We have some folk here who are longing to meet you."

  In the lounge, she was introduced to Patrick, a younger version of his father, and his wife Cathy, and then to Sue, whose features and colouring reminded her of her mom. The only difference was that Sue's hair was longer and she wore glasses.

  "You're definitely a Kelly, Kara," Sue said. "You look like the photos of Mam when she was in her twenties."

  Kara smiled. "Someone who used to work with your mom at the hospital in the sixties said the same."

  "And is your mother dying to meet her Irish siblings?" Sue asked. "We can't wait to see her. She's the sister Mam told us about, but we never thought we'd ever find her. The nuns shut the door in your face, didn't they, Pat?"

  Patrick nodded. "Aye, they still try to keep their secrets, but at least our government is accepting the errors of the past, and apologising for them, too."

  Kara drew in a deep breath. "There's something I need to tell you about my mom."

  A quick glance at Margaret showed tension on her grandmother's face, and she wished she could spare her the bitter disappointment, but now she had to continue.

  "I'm not sure how to say this—" She gazed around at the sea of expectant faces, and swallowed.

  "She doesn't want to know us?" Jon asked gently.

  Kara saw his arm go around his wife, and swallowed again. "I've tried to tell her about you, but, oh, I'm so sorry, but she won't listen. I guess she has too much inbuilt resentment. I'm sorry."

  There was a long silence. Margaret moistened her lips, Jon tightened his arm around her and blinked several times, and Patrick and Sue exchanged anxious glances.

  Eventually Margaret stepped forward. "I understand how Aileen – Linda – must feel. She's spent most of her life thinking her mother abandoned her. But at least you've told us that our daughter has enjoyed a happy and successful life in America, and now we have the joy of knowing you, Aileen's daughter, our dear granddaughter. This is so much more than hundreds of mothers who were at Ballykane have ever had."

  The tears welled in Kara's eyes as Margaret hugged her.

  "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

  "You mustn't blame yourself," Margaret said. "Let's concentrate on the positives and not the negatives, shall we? You've found us, your Irish family, and we're so thrilled about that. And now, I think, it's time for some lunch."

  Kara guessed Margaret's tears would probably come later, but for the moment, she was the strong one in the family, and the others followed her lead. During the meal, nothing more was said about her mother. Instead, Patrick and Sue asked about her life, and told her about theirs. Patrick was a science teacher at a school in Bray, and Sue, after studying history at Trinity College, worked as an archivist at Glasnevin
cemetery.

  "I went there last time I was in Dublin," Kara said. "It's a fascinating place, with so much history."

  Sue smiled. "Indeed it is, and, of course, some of your ancestors are there."

  "Really? Oh, that's amazing."

  "My grandparents were buried at Glasnevin, Kara," Jon said. "And their parents, too. They were born and bred Dubliners, and the only reason I was brought up in Cork was because my father worked at the Ford Motor Company there. Now I know your Henry Ford is American, but did you realise his family came originally from County Cork? They emigrated to America at the time of the famine."

  "And Mam has a story about her family and the famine," Sue said. "Tell Kara about them, Mam."

  Margaret smiled. "Oh, now, there are plenty of tales to tell, but the famine story concerns my great grandparents, or was it great, great grandparents? Anyhow, no matter. William and Annie, they lived on Achill Island, off the coast of County Mayo, at the time of the famine, and they left their village and walked to Westport. They had six children, you see, and they were all starving, but there wasn't enough food in Westport, either, and then William found out the Poor Law officers were at Doolough hunting lodge, and—"

  Kara's eyes widened. "Doolough? I've been there, and seen the memorial. It was eerie. You could almost feel the tragedy surrounding you."

  "Ah, so you've heard the story? Well, it's interesting it affected you like that, because William was one of those who never came back. He perished somewhere in the valley on that bitter March day."

  Goosebumps broke out on Kara's arms, and she rubbed the back of her neck, remembering how she shuddered when they stopped at the memorial. "Someone suggested one of my ancestors may have died during the trek, but of course I had no way of knowing. Oh my, this feels so strange now."

  "Some places can have that effect," Jon said. "Possibly coincidence, or perhaps some kind of ancestral memory. Who knows?"

  "What happened to Annie and her children?" she asked.

  "My grandfather told me they all died except one, his grandmother, Janey." Margaret chuckled. "He said she used to scare the bejaysus out of him when he was a child, telling him stories about eating soggy rotten potatoes, and how she even ate grass and leaves because she was so hungry, and she said he would have to eat those, too, if he didn't finish all his potatoes at supper time."

  Kara smiled. "She must have been quite a character."

  "And would you believe he would never eat potatoes when he was older? He said they tasted like grass, although I'm not sure why he said that, unless he tried eating grass one time like Janey did. Anyhow, if you've all had enough lunch, let's go back into the lounge, and we can tell Kara more about her Irish family."

  The afternoon passed quickly, although Kara struggled at times to keep track of all the different people the family told her about. They ranged from Uncle Frank who took part in the Easter Rising, to Aunt Maggie whose husband ran up huge gambling debts, and who had to escape through the fields at the back of the house with her young baby while the debt collector banged at the front door.

  Her thoughts jumped from I wish Mom could hear all this about her family to Ryan would love these stories. She wasn't sure which thought created the bigger ache inside her.

  At four-thirty, she glanced at her watch. "I need to call for a cab to take me back downtown. My bus leaves at five-fifteen."

  "No need for that, Kara," Patrick said. "I'll drive you."

  "That's very kind of you. Thank you."

  "And when you come to Dublin again, we'll take you to Glasnevin," Sue said and smiled at her mother. "Actually—"

  Margaret nodded. "Sue's remembered that Jon and I always go to Glasnevin sometime this coming week to take flowers to his grandparents' grave. Monday is the anniversary of his grandmother's death, and Wednesday was his grandfather's birthday."

  "That makes this week kind of special, doesn't it? But I'm sorry, I'm working every day, so I'll have to wait until another time to go to Glasnevin with you. I will come back again, though, as soon as I can."

  Margaret hugged her as she was leaving. "Don't worry about your mother, Kara. Although it would be wonderful to meet her, we're more than happy to have you as part of our family now."

  Sitting by Patrick's side as he drove her into the city centre, she shook her head sadly. "Your parents are being very brave, aren't they? I'm sure they're devastated at not being able to meet with my mom."

  "It would be a dream come true for Mam, and, of course, my dad never even saw his daughter. They're thrilled to have copies of all your photos of her, but please don't give up trying to persuade her, Kara." He smiled. "At least she gave you an Irish name, even though we usually spell it with a c, not a k. It means friend."

  His words reminded her of Ryan explaining the meaning of mo anam cara, and she swallowed past the lump in her throat.

  "I'll do my best to tell her about you all," she said when Patrick dropped her off at the bus stop on the Quays, his word for the road along the River Liffey. "I want her to meet you, and to realise how much she was loved by her mother."

  "In the meantime, remember my parents will always welcome you. You are a very precious link to their daughter."

  "Thanks, Patrick." She grinned. "Although I should call you Uncle Patrick, shouldn't I?"

  He laughed. "Sue's kids call me Pat, so you can do the same. I hate being called Paddy, by the way."

  "I'll remember that."

  Ten minutes later, she was on the bus heading out of the city, and thinking back over everything she'd learnt about her family that afternoon. Not only about themselves but about their ancestors. Her ancestors, and her mother's too. Somehow she had to find a way of getting her mom to listen to her.

  Her thoughts drifted to Ryan, and her anger dissolved. She'd missed him so much today. Missed him squeezing her hand, smiling when their eyes met, asking Margaret or Jon more about their ancestors, adding his own comments to their stories of the famine or some other aspect of Irish history.

  As the bus reached the motorway across to the west of Ireland, she pulled her phone from her pocket. After a moment's hesitation, she hit the quick dial key for Ryan's number, and held her breath as she listened to the ringtone.

  Calls are not currently being connected to this number, said the automatic voice.

  She frowned, tried the number again, but got the same message.

  A weight dropped inside her. If he'd changed his phone, she had no way of contacting him again.

  Chapter 25

  On Monday morning, Ryan drove to Glasnevin Cemetery. He'd had a pint with a colleague the previous evening and, when Tony said he was having problems finding where some of his family lived in the 19th century, he offered to check the original burial records for their addresses. At the time, it seemed like an opportune way to divert his thoughts from the downward spiral his life had taken.

  Now, as he pulled up in a parking space near John Kavanagh's pub outside the cemetery, it no longer seemed such a good idea. There were too many reminders of Kara here. Her smooth hand in his as they walked along the paths, her fascination with the graves of Ireland's national heroes, the light of interest in her eyes as he told her stories about them—

  His thoughts came to an abrupt halt. Two weeks ago, her bewitching blue eyes had narrowed in shock, and then anger. Not that he could blame her. How many times since that nightmare Sunday had he cursed himself for not telling her the truth when they had lunch at Roundstone? He knew a raid on the cottage was imminent. He could have warned her but her accusation was right. He'd been too concerned she might let something slip to Liz, which meant he hadn't trusted her.

  The irony, of course, was that Conor wasn't involved anyway, and that had led to his uncomfortable debriefing at BCI headquarters when he returned to Dublin. He'd spent the rest of the week at his desk, writing his report and catching up with other paperwork, but received no summons into his boss's office to discuss another assignment. No great surprise there, not after he'd
screwed up the Clifden one so badly. Tom Wild had vanished, his car had been found abandoned at the Enfield service station on the M4 about forty kilometres from Dublin, and the Belfast police had nothing on Mick Leary. Even if his theories were right, nothing could be proved, which meant this was the second black mark against his name, after the McGuffin case last year. But if it meant he was going to be demoted to a tedious desk job for the foreseeable future, he might have to think about finding a different role, maybe as a private investigator.

  Needing some time out, he applied for two weeks' leave. Once it was granted, his first instinct was to head back to Clifden, this time in his own car and not the mock taxi provided by the Bureau. Second thoughts told him it was too soon.

  Instead, he spent the first week of his leave tackling some of the overdue jobs in his apartment, like giving the kitchen a fresh coat of paint and fitting a new shower. Anything to stop him from thinking about Kara, and the disastrous end of their relationship. Every time he was tempted to call her, he stopped short when the echo of contempt in her voice reverberated in his mind. Was he being over-cautious, or simply a coward in putting off contacting her?

  Heaving a deep sigh, he got out of his car, walked along the path to the Visitor Centre, and settled in the research area, ready to study the large leather-bound tomes of burial records. Even when he'd been an undergraduate historian at Trinity College, he'd always preferred original documents to digitised records, despite the fact that the handwriting proved challenging at times. At least it helped to keep his mind off Kara and their visit here together.