No Ordinary Love

by Anita Notaro

  ‘How on earth did you get Deputy to keep going to his house?’ I asked her, my practical side kicking in straightaway, but also because I felt she needed a bit of light relief.

  ‘It took persistence.’ She grimaced. ‘I walked him there several times a day for weeks. But first I went myself and left a trail of his favourite treats from my door to Ronan’s. I even taught him to cross the road.’ She seemed amazed. ‘I’m good, aren’t I?’

  ‘You certainly are. But how did you get him to scratch at the door until he got Ronan’s attention?’ I wanted to know.

  ‘Ah, that involved the ultimate treat. I have a key, because I let in the cleaner once a week and put out his bins when he forgets. So I left a very tasty piece of chicken or lamb in a corner of the hall. Just a tiny morsel, tucked under the rug, so it couldn’t be detected.’ She looked pleased. ‘Now, I only have to leave a trail once a week, and mostly I don’t bother with the meat in the hall – just in case it goes off and Ronan cops on.’ She sounded like your woman from Murder She Wrote. ‘As soon as I let the dog out – having given him a sniff of Ronan’s gym shorts first – he heads straight there and sits patiently until he gets in, even if Ronan’s not there. I do have binoculars though, just to make sure he’s in, because I usually have someone nice for him to meet and I don’t want to waste their time,’ she explained.

  ‘Of course.’ I smiled, hoping I looked as if I’d heard it all before.

  ‘You’d be amazed at the response I’ve had to my posting.’ She seemed intrigued. ‘There are a lot of single young women out there looking for men.’

  Tell me about it, I wanted to say. ‘Your posting?’ I enquired instead.

  ‘Yes, I have a little page on Facebook and on a few other sites as well. All heavily disguised, of course, in case he ever goes online,’ she told me. ‘Not that I have to worry on that score, he’s computer-illiterate, really. Strange for anyone in business these days, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, now you mention it.’

  ‘He’s no interest, you see, and he has a couple of young boys and girls working with him who do use it, but a lot of the accountants I know are stuck in the past, still using ledgers and pencils and rubbers. Although everyone now files returns online, I hear. Even Mrs Nolan, who owns this place, does her VAT on the computer. Now if Ronan were a vet – doing a job he loved – he’d have a website, with photos – the lot. You mark my words. As it is, he barely knows how to email,’ she said in disgust. It was definitely one of the oddest conversations I’d had with a pensioner, that’s for sure.

  ‘Anyway, I’m going to have to try a new approach, I guess.’ She tutted. ‘Even my daughter – his mother – doesn’t know, by the way, so please be very careful.’

  ‘I will, I promise.’ I liked her immensely. ‘But meanwhile, how are we going to solve this problem because, as you say, this way of meeting women isn’t working at present, and the Deputy thing is driving him bonkers?’ I decided to give it to her straight.

  ‘Yes, I gathered that as soon as he brought you on board.’ She looked at me, and it was as if a lightbulb had gone ‘ping’ in her head. ‘Are you married?’ she asked innocently.

  ‘No.’ I almost choked. ‘And not looking, either.’ I grinned at her cheek but thought I’d better not encourage her. ‘He’s not my type, I’m afraid.’ I made a face.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He’s em—’

  ‘You can be honest, I’ve a thick skin.’

  Like a rhino, I didn’t say. ‘He’s a bit too . . . nerdy, I guess.’

  ‘Nerdy?’

  ‘Anoraky?’ I tried.

  ‘Ah yes, he’s always been like that. So, have you any suggestions?’

  ‘Not right away,’ I told her honestly. ‘But I do have a number of friends who might be interested.’ She cheered up at that. ‘And if you call off the mutt I’ll come up with an explanation and give you half the credit?’ I tried.

  ‘I suppose so.’ She sighed for the tenth time. ‘Seriously, though, have you any ideas for getting him interested in women again? Because no matter what either of us come up with, unless he meets them halfway, then I’m beginning to realize there’s no point.’

  ‘I think he just needs time,’ I said gently. ‘I don’t believe you can hurry along grief. It’s a natural process. He’ll come through it when he’s ready. That’s been my experience in dealing with it anyway.’

  ‘You’re probably right. I just worry about him so much. He’s wasted so much of his youth already. His father’s death was a huge loss for him, and taking over the business meant putting his own life on hold. Then this happened and he’s become a bit odd, I fear. I’ve been trying to persuade him to rescue a dog even, in an effort to get him socializing. That’s why I was so happy when he mentioned you. It’s been so long since he’s taken an interest in anything outside of work. I hoped it was a first step back.’ She looked worn out.

  ‘He’ll be fine, honestly. Just give him time and space and be there for him, as you clearly are.’ I patted her arm. I admired her enormously and envied Ronan a bit. She’d make a great friend and mentor for anyone, or maybe it was just that I’d been a bit short on role models all my life, so I was a bit needy that way.

  ‘There’s more,’ she said.

  ‘More?’

  ‘To Ronan’s story.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked as if she was really struggling now. ‘When Audrey died she was nine months pregnant.’

  ‘Oh my God, how awful.’ I felt truly sorry for him. ‘So he lost a wife and his unborn child?’

  ‘No, no, the child survived. A boy. Lucas.’ She rooted in her bag and took out a photo of a curly red-haired scoundrel with freckles.

  ‘He looks nothing like Ronan.’ I tried to make sense of it. This story was getting so far-fetched I was beginning to think maybe she was playing a trick on me.

  ‘No, that’s the problem.’ Her eyes told me that this was no joke. ‘He’s the image of Audrey.’

  ‘How old is he?’ Had she said this all happened two years ago?

  ‘He’ll be two shortly,’ she confirmed.

  ‘And where is he now?’

  ‘He lives with Ronan’s sister Ellen, in Donegal.’ Myrtle bit her lip.

  ‘And how does Ronan keep in touch?’

  ‘He doesn’t. Ronan hasn’t seen him in over a year and a half. Oh, he tried, initially, but more for my sake, I think. And his mother’s. He simply can’t cope with the child. It reminds him too much of what he lost that day.’

  14

  I GOT VERY LITTLE SLEEP THAT NIGHT, THINKING ABOUT RONAN. To most people, the idea of giving your child to someone else to care for might seem abhorrent, but I knew how complicated these things were and how sometimes it’s easier to run away from emotions rather than face them, or – horror of horrors as far as most men were concerned – talk about them.

  Next morning, my mobile rang at 8 a.m., just as I was having a leisurely bowl of muesli. It was Emily, and she was in a state.

  ‘What’s wrong, is it Rover?’ I wondered where all this was headed for.

  ‘No, no, it’s something else. I’m so sorry to bother you; I just didn’t know who to turn to . . .’

  ‘What is it?’ I was concerned, but she was so distraught she couldn’t speak properly, and I ended up arranging to see her in the office at nine thirty, which meant the remains of my cereal went in the bin and my hair didn’t get washed, which always made me feel grotty.

  Even on the bike I spent ages in traffic and just being caught up in honking horns and BMW users who seemed intent on lane-hopping and cutting up other drivers, especially motorbikes, left me totally stressed, a feeling I’d forgotten. Arriving at the office at twenty past nine, more than a bit frazzled, made me feel very grateful I was out of the rat race.

  ‘Rover’s disappeared,’ Emily told me as soon as she came through the door. Her eyes were wild, and she looked like she’d had a worse night than me. ‘And my mother w
as so angry that she told me she never thought she’d regret the day she adopted me but she did now.’ With that she collapsed in a heap, and I called for a cup of strong tea as I handed her the tissues.

  ‘Please, Emily, don’t upset yourself.’ She always seemed a bit like an anxious child, which in turn made me revert to being an overprotective carer, as I had been so many times growing up. ‘I’m sure your mother didn’t mean what she said,’ I tried to comfort her. ‘I didn’t know you were adopted, by the way,’ I said without thinking, more to distract her than anything else. Boy, was that a mistake.

  ‘Neither did I.’ She choked and dissolved into a heap again. We got through a box of tissues in the next ten minutes.

  ‘Is that what this is about?’ I asked her gently.

  ‘Yes.’ She gulped back a sob. ‘I always knew there was something. I always felt different. And I don’t look like any of my cousins.’

  ‘But you adore your mother, you’ve told me several times. Does it really matter that much?’ But I knew enough about her to guess that it did.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve spent my whole life trying to be the apple of her eye but never quite managing it. I’ve never been able to put my finger on it before. I always felt I just needed to try harder, which is why I was working so hard on the cat thing.’ She shook her head. ‘Now it all makes sense.’ She blew her nose. ‘I’m not really her child. That’s why I don’t feel the connection the way I should.’

  This was becoming a bit too close for comfort, I decided, knowing exactly how she’d felt as a child. It was odd that hearing someone else talk about feeling left out made me see that I’d felt exactly the same way most of my life. I knew that I too was facing challenges that could really only be sorted out by talking to my own mum.

  But the adoption thing had taken this to a whole new level for Emily. I let her cry, hoping the outpouring would help her deal with the situation.

  ‘I need to find out . . . all the details.’ This was another problem I’d dealt with before.

  ‘Well, once you’ve had a chance to come to grips with things, why don’t you sit down with your mum and talk it through? I’m sure she’ll have lots to tell you.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ She looked unsure. ‘She’s not great at talking about problems. In our house, a lot gets swept under the carpet.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think there’s any chance of that now that it’s out in the open, do you?’

  ‘I suppose not.’ She seemed encouraged just hearing me say it. ‘What should I do next?’

  ‘Give yourself some time to come to terms with it in your own head, then maybe ask her if you could go for lunch, or a coffee and just tell her how you feel, perhaps? That’s always a good place to start.’

  ‘You’re right. Thank you.’ She dried her eyes. ‘I’d better get back and help her look for Rover. If anything happens to him my life won’t be worth living.’

  ‘Don’t worry, cats have nine lives,’ I teased.

  ‘But what if he really was a dog originally?’ She looked upset again.

  ‘Not sure, to be honest.’ I had forgotten our other dilemma for a second. ‘Still, I’ll bet he’s at home right now, curled up in front of the fire.’

  I made her promise to text me and let me know how she was getting on, then sent her home, hopefully to get this thing sorted. Another human problem avoided for the time being, but my own childhood trauma had come to the surface and was not going to go away easily, I knew.

  I headed out for a coffee and went to sit in the park and chill while I thought about Ronan O’Meara and the baby he refused to acknowledge. It had absolutely nothing to do with me, thankfully, but I couldn’t avoid the growing realization that Myrtle was somehow relying on me after I’d promised to chat to her further.

  Thankfully, I had a couple of nice, ordinary doggie dilemmas for the rest of the day. A serial barker who was a Dandie Dinmont; new to me, I’d never heard of the breed. This one had quite a rare addiction – to TV – and became aggressive every time her owner tried to change channel. Next up was a mongrel called Scamp. He’d only go for a walk in the baby’s stroller. I hadn’t been able to find out yet how he’d been allowed in the pram in the first place, but I was in my element.

  Next morning I was still deep in thought as I prepared to head for Ashford to meet Denis Cassidy. My phone rang, and it was Mary, wondering if I could see Louis and Pedro that afternoon.

  ‘No, sorry,’ I said quickly – a bit too quickly, seeing how I had nothing to back up my refusal.

  ‘It’s just that . . . he wants to see you without Mike and today is the only—’

  ‘Oh, OK then, that’s fine.’

  ‘It is?’ I wasn’t surprised that she sounded confused.

  ‘Yes, sorry, I just remembered that my new client never confirmed. Tell Louis I’ll see him at five o’clock.’ It was the first lie I could think of.

  She rang off, and I resolved to bring her back a muffin for her tea break, convinced I was driving her nuts.

  Denis and Bartholomew were waiting as soon as I veered off the main road to their farmhouse. I don’t know who was more excited, but I suspect it was Dinny.

  ‘Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes on this grey morning,’ he greeted me.

  ‘Well thank you.’ I gave the little dog one of the treats I always kept in my pocket. We’d become best friends once I’d recovered from the melted-bed incident.

  ‘You should wear that colour more often.’ He winked as I took off my warm coat. ‘And what have you done to your hair?’

  ‘Washed it.’ I laughed. I was pleased about the dress, though. It was another one of Bronwyn’s, and I’d never have bought it myself. It was a wrapover in shades of purple and pink and it hugged my figure and yet was stretchy and comfortable, though not ideal for a motorbike.

  ‘Come in, come in, the kettle’s on. I’ve news.’ He pushed aside a pile of newspapers and sat me down at the kitchen table, which had been wiped and set with brown bread and butter and jam. ‘Alice Dolan down the road baked that fresh for me this morning,’ Denis told me as he scalded the teapot. ‘I swapped her six eggs for it.’ He laughed. ‘I think I got the better deal, I’ve so many eggs I could set up a stall. Remind me to give you some to take away with you.’

  ‘I will, definitely.’ I cut the warm, crusty bread as he had instructed and within minutes we were enjoying a mid-morning treat.

  ‘Ah, real tea, you can’t beat it,’ I told him.

  ‘And much cheaper than those bags, sure you’re paying for the paper.’

  ‘So, what news have you?’ I urged, sensing his enthusiasm.

  ‘I’ve enrolled in a computer course.’ He was bursting with pride.

  ‘Have you now? That’s amazing.’ I was delighted. ‘I read somewhere recently that retired people are now proportionately the biggest users of the internet in the States.’

  ‘Is that a fact? Well, maybe I’ll start the same trend here in Ireland.’ We chatted on until eventually I enquired about Bartholomew’s mood swings.

  ‘Oh, gettin’ worse by the day. Last night he growled at me when I tried to shift him out of the armchair. And he frightened poor Alice half to death this morning. He wouldn’t let her into the house practically, I had to shoo him away with me stick.’

  It was an easy enough problem to deal with – Denis was just a pushover and the little fecker knew it. I started by asking him to ring his neighbour to see if she would call around for a few minutes while I was there. The poor woman was reluctant, but she came anyway. As soon as he heard the knock Bart was up and growling at the door. I immediately claimed the space, pushed him back by standing in front of him and moving towards him, then made him ‘drop’ and ‘stay’ in the corner. It took a while, and the poor woman was frozen by the time she was eventually let in. Then we all had to ignore the dog until she was leaving, when I forced him to ‘heel’ as we walked her down the lane.

  ‘Now, Denis, you’re going to have to practi
se and be firm with him,’ I warned. ‘This is going to take a while. And ignore him each time you come into the room at first, make him wait for your attention. That way he’ll realize that you’re the boss.’

  ‘That’s powerful stuff altogether,’ he marvelled. ‘I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.’ But I’d no idea whether he was capable of putting it into practice. He was a big softie, which was the main difficulty here.

  ‘I wonder, Lulu’ – he chuckled every time he said my name – ‘could I ask you for a bit of advice about another problem I have?’

  ‘Sure.’ I wondered what was coming. He wasn’t a man who’d ask for help easily, I suspected. He was proud and independent.

  ‘Would ye take another cup of tea with me before you go and I’ll tell you what I’m after?’ he said and I agreed. I was beginning to realize I’d have to build in an extra half-hour for home visits generally; there was always something cropping up. Maybe it was that people were more relaxed in familiar surroundings, but I don’t think I’d gotten out of one yet in the time allotted.

  ‘You see, I’m trying to locate someone in England, but I don’t know where to start,’ he said, when he’d poured me another cup of the strong brew.

  ‘Do you have an address, even an old one?’ I asked.

  ‘All I have is the name of a priest who used to know them, but any time I tried to make a call the number just rings out.’

  ‘Would you like me to try?’

  ‘I would to be sure, if it’s not too much trouble?’

  ‘Not at all. Give it to me now, if you have it.’

  ‘Ah no, I’d need to think about it a bit first.’ He looked flustered.

  ‘Well, let me have a look, and I’ll see if I recognize the code or anything. I spent a good bit of time in England after I left school. Do you know the area even?’

  ‘I haven’t a clue, to tell you the truth.’ He got up and produced a worn piece of paper. ‘It was a . . . sort of a friend who went away and I’ve never forgotten them, and I thought it was about time I did something to try and see if they were OK, that’s all. Does that sound stupid?’