by Val Collins
‘We talked about this. It’s time to heal old wounds. Danny wouldn’t want you two arguing.’ He pulled off his coat and gloves. ‘Give me your coats and I’ll make us all a nice cup of tea. We can sit down and talk everything out.’
Bridget ignored him. She leaned across, grabbed Aoife’s arm and pulled her closer. ‘I pity you with that one as a mother-in-law. My Danny was miles too good for her. The worst mistake I ever made was letting him marry that floozy. He was only a teenager. I should have talked him out of it. But I was thinking of my grandchild.’ She turned her head to glare at Maura. ‘And then she wouldn’t even let me visit him. If I’d known then—’
‘I never said you weren’t welcome in my house, Bridget. It was your own decision to stay away.’
‘It isn’t your house. It’s my Danny’s house, and you wouldn’t even have a house if it wasn’t for Jack.’
‘Let go of the girl, Bridget. You’re hurting her.’
Bridget glared at Jack, but she sat back in her seat. Aoife resisted the urge to rub her arm.
‘Maybe we’d better get straight to the funeral arrangements.’ Jack pulled a small notebook out of his pocket. ‘Maura, I’ve spoken to your local parish priest. The church is booked for Monday and Friday, but we can have Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday of next week. Which would you prefer?’
‘I want it on Thursday,’ Bridget interrupted.
Maura sighed. ‘Fine.’
‘Okay, and afterwards I thought we’d go to a hotel near you. What about—’
‘After the funeral, everyone will come to this house. The neighbours have all offered to bring food, and we’re going to put a big table in the kitchen where people can help themselves.’
Maura stiffened. ‘Bridget, you can invite anyone to your home that you wish, but first we are all going to a hotel for a three-course meal.’
‘We are not. Danny would want everyone to come here.’
‘Danny would want his wife and sons somewhere they would feel comfortable. You and your family are more than welcome, but we are going to a hotel and that’s final.’
‘You little tart. It’s not enough that you killed him, you have to ruin his funeral as well. You disgust me. Do you think I don’t know—’
‘Killed him? What are you talking about? You know I had nothing to do with Danny’s death. You can’t still believe he walked out because I was having an affair.’
Bridget struggled to get to her feet. Jack rushed over to help, but Bridget waved him away. ‘Get that floozie out of here. She is never to set foot in my house again.’
Maura rose. Aoife went to follow her, but Maura stood her ground. ‘You know how Danny died. It had nothing to do with me.’
Bridget, now on her feet, advanced towards Maura. Her face was twisted with hate, and saliva gathered at the corner of her mouth. ‘Do you think I don’t understand what that detective was hinting? I might be old but I’m not stupid. It’s your fault my Danny’s gone. I’m as certain of that now as I was the day he disappeared.’
SIX
‘What does that mean?’ Maura demanded, but Jack had stepped between them. He took Maura’s arm and led her into the hall. ‘What was she talking about?’
‘Don’t pay any attention.’ Jack opened the front door and ushered her outside. ‘It was my mistake suggesting you meet. I thought we could sit down together and have a civilised conversation about the funeral arrangements.’
‘What did the detective say to her?’
‘I’m sure he didn’t say anything. Bridget gets weird ideas in her head these days and there’s no shifting them. She wants to believe you were somehow in the wrong. That way she doesn’t have to blame herself for never getting to know her grandchildren.’
‘She could get to know them now. Evan doesn’t even remember her. And if she wasn’t so stubborn, she’d have a chance to know Danny’s granddaughter.’
‘I’ll talk to her. Maybe I can make her see sense.’ They reached the car and Jack pulled Maura into a hug. ‘It was great seeing you again, Maura.’ He held the car door open for her. Aoife let herself in the passenger door. ‘Goodbye, my dear.’ Jack gave her a peck on the cheek. He nodded in Aoife’s direction. ‘Bye.’
*
‘I don’t think he likes me.’
‘Don’t be silly, Aoife. He doesn’t know you. Jack’s one in a million, but he’s spent his whole life around men. He’s not comfortable with women. It took him ages to get used to me too, but we’re great friends now and Danny thought the world of him.’
‘What did Bridget mean when she said you wouldn’t have a house without Jack? Did he give you money?’
‘Where would he get money? No, Jack came home shortly after we married. He’d been working in Africa for years. He found us living in a dump in the city centre. Damn! The whole road layout has changed.’ Maura stopped, waiting for a break in the oncoming traffic. Eventually a man stopped to allow her to change lanes. Maura acknowledged him with a wave. ‘Where was I? Oh yes, when Jack came home. Well, that was the middle of the last recession. In some ways it was even worse than it is now. It seemed like half the country was unemployed. All Danny could get was odd shifts in a local bar. Jack fixed everything. The Church had very strong connections back then. Jack was only home on a short visit, but in three weeks he managed to get Danny a job in the bank and talked the bank manager into giving us a mortgage. I don’t know what we would have done without him.’
*
The house was quiet when Aoife got home. The radiators were cold. Jason must have taken Amy out early. Good. She hoped they went someplace nice. They had little enough father-daughter time.
Aoife looked around the kitchen. Two saucepans, two frying pans, four dishes, three mugs, two plates and an assortment of kitchen utensils littered the countertop. Inches of something she couldn’t identify was glued to the bottom of the saucepans, and the frying pans were covered in congealed grease. The floor looked clean, but she could feel something sticking to the soles of her shoes. All Jason had to do was give Amy her breakfast. How could he make such a mess?
Three hours later Aoife had cleaned the kitchen, tidied away the clothes and toys strewn all over the house, hoovered, gone through a mound of ironing and prepared a casserole. She was peeling potatoes when she heard a key in the front door.
‘Hi, Aoife, how was the dragon?’
‘That’s what you call your grandmother?’
‘We did when we were kids. Mum hated it. Was it dreadful?’
‘Pretty bad. Where’s Amy?’
‘Alison’s looking after her.’
‘What! I thought you were taking her for the day.’
‘I couldn’t. I had a work emergency.’
‘Oh, Jason! I wish you’d told me. Alison will know I’m home. What will she think of me leaving Amy with her for hours? I’m already behind in returning the favour, and she won’t let me pay her.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t think. They couldn’t find one of my files at work. There was this huge drama. I had to go in and I couldn’t take Amy with me.’
‘Why not? I would have taken her to your grandmother’s. And I only went there because you refused to go.’
Jason frowned. ‘You think I’m not pulling my weight. Maybe you’re right. It’s so hard. I can’t concentrate on anything. That’s why I put the file in the wrong place. And I’m under so much pressure at work. When they phoned and said they couldn’t find the file, I just panicked. All I could think of was I had to get in there and—’
‘It’s okay. I’m sorry, Jason. I shouldn’t be nagging you at a time like this. Why don’t you go next door and get Amy? I’ll finish making the dinner.’ She took a bottle of wine from the fridge. ‘Give this to Alison. I’ll go around later and apologise.’
‘That’s the wine I bought yesterday. Don’t you have anything cheaper?’
‘I’m not giving Alison our cheapest wine.’ She looked at the bottle. ‘How expensive was this? What about our debts?’
&
nbsp; ‘It was an extravagance, I know, but I thought it would make me feel better. Of course I’ll give it to Alison.’
Aoife sighed. ‘Don’t worry. Drink your wine. I’ll go next door and thank Alison. Heat up the oven, okay?’
‘Of course I will, darling. Thank you. You’re the best.’
*
Fifteen minutes later, Aoife returned with Amy. Jason had taken the wine into the sitting room and was watching TV. He had tossed the corkscrew into the sink, cork still attached. The oven had reached the required temperature, and the casserole Aoife had prepared was sitting on the countertop. The half-peeled potatoes lay beside them.
*
‘Jason, I think it’s time you moved back home. I spent the entire day with Maura and she’s coping quite well.’
Jason looked up from his iPad.
‘I am home.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘I’ve been thinking, Aoife. I want to stay here. I’m twenty-five. I don’t want to live with my mother.’
‘It’s only until we sort out our relationship.’
‘How is that going to happen if we never see each other?’
‘Okay, we’ll make arrangements to meet once every week. How about date night? Every Friday we’ll go to dinner or the movies, just us. I’m sure Maura will be happy to take Amy.’
Jason smiled. ‘That’s a great idea. A few weeks of that and we’ll be back to normal.’
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘Let’s start tomorrow. Everybody’s talking about this new restaurant near the office. The food is supposed to be amazing. You could meet me after work and we’ll go straight there. It’s always easier to book the early sitting.’
‘We can’t afford that.’
‘I know, but this is a special occasion. The hell with the cost. Let’s enjoy ourselves for once. Everything’s been so miserable lately.’
‘But—’ Aoife was terrified of getting further into debt. Then again, some things were more important than money. Jason was going through a dreadful time. Didn’t he deserve a special night? ‘Oh, all right,’ she said at last, ‘but we need to talk about our living arrangements.’
‘It’s not worth my while moving out if we’ll be getting back together in a few weeks.’
‘Jason, we—’
‘Of course we can talk about it, Aoife, if that’s what you want. But not before the funeral, okay? I’m not up to dealing with anything else right now.’
SEVEN
Friday morning, Aoife had to force herself to get out of bed. Amy had woken her several times the previous night, but exhaustion was the least of her problems. Today was her weekly Mother & Toddler group. Aoife never missed a session. They were essential for Amy’s development. She needed to be with kids her own age, and she adored tearing around the room with the other kids or playing in Barbara’s massive garden. Aoife detested every second.
It had all started so well. In January, Aoife had signed up for a Parent & Toddler group at a local play centre. It got them out of the house during the cold weather, was reasonably priced and parents were given a voucher for a free cup of coffee. Trained staff amused the kids, and Aoife got to know one or two of the mothers. Everything was going great until the play centre closed. Aoife was devastated, and more than grateful when Lucy, one of the mothers she had become friendly with, told her that another mother was starting a Mother & Toddler playgroup in her own home. Enter Barbara.
Barbara wasn’t exactly unpleasant. She was a little judgemental and occasionally showed hints of impatience, but her most unforgiveable quality was her perfection. A mother of five, Barbara lived in a big house just outside Kildare town. The house hadn’t always been big. Barbara had inherited a small two-bedroom cottage from an uncle, but her husband, Daniel, was an architect and their new home was evidence of his extraordinary skill.
The original two-bedroom house now occupied a small corner of the building. A glass corridor linked it to an enormous extension, and a second glass corridor linked it to the playroom. When Aoife had first been shown into the sitting room, she had grasped Amy’s hand tightly, terrified the child would mark the cream walls, cream carpet or white leather furniture.
‘This is where the kids play?’ she’d asked.
Barbara laughed. ‘No, no. This room is strictly for us adults.’ She brought them through the glass corridor to a large square room with wooden floors and shelves lined with toys. ‘The toys on the bottom two shelves are for the playgroup.’
A friendly middle-aged woman approached. She gave a wide smile and held out her hand to Aoife. ‘Hi, I’m Greta. This must be Amy. I have just the toy for you, Amy. Come along.’
Amy grabbed Aoife’s leg but let go the moment she saw the beautifully crafted colonial-style wooden doll’s house. Every door and window opened, and there were tiny lace crochet blinds that pulled up and down. Greta removed the back so Amy could play with the furniture. Everything was exquisite, from the hand-carved miniature furniture to the flower-strewn porch swing.
‘That’s so beautiful,’ Aoife said. ‘Aren’t you worried the children will destroy it?’
Barbara shrugged. ‘Daniel can always make another. Greta, remember the children must eat their snacks in this room. I don’t want them in the kitchen again.’
Greta turned out to be Barbara’s live-in nanny. She ran the child entertainment section of the morning while Aoife sat with the other mothers in the all-white sitting room, trying not to spill tea on the heavily polished furniture.
Most of the conversation centred around children.
‘My Ethan is so bright. I’m worn out from reading to him. He can’t speak yet, but I think he can read already. He turns the page of every book at exactly the right moment.’
‘Davy’s such a sweet-tempered child. But it’s all due to routine. I have strict bedtimes and we only eat organic food. It’s all in the parenting.’
‘Katie never gives me a second’s trouble. I don’t understand what people mean by the terrible twos. Katie’s an angel.’
Aoife rarely spoke. She was the youngest in the group by at least eight years. Lucy had returned to full-time work after two sessions, and a few months later, she and her family had relocated to Kerry. The other mothers were even more intimidating than Barbara. None of them had nannies but they all had perfect hair and makeup, dressed in the latest fashions and had at least two children. Aoife wondered where she was going wrong. She struggled to find a clean pair of jeans, her hair hadn’t been cut in over a year and she was always the last person to arrive.
Today Amy was clutching Aoife’s mobile phone when they reached Barbara’s house. Two of the mothers gasped. ‘You let that poor child play with a phone! Don’t you know how dangerous those things are?’
‘She only plays with the kids’ apps,’ Aoife explained. ‘It distracts her if she’s crying or wants something she can’t have.’
‘But that’s totally the wrong way to handle the child.’ Olive covered her mouth with both hands. ‘If Amy wants something she can’t have, you simply explain why you can’t give it to her. Children are a lot more intelligent than most people realise.’
‘I can’t rationalise with her. She’s not old enough to understand. Amy’s not even two yet.’
‘Nonsense. When Tristan was that age, he understood everything I said. I never let him near electronic devices. Honestly, Aoife, it’s practically child abuse.’
‘I think you might be remembering that incorrectly,’ Claire said, and Aoife felt a surge of affection for a woman she had barely noticed previously. ‘My Albert is only two and there wouldn’t be much point in explaining anything to him yet.’ Aoife gave her a grateful smile. ‘I always think the important thing is for us mothers to provide a safe, loving, happy family environment. If Albert cries, I pick him up. It always calms him. Just being near me is enough to soothe him. You must try it, Aoife. No child should ever be allowed near a mobile phone.’
Greta arrived to collect Amy, but
the conversation about mobile phones and negligent adults who relied on electronic devices to parent their children continued. Aoife tried not to listen. She didn’t believe holding a mobile phone for a few minutes would hurt any child. But why didn’t Amy stop crying when she was held? Wasn’t she as good a mother as Claire? Hadn’t she bonded enough with Amy? Was she doing everything wrong?
It was a few moments before she realised Barbara was speaking to her.
‘Sorry?’
‘I asked if there was any news about your father-in-law’s murder.’
‘No, we haven’t heard anything. It was so long ago, the police will probably never find out who murdered Danny.’
‘It’s absolutely appalling!’ Olive had her hands over her mouth again. ‘A young family man. Someone with a good job in the bank. And this was always such a quiet town.’
Barbara nodded. ‘That’s exactly what Cian Mannion said the other day. You know Cian, don’t you, Olive?’
‘The bank manager’s son? Not really. I think he was in the same year as my sister, but we never spoke.’
‘Well, he and Daniel have collaborated on a few projects. I’m not sure what he does. An accountant, maybe? I know he works from home. Have you seen his house?’
‘No, where does he live?’
‘He’s still in his parents’ home. He inherited it when his father died.’
‘That house is still lived in? It’s a dump! His business can’t be doing very well.’
‘I don’t know about that. It’s doing well enough for him to hire a secretary. I ran into him at the K Club last week. I was taking Mum to lunch for her birthday and Daniel was interviewing this appalling woman. We had a good laugh about her after—’
‘Cian Mannion is looking for a secretary?’
Aoife spoke so rarely that all the mothers turned to stare.
‘Yes. Aoife, you’ve never seen anything like the outfit that woman was wearing. And the hair! She—’
‘So he hasn’t actually hired anyone yet?’
‘No. You’re not looking for a job, are you, Aoife?’
