Chapter Twenty
‘What do you think?’
Krystie walked around Sinéad, turning her one way and then the other. ‘Something’s not right.’
‘I thought you were sure these were the sort of clothes she was wearing.’ Sinéad looked at her in exasperation.
‘I was, I am! Sorry, I don’t know why but it’s just not quite right,’ Krystie said, feeling anxious and confused. Jeez, was Max right? Had she got this completely wrong? She felt physically ill at the thought.
Sinéad tossed the coat and hat on her chair. ‘I’m going for a coffee.’
Krystie stared after her as she stomped down the stairs. She understood and shared Sinéad’s frustration, but there was no point in doing this unless they got it right. She sat down at the table and started to sketch the image of the woman she’d seen that day in Manhattan. There was something about the eyes that wasn’t right. She reached for one of the photo albums that Sinéad had brought in and started to leaf through it again. She stopped at the series of photos taken the morning of Sheila’s wedding. There was one of her in a towel, laughing and pushing the person holding the camera out of the bathroom. Krystie was staring at it mesmerised when Sinéad returned.
She put the coffee on the table and began to gather up the albums. ‘Let’s just take the damn photo, Krystie, and be done with it.’
‘Hang on, I have an idea.’ Krystie went to her bag and pulled out a packet of wipes. ‘Sit down. I’m going to take off your eye makeup.’
‘What?’ Sinéad stared at her as Krystie gently pressed her into a chair.
‘Humour me, please?’
Sinéad shrugged and closed her eyes and Krystie carefully wiped away her eyeshadow and eyeliner leaving just the mascara. ‘Okay. Open your eyes.’
Sinéad did and Krystie felt a flicker of excitement at the difference. ‘Now put the coat and hat on again.’
‘Sheila would never go out without makeup,’ Sinéad grumbled, shuffling into the coat.
‘Sheila would never pretend she was dead, either.’ Krystie clamped a hand over her mouth. ‘Shit, I’m sorry.’
Sinéad’s eyes met hers in the mirror. ‘It’s a fair point.’ She tucked her hair under the hat.
Still red-faced and determined to think before she spoke in future, Krystie moved around in front of Sinéad, freed a few blonde wisps to frame her face, straightened the hat from the jaunty angle Sinéad had it at and tugged it down lower on her head.
‘Yuck, that’s dreadful.’ Sinéad looked in disgust at her reflection.
Krystie moved a few steps away and stared at her. ‘Turn and look at me and don’t smile.’ Sinéad did as she was told. ‘That’s it!’ Krystie cried, her stomach doing a somersault.
Sinéad turned back to look at herself, her eyes incredulous. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘Get the camera.’
‘What are you doing for Christmas?’ Kieran asked as Beth set the sandwiches on the table. He carried over the two bowls of piping-hot broth and took his seat opposite her.
‘I told you.’ She looked up at him in surprise. ‘After Mass I will call in on a few friends and then have a nice bit of dinner in front of the soaps.’
He blew on his soup before trying it. ‘This is delicious. What would you say to coming along to Philip’s with me?’
She put down her spoon and stared at him. ‘I’d feel I was intruding and I don’t think your family would be too impressed.’
‘You wouldn’t be intruding and, as for Max and Sinéad, I’ve had to put up with plenty of their partners over the years.’ He glanced up and saw that she was blushing.
‘There’s a difference between partners and friends, Kieran,’ she said, sounding almost shy. ‘You wouldn’t want to give them the wrong impression.’
‘What impression would that be?’ he asked. ‘That I enjoy your company? That I find myself thinking about you all the time? That I’ve been happier these last couple of months than I have in a long time?’
‘Oh, Kieran!’ She looked at him, startled. ‘I’ve enjoyed them too.’
He took her hand. ‘I know I’m a grumpy old sod.’
‘You’re not. You’re sad, and why wouldn’t you be? I hope Sheila comes back to you, sweetheart, I really do.’
‘Once I know that she’s okay it’s not important where she is.’ He smiled into her eyes. ‘So, will you come?’
‘Have you told them anything about me at all?’ she asked.
‘No.’ He went back to eating his soup. ‘Not because I’m ashamed or embarrassed, nothing like that. There’s just been so much upheaval and upset lately that I didn’t want to add to it and I suppose I’ve enjoyed having you to myself.’
‘Do you know, I don’t think I’ve ever been as comfortable with anyone as I am with you?’ Beth said.
‘Apart from Gerry,’ he said, pushing aside his empty bowl and helping himself to a sandwich.
She paused for a moment and then said, ‘Including Gerry.’
Kieran looked up at her in surprise.
‘He was a good man,’ she said, ‘a good husband and father. I don’t think that we ever had a cross word but . . .’
‘But?’ he asked trying to read her expression.
‘But nothing, really. I suppose it’s just the way I am with you has made me realise that we were never really close.’
Kieran shifted uncomfortably. He still found Beth’s openness unnerving. ‘I’m not sure that I understand.’
‘Everyone was very sympathetic when Gerry died. He was so young, they said. How awful it was that I was left alone, they said. I must be so lonely. And I was,’ she said. ‘It’s strange after more than thirty years of marriage to cook for one, to iron for one, to go on a day’s shopping trip and come home and the house is the same way I left it. That all takes getting used to.’
‘I can imagine,’ Kieran said. Even though he had lived alone for years now, Max and the twins had their own keys and were in and out on a regular basis, especially Sheila. He’d caught her on more than one occasion checking the contents of the fridge and freezer. She often arrived with food saying, ‘I cooked too much lasagne last night, Dad, so I thought it would save you cooking,’ or some such excuse. He’d been more than happy to go along with the pretence. He’d never been much of a cook and he didn’t see the point in it when there were so many things you could buy and just pop in the microwave.
‘But it’s only since you’ve been visiting me, Kieran, I’ve realised that Gerry and I never talked, not really,’ Beth continued. ‘He’d complain about the weather or the traffic or the bills. I’d tell him about any gossip from the neighbours, if Gavin had been in touch, what he had to say, but we never talked about us, you know? I didn’t even know that much about his job. It was so strange at the funeral. So many people he worked with talked to me about him and it may as well have been a different man; it wasn’t the Gerry I knew at all.’
‘I think all men are a bit like that. At the end of a long day you want to leave the office behind and relax. When you’ve been together a long time you don’t need to talk.’
‘Maybe.’ Her eyes searched his. ‘So we only get on so well because we’re just getting to know each other, is that it?’
He smiled. ‘That’s it.’
‘Then I’d better make the most of it because I’m having a lovely time.’
‘Me too. You’re great company, Beth, and such a good friend and above all . . .’
‘Yes?’
He winked at her. ‘You’re a bloody marvellous cook.’
‘Cheeky fecker!’ she said, laughing.
‘Seriously, though, Beth, I’ve been very low since Sheila disappeared and I didn’t think I would ever come out the other side.’
‘I think that’s because you have some hope now, Kieran,’ she said matter-of-factly.
‘That helps, no argument, but I started feeling better before I got that news, Beth. I started feeling better because of you.’
‘Oh, Kieran.’ Her eyes filled up.
‘So, woman, will you spend Christmas Day with me or not?’
She beamed at him. ‘I’d love to.’
Max stood outside Trinity College and smiled as he saw a familiar figure weave her way through the crowds towards him. He waved and she smiled and waved back, making his heart skip a beat. What was it about her that was so irresistible? He couldn’t remember ever being so obsessed with a woman; he seemed to think of little else. She was wearing a green leather jacket over a black polo-neck top and tight red jeans, a vivid multicoloured beret and a red scarf. She was like a sexy Santa elf and was making heads turn, but she seemed completely oblivious of the admiring glances.
‘Sorry, have you been waiting long?’ she said, slightly breathless when she reached him.
‘I just got here. Shall we head into Brown Thomas?’
‘Depends on what you want to buy.’ She fell into step beside him.
‘She likes big earrings,’ he offered.
‘I thought you wanted something special,’ Krystie protested. ‘What does she do for fun?’
‘No idea.’ He frowned. It had been a long time since he had seen Sinéad do anything other than sit around looking miserable.
‘What did she do before Sheila went missing?’
He thought about it for a moment and then smiled. ‘She loved music. She couldn’t function without it. Wherever she was, her music was with her.’
‘I’ve never heard her play music,’ Krystie said in surprise. ‘What kind of music does she like?’
He sighed. ‘Oh, wow, everything and anything.’
She stopped and closed her eyes briefly. ‘Can we go somewhere quiet?’
Max stared at her in stunned delight. ‘Great idea. We can go and have a bite to eat at Dobbins. I’ll phone—’
‘No . . . you don’t understand.’ Her eyelids fluttered. ‘I need help.’
Realising that she was about to pass out he put an arm around her waist and half carried her to his offices around the corner.
‘Mr Fields! I thought you were gone for the evening.’ The cleaner, who was pushing a large vacuum cleaner back and forth across the carpet, looked up in surprise as he practically dragged Krystie down the hall of his offices.
‘I forgot I had one more appointment. Would you do something for me, Sylvie? Would you nip down to the canteen and get me a sandwich or roll, nothing fancy. Oh, and a bottle of water?’ He pulled a twenty out of his pocket and handed it over.
‘Of course, Mr Fields.’ She beamed at him in delight. He never accepted change so she was always happy to run his errands. He kicked the door closed behind him and lowered Krystie onto the small sofa in the corner of his office. She was looking slightly dazed. ‘Krystie, are you okay?’
She didn’t respond. He scanned her face. Her eyes were glazed. She was obviously conscious but completely unaware of him. He gently moved her into a lying position, eased off her boots, whispering as he did, telling her she was safe, that everything was okay. He opened her jacket and, lifting her head, unwound the scarf. Suddenly, she drew her legs up and clenched her fists like a prizefighter, stiff, eyes still staring. He sat down on the floor beside her, bracing himself. ‘It’s okay, Krystie. Everything is going to be fine. I’ve got you.’
She remained like that for a minute or so and then she started to jerk. He lay alongside her to prevent her falling off and hurting herself.
‘Mr Fields, what are you doing?’
He looked up to see Sylvie in the doorway looking horrified and realised how this must look. ‘She’s having an epileptic fit, Sylvie.’ His words were just out when her movements started to become less frenetic and she started to gasp for breath.
‘Oh, the poor girl. Is there anything I can do? Will I call a doctor?’
‘Just wait for a moment with me until she starts to come out of it. Then it would be best if you disappeared. She’s going to be embarrassed enough that I’ve seen her like this.’
Krystie slumped back on the sofa, groaning, her eyes closed. Max pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth. ‘It’s over, Krystie. It’s all over.’ He looked up and smiled at Sylvie’s worried face. ‘She’ll be fine now.’
She nodded and smiled. ‘You’re a good man, Mr Fields. I will leave you but I will be on the next floor if you need me.’
When she was gone, he smoothed Krystie’s hair back from her face and wiped the smudged mascara from under her eyes. God, she was so beautiful. She moaned again and he stroked her hand. ‘You’re safe, Krystie. You’re safe, darling.’
Her eyes flickered open and she looked around, her expression confused, frightened. She became aware of him, stared at him, but didn’t speak.
He smiled what he hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘You had a seizure, Krystie. I brought you to my office. Would you like some water?’ She didn’t answer and after a moment sat up. He opened the bottle of water that Sylvie had left on his desk and handed it to her. She looked at it blankly and then took it and drank. Some of the water spilled down her chin and he handed her his handkerchief.
‘Thanks.’ She dried herself. ‘Sorry about that. Was it bad?’ She looked around her and ran her hand along the leather couch.
‘You have nothing to apologise for. It was very low-key. Good of you to wean me in gently. What’s the last thing that you remember?’
She shook her head slowly.
‘Are you hungry?’ He picked up the sandwich Sylvie had left. ‘Ham and cheese?’
She shook her head again and he shut up to give her a chance to gather her wits.
‘What happened?’ she asked finally, looking pale and tired. He sat down next to her. ‘You were fine one minute, and then you went into a sort of daze. We’re in my office. I just got you here when you seized up. It was all over quite quickly. Rest a moment and then I’ll take you home.’
‘No, it’s fine.’
‘We’re not going shopping, Krystie,’ he told her.
She frowned and then nodded. ‘Oh, yes, for Sinéad. Just give me a moment and we’ll get started.’
She rested her head back against the sofa and closed her eyes and after a few minutes he thought perhaps she was asleep. ‘I really think it would be better if I took you home.’
She opened her eyes. ‘I’m not an invalid,’ she protested.
‘I know that but, to be honest, the shopping trip was just an excuse to spend some time with you.’
Her lips twitched. ‘Why didn’t you just ask me out?’
‘Would you have said yes?’ he asked.
‘Probably not,’ she admitted.
It wasn’t what he wanted to hear but he had expected it: she had been distant since the night of the party. He adopted a mournful expression. ‘My confidence is shattered.’
She raised a weak smile. ‘I doubt that.’
‘Come on, let’s find a quiet café and you can tell me why you’re rejecting me.’
Chapter Twenty-one
It was only ten when Max dropped her home. She was grateful because, though she had recovered very quickly, she was tired. He had taken her to a small Italian restaurant round the corner where he was obviously well known. The place seemed full to her, but when they saw Max a table for two magically appeared in a quiet alcove. Once they’d ordered he dived straight in and asked her all about epilepsy.
‘So that was a tonic-clonic seizure, right?’
She’d looked at him, surprised. ‘How do you know that?’
‘When Sinéad told me you had epilepsy I read up on it online. I wanted to be sure that we knew exactly what to do and how to help if you had an attack.’ He grinned. ‘I’m a bit anal like that.’
And then it was: When had she been diagnosed? Were the seizures all the same? Had they got better or worse over time? At first she had felt uncomfortable with this inquisition, wondering if he was asking these questions because he was afraid she’d be an insurance risk, or stab his sister with s
cissors, but as she talked she could see that, not only was he genuinely interested, he wasn’t spooked, either. He didn’t offer her wine with the meal and as soon as they had finished eating he called for the bill and told her that he was driving her home. Normally, she would be irritated at being bossed around, but she did feel tired and was grateful for his consideration. And he’d been delighted with the idea she’d come up with for Sinéad’s Christmas present.
When they got to Greystones he came in to meet Sharon, charming her completely, but left again after a few minutes, insisting that Krystie needed rest. She walked him out to the car. ‘Thanks for looking after me, Max.’
‘I’m glad I was there. Now I know the signs I’ll be better prepared in future and I can tell Sinéad what to watch out for.’ He bent his head to kiss her and then stopped, looking down at her, his eyes widening in mock horror. ‘Oops, I forgot. I’m not allowed to do that, am I?’
‘No, you’re not,’ Krystie agreed, and pulled his mouth back down to hers. She shouldn’t have, of course she shouldn’t. It was a really bad idea to encourage Max at all. It would end in disaster. But as he drove away she stood looking after him, smiling, her fingers touching her lips.
Sharon was waiting when she went back inside. ‘I sense a change in this relationship. Tell me all.’ She hit the mute button on the TV and looked at her expectantly.
First We Take Manhattan Page 18
