‘Happy Christmas, beautiful,’ he’d said, and reached for her.
She had made several attempts to leave but they were halfhearted and, finally she just gave herself up to the joy of being adored, worshipped. ‘This has to be the best Christmas present ever,’ she’d said after he’d taken her once more to dizzying heights and she lay sated in his arms.
‘Oh, your present, I forgot.’ He hopped out of bed and walked over to the dressing table.
She propped herself up on one arm and admired the view. When he turned around and saw her watching him he grinned. ‘Is everything okay, Ms Kelliher?’
‘Oh everything is very okay,’ she assured him.
He climbed back in beside her and handed her an envelope. She looked at it and then at him. ‘Go on, open it,’ he urged.
She did, and she frowned as she flicked through the documents, and then her eyes widened as she tried to figure out what she was looking at. ‘A return ticket to New York? Are you trying to tell me something?’
He grinned. ‘It works both ways.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘Well, I know you miss your friend, Sandy, so I thought you might like to go see her or invite her over here. The tickets are open and valid for six months so you don’t have to decide right now—’
He didn’t get to finish, as Krystie threw her arms around him and kissed him.
He kissed her back, moulding her body to his, but she pulled away to look in his eyes. ‘That’s so thoughtful, Max, but I can’t take it.’
‘Why not?’ He frowned.
‘It’s too much, we’ve only just met.’
‘I feel as if I’ve known you for ever.’
His eyes held hers and Krystie touched his cheek and kissed him. ‘I do too.’
‘And look at it this way: it cost a lot less than that bloody painting you loved so much.’
She laughed. ‘You really were out of your mind when you bought that.’ She looked at the ticket and back at him, shaking her head. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Say “Thanks, Max” and give me a big sloppy kiss.’
‘Thank you, Max,’ she murmured and, winding her arms round his neck, kissed him. ‘My present for you seems incredibly stingy now,’ she complained.
His eyes and hands roamed over her. ‘I’ve got my present right here.’
She laughed and stretched out of the bed, shivering as he ran a hand over her butt. She rummaged in her bag for the small package.
He opened it and took out the frame and stared at it and then at her. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘Sinéad found some old photos in Sheila’s desk. This was one of them but it was all crumpled and torn. I thought it was gorgeous so I dug around for the negative and asked Dylan if he would develop and frame it.’
She watched him anxiously as he stared at the photo of his four-year-old self, in his mother’s arms. His head was thrown back laughing and she was looking at him in total adoration.
‘She was very beautiful,’ Krystie said.
‘She was,’ he agreed.
She looked at the sadness in his eyes and sighed. ‘Shit, this wasn’t supposed to make you sad. I’ve screwed up again.’
He had taken her hand and kissed her palm and then held it to his chest. ‘You haven’t screwed up at all, Krystie. It’s a very thoughtful gift and I will treasure it always. I remember the photo but I thought it had been lost. It’s wonderful to have it back. I’ll keep it on my desk.’
He’d leaned over and kissed her very tenderly on the lips. ‘Now I wonder how I can show my gratitude,’ he’d said and pushed her gently back down on the pillow.
Chapter Twenty-six
Between meetings Max sent texts and during them he found himself surreptitiously checking for replies, grinning like an idiot when he saw a message from her. They’d been behaving like a couple of lovesick kids since Christmas Eve; he couldn’t remember ever feeling this way before. Krystie was like no woman he’d ever met. His mind wandered back to that first night, as it so often did. The very last word to describe it was sex. When he had eased her dress from her shoulders and she hadn’t resisted but had stood before him, her eyes staring into his, he had felt like a fumbling schoolboy on his first date. His hands had actually been trembling as he’d run them hesitantly over her body. But her body had been so beautiful and inviting and when they’d kissed it had been the sweetest, most gentle kiss he had ever experienced, and he had lost himself in her.
And, as if he were not besotted enough with her, she gave him the most precious and thoughtful gift he’d ever received. It amused him how thrilled but uncomfortable she’d been about the amount he’d spent on the New York tickets. Natalie had often dragged him into shoe shops, chosen a pair of designer heels and matching bag and then given him a brief peck when he’d picked up the tab, as of course she had expected him to.
Krystie was different in every way. He talked to her the way he’d talked to no one else, especially about Sheila. And she listened, really listened. And he loved to hear about her past, too – something he hadn’t given a damn about with her predecessors. The more he learned about Krystie, the more he loved her and wanted to protect her. She’d told him about her ex, a guy who sounded like a complete shit. It annoyed him that he had been her first real lover. Well, if he was honest, he hated the thought of any man having touched her but, as they were the same age and given his track record, he could hardly complain. But he felt a ridiculous jealousy at the thought of Jacob or his fumbling predecessors having even seen her lovely body. Not only had the women he usually dated had many previous lovers, he knew some of them, but he had never felt this possessive. But how did she feel? He couldn’t help wondering if she still held a candle for Jacob. He couldn’t imagine Krystie staying with a man that long unless she’d loved him, and they had been on the point of moving in together when the asshole had jilted her. He would just have to make her forget him, Max decided, grateful that the guy lived in New York and not Dublin.
The phone rang and his heart jumped, but when Max looked at the display he was disappointed to see it wasn’t Krystie, just his father.
‘Hi, Dad.’
‘Oh, good. I’m glad I got hold of you, Max.’
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, when he heard his father’s muted tone.
‘It’s Bridie. She passed away this morning.’
Max sat with Sinéad and his father in the office with the nursing home manager, the doctor and the nurse who had found Bridie.
‘She woke up in great form, very alert, and ate a good breakfast. And when I came back with her medication she was gone.’
‘It was a massive heart attack,’ the doctor told them, ‘very quick. She really wouldn’t have suffered that much at all.’
They were brought in to see Bridie and Max was surprised when he felt a lump in his throat. He had seen little of his aunt in recent years. He led such a busy life that the odd phone call had been the most he could manage, but Bridie hadn’t been the sensitive sort and didn’t seem bothered or upset by the lack of contact. He’d always got the impression that she was quite enjoying her freedom. But it didn’t take from the fact that she had been the one who’d bandaged him up when he’d fallen and helped him when he’d struggled with his Irish homework. She was the one who had nursed him through all his childhood illnesses, done his laundry and kept the larder and fridge well stocked. But where had he been when she was going through her crisis and still aware enough to realise that she was losing her mind? It must have been very frightening.
Sinéad sat silently by the bed while Dad stood with his arm around her shoulders.
‘We need to make funeral arrangements, let people know,’ Max said, but at a loss as to where to begin. He didn’t know who her closest friends were, whom she would want them to contact or what kind of ceremony she would like. ‘Do you know what she’d want, Dad?’
‘She was never one for a big fuss. I think she’d prefer som
ething simple.’
‘We should check her diary. She wrote down everything in that – at least, she used to.’ Sinéad dabbed her eyes with a tissue.
‘Oh, the red leather one? I remember that.’ Max felt relieved as he recalled the thick hardback notebook that Bridie had noted everything in, from addresses to birthdays to recipes. He opened the drawers and wardrobe but there was no sign of it or, indeed, any personal belongings. Even the handbag that she had clutched on to so tightly held only a handkerchief, a purse with some loose change and a plastic wallet of old photos. ‘There’s nothing here at all.’
Sinéad frowned as she joined him in the search of their aunt’s room. ‘There has to be more stuff than this. Maybe they keep patients’ personal things in lockers.’
‘That’s probably it. I’ll go and ask.’ He paused by the bed and then bent to press his lips against his aunt’s cold forehead. ‘Rest, Aunty. Thanks for everything.’
The nursing home manager was an efficient sort but with kind eyes. She waved him to a chair and rang the kitchen to bring coffee. ‘Your aunt was very anxious when she first arrived,’ she explained when he asked about Bridie’s belongings. ‘She was convinced that she was going to be robbed and wanted to keep everything personal where she could see it. It’s not that unusual. Displacement is hard and frightening for everyone and especially for someone suffering from dementia. I’m sorry I never met her in the whole of her health. I could see glimpses of her personality from time to time and I imagine she was quite a strong woman.’
Max wondered if this was the patter that every relative received but, as he thought of Bridie’s occasional lucid moments on Christmas Day, perhaps not. ‘She was never demonstrative but she showed her love in other ways; you could always depend on her.’ He swallowed hard again taken by surprise at the grief he felt. ‘She never let me down but I let her down, I never visited.’
‘Some people can’t cope with seeing their loved ones ill.’ She shrugged.
‘Some people don’t have a choice and have to get on with it whether they like it or not,’ he replied.
‘There’s no point in torturing yourself. Your sister, Sheila, was wonderful with Bridie. She could always get through to her and calm her down. In the end she took all of your aunt’s private papers and jewellery. It was the only answer. Bridie wasn’t sleeping, convinced someone would steal her things.’
‘But they weren’t with Sheila’s stuff,’ Sinéad said when he told her. She looked pale and weary. It had been a long day. They had been to the undertaker’s, where Kieran had insisted on the best of everything. They’d phoned distant relatives and the few people he could remember her being close to and then paid a visit to her church to talk to the priest. Happily, he had known her well and suggested they leave the funeral for a couple of days to allow word of her death to spread. Through him they learned that Bridie had been quite active in the community and particularly the local primary school.
‘We knew so little about her life since she moved out,’ Sinéad marvelled.
They had dropped their father at Beth’s and Max was driving her to the studio.
‘She practically raised us and once we left home we just forgot her.’
‘That’s not true,’ Max protested. He felt guilty enough. ‘We saw her just as much as we saw Dad.’
‘Bullshit. How often did you visit?’
‘She wasn’t around much to visit,’ he protested. ‘She lived a full life.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Well, I don’t know, do I?’ He glared at her. ‘Do you?’
Sinéad sighed. ‘Not a clue.’
‘Strange she never got married,’ Max said as he turned into Blackrock village. ‘I wonder, did she think that Dad would ask her?’
‘Well, I think it’s safe to say, looking at Beth, that Bridie was not his type.’
‘What do you think of Beth?’ Max asked.
‘She’s okay,’ she said, though it was clear she wasn’t that impressed with how close her father was growing to the woman.
‘She’s good for him,’ Max said as he pulled up outside the café.
‘Are you coming in to say hello to your beloved?’
‘No, I don’t have time. Tell her I’ll call her later. Will you double-check Sheila’s things for Bridie’s diary?’
She paused, her hand on the handle of the door. ‘I told you, Max, it’s not there. I’m sure of it. Philip must have them.’
‘Okay, I’ll talk to him.’
He met Philip in Buswell’s, the hotel across the road from government buildings. When he arrived, his brother-in-law was in a corner of the lobby, working on his laptop, a large pot of coffee on the table in front of him.
‘I’m so sorry about Bridie,’ he said, his face sombre as he clasped both his hands around Max’s. ‘It’s hard to take in. Physically, she seemed fine on Christmas Day.’ He sat back down and poured the coffee. ‘Wasn’t it great that we had that time with her, though? And, given her condition, I suppose it wasn’t a bad way to go. She was still quite young, wasn’t she?’
‘Yes, only sixty-six. Thanks for meeting me, Philip. The reason I wanted to see you is we’re trying to track down Bridie’s belongings. The nursing home manager said that Sheila had taken them away because Bridie was very anxious about them, convinced they’d be nicked.’
Philip chewed on his bottom lip. ‘I seem to remember something about that. Was there anything in particular you were looking for?’
‘Her diary – or perhaps “journal” is a better description. It’s a thick A4 hardback notebook with a dark-red, leather cover. It’s old. I can remember her writing in it when she first moved in. But she had her close friends’ numbers in there. I’m putting death notices in the newspapers but I wanted to contact them personally if possible.’
‘Of course.’ Philip topped up his own cup. ‘Sheila gave all of Bridie’s things to the solicitor for safekeeping. He’s the man who took care of the sale of her house and he drew up her will too. Do you have a death certificate yet?’
‘No, that’s next on my list. I should probably make an appointment to see that solicitor.’ Max ran a tired hand through his hair.
‘Don’t worry about your executor duties right now. Concentrate on arranging the funeral for the moment. I’ll give him a call if you like?’ Philip offered. ‘I’d like to feel useful in some way, for Sheila’s sake.’
‘That would be great, Philip, if you don’t mind?’ Max said, a sense of relief washing over him. The thought of sorting out Bridie’s estate had been preying on his mind. It seemed wrong that he should be privy to all her private business when he had effectively abandoned her these last few years. Max was pretty sure that Philip had seen more of his aunt than he had.
‘No problem at all,’ Philip assured him. ‘Send me a copy of the death cert when you get it and I’ll pass it on, and in the meantime I’ll have him get the diary couriered over to you, or will I get it sent to Sinéad or your dad instead?’
Max thought about it for a moment. Dad seemed to have reverted to his silent introverted self and was probably up at the grave, where he always went when his mood was dark. ‘Best send it to Sinéad, Philip, and thanks again.’
Sheila and Zach were making sandwiches when the phone rang. ‘Don’t you dare put pickle on mine,’ she warned as she wiped her hands and went to answer it.
‘How can you have corned beef without pickle?’ he protested, shaking his head.
She laughed and picked up the phone. She listened in silence for the most part. Instinctively, Zach sensed something was wrong and came to stand in front of her, his dark eyes searching hers. She reached for his hand.
‘Keep in touch and tell me what’s happening, yeah?’ she said to the caller. She listened for another couple of minutes before hanging up. She tried to come to grips with it. She hadn’t expected it, not for years.
‘Sheila, what is it, what’s wrong?’ Zach asked.
He wiped tears from her cheeks that
she hadn’t even been conscious of. ‘My aunt is dead.’
‘Sweetheart, I am so sorry.’ He put his arms around her and rocked her gently as she sobbed. ‘After all you’ve told me, I feel as if I knew her.’
She took out a tissue and wiped her eyes. ‘You know more about my family than they do,’ she said with a watery smile. ‘I’ve told you things I’ve never told a soul.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
‘That’s the way it was meant.’ Sheila hugged him. ‘It seems strange to be here when the family are going through this.’
‘Do you want to go to the funeral?’ he asked.
‘Yes. No.’ She sighed. ‘It would make no difference to Bridie and it would throw everything into chaos if I turned up out of the blue. Right now I have something much more important to do. Right now there’s someone else who needs me more.’
He looked at her. ‘Karl?’
She stared up into his eyes feeling completely overwhelmed. ‘Yes. Karl.’
Chapter Twenty-seven
Sinéad woke with a start. There was another noise, she wasn’t imagining it. Had she put on the alarm? She couldn’t remember. She looked around for the phone and realised it was sitting on the kitchen table with her sketch pad and laptop. Great, that would make life easier for the burglar, she thought, her heart thumping in her chest. What should she do? Huddle under the duvet and pretend to be asleep or find something to defend herself with and go out there and tackle them? Them? Shit, if there were more than one she didn’t have a hope. She glanced around, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon. Apart from her high-heels, the only other thing was the heavy bedside lamp, and, even if she were able to lift that, she doubted she could throw it.
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