First We Take Manhattan

by Colette Caddle

  She crept out of bed and went to the wardrobe in search of her oldest shoes – well, there was no point in destroying a perfectly good pair of heels. Then she went into the en suite and took a can of deodorant. It was full and she was pretty sure that a spray of that in the eyes would be painful enough. Pulling on heavy pyjamas, she was about to go out and confront the thief when she had an idea on how to attract attention just in case she got into trouble. Her neighbour went berserk at noise and complained incessantly. Selecting a pop channel, Sinéad turned the volume up full on the clock-radio, took a deep breath and threw open the door.

  Dylan dropped his mug of coffee and yelped as the hot liquid landed on his crotch. ‘Holy shit, you scared the hell out of me!’

  ‘I thought you were a burglar!’ Sinéad ran to the freezer as he hopped around groaning. ‘Take off your trousers, quick.’

  ‘Those words should be music to a man’s ears,’ he said, gingerly taking off his jeans and sitting down.

  She came back with a bag of peas wrapped in a cloth. ‘Well why didn’t you tell me you were coming home? I was all ready to attack you.’

  He gingerly placed the makeshift ice pack over his boxers and winced. He eyed the stilettos and spray she’d dropped on the table. ‘You were going to attack a burglar with those?’

  ‘It was all I could find.’

  ‘Why is the radio blaring?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, shit.’ She ran to switch it off. ‘I thought that if I was attacked, grumpy from downstairs would come up to complain about the noise and find my body before it started to smell.’

  ‘I just love the way your mind works.’ He grinned.

  Sitting down at the table, she stared at him, not sure what to think. He had been gone for so long with hardly any contact and now he was behaving as if everything was fine. ‘Are we through?’

  He looked at her baffled. ‘Why on earth would you say that?’

  ‘You never replied to my email or to my texts.’

  ‘I did reply to your email.’

  She looked at him not sure whether to believe him or not.

  ‘Fuck! I promise you I replied and I told you that we were going up to the Highlands for the New Year and that there was no phone coverage up there.’ He reached for her laptop and went in to check her Internet connection.

  ‘So you never got any of my texts?’ Sinéad looked at him.

  ‘Not since the one you sent on Christmas morning.’

  ‘Oh.’

  He looked up at the tone of her voice. ‘What?’

  ‘Bridie died, Dylan. Dad is having a wake for her tomorrow and the funeral is the following morning.’

  ‘Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m not sure how I feel, to be honest.’

  ‘I’m glad I got back in time.’

  She looked at him. ‘When you didn’t respond I assumed it was over between us.’

  He shook his head and handed her the laptop. ‘Silly girl. You really need to learn how to reconnect your Internet, Sinéad. Why don’t you read the emails you missed while I go and take a cold shower?’

  ‘We have some cream somewhere for burns,’ she said vaguely, her eye running down the list of seven – no, eight – emails Dylan had sent her.

  ‘I’m fine, back in a minute.’

  She started with the oldest email, the response to her heartfelt letter written on Christmas Eve.

  My darling Sinéad, thank you for this letter. I’ve tried to help you through this awful time but I know that I got it wrong . . . a lot. I felt so frustrated and helpless and I suppose that didn’t help. I don’t think I said ‘pull yourself together’ at least I hope I didn’t, but it was so hard to watch you drinking and sleeping all of the time. I missed you when you moved into the shop but at the same time I thought it might be exactly what you needed. I didn’t realise until Max told me how bad things were, how low you were. I was so thrilled when Krystie arrived and you started working again, it was just like old times for a while. But then it was as if you didn’t even see me, let alone need me. It was childish of me leaving without talking to you, I’m sorry.

  If you want me to come home, Sinéad, say so and I will be on the first available flight.

  I love you,

  Dylan, xx

  The other emails were only a couple of lines long. The first were humorous: ‘So you don’t want me back . . .’ etc.

  Then an ultimatum. Unless she had any better suggestions he would spend the New Year and Hogmanay in the Highlands and, when she didn’t respond to that email, two short frosty notes advising her of his travel arrangements. She was wiping away her tears as he came back into the room in a bathrobe.

  ‘They weren’t supposed to make you cry,’ he joked.

  She stood up and buried her face in his neck. ‘I love you, Dylan. I’m so sorry that I shut you out. You were wonderful and kind and patient and I took it all for granted.’

  He pulled back, cupped her face and stared into her eyes. ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. It has been one hell of a difficult year.’

  She turned her mouth in to the palm of his hand and kissed it. ‘Even so, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.’

  ‘Enough. I’m just glad that we’re back on track. I’ve missed you so much, Sinéad.’ He kissed her.

  She groaned at the wonderful taste of his mouth on hers and pulled him closer, acutely aware of his body through her thin robe.

  ‘I want you,’ he said, his breathing ragged.

  ‘I want you too,’ she said.

  He pulled her towards the bedroom and started to drag off her pyjamas.

  She looked down at his boxers and then smiled at him, her eyes twinkling mischievously. ‘Do you need me to rub some cream into that scald?’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ he said and stretched out on the bed. ‘I think that’s exactly what I need.’

  Rory rattled off the dishes he’d prepared for this evening. ‘And if we run short of anything I can always nip back.’

  ‘Great.’ Krystie smiled. He and Ellen had sprung into action when Sinéad had told them about the wake and not only were they providing food for tonight but they’d insisted on coming along to serve it, too.

  ‘How’s she doing?’ Rory nodded towards the loo on the landing, where Sinéad was getting changed.

  ‘I think she’s okay, but it’s all come as a bit of a shock. Apparently, Bridie was fine on Christmas Day.’ Krystie went to the mirror to fix the collar of the charcoal jacket she wore over her black jeans and turtleneck. She added a blue scarf. ‘Do you know how to get to Kieran’s?’

  ‘Yeah, your beloved gave me the directions.’ Rory grinned at her.

  Krystie flushed. ‘Feck off.’

  He laughed. ‘I’m going! See you there.’

  Sinéad emerged from the bathroom. In the simple but beautifully tailored black dress and black silk flower holding her hair back over one ear, she looked pale and delicate.

  ‘That was Rory,’ Krystie told her. ‘He and Ellen are heading over to your dad’s now.’

  ‘I don’t know what I’d do without those two. They’re always there when I need them.’ She shivered. ‘I wish I didn’t have to go to this damn wake, or the funeral for that matter. It’s just a body. Bridie’s gone.’

  Krystie knew that Max had been just as surprised when Kieran announced that he wanted the remains brought to the house the evening before the burial.

  ‘I’m sure it won’t be too bad,’ she said, although she wasn’t that keen on the evening ahead, either, and she’d never even met Bridie. But she’d be there for Max and, indeed, Sinéad. ‘I remember going to my granddad’s wake. It freaked me out. At one stage there was a guy actually leaning his elbow on the coffin as he joked and drank. I was tempted to go over and punch him.’

  ‘You should have,’ Sinéad retorted.

  ‘Maybe.’ Krystie grinned. ‘I was only seven and about the right height to have done some real damage.’

  Sinéad laughed
and glanced at her watch. ‘Where is Max? He should be here by now.’

  ‘He’s probably looking for parking. You know what Blackrock’s like at rush hour.’

  ‘He’s taking this quite hard, Krystie. He barely remembers our mum and, although Bridie wasn’t the most maternal woman in the world, she was all he really had. He’s feeling guilty that he didn’t spend more time with her in the last few years. I’m so glad he has you to help him through this, and that I have Dylan too, for that matter.’

  Krystie looked up in surprise. Dylan had been the elephant in the room all over Christmas and any enquiries resulted in the same clipped response from Sinéad. His sister in Scotland was going through a tough time and he’d gone over to spend the holidays with her. But Krystie was convinced they’d had a row. ‘He’s home?’

  Sinéad’s face lit up. ‘Yeah, he got in last night.’

  ‘I’m so glad.’

  ‘Me too,’ Sinéad said with obvious feeling. Krystie eyed her curiously and she reddened and added, ‘I’m relieved he made it in time for the funeral.’

  Krystie heard Max’s distinctive tread on the stairs.

  ‘Hi.’ He smiled at Sinéad and then came to kiss Krystie. ‘Hello, you.’

  His voice was as breezy as ever and he smiled, but now, armed with new information, Krystie was more conscious of the pain in his eyes.

  He looked from her to Sinéad. ‘Ready?’

  ‘As I’ll ever be,’ Sinéad said.

  Krystie put her bag over her shoulder, slipped her hand into his and gave him a reassuring smile. ‘Ready.’

  She stayed close to him all evening and she knew he appreciated it in the way he took her hand or brushed her hair back from her face. When he walked her out to the taxi, he stopped at the gate and slung his arms loosely around her shoulders.

  ‘You’ve been great, Krystie,’ he said with such love in his eyes.

  ‘I did nothing,’ she protested.

  ‘You were here beside me and it helped.’

  ‘I wish I could do more.’

  He kissed her tenderly. ‘Not possible. Go get some sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.’

  She hugged him again, got into the taxi and blew him a kiss as it drove away.

  She sighed as the cab whisked her home. She ached for Max and wished she could do more to take the sadness from his eyes. She yawned and was glad he’d insisted she go home. It would be another long day tomorrow. Max had wanted her to go in the mourning coach with the family, but she had refused point blank, saying that it would be totally wrong. Reluctantly, he’d let the matter go once she promised to sit with him in the church. She didn’t feel comfortable doing that, either, but couldn’t refuse him, even if it meant tolerating the whispers of ‘Who’s yer one in the family pew?’

  Max had also wanted her with him for the day but Sinéad had soon put him straight.

  ‘We are snowed under with work and you want her to hang around a graveyard and stay for a lunch where she won’t even know anyone? Give her and me a break, Max.’

  And he had agreed and apologised, but Krystie knew he’d be happier if she was with him. It was a wonderful feeling to be needed and she was determined, while she was there, she wouldn’t let him down.

  She would wear her houndstooth coat for the service in the morning – she wasn’t family, so full black would be too much – but she’d team it with black knee-high boots, a black headscarf tied gypsy-style and plain, hoop earrings. It was a relief, really, that it would be for only an hour or so and then she could escape back to the studio. But she still felt as if she was deserting him. Sinéad was right. This was hitting him harder than he was letting on. She could tell by the set of his mouth and the tension in the way he held himself. On impulse she reached for her phone and sent him a text: ‘How are you doing?’

  Within seconds he phoned.

  ‘Why aren’t you asleep?’

  ‘I was worried about you. Are you okay?’

  ‘A little bit drunk, to be honest, and tired. It’s been one hell of a day.’

  ‘Tomorrow won’t be any easier, Max. Slip away, you need sleep.’

  ‘Not until Dad does. I can’t leave him. Sinéad bailed out an hour ago.’

  ‘Is Beth still there?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Then your dad will be just fine. Go home, Max. Get some rest.’

  ‘Thanks for today, Krystie.’

  ‘For what? I just stood round feeling useless.’

  ‘You were great,’ he assured her. ‘Go to sleep, Krystie. See you in the morning.’

  ‘Goodnight.’ She turned off her phone and snuggled under the covers.

  Sinéad had felt exhausted when she got home but, despite going straight to bed with Dylan, she couldn’t sleep. This evening hadn’t been as tough as she’d expected it to be and it was certainly easier when Dylan arrived and remained by her side throughout. She looked over at him sleeping so peacefully next to her, and smiled. It was so good to have him home and to feel so incredibly close. She had told him all about that night in Philip’s house when she was convinced there was a woman in the house and that he didn’t want to find Sheila at all. Dylan had listened and promised her that, no matter what Philip did or didn’t do, he would help her to find Sheila. He had also made a point of keeping Philip away from her this evening, although her brother-in-law didn’t seem that anxious to be near her, either.

  She had found the wake a surreal experience. Chatting, drinking and even laughing had seemed wrong, given that her aunt was laid out in the next room. But the number of people who’d turned up to pay their respects and exchange anecdotes about Bridie, had been heartening. There were distant relatives, parishioners, neighbours and women from her ladies’ club who told stories of fun and high jinks that she would never have associated with her sensible aunt.

  She’d spent a long time chatting with two women who had gone to school with Bridie and had known her mum, too. It was wonderful to hear anyone talk about her mother and what she was like as a girl growing up.

  ‘Maggie was the life and soul of the place but Bridie was much quieter and the smartest in the class,’ Maureen said.

  ‘She wanted to be a teacher,’ Ann added. ‘I never understood why she took off for America without at least finishing school.’

  Sinéad had been astonished at that little nugget of information. She knew that Bridie had only come back to live in Ireland after her father died but she hadn’t known that she had gone to America at such a young age. ‘How did that come about?’ she’d asked the women.

  Ann looked at Maureen, who answered. ‘She went over to visit some relation and she never came back.’

  ‘But how come my mother didn’t go?’ Sinéad asked.

  ‘I don’t think Bridie got on too well with your grandfather,’ Ann explained looking a little embarrassed.

  Sinéad was surprised at that. The little she remembered of her grandfather, he seemed a kind and friendly man. ‘I can’t believe that I never heard this story before.’

  ‘We were all very jealous of her at the time,’ Maureen remembered, smiling. ‘It seemed such a glamorous and adventurous thing to do.’

  ‘I wonder why she decided to come back to Ireland,’ Ann mused.

  ‘You’re going to have to wonder. It looks like Bridie’s taking her secrets to the grave.’ Maureen raised her glass. ‘Good luck to her.’

  Realising that there was no way she was going to sleep yet, Sinéad crept out of bed so as not to disturb Dylan and went into the kitchen. She made some coffee and settled down on the sofa with Bridie’s diary. She was surprised at how little she knew about her aunt, and it had been a revelation spending time with people who knew her when she was young. It had helped meeting her current friends, too, and to confirm that, until the dementia had taken hold, Bridie had been living an active and seemingly happy life. But why she had left Ireland or, indeed, returned was a mystery.

  Leafing through the notebook made her smile. Bridie, as organ
ised as ever, had it split into different sections. One page was devoted to family birthdays, another to their vaccinations and general health information. Another section had snippets about programmes or books that either she wanted to read or planned to use or recommend. She had another part devoted to basic, domestic matters and detailing policy numbers and bank accounts. Sinéad made a mental note to take a copy of this and pass it on to Max. It might be useful, as he was executor of her will.

  She flicked on, stopping in surprise when she came across pages of poetry. She’d never have had Bridie down as a poet and it was sad, poignant verse too, all dedicated to K. Who was K? she wondered. A lover, she assumed. Someone Bridie had known in America? Was K the reason she had come home? Did he break her heart?

  She stared at her aunt’s neat, careful handwriting and traced her finger around the letter K . . . She stopped. Kieran? Dad? No, of course not! She laughed at her own foolishness. She flicked back to the birthdays and, yes, there was an entry for K but no, it wasn’t the same date as Dad’s birthday. Relief flooded her. The thought of Bridie and her dad being involved would be just too much to handle.

  She yawned, closed the book and went back to bed wondering about K. Perhaps Ann or Maureen would know who he was. He might even turn up at the funeral in the morning and the mystery would be solved.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Kieran polished his shoes and then scrubbed his hands clean before going to dress in the black suit, white shirt and the new black tie Beth had rushed off to buy him. As he dressed he remembered going through the same sad process when Maggie had died. He’d drifted through that day in a haze. Today was different. He was glad that Bridie had died quickly and without pain. They hadn’t always seen eye to eye, and she had been a tough woman, but she’d had a hard and lonely life and yet, despite her own problems, she’d devoted her years to looking after other people.