First We Take Manhattan

by Colette Caddle

  ‘Please tell me what to do,’ she whispered.

  ‘Do what makes you happy.’

  She looked up at him. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’ll wait for you whatever happens,’ he said, and kissed her, and she felt the tension leave her body. With that promise she knew she could face anything.

  She wandered home, deciding it was time to ignore one piece of advice that Zach had given her. She wasn’t going to give Karl any more space. He’d had enough time. This just wasn’t healthy. She would make him talk to her and then . . . Well, she hadn’t thought any further than that. She just knew that this silence wasn’t helping either of them.

  When she let herself in she was surprised to find the alarm off. ‘Karl?’

  ‘In here,’ he called from the bedroom.

  She went in, tugging off her hat and scarf as she went and stopped short when she saw that he was sitting up in bed working on his laptop. ‘What’s going on? Are you sick?’

  He opened his mouth to reply but had to turn his head to sneeze.

  ‘That answers that. Poor you.’ She sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Can I get you something?’

  He reached for a tissue and blew his nose. ‘I don’t suppose you have some chicken soup in your purse, do ya?’

  ‘No but I can nip down to the deli and get you some.’ He smiled and she realised that it was the first time in days.

  ‘You’re very kind.’

  ‘I’ll stop by the pharmacy and pick up some cold remedy. In the meantime, forget about work, and rest.’

  ‘I’m not working.’ He spun the laptop to face her and she saw that he had the Irish airline, Aer Lingus, website open.

  She stared at it and then looked back at him. ‘What are you doing?’

  He shrugged. ‘I think it’s time I paid a visit.’

  She clambered up beside him and took his hand. ‘I don’t understand. You could have gone home for the funeral, Karl. Why go now?’

  He coughed. ‘You’ll get my cold.’

  ‘Karl, tell me!’

  He opened the file beside him on the bed and took out a letter. ‘This came in the mail today.’

  She took it from him and read it. ‘Oh, my God.’

  He laughed, though there were tears in his eyes. ‘I know. Crazy, isn’t it? For whatever reason, she didn’t want me in her life, and I came to accept it. And now this.’

  Sheila put her hand over his. ‘At least she didn’t forget you.’

  ‘Too little, too late,’ he said, his voice hard. ‘And she still didn’t tell me who my father is. She left that little nugget out. But I’m going to Dublin and I’m going to find him.’ He looked up at her. ‘Come with me, Sheila.’

  ‘Oh, Karl . . .’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like some answers, Sheila?’

  She stood up and began to pace, wringing her hands, shaking her head. ‘You were the one who said I never had to go back.’

  ‘Perhaps I was wrong. Maybe you need to go back in order to go forward.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t know, Sheila, but I know it would be easier if you were by my side.’

  ‘Karl, that’s not fair,’ she wailed.

  ‘I know it’s not. But please come anyway.’

  She stood looking at him, at a loss what to say or do. ‘I’ll go and get that soup.’

  How could she go back? She tugged her hat on as she stepped out of the lift and headed for the door. She had been full of anger when she left Ireland, but that was largely gone now. She felt nothing but contempt and disgust for her father, but she felt bad now about what she had done to her sister and brother and a little guilty that she hadn’t been there in the end for Bridie, although she knew the woman wouldn’t have known one way or the other. She felt an urge to talk to Zach again but decided against it. He was right, she had to make this decision.

  When she arrived back from the store Karl was full of remorse.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m being selfish. It’s so hard to believe that this is actually happening. I feel excited and sad and nervous and,’ he sighed, ‘emotional.’

  She bent to hug him. ‘I’m going to work. Eat your soup and I’ll check in on you later.’

  She grabbed an apple and a bottle of water, changed into her overalls and went into the studio. Although it was freezing outside, it was a bright and sunny day and the room was flooded with light. Looking at the canvases that lined the walls, she smiled. They weren’t all the stunning works of art that Karl made them out to be, but they were pretty good and she felt proud of them. Some of them brought tears to her eyes as the colours and content were like a diary of her frame of mind since she’d got here; a psychiatrist would have a field day. She had told Zach about them and he had been delighted saying that it was probably more effective than any therapy. He seemed a little hurt that she wouldn’t let him see them, but she didn’t feel ready and he accepted that, the way he accepted everything. She put some Sinatra on low and hummed along as she prepared her brushes and paints. As she did so, she glanced at the canvas. It was the most colourful piece she’d done yet. She had snapped some photos in Central Park on one of her early-morning walks with Zach and this had been one of the best. It was a shot of a homeless woman sharing her sandwich with her little dog. They were on a bench by the water and the light was spectacular, but it was the laughter in the woman’s eyes as the dog licked her face that had captured Sheila’s heart, and she felt compelled to paint it. She had done the sky and trees and now she would concentrate on the pond. She studied the print of the photo she’d taped to the noticeboard and marvelled at the many colours in the water alone. How had she been content to make bloody hats for so long? They were so constraining. Where possible, she had worked with feathers and beads, but she couldn’t get excited about the shapes and materials in the way Sinéad did. But at moments like this she could understand Sinéad’s total absorption and why her sister was always at her most serene when she was working.

  The thoughts of her twin brought her predicament back to mind. Could she really go back to Ireland and face them all? Would it help or make things worse? She really wasn’t sure. Max would at least listen but she wasn’t so sure about her sister. She shivered at the thought of a confrontation with Sinéad. They’d had minor squabbles in the past but they’d never fallen out over anything, not like this. What would she do in her twin’s shoes? It would be hard but she couldn’t imagine herself turning her back on Sinéad once she’d heard the full story. How she wished she could turn the clock back. She should have confronted her sister before she left instead of just disappearing.

  It really wasn’t like her to do something so cruel and dramatic. She figured she must have been slightly unbalanced when she came up with the idea of leaving the car by the pier. She felt embarrassed and ashamed, although there was still some small satisfaction in the fact that she had hurt her father; he deserved it.

  She worked blues, greens and greys into the canvas with a palette knife to create the reflection of the sky and trees as her mind continued to wander. Quite apart from the reaction of the family if she went back, there would be a public reaction, and it wouldn’t be nice. My God, she could even be charged with wasting police time. They might want her to pay for the cost of the search. She doubted Karl had considered that. She paused, wiped her hands on a cloth and took a drink of water. She walked to the window and stared out across the rooftops. She hadn’t given any thought at all to the emergency services and friends and neighbours who had spent days searching for her. She had been so upset she hadn’t considered the ripple effect of her actions on innocent people. She thought back on the euphoria of those early weeks in New York and was overcome with guilt and shame at her selfishness.

  She returned to her canvas and worked at a frenetic pace, pausing only to dash tears away on her sleeve. Her mind was as active as her hands. She couldn’t make the same mistakes again. She couldn’t just sweep back into Dublin without carefully thinking how her reappearance would affect Sinéad and Max. Philip’s
feelings, his position and, indeed, his political career needed careful consideration, too. She paused, suddenly overwhelmed. It would be so much easier to ignore everything that was going on in Dublin but she knew that it was only a matter of time now before there was a knock at the door, especially once Karl visited Dublin. She could run but she didn’t want to leave Manhattan. And, if she was honest with herself, she didn’t want to leave Zach.

  Chapter Thirty

  Max was about to go into a meeting when he got a call on the mobile. When he looked at the display he realised it was the solicitor who was handling Bridie’s estate. ‘Hello, Max Fields.’

  ‘Mr Fields. Pat Brennan of Doyle and Brennan.’

  ‘Good morning.’

  ‘I realise that you’re a busy man but we really need to deal with your aunt’s estate. She was very specific about how she wanted the matter handled, as I told Mr Healy. He did say that you would be in touch as soon as possible.’

  Max frowned. Philip hadn’t said that there was any urgency in sorting out Bridie’s estate. On the contrary, he had said that Brennan had told him it was all quite straightforward and Max could drop in after the dust had settled and they would soon have it sorted out.

  ‘I’m very sorry, Mr Brennan, I had no idea. There was obviously a breakdown in communications.’ He checked his diary. ‘I could drop by any time before eleven in the morning; does that suit at all?’

  ‘Eight thirty in the morning, Mr Fields? Sorry to hurry you on this, only it is a rather complicated and sensitive matter.’

  Max digested this in silence. What could be sensitive or complicated about Bridie’s small estate? ‘I’ll be there, Mr Brennan and, again, my apologies for the confusion.’

  He put down the phone and thought about calling Philip but decided against it. For some reason his brother-in-law had deliberately withheld information from him. Why? What possible reason could he have for doing that? How would Bridie’s estate impinge on him in any way? He remembered Philip recommending some investments to her at some stage but Max couldn’t imagine him trying to cheat the woman, yet it seemed as if Philip had deliberately tried to delay him from finding out the contents of his aunt’s will, and he was eager to know why.

  He went through the rest of the day distracted. He was going to contact Sinéad and his dad and let them know that he was seeing the solicitor, but what was the point? Better to wait until he knew exactly what Bridie’s will contained. He imagined from Brennan’s call there was something in it that would surprise them, but he doubted it. A large part of the proceeds from her house had gone into paying for the nursing home. She’d insisted on that arrangement as soon as she was diagnosed although she hadn’t expected to go downhill so quickly. As for savings, she couldn’t have had that much put by. He smiled. Perhaps she’d left it to an animal-rescue centre. Good for her. It wouldn’t bother him and he knew that Sinéad wouldn’t mind either.

  Max was ten minutes early arriving at the solicitor’s office the next morning, but Brennan came out to greet him immediately and ushered him into a meeting room and offered his condolences.

  ‘Your aunt was an impressive woman.’ The solicitor pulled a file towards him but, rather than opening it, he linked his hands on the cover and paused as if trying to choose his words carefully. All of Max’s instincts told him there was something wrong, but he waited patiently for the man to gather his thoughts.

  ‘You probably have some expectation as to your aunt’s beneficiaries,’ Brennan said finally.

  ‘Don’t worry. I don’t expect any shocks. My aunt discussed everything with me.’

  ‘No, Mr Fields, she didn’t. She wanted the contents of the will to remain confidential until after her death. She was very keen that you handle matters, but she didn’t want to discuss her wishes with you.’

  ‘So what was so shocking that she didn’t want us to find out? Did she leave everything to the ladies’ club?’ Max joked, though he was rattled. What had been so important or sensitive that Bridie didn’t want them to know? Immediately he had a flashback to the funeral and the discoveries Sinéad had made about their aunt and her opinion that Bridie’s return must have been because of a man.

  Brennan looked at him. ‘No. Her entire estate has been left to her son.’

  ‘Bridie has a son?’ Max gave an incredulous laugh.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who is he? Where is he? Why wasn’t he here when she needed someone to take care of her?’

  ‘She gave him up for adoption and has never met him.’

  Max sat in silence, speechless for a moment. ‘Do you know who he is? Where he is?’

  ‘Yes. I have written to him but haven’t received a reply yet.’

  Max sat in stunned silence as he tried to get his head around this. He supposed he should have guessed, given Bridie’s sudden departure to the US. ‘Will we get to meet him?’

  ‘That will be up to him – and to you, of course. If he makes contact, would you like me to pass on your number?’

  ‘Yes, I’d appreciate that, thank you.’

  ‘Your aunt left a letter for you to explain although I don’t know the exact contents. She wanted you to read it before you left the office. Perhaps she thought you may have questions.’ Brennan produced an envelope and handed it to him. ‘I shall leave you alone to read it. Would you like anything? Coffee?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘I will be in the next room if you want me.’

  Max stared at his name on the envelope written in Bridie’s careful script and with a sigh tore it open.

  Dear Max,

  I have just been diagnosed with dementia and, as you know, I’ve been putting my house in order. There are some matters that I feel the family should know about and I wanted to write them down now before my mind gets more confused. Why have I not just told you all? Because I felt entitled to my privacy. I will give you the simple facts and leave it to you to decide, based on the circumstances after my death, what should be passed on to the rest of the family and what is best left unsaid.

  Mr Brennan will have told you that you have a cousin. I gave birth to my son in Boston just after my sixteenth birthday. I was raped on my way home from the library. I told no one at the time but I soon realised that I was pregnant and so was forced to tell my parents. To save embarrassment they sent me to live with my uncle and aunt in Boston and the child was given up for adoption.

  Bridie was raped? Max stopped reading, stunned at this horrible revelation delivered in such clinical language. How difficult it must have been for Bridie to write this. Was it any wonder the woman had turned into such a cold and hard creature? Was it any wonder she’d remained single? He picked up the letter again.

  Please ensure my son gets his birthright, Max. He has tried many times to make contact but I refused to allow the authorities to divulge my name. I couldn’t face meeting the result of the crime against me. But he did nothing to deserve that and this is the only way I can atone. I’m sorry if you or the twins are disappointed but you are a clever family and don’t need my meagre savings.

  I liked Boston, I felt safe there. I suppose I always feared meeting my attacker again and so I begged my parents to let me stay. They agreed of course. There was less chance of my secret being leaked when I was out of the country and they wouldn’t have to deal with the shame and embarrassment. Your mother knew of course but she would never have told anyone. Had she survived me I could have relied on her to look after my son and no one would have been any the wiser.

  It was much more expensive to travel in those days and so the first time I returned to Ireland was for my father’s funeral.

  I moved back for good because of your poor mother, she needed me. I’m sorry to tell you, Max, but your father was not a good husband. He had many women and he didn’t hide the fact. She loved him very much and it broke her heart but she put up with it. The news that one of his girlfriends was expecting his child finally tipped her over the edge. I’m sorry to be the one to tell y
ou, Max, but your mother’s death was not an accident. She walked into the sea that night because she couldn’t go on. She left a suicide note but I hid it. I thought it was best for everyone if it looked like an accident.

  Again, Max stopped, shocked. His mother had taken her own life? They had always been assured it had been a tragic accident. And she’d done it because of Dad? Feeling his world had been turned on its axis, he had to force himself to read on.

  I can’t help blaming myself for her death. I should have realised how troubled she was. The only way I could make it up to her was by moving in and looking after her children.

  I knew I was no replacement for your mother – I was practically a stranger – but I wasn’t convinced your father would look after you properly. I was afraid he would go out with his women and leave you alone at night or, worse, bring them to the house.

  Forgive me for burdening you with all of this, Max, but I couldn’t go to meet my maker without setting the record straight.

  I wish you a long and happy life.

  Your loving aunt,

  Bridie.

  Jesus! Max felt sick. He sat staring blindly at the letter for so long that finally Brennan knocked tentatively on the door and asked if he was okay.

  ‘Fine.’ Max gave a tight smile and listened as the solicitor told him how things would proceed, but he left at the first opportunity and drove aimlessly as he tried to process all this new information.

  He found himself walking Sandymount beach, heedless of the wet sand seeping into his Italian leather shoes. He was stunned and saddened that Bridie had been raped but what upset him more was learning that his mother had committed suicide and she had done so because of Dad. He didn’t know how he was going to face the man now that he knew the truth. He groaned as he remembered that he would have to, and this very evening. To celebrate his engagement to Beth, Kieran had arranged a family dinner in a local restaurant. Max felt sick at the thought and wondered, was there any way he could get out of it, but it would be unfair to Beth. He walked on and tried to think rationally. Whatever Bridie’s concerns about Dad, he hadn’t flaunted women in front of them. It was true he had left much of their care to Bridie, but from what the girls had told him he had done the same with their mother. He just wasn’t the hands-on sort of dad. But to mess around with other women and make no attempt to hide it from his mother, that was callous. And what of the baby? Was there a half-brother or -sister somewhere? Did his father keep in touch?