by Forbes, Sara
For a moment there, I actually thought that he was more enlightened than the rest of his clan. That he could see beyond the past and forge a way into the future. But no. Scratch below the surface and he’s just as hung up as the rest of them. He wants to prevent Lorcan from seeing Danny.
Just as well. Otherwise I might have been in danger of liking him.
That tender moment at the wedding? A mere blip, a moment of weakness. Yes, it was nice to feel a man’s touch again. But it was a fake truce. He was stuck for someone to talk to. I was there. I was the one that went over to him. I practically threw myself at him. I blame it on heightened wedding emotions. And he’d probably had too much champagne.
Like they said in Pulp Fiction, it was just a foot massage. It means nothing.
God, if it wasn’t for Danny, I’d get out of Ballytirrel. I don’t care if my family have been here for eight generations. Our family’s name is worth less than shit around here. If I had any sense, I’d sell up the house and move to somewhere that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg to keep going. I’m the one who’s clinging on sentimentally to the past.
And as for Seamus himself— he secretly hates me for my role in the killing of his brother. If I hadn’t been having an affair with Owen, Danny wouldn’t have lost his temper and pushed him, and he wouldn’t have fallen and smashed his skull on that rusty iron bar lying in Ginnity’s field. And I wouldn’t have been pregnant with Owen’s baby. If if if.
Seamus puts on a good show, but that’s what he really feels. I don’t deserve to be in that family.
*
When I get home, I find Deidre at the kitchen table, her books spread out all over it. This is her favorite place to study. She’s twenty-four and in fifth year of medical college. She would have been the apple of my father’s eye had he survived to see it. Of course, that’s precisely why she’s pushing herself so hard, always top of the class. That’s her battle though. Not mine.
“Deirdre, can you pick up Lorcan from the Callaghan’s today?”
She looks up. “Me? Why?”
“Don’t ask, just do it, please?”
She studies my face. “Did someone say something?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Can you do it or not?”
“Yeah, sure. I can.”
“I want to leave this place,” I pull on my gardening gloves and take down the shears from their hook.
She doesn’t look up from her medical texts. “Ryanair have cheap flights to Crete at the moment. That might be an option.” She flicks over a page of the highly illustrated anatomy manual.
“I mean for good.”
Deirdre’s wide eyes meet mine. “What? Serious? But you can’t be. The house… Lorcan, your horticulture business…everything!“
“I’d take Lorcan with me, you idiot. You’re in Dublin most of the time. What do you care?”
She gazes around forlornly. The kitchen is crammed with reminders of our lives here—from Mother’s favorite delicate blue china set—which we never touch—to father’s creepy deer heads above the doorways. We haven’t repainted or redecorated since our parents died. Partly because we couldn’t afford it, but partly because we felt we’d be erasing their memory if we did. Which is ironic, considering I now want to hand over the place to a complete stranger.
Her hand is pressed to her forehead. “But then I can’t come back here at the weekends.”
“You can buy out my half if you like.”
“Cliona.” She throws me an exasperated look. “You know I can’t do that, But why? This is our home. Ballytirrel is our home. We were born here. Lorcan was born here.”
“And I don’t want to die here. I don’t even want to live here anymore.”
“Is it because Danny got married?” she asks gently.
“No. Of course not.”
“Your business was just getting profitable, I thought? You’ve got Danny nearby, he does so much for Lorcan, you’ve got Ellen, you’ve got Lannigan’s shop, you’ve got—”
“Stop right there. Just because you fancy Sean Lannigan, it’s hardly a plus point for me.”
“I do not fancy Sean Lannigan.” Her cheeks flush pink.
“No?” I chuckle. “Fine. You don’t then.”
She huffs and flicks a page far too quickly to have read it. “The Callaghans will stop you. They won’t let you take Lorcan away.”
My chest grows warm. “Yeah? Let them try. I’m his mother. I can do what I want.”
“But you know what they’re like.”
“Yes. And now they’re going to find out what I’m like.”
“But where would you go and what would you do? No!” Her hand flies to her mouth. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of emigrating?”
I laugh, picturing that for a moment, picturing telling the Callaghans that they’d have to fly overseas if they want to see Lorcan. “Tempting, but no. I’d stay in Ireland, of course. In Cork.”
“God, Cliona. I don’t know what to say. Mum and Dad would have hated this idea.”
“Well they’re dead, so it doesn’t matter, does it? If we sold up, you’d get your chunk of the proceeds and I’d get mine. You could buy a swanky apartment in Dublin and all your troubles would be solved. Lorcan and I would come visit you every weekend.”
She comes toward me with pleading eyes. “You’re putting me into a situation where I’d have to borrow a heap buy your half now if I wanted to keep the house. This isn’t fair, Cliona. I’m a student. They don’t hand out mortgages to students, even students with titles. Just…give it some more thought. Please? Another few months? What’s the big rush?”
“Where do I start?” I walk around her table in a wide circle. “Every cent of profit I make goes straight back into the house for repairs. I haven’t been able to scale the business fast enough. Your trust fund is going to run out soon enough, too. Why are you so hung up on this place?”
“Why aren’t you?” she fires back. “There are centuries of family history here.”
“History I’d rather forget,” I mutter. “Aristocracy is dead, hadn’t you heard?”
She shakes her head and frowns at me. But I don’t have to justify myself to my baby sister. I’m the one who’s been keeping this place afloat since Mum and Dad died. I’m the hustling horticulturist. Luckily, I’m good at bringing in money. I have all the high society contacts and I’ve made some beautiful gardens for them—often sleepy old couples who can be sweet-talked into handing over bundles of cash to someone who promises to make their gardens pretty again. And I do a good job of it, even if I say so myself. But cash flow can be tricky at times, especially with this monstrosity of a house draining the resources at all times.
“Cliona, look…” Deirdre waves her hand to the view out the window. Of course, at this moment the sun chooses to come out and shine over the undulating lawn that I put weeks of my life into. Also, my orchard, my grotto, my dianthus, columbine, lavender, delphinum, and bee balm plants.
I sink into the nearby chair. I swivel back and forth on my leather chair. Father’s old chair. He used to sit here smoking his pipe, recounting the history of the Great Stephenson family, from the Fourth Earl of Kilgarry right down to his father George, the second-last bearer of the title. I loved hearing these stories as a child. I’m just glad he’s not here to see us scraping by, unable to pay for repairs, barely able to keep the place heated with all but the most essential rooms boarded up.
Deirdre just needs time to acclimatize to the idea. Of course, she’d prefer if everything stayed the same, but she doesn’t have to live here. She doesn’t have to endure the Callaghans and the whole community calling her a slut, or a killer, behind her back. She’s the delightful medicine student with so much potential who’s never put a foot wrong—at least not in the local community—and that’s all that counts.
4
CLIONA
When I go over to the manor, we have a light supper of mixed salads and cold slices of roast duck washed down with one of the Pi
not Grigios from Danny’s wine cellar.
As we retreat to the drawing room, Danny is watching me with that particular glint in his blue eyes that means he’s contemplating how exactly to phrase something.
I discreetly take Shannon aside to ask her about it. “What’s with him?”
She looks abashed, which doesn’t happen often. “He’ll just have to say it himself.”
We gather and sit to listen to Lorcan playing a tune on the piano—he’s finishing up his first year of piano lessons. Then when Lorcan leaves the room to go help feed the horses, I rise from my place on the sofa and head toward Danny who’s seated at the piano tidying up the music sheets.
“So, what’s up?” I demand, planting myself in front of him.
He glances at Shannon who comes over and they clutch hands as they both stare at me.
“You’re scaring me,” I say, looking from one serious face to the other.
Shannon laughs. “Don’t worry, Cliona, it’s nothing bad.”
“No?” I swing my gaze to Danny.
“We’re going on honeymoon,” he says.
“To New Zealand,” Shannon adds.
“But that’s great,” I enthuse.
“Is it?” Danny asks.
I blink at him. “Oh, you mean Lorcan. No, don’t worry, that’ll be okay. I’ll just explain to him that you’re gone and he can’t come over here.”
“For a month,” he says grimly. “We’re gone for a month.”
I cast my gaze down for a moment. That is a problem. Football training. Piano lessons. Horse riding. Last-minute play dates when I need someone to cover for me. But it’s their life. Why shouldn’t newly-weds be able to do what they like? Lorcan isn’t even related to either of them. It would be selfish to tell them what a problem this generates for me.
“It’ll be fine,” I say and hike up my smile. “There are plenty of babysitters in the village just gasping to make some extra cash.”
“Are you sure?” Shannon wrings her hands while Danny stares on grimly. This will be the longest he hasn’t seen Lorcan in…years.
“Yes, of course,” I say. “It’ll take a little adjustment, that’s all.”
“But your business,” Danny insists. “Everything.”
“Danny, I said it will be fine. So, New Zealand, huh? That’s going to be fantastic. Have you always wanted to go there?” I direct the question at Shannon as I know Danny has. He’s mentioned it a few times over the years.
As Shannon talks about their upcoming trip, I grow more and more convinced that it’s marvelous that Danny gets to finally do something he really wants. Even though he’s stinking rich, his life is so disciplined he never just relaxes and enjoy life’s experiences. That’s why Shannon is so good for him—she forces him to let go and enjoy himself.
Me, I’ve just been tying him down and it was wrong of me to let him assume so much responsibility of Lorcan, even if he insisted on it and loves the boy so much. I see now that I was being selfish.
I leave the manor soon afterward, still with the taste of guilt in my mouth. I’m going to prove to them that they’re free to come and go as they please and they’re not tied down by Lorcan or any of my concerns. This needed to be done anyway and their honeymoon is simply the catalyst in making it happen. They can go on a trip every month if they like. My lifestyle shouldn’t be cramping theirs.
It really feels like the end of an era. But it was a tragic era mainly so I can’t say I’m sad to move on. I just need to focus on the practicalities, like finding someone I can leave Lorcan with when I have to visit clients in other counties twice or thrice a week.
And someone to bring him to football on Wednesday mornings.
And someone who’ll make him practice his music even when he doesn’t want to.
And help him with his horse-riding.
Oh crap. It’s going to be a long month.
I come home, and when Lorcan’s in bed, I work it with a pen and notepad. Lorcan’s activities are going to be culled. No piano practice—he’ll be glad of that. No horse riding either.
The football’s a real issue. I don’t want him to miss out and get dropped off the team and the coach is draconian about attendance. So, I’m going to do the unthinkable and ask one of his uncles to do it. Because my pride is not as important as Lorcan’s development.
*
The next day it’s the time to bring Lorcan over to the Callaghans. I’m gritting my teeth hard. Today I’m going to have to actually go in there and talk to them. Ugh.
I don’t know which I dread the most—the cold dismissal of Seamus Senior or the mocking looks from Seamus Junior, biggest flirt on the planet.
It’s a crisp, cool day, so I suppose they’ll let Lorcan go out the back to play with the pet rabbits and dogs that they keep for the guests’ amusement. They don’t let him stay skulking with video games and for that I’m thankful.
I walk into the hotel reception area, head held high.
Seamus Junior is manning the desk, talking to a petite, dark-haired girl whom I recognize as one of the wedding guests—a friend of Shannon’s. She’s nodding at something he’s saying, blushing as women tend to do when he’s talking to them.
Mid-sentence, he stops talking and looks up. When he sees me, he freezes for a brief moment. Then he nods at me and returns his attention to the woman.
I’m getting hot, rehashing the memory of his hands on my feet. How good that felt. How it felt like…something more, even though it wasn’t. I feel a blush tingling on my cheeks. It’s unfair that I can still blush at my age. I direct my gaze out the window.
The young woman walks out the door, passing me as she does. She nods at me with that vague look of remembering me but not being sure from where. Granted, in my jeans and cardigan, I look a lot different, as does she. She’s more punk rock than I would ever have guessed from her pale blue chiffon dress at the wedding.
I spin around. Seamus Callaghan is staring at me with eyes that, if I’m not mistaken, are undressing me.
“Seamus,” I say pleasantly. “How’re things?”
“Right now?” He grins. “I’d say pretty good.” He nods at the door. “Did you see her? She was Shannon’s bridesmaid in a different disguise.”
“Yes.” I slowly approach his desk. “Barely recognizable.”
He’s standing, leaning on hands planted either side of him. “Did you see her owl tattoo? On her forearm?”
“Uh, yeah. Vaguely.”
“Same as Niall’s.”
“What?”
“Her tattoo…same as Niall’s. Can you believe it? Except his is a disaster, of course.”
“I uh, didn’t notice.”
“See, that’s all the evidence I need that it’s a match made in heaven.”
I chuckle. “Is that all it takes? Maybe I should get a tattoo.”
“Let me know if you do.” He sits back down, stretches his arms, flexing his broad shoulders in a way that’s altogether too sexy. Stuck behind that desk, he reminds me of a majestic lion trapped in a cage in a zoo. His gaze lingers on me, smoldering.
“Well.” I cast my gaze around. “Niall’s enjoying college then?”
“He says he’s getting on okay anyway.”
“And business here is...good?”
“Improving every day. We’re going to rig up a barbecue outside, might be a good summer.”
I laugh. “That’s the Californian optimism in you.”
He’s smiling back—warmly now, like the sun he’s hoping for. “The way I see it, it’s another feature to stick on the website. I’ll drag this up to a five star if it’s the last thing I do.”
“You’ll do it. Nothing will stop you.”
“Well, the lack of a swimming pool might.” He huffs out a breath. “Isn’t the lake good enough for them?”
“You’re the only crazy person who goes cold water swimming, Seamus.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “You know about that, do you? Have you been watching me?”
“Ah.”
“It’s good to follow your dreams,” I say.
His gaze is hot, and still directed on my face. “Yes, I plan on fulfilling all my dreams. But some are harder than others.” He looks away, busying himself with something that’s flashing on the desk in front of him.
I stroll around the tastefully arranged seating area in teals and pinks at the window, not trusting myself with a comeback. I really need to get to the point of this conversation. And fast.
I regard his bent head profile for a few moments. In Seamus Callaghan, I see traces of the father—the dominant chief, puffed up with all his pretentions of ruling over an ancient Irish clan, a family that goes back to the era of the High Kings, and maybe it’s all true. But I also see a more modest, hardworking businessman who’s looking for the brighter side of life.
“Seamus,” I say.
He looks up. “Mm?”
“Danny’s going on honeymoon, to New Zealand. They’re going for a month.”
His green eyes scan my face, rapidly calculating. He makes no comment.
“I-I hate to ask. I know you’re busy—”
“Don’t say that. Ask away.”
“Well, the thing is, I’m going to need someone to take Lorcan to football while he’s away and I thought…well maybe Niall or Enda would be free on a Wednesday morning? It’s awfully early, and—”
“I’ll take him myself.”
“Are you sure? I thought you were busy.”
“Not so busy I can’t take time for my nephew.”
“Oh.”
A frown crosses his face. “Danny did this, did he? Every Wednesday? At six-thirty?”
“Uh, yeah, and many Saturdays, too.”
A strange expression comes over his face. “Hm.”
“I’m really sorry to bother you with this, but it’s just for a month and I literally had no other option.” I wince. “OK, that kind of came out wrong.”
