by Sara Forbes
“They do indeed.” Niall pulls out a plethora of brochures and slaps them on the desk for Brett.
As Brett sifts through them, Niall shoots me a glance and frowns as if to say “WTF?” to which I reply with a faint shrug. Niall then reverts to officious politeness, going over the details of a steakhouse in Limerick that Brett absolutely must try.
Brett is pleased with this interaction and praises the Callaghans as we traipse towards the bar & lounge entrance. “I can hardly tell the boys apart—there’s like, three of them, and they’re the spitting image of the father. No idea which one that was.”
“Niall, second eldest,” I say.
“Why couldn’t there be a sister?” he moans.
“Are you into blondes now?”
“I’ve always been into blondes, but I made an exception for you.” He pats my butt.
“How generous,” I say.
The Callaghan father is behind the bar polishing wine glasses. There are only two other patrons in the bar. We take a seat where I have a view over the reception area while Brett examines the selection of whiskeys behind the bar.
This place is ultra clean, not a thing out of place. Tasteful music is purring out of the overhead speakers, not too loud to intrude. I find myself relaxing, just a tad.
“Why Rose ever thought it was a good idea to send you over to her sister’s is beyond me. Don’t worry, we’ll get you home and you’ll be safe,” he says.
“It was my decision to come here,” I say.
I shut my eyes. Safe. I don’t feel safe with Brett. I never have. I’m treading on eggshells now with him, afraid of how much more overbearing he can become if he doesn’t get his own way on this.
“You’re very quiet,” Brett says.
“A lot has happened,” I mutter.
“Sure thing.” He shoots me a look. “But life will soon be back to normal.”
That’s what I’m afraid of.
“Brett, I appreciate you coming to get me and everything,” I say, keeping my tone light and friendly. “But I was doing okay here, you know?”
“You didn’t give us a chance to really discuss it,” he insists. “You ran off.”
I squeeze my arms across my abdomen. “Yes, after you destroyed Marci’s car.”
He shakes his head. “No, no, no, I didn’t do that.”
“What…?”
“Your mother accused me of the same thing, but I didn’t do that. Shannon I can prove it to you.”
“But..?”
The confusion comes again, blocking my thoughts, freezing my words.
“Look, I broke into our old apartment, sure, but vandalism? Come on. You insult me. That’s not my style.”
“Oh…OK.”
“So, that’s why you came over here?” His voice softens in wonder.
I’m still reeling with the news that Marci’s car wasn’t him. Guilt creeps in. I jumped to conclusions too quickly. Maybe because I was looking for a reason to go.
“I wanted to see Nuala,” I say, but my voice is thin, unconvincing.
He sighs heavily. “Well, you’ve seen her. And now, it’s time to go home, Shannon.”
“But I can make that decision for myself, Brett, and do it in my own time.”
“You’ve got what? two weeks left anyway on that visa?”
“Three.”
“Look, the sooner the better.”
“Why, Brett?” I demand, a surge of anger rippling through me. He’s obviously worried about something. As he should be. Part of me wants him to say it aloud. He’s accused me so many times of liking people I didn’t. Now I want him to accuse me of liking the man…I love.
It hits me like a golden brick.
“Come on. Let’s order a drink,” he says taking up a menu and flapping it.
I nod.
Brett goes up and orders two drinks without asking me what I want. I don’t actually care. He returns quickly with two vodkas on the rocks.
I take a gulp of the drink and it burns the back of my throat. It feels good, so I do it again, emptying the glass. “So, you talked to my mother before you came?”
“Yes, she misses you terribly. She begged me to take you home.”
I examine his face, but as always, I can’t detect whether or not he’s lying.
I’m about to ask him if Mom said anything else when Callaghan Senior comes and takes the seat next to us, sinking back onto the plush red velvet of the bench. He’s got a craggy face that suggests a life of hard work, but his hair is intact, a mix of blond and gray. In this dim light, he reminds me of Robert Redford.
“So you’re our guest from Texas,” he says to Brett in thickly accented, gruff voice, which rings with authority.
Brett shoots the older man his hearty good-ol’-boy grin.
“This is my friend, Brett,” I supply, before Brett gets any ideas about introducing himself as my boyfriend.
“I see.” The old man’s eyes rove over us with keen interest. “Here for long, Brett?”
Brett grimaces. “As long as it takes, sir.”
Inwardly, I roll my eyes. Brett licking up to this figure of authority is just too predictable.
“You’ll need another two?” Callaghan points at both our empty glasses.
“Actually, I need to be getting back to Nuala’s soon,” I say, looking at my watch. This is true as it’s dinner time and I didn’t tell her I wouldn’t be home. She won’t worry though as she’ll assume I’m with Danny.
“She’ll have another, “Brett says, patting my hand.
“You can stay for one more, can’t you?” Callaghan says. “Then I’ll drive you myself.”
I look at him in wonder. “That’s a generous offer,” I say.
“It’s no bother,” Callaghan says, sounding exactly like his son Seamus.
This would solve all my problems. Brett may follow me to Nuala’s, but he won’t be able to stay over, not without using force and breaking some laws. I know he won’t take the risk of Nuala calling the police. He can’t drive with alcohol inside him so he’ll have to stay here.
From the calculating expression in his eyes, my ex has worked it out too.
While the old man is busy preparing drinks at the bar, Brett says, “Guess I can’t persuade you to stay here with me? The room isn’t bad.”
“No,” I say.
“Hmm.”
Da Callaghan comes back. “Here you go. Same again.”
The vodkas, I notice, are bigger now. The old man has a small whiskey for himself and looks to be set to have a cozy time of it.
He catches me looking at the glass. “This just a small one. I’ll be alright to drive.” He sounds like he’s used to justifying himself in similar situations.
“How’s the Manor house treating you?” he asks me suddenly.
“I’m enjoying the work,” I say honestly.
Pa Callaghan turns to Brett. “I suppose you’re worried for her. You’ll have heard the stories by now, no doubt.”
Brett glares at him, then at me. “What stories?”
I plead with my eyes for Old Callaghan not to say anything, but he’s already talking. “Are you telling me you didn’t know what Danny Moore did?” He turns to me. “Did you not tell him?”
I exhale a ragged breath and shake my head. “I’d really rather—”
Callaghan grips his whiskey glass as if to crush it. “He killed my son, Brett, killed him!”
Brett lets out a yelp and grips the sides of the table. “What?” He spins his head. “Shannon, why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Because she’s protecting him,” Callaghan answers for me. “Just like Cliona Stephenson’s protecting him. But there you have it. My shining light, Owen. He shakes his head sadly. “Only twenty-four, he was. Just graduated from Trinity. Not a day goes by when I don’t think about him.”
His face settles into the well-worn lines of misery.
My heart gives a painful thump. I’ve been avoiding thinking properly about this sid
e of the tragedy. But here is a father, a grieving father. And here are three brothers. This poor man doesn’t even have a wife anymore to find consolation in. He’s thrown himself into the running of the hotel when he should have been retiring and taking it easy.
I swallow a lump in my throat. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Callaghan.”
He lets out a heavy sigh and looks at me, with those soul-searching, Callaghan moss-green eyes. “I’ve learned to live with it because that’s all I can do.” But… he leans toward Brett and lowers his voice to an almost whisper. “What I can’t stand is him going around with my grandchild pretending he’s an innocent friend of the family.”
Brett’s eyes grow even wider, his face even redder. A vein pumps on the left side of his forehead.
The other patrons ask for the bill so Callaghan rises with a grunt and goes over to deal with them.
“Shannon, this changes everything,” Brett says in an urgent whisper when we’re alone. “Now it’s absolutely imperative that you come home with me ASAP!”
I bristle. “Like I said, Brett, I’ll go wh—”
“No!” He slams his fist on the table. “You heard the old man. You’re working for a guy who committed murder.”
“Manslaughter,” I correct him.
“Who cares? He killed that poor man’s son. And now he’s hanging out with the grandson pretending all is fine and dandy. What kind of monster is he?”
“You know nothing about him, Brett,” I shoot back. “I know him. He’s a good man—a kind, loyal, hardworking man. What happened six years ago was an accident that could have happened between any two people. He confronted Owen Callaghan because Owen stole his girlfriend from him. Owen Callaghan tripped and hit his skull on an iron bar. That’s it. Danny had to endure the judgment of everyone for this crime of passion. He wants what’s best for Lorcan and he’ll tell him when the time is right.”
Brett scowls. “I love how you can forgive him his crime of passion, but you can’t forgive me mine.”
“It’s different, Brett.”
“Yes, all I’m guilty of is breaking into the apartment that used to be ours. He’s guilty of killing a man.”
I say nothing.
“Make no mistake, Danny Moore’s a dangerous man, Shannon. That’s why I have to get you out of here.” A curious light enters his gray eyes. “You will come.”
I’m feeling myself becoming hypnotized by the assurance in his voice so I shake my head and tell myself to snap out of it. “I’ll come when I’m ready, Brett. Besides, don’t you need to get back home to your job next week?”
He shakes his head. “If you don’t come on Tuesday, I’ll take time off work. I’ve worked up shit-loads of overtime—you know what a workaholic I am. I could stay three months if it came to it.”
And prolong the misery? I clench my eyes shut and open them again.
Maybe it’s better I get this over with, go home, somehow get rid of Brett, and then when I’ve done that, get a new visa and return here, to try again. It’s the best plan I can come up with at the moment.
“I’ll let you know tomorrow,” I tell him. “I have to talk to…my employer before I make this decision.”
I have to explain to Danny how unshakable Brett is. He’ll understand my situation. One thing for sure, I can’t leave Ireland without knowing I can come back to Danny. Brett isn’t going to ruin what we have. I won’t let him. It’s too sacred.
“I’m sorry for the interruption, folks.” Pa Callaghan is back. “Are you ready to go?” he says to me, watching me pull on my jacket. He seems unfazed by the frosty dynamic between Brett and me. I guess when it comes to unhappy couples, he’s seen it all and thinks this is normal. I used to think it was normal, too.
I nod. “Yes.”
“I’ll take you to Nuala’s then.”
“Bye, Brett,” I say hastily. I don’t offer him a hug or kiss. My body feels like lead.
Callaghan guides me out the back way to his car—a jeep. I scurry along beside him, always looking back over my shoulder. To my immense relief, Brett hasn’t followed us.
It’s only a couple of miles to Nuala’s and in those few minutes, Old Callaghan explains what happened to his wife, Rosemary, who died of a broken heart five years ago. Even though I’d been angry with him for badmouthing Danny, I’ve a lot of respect for this man who dealt with the worst tragedy possible all while keeping a busy hotel running.
When we get to Nuala’s, he parks just a little up the road so she can’t see the car. It’s deja vu. I just say thanks and get out.
I’ve never been so glad to get inside Nuala’s house. But the hardest bit is yet to come—telling Danny that Brett is here and telling him I’m going home.
I check my phone. Oh God, four missed calls from Danny. Two texts—one of them telling me he’s got Lorcan in the house tonight and asking if I want to come over.
I call Danny.
“Where have you been?” he asks. “I was beginning to think you were still pissed off with me after all, or that Sean got you horribly drunk.”
“Where do I start?” I say. “Brett’s here.”
There’s a silence.
“As in, your ex?”
“Yes.”
“What’s he doing here?”
I don’t answer. It’s got to be clear to him.
“Oh, Christ,” he mutters. “Right. I’m coming over. Mother’s here. She can look after Lorcan.”
“No, Danny, just stay there. I’m safe here in Nuala’s. He won’t come here, of if he does, she'll deal with him. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say firmly. “Please.”
I hear his impatient sigh. “Well, keep that phone to hand and call me if there’s anything, all right? And text me before you go to sleep to let me know.”
“Will do. Now stop worrying. I know how to deal with this.”
After the call, I stare into space. Do I know how to deal with this? It’s new to me as well. But what I don’t need is Danny going all vigilante and fighting with Brett. That wouldn’t do anyone any favors, least of all Danny.
28
DANNY
After that call with Shannon, I can barely function as a normal human being. It’s a struggle to keep a positive expression on my face as I play with Lorcan. He and Cliona arrived unannounced earlier for a “bonus” visit because she has to help her sister Deirdre tonight. It couldn’t be worse timing because Mother is actually in bed with a migraine and can’t look after Lorcan.
Lorcan and I get half way with a Lego space station construction before I call it a night. We start the night-time routine of brushing teeth, washing his face, reading the bedtime story. My attention is more on Shannon than on Lorcan, but I can do this stuff in my sleep. I’m reading the words about bunny rabbits looking for a lost baby bunny—a story we’ve read at least a hundred times.
For once, I can’t wait until Lorcan just shuts his eyes and falls asleep. It seems to take longer than usual. I suppose he is getting older. Almost seven now.
But finally, his eyelids droop and then close. I watch his sleeping face. “God, Lorcan you’re looking more like a Callaghan every day,” I mutter.
I check for texts or calls. There's one from Shannon.
Everything fine here, all quiet. Will see you at 9. Sweet dreams xx
Passing the drawing room, I contemplate the whiskey counter. This is one way to make the lonely night pass. But no—a hangover and a six-year-old at breakfast don’t mix. And since when do I need drink to get me through? That would be a Callaghan thing to do.
Okay, I’ll have half a glass.
I settle down with my half glass of whiskey in the comfy armchair by the fireplace in the room we call Grandfather’s living room—named after someone who was actually my great, great grandfather. The embers glow orange. I think back to making love with Shannon in front of the fire.
I wake with a jolt.
It’s eleven—I’ve been asleep for two hours. My phone shows no new messages or calls from Shannon but th
en again, I wasn’t really expecting it.
Then I realize what woke me. Cliona’s here. She must have made some sounds as she came in.
“What are you doing in here?” she whispers, coming in. “Are you alone?”
“Yeah.” I flop against the back of the chair. “All sorted with Deirdre?”
She nods. “I was expecting Shannon to be here.”
“I know.” I bow my head.
“Oh God…did something happen?”
“No, no,” I say hastily. “It’s fine.”
“You like her, don’t you?” She slips into the armchair opposite me. “I can tell.”
“Can you?”
This is awkward, talking to Cliona about my love life. But I plow on. “I love her, Cliona, but I don’t know how to convince her to stay.”
Her eyes widen, but the rest of her face is calm. “If it’s meant to be, it will happen. You have to trust in that. Don’t force the situation.”
She says it with such surety. Is this what she felt about Owen when she was going out with me? When she claimed to have a headache, was she really with him? I look away from her face.
“I hope so,” I say.
“I’m going to totter off to bed in Lorcan’s room.” She pats my hand. “Don’t fall asleep in that chair.”
***
Next morning, I’ve made the pancakes, the air is filled with the sweet, vanilla aroma. Lorcan is having a great time, tucking into his fifth pancake. He’s a growing boy.
My mother is hovering around the kitchen, pretending to be rearranging the china in the dresser. She secretly loves my pancakes. I’m loading them onto her plate.
My eye is on the clock waiting for it to crawl toward 9 a.m.
The doorbell goes off.
Mother disappears into the hall to spy on whoever it is
“Did you have an appointment, Danny?” she asks, re-entering the kitchen. "There's a man at the door."
“That’ll be the new vet, Mulligan, from Mallow. I asked him to drop by.”
She sniffs. “A vet would never wear a white shirt.”
I frown. “Indeed not.”
“And Shannon’s with him.”
“What?” Then it hits me. This isn’t the vet.
