Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
About the Author
Also by Marita Conlon-McKenna
Copyright
THE MAGDALEN
PROMISED LAND
MIRACLE WOMAN
THE STONE HOUSE
THE HAT SHOP ON THE CORNER
THE MATCHMAKER
MOTHER OF THE BRIDE
A TASTE FOR LOVE
THREE WOMEN
For more information on Marita Conlon-McKenna and her books, see her website at www.maritaconlonmckenna.com
TRANSWORLD IRELAND
An imprint of The Random House Group Limited
20 Vauxhall Bridge Road, London SW1V 2SA
www.transworldbooks.co.uk
First published in 2013 by Transworld Ireland,
a division of Transworld Publishers
Copyright © Marita Conlon-McKenna 2013
Marita Conlon-McKenna has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781446487181
ISBN 9781848271234
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2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
For my father, Patrick J. Conlon –
a man who loved his rose garden.
‘To be happy for an hour, have a glass of wine. To be happy for a day, read a book. To be happy for a week, take a wife. To be happy for ever, make a garden.’
– Proverb
THANKS TO MY HUSBAND, JAMES, FOR BEING MY ROCK AND support.
Thanks to my children, Mandy, Laura, Fiona and James, my sons-in-law Michael Hearty and Michael Fahy, and my two pets, Holly and Sam Hearty. You all make my life a joy
Special thanks to my wonderful editor, Linda Evans, for her enthusiasm, dedication and work on my books.
My sincere gratitude to Joanne Williamson, Vivien Garrett, Brenda Updegraff, and everyone at Transworld London for all their work and input on this book and their support and encouragement. And thanks to Sarah Whittaker for the lovely cover.
Grateful thanks also for my agent Caroline Sheldon for her constant belief in my writing and the excitement that working together on every new book brings!
For Eoin McHugh in Transworld Ireland’s Dublin office.
For Simon and Gill Hess, Declan Heaney and Helen Gleed O’Connor and everyone at Gill Hess, Dublin, for making it all seem easy and looking after me and my books so well!
For booksellers everywhere … thanks for bringing my books and readers together.
For bookshops … what would we do without you?
For Sarah Conroy … for all her patience and kindness.
To all the gardeners and gardening writers and columnists that have inspired me over the years … thank you so much.
Arianne Menut … thanks for helping to keep my own garden in shape.
For Sarah Webb, Martina Devlin, Larry O’Loughlin and Don Conroy and all my fellow writers … thanks for just being there!
For my readers … thanks for making writing such a pleasure.
MOLLY HENNESSY STOOD IN THE GARDEN OF MOSSBAWN HOUSE taking in the view.
She loved this old house, standing amidst acres of land made up of gardens and woods and grassy fields only fifteen miles from Kilkenny. As she looked out over the garden, with its large herbaceous borders, lavender walk and lawn, the pond with its wooden bridge, the distant oakwoods and the kitchen garden with her badly neglected vegetable patch, she felt such a strong emotion. She didn’t know how she could ever bear to leave it.
But already the garden was falling into disarray, with weeds and brambles creeping where they shouldn’t be. The neat hedges and paths were now straggly and untidy, the borders overgrown and messy, the lawn and grass far too long.
She was doing her best to maintain the place, but she knew in her heart it wasn’t enough. The size of the garden and grounds of the old country house was proving far too much for her. It was a near impossible task for a woman on her own to manage.
She and David had fallen in love with the place from almost the minute they had seen it – Mossbawn House, a faded photo in an auctioneer’s window. Coming to view the neglected old Georgian house with its large hall, dusty drawing room and library, its run-down orangery with panes of broken or cracked glass, they had both instantly decided that this was the place they wanted to live. David had been determined to make it their home. They had sunk every penny they had into buying it, taking out a massive mortgage, but David considered it a very good investment and they’d been full of all sorts of plans for the old house, both of them excited about it becoming a perfect family home.
Mossbawn House had welcomed them, and over the years it had filled with family and friends, parties and gatherings. Work on the house was ongoing: over the years they had fixed the roof, then the windows, replaced ancient plumbing and installed gas heating, lovingly restored old plasterwork and woodwork, and eventually even restored the old orangery, so that Mossbawn was once again a beautiful home. There was still work to do, but they were proud of what they had achieved. Restoring the house was more than a project – it was a labour of love and they were both looking forward to spending the rest of their days there together.
That was the plan – well, the dream. But David’s death a few months ago had utterly changed everything. Devastated, Molly tried to cope with his loss, struggling to keep herself going, let alone the old house.
The girls too were distraught at the sudden loss of their beloved dad. They were both in college, Grace in Dublin and Emma at Galway University. They tried to come home at weekends to help and be supportive, but more and more Molly was left rattling around the place on her own.
When David was alive everything had seemed perfect. He had loved the garden and the house and ensured that everything was kept running smoothly. Year after year they had enjoyed family life in this beautiful place, but now Molly was unsure of the future.
Keeping the old house was an expensive business. The bank had contacted her again and again; she had tried to ignore them, but knew that she could no longer put off meeting with them. Without David’s income to help with the constant bills she had no idea how she was going to survive … Her family and friends were advising her to be sensible: sell up, downsize and move to a smaller home in Kilfinn, or move back to the city. Perhaps they were right, but she couldn’t imagine leaving Mossbawn behind and trying to make a fresh start.
She had absolutely no idea how she was ever going to keep this beautiful old house, but looking around her at the garden and grounds Molly was determined somehow to hold on to Mossbawn, the home she and David loved so much.
MOLLY SPREAD SOME HONEY ON A SLICE OF BROWN BREAD AS SHE listened to the radio. More doom and gloom on the morning news. Was it any wonder that the people were downhearted?
Having breakfast like this, sitting alone in the kitchen, was something she still found hard to get used to. She missed having David to talk to. Now the only one to listen to her was her little Jack Russell, Daisy.
She was up early this morning, as she was driving to Dublin for a meeting with the bank, something she was absolutely dreading. Her neighbour, Rena, had offered to take Daisy and she would drop her off there en route.
Later, leaving Kilfinn and heading up on to the motorway, Molly had to admit she was looking forward to a few days in Dublin, with the chance to see her twenty-year-old daughter Grace and to catch up with a few of her old friends. Roz had insisted that she stay with her in Donnybrook.
Over the past few days she had gone through all her bank statements and accounts, with everything spread out on the big dining-room table as she tried to make some sense of the debits and credits and establish the exact financial position she was in. Following David’s death their remaining mortgage had been cleared by their mortgage protection insurance policy, and another life insurance policy had also kicked in, but Molly was still struggling to pay off the various other loans they had taken out to do essential repairs on Mossbawn.
Going over it and over it again, she realized that, except for the life insurance payout, she had absolutely no income of her own. They had virtually no savings and she’d no idea what the pension portfolio the bank had recommended for when David retired was worth now. They had barely made a dent in some of the loans they had taken out for running repairs and renovations, but David hadn’t worried about it as he had taken the view that he was generating an income and they were looking after their home. Like every other legal firm, Coleman Quinn, where David had worked as a partner, had seen its business affected by the downturn. Although David had always maintained that they were financially secure, now, without his earnings, Molly had no idea how she would survive. She was dreading her midday meeting with the bank manager. Her brother-in-law Bill, an accountant, had offered to come with her to the meeting, but she had declined and arranged to see him afterwards when she could go through things with him.
As she neared Dublin, she began mentally to run through possible questions that she had for the bank. It had started to rain and the traffic was terrible as she wound her way through the city streets towards the bank’s head office. Molly prayed that she would find a car park. She felt flustered enough about meeting the bank manager without the ordeal of not being able to park.
‘It’s good to see you, Molly,’ said Dermot Brennan, the manager, welcoming her to his third-floor office. ‘I’m so sorry about David. It must be very hard for you and your daughters.’
Molly nodded, not trusting herself to speak. David’s death had been so sudden. A strong, fit man like David having a massive brain aneurysm and never even regaining consciousness … it still shocked her.
Dermot ordered coffee for them both and she was glad – caffeine was just what she needed. Dermot had been looking after their accounts for years. Sitting across from him, she could see that he looked tense, as if he was going to be the bearer of bad news. Molly braced herself as he began to produce facts and figures, and she listened in dismay at the decline in value of David’s pension fund.
‘Should I use it to pay off the loans?’
‘You could withdraw some of the funds, but it’s probably better to stick it out and hope for an increase in values, an upturn in the market,’ he advised. ‘Either way it is a bit of a gamble.’
Molly had always hated gambling; it was something she and David would never contemplate. David had been sensible, paying into a proper pension fund recommended by the bank and now where had it got them?
‘What should I do?’
‘Obviously the fact that the mortgage on Mossbawn has been cleared is of immense value, but it’s the other outstanding loans that worry us. The bank is concerned about how these loans will be serviced given your current circumstances.’
‘I have no idea,’ she admitted honestly. ‘I’ve got the life insurance policy money but that’s about all. David’s pension, from what you are telling me, is worth nothing by all accounts and I’m not working.’
‘The important thing for the bank is that you find some way to clear these loans or reduce them to a manageable scale. Would you consider using the insurance money you received for David’s death?’
Molly didn’t believe what he was saying. That insurance money was all she had.
‘Or perhaps you’d prefer to free up some of your assets?’
‘What assets?’
‘Well, there is the house itself, of course, now that it is “mortgage free”,’ he said calmly. ‘Perhaps you should consider selling Mossbawn, though unfortunately property prices are low at present.’
‘Sell the house? It’s my home, the girls’ home …’
‘Then perhaps there may be some antiques or heirlooms or the like?’
Molly had to stop herself from laughing aloud at the thought of some valuable undiscovered heirloom! If there were anything of value they would have sold it by now.
‘I need to think about this,’ she said, trying not to give in to the panicky feeling that made her feel like she couldn’t get a breath.
‘Of course,’ he said, ‘of course.’
‘I’m meeting my brother-in-law Bill later. He’s an accountant. I’ll talk to him about it.’
‘I know how difficult this must be for you, Molly,’ Dermot said apologetically. ‘But the crash in the market and drop in bank shares is something none of us could ever have expected.’
She didn’t know what to say to him. She had no intention of letting him off the hook.
‘My own pension is only a fraction of what it should be,’ he admitted, ‘and I’m due to retire next year so it is a worry, a big worry.’
‘Perhaps you will have to sell your home?’ she offered testily.
At least he had the good grace to look discomfited.
‘Molly, we need to work things out in the most financially beneficial way for you and the bank in order to ensure a way for you to clear or pay down these loans and the overdraft.’
‘David was putting money into his pension here in the bank month after month under the impression that he was building up a nice nest egg for when we were older and he’d retired,’ she said angrily.
‘Nest eggs are few and far between these days.’
‘I have to think about all this, talk to the girls, get Bill’s advice …’
‘Of course, but I shall expect to hear back from you within the next few weeks,’ he reminded her firmly, standing up from his desk. ‘Then we can clarify the new loan-repayment schedule.’
Walking away from the bank, Molly was shaking. Her world was falling apart and she had no idea what to do. She just longed to be out of the city and back home in Mossbawn, far from all this stress and pressure.
WALKING TO THE NEARBY MERRION HOTEL, MOLLY’S MIND WAS IN turmoil. As she entered the old Georgian building opposite Leinster House she was relieved to see that Bill O’Reilly, her brother-in-law, was already sitting in the hotel’s comfortable drawing room perusing the Financial Times.
He got to his feet the minute he saw her approach. Bill, as handsome and strong as ever, was sporting a tan and was more relaxed than she had seen him in a long time. A bit greyer, but still dressed immaculately in a good shirt and smart blazer.
‘How are you, Molly dear?’ he asked as they hugged each other.
‘Upset,’ she admitted.
She could see concern flit across his broad face as she sat in the plush, gold-striped velvet armchair across from his.
‘I’ve just come from meeting the bank manager,’ she confided, ‘and basically they want me to consolidate the loans and pay them back immediately. He even suggested that I sell Mossbawn!’
‘Oh dear,’ said Bill. ‘I suppose it was to be expected, given the situation.’
‘I have no idea what to do … what David would have wanted …’
‘First let’s order something – you must be exhausted,’ he coaxed.
‘A double brandy, that’s what I need,’ she joked.
‘Not to be recommended this time of the day,’ he smiled, ‘but what about the warm chicken salad, or soup, or the smoked salmon?’
Molly studied the menu quickly and opted for the chicken salad.
Bill sat back, listening as she began to tell him about her earlier meeting. Being an accountant, he had a sound business brain and she knew that she could trust him to have her best interest at heart. He was a good man, the man her sister Ruth had fallen in love with and married. When David had died last year, Bill was the first on the phone to her, not just to commiserate but to help organize things. He’d been wonderful, as he was the one person who knew and understood exactly how she was feeling – for he had lost Ruth a few years ago.
Her sister and Bill had been such a great couple, with three great kids. She and David had always loved when they came to visit them at Mossbawn and the two families had got together at weekends and holidays. She missed those days – and still missed Ruth terribly. Losing her older sister to cancer twelve years ago had been such a blow. Bill and their three children, Liz, Kim and Mike, had been left utterly devastated.
‘Molly, at least you are lucky that you own Mossbawn outright and have no outstanding mortgage on the place,’ Bill said, serious. ‘Mortgages – that’s what’s crippling most people.’
‘But there are debts,’ she admitted. ‘There are the loans for the money we spent on the house. David had always planned to pay them back bit by bit over the years.’
‘Loans can be restructured,’ he murmured firmly.
‘But David’s pension is practically worth nothing,’ she said angrily.
‘Some of my clients have lost almost everything,’ Bill admitted, ‘and even Carole’s taken a huge hit with her pension.’
Molly blushed. She had avoided asking him about his wife up to now. She still found it so hard to accept that Bill was remarried; that despite his love for Ruth he had managed to find himself another wife.
‘How is Carole?’
‘She’s fine,’ he smiled. ‘She’s good for me! We play golf, travel, go to the theatre … We’ve managed to downsize and de-clutter our lives.’
‘So I’ve heard.’
‘The girls been complaining again?’ he joked.
She smiled. She was in regular contact with her two nieces, who kept her up to date with the various goings-on of their new stepmother and her influence over their father.
‘I am lucky to have found Carole,’ he said slowly. ‘You know I wasn’t very good at being on my own.’
‘I hate it,’ she said vehemently. ‘I just hate being on my own … I’m not used to it!’
‘Molly, I understand, believe me,’ he said gently. ‘I know how much you miss David.’
‘Every day,’ she whispered. ‘But at times like this …’
‘Listen, why don’t you give me a copy of all the relevant accounts and statements and interest payments and bank stuff and I’ll see what I can do?’
She watched as he flicked through her folder, extracting exactly what he needed.
‘I think the bank just want me to sell Mossbawn,’ she sighed.
‘Well, that would certainly solve their problems,’ he quipped, ‘but you must only consider selling the house if it is what you really want to do.’
‘I can’t even think at the moment,’ she admitted. ‘Half the time my brain feels like slush. But the house is big – it’s too big to manage on my own without him.’
‘Molly, don’t rush into any decisions. Let me look at the figures first,’ he said calmly, ‘before you do anything.’
‘Sure,’ she said, relieved that Bill was there to advise her.
Over coffee they put business matters aside, chatting about their kids and their latest antics, as Bill showed her photos of his grandchildren on his phone. Finishing up, he insisted on paying for their lunch.
‘I’ll be in touch with you if I need anything else,’ he promised, standing up. ‘We should probably aim to talk once I’ve had a chance to go through everything.’
‘Bill, that would be great.’
‘Why don’t you come and have dinner or lunch with Carole and me the next time you’re in Dublin?’ he offered.
‘Thanks, Bill.’ Molly knew in her heart that having lunch with the woman who had replaced her sister was something she could never do.
Walking out to the street they said goodbye and headed in opposite directions. Realizing that the time on the meter had nearly expired, Molly had to rush back to where she had parked her car, hoping that she hadn’t been clamped.
THEY SAY THINGS COME IN THREES …
First Kim had lost her job … then her boyfriend … and now she was losing her home. Her life was a disaster!
Standing among the jumble of boxes and bags and suitcases scattered around her feet on the floor as she packed up and got ready to leave the apartment, Kim O’Reilly realized that this was all she possessed. Shoes, handbags and clothes, all with the right fancy labels but nothing worth a fraction of what she had paid for it … Her life was a mess, everything collapsing around her, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.
She was moving out of the apartment she’d shared with Gareth, her boyfriend, for the past year and a half. She’d been happy, looking forward to the future, to getting engaged and married like some of their friends. But then Gareth had suddenly ended it. Maybe she was stupid or dumb, but Kim certainly hadn’t seen it coming … hadn’t expected their relationship to break up the way it did with both of them angry and hating each other. Now she felt so alone and hurt, and she couldn’t imagine her life without him.
In the kitchen, she checked the pristine shelves of expensive glasses and plates and dinnerware. They’d bought most of this stuff together, imagining a lifetime of dinner and supper parties and shared meals. In fairness, Gareth had paid for most of it, so he should keep it. She grabbed her two favourite mugs – one with a dog on it and the other a souvenir of New York; her rainbow-coloured pasta bowl and plate set; and her Cheeky Pigs apron – Gareth would never use that anyway. She took two paintings of Evie’s that hung in the dining area down off the wall. No way she would let Gareth have them!
Sniffing back her tears, she continued to pack. A part of her was waiting … hoping for the impossible, a phone call or a text message from Gareth telling her to stay, that they would sort it out, try to work things out … but there was nothing, just utter silence – a miserable reminder of the end of their fractured relationship and her need to move out and try to begin again. How she was ever going to do that was utterly beyond her, but staying here on her own and trying to pay the massive rent was not an option.
In the bathroom she collected her shower cap and toothbrush, all the face oils and creams and scrubs that littered her side of the bathroom cabinet. The pile was growing and back in the bedroom she shoved them into her smaller weekend case. Pulling her bundle of glossy Style and Celeb magazines from the bedside locker, she marched back into the kitchen and junked them in the fancy silver recycling bin.
Looking around her, she seemed to have managed to remove all traces of her having shared Gareth’s life here for those nineteen months. The apartment had returned to the way it was before she had moved in with him. This was so shit. She had nothing …
It took three trips in the lift, laden down with all her bags and boxes and two suitcases, to get all her stuff squashed into her car. Heading back up to the fourth floor for the last time, Kim stood for a few minutes, overwhelmed, taking in the ceiling-to-ground glass windows of the living room which overlooked Dublin’s former docklands. With the cream leather couches and expensive circular dining table and coordinating display unit, it was all so perfect. The kitchen, the massive bedroom, even the silver-and-grey bathroom – too perfect … She didn’t fit into it, this place, this life with Gareth Allen. She wasn’t perfect enough.
Taking her keys from the ring, she put them on the table and, closing the door, began to walk as fast as she could, wanting to get the hell out of there before she broke down again. Moving out was the end – the end to her life with Gareth.
Driving out of the city towards Stepaside, Kim tried to stay calm and focus on her driving – the last thing she needed was to be in a car accident. Her sister Liz had insisted that she come and stay with her and Joe until she got back on her feet.
Okay, her friends Alex and Evie had also offered to put her up for a few days, but sleeping on a couch or a futon in their already cramped apartments for the foreseeable future didn’t seem a good idea. Besides, Alex’s girlfriend Vicky hated her and Evie’s tiny flat at the top of a Georgian building was so cluttered with Evie’s art paraphernalia that she doubted she would fit!
Kim braced herself for that barrage of questions she would face once her sister got her hands on her. Liz had offered to help her pack up and move, but she had just wanted to do it on her own. But at least going to stay at Liz’s she didn’t have to pretend or put on a brave face. Liz knew exactly how utterly shit her life was at this present moment.
Finding herself unemployed, homeless and single at almost twenty-nine was a nightmare. Eight months ago she’d lost her job in the Irish Bank Group. Kim had been one of over two hundred staff members called up to the big HR department in the sky to be given a spiel about the company’s need to cut costs in the current economic climate and rationalize by closing departments and branches. She’d worked there since college and had never particularly liked her job, but had enjoyed the salary and benefits that came with working in a busy banking team. Confident of her ability to find a new job, she had signed up immediately with about twelve recruitment firms, but months later still found herself unemployed and considered almost unemployable.
‘The world is full of bankers,’ one of the recruiters had told her, suggesting she return to college or retrain for some other type of career, or emigrate.
Gareth had been really supportive at first: encouraging when she went for interviews, helping her to re-draft her CV over and over again, but as time went on and no job offers came, his attitude to her began to alter. Her finances were tight and she struggled to pay her share of the rent and expenses, and as her savings dwindled and her cash dried up things had somehow changed. Maybe Gareth had lost respect for her, found her less interesting, less attractive. She had no idea.
It was disheartening sending out CV after CV and getting so little response, but she tried to stay positive, keep in touch with people, tried to make contacts and chase up jobs. Gareth worked long, crazy hours. His job in aircraft-leasing was stressful enough, but her seeming lack of career focus irritated him.
She signed up for a diploma in website design, a course her friend Evie had told her about. It was tough and very technical, but she was really enjoying it. Then one night a week she was doing a digital photography class – something she really liked; and she had taken up running, as it was much cheaper than being a member of a gym. At home she made great efforts to keep the apartment looking well and to cook healthy organic meals, but Gareth barely noticed what she put in front of him, protesting he was on a high-protein diet or not hungry. He stayed late at the office and often did not return home until she was in bed. Instead of coming together as a couple, they had bit by bit grown apart.
Then last Saturday, after they’d had breakfast, he sat down seriously and said, coldly and calmly, that it wasn’t working out, and that he believed it was time for them to call an end to a relationship that clearly wasn’t going anywhere. Stunned, Kim had begged him to give them a second chance, that once she’d found a job things would go back to the way they were before, but Gareth had made it clear that this decision was final and what he was doing was for the best for the two of them.
‘You’ll see that, Kim, believe me you will.’
Being a gentleman, he had offered to move out and let her continue to live in the apartment, but knowing the state of her finances Kim had realized that there was utterly no way she could afford to stay on and rent such an expensive place. So Gareth had gone to stay with his best mate, Cormac, for a few days while she packed up and got ready to move out.
Liz lived in one of the many estates built in the foothills of the Dublin Mountains. Kim edged her car up past the massive Dundrum Shopping Centre, trying to force herself to concentrate as she changed lanes and headed on to the busy Sandyford Road. She cursed as she almost missed the turn off the Stepaside Road, but somehow she managed to swing the car into Holly Park. A minute later, as she pulled up, she spotted her sister’s silver family car, then her three-year-old niece Ava waving madly at her from the window.
Liz ran out the front door to meet her. Kim sat frozen solid in the car, unable to move as heavy tears slid down her face. It was as if a huge dam had burst inside her. Wordlessly, Liz opened the passenger door and, lifting two big plastic bags on to her lap, sat in beside her.
‘It’s okay, Kim – everything is going to be okay, I promise.’
Kim clung to her sister as Liz hugged her and told her that she was safe now …
KIM MANAGED TO STOP CRYING, DRY HER SNOTTY NOSE AND BLOT off her smudged mascara before she went inside. Ava and Finn, her little niece and nephew, flung themselves at her like two puppies, as her brother-in-law Joe welcomed her and offered to carry two or three of her bags upstairs.
‘The dinner is just about ready,’ said Liz, lifting Finn into his highchair.
Three quarters of a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc later, and after a plate of Liz’s renowned spicy chicken Madras with poppadums and all the trimmings, Kim had to admit she felt somewhat better … certainly less alone.
‘I’ll never see Gareth or talk to him again!’ she declared, feeling utterly desolate as they sat around the kitchen table.
‘Highly unlikely. We’re living in Dublin,’ Joe reminded her, ‘not London or New York.’
‘But it’s so awful. I’ll never wake up in his arms or sleep with him again.’
‘I should hope bloody not!’ added Liz furiously. ‘Gareth doesn’t deserve a girlfriend like you. He’s a cold-hearted shit to treat you the way he has done, Kim. You have to realize that! A decent guy wouldn’t care if you are broke or unemployed. He’d have stood by you and loved you for just being you, warts and all!’
Kim said nothing. What Liz was saying was true. She would have loved Gareth and stuck by him no matter what his career situation was. It wouldn’t have changed anything.
Joe, clearing the table and packing the dishwasher, insisted on opening another bottle of wine before scooping baby Finn up to take him upstairs to change his nappy and put him to bed.
‘Let me give him a kiss,’ Kim pleaded. Her little nephew was the cutest baby ever with his blond curly hair and brown eyes – a real mix of his mum and dad.
‘Be careful – he stinks!’ laughed Liz as she handed him back to Joe.
‘I’m not going to bed yet,’ insisted Ava stubbornly, stomping around the kitchen in her Batman suit and rabbit slippers.
Forty minutes later both kids were in bed and Joe had discreetly disappeared off to watch a football match on Sky Sports. Kim and Liz sat at the kitchen table, talking and polishing off the remains of the chocolate-chip cookies Liz had made.
‘Do you want coffee?’
‘No, thanks – I’ll stick with the wine. It might help me sleep.’
Kim had barely slept for the past week. She felt exhausted, battered and bruised all over. It was like she had been in a car crash but with no car involved.
‘Heart sore!’ said Liz wisely, giving her a hug.
Liz had put her in the small bedroom at the front of the house where sixteen-month-old Finn normally slept.
‘I’ve moved his cot and the changer into Ava’s room to give you a bit of space.’
The room was bright and sunny, but how she would fit all her stuff and clothes into such a tiny space was beyond her.
‘Joe says he’ll put some of your bags in the garage.’
Liz had made up the single bed and put a bunch of flowers and some books and magazines on the chest of drawers, and done her best to transform the blue-and-white pirate-themed bedroom into a place for Kim.
‘Liz, I really appreciate you and Joe letting me come and stay here.’
‘Shush – we’re family. What else would we do?’
Kim knew how lucky she was to get on with her older sister. There was only five years between them, yet Liz had always seemed far more grown up. A straight-A student, she had studied engineering and now worked for Microsoft. She had always had a proper job. While on her J-1 Visa to San Diego, Liz had fallen madly in love with Joe, a tall, long-haired student from Belfast who made her laugh. They got married and now Liz had two wonderful kids, a career, a home and family of her own. She always did everything perfectly! Kim tried not to be jealous of her sister, but sometimes she couldn’t help herself …
‘My life is such a disaster,’ she admitted, taking a slow sip of wine. ‘I don’t even know where to start.’
‘Forget Gareth, forget that bloody bank … forget the past,’ said Liz hotly. ‘You deserve far better than Gareth. He was never good enough for you, Joe and I both thought so.’
‘But I thought you liked him!’
‘I did. He’s an okay guy, but he’s not really good husband or father material.’
‘But you never said anything.’
‘You were living with him. You loved him!’
Appalled, Kim remembered all the family meals and dinners and events she’d brought Gareth to, imagining him as a part of the family. She’d presumed they all liked him, but how wrong she had been!
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know. Almost three years together – it’s a long time. I’m used to having him around, to us being together. I hate being on my own, Liz … I hate it!’
‘I know, but sometimes things happen for a reason.’
‘If you say this is for the best, Liz, I’ll bloody strangle you!’ she gulped.
‘Fate plays tricks on us,’ her sister insisted.
‘Do you know how many weddings I went to in the past year?’ Kim sighed, topping up her glass. ‘Nine. Nine bloody weddings! Call me crazy, but I just presumed that one of these days it would be my turn – Gareth and me being the ones walking up the aisle.’
‘I know,’ sympathized Liz. ‘I thought that I’d be your bridesmaid and maybe Ava would be a little flower girl.’
‘I never, ever thought about us breaking up, and me ending up alone and single again. It’s so shit!’ Kim found herself crying again, overwhelmed with a sense of fear and panic.
‘I know it’s shit,’ said her sister, hugging her. ‘I know you’re scared, but you’ve got me and Joe and the kids, Dad and Carole, and of course Mike.’
‘Mike’s in Canada and Dad—’
‘You have told them?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Kim, they’re family!’
‘Carole’s not! She’s Dad’s new wife, that’s all.’
‘She’s part of the family now – you know she is.’
Kim still found it so hard to accept that her dad had remarried four years ago, Carole Lennon totally changing his life …
She wished she could have run back to the comfort of her old bedroom in Ingleside, their home on Waltham Road, but Carole had got their dad to sell the house they had grown up in and move to a small townhouse in Milltown. Number twenty-five was now owned by a young dentist and his family.
‘I’ll talk to Dad tomorrow,’ she promised. ‘Sometimes I just wish that Mum was still—’
‘I know,’ Liz said, wrapping her in her arms. ‘I know …’
It was almost 1 a.m. before they finally went to bed, the two of them talking back and forward for hours about her break-up with Gareth.
‘I have to go to bed,’ pleaded Liz, yawning. ‘Finn wakes up between six thirty and seven for his bottle and I have to get some sleep before I go to work tomorrow or I’ll be like a zombie.’
Collapsing drunkenly into the small, narrow bed in her room, Kim prayed that the pirate room would not shift or spin or make her feel dizzy as she fell into a deep, heavy, exhausted sleep.
PULLING THE DUVET OVER HER HEAD, KIM TRIED TO IGNORE THE noises from the bedroom next door. She glanced at her phone. It was barely 7 a.m. and already both kids were wide awake. She could hear ‘Old Macdonald Had a Farm’ blaring somewhere and the shower going.
Ava shyly opened the door to peek in at her.
‘Ssssh, let’s leave Kim alone – she needs to sleep,’ whispered Liz, grabbing her daughter’s hand and taking her downstairs to have breakfast.
Turning over, Kim closed her eyes and tried to pretend that she was asleep in her own bed and that Gareth was busy making some Nespresso coffee for them in the kitchen. When she woke four hours later, the house was quiet, absolutely deadly silent, with everyone gone. She felt awful, dehydrated and hungover as hell as she went to the bathroom and then downstairs.
Liz and Joe had both gone to work and the kids were at the crèche where they were minded. The remnants of breakfast lay scattered on the kitchen table and, as she made some toast, she automatically began to clear up the mess. She checked her phone and emails to see if there were any messages from Gareth … but nothing. The silence was oppressive, so she flicked on the TV in the far corner as she sat down to eat. She spent the next hour watching Cash in the Attic as she drank mug after mug of coffee and got through almost half a sliced pan toasted and covered with chocolate spread.
Then, after a long shower, she got dressed. She pulled on her jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and sleeveless zip-up navy jacket. She looked wrecked, circles under her eyes, a huge spot on her chin – brought on by sheer stress – and her brown hair all split ends, as she couldn’t afford to get it cut for another few weeks. She was almost out of perfume and stole a little of Liz’s Acqua di Giò.
Getting out her laptop she began to trawl through the online jobs section of the Irish Times and also the job and career sites she had registered with.
Nothing. Today absolutely zilch …
Sipping her coffee, she looked out at the houses and could see that most of the driveways were now empty, family cars gone, windows shut. The kids in the road were all gone to school or crèche. The place was like a morgue, except for a young Filipino nanny who was laughing and talking on a cell phone while pushing a baby in a buggy towards the house at the bottom of the road. She’d go crazy living in a place like this. She didn’t know how Liz stuck it.
Making another mug of coffee, she went and sat in front of the TV, torn between an old episode of House or Come Dine with Me, where the guests were almost coming to blows across the dinner table.
Evie phoned her and spent half an hour patiently listening to her talking about Gareth. The two of them arranged to meet up next week for lunch.
‘My treat,’ insisted her friend, who knew she was absolutely skint.
Then Liz called.
‘Have you talked to Dad yet?’
‘Can’t you tell him?’ Kim begged. ‘Please.’
‘No deal – you have to tell him yourself!’
Since there was utterly no point trying to have a long conversation with her dad on the phone, she texted him to tell him she was calling over to see him.
Her father’s silver Audi was parked on the neat, cobble-lock driveway at the front of the townhouse. He opened the door almost the minute she rang the bell. She’d seen him only two weeks ago, when he’d treated her to lunch and tried to encourage her to consider going back and doing a postgraduate degree in university. The fact that so many postgraduates were still struggling didn’t seem to register with him.
‘Hello, Kim – what a lovely surprise!’
At sixty-three years of age Bill O’Reilly was still a very handsome man, tall and grey-haired, wearing navy trousers and a classic white shirt with pale-blue cashmere jumper.
Kim still found it hard to adjust to him being in this house instead of the home where she had grown up. Looking around the neat, bright living room that overlooked the small patio garden, she was glad that at least a few pieces of furniture from their old home, Ingleside, had survived the move: the mahogany sideboard, the pretty glass-fronted bookshelf and her father’s comfy high-backed armchair and matching footstool. There had been two of them side by side in the old house, but Carole had refused to keep the other. Liz had taken it and had it somewhere up in her attic, as it was too bulky for her modern sitting room.
‘Everything okay?’ he asked.
He probably assumed she was short of funds and looking for money.
‘I need to talk to you, Dad.’ She tried to control the wobble in her voice.
‘Sounds serious. I’ll make us a cup of coffee. Carole’s off playing golf – she won’t be back for a while.’
Kim followed him into the white-and-sage-green galley kitchen. Everything was so tidy and organized. Liz maintained that Carole was a neat freak and that’s why she objected to coming to her house, because of the kids’ mess everywhere. ‘She nearly sat on one of Finn’s rotten nappies the last time she came for lunch with Dad. Joe had left it on the couch. She thinks that we are both right slobs!’
‘There’s some carrot cake here – will you have a slice?’ offered her father.
Curled up across from him in the sitting room, nibbling the cake, Kim found herself telling her dad all about the ins and outs of her break-up with Gareth.
‘I’m sorry to hear that it’s over between you,’ he sighed, ‘but hearing of his behaviour towards you, just because you found yourself temporarily unemployed, disappoints me. He should have been supportive not just financially but emotionally until you got back on your feet again.’
‘Dad, he was financially supportive,’ she found herself defending Gareth. ‘But it was just the whole job thing … I felt he looked down on me, and it made me feel useless.’
‘I’m sure Gareth didn’t mean to hurt you like that – but a good relationship always needs balance, especially when one hits rough waters. You need to be there for each other; not just in good times but in bad … That, I suppose, is the true mark of the people we are,’ her dad said firmly.
Kim tried to compose herself, remembering her dad’s strength and courage and love during the last year of her mum’s life. He had done everything in his power to help when her mum was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer. They had tried everything, searched for new and alternative treatments, seen different doctors, but in the end it had made no difference and her mum had died, leaving all of them devastated.
‘Gareth may have many fine points – no doubt that’s why you fell in love with him in the first place – but he is not good enough for you, Kim! Not good enough at all. You deserve someone much better – a much better man.’
‘Dad, I still love him,’ she countered. ‘Please don’t tell me to go and meet someone else! You have no idea what the guys out there are like! I’m nearly thirty … and I thought we were going to end up together. I really did.’
‘I’m sorry, Kim. I didn’t mean to be insensitive,’ he apologized. ‘I know how much well-intentioned words often hurt. Telling somebody when they lose the one they love that they will meet someone else is bloody awful – an insult, and certainly not what they want to hear.’
‘Dad!’ Kim flung herself into his arms and hugged him. One of the things she loved most about her dad was that he never changed. He still smelled of the same soap and aftershave, and wore the same clothes and shoes, and held her the same way he had done ever since she could remember.
‘Where are you staying? You are welcome to move in here with us if you need to.’
She thought of their spare room. There was a single bed, but the room was turned into a study with a computer and printer, and all her father and Carole’s books and papers and files neatly displayed on one wall.
‘It’s okay – I’m staying with Liz for the moment.’
‘I could talk to Carole,’ he offered. ‘She’d understand.’
‘Honestly, it’s fine, Dad.’
Kim knew that moving in with Carole and her father was certainly not an option. Carole was very good to her father and had given him a new lease of life. She got on well with everyone in the family, but had made it clear when she married him that she was marrying Bill and not his children. Carole had no intention of trying to step into the late Ruth O’Reilly’s shoes.
‘Dad, it’s fine, honest. It’s nice being with Liz and the kids, but I’ve got to find a place of my own.’
‘If you are short of funds for a deposit or whatever, let me know.’
An hour later Carole returned from golf.
‘What a surprise!’ she smiled, joining them in her pink Pringle jumper and golfing gear.
‘Kim came over to tell me about her and Gareth breaking up,’ explained Bill. ‘It’s all rather awkward.’
‘Oh,’ said Carole, glancing nervously at her.
‘I’ve told Kim she can stay with us if she needs to,’ he continued.
She could see the look on Carole’s face, torn between being polite and supportive but not wanting to be involved.
‘Dad, Carole, it’s fine,’ she interjected. ‘I’m staying at Liz’s until I get a new place.’
‘Well, that’s okay, then.’ Kim could see relief etched across the older woman’s face. ‘I know how close sisters can be.’
‘Well, she’ll stay for dinner with us at least,’ her dad continued. ‘I think there’s some chicken in the fridge.’
‘Liz is expecting me.’ She’d no intention of having dinner here and hearing Carole lecture her about her poor life choices. ‘She’s making a big dish of lasagne.’
‘Another night, then,’ he promised.
As he walked her out to the doorstep, it amazed her how her father had somehow managed to adjust to life without her mother. He seemed happy despite everything. Living here in his small house with a woman who was so different from her mum, it was unbelievable.
‘I know how awful you must be feeling, Kim, but things will get better – I promise,’ he reassured her as she got into her car.
‘Dad, to be honest, right now it feels like they couldn’t get any worse …’
ROZ GILMORE WELCOMED MOLLY WARMLY TO HER RED-BRICK terraced home on Victoria Road.
‘You sit down and I’ll get us a drink. What will it be – a sherry, a G & T, or maybe a glass of wine?’
‘I could do with a glass of wine – a big one!’ Molly laughed, flopping down in the massive armchair in the sitting room as Roz disappeared off to the kitchen.
Looking around she could see that nothing had changed here over the years. Everything was practically the same as when they were kids and had gone to school together. Roz was still living in her parents’ house in Donnybrook; she had never married and had ended up looking after her elderly mother, Betty, for years. A lecturer in Celtic Studies, Roz worked at Trinity College. There had been a romance with a visiting Scottish lecturer many years ago, but Roz had stubbornly refused to give up the security of her job and to leave her aging parent to move to Edinburgh with him. Molly suspected she often regretted it, but Roz never said anything and just got on with living alone, busying herself with her research and lectures and obsession with the mythology and stories of ancient Ireland and its people.
‘How did your meetings go?’ asked Roz, arriving back with two glasses of wine.
Molly told her briefly about what had happened with the bank manager.
‘The bankers have a nerve. They’ve destroyed the country with their behaviour,’ Roz said angrily. ‘The whole thing is a disgrace and the awful thing is that those involved have all got hefty bonuses and handsome early-retirement payments, rewarding them for bringing the country to its knees!’