Forever Home, page 11
Sally thought about her brother. Perhaps she was taking a leaf from his book and discovering the power of being a selfish prick, or was it as simple as the money coming from number seven giving her the freedom for the first time in her life, to not have to go to work? She threw back the duvet and sat on the edge of the bed. Killian. The very idea of him cast a shadow over her like a hangover. She didn’t think he was a fully fledged bully, yet he had managed to manipulate her into bending to his will their whole lives. She didn’t really blame him for it. Sally had been an eager foot soldier. As young as she had been when their mother had left them, she could still remember how Killian had tried to protect her. Their father had either been out searching or at home locked away in what they continued to call Mammy and Daddy’s room. Killian was the one who had made sure breakfast was on the table, went through her timetable to see she had the right textbooks, replaced the toothpaste. If Sally had come to believe that her brother knew best, it was because he had. But that was then.
Yesterday had been the conclusion of a lengthy conversation Sally had been having with herself. She had struggled to go along with Killian’s decisions about the house and their father’s care but hearing about the baby had crystalised her thoughts. Yes, her brother knew best but only when it came to himself. Killian was now only interested in how things affected him. Sally didn’t think that was necessarily a bad thing, unless you happened to not be Killian, and she was not. She had to find a way to untether her life from her brother’s. He had to see that she wasn’t just an appendage, a buy-one-get-one-free deal.
Padding across the floor carpeted with her discarded clothes, she came downstairs into the kitchen, where her laptop sat on the cluttered table. Carol was on her mind. This would be her first act of independence. She would email Carol Crottie and try to make peace with her. Sally still couldn’t forgive Carol and her father for how they had behaved, but it was Killian who had demonised Carol. In his mind there seemed to be no fate too grim for her. Sally wanted Carol to know that while she supported selling the house, she also sympathised with her. Clearly Carol did care for their father and watching his decline must have been awful. As she sat poised at the keyboard she wondered for a moment if this might be the start of she and Carol becoming friends again. If it was her father who had got in the way before, well, he could no longer interfere. Sally wondered what their friendship might look like without a pile of books between them.
Before she could type a word, she heard the cheerful ping of a new message on Facebook. It was from Bindy, just wondering how she was doing. Sally hesitated for a moment but then started typing her reply. Much easier to chat with Bindy than broker a peace deal with Carol Crottie. Sally quickly gave her the headlines: the house was sold, and she was trying to make things better with Carol. She didn’t mention Killian and his baby news. That seemed too much to share before she really knew how she felt about it herself. What if Bindy judged her for not thinking it was unqualified happy news?
Wow! Good for you, Sally. You’re a much better person than I am. I don’t think I’d ever want to see her again.
Sally almost purred reading the reply from Bindy. She was a good person. Offering up an olive branch to Carol really was a beautiful gesture.
I just think there has been so much anger and sadness. Now the house is gone we can just focus on Daddy. By the way, I’m not so wonderful – I couldn’t be bothered to go to work today!!!
Enjoy it, girl! You’ve got your house money now! Do you know the people who bought it?
No. A developer I think. End of an era. So many memories! Do your parents still live where you grew up?
Yes! My bedroom is like a shrine. Seriously, it’s like the Anne Frank museum!
Sounds lovely!! I must go and email Carol. What should I say to her?
Hideous. I don’t know. If I were you I’d meet her for a coffee or just go and see her. I know that sounds worse than writing an email, but it’s easier in the long run and she can’t ignore you the way she might do with a message. What do you think?
Christ! I’d be afraid she might stab me! I’ll think about it. You not working today?
Mm. Sally, I’m AT work! Lmao!!! Laters. B xxx
Don’t work too hard – as if!!!! Xxxxx
Sally leaned back in the chair and stared at the blank screen. The kettle. She’d make herself a tea and then decide what she should do.
Chapter 18
Moira had a great deal on her mind and most of it concerned the subject of death. She was standing at the ironing board in her kitchen. She had her back to the large window, trying to ignore the heavy rain from the Atlantic that was hammering at the glass. Moira leaned into the iron as it eased its way along the sleeve of one of Dave’s shirts. She felt she did her best thinking at the ironing board.
It was a body in the freezer, of that she had no doubt. Carol just didn’t want to consider the possibility that she loved a killer. Even if Declan wasn’t a murderer, he certainly knew that there was a corpse in his basement. While Moira didn’t consider herself an actual expert in criminal law, she was fairly sure that must be some sort of crime. That was the reason she hadn’t wanted to involve Dave. Maybe it was all his years dealing with health inspectors and audits for his business but he had developed a very rigid approach to rules, compared to how he had been as a younger man. Back then it had been very different. Moira could remember sitting in the back of their first café, after hours, not long after they’d been married – certainly before the children, anyway – changing the ‘best before’ labels on unsold sandwiches. Back then, Dave did whatever was necessary. Now he seemed to have trouble embracing areas that seemed a little greyer than black or white. Moira still saw life differently. Often watching the news, she found herself having a twinge of sympathy for the person huddled under a blanket being ushered in or out of court. When someone killed another person she assumed they must have had a very good reason. Something or someone must have driven them to it. Of course, there were monsters in the world and murder was wrong in principle, she accepted that, but Moira felt the motive, the circumstances, should have some influence on both the crime and the punishment. She couldn’t just unleash the guards on Declan, especially now that he was in that care home, unable to explain or defend himself.
Moira slipped the pressed shirt onto a hanger and hung it from a low rail under the kitchen island. Then she grabbed another shirt from the basket and stretched it across the board. A body. A whole adult frozen stiff. Would herself and Carol be able to dispose of that? Moira sighed. Even if they could, she didn’t trust her daughter not to get hysterical and tell someone, or run to the police even if it meant the worst for Declan.
If the body turned out to be Joan Barry, and it probably was, then in all likelihood Declan was a killer. At this stage no one would ever know why. A fight gone wrong, a crime of passion, an affair exposed – it didn’t really matter. Unless Joan Barry’s corpse was dressed in a Nazi uniform or something worse, then Moira would go to the guards at once. No need to tell them that she had delayed her visit in order to be sure of the crime and the culprit. It was her house now, her basement, her freezer. She had every right to poke around a bit if she so wished. It wasn’t as if she had stumbled upon a freshly bleeding body on the stairs and not reported it. This was what they called them on that television show. What was the phrase? Then she remembered. A cold case. She chuckled to herself. Cold? This case was freezing.
How would Carol cope? Moira feared the worst. If her daughter was this upset because her boyfriend had lost his marbles, Moira dreaded to think how she’d react when she discovered that he was a murderer. In fairness it was terrible to think of sharing your life, your bed with a cold-blooded killer. Maybe there was the slim possibility that Carol might decide to look on the bright side, and just be happy to be out of the relationship without suffering any physical harm herself, but somehow Moira doubted that.
The doorbell rang. Moira glanced at the window. Whoever it was would be soaked. She placed the iron carefully on the granite worktop of the island where it could do no harm and headed out to the hall.
She didn’t recognise the young woman at the door, her hair smeared across her face by the rain, her glasses like two shower doors.
‘Hello, awful day isn’t it?’ Moira hardly stuck her nose out the door.
‘Hello. I was wondering, is Carol in?’
‘Carol? No, I’m afraid she’s out.’ Moira was instantly suspicious. What did this person want with Carol?
‘Oh. Right.’ The young woman seemed deflated.
‘Am I any use to you? I’m her mother.’
‘Hello. No. I was hoping to talk to her myself. We’ve met before, haven’t we? Down in Stable Row. I’m Sally Barry. Declan’s daughter.’
Moira bristled. What fresh humiliation did this girl intend to visit upon Carol?
‘Well, she’s not here and I don’t know when she’ll be back, so if you’ll excuse me . . .’ She began to close the front door, but Sally put out her hand to stop her.
‘I’m here to apologise. I wanted to talk because it, well, it’s all such a mess.’
Moira couldn’t help feeling a twinge of sympathy for the rain-soaked visitor. She seemed so young to be making decisions about healthcare or property deals. Moira decided the girl was sincere. It would be good for Carol to speak to her, and besides, Moira had some questions of her own she wanted to ask. Maybe she could find out some more about the basement partition.
‘Will you come in and wait?’
Sally’s expression changed. It was like watching the sun emerge from behind clouds.
‘Thank you. Thank you so much, Mrs Crottie.’
‘Please. Moira!’ her hostess called as she led her into the bungalow and out of the driving rain.
‘Some view!’ Sally exclaimed as they walked into the kitchen area.
‘You should see it on a fine day.’ Moira pulled a chair away from the table. ‘You’ll sit down.’
‘Thanks.’ Sally did as she was told.
‘Can I get you a towel or anything? You’re soaked.’
‘No. I’m grand, thanks.’
‘Cup of tea?’
‘No. I won’t. Thanks though, all the same.’
‘You’re sure?’ Moira pointed towards the kettle. ‘It’s no bother.’
‘Certain. Thanks.’
‘Right.’ Moira took a seat on the other side of the table and a silence descended on the couple. The rain hammered at the windows and an occasional howl of wind could be heard whipping around the house.
Moira studied her damp visitor. A funny-looking little thing, she was busying herself pulling strands of her rain-flattened hair behind her ears. Her shoulders were hunched and her head bowed. She didn’t look very brave and yet she must be, either that or stupid, to think she’d get a warm welcome in this house.
‘Sorry about the state of the place. I was just catching up with a bit of ironing.’
Sally looked up and noticed the ironing board for the first time. If Mrs Crottie thought this room was in a ‘state’ she should see how Sally had left her cottage.
‘Don’t let me stop you.’
‘No, no. I was due a break.’
Sally allowed her head to bend forward once more.
Moira’s mind returned to the only thing she could think about. Did this girl know about the hidden freezer? No. How could she? If either she or her brother had had any suspicions about the basement room, they would never have put it up for sale. Moira remembered Carol telling her how Declan had insisted he never wanted Stable Row to be sold. Not exactly evidence, but in Moira’s mind, it wasn’t looking good for Declan.
Later that evening Moira would ask herself why she had said what she had. Was she really just searching for a subject the girl might have some interest in or had Moira been trying to stir up trouble? She wasn’t sure but the next words out of her mouth were, ‘Good news about selling Stable Row.’
It certainly provoked a reaction. Sally’s head sprang towards Moira as if the older woman had caught her doing something she shouldn’t.
‘Oh. You heard about that.’
‘Yes.’ Moira was enjoying herself. The thrill of the fisherman feeling a tug on the line.
‘End of an era,’ Sally said uncertainly.
‘You got a good price too, I’d say.’ Moira knew she should stop. This was cruel and unnecessary. The girl was losing a game she wasn’t even aware she was playing.
Sally squirmed in her seat. She evidently didn’t want to talk about money.
‘Do you think Carol will be much longer?’
‘No. Not long,’ Moira said brightly. ‘She’s just popped into Stable Row.’ This was a lie. Carol was in fact getting her hair cut but Moira was impatient to deliver her news.
‘Right,’ Sally said flatly, her unease increasing. Moira was looking at her intently. Sally shifted in her seat.
Moira, worried her prey might leave, went in for the kill.
‘Oh. Didn’t you know?’ The hint of a smirk played at the corners of her mouth.
‘Sorry. Know what?’
Moira took a deep breath. ‘Well, that Carol owns number seven. Carol bought the house.’
Sally tried to stay calm. She hoped her face wasn’t betraying her confusion. How could this be true? Killian would never have sold number seven to Carol without mentioning it. Moira was smiling broadly now. Did Mrs Crottie think this was funny or was she playing some sort of joke on her? Without deciding to, she stood.
‘I’m going to go.’ She looked in the direction of the front door.
‘Are you sure? Carol won’t be much longer.’ Moira couldn’t stop smiling. She imagined Sally rushing off to tell the brother her news.
‘Yes. I . . .’ Sally hesitated, unsure if she needed an excuse to leave. No. This woman was not being kind. She didn’t fully understand what had just happened but she knew she was being taken for a fool. ‘Thank you, but I must go.’ She hurried towards the front door. Moira fussed behind her. ‘Well, I’ll be sure to let Carol know that you called.’
The door opened and Sally was running through the rain towards her car.
‘Bye now!’ Moira waved, feeling the first hint of guilt, as she watched Sally struggling to get out of the rain into her car. Was Moira’s little bit of fun going to get her in trouble? No. There was nothing the Barrys could do now. They had played their last hand. The game was over.
Chapter 19
Colin checked the amount of gin he had just poured into his glass, and added another generous splash. This was not an evening for restraint. Behind him he could hear Killian pacing the floor. Colin had hoped he might have tired himself out by now but there seemed to be no respite.
‘It makes no sense. What are they up to? They must be up to something.’
Colin knew better than to mistake this monologue for conversation. It was his job to listen and nod and then when he judged the timing to be just right, offer something that might help to defuse the situation. He dribbled a small amount of tonic into his glass.
‘It must have something to do with Daddy. Do you think they’ve come up with some scheme to get him out of St Brendan’s? Is there some legal loophole we didn’t see?’
Colin sipped his drink and picked at an uneven thread in his trousers. He suddenly became aware that Killian had stopped pacing. Colin looked up to find his husband staring at him. Clearly he wanted some sort of answer but Colin hadn’t really been listening.
‘You’ve got the money so I don’t see how it matters who owns the place now. It’s weird, I’ll grant you, but you just have to try and forget about it.’
‘But what if it’s about Daddy? Is it a way of her getting her claws back into him?’ Killian started pacing again. ‘Maybe Sally got the wrong end of the stick. And what the fuck was she even doing out at Crottie’s?’ He stopped and held out his empty glass. ‘Can I get a refill, please?’
Colin wondered why it wouldn’t have been easier for Killian to get a fresh drink himself since he was already standing up, but, saying nothing, eased himself out of his chair.
Killian rested one arm on the fireplace. ‘I googled the company and there’s no mention of Crottie anywhere.’
‘Well, there you go. Maybe you shouldn’t be getting all worked up about something Sally says. Have you called Reid’s?’
‘Left a message.’
‘OK. So, drink this and try to relax until you know something for sure.’ Colin handed Killian his drink.
‘Have we no limes?’
Colin gave his husband a look to suggest that he was pushing his luck.
‘Cucumber’s grand. Thanks.’
The two men sat on either side of the empty fireplace. Colin met his husband’s eyes. ‘Cheers.’ They lightly clinked their glasses.
‘Right, Killian, are you ready for my news now? Well, our news.’ Colin was smiling.
‘Sorry. I’m useless. The news. Your news. Yes. What is it?’
Colin arched his eyebrows to suggest there might be something Killian was forgetting. ‘What day is it today?’
‘Wednesday,’ Killian replied uncertainly. Clearly he had forgotten something but nothing came to mind.
‘And what was happening this Wednesday?’
Killian shrugged. ‘I give up.’
Colin gave a dramatic sigh. ‘Cath?’
‘Cath?’ Killian repeated the name, but then the clouds of his memory parted. ‘Oh fuck. The scan! The scan was today. How was it?’
They were both laughing with excitement now.
‘Great. Cath and the baby are both doing great.’ He reached into his jacket pocket and held a small piece of paper against his chest. Killian gasped.
