Cathy Kelly 3-book Bundle (22 page)

The story was no longer about him. It came down to the question: How could she not have known?

Years later, the woman gave her side of the story and made sense of the strange events of that day. She hadn’t known. They were married, they had a child, why should she doubt him?

When he told her, she was stunned, and was still stunned an hour later when they stood together.

‘Anneliese,’ said Izzie, and Anneliese was sure poor Izzie was about to cry. She looked on the verge of it. ‘I thought I wanted this coffee but I don’t, actually. I’m going to get myself some water from the coffee shop. Will I get you something too?’

‘No thanks,’ Anneliese said. She didn’t feel hungry or thirsty these days. She couldn’t feel anything other than the big, black hole inside her.

With Izzie gone, she could go back to torturing herself, thinking about the past. It was a movie reel she couldn’t turn off in her head. She kept going back over their lives together, analysing everything, working out when Edward had been telling the truth and when he hadn’t.

At Christmas, Beth and Marcus had come to stay and the house on Milsean Bay had been full of laughter and joy. Anneliese had loved it. She’d gone overboard with finding the perfect Christmas tree, decorating it, turning the whole house into a Christmassy bower with lots of holly, mistletoe, shiny gold balls and enough Santas to sink a ship. On Christmas Day, she’d had a lunch party for seven: her and Edward, Brendan, Lily, Nell, Marcus and Beth. Nell had brought her famous dark chocolate meringue, which they’d had with raspberries.

So often over the years, when they’d invited Nell to their house for something, Nell would say gratefully: ‘Thank you for having me.’

And she hadn’t said it that Christmas. Anneliese remembered it most clearly because at the time she’d thought, with pleasure, that Nell had finally accepted that they were friends, that she didn’t need to thank them for their kindness every single time. How wrong she’d been.

‘Can I do anything to help?’ Beth had said, coming into the kitchen, looking like a Christmas fairy with her glossy, dark hair curling around her face and wearing a beautiful moss-green silky sweater, over a grey velvet skirt that twirled around her legs.

‘No, darling,’ said Anneliese, looking up from the cooker. She’d changed out of her Christmas outfit after church and had put on a pair of jeans and an old shirt for doing the cooking, which was terribly messy. She would change quickly as soon as dinner was ready. Meanwhile Nell had covered up her finery in a big apron. Nell was looking great, Anneliese thought fondly. Edward and Anneliese had bought her these beautiful handmade earrings shaped like little fuchsia drops and a necklace with a fuchsia drop pendant. Nell wore them with pride.

‘How’s the turkey doing?’ she asked Nell. Nell was the turkey expert.

‘I’d say another twenty minutes, just to be on the safe side,’ Nell said, sounding professional.

‘Right, I’ll open the oven if you manhandle it in,’ Anneliese replied.

Edward had come in when they were finished. ‘How are my two favourite cooks?’ he said cheerily.

‘We’re fine,’ said Anneliese, going over to poke around in the saucepan where the sprouts were steaming away.

‘Everything is going wonderfully,’ said Nell. ‘Doesn’t it smell amazing? I know you’re ravenous, Edward, it’s going to
be fabulous though. Better to take that teeny bit longer and have it just perfect.’

‘You’re the expert, Nell,’ he said.

And dinner had been perfect. Every moment of it. Anneliese had felt proud to think that so many people fought like cats and dogs over Christmas dinner, while her family and friends enjoyed this warm, civilised meal where they laughed over appalling cracker jokes and reminisced about Christ-mases past.

That night, when everyone had gone home and Marcus and Beth were downstairs watching something on the TV, Anneliese and Edward had lain in bed and held each other.

‘It was a lovely day, wasn’t it?’ Anneliese said.

She was exhausted. All that standing around in the kitchen was so tiring and she’d wanted to make the day just right. It seemed to have gone just right anyway, but she still felt the need to be watching, a bit like flying and never going to sleep, as though the psychic will of all the people with their eyes open could keep the plane in the sky, and if they concentrated hard, the plane would land safely. That’s how she felt about days like Christmas.

‘It was wonderful, darling,’ Edward said, giving her a chaste kiss on the forehead and turning over. ‘You’re tired,’ he said magnanimously. ‘Let’s go to sleep.’

Once upon a time, they made love at night after big events like anniversaries and birthdays. It had become a part of their marriage, Anneliese remembered now. She should have realised there was something wrong then, when Edward didn’t want to hold her and undress her gently, making love to her with the combination of passion and gentleness that came after thirty-seven years of marriage. She should have known something wasn’t quite right. But she hadn’t because she was so busy concentrating on the wrong thing.

Was that going to be her epitaph?
Anneliese kept her eyes open so the plane would stay in the air, but she’d watched the wrong plane?

No matter how angry she was with Edward, Anneliese realised that she felt even angrier with herself. She hadn’t seen what was happening and she couldn’t forgive herself for that.

It was no good: she couldn’t face seeing Izzie again and seeing the shock on her face, not when she felt this close to screaming. She’d come back to spend time with Lily later. Better to go home and have Izzie briefly wonder where she’d gone, than to fall apart in front of her niece.

At home, she could give in and take one of the tranquillisers she had left over from years ago. There were a few left in a small bottle in her bedside table, enough to do her until she went to the doctor. There was no point putting
that
off, either. She’d fought it, determined not to have to go back on bloody antidepressants again, because taking them felt like such a sign of failure. But the time had come for the big guns: if Dr Whelan had something to take away the grim darkness in her head, then she needed it. Lots of it. Otherwise, who knew what might happen?

It was seven that evening when she returned to the hospital, in a state of tranquilliser-induced calm. She hoped that Izzie’s jet-lag meant she’d have left and returned home to her father by then, but even if she hadn’t, Anneliese could cope.

It was amazing how one little tablet could make her feel better. Well, not so much better, but calmer. As if she was on a tiny lifeboat in the middle of a huge, deep ocean, and with the little tablet inside her, she didn’t need to look over the edge of the boat to see the vast inky blueness beneath her. It was still there, she knew that. But she didn’t need to look at it. She could exist and not look, which was much nicer than forcing herself to stare at it and feel the anxiety flooding in.

The hospital was busy with visitors rushing to and fro, carrying flowers, bottles of mineral water and magazines in to their loved ones. Anneliese smiled at them all serenely. People were so kind, really.

When she got to Lily’s ward, she was surprised to see a woman sitting by Lily’s bed, holding her hand. It wasn’t Izzie: it was a younger woman, perhaps late twenties, and she had long streaked blonde hair piled on top of her head in an untidy knot, and wore the loose trousers and thonged shoes that Anneliese always associated with students on gap years in Thailand.

‘Hello,’ she said curiously.

‘Oh, hello.’ The girl leapt to her feet and her lightly tanned face looked anxious.

‘I’m Anneliese, a relative of Lily’s.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I’m Jodi, I’m not a friend or anything.’

Anneliese blinked at her in surprise. The girl’s freckles looked Irish but her accent was pure Australian.

‘I never actually met Mrs Shanahan, but we talked on the phone. I came to visit her because I feel…’ She bit her lip. ‘I feel responsible.’

Anneliese stared at her, taking in the friendly, open face. She hoped the tranquilliser wasn’t making her stupid, but this didn’t make sense.

‘How?’

‘I phoned her, you see,’ Jodi went on, even more anxious now, ‘asking her about the history of Rathnaree, and she said she’d meet me, and Yvonne, who’s my next-door neighbour, says Mrs Shanahan hasn’t been to Rathnaree in years but I still asked her and then she has a stroke, and it’s all my fault!’

‘You poor thing,’ said Anneliese. ‘Don’t be silly. It’s not your fault.’

‘You don’t understand – it is!’ insisted Jodi. ‘She’s an old lady and I knew I should have talked to somebody else about it. I upset her, I must have, because one day I’m talking to her on the phone arranging to come and see her, and the next, Yvonne tells me she’s in here in a coma.’

‘You didn’t cause the stroke,’ Anneliese soothed. ‘You clearly didn’t know my aunt. Lily could cope with just about any bit of news you cared to throw at her and the fact that she’s an old lady doesn’t matter a whit. She’s young on the inside and she has the most open mind of anyone I ever met. If she didn’t want to see you or if you upset her, she’d have said, I’m sure of it. Tell me, what particularly did you want to research?’ Anneliese asked curiously.

‘All about Rathnaree House. I found this photograph, you see, and I mentioned it to her…’

‘Was there anybody called Jamie in it?’ Anneliese asked.

‘No, I’ve only got the name of one person, a Lady Irene. Why?’

‘The thing is, Lily hasn’t been conscious since her stroke, except for one moment when she called out “Jamie”. None of us knows of any Jamie in her life and, well, her son-in-law thinks it might be important. Now that you tell me you were talking to her about the past, it makes sense that she was thinking about it. He might be someone connected to when her parents worked in Rathnaree.’

‘I could try and find out,’ said Jodi. ‘I mean, if you want me to, if it’s not being intrusive. It’s just that…’ She stopped.

‘That would be great,’ Anneliese said. ‘I think Izzie, my niece, and her dad would like to know who Jamie was.’

‘Oh Izzie, she’s the one from New York,’ said Jodi excitedly. ‘Yvonne told me all about her. It sounds so exciting.’

‘Yeah, it is,’ said Anneliese, who thought she would never find anything exciting ever again. But then, excitement was overrated. Calm was nicer. ‘The thing is,’ she added, ‘the
doctors don’t know if what Lily is saying is important or what it is. I suppose it’s like dreams, nobody knows what they mean. So it might be useful to know who Jamie is, and then again it might mean nothing.’

‘But it could put all the puzzle together and let her go happy,’ said Jodi.

Anneliese looked at this eager Australian girl with the kind eyes and open heart. To Jodi, it was very simple. Lily was probably going to die and the best thing to do for her was to put all the pieces of the puzzle in place so that she could go happily, with her life sorted out. And of course, Anneliese thought bitterly, nobody’s life was ever sorted out.

If she died right now, nobody would be able to put her pieces back together, or if they did, it would look like a pretty weird jigsaw puzzle.

In her pharmaceutically induced calm, she felt able to look at her life from a distance and see how out of control it suddenly was.

‘We could check the local records and the census,’ Jodi said, enthusiastically. ‘I did some historical research and archaeology modules in college and I know how to research correctly. It’s fascinating once you get into it. I feel there is so much history here, so much to be told. Would Mrs Shanahan like that, do you think?’

Anneliese considered it. Normally, she felt as if she had the answer to most questions, but right now, she had no clue what Lily would want her to do – if Lily would like the past gently opened up and examined, or if she would prefer it left alone, all neatly and mysteriously packaged up. None of them had ever heard of this Jamie person, so perhaps Lily had her secrets after all.

Perhaps Izzie would like this man tracked down. Izzie had a closer claim on Lily than she did. Yes, that made sense: Izzie could make the decision. Anneliese was fed up making
decisions. All the ones she’d made hadn’t turned out very well, had they?

‘Jodi,’ she said now, ‘let’s talk to Izzie. If she thinks it’s a good idea, we’ll go for it. But it might be a good plan to wait a few days before suggesting looking for clues. It’s probably a little raw now. I know you think it might help her come out of the coma, but we’ll give it a few more days.’

‘Of course,’ Jodi agreed. ‘I wouldn’t want to do anything to upset her: she sounded so lovely on the phone. It’s sad to think of her calling for somebody and we don’t know who that person is. It’s like in a film, isn’t it? Like there’s so much we don’t know about other people.’

Anneliese nodded. She couldn’t quite trust herself to speak.

‘You must be worn out,’ Jodi added kindly. ‘Would you like to go and get a cup of coffee or tea or juice? Hospitals can be tiring. My granddad died a couple of years ago and it was rough.’

The idea of a simple cup of tea, with no intense conversation and no need to think of the person sitting opposite her mentally working out why Edward had left her and what she was going to do about it, suddenly seemed very appealing to Anneliese.

‘That would be lovely,’ she said. ‘I’m just going to sit with Lily for maybe ten or fifteen minutes and maybe we could go then? We could go into town and have something there.’

Tamarin shone like a little jewel nestled in the curve of the hills as they walked out of the hospital and down into the town twenty minutes later. Anneliese saw her home through Jodi’s eyes and she thought how beautiful it must look.

Their path took them along the curve of Plunkett Street, where all the residents had painted their houses in pretty pastel colours like a row of houses in a child’s colouring book. It had rained heavily the day before and the combination of the downpour and the beautiful sunlight of the previous few days
had done wonders for the window boxes and small gardens. The fierce colours of hot pink and red geraniums blistered out at them, offset with snowy tufts of pale lilac lobelia.