My Mother's Secret (39 page)

‘OK,’ she said. ‘We’ll watch a movie.’

‘Excellent.’ He took out his phone and dialled Domino’s. ‘Pizza will be here in half an hour,’ he said when he’d placed the order. ‘And I bet you’ll want some of it too. It’s all very well having a chef cook for you, but it can’t beat a twelve-inch pepperoni, can it?’

‘Probably not,’ she agreed as she brought the coffee cups back into the house. ‘Probably not.’

Chapter 34

Roisin was relieved when they finally got home and she could relax in her own living room without having to worry about an assortment of other people, although she did have to spend some additional time reassuring her children that their grandparents weren’t in some sort of trouble for not being married, and that Aunt Steffie had got over her upset.

‘I think Aunt Steffie’s situation is sort of cool,’ Daisy told her later that night when both Poppy and Dougie had gone to bed. ‘I mean, it’d be pretty exciting for me to think that my dad was someone more sort of exotic.’

‘Thanks,’ said Paul.

‘You know what I mean,’ Daisy said. ‘Like you think you’re one person and then you find out you’re way different.’

‘Aunt Steffie isn’t different,’ said Roisin. ‘She’s the same person she always was.’

‘Yeah, but with a good story,’ Daisy insisted. ‘If I follow my dream and become a model like Summer, it’d be an advantage to have a good story behind me.’

‘Summer isn’t really a model,’ said Roisin.

‘Of course she is. She’s done loads of stuff, and just because you don’t see her in the papers every day doesn’t mean she’s not doing a good job.’ Daisy looked at Roisin indignantly. ‘She told me all about it. You can’t diss her because you don’t like her, Mum.’

‘I didn’t say I didn’t like her.’

‘Huh, you made it obvious,’ said Daisy. ‘You kept giving her dirty looks. But she’s nice. I like her. And I’m going to be friends with her on Facebook.’

Roisin knew that to say anything else would only make Daisy support Summer even more. And maybe her daughter was right. Maybe she was being unfair on the model … cocktail waitress … whatever.

‘I hope she’ll be able to give you good advice,’ she said, biting back the comment about smoking that she’d wanted to make.

‘I hope so too,’ said Daisy.

Roisin was relieved when her daughter eventually went to bed, and was happy to head off herself shortly afterwards. When Paul climbed in beside her, she’d already turned out her bedside light, having been unable to concentrate on the book she’d brought with her.

‘You OK?’ Paul asked as he turned out his own lamp.

‘Exhausted,’ admitted Roisin. ‘I’m never organising a party again.’

‘Good,’ said Paul.

‘Good?’ Roisin rolled over so that she was facing him, even though it was too dark to see his face. ‘Why would you say that? Excluding yesterday, what’s wrong with my parties?’

‘You think you have to do everything,’ he said. ‘You had that party planned with military precision. You stressed over the food and the drink and the fact that you’d put Steffie in charge of the invitations. You had me driven demented. And in the end nothing went according to plan anyway. So I’m glad you’re going to give it a miss in the future.’

‘That was the exception. Besides, someone has to co-ordinate things.’

‘It doesn’t always have to be you,’ said Paul.

‘But without me it wouldn’t have happened.’

‘And that might have been a good thing.’

‘Well thanks a lot.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like it sounded.’ Paul put his arm around her. ‘It’s just that I can’t bear to see you getting so revved up all the time. You don’t always have to be the one in charge. Let Davey or Steffie do it once in a while.’

Roisin snorted at the idea of either of her siblings being responsible for any type of family do. Even if Paul was right, and even if he was echoing what Colette had said earlier, it was still her job as the eldest to look after things. And she wasn’t going to blame herself for the current fiasco. Nobody could have predicted that. Not even the best organiser in the world.

She closed her eyes. As she was wondering how much help Davey and Camilla might need with their wedding plans, she was suddenly overcome by the exhaustion of the last forty-eight hours, and fell so deeply asleep that not even Paul’s snoring disturbed her.

It was late, too, by the time Davey and Camilla reached their apartment in Østerbro. As they climbed the winding stairway, Davey felt a sense of relief at being home at last. It was the first time he’d ever truly thought of the apartment as home, but now, away from the drama of his family, he felt himself relax. The last forty-eight hours had been the most stressful of his life – and that included the job interview for his current company, in which he’d sat in front of a board of five men in suits who’d practically filleted him in the detailed questions that they’d asked.

He put the key in the lock and pushed open the door. There was a tranquillity about the apartment, too, about its Nordic simplicity, its clean lines and its functional furniture. It returned to Davey the sense of order that had totally vanished from his life while he’d been in Ireland.

‘That’s what I meant when I said we were hopelessly chaotic,’ he told Camilla when they were sitting on the white Karlstad sofa, drinking decaf. ‘Even when we plan things, someone always throws a spanner in the works.’

‘A spanner?’ she queried. ‘I saw lots of things in your parents’ house but not a spanner.’

‘It’s an expression.’ He grinned. ‘It’s good to know that your English isn’t quite perfect yet. It means that someone does something to mess things up.’

She nodded. ‘I understand. I can see what it means. It’s a good expression.’

‘And apt for the Sheehan family,’ said Davey. ‘Every single time we get together, something unexpected happens. There was a pretty memorable dust-up at Alivia’s twenty-first birthday too. And there was one Christmas my dad and Uncle Seamus nearly came to blows about something – I’ve no idea what. That time Colette pushed Steffie out of the tree …’ His voice trailed off.

‘Colette seems to be a large part of your family’s activities,’ said Camilla.

‘Not really,’ Davey said. ‘When we were kids, she and her brothers stayed with us, that’s all.’

‘And this weekend she was a key part of everything.’

‘I don’t have feelings for her.’ Davey wanted to reassure Camilla. ‘Not those sort of feelings anyhow.’

‘I know,’ said Camilla. ‘I’m being a little silly.’

‘You don’t have to worry about Colette. Honestly.’

‘Clearly.’ Camilla stretched her hand out in front of her. ‘After all, I am the one wearing the ring.’

Davey grinned. ‘Indeed you are. And it looks wonderful on you. I’m very glad you said yes, Cam.’

‘So am I.’ Camilla smiled in return.

‘When do you want to get married?’

‘I don’t know. I’m getting used to being engaged. Which is nice too.’

‘We should have a party ourselves to celebrate,’ said Davey.

‘Here? In Denmark?’

‘Well, we had a celebration in Ireland,’ he said. ‘Admittedly a glass of champagne the morning after the night before isn’t what I’d ideally have had in mind, but nevertheless the important people were there to congratulate us. So we should do something here too.’

Camilla nodded slowly. ‘Our good friends will want to celebrate with us.’

‘And your family.’

‘Not all of them,’ she said. ‘They would not want …’

‘Camilla! Don’t be silly. Of course they would.’

She gave him a wry smile. ‘There have been lots of engagements and weddings in my family,’ she reminded him. ‘It’s not exactly a new thing.’

‘It is for you,’ he said. ‘And for me. So we’ll have people around for drinks and canapés and it can all be very quiet and sophisticated and not at all like the party at Aranbeg.’

Camilla grinned. ‘The party at Aranbeg was fun.’

‘Nevertheless,’ Davey said. ‘Let’s go for something a little less dramatic.’

‘OK.’

They put their cups in the dishwasher and went to bed. Davey, as he always did, fell asleep almost immediately after they’d made love. But Camilla spent another hour awake, gazing into the darkness and wondering how it was that she suddenly felt happier than she’d done in years.

Jenny was sitting on the sofa staring into space when Pascal walked into the living room, a large mug of hot chocolate in his hand.

‘Here,’ he said. ‘To help you sleep.’

It was a joke between them. Jenny was a light sleeper who woke regularly through the night but who nonetheless was always bright and cheerful the next morning, whereas he, who always had a good night’s sleep, was a grouch until well after ten.

‘Thanks.’ She took the hot chocolate and gazed out over her bedraggled garden. The water from the flash-flooding of the stream had completely disappeared, as had the puddles of sodden grass. But the garden looked sad and careworn. Rather like me, she thought, it can’t cope with unexpected shocks.

Pascal sat beside her and rested his arm on the back of the sofa. He’d always known this day would come, when everything would be brought out into the open. He’d hoped that it would be at a time of his and Jenny’s choosing. And in some ways it had been of Jenny’s choosing, although he wished she hadn’t blurted out her confession of their deception in front of everyone like that. Yet he was relieved that she had. He’d always felt guilty about the anniversary cards that arrived every August, wishing them well and expressing delight at how long they’d been married. It had all been a pretence and Pascal didn’t like pretences. But as the years went on, it became harder and harder to admit to the truth. As for Steffie … Pascal sighed. He’d dreaded her birth, expecting that despite what he’d promised Jenny, he’d feel differently towards the child who wasn’t his own. And yet from the moment he’d seen her, wrapped in a white blanket, a tuft of golden hair on her head, he’d loved her unconditionally. And he never for a second thought of her as another man’s daughter. To him, Steffie was, and always would be, his own.

Deep down, he liked to believe that she was. From the moment he’d decided that he was keeping the family together, he’d also decided that Steffie was his. Her sunny, accepting nature always lifted his spirits, and even when things weren’t going well for her – like when she’d lost her job over the jewellery ad – she took it on the chin and got on with life. And, of course, she had that artistic, dreamy streak that he so loved in her mother, that way of thinking that everything should turn out OK in the end because she wanted it to. They were more alike than either of them realised and he hoped that they’d reconcile soon. More than anything he wanted to have his family back together again, and the sooner the better.

But he had a feeling that it would take longer than he’d like for that to happen.

He hoped he was wrong.

The Wedding

Chapter 35

The snowflakes that were drifting languidly past the window landed gently on the ground beneath, before slowly melting. As she peered anxiously skyward, Steffie hoped the snowfall wouldn’t get any heavier and the roads would stay clear. Otherwise the trip to Wexford would be far more fraught than she already expected. She wasn’t a fan of driving in snow, and even though her little Citroën hadn’t given her a moment’s trouble since it had been rescued from the ditch in Wexford more than three months earlier, she didn’t want to risk another mishap with it.

The smattering of snow hadn’t been entirely unexpected. Immediately after the previous night’s chilly weather forecast, she’d looked up half a dozen weather sites in the vain hope that they’d be somewhat more benign than Met Eireann, but they’d confirmed the sweep of Arctic air and heavy cloud advancing southwards from Siberia. And all of them had mentioned the possibility of snow while hedging their bets by saying that it might be confined to higher areas. At least Camilla will feel at home, thought Steffie, as she allowed herself to be mesmerised by the swirling flakes. It’ll be properly Nordic today.

She shivered, then tightened her fluffy robe around her. The central heating had come on an hour earlier, but it was still cool in the house. She hoped it would be significantly warmer in the restored hall of the castle, which was the venue for the winter wedding. She wasn’t entirely convinced about that, because despite it being a stunning building, it could be draughty. The restoration a few years previously hadn’t allowed for the installation of central heating in the two-storey hall, which was the only remaining building in the original castle complex where Steffie used to play when she was younger.

Following the restoration, the castle had become a very popular venue for cultural evenings, but an even more popular choice for wedding ceremonies. On the rare occasions when she’d thought about getting married, Steffie thought it would be a wonderful place to tie the knot. But she’d been beaten to it now and would have to find an alternative venue for her hypothetical wedding. Not that there was any chance of that happening any day soon, she thought, as she turned back into the bedroom and looked at her outfit hanging on the door of her wardrobe. Her life had been a man-free zone of late and she was content to keep it that way.

She held the green silk dress she’d bought at the tail end of the summer sales against her body. It was very pretty, but not exactly made for warmth. Her new green angora jacket would help to keep the chill out, but the truth was that she’d put style before comfort for today’s ceremony. She wanted to look good at the first family occasion since the anniversary party. She wanted to feel good too. And although there’d been no wedding date fixed when she’d bought the dress, it was totally appropriate for the day. Provided she didn’t die from hypothermia.

She went downstairs and took a packet of rashers and a couple of tomatoes from the fridge. It would be a long day and she needed something hot and filling to keep her going, which was why she planned to make the tomato and bacon dish that Liam Kinsella had rustled up for her the day he’d driven her home from Aranbeg. It had become a staple meal for her – she regularly made it for breakfast, brunch or a light snack, and every time she did, she marvelled at how such simple food could taste so great.