The Corrigan legacy (5 page)

'I always come home at five thirty.'

She struggled to sit up. 'It can't be that time already.'

"Fraid so. What did the doctor say?'

Kate blinked furiously, but the tears wouldn't be held back. She fell against him, sobbing, 'She says it could be chronic fatigue syndrome.'

He went very still.

She looked up to see pity on his face. She didn't want his pity, she wanted his love, wanted them to go out and have fun at the end of a long day's work, as they had done before.

'I was afraid of that. A cousin of mine went down with it a few years ago, so I've seen what it can do to people. I reckon it's more widespread than the authorities will admit. I'm sorry, Kate. So sorry.'

He held her until she had stopped weeping, then coaxed her into drinking the now lukewarm tea.

'What am I going to do, Joe?' she asked afterwards as she lay on the bed holding his hand. 'I'm not a permanent employee, only on a temporary contract. I've used up most of my savings and I can't even finish this contract.'

'I told you. I can pay the rent and buy you a few groceries till you sort something else out.'

But she hated the thought of being dependent on anyone, even him. And besides, that didn't really solve her problems. Some days she felt as though her skull were dense fog and -even more frightening - couldn't even remember what she'd done the day before. And though she slept for ten hours or more most nights, she still needed a nap or two during the day, because she simply couldn't stay awake.

On bad days it was a major achievement to wash the dishes. Or get dressed. Even on good days she couldn't do all that much.

She would go mad if this continued.

An inner suburb of London. The early morning urgency is over and the sun is shining. Somewhere nearby traffic hums. In this street elderly folk stroll along, mothers push babies and cats sun themselves in sheltered nooks.

Cal picked up the envelope that dropped through his letter box, letting out a long, shuddering breath as he saw where it came from. As he read the results of the new DNA tests, fear sat like lead in his belly. He had hoped ... but this proved that Lily wasn't his, not biologically anyway. Feeling gutted, he sank down on the nearest chair and stared into a bleak future. 

When he went back to his computer there was an email from her, sent from an Internet cafe.

Mum told me about the tests, but I still love you, Dad. And you are my dad, whatever she says, the best dad ever. She's bought me a new mobile phone to cheer me up but I've had to promise faithfully not to ring you on it. As if a new phone makes any difference to how I feel.

We'll find a way to be together. We have to. I'm not going with her and Wayne to the States.

Love ya! Lily-Pilly

Cal was filled with warmth at the thought of how much Lily still loved him, but he knew how implacable the law could be - and Kerry. He wasn't sure any longer that his lawyer could handle such a ticklish case, but it seemed there were complexities and something called parental responsibility to be decided before they went any further.

He went online and downloaded everything he could find about it. There were web sites which seemed to be run by angry men who'd lost their children. There were lawyers' web sites that tangled him in articles full of legal complexities, ifs and buts. Only they all seemed to deal with biological fathers in marriage break-ups, not cases like his. He tried every combination of words in the search engine, scouring the Net until the small hours of the morning, but found little to help him understand his own options.

He didn't think the law would really allow Kerry to take his daughter to the States, preventing him from seeing the child again, because it seemed children had a say in these matters, especially children over twelve, like Lily. The trouble was, he was torn every which way. He didn't want to make his daughter the subject of a bitter custody battle. And actually, he didn't want to stop Kerry re-marrying. Not if it made her happy.

If only he could believe that going to Texas with Kerry would make the child happy, he might have stood back a little, heart-breaking as that would have been, in return for a guaranteed annual visit in the summer holidays. But he didn't believe it. He knew how Lily felt about it, he'd never seen her so upset, and also how self-centred his ex-wife was. Kerry would be engrossed in her new husband and life.

And why should Wayne care for Lily? It was Kerry he was interested in.

He emailed back:

I love you too, Lily-Pilly. Untold. I'm going away at the weekend, just for a couple of days to think about things, taking the Hog. I'll email when I get back.

Dad

He sent off the email to her new address and wandered round his flat, unable to settle.

When he was upset, he always went back to his roots and that's what he intended to do now. They'd knocked down the terraced village house where he'd grown up, but the rolling slopes of the moors that separated Lancashire from Yorkshire never changed and he loved them. He'd live there if it weren't for the need to stay near Lily. Several times a year he mounted his Harley-Davidson and simply took off for a refresher break in the north. Only this time he took a bottle of whisky with him.

It wasn't refreshment of the soul he needed, but a wake to mourn the loss of a daughter who might not be flesh of his flesh, but was the child of his heart.

He didn't love Lily any less, of course he didn't, but he had cherished that blood and bone connection between them, been proud to have fathered such an intelligent and affectionate child.

And now he knew he'd fathered no one. He, who had wanted a family and children so desperately, had been glad Kerry was pregnant when they married.

The following day Judith rang her former housekeeper to tell her she would be collecting her car that afternoon.

'I think you'd better speak to Mr Corrigan, madam.'

'Why? It's the car I need. I won't have to come insjde the house.'

'The car isn't here any more.'

So Judith rang Des's office.

'What car are you talking about?' he asked. 

As if he didn't know. 'My car, the Mercedes you bought me for my birthday.'

He chuckled. 'That's a company car, not your personal possession. It's being used by an employee of the company now. I don't like things to go to waste.'

'You're a bastard, Des Corrigan.'

He was laughing loudly as he put the phone down.

She rang up her lawyer, but he could do nothing to help her get the car back if it really had been a company car.

'Your financial situation will take some time to sort out, I'm afraid, Mrs Corrigan. It's rather complex.'

'How long?'

'Well, your husband is being awkward about quite a few things, so I'm afraid it's going to drag on a bit.'

'I see. Then I'd better buy myself a new car.'

'Yes. Best thing to do. And about the company you thought was in your name . . .'

'Mmm?' She waited, sure there was another nasty surprise in store.

'There is some doubt about your owning it. It seems that it's owned by the family trust. Rather a complicated tax avoidance set-up, perfectly legal, of course, but complicated. So you'll not be receiving any income from that until everything is—'

She finished it for him, '—sorted out.'

When she'd put the phone down, she sat down to do some calculations. She had the money she'd taken from their joint account, but wasn't sure how long it'd last. It had been a good many years since she'd lived frugally. She had her jewellery, of course, but she didn't really want to sell her bits and pieces. Most were antiques that she'd searched for until she found exactly the right thing. Des had never understood that it was the beauty of the pieces that mattered to her, not their antiquity or value.

Damn him! He could well afford to make her an allowance, wouldn't even miss it. But she wasn't going to beg for it.

The next day she received a letter from Des's lawyer informing her that since she had now recovered from her unfortunate accident, they wouldn't be paying for her hotel room as from Thursday morning. That was tomorrow, she thought, looking round. Right then, she'd need to get cracking.

She went out to buy herself a car, a second-hand one. She was lucky enough to find one that suited her, a silver Ford Focus. It seemed very utilitarian after the Mercedes, but it would be economical on petrol, and that was the important thing now.

She paid for two more nights in the hotel rather than move somewhere else. After all, she was on a cheaper, long-term rate. She could have saved money by staying with her mother, but that might make difficulties with Des, who was still popping in to see Hilary, so she didn't even suggest it.

The bed seemed harder that night and her knee was aching because she'd been on her feet a lot. She tossed and turned, worrying about money, about Mitch, about the future.

And creeping in to settle like a fat ugly toad on her shoulder, was a feeling of apprehension about what Des would do next. She was quite sure he wouldn't just let her go in peace, not when she had been the one to end it. He enjoyed paying people back for what he saw as slights, and could be very inventive about how he did it.

In the morning she phoned her mother and asked if Mitch could come to the hotel to say farewell.

'Des just rang me, Judith. He said he doesn't want the boy going near you again on his own. I'm to be with the two of you at all times, so that you don't poison his mind against his father.'

'You won't stop Mitch coming to say goodbye, surely?'

'Certainly not. I'll drive Mitch to the hotel myself, give him half an hour alone with you, then join you both, if that's all right. I want to say goodbye too, darling, even though you're only going up to Lancashire. I fully intend to come and visit you there, by the way. I only have one daughter'

'Thanks, Mum.'

'That's my pleasure. And Judith? If Des withdraws his financial support from me, I'll still have enough to live on, you know.'

'Not in such comfort. And that house you're living in belongs to him.' 

'I still own my unit. I didn't take his advice about selling it, but rented it out. So do what's necessary for your future happiness, love.'

'You're the best, Mum.' 

Judith went to repair her face, feeling warmed by her mother's support. Hilary had always got on well with Des, and he seemed fond of her, too, but the fact that she was prepared to give up her comfortable home to stick with her daughter meant a lot.

Only - if Hilary did move back to her tiny one-bedroom unit, where would Mitch stay?

What a sad tangle this was!

Later on, the concierge rang her room. 'Ms Horrocks?'

'Yes?' It still felt strange to be called by her maiden name.

'There's a Mr Mitchell Corrigan to see you. All right to send him up?'

'Yes. And thank you for being careful about who comes to my room.'

'Our pleasure, madam.'

She didn't mention her financial problems to her son, but Mitch raised it with her. 'Dad said you tried to pinch the company car.'

'Is that what he calls it now? It was a birthday present to me, if you remember.'

He nodded. 'Of course I remember. It came tied with a big bow. Is he being difficult about money?'

She nodded.

'Tell me.'

'I can't get a penny out of him until things are settled legally about the company I thought I owned. Luckily I've some money saved, but I'll have to be a bit careful and I'm afraid you'll be totally dependent on him financially. I can't help you much till it's all sorted out. But I don't want you to get involved in our quarrels, so don't discuss it with him.'

'I am part of this, whether you want it or not. But I appreciate the way you haven't tried to blacken Dad to me.'

It wasn't that she hadn't been tempted! she thought bitterly.

Half an hour later the concierge sent her mother up. Hilary came across to fold Judith in her arms. 'You look tired, love.'

'I didn't sleep very well.'

'We came by taxi, so let's have a bottle of champagne to launch you in your new life. My treat. Mitch is old enough to help us drink it, don't you think?'

So they sat and reminisced, then drank to Judith's future.

When they'd gone she felt bereft, wanted to run after them and drag them back.

Didn't, of course. She was determined to stand on her own feet from now on. But what could she do to earn a living? She wasn't good enough to be an artist, even though she still loved to paint. She was going to be dependent on Des at first, whether she wanted it or not. She'd given up everything to marry him.

How stupid she'd been! She should have finished her studies. Would at least have her teaching qualification now. Only he wouldn't have waited for her, she'd known that.

A week or so after Kate's visit to the doctor the doorbell rang. Joe was out so she went to answer it.

'Why didn't you tell us?' her father said by way of a greeting. 'You look dreadful.'

She held the door open and her parents walked in. If she'd been dressed, she might have tried to brazen it out, but she wasn't. It hadn't seemed worthwhile, when the effort of putting on clothes would only tire her out and send her back to lie on top of the bed. Her hair needed washing, too. She looked a mess and she knew it.

She followed them back inside and sat down beside her mother on the sofa.

Her father began to pace to and fro. 'Joe says you've been ill since February. Since February! And not a word to us!'

Her mother took her hand and held it, patting it gently as she had when they were children and upset about something. That brought tears to Kate's eyes. It was tempting to throw herself into her mother's arms and allow herself to be cosseted and comforted, as if she were a child again. Too tempting. She pulled her hand away and forced herself to sit upright. 'I didn't want to - bother you.'

'Well, now we're more than bothered.' Her father slapped one hand against his thigh. 'And you're coming home with us so that your mother can nurse you better.'

'I can't. I have to get back to work and—'

'Joe says your contract has expired. You're unemployed. Living off your savings.'

She scowled at the floor. 'He's been saying too much, then.'

Her mother raised one hand, a gesture that had stopped traffic in its time and always stopped her father, who had a bit of a temper. He closed his mouth and let her take over now that he'd vented some of his anger. He liked an easy life, Leo Corrigan did - and had found it.

Her mother turned to her and said, 'The point is, Kate: how can we best help you?'

It wasn't the words, but her loving expression that did it -and the extra pat on the hand. Kate couldn't hold back the tears any longer. 'I don't know what to do, Mum. I can't even think straight. And - and I'm not getting any better.'

'Seems to me you'd better come home for a while, then, love. Have you seen a doctor?'

'Yes, but she said there was nothing she could do, so I was going to find another one.'

'We'll take you to old Dr Ramsay. If he can't help you, no one can.'

Her mother's Lancashire accent reminded her of childhood. Her mother's hand was warm in hers. And heaven help her, Kate couldn't say no to them. She was at the end of her tether.

When Joe came back, she was packing and her parents had just got back from shopping for winter clothes, making the most of their visit to Sydney.

She glared at him. 'Why didn't you tell me you'd contacted them?'

'You'd have thrown a fit. But you won't see another doctor and you're not looking after yourself. You definitely won't get better if you don't eat.' He held up one of her arms. 'Look at you! Skeletal. I don't have time to care for you properly . . .' He hesitated. 'And . . . well, I haven't told you yet, but I'm being transferred to Melbourne next month.'