Hannie Rising Page 10

  "No problem."

  The air inside the car was warm and dry. Drops condensed on the window shrouding them in curtains of fog. Wipers scraped sheets of water from the windscreen. Ritchie drove competently, deliberately, making no attempt at conversation. Slowly, the knots in Kate's shoulders relaxed and she closed her eyes. Soon, too soon, he pulled up in front of her family home just as he'd done so many times in the past.

  "How's the lad?" he asked.

  She looked confused. "Sorry?"

  "Your son. How is he?"

  "Grand. Why do you ask?"

  He shook his head. "It's strange thinking of you as a mother. I don't have children. I feel like I've missed out."

  "It's not as if it couldn't happen. You're still young enough to have a family."

  Ritchie shook his head. "Not in this lifetime."

  Kate focused on a raindrop zigzagging its way down the windowpane. She wanted to ask the obvious question, but fear of the answer held her back. "I'd invite you in," she said after a minute, "but we're having company for tea."

  He grinned. "Would you really?"

  "Of course," she lied.

  "Your mother never cared much for me."

  Kate opened the door and stepped out. "My mother's loyalty has always been appropriate, Ritchie. What did you expect?"

  "Nothing else. Goodnight, Kate."

  "Thanks for the lift."

  "My pleasure."

  She ran for the porch and stood under the shelter, watching him drive away, waiting until the car disappeared around the corner, then she opened the door and stepped inside.

  Kitchen smells, savory spices and cucumber salad, wafted through the warm air. She sighed with appreciation. Coming home on a rainy night to her mother's cooking was a slice of heaven.

  "Mommy," Evan shouted from the top of the stairs. "Guess what?"

  Kate held out her arms to catch the warm, propelling weight of her son. Carefully, she unwound the towel he wore attached to his shirt with safety pins from around his neck. "Tell me."

  "We're having a guest for tea and I'm allowed to stay up. Nan said."

  "What on earth are you wearing, Evan?"

  "I'm Superman. I can fly, but not too high."

  Kate laughed and kissed his neck. "You smell good," she mumbled.

  He squirmed out of her embrace. "Nan says I should wash myself before the guest comes."

  "Good idea. We'll wash together." Keeping hold of his hand she started up the stairs.

  The door leading to the kitchen opened. "Kate, love, you're home." Her mother's mouth curved into a smile. "How is everything? Did you have a good day?"

  Kate opened her mouth to answer but the words stuck in her throat. It was simply too much, the aromatic smells, the warm air, the familiar room, her mother's welcoming words, Evan's moist little hand, trusting and eager. When would she have anything even remotely as lovely and secure to offer him? She sat down on the stairs, pulled him on to her lap and buried her face his neck.

  "Kate?" Johannah's voice reflected her concern. "Are you all right? Did something happen?"

  Evan struggled out of her lap. "You're wetting me," he complained.

  Kate laughed through her tears. "I suppose I am." She wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry. It can't be pleasant with me weeping all over everyone all the time. I don't know what's the matter with me." She forced a smile. "Everything smells delicious and the house looks wonderful. It's so good to be home and yet—"

  Johannah rested her hand on her grandson's head. "Mommy's tired, Evan, and I need help with the serviettes. There are six of them on the server. Can you lay one on every plate?"

  He nodded, running down the stairs, beating his chest and vowing to save the day.

  She sat down beside Kate. "What happened?"

  "Nothing at all. It just came over me that I have no plan, no idea for my future. I'm in limbo. I have no home, no particular goal and, as of today, I don't even have a job. I told Dermot I wasn't coming to work anymore."

  "What about your Council job? Can you ask for more hours?"

  "I could, but I don't think that's an option and it isn't what I want to do."

  "Which is?"

  Kate shrugged. "I'd like to use my degree."

  "It isn't as if everything needs to be solved this afternoon."

  Kate stood. "Of course, not. I'm being ridiculous and you're having company. I'm sorry I'm late, Mom. I wanted to help you and instead got stuck in stupid conversation with Dermot. I'll wash up and be down in a flash. Send Evan up when he's finished downstairs and don't think about this even for a minute. I'll be fine." She paused on the landing. "Is Liam home?"

  "Not yet. Traffic is bad this time of night. I'll try his mobile in a few minutes. Nan is in the sitting room." Johannah hesitated.

  Kate anticipated he questions. "I need to clean up myself and give Evan a bath but I'll keep her company if you have everything else under control."

  "That would be a Godsend. I'd really appreciate it."

  Upstairs in the bathroom, Kate turned the heat control dial to a higher setting than usual and stood under the spray allowing the blessed warmth to seep into her muscles. Condensation fogged the mirror and wisps of hair curled tightly around her face when she stepped out of the tub. Forgoing everything but a swipe of gloss on her lips, Kate brushed out her hair, stepped into wool trousers and pulled on a knit jersey before running downstairs to find her son. "Evan," she called out. "It's time for a bath."

  A draft of cold air flowed down the hall. Kate turned toward the front door. Her brother stood in the entry accompanied by a woman so exotic and striking she could have graced the cover of a fashion magazine. She was also a good twenty years older than Liam.

  "Kate," he said, flashing his brilliant smile. "Meet Sheila. I brought her home for dinner."

  Kate walked down the hall and extended her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sheila. My mom didn't mention an extra person would be coming. I thought she set the table for six."

  "You know Mom," Liam replied. "There's always room for an extra mouth. Sheila's my partner in economics class. We're supposed to come up with a small business plan."

  "Are you now? I'll tell my mom you're here. Maybe you'd like to wait in the sitting room with nan. Pour Sheila a drink, Liam. I'm in search of my son. He hasn't had his bath yet."

  Johannah was leaning over the stove, spooning sauce over the salmon, a sauce that Kate could tell was laced with far too much butter. Evan was kneeling beside the dog alternately feeding him from the length of string cheese and taking bites himself.

  "Evan!" Kate shrieked. "What on earth—Mom, do you see what Evan's doing?"

  Johannah groaned. "I only took my eyes off him for a minute." She dropped the spoon in the sink, confiscated Evan's cheese and picked him up. Kissing his dirt-smudged cheek, she murmured into his ear. "You're upsetting your mom, love. Run along upstairs and take your bath, will you?"

  Evan nodded obediently, tucked his hand inside his mother's and led her toward the door.

  "Wait until you see what Liam's brought home," Kate whispered over her shoulder. "This time he's outdone himself."

  Johannah's eyes flashed. "Salmon is dear and I bought just enough. I don't care if it's the Pope himself. Liam will have to share his portion."

  Chapter 16

  Mickey

  The house looked good, new PVC trim around the windows, bricks edging the concrete footpath, a glass conservatory facing the garden. Johannah had done well on her own. Inside everything looked roomier, less cluttered, less like the home he remembered. She'd welcomed him warmly, drawing him into the sitting room where the family sat, grouped around the fireplace. Dolly, closest to the warmth, dozed in the recliner.

  Kate's eyes widened and Liam took a second look when she introduced him.

  "You're the man from the library," he said, holding out his hand.

  Mickey shook it. "That's right. I believe I mentioned that I knew your mother."

  Johannah looked su
rprised. "You've met?"

  Liam nodded. "Briefly. We shared a table at the library."

  "You were outside the funeral home when Mrs. Costelloe died," Kate announced. "I couldn't place you at first, but now I remember."

  "Right again."

  Kate flushed. "It wasn't one of my finest moments. I'm dreadfully embarrassed."

  "I won't hold it against you."

  "I'm curious," said Johannah, "but I'll play it safe and not ask what the two of you are referring to. I have to finish up in the kitchen. Patrick, if you tell Liam what you're drinking, he'll see if we have it."

  "No bother. A club orange will do." He held out a chilled bottle of French burgundy. "I thought you might like this."

  She smiled. "Thank you. It will be lovely with dinner. I believe we can offer you the orange. It's Evan's favorite."

  Evan looked up from the transformer he was struggling with. "I'll have an orange, too."

  "No," said his mother. "No mineral for you. You'll have a glass of milk."

  "Killjoy," muttered Liam under his breath.

  "But I don't want milk," Evan insisted.

  Kate's voice was unnaturally calm. "Did you say something, Liam?"

  Her brother improvised quickly. "I was telling Sheila what an obedient boy Evan is, wasn't I, Sheila?"

  "Oh, yes," replied the sultry beauty, "very obedient."

  "You said another word, Uncle Liam," said Evan, ever truthful. "You said—"

  Mickey cut in. "Do you have children, Sheila?"

  Pure venom flashed from the woman's eyes. "Certainly not."

  Dolly chose that moment to wake from her slumber. Stretching, she looked around her. "My goodness! The room certainly has filled up since I dozed off. Who are all these people?" She fixed her eyes on Sheila. "Who are you, my dear? A friend of Kate's perhaps?"

  "I'm Liam's friend."

  Dolly's eyebrows rose. "Liam's friend? How can you be Liam's friend? He's a child."

  "Nan." Liam crossed the room to sit beside his grandmother. "Sheila is a friend from university." He nodded at Mickey. "And this is Patrick, my mom's friend."

  Dolly stared. "What on earth is the matter with you, Liam? He isn't Patrick at all. He's your father. It's Mickey."

  Liam's mouth fell open.

  Kate gasped. "Good lord, Nan. How could you?" She offered a strangled apology. "I'm so sorry, Patrick. She's a bit confused."

  "It's quite all right. I'm flattered."

  Johannah appeared in the doorway. "Dinner's ready."

  "Not a moment too soon," said Liam under his breath. He held out his hand to Sheila. "The food will be worth everything."

  "If you don't mind, Liam," his mother said, when they'd all trooped into the dining room, "I'd like you to sit at the head of the table. Sheila can sit on your right. Mom, you take the place on the other side of Kate. I'll sit beside Evan and Patrick can sit beside me."

  "Don't be ridiculous, Johannah," said Dolly. "Mickey should sit at the head of the table. It's his house after all."

  After an instant of frozen, embarrassed silence, Liam spoke. "I don't mind. We'll do whatever makes Gran happy."

  Johannah looked mortified. "I'm so sorry," she whispered to Patrick, "but if it's all right with you, it would save us a scene."

  He looked down into her anxious face and mentally cursed the circumstances that prevented him from shielding her. "It would be my pleasure to sit at the head of your table, Hannie. Think nothing of it."

  Unbelievably, Dolly behaved herself for the rest of the meal. Sheila's self-involved comments were remarkably interesting and Evan's table manners had improved greatly over the course of the year. Mickey looked around the table at his family, at the new line between his daughter's eyebrows, at the forced optimism in his son's conversation, at the bewildered expression on his mother-in-law's face and, saving her for last, at his wife, Hannie, a slimmer, edgier Hannie trying to hold everything together, to pretend they were still whole and connected. His heart broke for her. At the same time he felt a deep sense of shame. He hadn't been much help to her over the course of their marriage. He hadn't left her anything she wouldn't already have had except the house. Thank God for the house. Sending up a silent prayer, he asked for enough time to make it up to her in some small way that might make a difference.

  She must have noticed his silence. "Are you all right, Patrick?" she asked, her voice low and accessible only to him under the din of conversation. "Should I have invited you when there weren't so many other people?"

  "Not at all," he replied. "Your family is lovely. I'm enjoying every minute of it."

  "Nan," Evan's voice, high and demanding, captured her attention.

  "Yes, love."

  "Something happened at school today."

  "What was that?"

  "Stevie Murphy said the fuck word."

  "Evan!" snapped his mother. "You know you're not to say that. It's common and very naughty."

  "I didn't say it. Stevie Murphy did."

  "I don't care who said it. You're not to repeat it." Kate frowned. "For pity's sake, who would have thought a convent school would encourage such language. Maybe I should look for another one."

  "Give over, Kate," Liam grinned. "It isn't as if the lad hasn't heard it before."

  "Whatever can you mean, Liam?" his sister demanded. "Where else would he have heard it, unless it's from you?"

  "Evan, lad, tell your mom who else says the word."

  "My mom says it," replied the child. "She says it when she's cross or angry at my dad."

  Mickey choked and lifted the serviette to his lips.

  Kate's face was a study, all red-cheeked and frozen, her eyes narrow and lasered at her brother. "Thank you very much, Liam Enright, for pointing out my deficiencies as a parent. In future, I'll look to you for a standard as far as parenting goes, you and Sheila, of course."

  Evan spooned a healthy portion of pie into his mouth. "My mom's mad," he whispered loudly to Liam. "You better watch it."

  Johannah began to laugh and, like a tire with a slow leak, the tension around the table eased. Dolly laughed, too, and then Liam joined in and finally, Kate. Not to be left out of the fun, although it was clear he had no idea why, Evan began to giggle as well.

  Mickey relaxed. His family was still together.

  Later, after cleaning the kitchen, Liam and Sheila left for the pub, Dolly excused herself for the night and Kate carried Evan upstairs to

  bed. Mickey and Johannah took their tea into the sitting room. Without thinking he sat in the chair that had always been his. They were silent for a long time.

  "Thank you for inviting me," he said. "I haven't had such a lovely family meal in a long time."

  "You're very welcome." Johannah tilted her head. "They're very comfortable with you."

  "Sorry?"

  "Liam and Kate," she explained. "Normally, they're on their guard. They don't warm to strangers easily. Yet they felt comfortable enough to indulge in a spat right in front of you." She looked at him. "I wonder why."

  He stared into the fire. "I can't imagine."

  "My mother thought you were Mickey."

  "Yes." The room was very warm.

  "She's ill, of course."

  "Yes." He ran his finger under his collar.

  "I'm not what you would call superstitious."

  "No." Where was this leading?

  "I'm not even particularly religious. I don't attend Mass the way I did when the children were small."

  "It won't matter."

  Eyebrows raised, she stared at him. "How do you know?"

  "Common sense," he said emphatically, hoping he was right and that no one with authority was listening. "A woman like you, clearly a good woman, will have no difficulty finding her place in the hereafter."

  Johannah sat up. "You're an odd man. Do you know that?"

  He laughed. "You're not the first one to say it."

  "You called me Hannie."

  "It suits you."

  "Twice y
ou called me Hannie."

  Clearly he was on dangerous ground. "Would you rather I didn't?"

  She nodded. "I think so. For the time being, at least."

  He smiled. For the time being implied she wasn't finished with him. There would be other times. She was very clever, his Hannie. Perhaps she would figure things out on her own. Peter hadn't ruled out that possibility. Mickey would be quite happy if she figured it out on her own.

  Chapter 17

  Mickey

  Peter was angry. The jaw of his rough brown face was stiff with tension and his eyes snapped with temper. To make matters worse, on this particular visit, Mickey felt the cold, the kind of numbing cold that seeps into the bones and settles there, the kind he remembered as a child before the advent of electric showers and perpetual hot water, when bath times were torturous ordeals executed before peat fires in large basins that had to alternately be filled with boiling water from an inadequate kettle and cold water from the pump. There was always an excess of cold and never enough of the hot."You're angry," he said, stating the obvious.

  Peter's eyebrow rose. "You think so?"

  Mickey swallowed. "I know why."

  "Brilliant of you."

  "I didn't tell her anything."

  "You came damnably close."

  "Hannie is a clever woman. She arrived at it herself."

  Peter came closer, his finger pointed and accusing against Mickey's chest. "You helped her, Mickey Enright. You escorted her mother home. You sat down to dinner with the family at your accustomed place at the table. You called her a pet name that only her close friends and family use."

  "You never told me I couldn't," Mickey protested. "You never said she couldn't figure it out herself."

  "I told you she wasn't to find out."

  "You told me I couldn't tell her. There's a difference."

  "Splitting hairs, that's what you're doing."

  Mickey frowned and stepped back. "How am I supposed to help her if I'm to stay removed? How will she trust me? They need me. You saw them. They're not doing well without me."

  Peter shook his head. "No, lad. Your family's dynamic hasn't changed. You're seeing it objectively for the first time because you've been away. Kate is confused and destructive because she has no purpose. Liam is behaving the only way he knows how, the way you've taught him to behave. Dolly is," he stroked his chin, "well, she's Dolly and can't be held accountable at this stage. A few years ago was another matter entirely, but that isn't my affair. I'm in the business of redemption. Dolly Little will be assigned to someone else. Your grandchild is still too young for me to pass judgment. One can never tell with the young. There you have it, all of them."