My Mother's Secret Page 4

  He was afraid of being her rebound man. He was afraid that she’d temporarily fallen for him because he was so different from Ivar. He was afraid he’d lose her and he didn’t want to. He loved her. He wanted to marry her. He’d already bought the engagement ring.

  He patted the inside pocket of his jacket. It was actually too warm to be still wearing a jacket, but he hadn’t wanted to take it off in case the box containing the beautiful diamond in its distinctive setting fell out. Davey had bought it a few weeks earlier in a moment of confidence and enthusiasm, thinking that making a romantic proposal to his girlfriend would be a grand gesture. But he’d chickened out. Camilla wasn’t a grand gesture person. And what if he asked her and she said no?

  It was all very well for girls, he thought as he turned the air-con up a notch, they had all these books and movies telling them that they were worth it, and that they deserved the best. They could get into a state about hoping that a guy would propose to them, but they didn’t actually have to do it, did they? They didn’t have to open themselves up, put it all on the line and then wait for a yes or no. Girls had all the power. They just didn’t realise it.

  Davey had brought the ring with him because he’d thought that seeing his parents so happy together after forty years, Camilla might be ready for a proposal. And he hoped there’d be a suitably romantic opportunity to ask her. They had, in a very forthright and Nordic sort of way, discussed marriage before. Camilla had said that it was a right but not a duty, and Davey, trying some forthrightness himself, asked what exactly that meant her position was regarding it, and she’d replied that she was certainly entitled to get married to someone if and when she felt the time was right, but she wasn’t obliged to, now or ever. Which had left him wondering where he stood in the entire scheme of things. And yet he loved her and he believed that she loved him, despite his inadequacies. So it was just a question of asking her at the right time. He hoped.

  He wanted to marry her. He wanted to have a family with her. He wanted to be as lucky as his mum and dad and he wanted his own kids to be as lucky as him.

  He hoped it wasn’t too much to ask.

  ‘Tell me about your parents,’ she asked after they’d been on the road for nearly an hour and the playlist from her phone had finished. ‘Forty years together is some achievement.’

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I wonder how many people make that any more?’

  ‘Hardly anyone, I’d’ve thought. So what is it about your mum and dad that make them so special?’

  ‘They work well together,’ said Davey after a pause. ‘They complement each other. Mum’s always been a bit dreamy and artistic and Dad is the one who gets things done.’

  ‘You said your mum is a painter. Is she well known in Ireland?’

  ‘Oh, she’s not all that serious about it,’ Davey clarified. ‘It’s more of a hobby than a job.’

  ‘It’s a gift,’ Camilla pointed out.

  ‘Yes, it is. But it’s not like a career or anything. Although …’ His voice trailed off as he trawled through his memories. ‘She went away for an exhibition or a course or something when I was younger. I can’t really remember it too well. She was away for what seemed like weeks. Probably only a few days though.’

  ‘And did she sell paintings at this exhibition?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ He shot a shamefaced glance at his girlfriend. ‘I guess I was never interested enough to ask. That’s awful, isn’t it?’

  Camilla shook her head. ‘You were a child. You had your own concerns.’

  ‘Yes, but when I was older I could’ve taken more interest. Oh well, I can ask her about it today.’

  ‘Your parents will like this surprise?’ asked Camilla.

  ‘I sure as hell hope so,’ said Davey. ‘My sister Steffie is convinced Mum will hate it. But when Roisin puts her mind to something, we all have to agree.’

  Camilla knew a little about the two Sheehan girls, having asked Davey about his family on a number of occasions. But like all the men she knew, he was sparing with his information. Not because of any deep desire to be mysterious, but simply because as far as he was concerned, none of it mattered very much.

  ‘I always got on better with Steffie,’ he told her now. ‘Maybe because she was the baby of the family and we were in the house together for a long time. Also, she’s always up for a laugh. Roisin takes everything very seriously and she expects everyone to do what she wants all the time.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s the Roisin sister I will get on with best, in that case.’ Camilla shot him a mischievous look. ‘Because you tell me that I’m too serious sometimes, don’t you? And that I order you around.’

  ‘Oh God, do I?’ He glanced at her in dismay. ‘You’re not in the least like Ro. You’re serious in a completely different way. And you’re not bossy. You’re … um … you’re a perfectionist.’

  ‘And that may be a good thing,’ she said in amusement.

  ‘Indeed it is.’ He nodded.

  ‘So,’ she said, in her forthright way, ‘some more about your parents, please. I would like all the information possible before we arrive.’

  Davey sighed. They were his mum and dad. They were in their sixties. They’d lived an average life. They still loved each other. There wasn’t anything else to tell her, even though Camilla clearly felt there should be. Maybe she’ll think I’m as boring as them, he thought, as he fiddled with the air-con again. Maybe it was a bad idea to bring her along with me after all.

  Chapter 5

  Steffie was hot and dusty, and she’d broken two nails trying to tack up the Happy Ruby Anniversary party banners. As she’d specifically varnished her nails bright red to go with the anniversary theme, she’d had to go in search of an old bottle to do a repair job after she’d filed the jagged edges. The colour she’d eventually found at the back of a drawer in her old bedroom didn’t exactly match, but it was the best she could come up with. After having spent more time than she wanted on beauty repairs, she blew up a selection of red balloons, wiped the glassware and then arranged the glasses neatly on the table she’d dragged, along with as many chairs as she could, on to the covered veranda. The veranda stretched across the entire back of the house and was accessed by folding doors from both the kitchen and living room. It looked over the gently sloping garden towards a small stream, and in Steffie’s opinion was the best part of Aranbeg. It reminded her of some of the lovely American houses she’d seen during her gap year, with their huge wooden decks furnished with cushioned chairs and ceiling fans.

  It would be nice to have a ceiling fan today, she thought longingly. There wasn’t a breath of a breeze. She kicked off her shoes, then strolled the length of the garden until she reached the stream that marked the rear boundary of the property. She’d spent many happy hours as a girl paddling in the stream, which was a tributary of the river Iske, a few kilometres away. Her dad had brought her fishing on the Iske once, and although she’d felt squeamish when she’d seen fish wriggling on the riverbank, she’d been intrigued by the fishermen who’d waded into the middle of the water to cast their lines. The following day she’d donned her bright yellow wellington boots, borrowed her mother’s green apron for an authentic fisherman look, found one of Davey’s old fishing nets on its bamboo pole and walked into the middle of the stream to fish herself. Even though the water wasn’t very deep, it was enough to come up over the boots. When she’d sloshed her way back to the house with sodden boots carrying a jar full of muddy water containing a tiny tiddler, Jenny had gone berserk.

  Steffie smiled to herself as she remembered the ticking-off she’d got from both her parents, for going down to the stream without permission and for ruining her boots. It hadn’t dampened her spirits, although she’d eventually given up on fishing when she failed miserably to catch anything else.

  Now she paddled happily in the clear water, balancing carefully on the stony riverbed so that she didn’t end up soaked again. She was beginning to feel cool and relaxed when the buzz of her
mobile phone startled her. She made a face when she saw Roisin’s name on the screen.

  ‘What’s up?’ she asked.

  Roisin told her about the black dress and the diamonds and Steffie said that their mother was perfectly capable of getting her own dress out of the wardrobe.

  ‘I don’t want her to have to fuss,’ said Roisin.

  ‘She won’t,’ Steffie told her. ‘You’re the fusser, not her.’

  ‘I’m a planner, not a fusser,’ said Roisin. ‘Has the food arrived?’

  ‘Yes, and I’ve got everything ready. Except for the plates and cutlery, of course.’

  ‘I’m on the way with them now.’

  ‘Already? What happened? You’re all going to be way too early.’

  ‘It’s only me who’s on the way,’ clarified Roisin. ‘I’m calling from the car. Mum’s still at the house with Daisy. She was peppering about leaving and I made up an excuse about me having to go out.’

  ‘I thought you’d packed Dad off to a footie match. Mum couldn’t leave without him anyway.’

  ‘Yes, but I was afraid I’d give it away by making ever more ridiculous excuses about why they were taking so long. I should have planned it this way from the start. I get to help you and Paul will come down with the kids later.’

  ‘It’s nice of you to help,’ said Steffie. ‘But everything’s done.’

  ‘I’m sure it is.’

  Steffie recognised the tone in Roisin’s voice. It had her ‘you might have done something but not to my exacting standards’ quality.

  ‘OK, well I’ll see you later,’ said Steffie.

  ‘Yes, right. Get out of the way!’ The last remark was clearly addressed to a driver not living up to Roisin’s standards either.

  Steffie put her phone back in its leather sleeve, stepped out of the stream and went to see what preparations she could improve on.

  In the Dublin house, the bathroom was adequate but small. However the Aranbeg bathroom was huge and easily accommodated the antique roll-top bath that Jenny had bought at a market and restored, as well as a very modern separate rainfall shower. Steffie had already taken a shower that morning but she’d been saving a soak in the bath as a pre-party treat. With Roisin already on the way and nothing more she could possibly do, she decided she’d treat herself right now. She turned on the taps so that it filled with tepid water – it was too warm today to contemplate her usual skin-blistering water temperature – and then added some pink bath salts from the container on the ledge. The bathroom was immediately filled with the scent of roses, and Steffie slid her pretty cotton dress from her shoulders, removed her underwear and got in.

  The bath brought back memories too. When she was younger, and a good deal shorter, she used to lie full length in it, her long hair spread out in the water around her. She would pretend to be a drowning princess, waiting for her prince to come and rescue her. She didn’t have a clear idea of what her prince looked like, but he always gazed into her eyes and told her that she was safe with him. Years later, when a friend asked to help illustrate a self-published children’s book about a princess who fell into a lake, she drew the picture as she imagined she’d looked herself, a pale face framed by a fan of curly hair.

  Now, however, she was far too tall to be able to lie down in the bath, so she filled it as full as she could before dipping her toe into the water. Maybe Roisin was right about this party after all, she thought as she sat down and closed her eyes. Aranbeg was full of memories and was a major part of her parents’ lives. Perhaps it was only fitting to celebrate those lives together in a place that meant so much to them. Although she still thought the surprise element was a bad idea.

  However, with everything ready and in place, there was no point in worrying about it any more. Instead she allowed her thoughts to return to her recent bid for a design contract, the one she hoped would move Butterfly Creative up a notch and earn her some really decent money. She’d sent her proposal in two days before the actual deadline, initially feeling smug that for once in her life she was ahead of the game, but later panicking in case she might have had more inspiration by waiting until the last minute. Either way, she’d expected to hear the outcome before now. Landing the contract would be an enormous boost to her confidence. It would make her believe, for the first time since she’d set up the company, that she really had done the right thing. Failing to get it, on the other hand, would reinforce all the feelings of general inadequacy she had when it came to being a hard-nosed, successful businesswoman. Well, she conceded, she’d never be hard-nosed. It wasn’t in her nature. But successful, even semi-successful, would be nice.

  She added some water to the bath and told herself that nobody was going to call on a Saturday and that there was no point in wishing she’d tweaked the design a bit more or submitted her proposals in another way. She’d done the best work she could. It was out of her hands now. So she tried to put it out of her mind, and had drifted into lazy oblivion when her mobile rang again. She snapped her eyes open and looked around the bathroom. The phone was on a small wooden stool, just out of reach.

  ‘Oh crap,’ she muttered, not wanting to miss it in case it was the company calling after all. She leaned half in and half out of the bath so that she could reach the mobile with her fingertips, but the moment she had it in her hand it stopped ringing. She looked at her missed calls and her heartbeat slowed down as she hit dial.

  ‘Hi, Steve,’ she said when the phone was answered. ‘I was in the bath.’

  ‘And I’m liking that image,’ said the voice at the other end of the line.

  ‘Shut up.’ She chuckled. ‘I was hot and sweaty and I was using the bath to cool down.’

  ‘I’m not at all sure you should’ve told me that.’

  ‘Probably not,’ she agreed. ‘So, what’s the story? Will you be able to get here?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m working on the mobile site and I really can’t get away right now.’

  ‘It’s Saturday!’ she cried. ‘You’re entitled to some down time.’

  ‘And you know yourself that the day of the week means nothing to GoTronics,’ he said.

  She had to admit he was right. The company’s MD was one of the toughest men she’d ever had to deal with. He demanded total dedication from his staff – and when she was working on anything for them, he demanded it from her too.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Steve said again. ‘I know you wanted some moral support today, but to be honest, Steff, I’m not sure it’s really my sort of thing.’

  She’d half expected this to happen. From the moment she’d told him about the party, Steve had given off negative vibes about coming along. Maybe it was her own fault for having complained to him so much about all the work she was doing for it in the first place. And for giving him some frankly freaky descriptions of her relatives. And for painting Roisin in such an unflattering, bossy light. She’d exaggerated because she was irritated by how put upon she felt. But she’d probably made it sound like the party from hell.

  ‘No problem,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you’d have been bored out of your brains anyway.’

  ‘Very likely,’ he agreed. ‘I’m not the best in social situations.’

  At least, not social situations that weren’t all about chilling out with friends and a few cool beers. She sighed. Those were the sort of social situations she preferred too. It was just that sometimes you had to step up to the plate and leave your comfort zone.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she told him. ‘All I wanted was for you to keep people off my back. Single girls’ love lives are always a hot topic of conversation at weddings, engagements and anniversaries. Being a single man is fine – it’s like you’ve escaped a fate worse than death – but being a single woman is a total admission of failure. You’d swear we were still in the last century.’

  Steve laughed. ‘That’s why I like you, Steffie,’ he said. ‘You tell it like it is. Call me when you get back to Dublin. We’ll get together and have a bit of fun in our
own private social situation.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘Great. See you soon.’

  ‘See you,’ she said and ended the call.

  She replaced the phone on the stool. Then she slid down into the cool bathwater again.

  She wasn’t really surprised that Steve had got cold feet at the idea of all the Sheehans en masse. And not only Sheehans, she thought. There would be Mullens and Marshalls and Carmichaels too, all of whom had at various times stayed at Aranbeg. Nobody with even the slightest family link to Jenny and Pascal had been omitted from the guest list. Maybe it was for the best that Steve had bailed out. You didn’t bring people you weren’t fairly serious about to family occasions, and it was perfectly clear to her that even if she’d had notions about being serious with Steve, he currently didn’t feel the same way about her.

  Her best friend Brianna often told her that she went out with the wrong sort of men deliberately, that she always chose the ones who weren’t looking for commitment, and that Steve was a prime example of this. Whenever Brianna voiced her opinion, Steffie would retort that it was impossible to know at the start how committed anyone was going to be. And yet … She sighed. Was she simply fooling herself? Was Brianna right, and she was afraid to find someone to be totally serious about just in case, like Steve, he wasn’t equally serious in return?

  She slid further down into the bath. A girl could go mad guessing and second-guessing her own motivation, she thought as she captured some foam with her hands and sculpted rose-scented pyramids on her breasts. Maybe the reason I don’t want to get too serious is that I’m going to get that design contract and am therefore on the cusp of being the kind of ball-breaking woman who puts her career ahead of anything else in her life. And then dies alone and is eaten by her cats! She giggled to herself. Serious career women didn’t make conical bras from the foam in their baths, for heaven’s sake. She was an idiot. And she shouldn’t get annoyed, as she always did, about the remarks that would undoubtedly be made about her single state today. It was apparently an obligation at family events for every married member to ask the single women if they were thinking about giving up their freedom any day soon. Besides, she wouldn’t be the only one without a partner in tow. Her cousins Colette and Alivia, slightly older than her, were both single too. In fairness, Colette had actually been engaged three times but she’d broken it off long before actual wedding plans were made. In Alivia’s case, her career as a presenter on a popular afternoon TV show was on the up-and-up and she didn’t have time for serious relationships. The show had recently been commissioned for another series and Alivia was the anchor, so Steffie couldn’t see anyone telling her that she’d be better of being married with kids.