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Her lips curl at the corners, then she bends to the cabinet below and pulls out a box of Butler’s hot chocolate bombs. “You really are your mother’s daughter, aren’t you? Éanna never liked coffee, either. Luckily for you, I stocked up on these when she said she was coming home.”
Home…that one word swirls around my head like a tumbleweed, struggling to find its place. Most kids my age can close their eyes and envisage a house full of love and laughter or the warmth of their parents’ arms as they wrap them up in a safe hug, somewhere they can run and hide when things become too much or too scary.
A place called home.
I don’t have that, not anymore.
Her words make me wonder, though. If this was my mother’s home, the place she yearned to be, then why did she stay away for so long, and why did she hide it from me?
“So,” I begin, hoping to coax some information from her. “You must’ve known my mam very well if you know she hated the taste of coffee.”
Walking towards the seating area, Fiadh hands me my hot chocolate and sits in the armchair facing me. “She’s my best friend. There are times when I think I know her better than she knows herself.”
“When was the last time you two spoke?”
“I’ve spoken to your mother every Thursday for the past eighteen years. Not once did I miss our weekly check-ins.”
My eyes narrow. “How? Surely, I would have seen or heard her talking to someone that frequently.”
“You were always at school. When you had days off or holidays, she’d phone once you went to bed.”
Why did she have so many secrets?
“How come she never told me about you? About her life here?”
“She has her reasons, Saoirse. All she ever wants is to protect you.”
“From what?” I roar. “What could possibly be so terrible that she felt the need to hide her true identity from me.”
Fiadh looks down at the ground but doesn’t respond.
Irritated, I push myself off the chair and allow my gaze to roam over Fiadh’s office, which is surprisingly very feminine for an MMA gym. The same black, one-way glass wall faces the gym floor, giving her the perfect view of what’s happening outside her domain. Behind her white and grey, natural-edged marble desk is a wall of rose gold shelving stuffed with books, Devereux’s Black Orchid gym merchandise, and some files. Framed photographs take up the entire wall to my left, and before I can stop myself, my feet carry me towards the display. Many of the pictures contain Fiadh and what I can only assume is her husband, Oliver, alongside some fighters, but one photo, in particular, catches my eye. The one with a younger version of my mother standing amongst a group of seven other teenagers around the same age.
Realising Fiadh won’t divulge the reasons behind my mother’s avoidance, I try something else. “Who are all these people in this picture with you and my mam? Were these her friends, too?”
Fiadh pushes off her chair and crosses the room. A slight smile pulls at her lips when her eyes land on the photo. “We were all friends, once upon a time.”
“If you’re no longer friends, why keep this photo?”
“To remind me, buried beneath the power of the Killybegs Empire, the version of those people in that photo still exists. Somewhere.”
Her features soften as though she recalls fond memories of better, simpler times.
“Can you tell me who they all are?”
Biting down on the inside of her mouth, she contemplates my request. When her eyes finally find mine, her shoulders sag. “Sure.”
Using her index finger, she points towards the glass. “That’s my brother Luke and his now-wife Maura. Next, we have my husband, Oliver, then me and my sister, Elouise.”
If I wasn’t standing so close to her, I wouldn’t have noticed the slight dip in her voice at the mention of Elouise’s name. “Bad blood?” I ask, more than a little curious.
“Something like that.” She turns to the image, clearly not wanting to dive into her family drama. “That’s Darragh Ryan, your uncle.”
“I didn’t know I had an uncle.”
Fiadh rolls her head back before muttering, “Jesus, Éanna, didn’t you tell this girl anything?”
“Clearly not.”
