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3
Ireland, December
Iris was first to arrive, which was a relief; it gave her time to get her bearings. It seemed someone, probably Mary Lynch, her father’s housekeeper, had thought of everything. The larder was full, the fridge was stocked and the whole place had a lingering aroma of either lemon or pine. Even the beds were aired. If the house was dated and a little faded, it still was fresh and clean.
Iris walked from room to room, allowing the nostalgia of memories from happy times so long ago to wash over her, then she stepped out to the garden. She sat on the swing that still hung from the huge oak and thought about both her parents, gone now, and she let the tears that were never far away these days flow freely.
Sitting there on that swing, Iris realised she had to make a plan. She couldn’t waste any more of her life in the way she’d squandered the last twenty-odd years. This place seemed to be whispering something on the sea. She couldn’t make out the words, but a tiny ray of sunshine cut through the clouds above her, lighting up a thin path along the grass. A soft warmth flowed along her skin, pricking up the fine hairs at the back of her neck. It was little more than a glimmer, but somehow, for the first time in weeks, she had a sense that there was room to hope for a better life. She took a deep breath. She could choose to do things differently – if she wanted.
There would be an inheritance. She wasn’t a greedy person, but there was no getting away from the fact that her father had worked hard and built up a considerable number of assets over the years. He would have left everything between the three of them, equally – wouldn’t he? When everything was sold, they would all be wealthier than they’d been before.
A light wind brushed past her, sending a tingling sensation through her and clinking through the tiny bottles that they’d hung years ago from the branches overhead – a homemade wind chime that had miraculously survived all the storms over the years. She felt a little light-headed. It had been so long since she’d felt she had a choice in life.
If she returned to London, put some time and effort into how she looked and waved her small fortune beneath Myles’s nose, she knew she might have some chance of stealing her husband back. Was it stealing if he was meant to be hers to begin with? She didn’t feel as excited as she’d have expected at the prospect.
On the other hand, if she could face down the tsunami of questions and curiosity about the end of her marriage, she could come home. That thought made her laugh out loud – the possibility of coming back to live in Ballycove had never been one she contemplated. No, it would be far more sensible to fight for the life she’d carved out for herself in London. Much better to keep to the road she’d set out on with Myles all those years ago, for better or for worse. Wasn’t that what they’d promised?
An insistent growling from her stomach interrupted her thoughts. When she checked her watch, she realised it was almost dinner time and she hadn’t eaten since the cereal bar she had for breakfast on the plane. She trotted up the garden path. Every crack along it was so familiar, it felt as if she’d stepped back in time. How often had she and her sisters raced along here, eager to get to the beach or the village on long summer days that seemed destined never to end?
As Iris entered the hall, she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror hanging on the wall, and stopped. She grimaced at her reflection, tucked her hair behind her ears. It looked as brittle as she felt. She patted it down. She should have made time to go to the hairdresser’s. Iris sighed. This evening, when she was due to collect Georgie from the airport, was not the time for thinking about things like her hair. A trendy new cut might have made her feel more confident, but it was too late now. She had decided that the best way to deal with the awkwardness of seeing her sisters again was to just be friendly. It was only for the funeral, and then she’d never have to stand in the same room as either of them ever again.
The most important thing was to keep the truth from Georgie. If her sister knew the truth of her life, Iris knew what she would say:I told you so. And she had, to be fair; she’d said it before Iris had even packed her bags to follow Myles to London all those years ago. Wise before her time, that was Georgie; no wonder she’d made such a huge success of things. Always such a know-it-all.
As she drove to the airport, parked up and waited for Georgie to emerge, she felt that familiar mixture of anger and hurt that both her sisters brought up in her. She would have to pretend it wasn’t there this one last time, just for her father’s sake. If she pretended her life was ticking along as planned, maybe she could rise above the niggling little remarks that always set her off.
Iris spotted Georgie stalking through arrivals – classic Georgie, the first passenger off the plane, cool as steel. You couldn’t miss her. She was six foot tall and still gangly, with a shock of red hair that refused to be tamed or tidied – much like Georgie herself. It had dulled a little; perhaps her colourist had chosen to tone things down as the years had passed.
Georgie’s eyes met hers and it felt as if a knot that had tightened in her stomach years before pulled even tighter. She strode over with the sort of confidence that marks people out, but then stood there for a second eyeing Iris warily. What was the protocol, Iris wondered, for how to greet estranged sisters after all this time? Georgie settled for a curt nod.
‘You made it.’ Iris impressed herself by managing a stiff smile.
‘Of course I made it. What’s that supposed to mean?’ Georgie was on the defensive immediately. Iris suppressed a sigh.
‘Nothing, nothing at all. It’s just that you’re so busy and I know it must have been tough to have to drop everything at a moment’s notice, so—’ She was blabbering, too nervous to even string together a proper sentence, much less one that didn’t sound as if she wanted to take up the arguments they’d left off the last time they spoke.
‘I’ve never been too busy for Dad.’ She pinned Iris with a look that said far more than any words. For a moment, Iris couldn’t look away. There it was, the inescapable truth: Iris should have visited, she should have made things up properly, when there was still time. She felt her cheeks flush.
‘Right.’ Iris grabbed one of her sister’s bags and soon they were making their way out to the old Mercedes her father had hardly used for the last couple of years. It smelled of nothing more than the stubborn hint of the pipe their father smoked every time he drove it.
‘I can’t believe you decided to drive this old thing.’
‘It’s officially vintage, apparently.’ True enough, it was ancient, but her father had kept it in excellent condition. The housekeeper told Iris that he hadn’t properly driven it in years, but he’d still had it serviced every six months. ‘It drinks petrol as if it’s an alcoholic in an open brewery and I don’t suppose we want to think of the damage it’s doing in terms of emissions every time I rev the engine.’
Next to her, Georgie sighed as they made their way out onto the open road, green fields stretching off into the distance, interrupted by stubborn rock and packed down by dreary skies. ‘God. This place,’ she said, her voice quieter than Iris ever remembered. ‘It hasn’t changed much, has it?’
‘No,’ Iris said softly. ‘It’s hard to decide if that’s good or bad, isn’t it?’
Georgie said nothing for a while, and they continued in an uncomfortable silence until she cut into Iris’s thoughts with: ‘So, I suppose Myles is back at the house already?’
Iris felt her palms grow clammy against the steering wheel. ‘Ahm, no. He – er – couldn’t make it this time… A big story, he’s abroad for a few weeks, and, well, you know how it—’
‘He’s not coming to Dad’s funeral?’ Georgie shot a sideways glance at her and Iris felt her cheeks redden under the scrutiny. ‘Oh, well. I suppose Dad’s not going to mind either way.’ She shrugged. If she was thinking that he would be as well pleased if Myles had never been part of the family to begin with, she didn’t say it, and Iris was grateful. Perhaps she’d also decided to call a truce for the next few days.
‘Anyway, never mind all that,’ Iris said as brightly as she could. ‘What about you? Still taking the world of marketing by storm? I bet you’re top dog at this stage…’ She tried hard to bite down any trace of resentment or cynicism at Georgie’s success. After all, everything Georgie had made of her life had been completely down to herself; she had earned it fair and square.
‘Actually, things are going really well…’ Georgie’s voice sounded far away and she tailed off, as if she was thinking about other things, and Iris remembered her father telling her a few weeks earlier about the last time her sister visited. Apparently, she’d spent all her time working on some account and hardly saw beyond her computer screen for the whole weekend. Not so perfect after all. Iris knew only too well that you could be in the same room together, but in completely different worlds if the other person was so wrapped up in a computer screen that they didn’t see you anymore. In her experience, that was almost worse than not having the person there at all. At least whenever he had rung Iris in the last few weeks,shewas there – present – listening to him, talking to him. But this wasn’t the time for point scoring.
‘So, only Nola left to arrive now,’ Iris said, changing the subject. Nola. Their youngest sister, so different to the other two. She’d always been beautiful, the popular one, a little out of hand. Iris felt herself gag. Why couldn’t she put aside that memory of catching her younger sister and Myles together, if only for the next few days? She could try. After all that had happened with Myles over the last few weeks, surely there was room to doubt everything that he’d convinced her of so thoroughly now?
