Beneath an Irish Sky (Choc Lit) Page 6

  The older of the Guards, Sergeant Connolly, spoke. ‘We have a few questions about the accident, Luke.’

  ‘Mr Kiernan,’ he muttered. Typical. Not even asking if they could call him by his first name. No words of sympathy about his mother, either. His jaw clenched.

  ‘If you’re up to it, that is,’ said Byrne, the second policeman. He pulled up a chair and took out a notebook and pen.

  Luke almost laughed aloud. Like they cared if he was up to it.

  Byrne flipped some pages, found the one he wanted, and read out the details. ‘Luke Kiernan from Ennis? Aged twenty, born 28 October …?’

  Luke stayed silent. Let the bastard work for it.

  ‘Is that correct?’ prompted Connolly.

  ‘Yeah. I’ll expect a card then, will I?’ No response. They’d clearly had a sense of humour bypass.

  ‘Address?’ Byrne asked.

  ‘No, just a card’ll be fine. I’m not into women’s clothes.’ His uncle always said his smart mouth would get him into trouble, but these condescending gobshites deserved it. Oh well, if they hit him, he was in the right place.

  ‘Confirm your address for us, son,’ said Connolly slowly, as if he thought Luke might be simple.

  ‘I’m between places right now.’

  ‘Really?’ said Byrne. ‘According to our records, your address is 42 Carnlough Street, Ennis.’

  ‘So why ask me? But like I said, I’m between places. I left Ennis.’

  ‘No fixed abode, then.’ Byrne was obviously happy to have something to write down. ‘So where were you and your mother headed?’

  ‘None of your business!’ snapped Luke. ‘We were in a crash. My mother’s dead. End of story.’

  ‘Not quite,’ said Connolly. ‘We need to establish the cause of the accident. What do you remember?’

  ‘Nothin’.’ And that was true. Dr O’Meara had told him he might never remember those last few minutes of his mother’s life. Something about trauma affecting memory. Maybe it was for the best. Remembering might be worse.

  Byrne came to life again, reading from his little black book. ‘The driver of the truck you collided with said your mother was driving too fast.’

  Maybe. Luke recalled the journey. Darkness. Silence in the car, apart from the swish of faulty windscreen wipers. Had it been Annie’s fault? The rain was interfering with her vision, and she was driving fast because a traffic jam had held them up. They had to catch the last ferry to Wales. Waiting hours for the next one was too risky. If Joe and Liam had followed them …

  ‘Had she been drinking?’

  ‘She fuckin’ had not! She never drank. Don’t you dare say that about my mother or …’

  ‘Luke! Don’t get yourself upset.’

  That was all he needed. Jack Stewart poking his nose in. Mind, he’d wanted to punch that policeman which wouldn’t have been the best move.

  ‘Good advice,’ said Connolly, ‘because that temper got you in trouble once before, didn’t it, Luke?’

  That hadn’t taken long, then. Jack seemed to be ignoring the comment, though, and came to stand by his chair. Probably expected it.

  ‘My wife’s blood tests revealed no traces of alcohol. As I’m sure you already know.’

  ‘Your wife?’ said Connolly.

  The look of surprise on the Guard’s face was a treat.

  ‘Yes. I’m Jack Stewart. Annie was my wife, and Luke is my son.’

  Jack’s hand on his shoulder made Luke cringe, but it was a great performance so he’d put up with it.

  ‘We’re both deeply distressed by what’s happened, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate. Luke has told you all he knows. He needs to rest now.’

  Jack moved to the door and held it open. The policemen glanced at each other then headed out, but Connolly fired a parting shot. ‘One other thing. The car your mother was driving was registered to Joseph Kiernan of the same address. A relative, I presume?’

  ‘Not much gets past you, does it?’ Luke hoped his sarcastic tone masked his growing panic.

  Connolly scowled. ‘We’ve left a message for him to get in touch. He’s got several outstanding parking fines. Why don’t you jog his memory about them?’

  It wasn’t the smug look of satisfaction on the man’s face that made Luke feel sick, but the knowledge the police had been trying to track down Joe. It was unlikely the Guards would find out his uncle’s whereabouts from any Travellers, but if word somehow got back to them about the accident, Joe might well turn up here at St Aidan’s. Mad as hell, and swinging his fists. Then Luke would have a lot more than a damaged knee and bruised ribs to worry about.

  After the door swung shut behind the Guards, Luke turned to Jack. ‘When can we leave? Tomorrow?’ It hurt his pride to have to go along with Jack’s idea but he needed an escape route.

  ‘You want to come to England?’ Jack looked surprised. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Tryin’ to talk me out of it already? Don’t worry, it’ll only be till I can manage by myself.’

  ‘I’ll have to check with the doctor to make sure you’re fit to travel,’ said Jack.

  ‘If you don’t get me out of here soon, I’ll discharge myself.’ Luke meant it, even though trying to make it on his own wouldn’t be easy. But he’d do it if he had to.

  Jack nodded. ‘I’ll arrange the earliest flight home I can.’

  Home. Where was home now? It had only been Ennis because his mother was there and she needed him. Most of the time it felt like prison. Now he belonged nowhere. He’d go with Jack Stewart to England, but he wouldn’t belong there either, among people who’d made his mother feel worthless. Still, part of him wanted to meet the rest of the Stewarts. To see the shock on their faces, the panic in their eyes when they thought he’d be staying around. It would be worth going just to see that.

  ‘Luke?’

  What now? Couldn’t the man just leave him in peace?

  ‘We need to discuss the funeral.’

  He’d wondered about that. Supposed Annie would have to be buried in Dublin since nothing on God’s earth would drag him back to Ennis. Travellers preferred to be buried in earth that had known them and Annie hadn’t known Dublin that well, but there was nothing he could do about that. She should have had the full works, surrounded by friends and relatives, not a quick ceremony in some unfamiliar church, mourned only by her son, with her no-good husband there for show.

  ‘I have a suggestion,’ said Jack. ‘We take Annie back – bury her in the family plot.’

  Jesus, he surely wasn’t serious. ‘England? Where she was treated like dirt.’

  ‘Maybe she was – by some. But what’s the alternative?’ asked Jack. ‘Bury her here and then leave her? I know Matt will want to pay his respects, and so will Maggie, my housekeeper. It would give Annie a decent send-off – a proper goodbye.’

  Luke was out of his depth. He’d never organised a funeral. Wouldn’t know where to start.

  ‘Your mother used to attend our local Catholic church,’ said Jack. ‘We could hold it there.’

  Luke considered it for a moment. At least there would be more than two mourners. It was probably the best that could be done. Reluctantly, he nodded.

  ‘What about the rest of your family, friends?’ Jack asked. ‘Do you want to contact anyone?’

  ‘No. There’s no one who matters.’ Actually, there were plenty who mattered, especially Jessie. But he couldn’t risk it because of the two who didn’t.

  All this talk about funerals was too much. It reminded Luke his mother was really gone. He felt tired in both body and spirit, and no longer independent but lonely and needy. ‘I said goodbye to her yesterday,’ he whispered. ‘To Mam.’

  ‘I know. I can understand you wanting to, but I’m not sure you’re strong enough yet to cope with someth
ing like that.’

  Was that concern? No matter how hard Luke tried to fight it, he craved comfort and protection. If Jack had hugged him then, offering safe, fatherly arms, he wouldn’t have resisted. But it didn’t happen. Jack was glancing at his watch.

  Luke bit his lip. He hadn’t given him any encouragement, so maybe Jack didn’t want further rejection. More likely though, he just didn’t care. In a moment of weakness, Luke had let down his defences. It wouldn’t happen again. The bitter reality was that as far as the Stewarts were concerned, he was unwanted. He looked at his father, trying to glean some resolve from reawakening the resentment he had always felt for him. He knew where he was with that. It gave him back some normality. He’d always hated his mother’s husband, but it had been easier before he became real. ‘We’ll bury her in England,’ he told Jack, ‘but in the churchyard, not your family’s plot. I don’t want her pushin’ up the daisies on Stewart land.’

  He looked away and turned on his television. The conversation was over. He stared unseeing at the screen as he listened for the closing of the door.

  Emer had chosen La Mer Wine Barge and Bistro for her lunch with Jack. The boat was moored on the Grand Canal, close to the city centre, and it gave office workers the chance to sit somewhere away from the bustle for a while and gaze at the water.

  The interior was cosy, with plush blue cushions, varnished wood and quaint portholes. A smooth background jazz was playing as Emer and Jack settled at their table. Hopefully, the mellow atmosphere would have a relaxing effect on him. He’d been tense ever since they met up and left the hospital together. The first thing he’d done was explain their misunderstanding on the phone that morning, and Emer had apologised for jumping to conclusions. It couldn’t have been easy for him to deal with both Luke and the Guards, not to mention hearing about Annie and the accident again. It was no surprise to hear him say he wasn’t very hungry. Stress played havoc with the digestive system.

  When the waiter came by to take their order, Emer chose baked mussels for an appetiser, and Jack ordered the minestrone soup, without much enthusiasm. He also ordered a beer.

  ‘Jack, you don’t have to pass up on meat just because I don’t eat it,’ Emer said, when the waiter had left. ‘It doesn’t bother me – really.’

  He smiled. ‘Okay.’

  They made small talk about the weather and the restaurant until the drinks arrived. Jack gulped down half his beer in one go, like a man who’d been lost for weeks in a desert.

  He set down the glass, looking a bit shamefaced. ‘Sorry – I really needed that.’

  ‘Was it bad – Luke and the Guards, I mean?’

  Jack cast a swift glance at the diners close by. They were all absorbed in their own conversations, but Jack lowered his voice anyway. ‘They were implying Annie had been drinking. Luke almost lost it. Lucky I was there.’

  ‘Perhaps he needs a solicitor,’ Emer fretted.

  Jack shook his head. ‘They were just fishing. Hopefully they don’t need Luke any longer. They don’t know he’s leaving Ireland.’

  ‘Is he going home with you?’ Emer mentally crossed her fingers.

  ‘Yes, for a few weeks at least, but I think that’s more from lack of options than any great desire to be with me.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter, Jack. The important thing is you’ll have some time together. You can find out a bit more about him …’

  ‘And maybe why Annie left.’

  Emer nodded. That was his main reason for inviting Luke home, she knew that. Jack was coming at this thing from the wrong angle but at least it was a start.

  ‘Luke also agreed to let me organise the funeral. It’ll be at the local Catholic church Annie attended.’

  Clearly Jack could be very persuasive when necessary. He’d not have been the successful businessman she’d read about otherwise. ‘That’s a lot of arrangements to make. If you have to get straight back to the hotel after lunch …’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head vigorously. ‘I need some time away from it all. I want to hear all about you – your family, your career, why you don’t eat meat, what you think about the ozone layer – the works.’

  Emer laughed. ‘In that case, it’ll be a short lunch. I’m really very uninteresting.’

  ‘Oh, I doubt that.’

  The compliment and his direct gaze made Emer blush, not something that had happened much since school days. She silently blessed the waiter who turned up at that moment with their food.

  The tension was slowly draining out of Jack’s neck and shoulders. This leisurely lunch in a nice venue with a good-looking woman was exactly what he needed. Emer had been telling him all about her childhood in a small town in County Mayo, on the west coast of Ireland, where her father was still the local doctor. The memories she shared of a convent education, Irish dancing lessons and long carefree summers on Achill Island were soothing in their remoteness. So completely unlike Jack’s early years, split between a grim boarding school and the family estate at Edenbridge, where fun was never on the agenda.

  ‘How many brothers and sisters do you have?’ asked Jack, grinding pepper onto a plate of pan-fried Toulouse sausages with mash. His appetite was coming back.

  ‘Three,’ said Emer. ‘My older sister, Maeve, lives here in Dublin – she’s married with three sons. My other sister lives in America, and my brother’s working as an accountant in England. So we’ve all scattered, but we try to get the Sullivan clan together – including aunts, uncles and cousins – at least every other year.’

  ‘The Sullivans,’ mused Jack. ‘Wasn’t that a TV soap?’

  ‘So it was! But I’m sure it consisted of more than an hour of boisterous redheads talking over one another. The real Sullivans wouldn’t get great ratings.’

  A scatter of raindrops rattled against the porthole window. For once Jack welcomed the dreary weather. It was a good reason for them to prolong the meal, snug and dry indoors, and he’d get the chance to hear more about Emer’s life. ‘So what made you choose counselling as a career?’ he asked.

  Emer’s knife and fork slowed, and she frowned. Perhaps he should have let her choose the topics, although career was usually a safe one. Jack poured them both more water, giving her time if she needed it to prepare an answer.

  ‘Actually, it’s a bit of a sad story. Maybe best save it for another day. I don’t want to drag the afternoon down.’

  ‘I’d like to hear it,’ Jack said gently. ‘If you feel up to it.’

  Emer nodded, took a sip of her drink, and began the story. ‘I met Michael at university. We were both studying psychology. It was like we’d known each other forever. We were going to get engaged when we graduated …’

  ‘Were?’ prompted Jack.

  ‘We buried him instead. Such a waste. Party on the beach in Kerry, too much to drink – went and got himself drowned, the poor eejit.’

  ‘Emer, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Me too,’ she murmured, looking out at the rain. ‘A light definitely went out for me with his passing.’

  Jack knew exactly what she meant. He’d felt that way after losing Caroline, and then Annie. The world made no sense and nothing mattered any more. When he next spoke, it was as one survivor to another. ‘How did you get through it?’

  ‘Threw myself into my work,’ admitted Emer, triggering another jolt of recognition. The success of Stewart Enterprises had become almost an obsession for Jack back then. ‘Seems like I spent every waking hour studying,’ she continued. ‘Classic displacement behaviour – bury the grief in order to survive. My friends and family were so worried. They persuaded me to see a counsellor. I wasn’t the easiest of patients but something kept me going back, and it worked. I pulled through.’

  ‘So that’s why you chose a career in counselling?’

  ‘I actually started my PhD researching stress in
emergency personnel, but the more time I spent in hospitals, the more I was drawn to the patients. I switched my PhD focus, then did an internship in trauma counselling.’

  Brains, beauty and compassion. One powerful combination.

  ‘Have I got food on my face?’ Emer asked, brushing at her chin.

  He’d been staring. ‘No, you’re just perfect,’ he said, and meant it.

  She smiled and grabbed her glass, holding it to her cheek. ‘So, what’s your line of business?’

  Jack didn’t really want to talk about himself but he’d humour her. ‘It’s a family business. Stewart Enterprises. Leisure and property development. My father built it up from nothing. He started on a shoestring, saved hard, made some lucky investments, expanded, and earned his first million by the age of twenty-five.’

  ‘A real rags-to-riches story.’

  It did sound impressive. Jack had grown up in awe of his father. The man who could do anything. And a knighthood at sixty-five to boot. He doubted he’d ever be able to top that.

  ‘And what about your mother? Did she work?’

  His mother. Lady Grace. Not many people in Baronsmere could claim such an impeccable ancestry. ‘No, she never worked. All she wanted was to make a good marriage,’ he said. ‘She was the daughter of a respected Cheshire family, but the family fortune dipped during the Depression. She had the right connections, my father had serious money, so they got married.’

  ‘Sounds like they were made for each other,’ said Emer.

  ‘Hardly,’ muttered Jack, but he didn’t want to get into all of that. His parents already seemed to control so much of his life. He wanted to be free of them today.

  There was an awkward silence after his comment and Jack tried to think how to get the conversation going again on an even keel.

  Emer did it for him. The dessert trolley was wheeled past and she pointed. ‘Look at those profiteroles. Let’s have some for dessert. Pure decadence but I think we deserve it, don’t you?’

  The possibility of being able to wipe a smudge of chocolate from the corner of Emer’s mouth cheered Jack immensely.