47
Orla Delaney bent and laid a bouquet of twelve blood-red roses on her brother Tory’s grave. Kieron stood to one side and watched her as she emptied the dead blooms, put in fresh water from one of the council cans, and carefully started to arrange the fresh flowers in the urn. Petey, her minder, watched them from the cemetery gates.
She was good to do it, thought Kieron. Every week, she was here.
‘I do it for Mum and Dad,’ she said once when he questioned her about it. ‘I promised them I would.’
Still, he thought she was good to do it. Very good, under the circumstances.
It was cold today. An arctic breeze swept through the graveyard. It was autumn and soon winter would be here. Jaysus, he hated the winter. Africa had been heaven compared to this. He pushed his hands into his coat pockets, hunched his shoulders against the cold, and watched her.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said. ‘Maybe we should report Pat missing to the police, what do you think?’
Pat hadn’t been seen for over two months now. All right, Kieron hated the bastard, but the bastard was his brother and it seemed like he had dropped off the edge of the world. Whether he wanted to or not, he was starting to feel concerned.
Orla thrust the last of the blooms into the urn and straightened up. She looked him dead in the eye.
‘You’re having a laugh,’ she said.
‘
‘We don’t ever deal with the police, Kieron,’ said Orla. ‘Jaysus, you don’t know much about this family but you must know that.’
There it was again. He was Kieron the outsider. Kieron the precious little artist, while his brothers did all the real work. It annoyed him.
‘So what do we do then?’ he demanded. ‘Just let it go?’
‘Yes, you’ve got it. We just let it go.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘I’m not joking, Kieron.’ Orla stuffed the dead roses into a bag and handed him the watering can.
Kieron looked at the grave. The roses looked starkly red in the cold grey light. Hothouse blooms, he thought. A frost was threatened. They’d be dead overnight, too delicate to survive the elements. A bit like him, maybe. He still felt bad about how Max had made him look the other night at the exhibition. The bastard had belittled him in front of all the important London faces, and he was still seething with hatred over it.
Annie hadn’t even had the decency to call him on the phone, either. That really riled him. She’d been there as his guest, and she’d just fucked off with Carter without a word. She couldn’t treat him like that, and he intended to tell her so.
‘Pat’s a very big boy now, Kieron,’ Orla pointed out. She glanced at him. ‘Hey, are you listening to me?’
Kieron snapped back to the present. ‘Yeah. I’m listening. And I know that. But I suppose we should at least enquire …’
Orla shrugged. ‘We’ve put the word round that we’re looking for him. No one’s come up with anything.’
‘Well, do you think anything’s happened to him?’
Orla looked at Kieron. Her eyes were cold. ‘We both know that’s a possibility,’ she said.
‘Then perhaps we ought to be more worried?’ said Kieron.
‘Perhaps we ought.’
Kieron thought with irritation that she sounded completely dispassionate. Orla was a cold fish and he hated her lack of feeling sometimes. Redmond was the same. Both of them, cold as haddock.
Orla stood there, looking down at their brother’s grave, murmuring something under her breath. She was a diamond of a girl, he knew. She did this for their parents in Ireland. She tried always to do the right thing. Molly was old now, and their father was shot away to put it mildly, didn’t know what day of the week it was, by all accounts. Didn’t know which way was up. A sad end to a dynamic man. Sad for those around him, anyway. Davey himself seemed perfectly happy. It was Molly who shed tears over the man who no longer even knew her. So Orla did this little service, and phoned Molly and told her so. Just a little thing, but to Molly, so important. Davey had adored Tory.
Now he couldn’t even remember him.
His eldest.
His first-born.
His favourite.
Now the old man was gaga, and the son was dust and ashes. Life was strange. It was all down to Redmond now to hold the remains of the Delaney empire together. Pat might show up next week, or never be seen again. Kieron drew closer to his sister and put an arm around Orla’s shoulders.
She stiffened.
He withdrew his arm. He had forgotten that she didn’t really like to be touched. Hugs and kisses were out. He stood there, frozen to the marrow, while she murmured her prayers and gazed at the grave. Her red hair danced in the breeze. He tuned in to what she was saying. Prayers for the dead, no doubt. He listened, and was shocked by what he heard.
‘You bastard, dead at last aren’t you, and you know what? I’m glad. And if I was alone here I’d dance on your grave.’
48
Annie had made two decisions. Now she was settled into the apartment, she felt stronger and more able to start setting her life straight.
One, she was going to deter Kieron from being a fucking nuisance and hanging around her like a lovesick hound. You didn’t mix it with Max Carter like Kieron had and carry on getting away with it. When Max snapped – and Annie knew he would – Kieron would be in deep shit. And she didn’t want another death on her conscience.
Her second decision was that she would try even harder to build bridges with her sister. She knew it wouldn’t be easy, but however long it bloody took or however tough the going got, she was determined to bring Ruthie back to her. The thing with her and Max was over. Now, surely, there could be forgiveness and reconciliation. Feeling apprehensive, she phoned Queenie’s place across town and was both pleased and nervous when Ruthie picked the phone up.
‘Oh. It’s you,’ said Ruthie when Annie announced herself.
Not a great start, but Annie pressed on. ‘I thought I’d call and see how you are.’
‘That’s good of you,’ said Ruthie with sarcasm.
‘I want us to be friends again, Ruthie,’ said Annie. ‘I know I did a horrible thing to you. I was young and stupid and jealous of the attention you got.’
It was only one and a half years since Ruthie and Max had married, but Annie felt she had aged ten years in that short time. She had been forced to grow up fast, and she could see clearly now how bad her behaviour had been.
‘Ruthie, I can’t begin to say how sorry I am. But all that’s over now. I’ve made a new start with my life, and …’
‘And you want to wipe the slate clean,’ said Ruthie.
‘Yes. Exactly.’
‘I want to do the same,’ said Ruthie.
‘Oh? Well … good.’
