rose.’
‘What was she called?’
‘Just Rose, darling. The rose of the desert.’
‘And what happened to her?’
‘Well, time passed and the little rose flourished. Her delicate red petals were so bright that they seemed to glow in the afternoon sun and her scent was so rare and fragrant and she was so beautiful that the heart of the old desert was nearly broken and he fell even more in love with her. The rose, however, became bored and restless. Nothing ever happened in her tranquil patch and so she wanted to see more of the world. Finally the little rose, sighing with boredom, plucked up her courage and decided to venture out of her little shelter in the eye of the desert. The winds had returned and the rose was overcome with curiosity about what could be making such strange and wonderful sounds. So the rose delicately pulled up her roots and stepped forth, around the corners of the standing stones and out of her patch. And the winds swirled around her, fluttering her delicate leaves so that she almost seemed to dance, and then – as suddenly as a thought – she was gone.’
‘Cheery story, Jack,’ said Wendy, one eyebrow critically bent.
‘What happened to her? Did she die then?’ asked Siobhan, her eyes still wide but a crease crunching her smooth forehead now.
‘Well, darling, the old desert caught a last lingering smell of the rose’s beautiful fragrance and then it was gone, vanished in the swirly air as quickly as you can snap your fingers.’
Delaney snapped his own fingers, making Siobhan jump. ‘And the old desert was heartbroken because he had destroyed the very thing he loved.’
‘Yeah, don’t give up the day job, cowboy,’ said Wendy, frowning.
‘So the rose died because she left home?’ asked Siobhan.
‘Not at all, pipkin,’ said Delaney, grinning broadly. ‘The wind swirled around the rose and lifted her from the floor but cradled her in its airy arms and carried her high, high above the desert and far, far away. Across glittering seas that sparkled like wet turquoise and translucent jade. Over mountains topped with snow so bright and white that it would dazzle you to look at them, over countries with woodland so thick with forests it was like a carpet of branches that stretched from coast to coast, and finally they hovered over a land far below her that was as green as the brightest emerald you had ever seen.’
‘The emerald isle?’ said Siobhan, smiling delightedly once more.
‘Ireland!’ said Delaney, with an emphatic nod. ‘And the wind danced downwards, swirling slower and slower, and laid the rose to rest in the rich and fertile soil below, the sea ahead of her and the rolling hills behind, in a spot that was later to be called Cork in a nook by the sea.’
‘Ballydehob?’
‘No, darling. In a place that was to be called Cunnamore.’
‘Where Mummy came from?’
‘She did indeed, sweetheart.’
‘And roses were her favourite flower.’
‘So they were.’
‘Well, then, that’s a good story.’
Delaney kissed his daughter on the forehead and set her on her feet. ‘Time to get you home for bed. And I have to get to bed myself, pipkin – got an early start in the morning.’
He picked up her coat, which was hanging on the back of one of the mismatched penny chairs he had bought at auction, and helped her shrug into it.
Wendy looked at him, suddenly very serious. ‘Tomorrow morning, Jack, are you involved in the—’
Delaney shot her a warning look to interrupt her. ‘Nothing she needs to know about.’
‘What don’t I need to know about?’ Siobhan asked.
Delaney grinned as he buttoned up her coat. ‘The price of snowshoes in the Sahara.’
‘What?’
‘Just work stuff, darling. Boring old work. Nothing to worry about.’
‘When can I stay over again, then?’
‘Like I say, soon. I promise.’
‘You shouldn’t promise things unless you mean it.’
‘I know.’
She pointed a finger at him sternly. ‘It’s a sin!’
‘Cross my heart and hope to die, should I ever tell a lie.’ He made a crossing gesture over his heart.
Siobhan grinned. ‘You’ll keep your promise, then.’
‘I always do, sweetheart.’
‘Come on then, mischief, let’s get you home and let your daddy get some sleep,’ said Wendy as she led Siobhan to the kitchen door leading to the garage and the street off from it. Delaney noticed her wincing a little as she walked, holding her left hand to her side. It wasn’t so long since Wendy had been attacked by Kate Walker’s degenerate uncle. Attacked in her own house, stabbed and locked in an under-stairs cupboard and left to die. Attacked because she was looking after Delaney’s daughter and Jack had got in the evil bastard’s way.
