Past Secrets (15 page)

him. He says we’re still going to my brother’s wedding as a couple, so it can’t really be over, can it? What should I do?’

The hardest questions were often simplest, Christie thought. Stay and hope, or walk away to start again?

‘I can’t tell you what you should do, Liz,’ she said gently. ‘Only you know that.’

‘But I don’t.’

‘Close your eyes and tell me what does it feel like in there?’ Christie gestured at the place on Liz’s chest where her heart resided.

Liz obediently closed her eyes and instantly her face lost some of its tension. Her shoulders slackened.

‘I

think it’s over. He’s being nice by saying he’ll go to my brother’s wedding with me and he thought it was all fun between us until I mentioned that I wanted a baby.’ She snapped her eyelids open and stared at Christie in misery.

‘Then it’s over,’ Christie said gently. She hadn’t seen the future for Liz, she’d merely let Liz reach out and think the unthinkable herself.

‘You’re right. I was kidding myself, wasn’t I? I think I always knew he wasn’t in it for the long term,’ Liz said sadly. ‘I kidded myself because I wanted it so much. Looking back, I can see it all now and I should have done everything differently.’

‘Looking

backwards is a terrible thing,’ Christie added, smiling. ‘With the benefit of hindsight, there are lots of things we should have done and didn’t, and vice versa. But we learn from them and do better next time.’

‘You’re being kind,’ Liz whispered, getting up. ‘I bet you’ve never been as stupid as me. You think before you act, Christie. I blunder along and convince myself that everything’s fine when it’s not. I only wish I could stop myself doing that. I wouldn’t be in bits now if I did.’ She bent to give Christie a small hug. ‘You’re very good for listening to me. I know why everyone says you’re wise. You really are.’

The room was filling up again as lunchtime arrived. Liz took her cup and her folder and left Christie sitting at the table, frozen in thought.

For all the noise going on, all the chat about the third form’s behaviour that morning and the traffic being a nightmare, Christie might as well have been sitting in a room all on her own. She heard nothing, except Liz’s words. You think before you act, Christie.

Because there had been a few times when she’d acted before thinking, and one time in particular that haunted her. One stupid, awful thing she’d done and regretted ever since.

She thought she had put it out of her mind, filed in the memories best left forgotten box, and had tried to forgive herself ever since. And recently she had been thinking of it again and again and it was as red and raw as if it had all happened yesterday. How was it that she hadn’t been wise

then, when Ana had been involved with Carey Wolensky and the world had been a different place?

And why did the memories of that time keep sneaking into her mind, so many years later? She simply didn’t know.

Shane phoned her that afternoon as she walked home.

‘Mum, I’ve something to tell you,’ he said, after the howareyous.

Even in late-afternoon sun as she stopped on the footpath on Summer Street, Christie felt the shadow of fear over her again.

‘Yes,’ she said, dry-mouthed, thinking of all the terrible things that could happen to her beloved son. ‘Janet’s pregnant. We didn’t want to tell anyone until she was three months gone and then, the other day, we thought she was having a miscarriage but she didn’t and it’s all fine.’ Pride and joy sounded in every one of Shane’s words.

It really was like having a great weight lifted from her. The fear fell away. ‘Oh, Shane,’ was all she could say. ‘Oh, Shane, my love, I am so happy for you both.’ She leaned weakly against a garden wall, her eyes focused on the park opposite where children played and dogs barked. Thank you, thank you, God, she prayed silently.

‘That’s the best news I’ve heard in a very long time,’ she said. ‘It’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you both. How is Janet? Tell me everything.’

‘Delighted, and so relieved after we thought she was going to lose the baby.’

Christie’s mind flashed back. It was then the insight had started - something was about to go horribly wrong. She’d been right. Her grandchild had almost been lost from the world.

‘She’s had a scan, though, and everything’s fine.

You can see your third grandkid in a speckled blackand-white picture. We got one for you and Dad. Could we come over at the weekend and give it to you both?’

‘I can’t think of anything I’d like more.’ Christie sighed with pure happiness. ‘Shall I tell your father or did you want to phone him yourself?’

‘I’ll tell him.’

He sounded so like James at that moment: proud daddy-in-waiting, that Christie felt overwhelmed with the emotion of it all. She was so, so lucky.

‘Let’s have Ethan and Shelly and the girls over too, and maybe your Aunt Ana. Just a small family gathering on Sunday afternoon, not a party in case you think it’s bad luck, but just us celebrating the baby getting this far. If you think Janet would like it?’ Janet loved the Devlin family get-togethers but she might not be up to even a small one right now and Christie was never one to bulldoze.

‘That’ll have to be a few weeks away,’ Shane said eagerly. ‘We’re going to a house-warming this weekend, and something else the next weekend, but I’m sure Janet would love a little party. It nearly killed us both not telling anyone. Well, Janet told her mum when she thought she was

miscarrying … I’m sorry, it’s not that we were leaving you out, Mum …’

‘Shane, you know me better than that,’ Christie admonished. ‘Girls tell their mothers more, it’s the way of things. And I’d be some piece of work if that vexed me. Now, if we have the little party the Sunday after next, why don’t you ask Janet’s mum to come too?’ she urged. Janet was an only child with a widowed mother. ‘We’d love to have her here.’

‘You’re a star, Mum,’ Shane said. ‘Hey, you’ll be up for babysitting, right?’

‘Count me in,’ Christie said fervently.

At home, humming happily as she thought about the good news, she spent an hour and a half cooking, then filled a basket with dishes for Una and Dennis Maguire. She hadn’t heard yet that Maggie was home, and Dennis didn’t know one end of the kitchen from the other. If it was left to him, the pair of them would starve. So Christie had made a huge stew, enough for two days, some chicken soup with her own homemade stock, and a dozen fat floury scones. Then she hurried up Summer Street to see Una.

‘Christie, how lovely to see you,’ said Una when Dennis led Christie into the kitchen.

‘And you too.’ Christie laid down the basket, pulled up a chair and sat beside her old friend, laying a comforting hand on Una’s.

‘This is terrible, Una. Such bad luck. How long will you be in plaster?’

‘Six weeks,’ said Dennis, hovering in the background anxiously. He was sorting out papers for recycling, a job his wife usually did efficiently, while he was getting in a muddle.

‘Five and a bit now,’ corrected Una. ‘The doctors and nurses were lovely; said I’d be right as rain.’

This was clearly said for Dennis’s benefit.

Christie had felt the fragility of Una’s bones as she’d touched her: instead of strength, she’d felt a spider’s web of bone, fragile, tissue-thin. Christie had a sudden flash of the gleaming wheels of a wheelchair in her mind and she hoped, as she often did when she saw something sad, that this was only one out of many possible futures. Her hand patted Una’s in a gesture of understanding and their eyes met in complicity.

‘Dennis, you know, I believe I didn’t shut the front door properly behind me,’ Christie smiled at him. ‘Perhaps you should check …’

‘No bother,’ he said, getting up. ‘I have to put the rubbish out anyway and sort it out. It’s the recycling collection next week instead of normal rubbish and I’ve got to tie up all the newspapers with string.’

‘Is it that obvious I’m worse than I’m letting on?’ Una said when he’d bustled off.

‘Only to me,’ Christie replied. ‘What did they really say?’

‘I wish I had your gift,’ Una sighed. ‘It must be great to know things, to see what’s up ahead, although I don’t know if I’d have liked to see

this.’ She looked morosely at her leg in its plaster cast.

‘My gift?’ asked Christie, genuinely surprised.

She still rarely talked about what she could do.

And she’d certainly never talked about it with Una.

Not everyone approved of the concept of visions and she’d never wanted to be labelled a dotty old dear.

‘You see things, don’t you? My mother had a friend like you, she read the cards for us when I was younger.’

‘I don’t read cards,’ Christie said. ‘I think I had it engrained in me as a child that the Church didn’t condone anything like that, but you’re right, I do see things sometimes. Not so much the future, as what might be. I can’t see for people close to me,’

she added quickly, in case Una asked her what her future held. ‘If I could see everything, I’d have seen that you knew!’

‘You can see when people are lying, though?’

Una asked perceptively.

Christie nodded. ‘It’s more intuition than anything,’ she added, which wasn’t entirely true. ‘I knew you weren’t as well as you said. What did the doctors say?’

‘It’s osteoporosis, quite advanced,’ Una said. ‘My mother had it, you see, so I pushed them to do a bone scan in the hospital, although they kept going on about how I could have it done later, and I insisted. Seems it’s a miracle I haven’t broken things before. I’m going to have to be careful now or I’ll be like a mummy in a film, all bandages trailing after me.’

‘How’s Dennis coping?’

‘Maggie’s back, so she’s looking after us both,’

Una pointed out.

‘And is she well?’ asked Christie warmly. ‘Great,’ said Una with pride. ‘She’s just nipped off to get the papers and something for dinner.

Although she needn’t have bothered now you’ve come with food. She’s so good to us, you know, Christie. Dennis phoned her from the hospital on Wednesday and she was on a plane yesterday, quick as anything. She’s a great girl. I just wish she’d settle down like your two lads. But you can’t make them do what you want, can you? Still, she’s happy and that’s the main thing, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said Christie, resolving that now wasn’t the moment to tell her friend the news about her daughter-in-law’s pregnancy. ‘Shall I make a fresh pot of tea?’ she said, indicating the tea-cosied pot that sat on the table.

‘Go on,’ said Una. ‘Milky tea is one way of getting more calcium into me. Far nicer than those awful tablets they have me on. You should have a bone scan done, you know. It’s our age, unfortunately.’

‘I

know,’ said Christie, rinsing the teapot and automatically tidying up around her. Dennis’s newspapers. caught her attention. There were Sunday supplements from weeks ago jumbled up with daily papers open at the crossword pages and

she organised them neatly into a pile while she waited for the kettle to boil. Una was telling her about the hospital and the steam from the kettle was building as Christie threw the last paper lightly on to the heap. Before the newsprint landed, the small headline caught her eye: Polish Artist’s First Irish Show in 25 Years Christie caught the countertop to stop herself swaying. It was only a small story and she pulled it towards her, hardly daring to read it. Carey Wolensky was coming to Ireland next month for an exhibition of his work, including his most famous paintings, the Dark Lady series.

Much prized by the world’s richest art collectors and quite unlike all his other work, the Dark Lady paintings are Wolensky’s mysterious masterpieces.

Before Christie could rip the story from the page, she heard Dennis come back.

‘Christie, don’t bother with those,’ he said, scooping up the pile of papers. ‘I’ll put them out with the bins.’

He carried them off and Christie was left staring into the neat shrubbery of the Maguires’ back garden, barely hearing what Una was saying. She was thinking of Carey Wolensky, her darling younger sister’s one-time boyfriend, the man who’d almost destroyed everything. He was coming back into their world and, even now, he could devastate their lives.

Now, at last, Christie knew for sure what her feeling of doom had been about.

Motherhood was harder than marriage, Grace realised, as she admired the art portfolio that Faye had just purchased, at great expense, for Amber’s forthcoming eighteenth birthday. At least with marriage, you got time off for good behaviour and could duck out when the going got tough. But motherhood was never-ending and was clearly designed to make you a selfless person. Like when you spent more than a week’s wages on something for your kid.

‘She’ll love it,’ Grace said, thinking that if she ever bought anything of supple leather that expensive, it would be hanging off her arm right now with a discreet label inside proclaiming that it was handstitched lovingly by people at the Tod’s leather goods factory. Still, that was Faye for you: the only exquisitely dressed thing in Faye’s house was Amber. ‘Any art student would kill for it.’

‘Do you think so?’ Faye asked anxiously.

She’d just spent a fortune buying the portfolio from the most expensive art shop in town because she wanted her darling Amber to have the very best of everything when she started art college.

Basically nothing more than a large wallet for transporting drawings and paintings, it wasn’t the most important bit of art college kit. Amber had an old plastic portfolio that could have done her perfectly well. But this large zippered folder was a thing of luxury and it would be nice for Amber to have a beautiful creamy leather one. Except, maybe Amber would have preferred a black leather one. Who knew? The fact that she’d once admired a cream leather one might mean nothing now.

She could have totally changed her mind, in the way she’d announced the night before that she might start having a quick dinner before Faye came home, so she could retreat to her room to study.

‘If I eat earlier, I sleep better,’ she explained. ‘You’ve got to eat properly,’ Faye had said, motherly hackles raised.