The Villain’s Daughter (43 page)

‘You know perfectly well why he’s coming. We’re together and I want him to be there with me.
He
wants to be there for me.’

‘But Lizzie Street’s son,’ Kathleen said, her tone flagrantly disapproving. ‘Of all the men you could have chosen . . .’

Iris felt her hackles rise. Her mother hadn’t met him yet, but had already formed a negative opinion. ‘He’s nothing like her. I’ve already explained that to you. He didn’t even live with her while he was growing up. He’s his own man, a decent man, and he runs a perfectly legitimate business. He’s not an offshoot of some criminal dynasty.’ She wanted to go on, to sing his praises, to say how amazing he’d been - especially in the hunt for her father - but couldn’t do that without opening a can of worms. Of course she would have to have
that
tricky conversation eventually, to reveal that she was aware of the robbery, of what her dad had done, but not today. It wasn’t the right time, although the Lord alone knew when it would be right.

Kathleen pursed her lips. ‘Have you even spoken to Luke about Michael?’

Iris walked through to the hall, opened the door and went out into the corridor. ‘Why should he care? It’s nothing to do with him any more. We’ve split up, Mum, and we’re not getting back together. It’s over.’

‘But all couples have their differences. A relationship needs to be worked at. You can’t give up at the first hint of trouble.’

Iris snorted as she turned to lock the door behind them. ‘Hint? I’d call it more than that. He was the one who left me, remember. Dumped me for a champagne blonde with an overflowing bank account and a taste for other women’s men.’ She actually had no idea of the state of Jasmine’s finances, but it made her feel better to cast some additional doubt on Luke’s motives for leaving. Anyway, the girl looked the type to have a wealthy papa lurking somewhere in the background, a rich city slicker perhaps who wouldn’t think twice about bankrolling his little angel’s lifestyle. Not that Iris really cared. Not any more. She’d been hurt not so much by what Luke had done, but by his way of doing it.

Kathleen gave a weary sigh. ‘All I’m saying is—’

‘Yes, I know exactly what you’re saying.’

They were silent as they descended in the lift. Iris looked at the floor and then glanced sideways at her mother, regretting the sharpness of the exchange. This wasn’t a day for recriminations or bad feeling. Kathleen had liked Luke, had grown accustomed to him, and it was understandable that she wasn’t comfortable with this sudden change in her daughter’s situation.

Iris found herself wondering how her mother had managed after Sean’s abrupt departure. She’d been forced to make a new life for herself, to start over in an unknown city with a small child and no friends or family for support. It couldn’t have been easy. That she’d survived was a testimony to her strength of character. She had worked hard to provide a decent home, to always put food on the table, to make Iris’s childhood as happy as possible. And it had been happy, at least as happy as it could be with a father-sized space slap bang in the middle of it. Iris felt a stab of guilt. Perhaps it was time to stop blaming her for the things she hadn’t done - like telling the truth about the past - and to start appreciating the things she had.

The lift came to a halt and they stepped into the coolness of the foyer.

‘Let’s not fall out,’ Iris said, linking her arm through her mother’s. ‘I’m really glad you came. It means a lot to me.’ Her mother might have let her down in some ways, but in others she was always there for her. Iris briefly leaned her head against her shoulder. It was at times like these you really needed your family.

Iris sat in the front pew at the crematorium with her mother to her left and Guy to her right. They hadn’t talked much in the car. When Guy had shaken hands with Kathleen and said that he was pleased to meet her, she had been polite but distant. Iris hoped he hadn’t been offended. Perhaps he would presume that her mind, understandably, was somewhat preoccupied.

The chapel was filled with flowers and Iris breathed in the heady scent of lilies. She looked over her shoulder as the seats gradually filled. It was gratifying that there was such a good turnout. Michael, with his good sense of humour and generous ways, had been popular not just with his peers, but with many other members of the community too. He might occasionally have strayed on to the wrong side of the law, but his heart had always been a kind one. Iris held in a groan as that familiar ache rolled through her body. It was still impossible to accept that she would never see him again.

Vita had chosen to sit a few rows back. Rick wasn’t with her - he was one of the pall bearers - and Iris tried to catch her eye, but she was staring determinedly down at the Order of Service sheet. Michael’s death, coming so soon after the row, had meant that any serious attempts at reconciliation were on hold. They’d talked briefly on the phone and exchanged an awkward hug when they’d met at the entrance, but things were still strained between them. How to put it right? Iris didn’t know. She wasn’t even sure if she had the energy to try.

Turning back to face the front, she glanced at her mother. ‘I never realised Michael knew so many people.’

Kathleen gave a shrug of her shoulders. Her voice was hard, almost cynical. ‘All his drinking buddies, no doubt. He spent more time in the pub than anywhere else.’

Iris felt a spurt of annoyance. She wondered why her mother had even bothered to come if she had nothing better to say about him; it wasn’t as if she’d had any time for Michael while he was alive. But then, like before, she felt ashamed of judging her too harshly. Everyone dealt with loss in their own way. For all the water that had passed under the bridge, some of it turbulent, he had still been her brother-in-law. She supposed they must have been close once.

Guy reached out and took her hand as the coffin was carried in. She grasped his fingers tightly, barely able to contain her emotions. As they laid the coffin on the plinth, she blinked back the tears. Rick turned around and walked back past without looking in her direction; keeping his gaze focused straight ahead.

As the mass began, Iris stared over at the stained-glass windows. The sun had come out and it was slanting through the glass, making multi-coloured rainbows at her feet. She found herself thinking of all the trials she’d put Michael through, all the secrets she’d forced him to reveal. What if the Streets hadn’t been responsible for his death? Maybe she was just trying to shift the blame on to someone else. What if he’d got blind drunk and staggered out into the road because of everything she’d said and done? Her obsession with finding her father had clearly driven him to distraction. Iris bowed her head, suddenly overwhelmed with memories of that last argument at Vita’s.

As the service continued, Iris automatically went through the responses, slipping in the Hail Marys where she was supposed to. She was only half listening. Her mind was distracted. Another thought had popped into her head and she kept turning and glancing quickly over her shoulder to scour the faces of the assembled mourners. Surely her father wouldn’t miss his own brother’s funeral? But at the same time she knew it would be madness for him to come here. If the Streets were still searching - and why shouldn’t they be? - this would be the obvious place to look. But still, she couldn’t help wondering, hoping, that he might be close, at the same time willing him to stay away, to keep safe.

She caught sight of William Grand standing at the back. He gave her a tiny nod, his eyes full of concern. Over the last ten days, she had relied on him almost as much as she’d relied on Guy. He had taken her through the funeral arrangements, endlessly kind and sympathetic. He’d helped her choose the coffin, the hymns and readings, never losing patience as she hesitated, dithered and frequently changed her mind. Each decision had felt so momentous she could hardly bear to take it.

Guy leaned in a little closer and she felt the warmth and comfort of his body. As she looked at him, he mouthed, ‘Are you okay?’ She tried to smile but didn’t quite succeed. Her lips felt dry, almost frozen.

The priest was talking about Michael. Iris tried to concentrate, to listen to what he was saying, but her thoughts kept floating away. How had this happened? Why? But she knew why - the past had finally caught up with them all. Michael had paid the price for all her father’s terrible mistakes.

As the final prayers were said, Iris bent her face and gazed at the polished wooden floor. So this was it. She glanced sideways at the coffin with its raised crucifix. She thought of Michael lying motionless inside, dressed in his crisp white shirt and dark grey suit. She wanted to believe in God and heaven, but wasn’t sure if she could. What if this was it? What if there was nothing else?

 

Outside, the sunlight was glinting on the snow. The sudden brightness made Iris screw up her eyes. Guy put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. ‘It’s over now,’ he said. She nodded, even though nothing much did feel over. The funeral, yes, that had been survived, but it had done little to assuage her grief. The pain rolled over her again in waves so strong that she thought she might drown.

‘It will get easier,’ Guy said. ‘I promise you.’

But Iris wasn’t in a place where she could imagine such a thing. She gulped down a sob and brushed the tears away with the back of her hand. ‘Will it?’

‘What I mean,’ he continued softly, ‘is that there’ll come a point when you can look back on the happy times and not the sad ones. You’ll be able to remember the Michael you loved and not just the agony of losing him.’

She buried her face for a moment in his shoulder. Was he speaking from personal experience? It wasn’t that long since he’d lost his mother. They may have lived separate lives, but she knew that he missed her. ‘Do you . . . do you wish that you’d gone to your mum’s funeral?’

Guy shook his head. ‘She made a new family for herself. I wasn’t part of that. I wouldn’t have been welcome.’

She raised her face, frowning as she looked into his eyes. ‘But you had every right to be there.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘but it wouldn’t have made me feel better about anything. The only kind of closure I’d have been looking for would have involved my fists and Terry Street’s hypocritical jaw. And I’ve always thought there’s something rather undignified about scrapping in church.’

Iris smiled despite herself. ‘But not in funeral parlours?’

‘Ah, but I didn’t start that.’

As Iris looked back towards the door of the chapel, she saw her mother talking to the priest. She would be doing the decent thing, expressing her thanks, saying how nice the service had been. Iris felt a rush of both gratitude and guilt. Enclosed in her bubble of grief, clinging on to Guy, she had forgotten all about the common courtesies. She should be putting on a brave face, talking to people. She should be looking for William and thanking him for everything he’d done. She should be searching out Vita and trying to build some bridges.

But Iris couldn’t see either of them in the crowd that was gathering outside the chapel. Already some of the mourners were starting to drift away, to get into their cars, heading for the Dog & Duck. She looked towards the road, wondering if the Streets were watching. She thought again about her father and her eyes quickly raked the memorial gardens in case he might be viewing the proceedings from a safe distance. But there was no one there.

‘He won’t come here,’ Guy said. ‘Not today.’

She looked up at him, startled by how easily he had read her mind. ‘I just thought—’

‘I know,’ he said.

Iris didn’t get the chance to say anything else. Her mother had left the priest and was walking towards them. As she came closer, Guy slipped his arm from her waist. ‘I’ll be in the car,’ he said.

‘You don’t have to go.’

He bent and kissed her again, this time on the lips. ‘I’ll be waiting. Take your time. Take as much time as you need.’

As he left he smiled at Kathleen, but she didn’t smile back. Iris watched as her mother’s eyes narrowed into two thin slits.

‘What’s the matter?’ Iris said.

Kathleen pursed her lips, watching as Guy walked towards the car park. ‘How much do you really know about that man?’

‘Enough,’ Iris said sharply.

The exchange was interrupted by the ringing of her mother’s phone. ‘Heavens,’ Kathleen said, ‘I thought I’d turned that off.’ She took it from her bag and checked the screen. ‘It’s work. I’d better take it.’

‘Don’t they realise you’re at a funeral?’

But she’d already turned, moved a few steps away and was speaking softly to the caller. Iris didn’t get a chance to hear what she was saying. A couple of Michael’s friends came over to shake her hand and express their condolences. Iris went through the motions, saying, yes, it had been a lovely service; yes, there had been a good turnout; yes, she would see them shortly in the Dog & Duck. All the time she was watching her mother: Kathleen had her head bent to the phone, a small smile playing around her lips. If that was work, Iris thought, she was the Queen of Siberia. There was more than business being discussed in that conversation. Still, why shouldn’t she have someone special in her life? She was only in her late forties and still a very attractive woman.

‘Something important?’ Iris asked as her mother hung up and put the phone in her pocket.

‘Oh, just some papers that had gone astray.’

Kathleen worked as a PA for one of the senior partners in a large legal firm in Manchester. Iris could still remember her learning to type, her fingers tap-tapping away on the keyboard of a second-hand computer. That memory sparked off others too: a tiny kitchen with a damp patch on the ceiling, the roar of traffic from a main road, the strange sights and smells of an unfamiliar city. Which city had it been? They had lived in so many, especially in those early years. There had never been boyfriends, at least none that she knew of. Her mother must have been lonely with only a young child for company.