Things We Never Say (22 page)

When he told her about their father, she couldn’t speak. She’d always had a dream in which Fred would one day admit to her that she was the cleverest and most successful of all his children. In it he’d apologise for not having realised that before and admit that it was his fault she’d left home. And she’d forgive him and hug him and he’d be grateful for her understanding.

But now the old git had gone and she’d never have the chance to hear him say that she was the smart one and that he was sorry for doubting her. She wouldn’t be able to invite him to the Mirador Hotel and see the expression on his face when she told him it was hers. He was the person who’d won, in the end. He’d left her with her feelings of bitterness and regret and with no way of getting rid of them. And he’d left her to face her two brothers on her own.

‘Suzanne?’

Donald’s words brought her back to the present.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I – I’m stunned. I thought that you’d ring one day and say he’d been taken ill and could I come home. I didn’t expect this.’

‘Yes, well, neither did we,’ said Donald.

‘What happened?’

Donald gave a brief summary of Fred’s heart attack, sticking only to the medical details and saying that Alex had been the one to let the family know.

‘I suppose it was a good thing Alex was with him when it happened,’ said Suzanne.

He couldn’t not tell her. She’d be spitting mad if she came home and didn’t know.

‘Alex arrived later,’ he said. ‘The person who was with Dad when it happened was a girl called Abbey Andersen.’

As Donald told her about their meeting with Abbey, Suzanne found herself speechless again. She too had known about Fred’s affairs, and the idea that he’d fathered another child wasn’t entirely surprising – more surprising, maybe, was that nobody had appeared before now – but the story of the young girl dying in the convent was deeply upsetting.

‘So where is she now?’ asked Suzanne. ‘Our … our half-sister?’

‘She’s not our half-sister!’ Donald’s tone was explosive. ‘She’s nothing to do with us. She was adopted and brought to the States and she’s nobody we know.’

‘First of all, she
is
our half-sister,’ Suzanne said. ‘And the fact that her own daughter has turned up means she is something to do with us.’

‘I don’t want to have anything to do with her,’ said Donald. ‘She’s nothing to this family. Nothing.’

‘Dad obviously thought differently.’

‘He was an old fool.’

‘No argument from me there,’ said Suzanne. ‘But we have to talk to Abbey. Find out about her and her mother. See what Dad already told them.’

‘After the funeral,’ said Donald. ‘We can talk then.’

‘All right,’ Suzanne said. ‘I’ll try to book the morning flight.’

‘Let me know.’

‘I will,’ she said.

After she ended the call with her brother, she opened her laptop and searched for flights home. She scrolled through the options, wondering how many people came home for a funeral and then had to face people they’d rather not bother having to talk to at all. And how many others felt cheated when someone died before they had the chance to say the things they’d always meant to say.

‘How are you feeling?’ asked Ryan as he and Abbey, having finally left Furze Hill, walked into the reception area of the Harbour Hotel.

‘It’s been a hell of a day,’ Abbey replied. ‘I feel like I’m going to collapse, but I don’t know if that’s because I’m jet-lagged or because of everything else.’

‘I’m surprised you haven’t collapsed already,’ said Ryan. ‘You had to deal with a lot of stuff.’

‘And there’ll be a lot more when I meet the Fitzpatricks again,’ she said. ‘They’re not happy about me and I don’t blame them.’

‘Well obviously today’s weren’t the ideal circumstances for them to find out about you, but they’ll come round,’ said Ryan.

‘I admire your optimism.’ Abbey said. ‘But I’m not expecting a warm welcome when we meet again.’

‘These things take time,’ Ryan told her. ‘Have you eaten anything since this morning? Would you like something now?’

‘I think I’ll have some coffee in my room,’ she said. ‘Thank you so much for everything. You must be shattered too – I woke you up this afternoon, didn’t I?’

‘All part of the job.’ He smiled. ‘If there’s anything else you need, let me know, OK?’

‘OK.’

He gave her a brief hug and she went up the stairs to her room. Despite not having eaten, she wasn’t very hungry and she was perfectly happy to make herself some coffee and eat the small pre-packed slice of fruit cake that she’d seen on the tray earlier.

After she’d kicked off her shoes and poured herself the coffee, she picked up her phone and called Pete.

‘Well whaddya know!’ Pete was gobsmacked when she related everything. ‘So what happens now?’

She explained that there would be a further meeting with the Fitzpatrick family, depending on how the schedule for Fred’s funeral turned out.

‘You need representation when you meet them,’ said Pete. ‘They can’t imply that your actions hastened the old man’s death. I can come over, honey. Stall them till I get there.’

‘It’s OK, Pete,’ she said. ‘The doctor certified the cause of death as a heart attack. He said there was nothing more I could have done. So did the paramedics. There’s no problem.’

‘People can say and do stupid things,’ said Pete. ‘My job is to stop that. Or to make sure that if they do cross a line, they pay the penalty.’

‘I’m sure everything will be all right,’ she said. ‘If there’s a problem, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, though, the Irish lawyers are taking good care of me.’

‘That Ryan Gilligan guy seemed to have his head screwed on the right way,’ conceded Pete. ‘But he was working for Mr Fitzpatrick, not you. So don’t let him push you around either.’

‘He didn’t push me around,’ said Abbey. ‘He was nice.’

‘Yeah, well, don’t let his niceness fool you,’ warned Pete.

‘Pete, Pete, I’ve got to trust someone!’ cried Abbey. ‘And the doctor and the lawyers have been on my side. Not that there should be sides. The family was upset, is all. I understand that. I’d be upset too.’

‘You were a hero,’ said Pete. ‘You tried to save him and you called for help and they should’ve been thanking you.’

‘Maybe they will when we meet again,’ said Abbey. ‘They had too much to process this time.’

‘Given that they freaked out when they met you, do I gather that you haven’t had time to talk to them about your mom?’ Pete asked the question warily.

‘No,’ said Abbey.

‘That might be another shock,’ he observed. ‘You sure you don’t want me over? Because it’s no trouble.’

‘Moral support would be nice,’ Abbey admitted. ‘But I think it would worry them even more if you turned up all sharp suits and lawyerly on my behalf.’

‘Maybe,’ conceded Pete.

‘I’ll talk to them,’ Abbey said. ‘Tell them everything. What difference does it make anyway? I doubt very much that after that conversation I’ll be hearing from any of them ever again.’

‘Which in some ways would be a pity,’ said Pete. ‘They’re your family, after all.’

‘No,’ said Abbey. ‘You and Claudia are. Even if I’m a bit of a cuckoo in the nest.’

‘You’re a very welcome part of our family and you know it,’ said Pete. ‘If you think you can manage without me, that’s fine. But any sign of trouble, you call. No matter what time it is.’

‘You’re my Alcatraz,’ said Abbey. ‘My rock.’

And he was, she thought, as she ended the call. Always there for her. Even though he didn’t need to be.

Suzanne Fitzpatrick arrived in Dublin at midday the following day. Although Gareth and Lisette had asked her to stay with them, she’d elected to book in to the Harbour Hotel instead. Gareth might be her brother, but she hadn’t seen him in years and she didn’t want to stay in his home.

Abbey, who’d slept late and had decided to go for a long walk to clear her head, noticed the tall, slim woman checking in as she herself crossed the reception area. A vague sense of recognition nagged at her mind, but as she’d only glanced in Suzanne’s direction it didn’t really take hold, and she walked out of the hotel without a further thought. Suzanne didn’t see Abbey at all; she was too busy filling in the registration card and thinking that the Harbour Hotel wasn’t a million miles away from what she wanted the Mirador to be. Chic and exclusive, but friendly.

Like Abbey, Suzanne told the receptionist that she was perfectly able to carry her own bag to her room. She took the lift rather than the stairs to the top floor, thinking that the art deco one in the Mirador was a million times nicer. The style of the reception area would be dictated by that lift, she thought, as she reached her room and opened it with the card key. It would be the Mirador’s signature feature. Always provided that she somehow managed to raise the money she needed.

She walked into the room and put her bag on the bed, still thinking about the Mirador. Having got over the shock of her father’s sudden death, she couldn’t help feeling frustrated at being in Ireland when she needed to be in Spain, raising finance. Typical of Fred that even in death he interfered with her plans. She felt a surge of guilt at the thought, but she couldn’t help herself. Just because the old man was dead didn’t mean he hadn’t caused anything but trouble for her when he’d been alive. And what additional trouble had he intended to cause, she wondered, by asking this hitherto unknown granddaughter to meet him?

She exhaled slowly. Donald had been overwrought when he’d called the previous night, but she knew that he was both upset and angry about the discovery of another Fitzpatrick. Although she was an Andersen, Suzanne remembered. And what about the mother? Her father’s first child. Well, the first they knew of. God knows what other surprises Fred might have had up his sleeve.

She unpacked her things from her cabin bag and freshened up before ringing Gareth.

‘Come to the house when you’re ready,’ he said. ‘We’re having the removal to the church this evening; the funeral will go ahead tomorrow.’

Suzanne thought about having something to eat at the hotel before going to her brother’s, but she knew that was only to put off the inevitable, so she changed from the jeans and T-shirt she’d travelled in into a navy dress which would be suitable for wearing in the church later. Then she slipped into a pair of mid-height shoes and left the hotel.

Gareth and Lisette’s house was only a twenty-minute walk. Suzanne had never been in it before and was impressed by its location. Not bad, she thought, for a couple of teachers. Of course they’d got into property a number of years back, hadn’t they? She vaguely remembered her father cackling about it one Christmas when she’d made her obligatory phone call home. ‘Think they’re property modules,’ he’d said, and she’d corrected him, telling him he surely meant ‘moguls’, and he’d retorted that whatever his second son and his wife were, moguls certainly didn’t describe them. He’d never given Gareth much support, Suzanne thought. He’d fought with her and wanted to mould her into a certain type of person, but he’d simply dismissed her older brother, scornful of his more sensitive nature. Donald was the favourite, she reckoned. But even Donald had never been good enough for him.

She rang the bell and the double gates swung open. Gareth was standing on the front step, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun. (Suzanne had been surprised by its warmth when she’d walked out of the terminal building in Dublin and had immediately taken off the heavy jacket she’d dug out of the back of her wardrobe specifically for the Irish weather.)

‘Hi,’ he said as she walked up the path. ‘Welcome home.’ He gave her a perfunctory hug.

‘Thanks. Although obviously the circumstances …’

‘Yes, well, we all knew it would happen sooner or later. But it’s been a shock all the same.’

Suzanne followed her brother into the house, and along the hallway to the large kitchen at the back.

‘Suzanne,
chérie
, it’s nice to see you again? Did you have a good flight?’ Lisette got up from the table where she’d been sitting with the children.

‘There was a time when it was worth asking that question,’ said Suzanne. ‘But these days there’s no such thing as a good flight. All you can hope for is that it won’t be too awful. And it wasn’t.’

‘True,’ agreed Lisette. ‘Jerome, Fleur, say hello to your Tante Suzanne.’

‘Hello, Tante Suzanne.’ Fleur briefly looked up from her colouring book while Jerome, engrossed in his iPad, muttered a greeting.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Lisette. ‘I am trying to teach them manners but I think I’m failing.’

‘They’re fine,’ said Suzanne.

‘Would you like coffee?’ asked Lisette.

‘That’d be great.’

Lisette got up and poured hot water into a cafetière, releasing an aromatic hit of ground beans.

‘So – all the drama,’ said Suzanne as her sister-in-law poured the coffee. ‘The way Donald talked last night, I thought he was convinced that this American girl had a part in Dad’s heart attack.’

‘Was Gran’père killed?’ Jerome looked up from the iPad, his eyes wide. ‘That would be so cool.’

‘Of course he wasn’t,’ said Lisette. ‘I told you, he hadn’t been well.’

‘He died because he was ancient,’ said Fleur. ‘I heard you say it to Papa. You said, “It’s time that ancient old man did us all a favour and died.”’

‘Fleur!’ Lisette’s face flamed red. ‘You shouldn’t have been listening to our conversation. Anyway, I’m sure you didn’t hear me properly.’

‘I did.’ Fleur put her crayon on the table. ‘And I heard you say that you thought a man with a dicky ticker shouldn’t be so healthy.’

‘What I meant …’ Lisette’s voice was filled with forced patience, ‘was that your
gran’père
was a very active man for his age.’

‘A cranky man, you usually say,’ remarked Jerome.

Suzanne tried to keep a straight face. She understood perfectly the conversations her brother and Lisette might have had with each other, but it was amusing to hear it rehashed by their children.

‘Why are you both inside anyway?’ demanded their father. ‘It’s too nice to be indoors.’

‘Maman said we should stay in and say hello to Tante Suzanne.’