With All My Love Page 4

  ‘Yes!’ she replied curtly. ‘Why, Mum? Why did you lie to me? I want to know. I want to know how you could have done that to Gramma and me? Because there is nothing in my mind that could justify such cruelty and I will never forgive you for it,’ she added heatedly, her anger overflowing.

  Valerie raised her hand as if to ward off an attack. ‘Please, Briony, not tonight. I just can’t deal with it right now. You don’t know because I’ve never told you, but today is your dad’s anniversary. If you want to rake up the past and hear the story I’ll tell you my side, because there are always two sides to any story. Then you can judge me! But tonight is not the night for it. So please, let me be.’

  ‘Another thing you never told me: the date of my dad’s anniversary. Did you never think I would have liked to mark it? It wasn’t all about you, Mother, no matter what you think,’ Briony retorted. ‘I’m going for a walk. And don’t worry, we’ll be gone as soon as I can get a flight home and that will give you all the peace and quiet you want.’ She turned on her heel and left the room, then slipped into Katie’s bedroom to retrieve her tote bag. She let herself out of the villa and walked down the back garden to the steps that led to a wrought-iron gate and through it, a narrow path. She walked briskly, fuelled by rage, along the winding track that led to the beach. The lights of the coast shimmered and twinkled on either side of her. To her left, along the beach, she could hear the faint sound of the music playing in Max’s, the waterside restaurant they had often dined in on previous visits. To her right, the lights of the apartments that lined the resort of Calahonda.

  She pulled her phone out of her bag, She needed to talk to Finn, to tell him what had happened, to pour out her fury and frustration, to have him comfort and console her, but just as she was scrolling down her contacts it beeped and the battery died and she cursed herself for not charging it earlier. She flung it back into her bag and turned right, head down, finding her stride along the damp, hard sand near the water’s edge. There were a few people out walking their dogs but mostly she had the beach to herself. But neither the welcome breeze that blew her hair away from her flushed angry face, nor the moon preparing to shine silver on the sea, nor the lullaby of sounds from the waves and the sighing pine trees that fringed the beach could act as an unguent to her aching spirit.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘Oh God! God! God! Could you not give me a break? Just when things were going well. Why do you always pick on me?’ Valerie berated the Almighty as from the end of the garden she watched Briony rummaging for her phone before throwing it back into her bag and striding off along the beach, disappearing around a bend into the dusk. She’ll walk to Marbella, the humour she’s in, Valerie thought glumly, making her way back up the garden to the terracotta terrace.

  She would have liked to pour herself a big glass of fruity red wine and get smashed but she wouldn’t drink knowing that her granddaughter was asleep inside, and Briony was scorching along the beach in a temper, having given Valerie no indication as to what time she’d be back.

  That damn letter. She’d forgotten all about it. Tessa had given it to Valerie’s mother, Carmel, some time after Valerie had moved to Dublin, and Carmel had asked her if she wanted her to forward it on.

  ‘Absolutely not!’ Valerie had declared emphatically. ‘Don’t post that to me.’

  Carmel had shoved it into one of Valerie’s photo albums where it had lain forgotten about for years. It was only when Valerie was clearing out her parents’ house in Rockland’s that she’d found the albums. She’d thrown them in a cardboard box and put them under the stairs at home in Dublin, along with some other personal effects she’d taken from her mother’s bedroom, and forgotten all about them.

  Valerie had sold her own house at the height of the boom, soon after Briony had got married, and had bought a smaller town house for herself. When the banks had gone belly up a few years later and she’d been worried about her nest egg, she had decided that she could take advantage of the property crash in Spain and buy a small villa on the southern coast, a place where she had spent many happy holidays.

  When she’d bought the villa in Riviera, she’d taken six months’ unpaid leave from her job as a senior staff officer at Dublin City Council to move in and get the place sorted. She’d packed up some belongings in cardboard boxes, taken the Cork-Roscoff ferry, and driven down through France and Spain. Briony had flown out a week later.

  There were boxes everywhere, some from Valerie’s own home, others from her mother’s house in Rockland’s. She had been glad Briony had arrived to help sort the place out. It had been a nightmare clearing out her childhood home, she remembered with a pang. When Terence had phoned her to tell her that her mother was ‘going doolally’, as he’d put it, Valerie had finally accepted what she’d being doing her best to disregard. Her mother’s increasing forgetfulness and bizarre behaviour could no longer be ignored. Carmel had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and, as her condition rapidly deteriorated, father and daughter were in agreement for once: Carmel needed to be in a nursing home.

  The house had got shabby and untidy after Carmel had gone into the home some years back. Terence had been too mean to get in a cleaner once a week, even though he could well afford it. And then he’d gone and died and she’d had to deal with everything whether she liked it or not.

  Typical of Terence to piss off and leave her with the responsibility of her mother, Valerie thought, heading for the kitchen to make a spritzer for herself. She’d cried no tears at his funeral. In fact, she couldn’t get away from the grave quick enough after the priest had said the last prayer and the soil had been thrown on the inexpensive wooden coffin she’d selected for him. She was damned if she was going to spend any of her mother’s money on an extravagant coffin just to impress the neighbours.

  Valerie threw a couple of ice cubes into a long glass, poured a measure of Chardonnay and topped it up with a can of slimline tonic. Her father would have been furious with the send-off she’d given him because if there was one thing Terence Harris liked to do, it was to impress his neighbours. She hadn’t paid a singer to sing at his funeral Mass, she’d used taped music. She hadn’t paid a fortune for an expensive wreath, just a basic red and white carnation cross. There had been no book of condolence. There had been no eulogy, something that her father would have very much aspired to, especially for all his good deeds in Rockland’s. She had left it to the priest to do the readings, determined not to do one herself and be a hypocrite. She certainly hadn’t paid for a black car to follow the hearse. She’d driven her mother’s old banger behind it. Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang, her friend Lizzie had called it. Lizzie had been by her side throughout. Secretly aghast, Valerie felt, but like the true friend she was, she had said nothing, a witness to the long years of antipathy between father and daughter.

  Valerie hadn’t let Briony come to the funeral despite her daughter’s heated protests. ‘I don’t want you standing at his grave, Briony. He had no time for you when you were alive; you aren’t going to waste one second of your life on him now that he’s dead.’ She’d been unequivocal. Briony was not to know that Valerie had no wish for her daughter to be anywhere near Rockland’s for fear that she would encounter Tessa and Lorcan, and the past would rear its ugly head.

  ‘But I want to support you, I want to be with you,’ Briony had argued.

  ‘Believe me, it won’t be a hardship for me, Briony,’ Valerie said grimly. ‘As soon as Terence has been prayed over I’ll be off. I’m not playing the part of a grieving daughter and the neighbours won’t be getting soup and sandwiches for their trouble. I’ve never been a hypocrite and I’m not going to start now.’

  ‘But what about Granny? Would you not do it properly for her?’ Briony couldn’t hide her dismay. ‘Are you not going to have a removal?’

  ‘He can go straight to the church. Lots of people are doing that now. Granny doesn’t know what day it is, let alone who’s going to be at Da’s funeral. There’s no point in taking her out of the
nursing home to go. She’d only get agitated and confused. She’s better off where she is. Don’t you miss a day’s work going to the funeral of someone who couldn’t care less about us. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine,’ Valerie had insisted.

  ‘Are Dad’s parents still living in Rockland’s? Should we try and make contact with them and—’

  ‘Briony, let’s leave them in the past where they belong. We’ve managed very well without them. I have no desire whatsoever to make contact with them now or in the future, and besides, I don’t even know if they still live in Rockland’s,’ Valerie had interrupted sternly. Briony had said no more, knowing from experience that it was pointless arguing with her mother when she got a bee in her bonnet about something.

  Now Valerie frowned as she carried her glass out to the terrace, kicked off her espadrilles and sat on a thick-cushioned lounger. That had been a close shave. For one awful moment she’d thought her daughter was going to insist on trying to find her paternal grandparents. Briony knew that Terence hadn’t wanted her in his life and that was just the way he was. Because she was used to the situation it didn’t bother her unduly. But Valerie could never forgive him for it. She would love to have told all the old dears in the parish who were under the impression that he was a kind person just how mistaken they were.

  He had always been involved in the Meals on Wheels, and the bingo, in Rockland’s, but Valerie knew that Terence hadn’t done it out of the goodness of his heart. Her father had always had an ulterior motive for doing any perceived act of kindness. The old dears were always slipping him a twenty here and a twenty there for doing their shopping and weeding their gardens. And Terence always took it.

  He’d slipped on ice putting a bag of rubbish into a neighbour’s bin under cover of darkness, because he was too mean to pay the bin charges. He’d hit his head on the footpath and had lain in the freezing cold, unconscious, unmissed by his befuddled wife in her nursing home, until he’d been found suffering from hypothermia, early the following morning when a neighbour had been going to work. Valerie had been visiting Lizzie in London, when she’d got the phone call from a neighbour telling her to go to the hospital immediately if she wanted to see her father to say goodbye. She said it would be later in the week before she got home, weather permitting. Flights had been cancelled because of the Big Freeze, as everyone was calling it. Typical of Terence to pick the worst time of the year to die and make life awkward for everyone. She earnestly hoped that she wouldn’t end up doing a death vigil at her father’s bedside and that he would do them all a favour and not drag it out, that he’d shuffle off this mortal coil a.s.a.p so she could get things sorted. Carmel’s future was her priority. Valerie wanted to do the best for her. She’d told the nursing home staff to say nothing to her mother about Terence’s imminent demise. There was no point in agitating her.

  Terence had, for once in his life, obliged his daughter and had died the following morning. She’d made the arrangements, by phone and email, and had flown into Dublin the next day when flight restrictions had been lifted, and driven to Rockland’s. After spending time with Carmel, who hadn’t recognized her on this visit, though she sometimes did, Valerie had driven to the funeral parlour in Wicklow. She had told the undertakers she didn’t want to see her father in his coffin and to have it closed when she got there. She had no intention of kissing his corpse.

  ‘Some people prefer to have their last memory to be of the loved one alive,’ the undertaker said understandingly.

  As if Terence would even get a kiss from her when he was alive, or a prayer even, she thought with dark humour.

  She was petrified that Tessa or Lorcan would appear at the funeral and had been on edge from the minute she’d driven into the car park of St Anthony’s, behind the hearse. ‘Can you see the Egans?’ she’d asked Lizzie, doing a quick scan herself of the various clusters of people waiting to follow the coffin into the church.

  ‘I don’t think they’re here. I’m sure they’d know you wouldn’t welcome their attendance,’ Lizzie assured her, taking a good look around to see if she could see Jeff’s parents.

  Valerie had hardly heard a word the priest said. All she wanted was to get the hell out of Rockland’s as fast as she could. Knowing Tessa of old, she wouldn’t put it past her to cause a scene.

  There’d been a good turnout at her father’s funeral, although she had no idea why. Nosiness probably, she’d thought crossly as she’d stood shivering outside the church, receiving the neighbours’ condolence, wishing the whole charade was over.

  ‘A terrible tragedy – what was he doing out on a night like that?’ Jonny Carroll, a nosy little git who liked to know everyone’s business, had asked her.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ she’d said crisply.

  ‘Was he putting out rubbish or something?’ Jonny asked slyly, hoping to discommode her. She’d long got past the stage of being mortified by her father’s behaviour – not like when she was young – and she was damned if she was going to let that sly little turd of an accountant get to her.

  ‘How would I know, Jonny, and I hundreds of miles away in London? But one thing I do know, I hope Da didn’t take any of your advice about tax dodges. I don’t want the tax man after me.’

  ‘Ye were always a little madam,’ Jonny muttered, melting away into the crowd gathered at the church gates.

  And you were always an obnoxious little bollox, she thought, remembering his hard groping fingers when he and Terence would come lurching home after doing the rounds of their elderly neighbours at Christmas.

  Valerie had only spoken to a few more people. It had been bitterly cold with snow still on the ground, and she’d told the undertaker she wanted to go straight to the graveyard in case it snowed.

  She had caught a glance of Jeff’s headstone as she followed Terence’s coffin up the cemetery path. The grave looked so fresh and well tended, with pots of red and yellow winter bedding. She felt, for the first time that day, like bursting into tears. She struggled to compose herself, desperate to avoid the memories of the last time she’d been in the graveyard when she’d said goodbye to Jeff. She’d kept her gaze straight ahead when the ordeal was finally over, and the priest had left the cemetery after giving her a kindly pat on the shoulder, wishing her well, and telling her how much the elderly people in the parish would miss her father.

  What an irony, she’d reflected as she’d walked carefully down the graveyard path, trying not to slip on the ice, that Terence, who had smarmed and charmed half the widows and pensioners in the village in the hopes of being left something in their wills, had died suddenly and it was they who had prayed over his coffin.

  In the space of a month, Valerie had cleared the house and put it up for sale. Now that she had power of attorney for Carmel she took the decision to sell, figuring that there was no point in letting the house go to rack and ruin; she certainly wouldn’t be going back to Rockland’s to live. It was just before the property crash hit and she’d made a fine profit on the three-bedroomed cottage, bought as a holiday home by an affluent couple from Dublin. Her mother’s pension plus a monthly contribution from Valerie paid for the nursing home, and in the meantime the proceeds of the house sale accrued a yearly interest, though it had fallen dramatically in recent years as interest rates fell. Nevertheless, when her mother eventually died, Valerie would have a nice nest egg indeed. It was this knowledge that had made her take a leap of faith and buy the villa in Spain. Yes, life had at last turned in Valerie’s favour until Tessa Egan’s letter had surfaced. If she’d despised her father she loathed Tessa, she thought irately.

  She took a swig of her drink and gazed out across the garden to the shadowy dark sea that was starting to roughen up. The waves had ghostly whitecaps smashing against the rocks and she knew the wind had risen. She took another gulp of spritzer, agitated, restless, unnerved by all these memories that were crowding into her mind, unwelcome and unwanted. Even after all these years Tessa’s behaviour still rankled unbearably. Tears
gathered behind Valerie’s eyelids and rolled down her cheeks.

  She would never forget the sight of Jeff, as white as the sheet that covered him, in the hospital mortuary. She would never forget the marble cold of his forehead when she’d bent down to kiss him one last time. Now the past had come back to haunt her. Valerie drained her glass and stood up. She was tired. She might as well have an early night. If Briony hadn’t got her key she could ring the bell and Valerie would let her in.

  She carried the two lounger cushions inside, put away Katie’s toys, washed her glass and locked up, leaving just a lamp on for her daughter’s return. She padded silently into Katie’s room and smiled to see her grandchild sleeping so soundly. Briony would never stop her from seeing Katie, surely? It was a different set of circumstances that had made Valerie take the path she’d taken. It would be unthinkable for Briony to be so cruel. A feeling of dread enveloped her. Could her daughter’s anger make her take that vengeful step? Had she not let anger and bitterness dictate the actions she’d taken after Jeff had died?

  ‘Don’t think about it. It was different then,’ Valerie muttered. She went back into the lounge to get her glasses and glanced down at the photo album on the sofa where she’d left it. She picked it up and flicked through the pages. Weariness enveloped her and she took the album with her into her bedroom. She loved her bedroom, with its airy pastel colours of duck-egg blue and lemon, and the white shuttered doors that reminded her of an ad for a holiday in the Caribbean. A small passageway lined with wardrobes led to the cream and lemon tiled ensuite. The wide double bed, with its white Egyptian cotton sheets and duvet, and lemon throw, dominated the room. Rugs on either side of the bed covered the cream and lemon speckled marble floor. It was a most relaxing room, the wide French doors fringed on the outside with sweet scented bougainvillaea and honeysuckle.

  Valerie undressed swiftly, folded her clothes neatly and laid them on the white cane chair by the French doors. She hated clutter; she couldn’t sleep if anything was out of place. She slipped in between the cool sheets and felt some of the tension that was causing her head to throb begin to ease.