Saturday 24th September – 12 p.m.
Nell hung onto the reins, leaning forward into the mare’s stride as she galloped through the foaming surf that caressed the sandy beach.
Her heart raced as the horse thundered, giving Nell the exhilarating sensation of floating above the hypnotic four-beat gait, the bracing tangy sea breeze tingling on her face, salty air mingling with the mare’s clean sweat. Blurry majestic cliffs rose to her right, crowned with emerald grass, while the ocean stretched out to her left. The view – and the gallop – were breathtaking. She felt her head finally start to clear from the fog of the hangover.
Alongside, Shannon and Sylvia had no problem keeping up. Like her, Shannon had grown up around horses and was a skilled horsewoman. Sylvia and Maeve had both lived on or near farms and were competent enough to gallop. Only Maeve was trailing behind.
Wondering if all was well, Nell slowed.
Sylvia dropped back, trotting with her. Like Nell, she was dressed in jeans, jumper and waterproof to keep out the autumn wind. ‘She might want some space, sweetie.’
‘Oh?’
‘Brandon,’ Sylvia unnecessarily mouthed the words, ‘has ruffled feathers.’
‘Yeah, I got that much. But what’s he done? Why is Maeve upset?’
Sylvia side-eyed Nell. ‘Knowing you, you’ll find out eventually but please don’t say anything. Conor would hate to think this was being talked about lightly. She and Brandon aren’t on speaking terms. Sean had to work really hard to get Brandon here, and for Maeve – and Conor – to accept that. But they both wanted to welcome Conor and share their news. And she was willing to tolerate him, right up until he decided to poke the hornet’s nest.’
Nell frowned. ‘What’s at the root of the family feud?’
‘Brandon was married to Maeve’s sister, Siobhan, twenty-odd years ago. Shortly after they had a baby, Siobhan upped and left with her. No explanation. Just disappeared. For two decades. And counting.’
Nell registered the revelation. ‘So is this what Brandon has against marriage? His went wrong?’
Sylvia shrugged.
‘And no one knows what happened to her?’ Nell asked. ‘Or why she left? Assuming she’s not …’ With a swallow, Nell avoided the other grim possibility.
Sylvia shook her head. ‘From what I gather, Siobhan and Brandon didn’t have a harmonious relationship, to put it mildly. But Brandon has held onto the view that Siobhan leaving with his daughter was everyone else’s fault. Mostly Finn’s, who he’s convinced was having an affair with Siobhan. Brandon’s certain everyone but him played their part in driving Siobhan away. He thought Maeve and Conor were against the match, and even our family diplomat, Sean, didn’t think they were right for each other.’
Nell frowned. ‘The relationship wasn’t … abusive, was it?’
Sylvia’s sharp eye contact told her she’d wondered the same. ‘I’m not sure. But then a marriage doesn’t have to be abusive to be unhappy. And I don’t know Brandon, or how he might have changed over the years. And not least changed because of the awful way his marriage ended. But he doesn’t exactly seem … like the easiest sort to live with, does he?’
‘It’s impossible to say what someone’s like behind closed doors, isn’t it? But he’s not making any effort to hide his animosity now.’ She shot a glance at Sylvia. ‘Do you think there’s any truth in the affair?’
‘With Finn?’ Sylvia shrugged. ‘No idea.’
But Sylvia looked worried, and Nell itched to ask the obvious question. ‘Conor seems very on edge here. Is it just because he doesn’t get along with Brandon? Or is there—’
‘Conor is, and will remain, silent as the grave.’ Her gaze twitched at Nell. ‘He really didn’t want to come here, though. Sean – and I – had to work hard to persuade him. In the end, he only agreed because his parents don’t tend to venture far from the farm. He thought he should make it as easy as possible to include them. It didn’t seem right to me to get married without them.’
As Maeve approached, Sylvia changed the subject, raising her voice. ‘Yes, it really is a glorious view. I was just saying, Maeve, that this is a wonderful recommendation of yours. Heaven. You must love riding along here.’
‘Yeah, it’s not too shabby, is it?’ Maeve agreed. ‘Is it clearing out the cobwebs for you?’ She gave the women a knowing grin.
As Nell grinned back, in the shared solidarity of the morning after, she saw the effort it was taking Maeve to smile, and her heart went out to her.
‘The best is yet to come,’ Maeve promised, clearly trying hard to make sure Sylvia enjoyed herself. ‘We’ll head up the coast path here, then turn onto the bog road, so we can get onto the trail up Ben Portach to Cailithín Castle, the swanky hotel where our post-ride spa treatments and cocktails await! The view up there is just immense.’
By now, Shannon had wheeled around and galloped back, pulling up alongside them like a stunt rider. Her casual-looking sweater was impeccably fitted gunmetal silk cashmere – no practical waterproof for her. The other horses whickered and fidgeted, but didn’t bolt.
‘Did I overdo it?’ she asked, nodding at the track she’d just ridden back from.
‘No more than usual,’ Sylvia said, with a wry smile.
Sylvia eyed Shannon’s riding regalia of fitted jodhpurs that you’d need to be very secure about thigh wobblage (or the superhuman lack of it) to wear. Her long dark hair was gathered into a French plait to strategically avoid helmet-hair horrors, unlike Maeve, whose hair was undoubtedly tangled after streaming out from under her riding hat. But Nell knew she didn’t care: in her checked shirt and weskit, holding the reins in one hand as she gazed out to sea, there was more than a hint of cowgirl about Maeve.
Nell tried to imagine how she must be feeling, with her sister having left to never get in touch again. She probably didn’t need a trigger to think about Siobhan, but her engagement to Sean must have resurrected those memories.
And she hadn’t just lost her sister, but her baby niece, too.
Maeve must have been beside herself all these years, wondering what had happened to them both. Imagining the little one growing up. First day at school. Birthdays. Would she be musical? Artistic? Scientific? Sporty? College then uni? Would she travel? Long hours at a summer job? Boyfriends? Girlfriends?
With a flash of horror, Nell realised that Maeve’s missing niece would be approaching the age Siobhan was when she left.
As they rode up the slope, Nell was unusually immune to the view, lost in thought. Was the account of Siobhan leaving with no explanation Sean’s or Maeve’s?
And if Maeve didn’t know, was that because the sisters didn’t get along? Or had they fallen out? Maybe guilt about that was adding to Maeve’s misery?
Or, if one of them knew, why wouldn’t they share that? Nell shivered, wondering if the situation was more extreme. Had Siobhan been in fear for her life? What if she hadn’t wanted to endanger Maeve with any clue that she might know where she’d gone?
Whatever had made Siobhan take off like that, if Maeve still didn’t know, Nell couldn’t imagine what it had been like all these years – decades – for Maeve, with those endless questions eating away at her.
While Brandon stolidly piloted them back to the mainland, isolating himself in his little cabin, Finn puked over the side of the rolling boat. James couldn’t switch off his investigative curiosity and blamed that as he tried to overhear Sean and Conor’s muttered conversation.
He only caught a few words, before the sea breeze whipped them away. So James stretched, pretending to appreciate the view, and leaned as if admiring something. It wasn’t hard, the coastline was ruggedly beautiful, even if the ocean felt treacherous. At least the bracing wind kept his nausea at bay. And now he was close enough to hear.
‘I should’ve known mine and Maeve’s engagement wouldn’t go down well. It’s dragged all this up again. I’ve ruined your stag, when you should be thinking about your future with Sylvia.’ Sean sighed. ‘Maeve said we should elope. But I didn’t want to feel we had to hide anything. And it’s not just that, she doesn’t feel she can legitimately celebrate – ever. She can’t ever fully enjoy anything. There’s always a shadow. I wanted her to have her day, you know?’
Conor clapped his hand on Sean’s shoulder. ‘And that’s fair enough, bud. I’m happy for you both.’ He eyed Sean. ‘Has Maeve let on? You know. If she’s ever heard anything? From Siobhan.’
Shaking his head, Sean said, ‘Not one word. Nothing.’
‘I always thought she might be protecting her. Keeping her whereabouts a secret.’ Conor rubbed his face and when he moved his hands away his usual inscrutable expression was stricken. ‘I guess that’s what I was hoping.’
After a long pause, Conor asked, ‘What the hell happened back then, eh? Doesn’t Maeve have any idea?’
‘A thousand theories, like the rest of us. She still has nightmares, about the night she left.’
‘Does she?’ Conor looked at Sean sharply.
Sean nodded. ‘Thought I was the only one. But then, I just assumed I was a bit soft.’
‘Don’t rule that out.’ Conor’s brotherly smile was so fleeting it was more of a twitch before the worry settled back in. ‘I go over the details of that night again and again. Well, that whole week, in truth.’
‘The whole week? ’ Sean shook his head. ‘You’re softer than me.’
But Conor didn’t smile at the teasing. Sean frowned, as if wondering what Conor would have been chewing over, all these years. Then he groaned.
‘I should have known better, Con. Given how much it’s on my mind. But I honestly thought enough time had passed. I thought we could at least move on, see me and Maeve as a new beginning. I didn’t really think it would rip everything open again like this.’
‘It’s a wound. For all of us. And you know as well as I do, if a wound can’t heal, it can only fester.’ Conor eyed his unhappy brother. ‘You should have a word with Brandon. If he carries on like this, and if Maeve really is still living in the shadow of Siobhan’s disappearance, there’s a danger she may call your wedding off.’
Maeve drew her horse to a standstill, so everyone could stop with her. ‘This is the best view. I’ve always loved this spot.’
As Nell paused, her horse fidgeted, and she leaned forward and scratched her mare’s ears. They flickered against her fingers, velvety and warm, and the horse nodded, snorting a hot puff of grass-scented air.
Absorbing the view, Nell could see why Maeve loved it. This felt like wild, rugged country. Even on this low cliff, the sea breeze became a fierce force, buffeting her body. The grass and shrubs were wind vanes, bowed by the prevailing south-westerly wind. The churning bay of the crashing Atlantic rolled like a bubbling cauldron, within the protective embrace of the craggy mountains, their peaks stretching up into the hazing autumn mist. It was a view that made you feel the vast magnificence of nature.
And nestled amongst those foothills was the village of Ballygiorria. Nell sensed the tranquillity of a sleepy hamlet, where most people knew each other, and were the type of folk to have enough grit to handle the wild landscape. She wondered how tricky it would be for Maeve to live here, avoiding her future brother-in-law.
Today, the quiet village was bustling with people, due to the Gin Festival, with its emerald-green bunting dashing colour across the streets.
‘Imagine being a teenager here, though. Pre-festival.’ Maeve pulled a face, pointing out the landmarks. ‘Three farms – there’s the Kennedys’, on the coast; and then, in the village itself, there’s The Hares pub that we used to challenge each other to get into – unsuccessfully. A few houses along the lane there, with the usual village shops with the off-licence we could never manage to buy anything in. Our place is up there, on the hill, with a few other houses. Then, just the church with a community hall. Is it any wonder we used to sneak over to the distillery and break into the stock room for a bit of pilfering?’
Sylvia chortled. Then asked, ‘You’d have had to row there?’
‘Yeah.’ Maeve nodded, with a hint of a grin. ‘Just got us a lend of a boat. Plenty of the fishermen left their lock-ups unlocked. It was harmless enough. But the sea’s rougher than you’d think. And it was the rowing back you need to wonder about!’ Her hand traced a zigzag across the bay below.
‘I can only imagine!’ Sylvia laughed.
Maeve began to laugh with her, until her face clouded at an unspoken memory, and a shiver of pain flashed, making Nell want to hug her.
‘Right.’ Maeve was summoning herself as much as everyone else. ‘We’re heading along here, past the bog. And then our cocktails await, ladies!’
As Maeve and Sylvia paired off, Shannon partnered Nell along the wide path. She eyed Nell, tilting her head towards Maeve. ‘What’s the story?’
Nell shook her head, and Shannon rolled her eyes, mouthing, ‘Oh, come on.’
As Nell remained intractable, Shannon leaned in, wafting oud and amber instead of eau de cheval. ‘Help a girl out. Even I don’t want to upset two brides-to-be with any innocent, but inadvertently misguided, comment. Just because I don’t know the history.’
‘Wow, only a thirst for gossip could make you this self-aware, Shannon.’ Nell shot her a wry look, hoping the teasing was clear.
Their relationship had only recently altered, their old rivalry being set aside after the shared danger of a few murders happening too close for comfort, plus the fact that Shannon was now dating Nell’s ex. And since Shannon had launched her gallery, her new sense of purpose had been transformative.
‘Me-ow.’ Shannon gave her an unruffled smile. ‘You really didn’t get the scathing insult gene, did you? I know you’re holding back out of some loyalty-confidentiality thing.’ She shrugged like the words were a different language. ‘But it could well be kinder to tell me, in the long run. Not for me. For everyone else.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘You can trust your discretion. And mine.’
Her sidelong glance and half-smile made it clear she thought she’d limboed under Nell’s reserve. And Nell had to admit, there was … some logic …?
‘Maybe,’ Nell hedged. ‘But this time, you’ll have to rely on your famous social skills. It’s only for a few days. I’m sure you’ll manage.’
‘Ugh.’ Shannon rose in her stirrups and arched her neck, looking up at the sky. ‘Morals.’ But as she settled in the saddle again, she smiled at Nell. ‘Fair enough, loyal friend. I’ll ask James. Men have barely any resistance.’
A typical Shannon remark like that would have irritated Nell in years past; now she only grinned, shaking her head. Shannon’s observation was accurate, in her case at least.
The raised bog stretched out on the other side of the winding road and they pulled into single file, even though there was hardly any traffic. Ahead of them, Nell glimpsed the bridle trail turning up Ben Portach, meandering across the bog, up the steep mountainside towards the bouldered peaks.
At the copse of trees before the turning, a yell made Nell twist round, scanning the landscape. Through the old, gnarled, dark-leaved hawthorn branches, Nell caught a flash of pink: a person, running forward, waving their arms.
Aoife. Oh no … please don’t commandeer me now. This is Sylvia’s day.
She urged her mare on, hoping no one else would notice.
‘Hey? Nell! Nell! ’ Aoife yelled, her waving frantic.
Forcing a smile, Nell waved back. But then she realised Aoife was beckoning.
Maeve turned. ‘That looks like the bartender from the pub.’
‘She’s also the assistant at the Visitor Centre.’
‘You make friends fast, don’t you?’ Maeve narrowed her eyes.
‘Nell!’ The urgent cry made both women’s heads snap round and instinctively lean towards Aoife, making their horses turn fluidly in her direction. ‘Please! Come over here!’
Somehow, Nell’s mare was trotting, passing the Prius that had been hidden from the road by the trees, and she leaped down beside Aoife, who she now saw was shaking. ‘You’ll … know … whaaat … todo. Pl-eeease … come … and help.’ Her teeth were chattering so hard it was a struggle to understand her.
Nell followed Aoife’s gaze towards the two young men who had been with Aoife, staring down at a dug hole. They stood beside a pile of timbers, laid out to build a boardwalk, alongside shovels. Something dark was piled up on the ground, but Nell couldn’t quite make it out.
Taking her phone from her jacket pocket, Nell ripped off her coat and wrapped it round Aoife. ‘What’s happened?’
‘I’ll … I’ll show you.’
As they approached, the two young men looked up, their faces stricken. Nell took a moment to observe the scene. Now she saw that the object she hadn’t been able to make out was a pyramid of cut, dark peat, stacked between the trees and the bog.
The excavated peat left a gaping wound, nearly as deep as a grave. Neatly dug and orderly. Turf cutters? Is she upset at someone damaging the habitat?
Aoife shivered, taking a step back. ‘You look.’
The hairs on the back of Nell’s neck shivered to attention. Aoife might be attached to this environment, but there was more upsetting her than any harm the digging might have caused.
The two men dropped back, heads low, silent.
Creeping forward, Nell peered in. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Then she saw it – and gasped, recoiling, hand over her mouth.
Oh, no … oh, no …
Taking a deep breath, she crept forward to look again.
But there was no mistake: in the corner of the dug pit, about three feet down, was a hand, the fingers curled, the wrist attached to a still-buried arm.
Heart hammering, Nell swallowed. It looked like the person had been buried yesterday. But the skin had that leathery look of the bog body Nell had seen this morning, tanned orange-brown from the tannins in the peat. Nell wondered how old it was. A few hundred years? A few thousand?
So why was Aoife upset, and not excited at the find?
At her questioning glance, Aoife muttered the answer. ‘She’s … she’s not buried deep enough for this to be … archaeological.’
With her heart thumping, Nell leaned forward to note the few details that were visible: a woman’s left hand, with a ring on the fourth finger. A wedding ring. Something thin, like a piece of string, twisted around her wrist and through her fingers.
She hadn’t even heard the rest of her group catch up, only noticing Maeve when she gasped. Leaning forward, Maeve’s breathing grew audible, rapid. Staggering backwards, she turned away, hand over her mouth, crossing herself with her other hand.
Nell moved towards her, instinctively comforting her. But something about Maeve’s reaction made that inevitable dread uncurl in Nell’s stomach. Did she think this woman had something to do with her sister? Or even – was Siobhan?
Nell could imagine Maeve waited with bated breath at every found missing person and every victim discovered in awful circumstances. She wondered if the Garda were helpful, or officious and confidential.
Drawing out her phone, Nell turned back to the grave and sneaked a few quick photos. She tried to tell herself her actions were intended to help Maeve – even though she knew they were more to do with her own scientific curiosity.
Aoife turned back to her and nodded at Nell’s phone. ‘Are you calling the Garda?’
‘Yes … unless, have you already called them?’ Nell tried to make it look like she’d been searching for a number, not photographing a corpse.
Aoife shook her head. ‘I … I didn’t think about it. I called my supervisor. I was just thinking about it like it was a find. Then I realised the … grave was too shallow.’ She dropped to her knees and pointed at the wall of peat, then leaned in to point at the hand. ‘Then I saw the ring is modern—’
At the assessment, Maeve turned sharply away with a pained gasp, and Nell turned with her, instinctively pulling Maeve into a stiff hug.
Eventually, Aoife said, ‘Look, I’m … sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to look. Just … well, we’re all a bit shocked.’
As Maeve drew away from Nell’s hug and they both turned back to the grave, Nell suggested, ‘You could ask one of your colleagues to call?’ She gestured at the two men who looked like they needed something to do. ‘They could wait by the road so the Garda will know where to stop.’
As Aoife went to speak to them, Nell saw that Maeve was kneeling beside the grave. It looked like she could be praying. So Nell risked another quick photo, then shoved her phone away.
She didn’t want to interrupt Maeve, but it felt disrespectful to remain standing. So Nell quietly kneeled beside her.
Only then did she realise Maeve was shaking, weeping tears of utter, silent heartache.
Reaching out her hand, Nell found Maeve’s. Ice-cold, unresponsive at first, then gripping hers.
‘It’s her …’ The words shuddered from Maeve’s chest, heaving on a tide of broken sobbing, until she keened, ‘That’s my sister.’