12

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‘I AM ALL TOO AWARE of that unhappy circumstance,’ Horace told her departing back. Diane heard him, but refused to acknowledge the words. She speedily fixed the drink and trotted back with it, while he watched her every move and thoughtfully munched on his stick of celery. As soon as she had handed over the drink and hoisted herself back onto the stool, she demanded to be told the rest of the story. He polished off his original drink and began speaking.

‘The ferry docked in Dún Laoghaire and I followed the signs to the DART station. I asked a local man if there were any pleasant coastal villages worth a visit, and he suggested Greystones. Sure enough, that’s exactly where the next train was heading, therefore I purchased a ticket which would take me all the way to the end of the line.

‘Everything was going swimmingly until the train broke down at a place called Shankill. Rather than await the arrival of a fully functioning locomotive, I decided to have a wander around the area. Never having visited Ireland before, I was unfamiliar with the local landmarks. As a result of this dearth of local knowledge, I began to meander in rather a haphazard fashion until I eventually noticed a sign advertising the sale of honey and eggs.

‘I felt a sudden craving for honey and consequently took a stroll up the lane and discovered a large property at the end. It was a Bed & Breakfast and the landlady was the one who kept the hens and beehives. She was also a dog breeder. Her prize Schnauzer had given birth ten weeks earlier, and all the puppies had been sold for exorbitant sums. All except one, that was.’

‘You found Trotsky in Shankill?’

‘He was the runt of the litter, which was why he was the only one left with Mother. I took one look at the little blighter and knew he was meant for me.’

‘Did you feel disloyal to Foxie?’

‘Not at all. The old boy would never have wanted me to be alone. I often wonder if he was watching over me that day. I like honey well enough, yet I’m not obsessive about it. I’m still not certain what took me down that lane.’

‘Now don’t start talking crazy like Mum,’ Diane begged. ‘You bought him on the spot?’

‘I did. I explained to the lady in question I could only pay in sterling, although she had no objection to my foreign currency. She offered me a good price because she was worried her prize bitch would grow too attached to Trotsky if he wasn’t removed from her at the earliest opportunity. The necessary funds changed hands, and I left the B&B with a Giant Schnauzer puppy tucked inside my jacket, and a complimentary jar of honey in my rucksack.’

‘Did you feel better?’ Diane probed.

‘I did,’ he nodded. ‘Although I wasn’t any closer to making a decision, ergo I kept right on walking. I had already established there was a vacancy at the boarding house should I happen to find myself without a bed for the night, but as it was barely lunchtime I decided to wander in a southerly direction.

‘A passerby directed me to a supermarket and I stopped to buy some puppy food for Trotsky. When I exited the shop, I turned left and kept going. I was quite drawn to the area. There was a jolly nice looking pub as well as plenty of shops, and there was something of a village atmosphere about the place. As I passed Old Hen, I noticed how close to the road it was, but aside from that, I didn’t give the house much thought.

‘I found myself standing on the laneway down to Bluebell Wood. It looked like an interesting sort of place and I was seriously considering scaling the fence and having a poke around when I noticed a woman in the garden of the next house along. She was kneeling in front of a rosebush with a trowel in her hand, although she wasn’t doing any digging. She was staring deep into the rosebuds as if they held the keys to the kingdom.

‘She had the most peculiar expression on her face and I was quite concerned about her. I approached the garden wall and said hello, making sure to use my new Somerset accent. She looked up at me and smiled and I saw she had the most incredible brown eyes. She reminded me so much of Foxie, I felt a tear running down my cheek. It was rather unmanly of me, I know.’

‘You think my mother has eyes like a Great Dane?’ Diane enquired sardonically. ‘That’s flattering.’

‘She has kind eyes,’ Horace frowned reprovingly.

‘What happened then?’ she grinned.

‘When she heard my accent, she asked if I was a tourist. When I said I was, she invited me indoors for a rest and a glass of water. She either didn’t see or didn’t notice the tears, either way she made no mention of it, or enquired as to why a grown man was crying at her wall. It was quite a warm day and I was grateful for her hospitality so I gladly followed her inside the house. She took me through to the kitchen and opened the back door so we could sit out on the decking area. She suggested I make myself comfortable. I unzipped my jacket and she saw Trotsky.’

Horace paused in his recital to take a swig of his drink.

‘That’s not exactly earthshattering,’ Diane complained. ‘Why did you stop there?’

‘Because when your mother saw the puppy, she screamed as if I had stabbed her,’ he replied gravely. ‘Then she burst into tears and wailed and sobbed as if her heart would break. I don’t mind telling you, Twiglet, I was at my wit’s end. I offered to call somebody, but she begged me not to touch the phone. She ordered me to leave the house and take Trotsky with me, but I couldn’t bring myself to walk away while she was in such distress.

‘I ran out to the shed and found a plastic container and an old towel. I tucked Trotsky up inside and left him out on the deck. Then I rummaged in your mother’s cupboards and located a bottle of brandy that had been sitting there, untouched since Christmas. I virtually forced two measures of it down her neck and it calmed her down. Then I made her sit at the kitchen table while I brewed up a pot of tea for us. I asked her if she would like to talk about what had upset her so much.

‘This is so freaking weird,’ Diane whispered. ‘Keep going.’

‘She told me her children were visiting their father in London for a week of the Easter holidays. It was the first time they had travelled alone to stay with him. She explained how he usually flew over to meet them at his parents’ house, or occasionally one of his family would accompany the children on the plane and stay with them. This was their first grown up trip so to speak.

‘I said it was understandable she was feeling nervous, but there was no reason to become hysterical. Children fly as unaccompanied minors all the time. I did it myself a number of times when I was younger, and it did me not a whit of harm. That was when she said she wasn’t worried about something happening to them mid-flight. She said she was far more concerned about their father murdering them while they were in his house.

‘Naturally enough, I was jolly taken aback. I begged her to explain what she meant, and reminded her I was merely a passing tourist whom she would never have to face again. It took a few minutes and another large brandy, but she eventually opened up to me and told me the story of her married life.’

‘You knew,’ Diane pointed an accusing finger at him. ‘You were the only other person who knew what my dad was really like, yet you never said a word.’

‘What good would have come of it if I had? Everything Dorothy told me was in the strictest confidence, and nothing would have been served by my blabbing her business.’

‘How much did she tell you?’ Diane asked in a small voice.

‘Everything,’ he hung his head. ‘I encouraged her not to omit any of the sordid details. I felt it would be cathartic for her, mainly because she had never breathed a word to a living soul about Declan’s true nature.’

‘Was it awful?’ she whispered.

‘I will always be grateful I was there that day,’ he replied sombrely. ‘And I will never forget how your mother looked as she recounted that man’s brutality. I can honestly say if he had walked through the door while I was in her house, I would happily have taken an axe to him.’

‘Did you find out why the sight of Trotsky sent her over the edge?’

‘Alas, I did,’ his face darkened. ‘I don’t mind telling you, I wish I hadn’t.’

‘I wish you’d tell me about it,’ she said quietly. ‘Whatever it was, was it the worst thing Dad ever did?’

‘The worst thing he ever did was plan to take his own daughter’s life,’ Horace replied firmly. ‘You have been through enough already this week, Diane. The nightmare which was your mother’s early life is best left where it belongs. The past.’

A tear sparkled at the corner of the girl’s eye. ‘Nobody will give me any details,’ she spoke with a catch in her voice. ‘Everybody keeps implying that terrible things happened when we were little children and we have no memory of them, but it’s all so vague. Can you not just tell me one thing that happened so I have a better understanding of what went on? Please, Horace.’

She saw he was on the verge of refusing so slipped down off her stool and went to stand next to him. ‘Please, Horace,’ she repeated and touched his arm.

He got down off his own stool and faced her, looking grave. ‘I’m going to share with you the very worst thing he did,’ he told her seriously. ‘But please don’t ask me to divulge any more than that. This is a conversation you and Josh need to have with your mother when you all feel ready for it. Are we agreed?’

‘Roger that,’ she whispered, looking scared.

Horace put his hands on her shoulders and, bending down, whispered a few words in her right ear. Then he straightened up again but left his hands where they were. The colour drained from Diane’s face and she sagged at the knees. He caught her and held her upright, seemingly without any effort.

‘No,’ she croaked. ‘We would never have forgotten something like that.’

‘It’s true,’ his eyes were full of compassion. ‘He was an evil man. It’s fortunate you have no memory of the incident. I hope it’s the same for Josh.’

Unbidden, tears began to flow down her cheeks. She took hold of two handfuls of Horace’s blue polo shirt and gripped hard. ‘No, no, no,’ she sobbed. ‘Why did Mum not escape from him sooner?’

‘It was a miracle she escaped his clutches at all,’ Horace replied ruefully. ‘Around the time of their second wedding anniversary, she began to realise something was seriously wrong with Declan’s mental health. She told him she was leaving him and going back to Ireland. He warned her if she did anything of the sort, he would come after her and kill everybody she loved. Not just you and Josh, but also her parents, sisters and friends. That’s why she never picked up the phone and asked your grandfather to come and fetch her. She was convinced he would confront your father and Declan would kill Joey.’

The tears continued to flow down Diane’s cheeks unchecked and she maintained her grip on the polo shirt. Moving slowly, Horace drew her closer to his body. He felt a quiver run through her tiny frame before she gave in and flung herself into his arms. A roar of pain sounding almost animalistic broke from her and he tightened his grip.

‘Bottling it all up inside hasn’t done you any good, my darling,’ he said huskily as he stroked her hair. ‘Cry all you like.’

‘I’m beginning to understand the grave robbing plan a bit better,’ she sobbed. ‘The dirty bastard doesn’t deserve to be buried in hallowed ground with his family blubbing all over him and bringing him flowers.’

‘You don’t have to decide anything today,’ he told her tenderly. ‘Let’s focus on making you feel better. You have a full life ahead of you, my angel, and we cannot allow one madman to destroy it, regardless of the biological connection.’

‘Stop calling me your angel and your darling,’ Diane sounded irritated through her tears. ‘You’re in the friend zone, or had you conveniently forgotten that pertinent fact?’

‘I’ve always been something of a chancer,’ he murmured against her hair. ‘My family will vouch for that. Would you care to meet them and ask them yourself?’

‘No thank you,’ she replied crankily then sniffed very hard. ‘I’m sure they won’t want to meet a girl with such bad blood.’

‘On the contrary, the Kirwan-Taylors thrive on the stuff,’ he kissed her head. ‘Great great Grandfather was a certifiable lunatic, and rumours abound about the mysterious deaths of all three of his wives.’

‘You’re making that up,’ Diane sniffed again. ‘I need a tissue. I’m going to wash my face.’

She wriggled out of his grasp and fled to the boot room before he could stop her. Horace reclaimed his seat and finished his drink while he waited. When she returned, her eyes were still red, although an application of freezing cold water to her skin meant it was not too blotchy.

‘Feeling better, sweetheart?’ he smiled at her lovingly.

‘Enough already with the endearments,’ she scowled at him. ‘Seriously, Horace, I’m not your girlfriend.’

‘Are you seeing anyone right now?’ he enquired politely.

‘I’m always seeing somebody,’ she replied cuttingly. ‘Unlike my mother, I do not choose to waste my youth in splendid isolation and celibacy. That’s what she was doing when you first met her, wasn’t it?’

‘Absolutely. Her years with Declan left her physically unscathed, although emotionally and psychologically, she was damaged beyond repair. At least that was my opinion back then. As the years went by, I watched her healing and was grateful for it. I knew she was well on the road to recovery when she confessed to me about the online dating.

‘At first, I was dubious about the experiment, although it seemed to help, even though the chaps she dated were an unpromising bunch to say the least. She might not have been impressed by them, but at least she wasn’t scared of them, which was the best sign of all. Imagine my horror when Victor Hines happened along and proved to be such a setback. The moment I clapped eyes on him, I knew he was a disaster waiting to happen, although Dorothy seemed happy to be in a serious relationship, hence I didn’t feel it was my place to interfere. Cretin.’

‘You just jumped forward six years,’ Diane complained. ‘You haven’t told me how you ended up buying Old Hen.’

‘My apologies. After our heart-to-heart, your mother invited me to stay with her for a couple of days. I was reluctant to leave her alone while you were in London and accepted. Josh’s room was very untidy so she made up your bed for me.’

‘You slept in my bed?’ she gaped at him.

‘For a week,’ he nodded. ‘Given Dorothy’s state of mind, I didn’t feel it was right for her to go to work, and insisted on calling in sick on her behalf. We spent the remainder of the week redecorating Josh’s room and tidying up the garden. Every morning when I awoke, I would look out of your bedroom window.’

‘Straight down into the garden of Old Hen,’ she finished for him.

‘By the end of that week, I began to suspect I had stumbled across my final destination. I found myself planning the layout of the garden, and began to imagine myself living next door to Dorothy Lyle.’