On Saturday afternoon, Liz McGrath had just put her eighteen-month-old son down for a short nap when she heard the familiar cacophony of agitated barks and yelps outside signalling the arrival of her latest house-guest.
She ran her fingers through her cropped dark hair and briefly wiped the front of her top, hoping that her Toby’s latest exploits with his Petit Filous might not be so noticeable. Dried strawberry fromage frais on a blue cotton T-shirt was not a good look, and while she’d normally never greet a customer looking like this, today her son had been acting up so much she’d had no time to change. Still, this particular guest wouldn’t care less, she thought, smiling. In fact, there was a really good chance that he’d be thrilled to see her covered in goo – tasty, slimy goo that he would only be too delighted to lick off. Bruno was like that.
“Hello there!” Liz waved a greeting at the woman coming through her front gateway, and her heart lifted at the sight of one of her favourite customers, who at that very moment was straining on his leash excitedly, eager to get to her. “Hey, Bruno!” Liz bent down, and tickled the dog behind the ears. The German shepherd responded by licking her chin enthusiastically.
“Will you stop that?” Bruno’s owner, a stern woman of about fifty, quickly jerked him back on his leash. Liz had been looking after Bruno since he was a three-month-old puppy, yet she’d never quite been able to take to Jill Walsh (unlike her skittish, adorable pet who, in fairness, was extremely well-cared for).
Still, in the boarding-kennels business, it didn’t matter what you thought of the owners – the most important thing was what they in turn thought of you. And with previous “guests” returning on a regular basis since she’d first opened six months back, Liz was very well liked amongst the cat and dog owners in the region. In fact, most of her customers were not from Castlegate village itself, but from the bigger town a few miles further down the road.
“Oh, he’s OK, Mrs Walsh, aren’t you, Bruno?” Liz stood up and wiped her hands on her jeans before taking the leash from Mrs Walsh as was their routine. Some dog owners liked to see their pets settled in their accommodation before leaving, whereas others, like Jill Walsh, preferred to just drop them off and leave.
“I’ll be back in the country on the twenty-fifth,” Jill told Liz, her tone businesslike. “But I’ll give you a call before I come to collect him.”
“That’s no problem – one of us will be here anyway,” Liz told her pleasantly.
And one of them would be. Since Liz and her husband Eric’s decision to move to his home village of Castlegate and subsequently start the boarding kennels, she’d been tied to the place almost every day, what with trying to get the house decorated and getting the kennels set up. She and Eric had been living here almost a year now and, although she was a Dublin girl by birth, Liz was loving it, especially as the move out of the city had given her the freedom (and the space) to set up her precious kennels business in the first place.
But what Liz was enjoying most about her life now was finally having a family of her own. When growing up, she had always been shunted from family to family, her own parents having died when she was twelve years old. As the youngest in the family, her older married brothers had done what was necessary, and over the years took turns looking after their teenage sister and raising her along with their own children. While she adored each of her brothers, and now as an adult could truly appreciate the sacrifice their respective wives had made in taking her in, all the chopping and changing meant that Liz had always been on the periphery of their families and had never truly been part of any of them. Nor had their houses ever really been home and, for as long as she could remember, it had always been her dream to have a family and home that she could call her own. Now, in Castlegate, with Eric, baby Toby and their lovely (although still-dilapidated) home, complete with dogs Ben and Jerry, the dream had finally come true.
The lack of rigid working hours that went hand in hand with the kennels occasionally got to Eric, but knowing how much his animal-mad wife loved what she did, he didn’t complain too much. In truth, he loved having the dogs around too, and although he worked hard during the week at his security officer’s job, which was based in Dublin, he was usually willing and eager to help Liz out at the weekends.
But the real reason they’d made the move to Castlegate was for Toby. Here there was so much more room for a young child to explore outdoors and enjoy the fresh air – which would have been almost impossible had they stayed living in the city. In Dublin, Liz and Eric might have taken him to the park the odd time; in Castlegate their long back garden was practically a park in itself!
She’d loved Castlegate since she’d first visited the place with Eric towards the beginning of their relationship, and long before they married. The popular tourist village – in the centre of which sat a perfectly preserved Norman castle, itself surrounded by a wide river moat – was absolutely stunning. The river, its bank lined with low-hanging beech and willow trees, wound its way through the centre of the village and a trio of small humpback stone bridges spaced out at intervals joined all sides of the township together. But it was the cobbled streets and ornate lanterns, as well as the beautiful one-hundred-year-old artisan cottages decorated with hanging floral baskets, that really made Liz fall head over heels in love with the place. Because of its beauty, the village had long ago been granted heritage status by the Tourist Board, so the chocolate-box look and feel of the place was intentionally well preserved. Having grown up in and around suburban Dublin, Liz had been blown away by the romantic little village and thought that Castlegate would undoubtedly be a fabulous place to bring up a family.
And when, shortly after Toby was born, she and Eric first set eyes upon their little two-bed pre-war bungalow a short walk from the pretty village – complete with one-acre field behind it – she couldn’t imagine herself living anywhere else.
Of course, the beauty of the kennels business meant that Liz could be a working mum with the all the benefits of a stay-at-home one too. It had taken a while to get into a routine, and was getting trickier as Toby got older and was starting to walk a little, but so far it was working out OK. But it would be even better if Eric could find work in the village here, instead of having to commute to and from Dublin, but she was sure that would happen in time.
Not long after she’d said goodbye to Jill Walsh and settled Bruno into his lodgings, Liz had another visitor – the caller’s approaching car again setting off a chorus of yaps and barks from the dogs, while the cats just yawned, pretending to be bored but, Liz knew, interested all the same.
Unfortunately, all this recent activity had in the meantime woken Toby, and by the time Tara appeared on her doorstep, it was a weary but excited Liz who came to greet her at the front door.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” said Tara, taking in Toby’s redrimmed eyes and mussed-up hair. “Was he asleep?”
“For about all of ten minutes,” Liz replied, rolling her eyes. “But don’t worry about it – he doesn’t stay down for long these days, and I’ve just taken another dog in so . . .” She shrugged, then beckoned Tara inside the small cottage. “Great to see you! And I love the new car – when did you get that? Come in for a cuppa first, and afterwards we’ll go out for a good look.” Going through to the kitchen, she set Toby down on the floor amongst his toys, hoping that watching SpongeBob SquarePants on TV would keep him occupied for a little while, and hopefully tire him out once and for all.
“Mmm, I’m still not too sure about the car yet,” Tara said, taking a seat at Liz’s kitchen table. “It’s more Glenn’s choice than mine.”
“Typical!” Liz laughed. “And where is Glenn? Did he come with you? Oh no, you said he’s working overtime this week, didn’t you?”
Tara nodded.
“Well, I know Eric’s eyes will pop out of his head when he sees that car. He’s in bed sleeping off the night-shift, by the way,” she informed Tara.
“Pity – it seems like ages since I’ve seen you both,” Tara replied, automatically lowering her voice so as not to be responsible for waking yet another McGrath male. The two girls had been friends for a long time, having worked side by side in the same Dublin telesales company for many years, and Liz was really looking forward to a good chat with Tara. In fact, it had been Tara who’d first introduced Liz to her old friend and fellow Castlegate native Eric McGrath.
But since Liz and Eric had moved away from the city, the two girls didn’t see one another as often as they’d like, usually only when Tara came home to visit her parents.
“So, how come you couldn’t come over last night?” Liz queried, throwing an eye towards Toby. “Are your mum and dad OK?”
Tara had been due to call over after visiting her parents the previous day, but had phoned later in the evening to tell Liz she’d be staying the night at their house, instead of having a night in at Liz’s as they’d planned. She would explain later, she said.
“They’re fine but . . .” Tara hesitated. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this yet,” she bit her lip, “but no doubt you’ll find out soon enough anyway. Especially in this town.”
“Telling me what?” Liz put two mugs of coffee on the table and took a seat beside Tara.
“Emma’s pregnant.”
Liz didn’t think she could be more surprised even if someone had told her they didn’t like dogs. “What?”
“I know,” Tara nodded and picked up a Jaffa Cake.
“But . . . but who? What?”
“That’s exactly what I said.”
“But she’s not seeing anyone, is she?”
“She’s not seeing anyone – and she’s not saying who the father is either.”
“What? Why not?” Liz had no time for Emma’s theatrics and even less time for Emma herself.
“I’m not sure. But she’s pretty determined all the same. I tried to convince her that the father has a right to know, but she’s determined to keep it all a secret from him – God knows why. Although reading between the lines, she must have been with someone she shouldn’t have been.”
“So what does your mother think? I’ll bet she isn’t too happy about it.”
“That’s an understatement,” Tara said dryly.
“I can imagine. But look, Emma’s old enough to –”
“Old enough to know better? You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”
“That’s not what I was going to say. I meant she’s not a teenager, and she should be well able to cope as a single mother. It’s not as hard for people these days, is it? What with all the help they get from the state and everything?”
Tara nodded. “I know, but it still won’t be easy. I know Mum will help, but she’s getting on herself now and wouldn’t be able to handle a young baby. Not to mention that she shouldn’t have to.”
Liz swallowed, wondering what to say. “I’m sure it’ll all be fine, Tara – and I’m sure Emma knows you’ll do your best to help out too.”
Tara groaned. “The last person Emma needs giving her advice is someone like me.”
“She’d be afraid you’d start using your ‘mind-warping’ tricks on her!” Liz joked, knowing full well how poorly Tara’s family viewed her profession. Then her tone grew serious. “Look, Tara, there’s very little you can do for her other than be there to help out if she needs you.”
“I just can’t believe it’s happened – and at her age. And then all this fuss about who the father is . . .”
“She really won’t say who he is?”
Tara shook her head. “She’s adamant about it.”
“But why all the mystery?” Liz asked, shaking her head. “I mean, these days, getting pregnant outside of marriage is hardly a big deal, is it?”
Tara took another sip from her coffee but said nothing.
“Well, I really hope she hasn’t got herself involved with somebody she shouldn’t have – a married man or something,” said Liz, finally vocalising what both had been thinking.
Tara rolled her eyes. “Unfortunately, where Emma’s concerned, that’s a distinct possibility.”
There had never been any great love lost between Liz McGrath and Emma Harrington. Unfortunately, much of Liz’s reservations about the girl stemmed from the fact that Tara’s sister and Eric had once been an item.
When they had first started seeing one another in Dublin, Liz wasn’t too bothered about Eric’s relationship history; by this stage she’d fallen madly in love with Tara’s childhood friend and that was all that mattered. She’d heard that he’d been a bit “wild” in his younger days and that there had been more than a few old flames, but at the time she didn’t pay much heed. And when shortly after they’d started going out she learned from Tara that Eric and her sister had once been a couple, she didn’t bat an eyelid. The past was the past, and it wasn’t as if Liz hadn’t left a few broken hearts in her wake too.
But when, a few months into the relationship, she eventually came face to face with Emma, all Liz’s nonchalance went straight out the window. There were no two ways about it: this girl was stunning. Long flaxen blonde hair, huge blue eyes and a beautifully structured face – your average nightmare.
The first time Liz met Emma was when she had come to visit Tara in Dublin, at the flat she shared with Glenn, and Tara had brought her along on one of their nights out. From the outset, Emma let it be known very clearly to Liz that she and Eric had been an item. According to Eric, the relationship had been brief and ended not long after he left Castlegate to go and work in Dublin. But he and Tara were closer in age and had been friends when they were younger, and so they stayed in close contact and met up in Dublin frequently, which is how Liz and Eric had first been introduced.
But while neither Tara nor Eric had made too much of his relationship with Emma, throughout the course of that visit Emma used every possible opportunity to let Liz know that she and Eric had been much more than good friends.
“Does Eric still snore like a train then?” she’d asked Liz within two minutes of meeting her. Then she added with a beatific smile, “I could never get a wink of sleep with him!”
Her tone left Liz in no doubt that she wasn’t just referring to Eric’s snoring. She’d been so taken aback by the comment that she hadn’t been able to think of a decent reply, something that would sort the girl out once and for all. Not to mention that she was doubly surprised that she could be so unlike her genial, good-natured sister.
Anyway, there was no point in rising to the bait; any fool could see that Emma was an immature and attention-seeking little madam and, anyway, so what if she and Eric had been together? They weren’t together any more, were they?
And she might have been a little madam but at the same time she was Tara’s sister, so Liz decided that there was no point in causing trouble.
“Tell me how long you two were together again?” she’d asked Eric, not long after Emma’s first visit.
“Not sure to be honest. About a year on and off, I suppose,” he’d replied off-handedly.
“Really?” Liz wrinkled her nose. “I don’t mean to sound nasty, but what on earth did you see in her? I couldn’t take to her at all – she’s so different to Tara in every way.”
Eric shrugged. “Yeah, she can come across a bit standoffish, but she’s alright when you get to know her.”
Which you obviously did, Liz wanted to say, but decided against it. There was no point in causing trouble between them. Emma would probably love that and Liz wasn’t going to let the little witch have her way. And, in all honesty, she didn’t really know what to make of her. Did Emma still have residual feelings for Eric, or was she simply one of those immature women who got an idiotic thrill out of staking a past claim on another’s boyfriend? Liz didn’t know and, for the most part, she didn’t care. Emma would soon toddle off back home and Liz wouldn’t have too much to do with her.
But when, a few years after they married, she and Eric began to think seriously about moving to Castlegate, where Tara’s sister still lived with her parents, Liz was no longer so sure.
She was furious with herself for letting the girl mentally inveigle herself into their relationship like that – despite the fact that it had been years since Emma’s relationship with Eric. She and Eric were married, had a gorgeous son and their relationship was as good as it could possibly get. They’d barely spent a day apart since they’d first got together and deep down Liz knew that their relationship was as ideal as anyone could hope for. Yet there was something about Emma that unsettled her, that had always unsettled her, though she wished with all her heart that she didn’t feel this way. She tried to tell herself that there was no real reason to feel threatened by the girl or her previous association with Eric, yet she had to think very seriously about going to live in close proximity to her husband’s ex.
Despite the fact that she was now thirty-one years of age, Emma still lived at home with her parents, the reason being, according to Tara, that she found it difficult to hold down a job.
“In this country?” Liz had said, surprised, as the news reports never seemed to stop going on about the jobs boom the country was supposedly experiencing. But it seemed Emma’s employment requirements were very specific. She’d left school without proper qualifications, hated office work, refused to work in retail and, following a brief stint in the village café, would “never again lower herself” to serving tables. So instead, Mammy and Daddy looked after her while she sat on her pert backside waiting for the perfect job to come to her.
“Which is?” Liz had asked Tara.
“Last I heard, she’s hoping for something in fashion or beauty.”
“And, of course, Castlegate is the right place to be for that,” Liz drawled, decidedly unimpressed. “Sure, wasn’t it only the other day that I bumped into Vivienne Westwood in Ryan’s supermarket – or no, now that I think of it, was it Stella McCartney?”
Tara laughed. “Stop it! No, apparently she’s doing some kind of correspondence course – something to get her started.”
“And a job in a boutique wouldn’t help at all, I suppose?” Liz retorted, shaking her head in dismay at the girl’s laziness and apparent lack of ambition.
Her own family had been very different. Liz and her brothers had each left home at seventeen and had worked hard and made their own way in the world. She couldn’t understand how an intelligent grown woman like Emma could sit at home and expect her parents to look after her. Again, she was so different to her sister. Tara had gone through years of hard study in order to work in her preferred career of social services, and had then eventually decided to retrain as a life coach. Such a shame she couldn’t coach her own sister.
So, despite her misgivings about Emma and the fact that she downright disliked her, Liz eventually agreed to move away from Dublin and relocate the family in Castlegate, the fact that she adored the village and knew it would be a wonderful place in which to raise Toby having everything to do with the decision.
And in truth, she’d worried for nothing. She hadn’t seen much of Emma at all other than the few times they might bump into one another in the pub (whenever she and Eric managed a rare night out) or briefly when she worked at the café. And recently Emma had secured a job in Dublin and gone to live there, so they crossed paths even less.
And now Emma was pregnant, and by a man who was, and would for the near future, remain nameless. Despite herself, Liz was curious, very curious, as to why Emma was being so reticent. That certainly wasn’t the girl she knew; if anything she’d have thought Emma would be only too eager to boast to all and sundry about her relationship. Although in truth, she hadn’t had too many in the space of time that Liz had known her. In fact, Liz couldn’t recall Emma ever going out with anyone for a sustained period. It seemed Eric had been her longest relationship, something else that had always troubled Liz.
So who was this mystery man now? And why did the whole notion of Emma being pregnant send an inexplicable shiver up Liz’s spine?
Later that evening while she prepared dinner, Tara having returned to Dublin, Liz found herself still pondering on Emma’s mystery sexual partner. Why was it such a secret? Surely she was only making things harder for herself by refusing to reveal her condition to the father, whoever he might be.
Or was that it, she wondered, smiling absently at the sound of Eric’s woeful singing floating in from the bathroom. Was Emma’s reticence to say anything to the father more to do with who he was than anything else? Maybe he was a bit of a brute and she wanted nothing to do with him and was simply protecting herself or the baby, rather than protecting him? It was a possibility, she supposed. According to Tara, Emma seemed to have a knack for picking troublesome or unavailable men, so it could very well be that this time she’d chosen particularly badly, and as a result was adamant about not telling the man in question.
Just then, Toby gave a loud wail, temporarily putting a stop to his mother’s musings. Liz whirled around, wondering what the problem was this time. Since starting to stand up on his own a while back, Toby had become a right handful and lately was getting himself into to all sorts of trouble. The other day, he’d almost pulled a bookcase down on top of him, so anxious was he to try and climb up on top of it. These days, Liz only had to turn her back and Toby was into cupboards, pulling down curtains and grabbing at everything he set his sights on.
“Oh, Toby!” This time, it seemed, her son had had a run-in with a drum of talcum powder and had emptied the contents on top of his head and shoulders, and all over much of her newly polished kitchen floor. Blast it! She was sure she’d put that out of sight earlier.
“What are you up to now, you divil!” As if on cue, Eric walked in and promptly swept his errant son into his arms, getting the front of his T-shirt covered in fragrant talc for his troubles.
“I don’t know how he does it,” Liz said, shaking her head in exasperation as she went to clean up the mess. “One minute he’s playing quietly under the kitchen table, the next he’s on the way to causing World War Three!”
“Ah, he’s just trying to make sense of the place, aren’t you, Tobes?” His dark hair still wet from his shower, Eric kissed Toby on the head. Seeing father and son together like that – both so alike – made Liz’s stomach give a little flip.
Four years on, and still Eric McGrath had the power to make his wife go weak at the knees. Back then, when she’d first met him, Liz had been powerless to resist Eric’s lively green eyes, his hearty laugh and his infectious lust for life. Her husband hadn’t changed that much since and was still a very attractive man – possessing the same lean build and chiselled good looks he’d had when they first met. Liz, on the other hand, had unfortunately changed quite a bit and had put on a few pounds over the years, especially after the pregnancy. And now, with the kennels business, Eric was coming home to find his wife in a pair of wellies and baggy jeans instead of the short dresses and sexy heels she used to wear before they married. Sometimes, Liz wondered what on earth she’d done to deserve such happiness. Eric was her confidante, her lover and her best friend all rolled into one and she knew that she would fall to pieces should anything ever happen to him.
Now he was expertly manoeuvring Toby into his highchair, something that Toby usually point-blank refused to let her do, but now with his dad he was laughing and cooing as if this was all a great adventure. Typical, she thought, smiling as Eric patiently brushed the powder out of Toby’s hair and clothes – he’s like a raging bull for most of the day and then as soon as Daddy appears . . .
“So how are things?” Eric asked, once Toby had quietened down and they were eating dinner. “How’s Eminem getting on? Has he settled down yet?”
One of the dogs they had staying with them – a fabulous St Bernard who’d been unfortunately burdened with the moniker of a famous white rapper – was a first-time boarder and finding it difficult to come to terms with the change in routine.
“He’s much better today,” Liz replied. “He’s stopped pacing and I think he and Bruno took a bit of a shine to one another, actually.”
“Good old Bruno – is he back again? Your woman takes some amount of holidays, doesn’t she?”
Liz smiled, recalling Jill Walsh’s curt manner when she dropped Bruno off. Some pet owners were only too delighted to chat about their upcoming holiday and often left a contact number should anything happen to their pet in the meantime. But Jill Walsh definitely wasn’t one of those.
“I don’t know that she does take holidays – she never says a word about where she’s going. For all we know, she could be travelling with work. Now, Mel Flanagan – you know, the girl who owns little Jasper?”
“Yes,” Eric nodded.
“She was telling me today she’s off to the Caribbean for two weeks at the end of the month.”
“Sounds fantastic,” her husband replied, looking genuinely wistful as he tucked into his tomato and basil penne.
“Doesn’t it? And Tara was saying earlier that she and Glenn are going to –”
“Oh, Tara was down for a visit?”
“Yes, she popped in for an hour this afternoon. She was home visiting her mum and dad before she and Glenn go on holiday to Egypt next week. Lucky things.”
“I haven’t seen either of them in ages.”
“Well, she hasn’t been home in ages. She’s really made a go of that life-coaching business, fair play to her.”
Eric wrinkled his nose. “A load of old codswallop if you ask me. Surely people have more cop-on than to pay good money for someone to tell them what any eejit could. But that’s women for you – more money than sense.”
Liz gave him a withering look. “That’s not how it works, Eric, and according to Tara it’s not all women either. Besides, she’s obviously good at what she does if she can afford trendy sports cars and holidays in Egypt.” She went on to tell Eric all about Tara’s gorgeous new car, which was a million miles away from the ancient embattled Peugeot Liz used to get around the place.
“Well, maybe we should think about doing a spot of coaching ourselves then,” Eric suggested. “We could get the house done up properly and sort out all the Castlegate quarehawks at the same time! Hold on – forget dog kennels, what about dog coaching? I know a few mutts who badly need help in finding their way in life. John Kavanagh’s useless bloodhound for one.”
“Stop it!” Liz laughed.
Eric had been working additional shifts at the security company to raise the extra cash for redecorating (and, in the case of the dining room, restoring) the house. So, while the old cottage was without doubt their dream home, it hadn’t fulfilled its true potential just yet.
Liz had hoped that the kennels would generate some additional income for them, so that Eric didn’t have to work so many long hours up in Dublin and away from her and Toby. When they moved here originally, the plan had been for him to look for some form of alternative work in the village, but so far he’d had no luck. And Liz hadn’t had too much luck in securing customers from the villagers either. It was disappointing because she’d also seen the kennels service as an ideal way to interact with the community and get to know people.
But as Castlegate was a satellite village, the residents were no doubt used to “Dubs” coming to live there and spending their days commuting to and from the capital, and consequently being completely uninvolved in village life. So it was entirely possible that most of the residents viewed her and Eric as “blow-ins” – despite the fact that her husband was one of their own. Also, with Toby being so young, and Liz tied to the house with the animals for much of the time, she didn’t get too many opportunities to get out and meet people during the day. Oh well, they’d barely been here a year; things were bound to improve. And she did know some people – Eric’s friend Colm, who ran the village café, and Tara’s family. And of course, Liz remembered wryly, there was also Eric’s mother, Maeve.
“So anything else strange with Tara?” Eric asked, taking a forkful of pasta.
“Well, now that you say it . . .” Liz paused slightly before going on, “apparently Emma is pregnant.”
Eric’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “Oh? I didn’t know she was seeing anyone.”
And how would you know something like that? Liz thought nervously. “Well, that’s the thing – apparently she wasn’t seeing anyone, which is why it’s so terrible for her to get caught – especially at her age.” She was trying to keep her voice casual but feeling a little disconcerted at Eric’s reaction or, even worse, his interest.
Eric continued eating. “I see. And who’s the lucky dad?”
“Nobody knows,” Liz said, shrugging. “According to Tara, she’s refusing to tell the guy – whoever he is – that she’s expecting in the first place and reckons that she can go it alone. In the meantime, she won’t spill the beans on who he might be, even to her family.”
“Right?”
Liz pushed the remainder of her food around the plate. “Tara reckons she got involved with someone she shouldn’t have – hence all the mystery.”
“Really?”
“But she also says that Emma can be a bit over-dramatic at times so it could very well be a big deal over nothing. She might just have got caught out on a one-night stand.”
Eric nodded. “Could be.”
Liz stood up and began to clear the table. “Anyway, I suppose it’s nothing to do with us. Of course I feel sorry for anyone having to deal with something like that, but . . .” she shrugged as she went to the sink, “as they say, she’s made her bed and now the poor thing has to lie in it.”
She sounded nonchalant but, as she rinsed off dinner plates under the tap, Liz couldn’t help but notice how strangely silent her husband had become and just how hard her own heart was beating in her chest.