I rose early, after a mostly sleepless night spent crossing from the bed to the window, in the hope of catching Colleen returning to the hotel.
Greg had texted me a picture of Maisie around midnight, with the caption, Sleeping at my sister’s house. I’d called him, but he sounded tired and our conversation had been stilted.
‘You need to come home,’ he said, when I told him Colleen wasn’t back. ‘It’s obvious she’s unstable.’
‘Not unstable.’ Some instinct to defend her had reared up. ‘Troubled, maybe.’
‘What I told you, about her kissing me—’
‘I’m still not ready to give up on her,’ I said at the same time, and an awkward silence followed.
He exhaled a sigh. ‘But hasn’t she given up on you?’ As if regretting being so blunt, he quickly added, ‘Maybe when she’s had time to digest everything, she’ll be in touch.’ His words had a steely undercurrent. It was obvious he wanted Colleen out of our lives. Doubt reared up once more. First, he’d seemed keen to come to Ireland with me, taking time off work when things were frantic, and then he couldn’t wait to leave.
And why had Colleen really run away? Was she worried her husband would find out she’d kissed – or been kissed by – another man?
I knew I should tell Greg about Jake, and that I was planning to meet Reagan, but some instinct had warned me not to. I’d rung off, pleading a headache.
Now, I rolled out of bed, took a quick shower and dressed. After knocking on Colleen’s door and getting no reply – not that I’d really expected to – I hurried down to the dining room. Maybe, by some miracle, she would be there.
Five minutes later, I toyed with a plate of scrambled eggs, eyes fixed on the entrance, waiting – hoping – either Colleen, or Jake would appear.
I pushed my plate aside and fished Colleen’s mobile from my bag, wondering if there might be some clues to her state of mind in her other texts. Feeling shifty, I opened her messages folder. There was nothing – from Jake, or anyone else.
Strange. Surely Jake would have contacted her to at least check she was OK. Greg and I texted regularly, even if it was just ‘hello’.
Outside, clouds had rolled across the sky and a chill stole over my skin. With a shiver, I got out my own phone and texted Greg good morning, adding a smiley face for reassurance. I tried to picture him, sweet-talking his important client into staying with the company, but the image felt unreal.
Guilt pushed at me. I still hadn’t booked an earlier flight back to England. I would do it later, I decided, and try to make up with Greg once I was home.
I rubbed a tight knot in the back of my neck and sighed. The elderly woman, who’d been so taken with Maisie yesterday, was giving me odd looks from a table by the window, perhaps wondering why I was alone.
I threw her a smile as I rose and said, ‘Beautiful morning, isn’t it?’ just as heavy rain began to pelt the windows. My face burned with colour and I left before she could reply, returning to my room to grab a jacket before heading out.
As I crossed to the foyer the receptionist called out. ‘Mrs Matthews?’
My heart gave a thud. ‘Yes?’
‘A gentleman asked me to give you this, before he checked out this morning.’ She held out a folded note with a knowing smile, as if she suspected I was having an affair.
‘Thank you.’ Aware of her curious scrutiny, I moved out to the porch, where a family were daring each other to run through the rain to their car.
‘Bring it round the front, I don’t want to get my hair wet,’ the woman instructed her husband, patting her highlighted bob. She saw me looking and grinned. ‘Not exactly holiday weather, is it?’
I agreed it wasn’t, before turning my back and unfolding the sheet of paper, which bore the hotel’s logo.
Dear Ellen, I’m sorry I unburdened myself, yesterday. Thank you for listening. I hope you understand and can make allowances for my wife’s behaviour. Have a safe trip home. Best wishes, J.
I was touched that Jake had taken the trouble to leave a note, even if he’d got my name wrong. Maybe I should have told him the full story. If he’d known Colleen had arranged to meet Reagan, he might have wanted to come with me.
I resolved that if she showed up, I’d insist on her calling Jake right away.
Pushing the note in my bag, I headed for my car and by the time I’d driven into town the rain had stopped and the sun was out again. I found a space in a bustling car park on Wine Street, glad I had some euros in my purse for the ticket machine. It was a short walk from there to O’Connell Street, which was a pleasant mix of old and new buildings that housed shops, pubs, cafés and restaurants.
Despite the rain the air was thick with humidity, and rich with food smells. I felt oddly nervous as I zigzagged along the busy pavement. I was so used to working every day, I could barely remember the last time I’d been alone in a strange place that didn’t involve meeting a client.
I spotted the gold lettering of Tate’s Café beneath a scarlet awning and, keeping my head down, crossed the road. I was early and needed to gather myself before going in, and work out what to say.
Stopping outside a nearby chemist’s, I took a deep breath and checked my reflection in the window. It was hard to make out among the notices and advertisements, but my hair, which I hadn’t dried properly after my shower, looked fuzzy. I smoothed it down, feeling wired up and flushed, too hot in my cream suede jacket. I took it off, but noticed my sleeveless top was creased and pulled it back on again.
I hung my leather shoulder bag across my body, then pulled out my phone to check for messages, but the screen was empty.
Glancing up and down the street, I remembered the way Colleen’s face had lit up when she’d mentioned Reagan, and I felt a blast of guilt that I was the one going to meet him instead of her.
I looked at my watch again, my heartbeat speeding up. This is it.
I squared my shoulders and adjusted my jacket again, told myself not to be silly. Pretend it’s work. But I couldn’t fool myself and my hand shook as I crossed the road and pushed open the door of the café. It was steamy inside, with a comforting, sugary-rich smell that reminded me of childhood visits to my grandparents’ house in Hampshire.
I caught the eye of a dark-haired man in the queue at the counter and my heart gave a lurch. He looked me up and down and winked, before turning back to the newspaper he was holding. My face flamed. He was too young to be Reagan.
The importance of what I was doing began to press down. Meeting Reagan would change everything. I felt sure this was the man my mother had loved before Dad – had perhaps loved all her life. A man she’d loved enough to have a child with. A child she’d never spoken about. A child she’d abandoned.
Oh God. What if I didn’t like what he had to say? Maybe he’d be angry that I wasn’t Colleen and refuse to speak to me. What if he wasn’t even here?
I shouldn’t have come. I should leave—
‘Colleen?’ A male voice interrupted my chaotic thoughts. ‘Colleen, is that you?’
I spun around. A man was rising from a table by the window and I realised he must have been there all along, looking out for her. I tried to fix his image in my mind, but the light was behind him, making a silhouette of his shape.
‘Reagan?’ I moved forward, knocking someone with my bag and bashing my hip on a chair, adrenalin pumping through me. He was standing, hands outstretched, and I could see he was medium height and build, with a slight slope to his shoulders.
As he came into view, I took in his greying fair hair, worn a little too long at the back and receding at the front. He had green eyes, blazing from a broad, tanned face, the edges etched with laughter lines. There was something of the rock star about him – faded blue jeans, a battered leather jacket over a T-shirt and biker-style boots. First impressions: nice, but ordinary.
What had Mum seen in him?
‘You’re not what I was expecting.’ There was a trace of puzzlement in his voice, which was soft and deep with a strong Irish accent. His eyes had narrowed, as if sensing something was off-kilter, and in a distant part of my brain I was glad he wasn’t fooled.
‘I’m not Colleen.’ My voice was too small, like Maisie’s.
He lowered his hands and rested them on the table, bringing his face closer to mine. He smelt of sun-dried leather and the sea, underlaid with something minty. ‘Who are you then?’ Lines creased the freckled skin of his forehead. ‘Has Colleen sent you?’
I couldn’t take my eyes off him. ‘I’m Anna’s other daughter,’ I said at last, and this time my voice was clear. ‘I’m Ella.’
His smile, when it came, was slow and wide with lots of white teeth, transforming him into someone younger and better-looking.
‘Of course you are.’ He nodded, as if it made perfect sense. ‘Different colouring, but same-shaped jaw, same nose.’ He sketched an outline with his fingers. ‘From what I remember of Anna, anyway.’
I grabbed a chair and flopped down, feeling as if my bones were melting.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ he said, seeming unfazed while my heart skittered like a runaway pony.
‘Tea, please.’ I forced a smile to hide my confusion and put my bag on the table.
He made his way to the counter, still smiling, nodding at people as he pulled a handful of coins from his jacket pocket. I tried to see him through Mum’s eyes, but it was impossible.
I could only picture her with Dad.
Reagan returned with the tea and a plate of flapjacks and I wondered, slightly hysterically, if I was destined to spend my time in Ireland being bought refreshments by men connected to Colleen.
‘How come you’re here instead of your half-sister?’ he said casually, settling himself down and tipping two sachets of sugar into his mug. ‘Bottled out, did she?’ A shadow passed over his face. ‘Can’t say I blame the girl. It’s been far too long.’
‘It’s complicated,’ I said, searching his face for a resemblance to Colleen. The eyes were the exact same shade and her ears were like his – small and neat – and something about his hand movements reminded me of her. I fidgeted forward. ‘I only found out about Colleen myself a week or so ago.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘Anna never told you about her?’
‘Nothing at all.’ My stomach rumbled and I picked up a buttery flapjack and took a bite. ‘I found some stuff among my mother’s things,’ I said when I’d swallowed. I had an urge to ruffle his calm. ‘After she died.’
Reagan leaned back and passed a hand over his face. ‘Ah, I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said, sounding sincere. ‘I hadn’t seen Anna for so long. I’m afraid we lost touch after—’
‘After she abandoned your baby.’ The words rushed out of me. ‘I know that you dumped her as soon as you found out she was pregnant with Colleen.’
He winced. ‘Not quite,’ he said, hunching forward to resume stirring his tea. ‘We were young, had a fling.’ He chuckled, as if the memory had just come back to him. ‘She was in Ireland on holiday with a couple of friends. The parents of one of them had a house near the beach. It was her first time away without her family.’ I couldn’t remember Mum ever mentioning a trip to Ireland. But then, she wouldn’t have, would she? ‘We weren’t as careful as we should have been,’ Reagan went on, still stirring his tea, his eyes steady on mine. ‘She didn’t want a baby, Ella. Neither of us did. She had plans for a career – she was a brilliant artist – and my music meant everything to me. My sister, Celia, was desperate for a child. She’s ten years older than me, and at the time had been trying for a while. It made sense she should take the baby.’
‘Just like that?’ I slammed my mug down, slopping tea on the table. ‘If she didn’t want a baby, why not have an abortion?’
Reagan’s gaze didn’t waver. ‘She didn’t believe in that and it was up to her.’
‘But what about her family? How did they …?’ My words trailed off.
‘When she found out, she told everyone she’d fallen in love with Ireland and wanted to come back for a while, that the scenery had inspired her painting. She said she’d get a job to support herself. She was eighteen, they couldn’t exactly stop her.’ Reagan gave a shrug. ‘We stayed with Celia until the baby was born, and then went our separate ways. Anna returned to England, told her family some story and picked up where she’d left off, as far as I know.’
Anger rose, hot and thick. ‘You didn’t give a toss about her or your child.’
Unperturbed, he pushed the plate with the remaining flapjack towards me. ‘Like I said, we were young.’ He shrugged again. ‘I never planned to settle down; Anna knew that. She was ambitious. She didn’t want to be tied down with a baby any more than I did. We were happy for Celia to raise Colleen. We knew she’d be in good hands.’
‘It wasn’t just a temporary arrangement?’
Reagan shook his head. ‘Anna signed some papers. It was permanent.’
My face stung as though he’d slapped me. ‘I can’t believe that Mum would have given her up without a fight, unless she had to.’
Reagan lifted an eyebrow. ‘With respect, you didn’t know your mother back then.’
‘But … you were madly in love. I—’
‘Who says we were madly in love?’ His gaze was quizzical, but not unkind. ‘I can’t believe she would have told you that.’
I felt winded. Mum hadn’t told me, or even indicated she’d loved anyone before Dad. My fevered imagination had conjured up the scenario, straight from a movie script. Maybe it had made the whole thing easier to bear.
‘It was purely physical between us,’ Reagan went on, laying down his teaspoon at last. ‘We’d had too much to drink that particular night. It was nice, and we enjoyed spending time together, but neither of us was in love, Ella.’ He said it gently, as if he knew how I was feeling – though I wasn’t sure I knew myself. ‘We made the decision together and that was that. There was no agonising. If anything, your mother was glad to have made my sister so happy.’
‘But she came to Ireland to see Colleen when I was little,’ I said. ‘Celia wouldn’t let her in.’
Reagan lifted his mug, then put it down and released a heavy sigh. ‘I know. She mentioned it. Maybe things had changed for Anna after she had you.’ He gave a half-shrug. ‘Maybe it made her think.’ He paused. ‘Celia ended up having a child of her own later on, a daughter called Bryony, but she drowned. I went to the funeral.’ He cast his eyes at the table. ‘Or, as Celia called it: “a celebration of her daughter’s life”.’
‘That’s awful,’ I said, shocked. So, Colleen had already lost a sister. I tried to imagine how life-changing that must have been.
‘That was the last time I saw Colleen, though she didn’t know who I was,’ Reagan went on. ‘I admit it was hard; it was a devastating time for everyone. Celia wasn’t the same afterwards.’
‘You didn’t fancy hanging around and being there for Colleen?’
Reagan raised his eyes. ‘I was into my music big time by then, doing well abroad. Especially in Japan, weirdly.’
‘You should have stayed for her.’
A slight flush rose on his cheekbones. ‘I do feel bad,’ he said, looking at his hands. ‘But at the time, I didn’t want the responsibility. I wasn’t reliable. And she had her stepfather, Terry.’
At least he was being honest. I had the feeling Reagan wasn’t capable of lying, though I couldn’t have said why. I stayed quiet for a moment, trying to absorb his words.
So, there’d been no big love affair between him and Mum, no lifetime of yearning for a lost love. Just a business-like arrangement, so they could get on with their separate lives. Was I sorry or sad?
It meant that Mum had loved Dad: had chosen him. He wasn’t second best, as I’d suspected. I realised my overwhelming feeling was one of relief, that I didn’t have to slot a completely new version of my mother over the old one. Even if she’d had some regrets about leaving Colleen, trying and failing to see her at Celia’s, she’d somehow put it behind her and committed to her life with Dad and me.
But where had that left Colleen?
Tears pricked my eyes. ‘So, why make contact now?’
‘It’s something I’ve wanted for a while, but Celia had made me promise not to tell Colleen who I was. When Celia finally gave her my email address, and Colleen got in touch, I couldn’t wait to meet her.’
I recalled the message I’d read. ‘You didn’t show up.’
‘I’m trying to line up some work, either here or in London,’ he said. ‘I had a call I’d been waiting for, a meeting I couldn’t turn down. I’ve some money put aside, but not enough to last long. I need the work.’
‘Hardly puts you in line for father of the year.’
‘Touché.’ He gave a little salute. ‘Maybe, for all of us, it’s to do with getting older,’ he said. ‘Putting things right, in Celia’s case, by finally telling Colleen the truth about her parents, and for me …’ He thought for a second. ‘I wanted some continuity in my life.’
‘So, it’s all about you?’
‘Ouch!’ His smile was tinged with sadness. ‘I suppose I walked into that one,’ he said. ‘It’s not all about me, Ella. Believe it or not, I want to have a relationship with Colleen before it’s too late.’
‘Do you think you deserve one?’ I wasn’t sure why I was being so rude. He seemed like a nice man; a man anyone would be glad to have as a father, if only he’d done it sooner.
‘That’s for Colleen to decide,’ Reagan said, a gentle rebuke in his voice.
A flush crept up my neck. Thinking back, there hadn’t been a trace of judgement in Colleen’s expression when she spoke about meeting her father. Whatever his failings, I knew she’d forgiven him, whether he deserved it or not.
‘I can’t understand why she ran off,’ I said, deciding there was no point playing devil’s advocate. Reagan was right. Whatever their history, it was up to Colleen to decide what she wanted to do. ‘She was so keen to see you.’
‘She was?’ His smile dropped. ‘What do you mean, ran off?’
‘She left the hotel the night before last and didn’t come back.’ Saying it aloud brought back the sense that something was wrong. ‘I was the one who sent you the text message, yesterday. I didn’t want you to think she’d forgotten your arrangement.’ I picked up my mug and put it down again. ‘I thought she’d gone for a walk to think things through, but she left her phone behind and hasn’t returned.’
When Reagan’s expression darkened, my feeling of unease increased.
‘So, in the space of a couple of days, she met a half-sister she’d no idea existed, and was planning to meet a father she’d not seen since childhood?’ His gaze intensified. ‘That’s a hell of a lot to take in.’
‘It’s awful,’ I said, feeling the truth of my words. It was awful. The strongest person could crack under that kind of information, and I had a horrible feeling Colleen wasn’t that strong. ‘Her husband Jake told me that this is something she often does. That she runs away a lot.’
‘You’ve met her husband?’
‘Yes.’ Something in his voice made me look at him sharply. ‘He was here yesterday, worried about her.’
‘Really?’ Reagan’s forehead furrowed. ‘Celia mentioned Colleen had left him,’ he said. ‘She was under the impression things hadn’t been good between them, though Colleen didn’t confide in her.’
‘That’s not what she told me.’ I was fighting a growing confusion. ‘But like I said, it’s something she’s done before.’ I recalled Jake’s pallor and anxious eyes. ‘He was worried sick about her.’
‘I’m sure he was.’
‘He said they’d argued before she left Waterford, and then again in the hotel, but she told me their marriage was good.’
Reagan’s expression was sober. ‘Why do you think she lied?’
‘I think she was trying to impress me.’ My heart gave an uncomfortable flip. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
He shifted on his seat, hands gripping his mug. ‘You say she hasn’t got her phone?’
I nodded.
‘Well, I could try emailing her again. Maybe she’ll pick up her messages somewhere and reply.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what else we can do either, if I’m honest, Ella. Like you, I don’t really know her.’
We looked at each other, silently acknowledging how sad those words were.
‘Would she contact Celia?’
‘I doubt it.’ He sat back and glanced through the window, before returning his gaze to me. ‘I’m staying at the Strandhill Hostel on Shore Road for a while. If Colleen contacts you, let me know, and I’ll do the same for you. If she doesn’t …’ He let the words hang.
‘Actually, I’m leaving later today,’ I told him, pushing my chair back and standing up. ‘I have a husband and a daughter in England—’
‘Of course,’ he interrupted, becoming brisk. He rose and held out a hand. ‘It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Ella. You’re a credit to your mother.’ He enfolded my fingers in his. ‘I really am sorry things haven’t worked out for us with Colleen,’ he added. ‘Though I probably deserve it.’ His smile looked forced. ‘Anyway, you know where I am, so call if … well, if there’s anything I can do.’
‘I will.’ I felt dangerously close to tears all of a sudden. ‘Thanks for the tea.’
‘You’re welcome.’
As I picked up my things and turned to leave, I felt a sharp sense of panic, as if there was something else I should be doing. ‘Goodbye,’ I said, after a pause.
‘Goodbye, Ella.’
On the way back to The Mountain View, my head spun with all the new information. As I pulled into the car park, Colleen’s mobile pinged and after parking clumsily, I took it out of my bag.
Colleen, I hope all’s going well with your da! I’d hoped to be back on Saturday, but got caught up in London. I should be back soon though, if you’re still there. I’d love to see you again. Alfie x
I felt a dart of surprise. She hadn’t mentioned anyone called Alfie. He sounded nice, but … My heart gave a leap. Were they having an affair?
My thoughts began to collide. I remembered Colleen’s smile, her bright expression when she mentioned Reagan; how even though meeting me hadn’t gone well, she’d at least made the effort to turn up. And now someone called Alfie was arranging to visit, clearly keen to see her.
Why would she run away?
I couldn’t go home yet. I had to find out where she was, even if it meant getting the police involved, or the Gardaí, as they were called over here. I quickly texted a reply to Alfie, letting him know the name of the hotel – but not who I was. Maybe he could help shed some light on the situation.
I slipped Colleen’s phone in my bag, got mine out and called Greg. It went straight to voicemail.
‘Listen, Greg, I can’t come back today. I think Colleen might be having a fling with someone called Alfie. I just got a text message from him. On Colleen’s phone.’ I felt myself blushing. ‘I kept hold of it yesterday,’ I said. ‘I have to find her and talk to her, and make sure she’s OK.’ It sounded theatrical, and it wasn’t even the full story. The truth was, I wanted to find Colleen for me. I didn’t want to believe it was over, that she cared so little about me she’d run away. ‘Tell Maisie I love her and that I’ll be home very soon,’ I went on. ‘Oh, and can you call Dad, let him know I’m OK? Love you.’
As I rang off, I was stunned to see Jake striding across the car park with a large black holdall in his hand. I leapt out, slamming the car door behind me. ‘Jake!’
He didn’t respond. He was holding out his key fob, pressing the remote to unlock his car – a dusty, silver four-wheel drive with smoky windows.
‘Jake, wait!’ I rushed towards him.
‘Ellen?’ He turned and tracked my approach with something like horror. ‘I thought you’d left.’
‘It’s Ella, and I thought you’d left too!’ I laughed, but it sounded brittle. He looked more unkempt than I remembered, his jaw shaded with stubble, his hair rather lank. He probably hadn’t slept any better than I had the night before.
‘Just leaving,’ he said, deep grooves bracketing a thin-lipped smile. ‘What about you?’
‘I was thinking of calling the police,’ I said, scooping a strand of hair behind my ear. ‘Something’s not right.’ I was trying to frame how to tell him I’d met Colleen’s father, and about the message from Alfie, but realised he was shaking his head.
‘Colleen texted me earlier,’ he said flatly. ‘She’s fine, but she’s not coming back. Said to tell you she’s sorry.’ His voice was detached, as if he’d already moved on. ‘So, that’s that.’ A sudden breeze lifted his hair and he flattened it with a look of irritation. ‘I’m sorry, Ella.’
I bit my thumbnail. Nothing felt right, but I didn’t know why.
A moment or two passed. The sun went in and spots of rain began to fall. ‘I’ll go and get her things for you,’ I said, the first thing that came into my head.
Jake looked as if he wanted to say no, then changed his mind. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Don’t be long.’
I hurried inside and up the stairs, fumbling her key-card out of my bag. Once in her room, I scooped her things off the floor, thought about writing her a note, realised I didn’t have time, struggled with the broken zip, then shot downstairs, hoisting my own bag over my shoulder.
Jake was standing by his car, foot tapping. Perhaps he was keen to get back to his patients now. As I reached him, Colleen’s bag slipped out of my grasp and the contents shot over the tarmac as the rain grew heavier, lashing the ground.
‘Sorry,’ I mumbled, bending to retrieve Colleen’s few items of clothing before they got soaked, pushing them back in her bag. I wondered if I could slip her mobile back in without Jake noticing, but felt oddly reluctant to relinquish it.
At the thought of her phone, my breath caught in my throat. Colleen didn’t have it with her. How could she have texted Jake?
He was on his haunches beside me, hair flattened by the rain, reaching for a credit card that had slipped out of my grasp.
‘Look, Jake,’ I said, straightening. ‘I’m really worried about her.’
‘I just told you, she’s fine.’ He stood, thrusting a hand through his soaking hair. ‘Let’s talk in the car,’ he said, throwing the rucksack in the boot, before moving round and opening the passenger door. ‘We’re getting drenched.’
I glanced around. The car park was empty, rain bouncing off the ground.
‘Get in, please, Ella.’
I couldn’t think of a reason not to, so clambered in, feeling shaky and sick.
Jake eased into the driver’s seat. The shoulders of his shirt were sodden, outlining his shoulders, and his eyelashes glistened with raindrops. I heard a clunk. He’d locked the doors.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m afraid I lied.’
A bolt of alarm shot through me. ‘What do you mean, lied?’
He turned, his eyes penetrating mine. ‘The thing is, Ella, I know where Colleen is.’