Kitabı oku: «The Summer Villa», sayfa 4

Chapter 7

Then

‘Mum, what are you doing?’ Colette asked, coming in the back door of her family’s small terraced home in Brighton.

‘What does it look like?’ Miriam Turner replied in a voice raspy from chemotherapy.

It had been four years since her mum’s diagnosis, though for Colette, it had felt like a lifetime.

She could only watch helplessly as cancer ravaged her mother’s body, reducing her from a somewhat plump, pink-cheeked woman into the pale wraith she was now. Still, by some grace, Miriam maintained her smile despite it all.

‘You’re cooking? Why? Let me do it.’ Colette rushed to take over.

Before her illness, Miriam had worked tirelessly at the bakery she set up in the town with her husband, Emmett, and occupied what little free time she had volunteering at the church or hospital near their home.

She’d done her utmost to maintain her way of life for as long as she could, but eventually the chemotherapy and radiation treatment took its toll, her red hair turned light and thin, and eventually began to disappear.

It was then that Miriam had been forced to admit to herself that life wasn’t going to be the same. The whole family had to. Eventually, she let Colette, her eldest, shave her head and handed over the responsibility for the house and business to a girl in her mid-twenties. It was a brave move for them both – until then Colette had spent most her life in books, and was suddenly forced out into the real world.

The adjustment had been uncomfortable and had taken quite a bit of time, but at least her father was there to help her through it.

Until that changed, too.

A few months after Miriam was diagnosed, Emmett began to falter. He spent more and more time away from home, unable to watch his wife deteriorate. Everyone could see it, but no one ever thought he’d just up and leave. Less than a year after his wife’s diagnosis and well into her treatment, he moved out.

And by the time another year had gone by, he’d initiated official separation proceedings.

Now, Miriam shooed her daughter away gently and smiled.

‘Didn’t you hear what the doctor said today?’ she insisted as she continued stirring the contents of the pot she was standing over.

‘Mum,’ Colette challenged, but her mother ignored her entirely.

‘Set your stuff down. How was your walk?’ she asked as she carried on about her business while Colette stood there, dumbfounded as always at her mother’s determination.

When Emmett left, Miriam had wished her former husband well and then refocused her energy on the rest of her family. Colette’s younger sister, Noelle, was about to leave for university and had almost deferred her entry, but Miriam wouldn’t hear of it.

By then, Colette had completed her own time at University of Essex. She missed her sister and she missed college life and her old friends.

Instead, she’d stepped into the kind of responsibility she’d never imagined, especially after her father relinquished his share in the bakery, leaving the running of the business entirely up to her.

Miriam had arranged someone to take over the bookkeeping and day-to-day administration, while Colette baked and worked on recipes with her mother’s guidance, keeping things going when her mother no longer had the strength to stay involved.

Yesterday Miriam wouldn’t have dared challenge her about housework, but today was different. Earlier, incredible news had been delivered by the oncologist. Her cancer was in remission.

Colette could hardly believe it. After four long years of relentless treatment, her mother had finally overcome the disease.

Even though they both could see Miriam looked much better than she had in years, Colette felt running the household was still her responsibility and one she took pride in.

But since today’s news, her mother was apparently ready to dive right back into her life, starting with making dinner.

She slipped out of her jacket and hung it on a hook by the door. ‘It was good,’ she answered with a smile as she inspected the ends of her hair. ‘I went to the beach.’

She twirled the large waves that had wound into curls at the end around her finger distractedly as she took a seat at the heavy wooden kitchen table. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d just sat there and did nothing. It was weird.

‘Why don’t you go get changed into your PJs?’ Miriam suggested as she glanced over her shoulder at her.

‘PJs? Mum, it’s only dinnertime,’ she answered incredulously.

‘Tonight you will do what I say,’ her mother insisted with a smile. ‘Go get changed, have a shower or a long bath, even, eat the lovely dinner I’ve prepared, then settle yourself on the couch to watch a movie and eat popcorn with me.’

Miriam was often tired and went to bed early, while Colette stayed up and read or sometimes wrote in her diary. This would be the first time in years that the pair of them would do something so mundane or simple together, and the idea appealed enormously.

The water heater was working again, allowing Colette to enjoy a warm bath for a change. It had taken her several weeks to get the money together to pay for its repair, but now it was fine.

She lay in the warm water, thinking about the latest turn in events.

Remission. It was a word with a lot of power.

For years her whole life had become a routine centred entirely around Miriam’s illness. Now it seemed that centre was no more, and while of course she was thrilled by her mother’s news, Colette couldn’t deny she felt a bit lost, too.

Tears started in her eyes as she released the emotions she’d withheld for so long. Worry about her mother’s illness, the pain of her father’s abandonment and her sister’s departure. Having no social life or companionship amid the pressure of running a business that was the sole means of her family’s survival.

She’d buried those feelings deep inside and now as she lay in the warm water, they were spilling out uncontrollably.

At that moment, she needed to cry, needed to release herself, so that for the first time in what felt like forever, she could just be Colette Turner, a young woman with no clue about anything and afraid of everything.

Still, a burning question loomed in her mind.

Now what?

When Colette emerged, she towelled the damp from her hair and dressed in her favourite pair of Snoopy pyjamas. She’d had them since she was a teenager and though old and tatty, they were still a comfort – a reminder of a much simpler life.

When she returned to the kitchen a plate of beef stew with boiled potatoes and broccoli was waiting for her. There was even garlic bread.

‘Mum, you outdid yourself,’ she exclaimed.

Oh, she couldn’t wait. While she was a competent enough cook, her efforts weren’t a patch on Miriam’s, and she’d so missed her mother’s cooking. Especially stew – her favourite. Her heart softened, knowing that her mother was going all out on purpose.

‘It’s long overdue, love,’ Miriam replied gently, taking a seat at the table across from her. ‘Besides, you deserve it. You’ve done so much for me over the last few years. This is just a small thing to start making it up to you.’

‘Oh, Mum, of course there’s nothing to make up,’ she answered. ‘I just did what any daughter would do.’

‘And I’m so grateful, Colette,’ her mother responded. ‘I truly am. I don’t know how I would have made it through this if it weren’t for you.’

She could feel her cheeks growing hot. She wasn’t used to being the centre of attention, and even a compliment from her mother made her feel bashful. Miriam must’ve sensed this as she then changed the subject.

As expected, the food was delicious and Colette enjoyed every last morsel as she and her mother chatted about everything and nothing. It was incredible to see her so strong and bright, and she was hopeful that it would continue. She’d really missed being the daughter and her mother being her mum. It was nice to see the order put right again.

‘Movie time, then?’ she asked as she went to clear the table, but again Miriam shushed her away, insisting she’d do it.

‘Movie time.’

Chapter 8

That weekend, Noelle came home from uni to join in the celebrations, and there was a jovial feel in the house for the first time in years.

Again, Miriam fussed around the kitchen, this time insisting on baking fresh scones for her girls. And once more Colette floundered a little with this sudden reversal of roles, but since it made her mother happy, she was too. She sat at the kitchen table with Noelle as the three caught up.

‘Here you go.’ Her mum dropped a plate of warm currant scones on the table with a flourish. ‘Who’s for a fresh cuppa?’

‘Mum, there’s really no need to run around after us like this.’ Noelle caught Colette’s eye and smiled.

‘Only the best for my girls.’ She grinned, looking at them both. ‘And it’s about time.’

‘Mum, stop,’ Colette answered. ‘You’re the one who deserves the best.’

‘And I got it,’ her mother replied fondly.

‘The very best,’ Noelle agreed, nodding at Colette. ‘We’d all be lost without you, big sis.’

She really didn’t expect or want all this gratitude. And she wasn’t sure how to react to it.

Then her sister and mother exchanged a conspiratorial glance. ‘But now we think the same effort should be spent on you.’

Colette was confused. She eyed her family members suspiciously. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Should we tell her now?’ Noelle asked with a grin and Colette’s brow furrowed, feeling left out all of a sudden. What was going on?

‘What have you two been keeping from me?’

‘What I faced was no more than others have faced before me. It was nothing special,’ her mother continued. ‘You, though, love, you were special. You stepped up when there was no one else.’

‘Don’t …’ Colette stopped her, unwilling to bring the mood down with a discussion about her father. ‘Anyway, I’ve told you loads of times, I don’t want any thanks. I don’t need any.’

Miriam got to her feet and went to her eldest daughter. She crouched down and took Colette’s hand in her own, rubbing the back of her knuckles with the pad of her thumb. ‘Love, the past four years have been difficult for us all, of course, but for you most of all.’

‘That’s not true,’ Colette corrected. ‘You had to deal with chemo and radiation and all the worry that came with that …’ She could never bring herself to say the horrible ‘C’ word out loud.

Miriam looked at her tenderly. ‘I wish you’d stop interrupting me. I’m trying to tell you something but you refuse to let me.’

‘Sorry,’ she apologised as she resettled herself in her seat and gave her mother her full attention.

‘Thank you,’ she said with a smile. ‘Now, where was I?’

‘Difficult for everyone,’ Noelle insisted, her eyes watering.

‘That’s it. Colette, love, don’t think for a second I don’t appreciate the sacrifices you had to make. Like it or not, you had to move out of your comfort zone and take up the mantle in my place. You did what you had to in order for this family to be all right, and you never complained, never faltered in your determination to be there for me and do the best you could. Not once. In all the time I was going through treatment, or when I had to give the reins of the business over to you, you never failed me. You always did all you could. I’m more grateful for that than you’ll ever know.’

Her mother touched her cheek and Colette felt a rush of emotion. She didn’t need the praise, or at least she didn’t think so, but receiving it was nice all the same.

‘Thanks.’ Her smile faltered a little when she realised Noelle in the meantime had left the room. She hoped all this hadn’t made her sister uncomfortable, or worse, feel guilty for not being around for the worst of it.

But then she returned with an easy grin.

‘Do you have it?’ her mother asked, turning back to Noelle.

‘Sorry, it was in my bag,’ her sister said, producing an A4 envelope. She was smiling when she handed it to their mother.

‘Here you go.’ Miriam took the envelope and in turn handed it to Colette.

‘What’s this?’ she asked, confused.

‘Open it and see, silly,’ Noelle insisted.

Colette turned the envelope over in her hand, then proceeded to glide her finger under the seal to pry it open. Then she pulled the contents out and stared.

The brochures were a magnificent blaze of colour and light, and the scenery they presented was simply stunning. Azure oceans and groups of pastel houses tumbling down mountainside forests filled the pages, interspersed with images of sailboats on the water and delicious-looking cuisine.

‘Italy?’ Colette questioned, turning to the front of the brochure.

‘Yes, Italy,’ Noelle cheered. ‘You’ve always wanted to go there, haven’t you? You studied the language, after all.’

‘Well, yes,’ she replied hesitantly. ‘But I don’t understand …’

‘Open the white packet now,’ her mother chuckled.

Colette did as instructed, and pulled out a colourful green-and-red folder. Inside was an airline ticket with her name on it and the destination read ‘Naples’. Her eyes grew wide and her jaw dropped in shock. It couldn’t be.

Her gaze flew upwards to her sister and mother, and her words came out as a whisper, so fragile that if spoken too loudly the dream she was obviously in would shatter and she’d be sent right back to reality.

‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ her mother replied tearfully, as she took both of Colette’s hands in hers.

‘We’ve made all the arrangements,’ Noelle added, excitement raising the tone of her voice to almost a squeal. ‘You leave at the end of the month. Three weeks on the Amalfi Coast in sunny Italy.’

Colette couldn’t speak. She shook her head. ‘I can’t. I can’t go.’

‘Why not?’ Noelle asked, confused.

‘Who will take care of Mum and the bakery? The summer season is our busiest, you know that. Who will take care of things around here?’ It seemed as if her entire life had been her mother, the house and the business for so long that she couldn’t imagine a day without having to attend to them. Not even a day without responsibilities.

‘Love, I can take care of myself now.’

‘And I’ll be home for the summer.’

‘But—’

‘No buts,’ her sister interrupted. ‘You’re going on this trip and that’s that. I knew you’d try to find some reason not to. Didn’t I tell you, Mum?’

‘Yes, you did,’ their mother answered, a small smile on her face as she looked at each of them in turn. ‘Though we have to remember that for the past few years Colette’s been the lady of the house here,’ she explained. ‘She’s done it so much she’s forgotten that she has a life of her own. And now the world is out there for her to discover.’

‘Mum,’ Colette said, realising she was being well and truly cornered. Yes, the doctor said all was well with her illness, but it would take more than a couple of weeks until her mother was ready to take on the responsibilities of the life she’d been forced to relinquish. Was she really up to it? ‘Why do I have to go so soon?’

‘Because Noelle will be home from university by then. And to be honest, it was quite difficult to find a place for you to stay – that part of Italy is very busy over the summer months, apparently. The travel agent said that this was basically all we could get.’

Colette looked at her. So it seemed it was now or never. ‘Are you absolutely sure you’d be OK with this? With my leaving you on your own?’

‘I’ll be perfectly fine,’ her mother insisted. ‘Really.’

‘Hey, like I said, I’ll be here, too,’ Noelle added with some annoyance. ‘Stop being such a worrier, Colette. I can take care of Mum just as well as you. Things are different now. We’ll be fine, honestly. It’s time you got out there and lived some of those dreams you’re always banging on about.’

‘An escape,’ their mother said. ‘High time you had some fun back in your life and came out of your shell.’

‘And live it up a little, too,’ Noelle added with a grin. ‘Go and meet a nice Italian who’ll show you a good time.’

‘Well, maybe not too much of that,’ her mother cautioned automatically, though unlike Noelle she knew well that her eldest wasn’t much of party person. ‘But, love, it is definitely time to see what’s out there for you, don’t you think?’

It sounded all too good to be true, and rather frightening, to be fair, Colette thought. She supposed she’d become quite dependent on her routine, so the idea of going somewhere outside of Brighton, let alone to a foreign country on her own, was a little overwhelming.

Oh, come on, a voice inside chided her. You took care of your mum, a business, and a household. What’s so scary about the Amalfi Coast?

She looked again at the brochures and the ticket with her name on it. Italy had always been such a dream, and like Noelle said, she’d studied Language and International Relations in college, so she did already speak quite a bit of the language. She could view this as a chance for some practical application of her skills. A chance to try new things, meet new people and the opportunity to push herself out of her comfort zone and widen her worldview.

You need this.

Colette had worn the badge of responsibility like a true soldier, never faltering or complaining, but she was tired. She was weary of the routine, of having to always say no to social invitations or a chance to just be flighty or careless. For feeling as if her life was on hold with a terrible end awaiting her. The thought that her mother might die had been a shadow that always loomed in the back of her mind, clouding her decisions. Now that cloud was lifted. She could breathe again.

An escape …

‘All right,’ she decided, smiling. ‘I’ll do it.’

Chapter 9

Then

There was an incessant drilling sound that was driving Annie O’Doherty insane. It was Saturday morning. What the hell … ?

‘Oh, feck off!’ She attempted to toss an errant pillow in the direction of the noise but when she turned over in the bed to grab one, she was met with an unexpected obstruction.

There, sleeping soundly beside her, was someone – a man – she didn’t recognise.

Annie felt familiar discomfort rise up in her stomach as she tried to remember the previous night’s events.

Damn. She’d done it again, the thing she’d sworn time and time again not to: come home with some random stranger.

She raised her head slightly, trying to avoid any sudden movements that would alert Prince Charming to her presence, or indeed make her blinding headache even worse.

Now she had to figure out the best way to get this fella out of her flat without complication. This was her flat, yes?

She squinted around suspiciously at the messy room, discarded clothes scattered everywhere – Annie was more a floor-drobe than a wardrobe person – make-up littered all over the dressing table, and a hairdryer and straightening tongs hanging precariously from the radiator.

She’d remembered to turn the tongs off, which was good; it meant that she must have been sober before she went out.

And yep, this was definitely her room. Thank God for small mercies.

Annie raised the sheets a little to see she was wearing her pyjamas, which was another good sign – she hoped. Gingerly, she shimmied her way off the bed, grabbed her dressing gown and threw it on.

She always did this to herself. She’d have a bad week at work, or a fight with her mam, and then she’d go on a binge.

Eileen called her a slut, floozy or whatever else her angry, inebriated self felt like. Theirs was a hugely dysfunctional relationship, she knew, but it was the only consistent one Annie had ever had. She could just imagine what her mam would have to say about this.

‘Nothing else for it,’ she murmured, deciding to bite the bullet and wake up Prince Charming. ‘Hey, sunshine, time to get up!’

The words sent her bedfellow scrambling to his feet and it seemed to take him a while to realise he wasn’t under attack.

‘What the hell?’

‘Time for you to get going,’ Annie muttered, unable to meet his eyes. She really had no idea who he was but she figured she must have hooked up with him in the late bar last night. ‘I’ve things to get on with and I need you to leave.’

It was her day off, Annie recalled (hence the night out in the Dublin hotspots), so she didn’t have anything pressing to do really, she just wanted him out.

The guy scratched his jaw and took a deep breath before flopping back down onto her bed.

‘Another half hour, maybe? I’m wrecked,’ he protested, as he puffed up her pillow and stuffed it under his head, closing his eyes once more.

‘Hey! I said I need you to leave, so off you go.’ Annie poked at his exposed leg. He was wearing boxers, another cause for relief in her books. He didn’t seem her type at all, either; he was bone-skinny with a bit of a culchie accent, so she had no idea how or why he’d ended up here.

But did she even have a type these days?

Still, if this gobshite thought he could grab a lie-in at her expense, he was sadly mistaken. She’d throw him out on his arse herself if he didn’t skedaddle on his own, pronto.

Her persistence got his attention and he forced his eyes open once more.

‘Hey, why don’t you get back in and we can finish what we started last night?’ he said suggestively, and Annie’s hackles rose even more.

‘Are you deaf? Get the feck out!’ She grabbed the end of the duvet and yanked it off him. ‘I mean it.’ Then, grabbing his clothes, she marched across to the door of her flat (which didn’t take long as it was a tiny studio) and flung it open, launching his stuff through. ‘Don’t let it hit you on the way out.’

Her unexpected guest looked completely bewildered. ‘What the hell? Why are you being so weird? You asked me back, remember? You were all over me.’

Annie didn’t remember – that was the problem – but she wasn’t about to tell him that. ‘Look, I’m sorry but I told you already that I’ve got stuff to do and you’re getting in the way. So please just go,’ she insisted.

She watched as her guest jumped up again and stepped out into the hallway, scrambling for his clothes. He pulled his shirt over his head, sticking his arms into the sleeves in one smooth movement, then eyed her angrily from the doorway.

‘You’re something else, you know. Pure psycho.’

‘I know,’ she murmured airily, as she closed the door behind him, her heart racing a thousand beats a minute. She’d done a pretty good job convincing him of her bravado, but all the while she’d been terrified. A strange man in her bed and in her flat. It wouldn’t be the first time things had gone awry.

‘That’s it. No more getting pissed out your head, Annie … No more.’

She walked to her bed and looked at the sheets with scorn, before yanking them off. She’d be doing a wash today for sure. Once all the bedding was off, she returned to the bare mattress and flopped down on the edge of it.

Annie O’Doherty was never supposed to live, but she had. Abandoned in the toilets at Connolly train station in the centre of Dublin almost thirty years ago, she’d barely been breathing when she was found by a curious Irish Rail cleaner, who heard a noise from inside the ladies. There he found an infant, scarcely a few hours old, and had called for an ambulance.

Even before she had a name, Annie was making headlines for all the wrong reasons.

Placed into the Irish foster system from the start, she eventually found herself part of a family. Robert O’Doherty, her foster father, had doted on her. He was the reason she’d been chosen by them – a real-life orphan Annie.

He always said he saw something in her eyes, a spark, which told him she was the right child for him and his wife Eileen. They’d formally adopted her when she was five, and over the following twelve years she had the most amazing life she could imagine. They didn’t have much money, just enough to get by, but after Robert suffered a heart attack and died, life was upended.

That’s when Eileen started drinking and Annie had no choice but to rely on herself. Life had steadily declined after that. The tongue-lashings, accusations of theft, and even the added bonus of being accused of trying to seduce Eileen’s boyfriends. As if she would stoop so low.

Now she sat on her bed thinking about just how badly her life sucked. She was thirty-two years old, working at a low-budget hairdressing salon for a woman who didn’t know a perm from a curl, paying an exorbitant rent for her tiny Dublin shoebox, and nothing or no one stable in her life whatsoever.

Most of the friends she had during her teens were by now settled with families of their own, while Annie embarked on a string of disastrous hook-ups with lads who were only after the craic. That had suited her down to the ground all throughout her twenties, but now it was getting old – as was Annie.

These days she mostly went out on the town with some of her hot young co-workers from the salon, and was already starting to feel (and no doubt look) like the desperate ’oul wan.

Feeling a fresh wave of hangover-inspired exhaustion, Annie fell back on the bed and lay atop the exposed mattress. She stared at the cracks in the yellowed ceiling as she tried not to cry. She was frustrated and disillusioned.

Life was supposed to improve the older you got, wasn’t it? Life was supposed to be a series of ups and downs. So when was her up coming? When was it her turn to have something good finally come her way?

Tears stung her eyes and she didn’t try to stop them. It wasn’t every day that Annie allowed herself to feel her emotions. Pretending she didn’t have any seemed to work best for her over the years, at least for a while, until the flood rose too high, smashed the dam and, like now, she had to release it.

She hated her life. She hated this dingy kip of a flat. She hated her job, her mother, this stupid city.

She hated everything.

‘No more,’ she said firmly as she balled her fists at her sides. ‘No more. After today, you’re making a change. Things are going to be better. You’re going to make them better.’

But even as she said the words, Annie knew she was kidding herself. She’d tried that mantra before.

And still, nothing ever changed.