Chapter 43

43

Boyd found it difficult to recognise his own apartment when he let himself in after work. It might have been tiredness fogging his eyesight from the long day, but he suspected Grace had been busy. The last time he'd given the rooms a good cleaning had to have been before he'd been in Spain with Sergio.

He went to hug his sister, who, disliking human touch, shrank away from him.

‘Thanks, Grace, you've done a massive job with the place.'

‘I had great help.' She ran her Marigold-encased hand over her forehead, streaking it with what looked like grease, then pointed to Sergio. The boy was dusting the window ledge. ‘My nephew is a topper.'

Hugging Sergio, who didn't baulk at touch, Boyd said, ‘Did you have a good day with Auntie Grace?'

‘It was interesting.' The eight-year-old handed him the dusty cloth. ‘Can I watch television now?'

‘Certainly.'

‘Not yet, he can't. He has to finish his task.' Grace rushed over. She swiped the cloth back and stuffed it into the boy's hand. ‘You're almost done.'

‘Mama had a cleaner in Malaga,' he said softly, lowering his head to the job.

Boyd blew out air. Sergio rarely mentioned his dead mother. And in truth, Boyd avoided that conversation. He hoped Grace had kept her mouth shut about his ex-wife, though if the question was put to her, she would answer truthfully.

‘Both of you have done an amazing job. What about a takeaway to celebrate?'

‘Takeaway?' Grace looked horrified. ‘I cooked a perfectly good beef stew. Sergio devoured it. Your plate is in the oven.'

Busying himself with searching for a knife and fork in the rearranged drawer, Boyd said, ‘How long are you able to stay, Grace?'

‘Is that an underhand way of saying you don't want me here?'

‘God, no. Not at all. I was only?—'

‘Don't forget it was you who asked me to come and help you out until you got a childminder for Sergio. Are you changing your mind?'

‘No, no. It's great to have you here. Cooking and cleaning for free.'

‘I never said I'd do it for free.' She divested herself of the gloves and put them in a basin of water to soak. Then she took an inhaler from her pocket and took a few puffs. ‘I have a life, Mark Boyd. But I want to help out my only sibling. We're all that's left of the Boyd lineage, except for Sergio, and he's just a boy. It's only right that we do things for each other.'

‘I'm a bit cash-strapped,' he confessed. ‘I'm trying to figure out how to come up with enough finance to buy a house.'

‘I'm not talking about money. But if you need some, we can sell Mam's house.'

‘It's your home, Grace. You live there.'

‘No I don't.'

‘What do you mean?' He almost dropped the hot plate as he slid it out of the oven with bare hands. She'd moved the oven gloves from their usual place in the pot cupboard. God only knew where he'd find them.

‘I'm getting married. I've moved in with him.'

‘Him?' Boyd placed the plate on the breakfast bar and waited while his sister fussed with a table mat to protect the surface.

‘Bryan.' She spelled it out.

‘What?' Totally confused now, he raised his arms in a plea.

‘With a Y not an I.'

‘Oh. And who is Bryan when he's at home?'

‘At home where?'

‘It's an expression.'

‘Why do people talk in riddles?'

Boyd wanted to know so much about his sister's life. ‘Where did you meet this… Bryan with a Y?'

‘No need to be smart.'

‘Sorry.'

‘We met online.'

‘How? You don't know how to do technical stuff.'

‘There is nothing technical about signing up to a dating site.'

Sergio giggled in the living room, which was only separated from the kitchen by the breakfast bar. ‘You are a dinosaur, Papa.'

‘Apparently so.' He opened the cutlery drawer again, still muddled with the rearrangement. He found a fork. It'd have to do. Pulling up a stool, he began to eat. ‘Tell me more.'

‘Don't talk with your mouth full.'

‘Sorry. I want to know about this man you're going to marry.'

‘It won't be a traditional wedding. I'm not into wearing white and carrying an oversized posy. Wildflowers for me. I'm going to pick them from the cliffs.'

‘When is it?'

‘The flower-picking?' She smiled and brushed flyaway hair behind her ears.

‘Now who's taking the piss?'

‘Language.' Grace never swore.

‘Go on, tell me all. By the way, this is delicious.'

‘Thank you.' She sat on a stool opposite him, apparently pleased with the praise. ‘Bryan is sixty-four.' She must have noticed his incredulous expression. ‘No need to worry about the age difference. We get on well together. I'm helping him on his farm.'

He gulped down a mouthful of stew, hoping he wouldn't say the wrong thing. ‘Where is the farm?'

‘Five miles from Mam's house, may she rest in peace. He has seventy acres. Enough sheep and their wool to make ten mats.'

‘Why do you need ten mats?' Sergio asked from the sofa. He had the television on with the sound down low.

‘I'm going to have a big house. Bryan's house is too small. He had plans drawn up to extend it.'

‘And when is the wedding?'

‘June.'

Boyd nearly choked. ‘This June? That's not too long away.'

‘We have February, March, April and May to get through first, so it's not tomorrow.'

Was she making a joke? He reckoned she was deadly serious. Grace didn't joke. Well, she used not to joke.

‘Why am I only hearing about this now?'

‘You never asked.'

She was right there. He'd been so caught up in his own life, he'd rarely contacted her. Not until he needed her. ‘I'm so sorry. I should have checked in with you more often.'

‘You should have.'

‘When can I meet Bryan?'

‘He works on the farm from six in the morning until seven in the evening, daily. He goes to the pub Saturday nights and Mass on Sundays. So you can find a time to suit.'

Not sure what all that meant, he decided to leave it there. ‘This stew is really excellent.'

‘You should know by now that anything I do, including cooking, is always to a high standard.'

‘I know.' And he hoped Grace's sixty-four-year-old future husband, whom he'd never heard of until a few minutes ago, understood her too. He could not sit by and watch his sister get hurt.

The house was like an ice box. Lottie felt the cold air hit her in the face as she shut the front door behind her. She shrugged off her boots, hung up her coat and made her way to the kitchen, hoping it would be warmer than the hall. Fat chance. But she forgot the cold when she noticed Rose sitting at the table.

‘What are you doing here, Mother?' She immediately realised that her words sounded wrong. ‘I mean, it's great to see you, but it's late.'

‘If it's that late, you shouldn't be out. Where were you till this time?'

‘Working.'

‘Where?'

‘At the station.'

‘Was your father…?' Rose stopped as if suddenly realising she was living in the wrong era. ‘Oh. This head of mine. Sorry. I confuse everything.'

Lottie watched as her mother fiddled with a spoon, stirring it in an empty mug, and rushed to sit by her side. ‘Are you all right? Stay here tonight. Or I can go over to yours. Would you like that?'

‘No, no. I'm fine.' Rose stared at her, an opaque glaze filtered over her eyes. ‘I don't know why I'm here.'

‘You brought groceries, Gran,' Chloe said, appearing from the utility room zipping up her coat.

‘I think they were for myself. Or maybe not.'

Putting her hand over her mother's to still the futile stirring, Lottie asked gently, ‘Have you eaten?'

‘I think so. Maybe.'

‘I'll find something in the freezer. Fish and chips sound okay to you? I'm starving.'

‘A chicken casserole wouldn't go astray. I'll make one for you tomorrow.'

‘That'd be great,' Lottie said, catching Chloe's eye-roll. It was likely Rose might not remember this conversation in ten minutes, let alone tomorrow.

‘I'm off,' the girl said, and pecked her gran's cheek.

‘Where's Katie?' Lottie asked before Chloe escaped.

‘Getting ready,' she said, as she stood halfway out the door.

‘For what?'

‘Going out.'

‘Where?

‘You better ask her yourself. I got my head bitten off.'

‘Who's going to mind Louis?'

‘His idol, Sean. Bye.' The back door shut softly as Chloe left.

Lottie looked at her mother and the messy kitchen and wondered where to start. As she set about turning on the oven, Sean walked in, Louis in tow.

‘Hi, Mam. You're home early.' He swung Louis up in his arms before settling the boy on a chair at the table. ‘Can I help you?'

‘Sure, but I reckon you're looking for something,' Lottie said with a grin.

‘Good guess.'

‘Throw the chips on an oven tray and ask away.'

‘Niall wanted me to go over to his house for a while. Are you home for the night to mind Louis? Katie's going out and Chloe has work.'

‘Suppose so.'

‘Great. Can I do anything else before I go?'

‘Did you eat?'

‘Yeah. Me and Louis had Pot Noodles, didn't we, bud?'

‘Yeah, they're nice and gooey.' Louis looked up adoringly at his uncle.

‘Go on, then, and don't be too late.' Lottie shooed her son out with a tea cloth.

‘Why is everyone late?' Rose asked, taking Louis up on her knee. The boy squirmed to be released, but his great-granny held fast.

‘Food in twenty minutes,' Lottie said, searching for scissors to open the bag of frozen Donegal Catch.