Barefoot Over Stones (30 page)

‘No, I don’t really want to know, to be honest, but thanks for telling me that much.’ Ciara’s rundown of the balls-up the Clancy family seemed to have made of Leda put Colm in mind of his own family’s shortcomings. Family misfortune was all cut from the same material. The only variety was in the detail. He could tell Ciara all about the disgrace and hardship that Patrick Lifford’s shamefully dishonest business dealings had caused his mother and himself, but he wasn’t sure that she would learn anything real or helpful about him in the process. In the same way, knowing the identity of some two-bit dodgy county councillor from Tipperary who abused
the innocence of a teenage girl under the eyes of her parents was not going to help him or Tom now.

He wasn’t sure how exactly he decided to ask Ciara to impersonate Leda at the public health nurse’s visit but he was taken aback by how readily she agreed. He expected some words about deceit, being caught out in the lie or some reticence, but Ciara was up for it at once. Colm doubted if they could pull it off but it seemed she was not afflicted by a single reservation. She didn’t doubt her ability to be convincing and her faith buoyed Colm’s confidence. Iris was appalled but, always a pragmatist, she decided to keep her disapproval to herself for the moment. At least Ciara had shown some gumption by turning up, which when compared to what Iris saw as cowardice in Leda was to be applauded.

As a gesture of her good will she invited Colm, Tom and Ciara to her house on Grosvenor Gardens for Sunday lunch the day before the appointment. There was no point in them all sitting down for the first time on Monday and hoping to pull off this stunt. Iris thought that because she had never met Leda, only dealing with her rudeness and aggression with some success on the phone, she might find it easy enough to think of Ciara as actually being Leda. She was more than a little inquisitive to see from what and where exactly this Leda creature had sprung.

Ciara had accepted the invitation with relish. Turning down a chance to look inside one of the houses in Grosvenor Gardens was not an option. She had gazed at the beautifully lit windows of that type of house when she had walked home from college years before. She adored the elegant steps up to the front doors and the gravel crunching beneath the feet announcing any visitor before they had a chance to chime the doorbell or clutch in their hand the polished brass knocker. The plants and the neat squares of front gardens were always immaculate and it was easy to spot the houses whose inhabitants took pride in their appearance and the others that had been carelessly and crudely divided into flats. Curtains were a dead giveaway. In the flats dirty nets usually served as the only screen from passing traffic and they were hung haphazardly, a single packet of hooks split it seemed between every dismal window in the house. The grand houses had luxuriously heavy, well-lined drapes to keep out the world and its coldness but mostly left open to show the attractions that lay inside. Ciara had imagined life to be more beautiful, more gentle when lived in such attractive surroundings. She had thought back then she would definitely be different if she had come from a house like that. Leachlara left a different sort of mark and one that was hard to wipe away. Ciara was enthralled at the prospect of having a good look from the inside out.

She brought flowers to Iris. They weren’t a cheap supermarket bouquet but some grasses and gerberas wrapped in wax paper and tied with bamboo from a classy florist that had replaced a kebab shop where the long, loping curve of Ranelagh Road turned into the elegant straight that marked the start of the village proper. Leda had told her that Colm’s mother was a boot so she was prepared for the worst, notwithstanding her sister’s leaning towards exaggeration and negativity. It was hardly likely that Iris Lifford would think well of Leda. Ciara was Leda’s only sister and right at this moment not even she could think of a good word to say about the girl. Colm talked about Iris with gratitude and respect but with little fondness that Ciara could detect, but then again she had only known him for a couple of days. He was unlikely to open up unnecessarily or tell her anything beyond the barest bones of his story. Circumstances had thrown them together. He needed her. A little baby needed her. It felt good to help and it felt right. Ciara hadn’t felt much of either in a long time.

When it came to the appointed time Iris Lifford could not bring herself to be present to watch her son partake in a deception. She considered it a benign enough adjustment of the true facts but she didn’t want to witness Colm being dishonest. What if it came naturally to him and lies fell from his mouth with the greatest of ease? Then Iris Lifford would have to admit that he was a Lifford in more than name. She had been ashamed of one man for most of her life; she could not accept that she would have to think badly of another. She took herself home to make a Christmas wreath for Father Hogan’s front door from the greens and berries that were abundant in the garden. She would make an extra special one to make up for the fact that she had neglected some of her church duties for the last number of weeks. She constructed it carefully, securing each stem to the next and to the central frame. It took her mind off what was happening at Colm’s apartment, but as the clock moved toward 3 p.m. she couldn’t help thinking that it should be finished by now.

Over at Claddagh Road Ciara was playing a blinder. Tom had taken to her like a duck to water. She sang to him all sorts of songs and none of the usual nursery rhymes that most people feel compelled to babble in a dopey, gormless sort of voice to young babies. His aunt treated Tom to what Colm had to admit was a fairly feisty rendition of ‘Fever’ and a gorgeous version of Kate Bush’s ‘Running Up That Hill’. Listening to her voice echo around the apartment made him a bit depressed. He didn’t miss Leda for himself but he missed her on Tom’s behalf. This is what it should be like, shouldn’t it? A mother singing to her new baby and the baby dozing appreciatively in her arms. Tom was being deprived of that. As heart-warming as the scene with Tom and Ciara was to watch, at best his aunt would only be an intermittent presence in his life. At worst she would personify all that he had lost.

Colm waited in the hallway for the doorbell to ring but Brid Halloran was late, fifteen minutes late, and when she finally arrived she spent another five minutes telling them about the traffic-light sequence on Harcourt Road that had broken her heart. ‘Ten seconds of green light, did you ever hear the like of it?’

Colm and Ciara agreed that it was a scandal and the sense of nervousness that had enveloped them began to lift a little, which was exactly what Brid had planned so she would see these parents at their relaxed best. Colm offered to make tea or coffee and while he busied himself with that Brid launched into the business at hand. She had to say this new mother was looking brilliant and not at all down in her form as she had imagined would be the case. She thought it remarkably unfair the way that some mothers resumed their figures within a matter of weeks as if pregnancy was some sort of outer-body Ziploc experience that could be peeled off, while others (and she had to include herself sorrowfully in this lot) wore the body print of their pregnancy for years after their baby’s delivery. Leda was glowing. If anything it was Colm who seemed to be bearing the brunt of new parenthood, Brid decided. He was a very handsome man and quite young, she thought, but he looked worn to a thread of life, with dark circles threatening to blot over his eyes. He was obviously doing more than his fair share and that was helping his partner get the better of a difficult start at motherhood.

‘Well now, Leda, tell me how you are feeling, and don’t just say tired because I know you are thoroughly exhausted, that goes with your new job description, I’m afraid, and tell me about the birth.’

‘Oh, Brid, I was shell-shocked in the hospital. I had read all the books, hadn’t I, Colm?’

Colm nodded, relieved that the onus had shifted from him, however temporarily, for once in his son’s life. Tom was curled asleep on Ciara’s lap, lulled by her voice as she fluently explained her feelings, her initial withdrawal from Tom at the hospital and how Colm had helped her to get through it by being patient and kind. She was quietly persuasive without being overpowering and Brid seemed genuinely touched by her willingness to be honest. Colm was terrified he would call her Ciara, so he restricted his input to the odd nod of the head and smile at the funny, self-deprecating
comments that Ciara scattered like favours in her conversation.

‘God, that was easier than I thought!’ Ciara was on a high at her own performance when Brid Halloran had left them, rushing to another appointment. ‘I half expected she would want me to sign up for counselling or something, but she seemed convinced. And as for you, Mr Tom Lifford, weren’t you the great man snoring your way through the whole ordeal?’

‘You were brilliant, Ciara. Sorry I wasn’t a bit more helpful. I was just terrified we would confuse each other and say something that would make her suspicious.’

‘Take a chill pill, for God’s sake. She wasn’t suspicious. She was concerned about how Leda was coping, that’s all, and we put her mind at rest. From now on it’s plain sailing for you and Tom. Leda is out of the picture and I wouldn’t worry about her coming back either. My sister seems to specialize in running away.’

‘Yes, I am beginning to doubt she will be challenging for custody by all you have told me.’

‘You have nothing to fear from Leda, Colm, except her indifference. If you are prepared for that you and Tom here will be fine. At some stage she will ring me or home just to tell us she is still alive. She’s very thoughtful, is my little sister.’

Ciara’s sarcasm was tangible and Colm allowed himself to laugh. He had to admit that Tom had drawn a dodgy straw with his mother but it did look as if he had the devotion of his loving aunt. Colm, after all they had been through, took some small comfort in that fact.

D
UBLIN AND
C
AHAROE
2005

There was no right way to go about what Dan Abernethy was planning but he knew he had to give it his best attempt. He had told Alison about Colm Lifford’s relationship with Leda and sworn her to secrecy. He had told Colm that not another soul would hear it, but he counted Alison and himself as one and the same. Alison had offered to come with him to meet Leda but he really didn’t want to expose her to any of the vitriol that he feared she might spout. ‘I’ll do it alone, Ali. It’s better that way and I’ll ring you the minute I get out. It shouldn’t take long and hopefully I will be home before midnight.’

‘OK, but take no crap from her. Treat her like an enemy, because that’s what she is. Don’t be afraid to put her in her place.’

He was about to test Alison’s aggressive strategy by arriving on Leda Clancy’s doorstep unannounced on a rainy Monday night, attempting to cut a deal on his father’s behalf. When Con found out that Dan had Leda’s address he half-heartedly offered to take the issue from there, but Dan knew that his father did not have the stomach for a showdown with anyone, let alone Leda, who had shown her talent for outwitting him. There was not much that Con Abernethy would admit to being unable to handle but this was a mess that he was very glad that Dan had offered to clean up. One hundred thousand euros was the initial payment that Leda had asked for and Dan knew that Con had funds for many multiples of that, but he was hoping that Leda would prove malleable if Dan threatened to reveal her past indiscretions to Bob Cantwell, the new man in her life. One payment and her subsequent silence on the matter was the outcome he hoped to bring about.

Colm had shown him the email from Ciara so he knew that she lived with her fiancé, who most likely knew nothing of her past. Some of it might stain the sheen of his bride-to-be and hopefully
Leda would accept a sensible amount in return for Dan’s guarantee of silence. He didn’t want to have to blackmail her as such. He didn’t really have the first clue about how to be menacing, but it was a long time since he had seen Leda Clancy and maybe she would take a phantom threat seriously. It was surely better than sending his father into the fray, who might just collapse under the heat of Leda’s first flirtatious comment.

There were two cars parked in the driveway, a new black Audi and a rather battered-looking gold Punto, so it seemed they were both at home. A stroke of luck, Dan hoped, while his heart pounded in his chest. Leda answered the door on the fourth ring. She broke into a grin almost immediately.

‘Well my oh my, if it isn’t Dan Abernethy? I was expecting to hear from your father or maybe Columbo. Didn’t think he would allow you to become shop-soiled by dealing with the likes of me – or is the tail wagging the dog these days?’

‘We need to talk, Leda, privately if that’s possible.’ Dan nodded beyond the hall door where they were standing as if he understood that someone else was at home.

‘Come on in. My fiancé is away on business. We have the place to ourselves.’ She clocked his disappointment that his unexpected arrival was not more awkward for her and she smiled languorously at him. She closed the hall door as Dan stepped inside, pinning his tall frame against the opposite wall of the narrow hallway. ‘How did you find me? Of course, I don’t need to ask. Columbo knows where the dogs on the street are mating.’

Dan didn’t tell her that his father could not bear to tell Columbo about Leda’s demand for money. It would take too much swallowing of pride for him to admit that Columbo had been right that he should have left his brain to do the thinking for him. Besides, Columbo had moved on to the next candidate as the memory of the Abernethy era faded with every passing day.

She led the way to the back of the house where the deceptively narrow entrance hall opened out to a glass-walled room looking out on to an expensively landscaped back garden. Money had been recently spent here and it was clear that Ciara was right. Leda Clancy had landed dead on her feet. She gestured at the dining table, where magazines and papers were strewn about. Gossip magazines lay open, resting on the telltale colour of the financial papers. Dan sat down, not really knowing how to start. Leda filled the pause in proceedings enthusiastically. She was willing to whittle whatever satisfaction she could out of Dan Abernethy, and it helped that he was even more gorgeous than the last time she had seen him in the pub in Leachlara the night they had buried the witch. Ageing obviously treated the Abernethy men well.