Better Together (30 page)

Her words were interrupted by the sound of a car pulling up outside the house and beeping the horn. If this is Paudie, thought Sheridan, I’m totally doomed. She wondered if there was any way she could just make a run for it, but then Sinead opened the door and there was a flurry of motion before she was enveloped by a small boy and a big dog.

‘Josh, for heaven’s sake, control him!’ she cried. ‘He’ll ruin my dress!’

The boy tugged on the dog’s leash. It was a grey and white Old English sheepdog, and Sheridan, who loved animals, immediately wanted to pet him.

‘Sit, Bobby!’ commanded Josh, and the dog obeyed him immediately.

The boy looked at Sinead, and then at Sheridan.

‘Hey, Mum! It’s her,’ he said.

‘Excuse me, Josh,’ said Sinead. ‘What have I told you about pointing?’

Josh dropped the arm he’d extended in Sheridan’s direction.

‘It’s her. The woman at the football.’

‘We got back quicker than we thought.’

Before either Sinead or Sheridan had time to speak, a man walked into the hallway and pulled the baseball cap from his head. Sheridan exhaled sharply. He was the image of Joe. Younger, certainly, and with a less angular face, but still very like him. She felt her head begin to pound.

‘Hello,’ he said, looking at Sheridan. ‘We haven’t met before, have we?’

‘It’s her, Uncle Pete,’ said Josh again. ‘She thinks I’m a good footballer. She was at my match.’

‘Was she?’ asked Josh’s uncle.

‘She works for the
Central News
,’ said Sinead.

Sheridan was finding it difficult to process the information that was assailing her. She didn’t know what order to place it in. Josh, Joe’s godson, was also his nephew. Sinead was Josh’s mum. Sinead was Joe’s sister. She was also Paudie O’Malley’s daughter. Which meant that Joe was Paudie’s son. Joe was, therefore, JJ O’Malley, the elder son. The man who’d asked her on a date was the son of the man she’d wanted to believe had got away with murdering his wife.

She felt faint.

‘And your name is?’ Peter looked at her curiously.

‘Sheridan Gray,’ she croaked.

She was also finding it difficult to accept that the glamorous woman in front of her was the woman who apparently dished up home-cooked meals to Josh and Joe. She couldn’t imagine Sinead even knowing where the kitchen was, let alone peeling potatoes and flipping burgers. Why was she here in Paudie’s house, looking so glamorous, when she was supposed to be at home being the perfect mother?

‘She wants to talk to Dad,’ Sinead said.

‘So why are we all standing in the hall?’ asked Peter. ‘Nice to meet you, Sheridan.’

‘Because she just turned up,’ Sinead said. ‘She drove in after you left the gates open. I thought she was my taxi.’

Peter laughed.

‘You know the gate’s been giving trouble,’ Sinead said. ‘I told you to check it had closed behind you.’

‘Nag, nag, nag,’ teased Peter. ‘I was only gone five minutes. It’s not like it’s far to the dog-training school.’

‘That’s not the point.’ Sinead made a tutting sound. ‘Not
that it matters. The issue is why you need to see my father about his business interests, Sheridan.’

‘I . . . Well . . . I was interested in how successful he’s become,’ she said.

‘I still don’t understand what that has to do with the
Central News
?’

‘It’s got nothing to do with the paper,’ explained Sheridan. ‘It’s more of a . . . a professional interest.’

Both Peter and Sheridan were looking at her in puzzlement. And then Josh spoke again.

‘Uncle Joe fancies her.’

‘Josh!’ Both his mother and his uncle spoke at the same time.

‘Well he does. He said she was a—’

‘You can go out now,’ said Sinead quickly.

Josh and the dog rushed along the hallway and through a door, leaving Sheridan facing Sinead and Peter alone.

‘Did you want to write something about Dad?’ asked Peter.

‘Yes,’ confessed Sheridan.

‘In the
Central News
?’ Sinead was puzzled. ‘What could DJ possibly want to write about my father that would cause him to send you here?’

‘This wasn’t DJ’s idea,’ admitted Sheridan.

‘You’re doing a piece yourself?’ Realisation began to dawn on Peter’s face.

‘And you simply barged in?’ Sinead’s voice was a lot cooler now.

‘Not barged,’ said Sheridan. ‘The gate was open.’

‘You must have known it wasn’t open for you,’ said Sinead.

‘Well, yes, but . . .’

‘I think you’ve an awful cheek,’ said the other woman.

‘Hey, sis, she’s working on the newspaper.’ Peter grinned. ‘I believe they all have necks like a jockey’s—’

‘That’s fine, Peter.’ Sinead stopped him and Peter winked at Sheridan. She smiled tentatively in return.

‘OK,’ said Sinead. ‘You forced your way into the house under false pretences—’

‘Ah, Sinead, give her a break,’ said Peter. ‘She didn’t force her way in. She took an opportunity.’

‘Which she shouldn’t have,’ said Sinead.

‘I’m sorry.’ Sheridan looked contrite.

‘But you want to talk to Dad, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘My father doesn’t give interviews,’ said Sinead.

‘I know. But I thought . . .’

‘That being on the
Central News
gave you an advantage?’ finished Peter.

‘Yes.’

‘It doesn’t,’ said Sinead. ‘And personally I think you’ve breached the paper’s trust.’

‘I’m sorry if that’s what you think.’ Sheridan had regained a little of her composure. ‘It’s not the case, though. I’m only working as a temp on the paper. I thought there might be something interesting in your father’s life . . . work . . . business . . .’

This time both Peter and Sinead were looking at her sceptically.

‘I’m a reporter!’ she cried. ‘I do sports mostly, but I’m not getting much work with that. I thought a profile on Mr Sl—someone so reclusive with his harsh reputation would be worthwhile.’

‘Harsh reputation?’ said Sinead.

‘You must know about that.’

‘If that’s how you’re thinking of him, I can’t imagine you were going to write anything very flattering,’ said Sinead.

‘I was going to write an accurate portrayal,’ Sheridan told her. ‘Whatever that is.’

‘Well you’re not going to write anything at all now,’ said Sinead. ‘And I think you should leave.’

‘Sure. Fine.’ Sheridan knew there was no point in talking to them any more. ‘I’m sorry it all got a bit mixed up. I didn’t mean . . .’ She shrugged helplessly.

‘Goodbye,’ said Sinead. ‘Drive slowly to the gates. I’ll open them for you.’

‘And I’ll make sure they close behind you,’ said Peter. But he gave her a sympathetic smile as he spoke.

Sheridan was shaking as she left the house by the front door. There was no way she was ever going to get an interview with Paudie O’Malley now. His son and daughter would be on the alert for her and would block any opportunity she might have to meet him. Both Sinead and Peter were clearly protective of their father. Sinead had also been annoyed with herself for mistaking who Sheridan was, which would have antagonised her further. Peter had shown a certain amount of sympathy – even pride – for her ambition, but he didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d rock the family boat.

And Joe . . . She knew, as she drove out of the front gate and saw it closing behind her, that she’d deliberately pushed Joe to the very back of her mind because she didn’t want to think what this might have done to her relationship with him. Not that she actually had a relationship at this point. And it seemed highly likely that there wouldn’t be one in
the future either. Because Joe would find out that she’d been at the house earlier, and Peter and Sinead would tell him why. He might assume (and she wouldn’t blame him) that her reason for having dinner with him was more to do with trying to meet his father than anything else. And even if he thought that there was another reason – that she liked him – he surely wasn’t going to spend an evening with someone who held his father in such low esteem.

‘You idiot!’ she said out loud. ‘You total and utter idiot.’

Why oh why hadn’t she suspected that Joe was JJ O’Malley, the businessman son of Paudie? Now that she thought about it, Joe resembled his father in many ways. He had the same high forehead, the same frown and the same thick head of hair. She’d even seen a photograph of them, side by side at his mother’s funeral. Admittedly grainy and sixteen years earlier, but she should’ve recognised him. She searched her memory banks, because she couldn’t help feeling sure she would have remembered the name of Sinead’s husband and maybe put two and two together and saved herself a certain amount of grief. It took a while before she recalled the piece about their wedding, and then she realised why she hadn’t associated them. In the piece, Mike, Sinead’s husband, had been referred to as Michael Maher. His actual surname, Meagher, as she’d seen in Des’s report on Josh’s match, was pronounced the same way, even though the spelling was different. If someone had read the pieces aloud to her she would have cottoned on. But seeing the names written down hadn’t triggered the connection because of the different spelling.

I should’ve caught it all the same, she thought, annoyed with herself. And I don’t know what I’m going to do about
my story now. Seems to me that Paudie O’Malley manages to mess up my life at every turn, whether he means to or not.

She wondered when Peter and Sinead would tell Joe that she’d been at the house. And what his reaction would be. Would he be as disgusted with her as his sister, or amused like his brother? Would he call her to cancel their date? Or would he just assume that she knew dinner was off? She glanced at the speedometer and realised that in her anxiety to get away from March Manor, she was breaking the speed limit. She eased off on the accelerator. It would cap a great day to get done for speeding.

Damn, she thought, if only I’d asked for his card instead of giving him mine I would’ve seen his surname and I’d have twigged straight away who he was. And even I, the stupidest journalist in the world, wouldn’t have made such a fool of myself. I’d’ve steered clear of March Manor and the O’Malleys and I’d have had a great meal with him, and who knows what might have happened next? Maybe he’d have introduced me to his dad. Paudie might even have liked me, enough perhaps to give me a story, anyhow. But no, I had to go barging around like the proverbial bull in a china shop, like the total idiot I am.

She was uncomfortably aware that Peter and Sinead would also tell Paudie that she’d been at his house. She swallowed hard. Mr Slash-and-Burn would hardly be pleased to hear that his temporary employee had been sniffing around his personal life. He might even fire her. Again. Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel. If she lost this job, she could definitely kiss her journalistic career goodbye. Paudie O’Malley had enough influence to prevent her ever getting
another job in the industry. The man had closed down a paper, for heaven’s sake! The potential fallout from her moment of madness was getting worse by the second.

She continued to call herself names all through the rest of her journey back to the guesthouse. She was pretty sure she’d blown everything. But what upset her the most, she realised, wasn’t the potential end to her time at the
Central News
, or even the idea that Paudie O’Malley could bad-mouth her to other people in the industry; the worst thing of all was that she’d torpedoed her possible relationship with Joe. And so, when she reached the studio and took the bag containing her newly bought dress out of her car, she couldn’t help wondering if she’d ever have the opportunity to wear it.

Nina arrived back at the guesthouse just as Sheridan was getting out of the car. She saw her lift the bag with the dress from the back seat and she recognised the logo of the boutique in Kilkenny. Not a cheap shop, she thought, as she recalled the glow that she’d noticed in Sheridan previously. So who’s she buying posh clothes for? Someone in Ardbawn? Or does she have a man waiting for her in Dublin?

She slowed her Qashqai and rolled down the window.

‘Shopping-spree day?’ she called. ‘Off anywhere nice tonight?’

She was surprised when Sheridan shook her head. Surely Saturday night would be the most appropriate night for dressing up and going out. And then she saw that Sheridan’s expression was grim.

‘In that case, would you like to come to the house for dinner?’ she asked. She realised that she was curious about Sheridan. She’d never really been curious about her before, about her job in Dublin or what she wanted from her stay in Ardbawn.

‘That’s nice of you, but . . .’ Sheridan wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Nor did she think she could do justice to
Nina’s food. Then her stomach rumbled. For God’s sake, she reminded herself, I’m miserable. I shouldn’t be hungry and I should be able to face a night on my own, playing Wii football again. She thanked the older woman and said that she had work to do that evening.

‘No problem.’ Nina raised the window again and drove towards the house, while Sheridan unlocked the studio door. She dropped her handbag and the bag containing her gorgeous dress on to the sofa and then lay across the bed and stared at the ceiling.

The day had been a total disaster and she couldn’t help thinking that things could only get worse. Getting a bee in her bonnet about Paudie O’Malley’s businesses, and his tragic personal story, had led her completely astray. She’d lost focus on what she should have been doing, which was keeping her head down at the
Central News
while continuing to look for work elsewhere. And she shouldn’t have let herself get distracted either by falling for random strangers who – even if they weren’t the sons of business moguls – would be way out of her league in any event. As it was, she dreaded to think what Joe would say when he found out that she’d turned up uninvited at his family home. She shivered and felt tears brim up in her eyes.

She allowed a couple to trickle down her cheeks before sniffing hard and then sitting up. She wasn’t a bloody crybaby, for heaven’s sake. There was nothing to cry about. There wasn’t. Other than the fact that she’d blown a ridiculous amount of money she couldn’t really afford on a dress that she was never going to wear. After all, she reminded herself as she wiped her eyes, it’s not like I was Joe’s long-term girlfriend and he broke it off with me over something. I’ve
only spoken to him a couple of times. We didn’t have a relationship. Getting upset about this is daft. I need to get things in perspective. What would my parents say? They’d tell me to buck up and bounce back, she told herself. To stop snivelling. And I will. It’s just . . . I thought the last few days were me bouncing back. That things were coming right. But they’ve gone pear shaped again. And I’m fed up with it.