Twisted River (9 page)

During the flight Kate had watched a movie, but her mind kept wandering and she tried not to fret about the Harveys and their holiday.

Of course Limerick couldn't be compared to New York. Oranges and apples, her mother had said. But she hoped that Hazel Harvey would be pleasantly surprised by the many positive changes in the city over the last fifteen years. Unlike Mannix, Kate didn't feel a blinkered passion for Limerick, but she did bristle when outsiders criticized the city. And she certainly loved her own little pocket of it, that sliver of shore by the Shannon.

Once they'd cleared immigration, Mannix led the charge to the luggage carousel. Caged for six hours, he was now suffering a surfeit of energy. He marched ahead, with Kate, Fergus, and Izzy trying to keep up. Kate had enjoyed Mannix's attention on the flight. He knew how much work she'd put in over the last week and how she'd suffered Spike's company for six long days. It was true what her mother said. Guests were like fish. After three days, they go off. What had annoyed Kate most was Spike adding his boxer shorts to the family wash without even asking. He had no idea of boundaries.

Halfway through the flight Mannix brought it up. “Kate—thanks for Spike . . .” He'd rubbed her hand, which was on the armrest between them. “It was a tough few days.”

“I assume he got the electricity back?”

“That's all sorted now.”

“Strange, wasn't it,” Kate had remarked, “I mean how the nightclub downstairs was grand and the flat upstairs kaput?”

“Different circuits, I guess,” Mannix had said.

Now, as they hovered over the carousel, Mannix shuffled from foot to foot looking impatiently for their luggage. He ran his hands through his hair, fidgeted with his phone, and shot it repeated looks of irritation.

“Found a mobile provider?” asked Kate.

“Not yet, it's scanning.”

“You're not having withdrawal symptoms already—what's the panic? We're on holiday . . .” Kate linked his arm and leaned her head against his arm.

“No panic, Kate. Just a few little niggles at work . . .” His fingers mauled the phone.

Mannix reported to a guy he considered to be inferior to him in almost every way. Add to that the fact that the guy was younger than him, and it was a recipe that didn't do much for Mannix's ego. He'd bemoaned the fact that he had to dumb down his résumé to get the job in the first place. But it was the times they lived in. Too many overqualified people looking for too few jobs.

As Fergus helped his father pile the suitcases onto the trolley, Kate suddenly felt uneasy.

“We
can
trust Spike to meet the Harveys at the airport? He wouldn't mess that up, would he?”

“No, of course not,” Mannix snapped, the sibling bond between them now invoked.

Another thought then struck her.

“God, he wouldn't try to hit on Hazel Harvey, would he?”

“Oh, come off it, Kate!” Mannix pushed the trolley through the sliding doors.

“Why ever not? She's good-looking—blond, petite . . .”

“That's daft, Kate. Why on earth would Spike do that? From what I saw on Skype, she looks just like you!”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “And what does that mean? That I'm not attractive enough for someone else to hit on?”

“Of course not. Stop fooling around, Kate. Anyway, for one thing he's not into blondes.” Mannix waved for a taxi. “Brunettes and dark-skinned girls are more to Spike's liking.”

If only Mannix knew, she thought to herself as she got into the taxi.

The driver of their yellow taxi had quite stilted English, and had only recently arrived from Damascus. Still, he managed a stab at a commentary as they drove through Queens.

“It's just like on telly,” said Izzy, looking at the wooden houses with open gardens.

“Flushing Meadows, sir . . .” The driver pointed it out to Mannix. But Mannix was still grappling with the phone.

“You like Federer, sir?” the driver asked him.

“Yeah. Yeah, he's great.” But Mannix wasn't really listening.

“A legend,” Fergus joined in from the back, next to Kate and Izzy. “Federer is an absolute legend.”

Awhile later they drove over the Harlem River. The driver was now directing his stilted commentary to Fergus, who wanted to know the landmarks.

“Can we see the Empire State? Can we see it yet?” Fergus edged forward, straining the seat belt.

“No, sir. We're uptown, in Harlem. The Empire State is in Midtown.”

Lackluster blocks were characterized by dull red brick and functional cheap signage over the commercial units. Groups of people straggled the pavements, moving with little sense of urgency or purpose. They looked like they were hanging out rather than going anywhere.

Ten minutes later, the character of their surroundings changed.

“Broadway,” announced the driver, looking in the rearview mirror.

Mannix was still texting. Finding herself irritated, Kate leaned forward to speak through the opening in the Perspex partition between the driver and the backseats.

“This is Broadway, Mannix!” she said with exaggerated enthusiasm.

“Fantastic, isn't it?” he said without looking up.

These buildings were beautiful in a way she hadn't expected. Huge, ornate, imposing. In European terms, New York was in its
infancy, and yet these buildings had all the grandeur and elegance of ancient Paris.

“Wow, awesome,” said Fergus, head craning back. “Look how high that building goes!”

“Are we nearly there?” Izzy whispered urgently in her ear. “I'm dying for the loo.”

“Is there far to go?” Kate asked the driver.

“Nearly there, ma'am.”

They entered a narrower street and immediately the neighborhood changed again. The street was darker, leafier, and numbered canopies graced the entrances to the buildings. The feel was residential. They cruised past a pocket of restaurants and a café. The steps leading up to the grand brownstone buildings were decked out with hollowed-out pumpkins and Halloween decorations. The taxi turned right and seconds later they pulled up outside a five-story apartment building across the road from a tree-lined park.

A uniformed doorman emerged from the canopied doorway and bustled about as Mannix paid the taxi driver.

“The O'Brien family, I presume?” said the doorman, smiling broadly. “I'm Du Bois.”

“You okay with that, young miss?” He took Izzy's suitcase.

“Welcome to Manhattan,” he said once inside the airy lobby with its wood paneling and marble desk. “The Harveys are on the top floor. I'll take you up—a very nice apartment too.”

Kate felt sure this was something of an understatement. She looked at Mannix, raising her eyebrows.

“The toilet?” came Izzy's strangled tones as Du Bois pushed open the heavy oak door to the Harveys' apartment.

“The restroom is down the hall, fourth on the right, young miss.”

As Izzy jiggled down the hallway, Du Bois showed them around. The space afforded was at least three times that of their house in Limerick. The home-exchange site hadn't done it justice, unable to capture the generous scale of the rooms or the height of the ceilings. The apartment was even more tasteful and elegant than it appeared on-screen. The French windows
that led out to the small balcony provided a panoramic view of the park, the river, and what Kate surmised were New Jersey skyscrapers in the distance. Kate wondered at the cost of such an apartment with its open aspect in this vertical city. She worried even more now that the exchange seemed unfairly balanced in their favor.

As Du Bois escorted them from room to elegant room, the heavy scent of fresh-cut flowers lingered in the air. There, in a simply cut crystal vase on the island in the kitchen was an artful arrangement of long-stemmed tiger lilies. An envelope leaned against the vase. Kate suffered a sharp pang of regret. She thought back to the bottle of supermarket wine and the welcome card she'd left on her own kitchen table.

Opening the envelope, she quickly scanned the headed notepaper:

Dear Kate, Mannix and family,

What a pity I won't be here to meet you. From our conversations I feel like I know you already. By now Du Bois will have shown you around. He will be only too happy to oblige with any queries or advice—he's my right-hand man!

I've left a list of restaurants on the sideboard in the hallway together with the car keys should you choose to
travel farther afield. By the way, the Italian on West 74th is a great neighborhood restaurant. Nothing fancy, but it does a great calzone.

Am so looking forward to our trip to Ireland. I haven't been back in fifteen years.

Have a wonderful time! And don't forget the Circle Line—highly recommended.

Best wishes,

Hazel

“What a lovely welcome,” said Kate, comparing it with the bald welcome card she'd left at home. She should have made more of an
effort. “She seems like such a warm person. Oh, I really hope she enjoys her time in Ireland.”

“Not as much as me . . .”

“What's that, Du Bois?” Kate turned round.

Du Bois was picking a hair from his lapel. His expression was solemn. “No one deserves a vacation more than Mrs. Harvey.”

Kate flashed a look of concern at Mannix. But Mannix wasn't listening.

Before she could say anything else Du Bois had turned on his heel and made for the door as if already regretting what he'd said.

OCTOBER

H
e was doing his best to enjoy himself. He really was. Cracking jokes, jollying everyone along, trying to say all the right things. But his heart wasn't in it. Every now and then shards of anxiety cut through him.
Why now?
When he was on the other side of the ocean?
He thought it had all been sorted out.

“You okay?” Kate asked, her eyes locking onto his, like the grand inquisitor she was. He knew she smelled blood.

“Of course,” he answered casually. “That's some size of a bath in there. Big enough for two,” he added, winking.

“That's the third time you've been since we arrived, Mannix.”

“Good God! Can't a guy go to the bathroom in peace? If you must know—I've been feeling dodgy ever since that airport sandwich. I thought it looked funny.”

“Take it easy, I was only saying.”

It was Kate's turn to look aggrieved now but he needed her off his case. The truth was, while he did feel queasy, the bathroom was the only place he could text in peace.

“Okay, then, I'm good to go now—everyone else ready?”

It looked chilly outside. He tightened his scarf and tucked his mobile safely into his parka pocket. It was set to mute.

The kids were in overdrive now, awed by their surroundings, reveling in every new experience. Fergus was bug-eyed with tiredness. Izzy, stoic as usual, was drawing on her stamina.

“Not too far on our first night, okay, Mannix? Maybe that Italian that Hazel Harvey mentioned?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. We'll see,” he said, bustling everyone out the apartment door.

Nothing irritated him more than strangers or people of passing acquaintance proscribing how he should spend his holidays or his free time. He remembered an old school report card—
Mannix does not take kindly to instruction
. You could chalk that one down.

“Fergus has been poring over the map,” Kate whispered, on her tiptoes. Her breath felt warm and damp. “Fergus is going to direct us, isn't that right, Ferg?” she said loudly.

Fergus nodded, all business, holding on to the shoulder straps of his holiday backpack.

In the lobby, Kate engaged the Du Bois guy in conversation—asking him where they should go for breakfast. Were there any bakeries nearby? The sort of thing they could easily figure out for themselves. That too irritated Mannix. Could they not just head out on the street and find this stuff themselves? There was no need to ingratiate themselves with this guy.

“Your new best friend?” he asked as they hit the pavement. Almost instantly, he regretted his surliness.

“Oh . . . don't be such a grump!” Kate said pleasantly. “You know what, kids? I think someone is hungry and just a little tired.”

Kate looked to Fergus for support, but he was Daddy's boy. Recriminations were not forthcoming. Mannix linked his son's arm and pulled him close in the cold.

“Careful, Dad!”

Fergus switched the map from one hand to the other as if it were
the key to some ancient treasure. Kate threaded her arm through Izzy's and the two of them walked ahead together, chatting and laughing.

It was true Mannix was withered from traveling but his short temper was due in larger part to the unsettling text messages. There had been only the odd one over the past few weeks but now there was a steady trickle. He could block the number but something told him he should play along for now.

“Three blocks down before we turn?” Kate shouted over her shoulder. She cut a vibrant figure in her ocher velvet coat.

“Three blocks downtown and four blocks east,” said Fergus with authority.

“Spoken like a New Yorker,” said Kate.

Mannix felt heartened at this little exchange. Fergus was relaxing into his new environment, delighted to have a job to do, easily able to decipher the neatly laid out streets with their grid system and numbering. His son might be a poor reader but he had a facility with numbers.

As Mannix watched his wife happily chatting, he felt a burst of affection and admiration for her. Instinctively, Kate knew how to stroke Fergus, how to make him feel good. But her razor-sharp intuition was something to be feared. Kate knew something was up. He'd tell her soon. Perhaps here, while they were on holiday. He'd tell her some of it. He'd probably only confirm some of what she already suspected. However, it should be enough to keep her at bay. For now.

Kate inspired in him a feeling to do better, to be a better person. Much as he tried, he all too often felt he let her down. He knew she'd married him against her mother's wishes. He also knew that it had taken a lot for her to do so. Sometimes, the debt of loyalty and gratitude he owed her felt too onerous. Too burdensome. He simply wanted to go back to loving her as he had in the beginning. But that was the trouble about beginnings. There could be only one. Still, where they were at today was way better than where they'd been at a year ago. He should stop tormenting himself and connect with the present and his surroundings.

Once they crossed Broadway, they found themselves on a residential street decked out with Halloween decorations. Mannix began to feel that he'd drifted onto the set of a Batman movie. Gotham City. Swirls and puffs of steam escaped from grilles in the ground. They spewed out white clouds that curled and vanished into the night air. Hollowed-out pumpkins cast a mellow yet eerie glow. Sirens screeched close by. Mannix imagined Batmobiles swooping out of the sky.

“One more block.” In the gloom Fergus consulted the map.

“Well, you managed to get us here, Ferg,” said Izzy a few minutes later as they descended the steps to the restaurant.

“Dough balls, here I come,” said Mannix, patting his stomach.

The restaurant was perfect. Absolutely fit for the evening's purpose. Not stiff or formal, which Mannix loathed, but low lighting, low chatter, and low-key.

“Four? This way, sir.”

A shapely woman in high heels snaked her way through the busy tables right through to a corner table at the back. Mannix hadn't realized his admiration was quite so obvious until he caught his wife's bemused expression.

“What?” he asked innocently.

“You know what,” she said tartly.

“I'll take this chair . . .” said Mannix, making for the chair with its back to the room. He knew that Kate would enjoy a bird's-eye view.

“I'd like your chair, Dad,” Fergus piped up. “I'd like to see the photographs.”

On closer inspection, the exposed brick wall hosted black-and-white movie stills.
Breakfast at Tiffany's, Roman Holiday,
and, of course,the original
King Kong
movie. What could be better? Everyone was happy. And to crown it all, the menu was reasonably priced.

Mannix looked around at the clusters of people, eating and chatting much as he imagined they might do in their own homes and kitchens. They were informally dressed, the men with rolled-up shirtsleeves and casual jeans, younger women in weekend sweaters with little makeup, as if the decision to eat out were last minute and casually made. As
if dining out in this neighborhood café was a regular occurrence, no ceremony required.

The one exception to this was a table of elderly well-groomed ladies. Their hair and bones looked stiff.

“Nice to see,” remarked Kate.

“The old ladies?” said Mannix.

“Yes. It's nice that they feel safe to come out at nighttime. To enjoy themselves in company. Not be invisible.”

“Wow, look at all that jewelry . . .” Izzy tried to whisper, joining in the conversation.

“Ssshhh . . .” said Kate, as their shapely waitress arrived with Cokes.

“Class!” said Fergus. Usually he had to beg and cajole for a Coke, but to have one arrive without any groveling was a pleasure indeed.

Kate took out her camera and snapped a happy Fergus and his Coke.

“Mum, stop!” hissed Izzy. “You're making us look like dorks.”

“You'd better get used to it, Izzy,” said Kate. “I'll be taking tons of photos on this holiday.”

As they waited for their calzones they discussed their schedule for the next few days.

“Empire State tomorrow, pleeease?”

Fergus coughed as bubbles went up his nose.

“The guidebooks say that Sunday can be the best—the queues are shorter,” said Kate. “Do you think you could wait until then?”

Fergus crossed his arms and thought. “Mmmm . . . I suppose if the queues are shorter and it means we get to the top quicker . . . Yeah, okay, we'll wait till Sunday.”

“Good call, Soldier.” Mannix patted him on the back.

“The planetarium at the Natural History Museum tomorrow?” Izzy asked. “If that's okay with everyone? There's supposed to be a really cool show—I read about it on the Web. A big bang simulation and stuff about black holes.”

Kate looked at Mannix.

“I don't see why not. That's okay with me. How about you, Mannix?”

“Sounds like a plan!”

Mannix's list of must-sees was modest: Greenwich Village, the Dakota, Strawberry Fields. Kate's included the Museum of Modern Art and the Guggenheim. A thought struck Mannix.

“Hey, Ferg, give me the map a minute—something I want to check,” said Mannix. “Thought so!”

“What?” said Kate.

“The Dakota—it's just across the street. We have to take a look-see when we finish here. That's where John Lennon lived just before he was shot.” He looked from Izzy to Fergus.

“Yeah, Dad—we know.” Izzy rolled her eyes.

“Hey, Izzy—how many eleven-year-olds can say they've seen where Lennon lived?”

“How many would care?” Izzy retorted.

“Are you sure we tipped enough?” asked Kate when they left the restaurant after a pleasant meal. Outside the air was biting, but it was a dry bracing wind, unlike the bone-drenching wetness of the west of Ireland.

“Well, it's a bit late now if we didn't,” said Mannix. “Now, one slight detour, guys. It'd be a pity not to take a look. We're so close . . .” And he marched them across the street and around the corner.

“That's Central Park, isn't it, across the road?” said Izzy, as they stood admiring the Dakota.

“Sure is,” said Mannix. “We're in a great location. We've lucked out with the apartment, all right. Haven't we, Kate?”

“We sure have,” Kate agreed.

“It's odd, though, don't you think?” Mannix said. “The Harveys doing a house swap? They can't be short of money.”

“I know. It
is
odd.” Kate looked thoughtful. “But you know, there are some people who just don't like staying in hotels . . .”

“That's just as well, then,” Izzy piped up. “Because our house is no hotel!”

Back on Riverside Drive, the doorman had changed. A fresh-faced guy in his early twenties. He looked like a college student.

“Hi, I'm Henderson, the night porter. You folks must be the O'Briens. Du Bois filled me in. Did you all have a nice evening?”

“Lovely, thanks,” said Kate. “It's so pretty, everywhere decorated for Halloween.”

“You guys going to the Halloween Parade in Greenwich Village Monday?” He looked at the kids.

“Can we, Dad?” Fergus tugged his arm.

“That's a definite maybe,” Mannix replied, smiling. Their schedule was shaping up nicely.

Back in the apartment, Kate went to settle the kids into their bedrooms. Fergus was asking probing questions about time zones, which could become complicated. Mannix went into the kitchen to sort out a nightcap. His body was telling him he was stupid with fatigue but his mind wouldn't rest. His head had gone into overdrive. He kidded himself that a drink would knock him out.

There were a couple of bottles of wine chilling in the fridge, together with bottles of orange juice, eggs, and ready-to-heat Danish pastries. Mannix wondered if Kate had left a similarly stocked fridge at home. Best not to ask.

His mobile vibrated again as he stood there staring into the cold white light of the fridge. He'd ignored it in the restaurant. Maybe it
was
work this time. He scrolled through the messages.

“I see you,” came a whisper from behind.

He jumped. He tried to slip the mobile into his pocket.

“It's Spike, isn't it?” said Kate. “You never look this worried about work. Come on, Mannix, I know it's Spike. I know there's something going on.”

He was trapped.
He'd have to give her something to chew, at least. And that something might as well be Spike. He'd intended to tell her, but not like this—not at the end of their very first day in New York.

“Can't it wait, Kate?” He handed her a glass.

“I think I've waited long enough, don't you? I never asked why Spike stayed, not the real reason. I never asked what was going on—I
didn't want to know. I went along with your cock-and-bull story. I don't want whatever it is to spoil our holiday but you're on that thing all the time. You're obviously uptight. God knows, it's not that I want to know what Spike's been up to, but this can't go on, Mannix.”

Kate sat down. Waiting. Looking at him patiently. God, he hated when she spoke to him like that. Like he was a kid. Like he was going to disappoint her again. Which he was.

But it was a question of where to start and where to call a halt. Where was the beginning of this thing and where was the end? He could just about remember how it started but it wasn't over yet. He might as well start with Spike.

“Look, you're right, Kate. Spike's in a spot of bother. With the Bolgers.”

As soon as he said it, he realized how ridiculous that must sound. Being in a spot of bother with the Bolgers was rather like saying he'd had a brush with the Taliban or a minor skirmish with al-Qaida. The Bolgers didn't do spots of bother. They did mayhem. Revenge beatings, drive-by shootings, and in the last few months scalped a guy they felt had slighted them. The Bolgers were hard-core psychotic criminals.