Dark Mirrors (39 page)

“No,” Esmée replied, afraid to look up. “But they think Brady may have had a hand in it.”

Had Philip been a good man, an upstanding citizen, a pillar of the community there would have been outrage over his death. An Irish man murdered in the South of Spain and in such hideous circumstances? How could this have happened? But Philip wasn’t any of those things. He had defined his path, so people weren’t surprised it had come to a bad end.

And now, with his death, real this time, both Esmée and Julie had some bizarre decisions to make.

“I can’t bury him twice,” Julie told her with an apologetic but resolute expression. “As far as I’m concerned he died years ago and I’m happy with that. I’m happy now. What he did to us. What he did to you, your children . . . I’m glad the bastard is dead.”

But Esmée wasn’t ready to let him go that easily.

* * *

It was an unusually cold day, but then it wouldn’t be Ireland if it wasn’t unusual. Only Esmée stood in the chapel of the crematorium, looking tall and elegant in a black shift dress, heels and her black mac, the same one she wore the day she met him in Spain. She wore a cerise pink scarf around her neck, a splash of colour, a gesture to represent life after his death. She held her arms crossed
in front of her with her hand resting clenched against her mouth.

The priest stood embarrassed before her. He’d never done this before: presided over a funeral with only a single mourner. He had to insist on even this small ceremony. “The dead deserve to be forgiven,” he had told her, a final act of humanity before sending them on their journey to the next life. He coughed politely, ill at ease but determined to do his duty whatever this man’s sins.

“Dearly Beloved,” he began, looking at her, the only member of the congregation, but she wasn’t listening.

Esmée couldn’t take her eyes off the simple, unadorned timber coffin. He was gone. She remained standing throughout the short service, the words and readings merging into one long murmur that made no sense at all. And when it was finally over the haunting guitar and flute combination of Gabriel Fauré’s Pavane accompanied the casket as it rolled slowly back and only when the two sumptuous scarlet curtains met did she take her seat. There were no tears and no prayers; she was numb. She let the evocative notes play out their elegant but humble finale then stood up and left the chapel. Outside in the cemetery in the half-hearted sunshine there was no ignoring the white outhouse adjacent to the main building, its chimney billowing a light grey smoke up to the skies. She sat on a bench intended for serene meditation and watched him burn.

Where had the Esmée of last year gone? When had she become so hard?

* * *

A firm squeeze from Fin on her leg yanked her back to reality where the Communion congregation was getting to their feet to celebrate in song. So happy. So optimistic, and thankfully infectious. The church burst into applause as the hymn came to an end and her handsome boy along with all the other children made their way back to their seats.

“You were fantastic,” she told him as she bent down to cuddle him and kiss the top of his head.

“Mom!” he protested indignantly.

Outside in the courtyard there were photographs and smiles. The entire family had turned out to celebrate, including Julie and Beth. Harry wasn’t quite ready to make that leap, but Beth was curious about her little half-brother and sister. And they were welcomed by Esmée’s family with open hearts, minds and deep curiosity. Sylvia hugged first and spoke after.

At Matthew’s request they were having “a barbeque feast” back at Granny’s. And it was just that, with Tom at the helm wearing an apron and a grin. Rarely in control in a kitchen, barbequed spare ribs and marinated prawns were his culinary saving grace. Sitting in the heart of the gorgeous garden, they ate the delicious food, drank chilled beers and homemade lemonade and laughed. Lots. Conversation flowed freely and banter rolled as Julie was welcomed into the fold through hilarious tales and intimate confessions of a family growing up. Esmée took pleasure in watching the barriers come down as between them. Her siblings cajoled and encouraged Julie until she could see her shoulders relax and her smile reach her eyes. At that moment she herself was more relaxed than she had been in months. There was real joy in her life and although Philip, despite his true passing, would always feature in some part in her conscience, she had closure.

* * *

That closure had come on a cold and windy Monday morning. She had driven to the cliffs, parked and made her way down the shale slope to the dirt track that wound its way like a belt around the cliff face. She, just like Philip, knew this trail like the back of her hand and she had mentally picked out the best spot, where the drop was most sheer. Was this, she wondered, how Philip had planned his disappearing act, working out the time, the day, the detail in advance? Only he never actually got this far down. She met no one as she made her way along the undulating path, envious of the seagulls as they effortlessly rode the air currents. The wind picked up spray from the waves, which crashed against the rock face below, and carried it up to pepper salt on her face. She could taste it on her lips when she stopped. This was the spot. This wasn’t a ritual, but she needed to take a moment to think. Admiring the wilds of nature around her, she committed Philip’s memory finally to the depths he had pretended to go to.

Glancing around to make sure she was alone, she took from her bag a small but deadly bundle. Unwrapping it from its cloth bandage, she drew back her arm as far as she could, then putting all her energy into her swing cast her arm forward, letting go of the black weapon with a jolt. She watched it fly and followed its trajectory, happy that she had given it enough thrust to see it well over the edge to be swallowed by the sea below.

It was gone and with it any chance of Philip being exposed as her father’s murderer. The enormity of what she had just done was patently clear to her, but if there was a chance that she could spare her family more humiliation and pain then she would take it. She didn’t want her kids growing up with that stigma. For that she would do time herself. And if her brother or sisters were ever to find out what she had just done, not only would they not understand but they would never forgive her. But they would never find out. She would never tell and she trusted Harry would keep silent too, to protect his own family.

* * *

The ring of the doorbell interrupted the afternoon.

“I’ll get it!” Penny sighed when no one else moved.

Tom looked at Esmée with a raised eyebrow as a casually dressed Maloney followed the grinning Penny through the French doors and out into the garden.

“Don’t say a word!” she warned, handing Tom her plate, and went to greet her guest.

With a hand at her waist Maloney bent to kiss her on the cheek.

“Thanks for inviting me.”

“You’re welcome!” she responded with a smile.

“Where’s Matthew?” he asked, waving the obligatory sealed envelope in his hand.

“Money Bags is under there,” she replied, indicating the underside of the table where her son was quietly counting and re-counting his day’s earnings.

“A true banker in the making!” He smiled wryly.

“Maloney!” Matthew erupted from under the table, his eyes fixed on the tell-tale envelope.

Laughing, Maloney handed it over and Matthew, rewarding him with a big grin, dived under the table again.

“I see I’m not the only guest,” Maloney noted, looking towards Julie.

“I know,” Esmée beamed. “She’s great! And Mum loves her! Come on, I’ll get you some food!”
Leading him to the table, she offered him the spare seat opposite Julie before heading back to the smoking barbeque.

“You really need to sort that out,” Fin warned her from beside Tom.

“God, I know,” Esmée shrugged, filling a plate for him. “He’s a good guy, but . . .”

“But what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. We’ll see . . .”

“Have you kissed him yet?” Tom asked devilishly.

“No!” Esmée said quietly, looking over her shoulder to make sure he hadn’t heard.

“And why not?” he asked, and she replied with a look that warned ‘don’t push it!’

“Leave her be!” Fin retorted, digging him in the ribs with her elbow, only to repeat his question: “So, why not?” Then she and Tom broke into immature sniggers.

Grinning, Esmée grabbed a slightly incinerated burger, turned and walked away, her head held high.

The remainder of the afternoon came and went. Esmée sat and observed the characters around her, enjoying the mood and relishing the smiles. She had done the right thing, of that she was sure, and that is what made all of this possible. From behind she felt a hand squeeze tight on her shoulder.

“All right?” she asked as Fin threw herself into the empty chair.

“Jesus, I’m wrecked!” Fin moaned, kicking off her shoes. “And my hair stinks of smoke. It’s hard work, this barbeque lark!”

“Thanks for helping out today – you two played a blinder!” Esmée responded while stroking her young son’s hair as he snuggled into her lap, fast asleep.

“Anything for you, m’dear!”

“For me or for him?” Esmée grinned, nodding towards Tom who was munching away on the last of the prawns.

“Whatever!” Fin responded with a smirk. “He’s all right, is your brother!”

“You’re not so bad yourself!” Esmée said.

A blushing Fin swatted the compliment away with her hand. “Ah, stop now!”

“No, seriously, Fin, thanks for everything these last months – you’ve been so good to me.”

“You don’t need to thank me! I’ve only done what any friend would do. You’d have done the same for me.”

“Yeah, except you wouldn’t have been so thick as to end up in my situation!”

“Ah, for God’s sake, Esmée, cut yourself some slack! You weren’t to know. And you’ve done an incredible job, you know that, don’t you?”

Esmée shrugged, but had to admit as she surveyed the scene in front of her that she’d done all right.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” she replied gracefully.

Fin reached across, took hold of her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. She didn’t let go, but held onto it and they sat in silence letting the conversations around them filter in and out.

“Look at that,” Fin said after a while, nodding towards the centre of the garden where Amy sat cross-legged on the blanket while Beth brushed her hair and was introduced to each of her twelve almost identical Barbie dolls.

“She doesn’t know herself,” Esmée mused, smiling affectionately at her chattering daughter. “She thinks Beth is just hers.”

She sat and contemplated the two girls, Fin’s hand still covering her own, and whispered, more to herself, than anyone else: “From darkness comes light.”