Semi-Sweet (37 page)

He didn’t answer, stabbing at the lift button, checking his watch, tucking his shirt into his trousers. “Come on, come on,”
he muttered.

“Calm down, would you?” Nora struggled into her jacket. “A few minutes aren’t going to make much difference at this stage.”

Patrick shot her a look she hadn’t seen before, and then he turned back and banged his palm against the lift button.
“Fuck.”

The journey back to Clongarvin was mostly silent. Patrick drove fast, passing other cars recklessly, hooting impatiently at
anyone who got in his way.

Nora hung on, enjoying the ride. “Is she in the hospital?”

“Yes,” he answered shortly.

“What did her message say? How long ago was it?”

He made no response, and Nora gave up. When they approached Clongarvin’s outer limits, forty minutes later, Patrick pulled
in to the curb.

Nora looked at him. “I hope you’re not expecting me to get out here,” she said. “It’s miles—”

“Call a taxi,” Patrick said, leaning past her and opening her door. “Do it, Nora. I haven’t got time to argue.” He yanked
his wallet from his jacket and shoved a twenty-euro note at her. “Here.”

She took the money and got out. “I don’t believe—”

But he was gone, screeching toward Clongarvin’s maternity hospital.

“Charming,” Nora said aloud. She took out her phone. “Absolutely bloody charming.” She couldn’t walk ten yards in these shoes,
and he knew it. She dialed a number and said, “You couldn’t come and pick me up, could you? Long story.”

Adam sighed. “Where are you?”

Where are you?
Leah had said in her second message.
Patrick, please ring me—I need you.
Her voice tight with tension.

And Fiona’s message, less than an hour later. Calmer, much calmer.
Patrick, in case you’re at all interested, my daughter is having your baby. We’re at the hospital.

And no other messages, just twelve missed calls. Leah, Leah, Leah, Leah, Fiona, Leah, Leah, Fiona, Fiona, Fiona, Fiona, Fiona.

He ran through the sliding doors. “Leah Bradshaw,” he snapped to the girl behind the glass screen. She tapped her computer
and asked if he was a relative.

“I’m the father,” he answered shortly, his gut a tight knot, his shirt stuck to his back, the urge to urinate nagging in his
bladder.

Fiona met him at the entrance to the labor ward. The skirt of her navy suit was creased, but otherwise she was as unruffled
as ever.

“You have a son,” she said, looking at him as if he’d just spit on the floor in front of her. “Congratulations.”

John looked at his mobile and read
DANIELLE
.

“Sorry,” he said to Patsy. “Better take this.”

“Hi, Dad,” Danielle said.

“Hey there. What’s up?”

“Nothing…” Danielle’s voice sounded far away. John pressed the phone closer to his ear. “I just got your letter.”

“Yes?” He preferred writing. He was never good on the phone. “When will I see you?” He’d suggested a week, longer if she wanted.
He’d have to invest in a camp bed of some kind, but they’d manage.

“Dad…I don’t think I’ll be coming over. Not this summer,” she said.

John transferred the phone to his other ear and moved farther from the counter. “You’re not coming?”

“No.” A short silence, and then she said, “I think I should be here, with Mum.”

“I see.” He hesitated. “Maybe you could come later in the summer? Don’t you have a few months off?” He heard the neediness
in his voice, so of course she’d hear it too.

“I think it’s better that I stay here,” she said, and then he understood. She was choosing, and she’d chosen Lara. She’d taken
sides, when he’d thought there was no battle.

“Okay, love,” he said. “That’s no problem. I’ll see you next time I’m home. How’s everything else?”

When he hung up, he turned back to Patsy. “Sorry about that,” he said again.

“That’s all right, dear,” Patsy said. “No bad news, I hope.”

“No,” he said. “Not bad.”

He’d go back for a few days as soon as he could organize it; he’d see her in Scotland instead. Maybe she’d have a change of
heart if they spent some time together on Bute. Maybe she’d come over later on. And until then he had Hannah.

The thought of her lifted his spirits. After so many years, he’d forgotten the pleasure of affectionate physical intimacy.
The warm feel, the scent of a woman’s body next to his, the whispered words, the soft sounds of her reaction to his touch—

“Your change, dear,” Patsy said. “You’re miles away.”

“So I had to rescue Nora today,” Adam said.

“Rescue her? How?”

“She was stranded on the Galway Road. She said she’d had a row with the driver of the car she was in, and she’d made him stop
and let her out.”

“Whose car? Where was she coming from?”

“She wouldn’t tell me. She said it didn’t matter, it was over now. I presume it was the mystery man she was hiding from me
when I called round that time.”

Hannah emptied chopped walnuts from the scales into a bowl. “Shouldn’t she have been at work, instead of gallivanting around
the place with some man?”

“I didn’t ask.” He picked a cherry from an open tub. “Nora will do as she pleases, as always.”

“That job won’t last,” Hannah said. “Stop eating those cherries.”

“I don’t think she cares about the job, to be honest. I wouldn’t be surprised if she heads back to the U.S. soon. There’s
nothing for her in Clongarvin. She’s grown out of it.”

Hannah said nothing.

“Well, time for my clarinet practice,” Adam said, moving toward the door.

“I like that little piece you’re learning now.”

“It’s Chopin. I’m getting a musical education, if nothing else.”

Left alone, Hannah wondered again about Nora O’Connor. Clearly she’d gotten involved with someone she shouldn’t have. Someone,
maybe, who wouldn’t worry too much about being faithful, who wouldn’t object if Nora made it plain that she was interested.

Someone like Patrick Dunne, who’d already been unfaithful to Hannah, maybe with more than one woman. He’d taken on Nora as
his PA and they’d been working closely together for the past few months now.

She measured flour and tipped it into the stand mixer’s bowl. She could be wrong—she hadn’t a shred of evidence to point to
Patrick. He could have changed. She shouldn’t judge him on what had happened between them. And it was none of her business
anyway.

As she weighed sugar, Chopin wafted from upstairs. And a few seconds later, from the sitting room next door, Kirby joined
in for the very first time.

Geraldine had refilled the teapot twice. She hadn’t had to refill the biscuit plate, because it hadn’t been touched.

He started drinking after it happened,
Alice had said.
I know he always liked a drink, but this was different, this was serious drinking. And it was whiskey, which he never used
to drink. And lately he’s taken to spending most of his time in bed—at least he’s in bed whenever I’m in the house.

She hadn’t cried. She wasn’t crying now. But she looked older, and more tired, than Geraldine ever remembered seeing her.

I did nothing,
Alice had told them.
I saw what was happening to him, and I did nothing. I said nothing. I was too angry. I thought, if he wants to kill himself,
let him. I didn’t care—or I told myself I didn’t care.

Her hand had shaken when she’d lifted her cup. The tea had trembled as it moved toward her mouth.

He’s agreed to go to the doctor,
she’d said.
I haven’t mentioned AA yet, but if he doesn’t, I will. And he’s going to phone you tomorrow, Stephen. He’s going to ask if
he can take unpaid leave, until…

She’d faltered then, and Stephen had said quickly,
We’ll sort something out Alice. Don’t worry.

He’s been called to the district court,
she’d told them.
On the eighteenth. The solicitor says he’ll be formally charged and then we’ll have to wait until the case is heard in the
circuit court, another few months.

Geraldine had pushed the plate of biscuits toward her, but she’d shaken her head. Geraldine had asked her if she’d like apple
crumble, left over from dinner an hour earlier, but she’d said no.

I visited the little boy’s grave,
she’d told them.
I brought him flowers. I visited him often, sometimes every day.

And then she’d gone home.

“I’m so sorry,” Patrick said. “I honestly didn’t think there was a chance anything could happen.”

“I know,” Leah said.

“If I’d had the smallest idea, of course I’d never have gone to that meeting.”

“I know.”

“I’d have stayed at home, not gone in to work at all. You know that, right?”

“Yes.”

“You should have said if you weren’t feeling well before I left.”

“I know. I should have.”

“But of course I shouldn’t have gone off without being contactable, I can see that now. I should have left my phone on.”

“Yes.”

“At least your mother was here. You weren’t on your own.”

“No.”

“And we have a beautiful son.”

“Yes.”

Nora had taken the day off, she’d phoned in sick. Patrick was gone to a meeting and couldn’t be contacted, and Nora was off
sick and not answering her phone. Leah’s friend Nora, who couldn’t be trusted an inch. Nora who would walk over her own grandmother’s
corpse to get to a man she fancied.