The Delaney Woman (28 page)

W
hen he pulled the car up to the front of the house, Tom could see through the window that his mother was in the kitchen with Claire. Swearing softly, he turned off the engine and climbed the front steps. He didn't want to have this conversation in front of an audience.

“Hello,” he said more easily than he felt. “I'm home. Where's Heather?”

“In her room,” said Claire. “We've been doing schoolwork. She's nearly finished.”

Tom kissed his mother and picked at the carrots she was peeling. “What are you doing here?”

Susan slapped his arm. “Is that any way to greet your mother? Claire invited me to dinner. She's cooking.

“Another treat,” he muttered under his breath.

Claire's mouth tightened. Quickly she turned to stir something on the stove.

“What are we having?” asked Tom.

“Stew,” she said without looking at him. “If you don't like it, help yourself to something else.”

“Stew is fine. Do we have everything or shall I go out?”

Claire turned, hands on her hips holding the ladle, stew dripping on the floor. “You just got home,” she hissed. “There's no excuse for you to leave.”

Tom frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You're never here. I'm doing everything. This is ridiculous.”

He looked pointedly at the ladle. “You're dripping on the floor.”

Claire exploded. “To hell with the floor. Damn you, Tom Whelan. There are more important things than a clean floor.”

He grabbed the ladle from her hand. “Obviously. What's gotten into you? You're hysterical.”

“And why not!” she shouted at him. “I should be hysterical. I'm terrified of every knock on the door. I have a nonexistent husband and a daughter who is acting out, most likely because she doesn't know who she's going to lose next.”

“Stop it, Claire,” Tom glanced at his mother who stood at rigid attention near the sink. “Heather will hear you. What are you talking about?”

Tears spilled over and ran down Claire's cheeks. “Your mother already knows everything and you know perfectly well what I'm talking about. I can't take this anymore. I thought you were through with this and now that woman has dragged you into it all over again.”

“If you're referring to Kellie, she was the one who was dragged into it. I was already there.”

“They left you alone for fifteen years, Tom. Now, coincidentally, they decide to resurrect the Kevin Davies incident? Don't make me laugh. Kellie isn't the only one in danger. Without you, nothing Davies did can be proven. Have you thought of that?”

He sighed and ran an unsteady hand through his hair. He wouldn't ask how she knew where he'd been. He wasn't ready for that yet. “What's this about Heather?”

Claire lifted her hands and dropped them. Turning away, she shook her head.

Susan stepped forward. “Mother Mary called Claire in today. Apparently Heather is being defiant at school.”

“Heather?” Tom was incredulous.

“Children react differently to things, Tom. You can't assume that she's unaffected because she doesn't say anything. This situation isn't a good one. Kellie came into this house and she's gone. Now, Claire is leaving. From what I understand you haven't been much help lately.”

Tom struggled to control his temper. Did no one understand what he was going through? “I'll see to Heather,” he said. “Don't wait dinner on us. We're going out.”

He left them in the kitchen, standing frozen in their places, and he realized that he didn't care. His daughter was the one who mattered.

Heather had to be coaxed into her jacket. Tom looked at his child, his love, at her rosy cheeks, her shiny light-brown hair, her eyes clear and pale as glass. She didn't look defiant. She looked sweet and clean and lovely.

Brennan's, Banburren's only claim to a real restaurant, was exceptionally busy for a Thursday evening. Instead of being seated immediately at a table, they were ushered into a sitting room handed menus and drinks and left alone. Heather sipped her lemon fizzle and Tom his ale. Neither spoke for a long time. Finally Tom broke the silence. “What would you like to eat, love?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. Where are Mum and Gran?”

“I didn't want to share you tonight,” Tom explained.

“Mum was shouting.”

“Sometimes people shout. She's all right now.”

Heather shook her head. “I don't think so.” She tilted her head. “She cries when she thinks no one is looking.”

“Does she now?”

“Why can't she live with us?”

“Because she was gone for too long. She wouldn't be happy with me nor I with her.”

Heather's eyes clouded. “I don't want her to go. I like her.”

Tom sighed. “I'm sorry, love.”

“Why must she leave us?”

It was a feeling he experienced quite often lately, this sense of shame, almost a dislike of himself. “She needs to find a place of her own where she can be comfortable.”

“Is Kellie coming back?”

He choked on his ale. “Why do you ask?”

Heather shrugged. “She said she would e-mail me, but she hasn't.”

Tom looked at her downcast eyes. “I'm sorry, I don't know,” he said again, helplessly.

Susan was still there when he brought Heather home and tucked her into bed. Claire had already gone up. The door to her room was shut and the tiny space near the floor was dark as pitch.

Tom returned to the kitchen and poured himself a mug of tea. “Say it,” he said flatly.

“I have every intention of doing so,” replied Susan. “What in the name of Mary and all the saints do you think you're doing?”

“Be specific, please.”

“If you don't want any part of the woman send her away. Look what you're doing to your child.”

He turned around and frowned at his mother. “I want to but where do you suggest I send a woman with no money and no job prospects? I can't support two households. She wants to go on to university. She's applied for dole money. We're waiting for the approval to come through.”

Susan tapped her fingers on the table. She shook her head. “Your father would be turning in his grave to know that one of his own took the dole.”

Tom struggled for patience. “Claire isn't one of his own, Mam. She's my estranged wife. I've also filed for divorce.”

“That's the first sensible thing you've said tonight.”

“Thank you,” he said bitterly. “Meanwhile, what do I do with her?”

Susan thought a minute and then drew a deep breath. “She can stay with me.”

He stared at her. “You can't mean that.”

“I do. I've thought about it for some time now. She isn't happy here and you're miserable. Heather is feeling out of sorts because the two of you are. It's a difficult situation. I can help. I'm alone. The house is big enough for the both of us. Claire can leave when she's ready.”

“Have you told her about your offer?”

“Not yet. I wanted to talk with you first.”

Tom wrapped his arms around his mother. “Thank you. You're a saint.”

“Not quite.”

“Almost.”

“Well—” Her eyes twinkled. “Almost.”

Kellie sat in John Griffith's office in London. It was dusk and throughout the city, lights warmed the deepening night.

“You've done a marvelous job, Kellie,” Griffith said, pouring brandy into her glass. “You're very brave and, I might add, relentless.”

She wasn't ready to forgive British Intelligence. They'd dropped the ball in this investigation. She'd done their job for them. “Will it be enough?” she asked shortly.

“It will. At this very moment, an order for the arrest of Dennis McGarrety is being processed. Davies has already made a full confession in exchange for no prison time. He's finished politically and I imagine when the papers are through with him, he'll be finished socially as well.”

“It's too bad for him and his family,” she said. “The press are running with the story. It's on the front page of every newspaper.”

“Don't feel sorry for him. The man never paid for his crimes. It's past time.”

“What will happen to McGarrety?”

“We have to find him first. When that happens he'll be charged with Connor and Danny's murder. You should understand that until he's caught, you're in danger. What are your plans now?”

“My bags are packed. I'm off to Liverpool and from there I'll take the ferry over to Dublin. I've been offered a position at the National School for next term.” She finished her drink and stood. “I'll be leaving now.”

He shook her hand. “Stay out of sight, Kellie. Tell no one where you're going and don't go anywhere near Belfast until McGarrety is arrested. Please, keep in touch. Good luck to you.”

She waited in the queue for a taxi to Heathrow. Her mind was far away. Seeing Tom again had shaken her. She didn't want to suffer over Tom Whelan and his child along with everything else.

What was it that her mother had once told her sister who was bemoaning a broken heart?
If a man doesn't recognize what he has, then he isn't deserving. If a man is what you want, there are more out there
. It wasn't that Tom didn't recognize what he had, it was that he'd done so too late. The entire situation wasn't clean. Why, then, couldn't she leave it alone?

Kellie swallowed the lump in her throat. She wanted to see her mother, hear her no-nonsense voice, listen to her practical philosophy for managing the days, feel the aura of the house where she'd grown up, drink tea as only Mary Delaney could make it, eat her soda bread dripping in sweet butter, breathe in the yeast smell that hung over the kitchen.

She closed her eyes and thought of Tom. No matter how badly she wanted to, she would not stop in Banburren on the way home.

Tom's fists were clenched. “We've gone through all of this already.”

Claire sat at the table and shivered, completely helpless, dependent. Despite everything, all of their conversations and their acrimony, she had fallen apart when the day came for her to move on without Tom.

Trust had become foreign to Claire. The past seven years had eradicated the very idea from her consciousness. Every encounter outside her comfort zone was a potential trap. Danger lurked behind every greeting, every handshake, every casual question. Her mind and body were desperate for a level existence where simple tasks were carried out with the tedious, rhythms of boring regularity.

She yearned for normalcy, perhaps a small house with a garden, a job, friends, a glass or two on Fridays at the local pub. She craved security, safety, regular meals, and simple things like hand lotion and skin cream. And here was her husband telling her it wasn't to be, that she had to take a few risks—that it was time to try something new.

Scooping out a ladle of oats, Tom dumped them in a bowl and pushed it in front of her. Obediently, like a child, she picked up her spoon and began to eat.

“There's sugar in the bowl.” He gestured toward the middle of the table.

“It doesn't matter,” she said, forcing the food into her mouth, swallowing without tasting, recognizing her body's need for sustenance.

He poured the tea, added sugar and passed it to her. She drank it. Tom sat down across from her, his own oats neglected. “You can stay there for as long as you like. My mother wants you.”

“No, she doesn't,” Claire said tonelessly. “Susan is being kind. She's tolerating me because you don't want me.”

“Damn it, Claire. You don't want me, either.”

Claire's eyes filled. “How do you know?”

“You need someone. You're afraid, but you don't really want me.”

“What about Heather? Will I see her?”

“You're her mother.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I realize how important that bond is. Kellie helped me see that. You should be a part of your daughter's life. You love her. Somehow we'll work it out between us.”

“What of Kellie? Will you work things out with her?”

Tom stared at something over her head, considering his reply. At last he spoke. “The circumstances aren't right for us now. I had hoped—” He stopped. “Never mind. I'll wait while you clean up and talk to Heather. Then I'll walk you to Mam's.”

* * *

She was ready in less than ten minutes. Her no- nonsense style, no makeup, sensible hair and rough hands required little grooming. He remembered the way she had been when she first wanted him, long fluttery eyelashes and pink lips, a softly feminine woman. She must have cultivated her current habits during her prison years when softness was not a virtue. Tom recognized his own detachment. He had no feelings left for her, other than the regard of one human being toward another. Regret for mistakes of the past was pointless. He knew that. Still, he would have given a great deal to live his youth over again.

They'd decided Claire should be the one to tell her.

Heather Whelan nodded her head as if the news that her mother was moving out of her house and in with her grandmother happened to her every day.

“Do you have any questions, love?”

“No.”

“Are you sure you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me, in your own words”

“I'll stay here with Da and you'll live with Grandma,” Heather replied flatly.

It was such a small part of what Claire had explained to her. “What else?”

“You'll see me as much as I want. I'll have two homes.”

Claire reached out and lifted Heather's chin with her hand so that the little girl was looking directly at her. “Is that all right with you, love? Do you mind that I won't be here?”

Heather's eyes, clear and gray, stared at her mother. “Why can't you live here with us?”