Blood And Water (38 page)

Sitting in the luxurious back seat of the Jaguar, holding Martha’s hand, he felt an enormous sense of gratitude. He was completely happy.

Through the open window Cormac handed them each a fizzing glass of champagne with a small tray of chocolate-covered strawberries.

“A little something for the journey,” he told them before heading round to slip into the front passenger seat, his own glass of bubbly in hand.

“All set?” Seb asked, putting the car in gear and with a long and loud toot of the horn pulled away from the kerb to a whooping hurray from the watching crowd.

“Spill that and you’ll be sorry,” Seb growled at Cormac with a sideways glance.

“Don’t worry, Bro, it won’t last that long.” And in three gulps it was gone.

Seb threw his eyes to heaven – there were some things that would never change.

From the back seat Martha observed the gesture with a quiet smile.

It had been a long and tricky road to church.

“Do you think you’ll ever be able to trust me again?” she had asked Rian on one of their many journeys.

“You just need to give me time,” he told her gently, conscious that by right she had more to be forgiving of than him. He still loved her but he was confused by how much. He couldn’t fathom why, having been deceived so fundamentally, it didn’t seem to matter to his heart. He needed the time to make sure that some possible dormant part of him didn’t suddenly wake up one morning to decide ‘Nope. Can’t do it.’

So they started again.

“Let’s keep the ceremony simple,” she told Rian when finally it was clear they couldn’t be without each other.

The news was met with relief and jubilation from the girls who had to have the definition of ‘simple’ explained more than a few times. Although his second, this was her first wedding and while they were to be officially married in the registry office the real ceremony in Martha’s eyes would be the blessing in the church.

“I don’t want the memory of our day to be posed and false,” she told him.

“No problem,” he replied with a kiss on her lips. “Whatever you want. No formal photography so.”

“But we could stretch to a DJ,” she proposed with a grin, knowing how much he hated dancing. Probably because he had no rhythm, she acknowledged to herself, willing to accept him despite this undisputed failing.

“Anything to keep you happy but don’t expect me to join you on the dance floor.”

But he soon changed his mind and, during a quiet romantic shuffle around the small sprung maple dance floor, she whispered in his ear, “It’s been perfect.”

And sealing their future with a kiss he was inclined to agree.

Seb watched them from the bar, lifting his whiskey tumbler to take a long large gulp while thinking of his own failed marriage and the prospect that Rian and Martha might actually do something great for each other. Right there and then, in the midst of such apparent adoration, it was impossible not to feel a little bitter but there were positives too. It was fair to say he’d never had much time for Rian, not when they were children and certainly not as they grew older, but the recent events seemed to put things in perspective for him. There now existed between them a clandestine bond that together they were bound to safeguard.

One by one he spotted the rest of his siblings dotted around the room engaged in various acts of entertainment. They appeared almost normal, if that were even or ever possible, as if with the passing of their parents their level of dysfunction had been downgraded. They hadn’t changed but their relationship with each other certainly had. Without the manacle of their parents, or parent, forcing them to be something they weren’t, they were free to choose and behave as they wished. The pressure had been released.

He watched Cormac at the opposite end of the bar, flirting outrageously with a leggy brunette – he certainly hadn’t learnt his lesson. Inevitably Seb thought of Kathryn, imagining her in some fancy New York loft apartment wildly spending his money. He had let her go, money and all. He could have challenged her, forced her to pay it back – she had stolen it from the company after all, not him – but he didn’t bother: He didn’t have the energy. While he didn’t deserve the crude manner in which she left him neither did she deserve his treatment of her in their last days together. Call it guilt money, he supposed, cringing as he remembered how he’d behaved.

It was, most people who knew him well enough seemed compelled to say, time to put himself out there, like it would fix everything that needed to be mended, including his pride. And there were plenty of matchmaking situations to be avoided. While he had unquestionably mellowed over the last number of months, he hadn’t gone completely soft. Letting his siblings find his next partner wasn’t high on his agenda, but he knew they meant well.

And then there was Ciara. Something inside him had opened up to her – pity or empathy, he wasn’t sure. But looking at her now, laughing loudly at someone else’s joke, he didn’t feel the same level of irritation as he might have previously. There was a tolerance, which was odd, for him. It was just her and her way. It was sad, she had told him one afternoon shortly after they buried their mother, that between them as siblings there had been only one child and, she acknowledged miserably, she wasn’t ever going to be the one to change that number. He felt her pity but in a different way. All Ciara wanted was a child. But she was never going to bear one herself. It was an official diagnosis. It was like the final slight in a year of insults for her.

When Enya first told him of her plan to offer herself as a surrogate he thought she’d finally lost it.

“No, seriously, I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, almost since the day I got back,” she said, remembering her conversation with Ciara right after Joe left. It was just a seed then that had blossomed over the months into a fully mature idea.

“Ciara,” Enya pleaded when Ciara balked at the notion after she’d first mooted it, “I’d like to help. I need to help. We have made so many mistakes this is something to make it right. It won’t erase what’s happened but I hope it will make it easier to cope with.”

So that was the plan, for now anyway, Seb scoffed cynically as he watched, not in the least bit surprised by Enya’s bored expression as one of Rian’s more attractive friends did his very best to electrify her. She was damaged, of that he was sure. She had proclaimed she never wanted to replace Lia but could at least help her sister find that joy. As the patriarch of the family now he felt a responsibility for her. She had been let down by almost every man in her life, including himself, but she was a strong, capable and attractive woman. She’d bounce back, of that he was sure.

After they buried their father he eventually admitted to her what William had done with Tanglewood
.
But with William’s death she would get the house back, there was no question of that. Seb had tried to confess to Enya the night William died. He had called her specifically, but circumstances got in the way.
Circumstances
: an interesting word to describe what had passed. A smile crossed his lips as across the room Enya, unresponsive to his flattery, swatted the eager young man away like an irritating fly. Catching her eye he acknowledged her with a discreet nod of his head. In return she raised her glass to him, their bond strengthened by what happened that night.

He had called her with the intention of exposing their father’s scheme but as soon as she answered her phone he could tell something wasn’t right. She had returned to the house but much earlier than she’d told Detective Milford, almost a whole two hours in fact.

“Enya, are you alright? What’s up? Where are you?”

Her reply was a sob without words.

“Enya,”” he repeated, “what’s happened, are you okay?”

“Holy shit, Seb,” she whispered tearfully into the phone, “you need to get over here.”

“Where are you?”

“Now, Seb, I mean it.
Now
. Mum, she’s …”

“What about Mum?”

“I think she’s killed Dad.”

Seb’s heart missed a beat, immediately feeling like the world had stopped but he was still turning.

“Mum?” he said incredulously. “Alright, Enya – you’re at the house, right?”

“I’m at the house, Mum and Dad’s, in the hall outside her room,” she answered, her breathing fast.

“And where’s Dad?”

“He’s downstairs. He’s covered in blood, Seb, he’s not moving,” she told him with rising panic in her voice.

“Okay.” Thinking fast, looking first at his watch then through the glazed partitions of his office to see who else was in and working. “First, you need to calm down. Take some deep breaths.” He walked across his office to take his gym bag out of the closet.

He waited for her to do as he asked, listening to her suck deep gulps of air into her lungs.

“Feel any better?” he asked while unzipping the bag to see what clothes were inside.

“No,” she replied honestly with a sniff.

“Did you take his pulse?”

“
Are you insane?
” she almost shrieked. “He’s covered in blood for God’s sake! I’m not going anywhere near him.”

“Jesus,” he fumed. “What about Mum?”

“She’s asleep. Locked, I think.”

“Okay,” he said decisively, a plan forming fast in his head. “Stay there. Don’t touch anything. I’m on my way.”

Enya slipped to the floor in the corridor outside her mother’s bedroom door and, holding her hands to her face, waited for Seb to arrive.

Seb checked his watch. It was just after six. John was the only man left in the open-plan office but giving off signs that he was ready to go. Patiently Seb sat at his computer and waited for him to leave with a cheerful wave as he passed. Waving back as casually as he could, despite the almost frantic bobbing of his knee under the desk, Seb didn’t move until he was absolutely sure John had left the building. Then he headed to the adjoining bathroom to change.

Slipping out from his office into the hall, making sure he avoided sight of the security camera, he swiftly made his way across to the emergency exit, down the stairs and onto the street.

Pulling his peaked running cap down as far as he could he walked to the taxi rank three blocks away and got into the first one. Giving an address two streets away from his parents’ he sat into the back and once past the pleasantries buried his face in his phone. Paying in cash with an unremarkable tip, keeping his head down, he made his way towards his parents’. Avoiding the front gate he headed down the side street and rounded the corner to the rear access and old servants’ entrance to the house. Hardly used these days it was overgrown and deserted. Scaling the wall rather than disturbing the rust and dirt on the gate, he flipped over the coping with ease and keeping tight to the wall made his way around to the front door.

With no other option he rang the bell. He felt stupid, standing there, waiting, guessing what was going on behind the door.

Enya, primed for his arrival, opened the door within seconds and immediately threw herself at her brother.

“What are we going to do?” she asked as he peeled her arms from around his neck: even in the face of turmoil he was uncomfortable with such measures of affection.

“How’s Mum?”

“Still sleeping.”

“Is she hurt? Did she say anything?”

“She’s still out for the count.”

“Okay, go back upstairs, stay with her and, if she wakes up, I don’t know, knock her out again.”

Despite the humour Enya nodded eagerly before asking, “What are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure – just go and I’ll get you when I’m done.”

Waiting till she was out of the way Seb headed straight for the sitting room. Pushing the door open slowly he stepped gingerly into the room. And there he was: William, slumped forward on the desk, his arms hanging loose at his sides. From where he stood he couldn’t see his father’s face, just the back of his head and a deep burgundy patch standing out against the salt-and-pepper colouring of his hair.

On the floor, not far from his father lay the log his mother had used. He circled it twice, assuming its purpose, then turned back to his father, stepping around to see his face. He certainly looked dead.

Kneeling down and taking a fortifying breath he delicately took hold of his wrist only to drop it almost instantly, sure he felt a faint but definite pulse. With his own heart racing, he checked again. Yes, William was alive and, as if sparked by the magnetic connection of Seb’s touch, opened his eyes wide. With a terrified screech Seb jumped back, almost knocking over the lamp on the bureau as he reached out to steady himself.

“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, clutching his pounding chest.

Composing himself, he stepped in close again even more cautiously than before to look into his father’s dead eyes. But they weren’t dead.

They moved slightly but didn’t blink, were open but unfocused.

Seb stood up straight and considered the limp and almost lifeless body slumped over the desk in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye the log beckoned him. He resisted both it and the words that were merging to formulate a scheme of his own for as long as he could, until eventually he could ignore them no longer because, quite simply, they were beginning to make sense.

He walked out to the hall to make sure Enya was safely out of the way and, heading back to the living room, picked up the log.
Fair play to her
, he thought, thinking of his mother and the weight of the log in his hands. He stepped forward until he was standing over his father’s body, probably in almost the same spot his mother had stood earlier and, sizing up the wound, the position of the log in his hand and the calculated force needed, he aimed. Raising the log slowly above his head he brought it down heavy, fast and precisely onto the back of his father’s head. Again. An eerie hiss, like the final expulsion of air from a deflating balloon released from William’s lips. Seb watched him for a minute to see if anything else might happen, but there was no more. Slowly William’s eyes closed.

Bracing himself, Seb checked William’s pulse again. Nothing.

Crossing to the almost extinguished fire Seb took the poker from the hearth to stoke the dying embers. Placing a fire lighter in the middle to reignite the flames he cast the log in and watched as it was quickly engulfed in the thick grey smoke until finally the bark begin to smoulder before igniting itself.