Ninemile House Read online

  Gently, she shook her head. “Oh, Gabby, of course I don’t expect you to cook for us. You’re my sister, not a slave. I neither expect you to cook or clean. I have a woman who comes in to help out with the heavy stuff a couple of times a week. I don’t expect you to do anything at all other than learn to relax and have a good time. Do you think you can do that?”

  “I-I don’t know,” Gabby gazed at her feet, shuffling them uncomfortably into the ground. “I’m not used to having nothing to do. In the convent all our time was filled doing something or other. The devil makes work for idle hands. That’s what Sr Peter said.”

  “But you’re not in the convent now and Sr Peter isn’t here.” Thank God, Derry said to herself, sending up a heartfelt prayer of thanks. “You’re here with me and you’re never going back to that place. I told you, I’m going to take care of you and I will.” A smile lightened her face. “And now, since you’ve made all this wonderful food, it would be a sin for us not to eat it.”

  From across the table opposite, Gabby reflected ruefully on the fact that she had so much to learn. An embarrassed flush rose to her face as she thought about the episode with the white worms the night before and the way Derry’s husband had looked at her and made her feel a little bit afraid. She tried to enjoy the food which should have been a big treat, because fry-ups were only ever given to the nuns at Ninemilehouse – the rest of them had to do with lumpy porridge – but it tasted like ashes and stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  Derry who had no doubt seen the range of emotions flitting across her sister’s face, doubt, fear, nervousness, had laid her knife and fork to one side, reached across and taken her hand.

  “I know it’s all very strange to you and I know how frightening it must be for you. But it’ll be all right, I promise. Everything will be all right.”

  And slowly, but surely, Gabby thought brought back to the present day by the sound of the doorbell announcing Sheila’s arrival, she was beginning to get used to things, although she wasn’t sure she would ever get used to the sheer volume of noise that seemed to assault her ears from every direction.

  CHAPTER 12

  “Merlot, 1993?” Derry held up the bottle of wine for Sheila’s inspection and at her appreciative nod, poured the ruby red liquid into two Waterford crystal glasses, one of which she handed to her neighbour.

  “Cheers.” Sheila raised her glass, then put it to her lips, simulating ecstasy as the first drops passed her tongue, slipping down her throat like liquidised satin.

  Plumping into her favourite armchair opposite, Derry jerked her head towards the ceiling, through which a soft murmur indicated that Gabby was up in the twins’ room, being indoctrinated into the mysteries of Barbie dolls and Playstations. God only knew what she was going to make of both. “So, how did it go today? Are you still sane?”

  Sheila laughed. “It went fine. Absolutely fine. She’s quick to cotton on and she’s already beginning to get the hang of the money, although to say she's shocked at the prices is probably the understatement of the year. It's easy to forget that thirty years ago ten bob went a very long way and a quid was riches, indeed! I chucked the poor thing in at the deep end too and indoctrinated her into the use of the buses, well only the route from here to the nearest shops, but it's a start. I even got her to buy the tickets for the pair of us on the way back. Progress or what?”

  Derry looked impressed, as well as a bit relieved. “Progress is underselling it. Downright miraculous is what it is. When I think back to the first day I took her out of the convent. Everything terrified her, the sheer volume of traffic, the noise, the lights frightened her half to death. All the things we take for granted, never even stop to think about, actually. But then again, with us it was a gradual transition. With poor Gabby it was out of the eighteenth century one day and boom, boom, straight into the twentieth the next." Absentmindedly she held her glass up to the light, so that the exquisitely cut glass twinkled and shards of rainbow colour flew out and chased each other around the walls. "I can’t believe she actually went on a bus with you and bought a ticket too. Seriously, that's absolutely brilliant. And it gives me hope.”

  “It wasn’t all plain sailing,” Sheila confessed. "We did have one very hairy moment. I turned my back for a second and she almost walked out in front of a car. I spun round just in time to drag her back. And then I had to take her to a pedestrian crossing and show her how to wait for the little green man.” She took a deep gulp of her wine. “I had horrible visions of having to break the news to you that I killed your sister.”

  Derry squeezed her eyes tightly shut for a moment, an expression of pure agony flashing across her face. “You see, that’s another thing I hadn’t thought about. How the hell would she know anything about the Green Cross code?” The optimism of just a few moments turned quickly to the despair that had been plaguing her on and off since Gabby's advent. “Lord God, Sheila, I’m beginning to wonder if maybe it isn’t all too much, both for her and for us.”

  Sheila held up a hand. “Now, now, calm down, Derry. The only way you're going to get through this difficult phase - because that's what it is just a passing phase - is to get things into perspective. It’s all very well trying to head problems off at the pass, but there’s so much Gabby doesn’t know you’re going to have to tackle issues on a first come first served basis. One step at a time, that’s got to be the mantra.” Upstairs came the fragmented sound of the twins laughing, followed by a thump of some sort and hysterical giggling.

  “I suppose you’re right.” Brushing her fears aside, Derry smiled tremulously up at the ceiling. The strains of Come on Barbie, Let’s go Party were now making themselves heard. “They’re showing her their dance moves, I expect. God help, Gabby, she doesn’t know what she’s in for. I’ve seen more graceful hippos at the zoo.”

  “Mr Patel at the corner shop took quite a shine to her, you know.” Sheila said trying for casual, but with a wicked twinkle in her eye. She held out her near empty glass for a top up.

  Derry regarded her suspiciously. “Oh, yes? In what way?”

  Sheila raised a scornful eyebrow. “Listen to her. In what way? In what way do you think? In the way any man fancies a woman. He said she was, ‘the most beautiful creature to ever have walked into my shop’.” Sheila said the words in the most pitiful caricature of an Indian accent Derry had ever heard, really laying it on thick by shaking her head from side to side.

  Agog, Derry almost dropped her wine glass. “Really? And what did she say?”

  “She said, he was a very nice man and it was a shame he was going to go to hell for not being a Catholic.” Sheila burst out laughing as Derry turned first puce and then white.

  “Good Lord, I’ll never be able to show my face in his shop again. The poor man!”

  “Oh, don’t worry about him. He wasn’t fazed at all.” Sheila dabbed at her streaming eyes. “Far from it. He said,” again she put on the awful accent, “’Of course I am going to hell. Do you think a poor man such as me would ever be allowed to mix in the same circles as goddess like you.’”

  “Oh, what a sweet man.” Delighted, Derry sat up straighter on her chair. “I hope Gabby apologised.”

  “Not as such, but she did tell him in the nicest way possible that it wasn’t too late for him to repent. God loves a sinner, says she, and then she gave him chapter and verse on the prodigal son.” Sheila gave another snort of laughter. “The queue building behind us wasn’t amused, I can tell you. Never mind killing the fatted calf which, incidentally Mr Patel would abhor, him being a Hindu and cows being sacred and all that. I had to haul her out there before someone lost it and killed her instead.”

  Half-giggling, half-appalled, Derry plonked her glass down on the table beside her chair and ran a weary hand through her hair. “What am I going to do with her, at all, Sheila? Everything is so black and white. It’s either right or it’s wrong and not a shade of grey anywhere in sight.” She sighed deeply. “Is there any way back from those nuns at all, I
wonder.”

  “Time,” Sheila pronounced. “The great cure for all things. Look at it logically. You can’t wipe out thirty years of brainwashing without replacing it with something else. If you try to knock down the foundations of Gabby’s beliefs before she’s ready, you risk knocking her down too.” She set her own glass down, picked up a packet of Marlborough Lights from the table and extracted a cigarette, which she waved in the air to give emphasis to her words.

  Derry knit her brow. “But there’s no place in society for such narrow mindedness and bigotry these days. It’s offensive.”

  Lighting up, Sheila inhaled the first draft of smoke deep down into her lungs, the smoker’s lines around her mouth deepening into deep creases, as she did so.

  “True, but for the moment, that’s all Gabby knows and like I said before and at the risk of boring both you and myself, the doctrine of Ninemilehouse has been the doctrine by which she’s lived her life. Political correctness doesn't come into it. If you try to take her creeds from her all at once, what is she left with? Nothing. The poor girl would really go to pieces then.”

  Derry bit her lip. “You’re right and, of course, the logical part of me knows you’re right. The impatient part of me just can’t wait, though.”

  “Derry!” Sheila shot her a stern look. “This was never going to be easy, you knew that right from the start. So, don’t go looking for miracles, but do have a little faith. Gabby is a bright woman who has been through a terrible ordeal. Take it easy, don’t try to put a plaster on a wound that’s still bleeding.”

  ***

  Something was definitely up at work, Derry was sure of it. Several times now, she had caught the Slug looking across the office at her speculatively and whenever he caught her eye, he gave that horrible half-sneer, half-leer, that made her feel sick to her stomach. And once when she had seen him closeted with some woman in one of the fish bowl offices that lined the room, he had got up, stared at her for a moment through the window, and pointedly pulled the blinds down.

  “Who’s that in with the Slug?” she’d asked Molly, her curiosity aroused. There had been something vaguely familiar about the woman, although she had her back turned, something in the set of her head and shoulders and the strands of red hair escaping from beneath her fashionable trilby hat.

  “Dunno,” Molly shook her head. “He’s being very 007 at the moment, silly old sod. She’s a bit of a looker though, if a bit on the brassy side. My guess is she’s a kiss and teller out to dish the dirt on some unsuspecting ex or other and claim her thirty pieces of silver.” She reached for a photograph on her desk. “Speaking of lookers, say hello to Orlando Depp McCarthy." Having made all the obligatory oohing and aahing noises required by a first time grandmother, Derry walked brusquely back to her desk. There was nothing for it she decided, other than to keep on playing the waiting game and act on the principle of never troubling trouble. All in all, she had enough on her hands. The twins. Work. James. Gabby. It was a juggling act to keep all the balls in the air. She was especially worried about James and have never seen him so het up before. Okay, so retaining his seat in the election was important and, like a lot of men, he pretty much defined himself by his job, but the incessant mood swings he was having lately were completely out of proportion. With an inward sigh, she turned back to an article she was writing about the deplorable state of Ireland’s hospitals and the continuing outbreaks of MRSA, leading to more and more unnecessary deaths. Another awful suspicion had begun to tug at the corners of her mind just lately, but, as yet, she hadn’t worked up the courage to do the bogeyman trick on it, take it out into the light and examine it from all angles. Before her mind could stray any further down that particular line of thought, the phone rang and grateful for the distraction, Derry picked it up without even checking to see if she recognised the caller ID. In another moment all thoughts of James were banished as the imperious voice of Sr Peter came on the line. By the time she replaced the handset again, she was trembling, the words she had just jotted down on her reporter’s notebook blurring before her very eyes. At last she had an address for Gabby’s baby, maybe not a current address, but it was at least a starting point. After thirty years it was highly unlikely that he would still be there, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt to find out. Counting slowly to ten to get her breathing under control, she pulled up her list of contacts on the computer screen, highlighting them one by one until she reached the name she was looking for. A brief glance at her watch told her it was 3.00pm, which meant in New York, it was around 11.00 am. Perfect. Taking a deep breath, she waited till her voice was steady enough to speak, picked the phone up again and dialled. A few short bursts of static and several long ring tones later and Rusty O’Halloran, erstwhile journalist colleague and friend, picked up.

  “Shoot!” It was Rusty’s standard greeting to the world in general.

  Having exchanged greetings, Derry, in as few sentences as possible, explained about Gabby’s baby and what she wanted her to do. “And, if you do find him,” she cautioned, “don’t approach him. At this stage, all I want are his contact details and an overview of his situation. Is he married, any children, what does he work at – you know the drill.”

  Having promised to see what she could turn up, they then spent a pleasant couple of minutes catching up on each other’s lives and promising to visit when either one of them were in their respective countries. Almost hugging herself with excitement, Derry packed up for the day, carefully saving her unfinished article on the computer before logging off and shutting it down. There was no way she was going to be able to concentrate tonight. Besides, there was a political broadcast with James later that evening and her nerves were already kicking in, which was ridiculous because, when it came to dealing with the media, James was a true pro. Not only did he look good – a big point in his favour with the female voters – he also talked the talk – a big point in his favour with men and women alike. More importantly, James Quinn delivered on his promises. Added to which he was unfailingly polite, charismatic and courteous in all his dealings with both the press and the public, many of whom regarded him as Ireland’s answer to the late President John F Kennedy of the United States.

  As Derry left the office, she saw Petey O’Donnell half-way up the road with the woman she had seen earlier teetering along at his side on her precarious high heels. As they reached a set of traffic lights, she half-turned revealing more of her face in the process, and that’s when Derry felt her stomach drop like a stone. Surely it had to be more than coincidence that the woman with the Slug was Sinead, James’s secretary. With a mounting feeling of dread her eyes followed them across the road, straining to see even after they had disappeared into one of the many chic wine bars that had sprung up all over Dublin in the last few years. Petey in a wine bar! Were she not so rattled, the sheer incongruity would have made her laugh like a drain as, undoubtedly, the Slug was a spit and sawdust kind of drunk, with most of the spit being dredged up by him. As it was, the sight brought her skidding to a stop, causing the man walking directly behind to swiftly divert and denounce her for all the whores in Christendom. Not that Derry paid him the slightest heed. What the hell business had Sinead with the Slug? Could Molly be right? Was Sinead a kiss and teller about to do the dirty on some poor unsuspecting high profile boyfriend? Derry's mind wandered back to a recent conversation she'd overheard in James's office, when Sinead and another girl were loudly bemoaning their single status and insisting that all the 'good ones' were already married or taken by somebody else, which would appear to rule the kiss and tell theory right out.

  As somebody jolted into her, Derry found herself shocked back to the present and started off in the direction of the car park. It was all very perplexing. Surely Sinead couldn't be so desperate as to look upon Petey O'Donnell as a prospective suitor. She shook the thought away. Unlikely. The girl was far too much up her own behind. Besides some other poor unsuspecting fool had already shackled herself to the Slug years ago. Something smelt abo
ut the whole thing. What would a politician's glamorous, ambitious PA have in common with a down-at-heel muck journalist like the Slug? As Derry reached the car, she found her hands were shaking so much that she could hardly insert the key in the lock. Something, some gut instinct, told her that whatever the case, it boded no good for either James or herself. Sitting in the car, she reviewed the situation again, then still unable to make either head or tail of it, shakily negotiated her way out onto the busy gridlocked Dublin streets. By the time she was within shouting distance of her own driveway her emotions had pendulumed in the opposite direction, thanks to a distant vague memory of Sinead bleating on about some journalist relative or other in the early days of her employment, when she was still anxious enough to try and make a good impression on the boss's wife. Derry wished she had paid more attention now, but her instinct where Sinead was concerned, right from the very beginning, was always to escape as soon as possible. All things considered, it wasn’t impossible that Petey was that relation. He certainly wasn’t one Derry would be keen to own to, that was for sure.