Beneath an Irish Sky (Choc Lit) (9 page)

Before Nicholas could answer, Grace stood up, bright spots of anger in her cheeks. ‘Because it’s the oldest trick in the book and you’re falling for it! Annie left you for another man, who probably
is
the father, and now the boy is out to make some money. How can you be so naïve?’

Now Jack was grateful Luke had left the room. Grace’s insensitive outburst was embarrassing. Made him feel ashamed. ‘He hasn’t asked me for a penny,’ he said.

‘Not yet.’

Keeping his temper wasn’t easy. ‘Annie left in February. Luke was born in late October. He
could
be my son, so I can’t just turn my back. I have a responsibility. Surely you can see that?’

‘Will you be doing a DNA?’ his father asked.

‘I doubt Luke would agree to it,’ said Jack. ‘It’d make him feel even more rejected than he does already. I don’t want to do anything I might regret.’

‘Well, perhaps that’s for the best.’

That was a surprise. Jack would have expected Nicholas to demand proof.

‘We don’t want to risk a scandal,’ Nicholas continued. ‘We have quite a few deals where negotiations are delicately poised. A DNA test could lead to unpleasant publicity. The media would have a field day with the whole gypsy thing. If, as you seem to expect, he’s proved to be your son, there would be accusations of the Stewarts abandoning their own because of his culture – we’d be associated with bigotry, racism and God knows what. Hardly worth the risk.’

Ah, that explained it. Business first, as usual.

‘Please tell me you’re not planning to keep him here, Jack,’ said Grace.

‘He’s staying till he’s well. Then he might be moving on. Matt wants the chance to get to know him better. I can’t block that. They could be brothers.’

‘And just how are we going to explain his presence?’ demanded Grace. ‘Will you tell everyone he’s your son? We’ll be a laughing stock. They’ll think you’ve been tricked a second time by your tinker wife.’

The insult burned its way into Jack’s mind. How many times had Annie endured it? She’d talked about how hard it had been to ignore such name-calling when she was growing up. ‘She wasn’t a tinker!’ he snapped. ‘Nor a gypsy. She was a Traveller. And that’s what you’ll call Luke from now on.’

‘Don’t be pedantic,’ said Grace.

Jack met his mother’s eyes and didn’t flinch. Maybe Luke wasn’t his – but maybe he was. And what kind of a father would he be if he allowed such scorn to pass unchallenged? ‘So long as Luke is living under this roof, I don’t want to hear him insulted again. He’s just lost his mother, for God’s sake. Can’t you both try to show a bit of compassion?’

‘Your mother only has your best interests at heart, Jack,’ said Nicholas. ‘You were crushed when Annie left. We don’t ever want to see that again.’

‘The past is over. What does it really matter now?’

‘The past is never over,’ his father said. ‘If today has proved anything, it’s proved that.’

‘Then try to make up for the past, and the fact you were never exactly welcoming to Luke’s mother.’

‘You know Annie was totally unacceptable,’ Grace snapped. ‘You were just blinded by a pretty face … and the novelty. I understand. You were grieving for Caroline and it impaired your judgement. But if Annie hadn’t left you, do you seriously believe it would have lasted? You were from totally different worlds and Luke will realise that eventually. Whether he’s your son or not is irrelevant. He doesn’t belong here and it was wrong of you to make him believe he ever could.’

His parents clearly weren’t going to buy the family connection. Wouldn’t accept Luke even if a DNA proved it. How could Jack ever have thought otherwise? Oh well, in for a penny … ‘I’m having Annie buried here. I brought her back, too.’

Grace stood up, smoothing the creases from her silk dress. She refused to look at Jack when she spoke. ‘I hope you’re not planning to use the family plot because that will be over
my
dead body!’

‘You’re a snob, Mother, through and through.’ There. He’d finally said it and it was a relief, even though his accusation now hung between them, souring the atmosphere even more.

‘We won’t be staying for dinner. Nicholas – take me home.’

In a rare show of what might have been fatherly concern, Nicholas stood up and came over to Jack, putting a hand on his shoulder. ‘I suggest you come to some financial arrangement with the boy and let him go somewhere we’ll all be happier with – himself included. I’m sure a substantial cheque will solve the matter to everyone’s satisfaction.’

Jack refused to stand up to see his parents off. Things had been said that couldn’t be unsaid. And nothing had been resolved.

When all was finally quiet, Jack went to the kitchen. Matt was alone at the table, the sports pages of the newspaper spread out in front of him. He was shovelling down a portion of Beef Wellington.

Glancing up at Jack, he said, ‘Better eat some of this. Maggie’s livid that she cooked all this extra food for nothing.’

Jack carefully closed the door. He didn’t want a repeat performance of what had happened earlier. ‘Where’s Luke?’ he asked as he sat down.

Matt jerked his fork in the direction of the door. ‘Went to his room. Can’t say I blame him. I apologised on your behalf.’

So Jack was being reproached for not making a dramatic exit from the drawing room to check on Luke like Matt did. Best tread carefully now. Get him back on side. ‘Matt, I’m sorry about all that was said in there tonight.’

‘Me too,’ said Matt, frowning. ‘What a welcome.’

‘Well, it was never going to be easy.’

‘Easy! Dad, it was unforgivable!’

Maybe it was – but was it also inevitable? Matt wanted Luke here but had no idea what the repercussions would be. ‘Perhaps it was a mistake to bring him back.’

‘Why?’ asked Matt. ‘What happened years ago isn’t his fault.’

‘I told you. It’s complicated …’ Matt was setting himself up for one big disappointment. Jack would have to warn him. ‘Be careful about getting too attached.’

Matt clattered his knife and fork onto the plate. ‘What d’you mean? How can I
not
get attached? Luke’s my brother and I’m going to tell him he can depend on
me
at least.’

Great. Matt had cast himself in the role of hero-protector. Jack glanced behind him at the door. Still closed, but he lowered his voice anyway. ‘Luke agreed to stay here until he’s fit enough but hinted that he’d be moving on after that.’

Matt wasn’t having it. ‘Course he did. Because he doesn’t feel welcome. It’s up to us to persuade him to stay. Look, I’ll talk to him tomorrow. I tried tonight, but he wasn’t in the mood.’

Jack sighed. ‘Luke’s like that all the time. What makes you think he’ll be any different tomorrow?’

‘Maybe he won’t be – but
I’m
not giving up on him.’

Had Jack given up on Luke? But he’d brought him back – what more could people reasonably expect? ‘Okay, you talk to him then,’ he said. ‘But perhaps I’d better make myself scarce tomorrow. I’m not exactly his favourite person.’

Matt pushed his plate aside. ‘We’ll need to sort out a date for the funeral.’

Jack nodded. ‘I’ll ring Father Quinn over in Baronswood. Find out what we have to do.’ Another nightmare looming. The funeral.

‘Hey,’ grinned Matt. ‘If things get sticky with Father Quinn, tell him this joke. The devil proposed a football match between Heaven and Hell. God said, “But don’t you know we’ve got all the good players?” And the devil said …’

‘“Yeah, but we’ve got all the refs.”’

Matt smiled. ‘See, Dad – we’re still a team.’

He was back on Jack’s side. For now, at least.

Luke leaned, exhausted, against the frame of the open bathroom door. Clouds of steam escaped around him into the bedroom. He looked at the clock. He’d been struggling with the shower for almost an hour, trying to stand on his injured leg. Wars had been fought and won in less time. Maybe he should have skipped the whole thing, but he kept remembering the way his so-called grandparents had looked at him. Like he was scum. Then as good as calling him a beggar.
Is it money you want?
He’d not feed their prejudice by looking the part.

After making it to the bed, Luke sat down and pulled on his clothes, slowly because the pain from his ribs was bad. He saw his reflection in the mirror on the wardrobe door. The rugby shirt was a good choice. He’d probably never have worn one back home, but he was proud of being Irish. It was weird to think he was half-Brit.

Maggie had brought him a cup of tea earlier, but he’d pretended to be asleep, not up to conversation. He liked the housekeeper. Annie had told him about the friendly woman who’d been like a mother to her. Maggie had seemed pleased to see him yesterday, saying how sorry she was about Annie.

There was a loud knock and Luke held his breath. Don’t let it be Jack. Better all round if they kept out of each other’s way.

It was Matt. ‘Hey, good morning! Come and get some breakfast. There’s just us. Dad’s gone out. Maggie’s cooked for an army – bacon, eggs, the works.’

His brother. It was strange to think of him that way. Matt was a puzzle. He’d openly defended Luke last night, even following him to apologise for his family’s behaviour. He seemed genuinely friendly. Luke desperately wanted to believe he was one of the good guys, but Matt was a Stewart. He’d surely stick with them if push came to shove. Best trust no one, although Emer had said he should take things as they come and stop dividing the world into friends and enemies.

‘I’m not really hungry, thanks,’ he mumbled.

Matt tutted, shook his head, and wagged a finger. ‘Luke, there are only two rules in this house. Eat everything Maggie makes, and do everything Maggie says.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘Don’t even go there, bro,’ laughed Matt. ‘Come on. I’m starving, even if you’re not.’

Luke’s spirits lifted a little. It felt good to be called ‘bro’. He grabbed his crutches and followed Matt to the kitchen.

After breakfast, Matt suggested a tour of the downstairs. So far they’d seen the drawing room with its fancy ornaments, and Jack’s study, all done in wood and smelling of cigar smoke.

‘This is the dining room,’ said Matt, pushing open a heavy wooden door. All the doors in this house seemed to creak. Luke would buy them a can of oil when he left. Something to remember him by. The dining room, with cabinets full of silver and china, was even more pretentious than the other rooms. The table in the centre was a massive, gleaming monster, almost as big as Luke’s bedroom back home. Passing the salt must take forever.

‘We only eat dinner in here on special occasions,’ Matt told him. ‘Maggie likes to keep it spotless. A crumb on the Persian rug and you’re for it.’

Matt was trying to put him at ease with jokes, but it wasn’t really working. Just being in this house seemed like a betrayal. How had Annie felt when she’d had to trade in all this luxury for struggle and hardship? Like catching sight of Paradise then having the door slammed in your face and being dispatched to Hell.

‘Great Aunt Rose,’ said Matt, pointing to a dingy oil painting of a plain woman in tweeds. ‘She left Dad this house in her will, though he’ll be expected to decamp to Edenbridge when Gran and Granddad pop their clogs.’

‘Edenbridge?’

‘The family estate. A few miles from here. A reward from Charles II for loyalty to the Crown during the Civil War.’

The family estate? The Crown? What the hell was he doing here in this posh house with its paintings and silver teapots? This wasn’t his world and he didn’t want it to be.

‘You okay?’

Luke had sighed before he could stop it. Better cover up his frustration or he might offend Matt. ‘I’m just a bit tired.’ He slumped slightly over the crutches to make the point.

‘Okay, let’s go to the living room and you can rest up.’

The living room was another revelation. Huge, cream leather sofas and armchairs, and a wall-mounted TV with the biggest screen Luke had ever seen. By the patio windows was a full-size pool table. Joe and Liam would spit chips if they could see that. He might send them a photo of it when he was well clear.

Matt settled down on the sofa, stretching his long legs out on the coffee table, and Luke took the armchair opposite. They sat in silence for a few moments, and Luke assessed his brother. Matt was like a young Jack. Similar build and height with light brown hair. Luke wondered what Matt’s mother had been like. Jack’s first wife, the one who’d died young. Pity that – if she’d lived, Annie would have been spared the Stewarts. Of course, he’d never have been born then, but that might have been better for her too. Was he staring too much? Matt was looking a bit uncomfortable. Better break the silence. ‘Do you like football?’ was all he could think of to say.

‘Too right,’ Matt replied. ‘I support United – Manchester United, that is.’

‘There’s only one United,’ Luke said with a grin, feeling pleased he and his brother had something in common.

‘No way!’ Matt slapped his hands on his knees. ‘You too? That’s great. We’ve got an Executive Box at Old Trafford. Dad uses it a lot for business – says the best deals are made there. I prefer the stands, though. Tell you what, I’ll take you to see a match before the end of the season.’

Luke had often dreamed about that when kicking a ball around. He’d hoped to take a trip to see United once he and Annie had settled in Wales. Now it was being offered to him with bells on. It was tempting, but Luke couldn’t afford to start believing in all the home and family stuff. Best not to encourage Matt – or himself – so he changed the subject. ‘What exactly
is
the business?’

‘Stewart Enterprises.’ Matt swung his legs down and rifled through a stack of magazines on the table. Plucking one out, he tossed it to Luke. It was a glossy brochure, showing a tall, modern building with glass windows and ‘Stewart Enterprises’ in huge silver letters above the wide entrance. ‘We do property development,’ Matt explained. ‘Residential housing, business parks, leisure centres. You name the pie, we’ve got a finger in it. The offices are in Manchester.’

‘Do you work there?’ asked Luke. Hard to imagine Matt in a suit, making deals behind a desk.

‘God, no! That kind of stuff doesn’t interest me. I work in the local pub.’

‘What! Behind the bar?’

‘Well, I manage the bar, so I get to boss others around. And hire the barmaids.’ Matt winked. ‘We’re planning to open a nightclub soon.’

‘But why do that when you could have an easy life workin’ for your da’?’ He couldn’t bring himself to say ‘our’ da’.

‘Ha!’ said Matt, leaning back into the sofa, hands clasped behind his head. ‘Dad wouldn’t let me have an easy life, believe you me … and, like I said, I’m just not interested in it. I’d be bored stupid.’

Another thing they had in common, then.

‘Soon as I sat my A levels,’ Matt continued, ‘I took a year out and went travelling. Hong Kong, Australia, New Zealand, Fiji. Worked in hotels and bars, and really enjoyed it. When I came back, I went to college, got a diploma in business management and marketing, then started working at the Foresters Arms – the pub and hotel down in the village.’

How easy it was for the rich. At twenty, this was Luke’s first time abroad, yet Matt had already lived and worked on the other side of the world. People said money didn’t matter, but it must have been the rich who came up with that one.

‘What about you? What did you do in Ireland?’

In a word, nothing. It was embarrassing. ‘Odd jobs here and there,’ he said, not looking at Matt. ‘Nothin’ special.’

‘I was gutted to hear about Annie.’

Luke lowered his eyes.

‘Sorry, mate. D’you mind me talking about her?’

They might as well discuss it, get it out into the open. ‘No, it’s okay. D’you remember her then?’ It was weird to think she’d been Matt’s mother before she was his.

‘A bit, yeah, but I was only four when she left, so it’s hazy. I remember her singing me to sleep, though. She had a cracking voice.’

‘She did that,’ agreed Luke, with pride.

‘Luke, is it true … that Annie said Dad didn’t want the two of you?’

So it had started. The disbelief, the doubt. ‘Yeah, it’s true. Why – don’t you believe me?’

‘I just wanted to be sure I had it straight. I don’t know what to believe, but I do know Dad. He can be a hard man, sure, but he’s not cruel. And he’s not a bigot. He’d hardly have married Annie if he was, would he?’

‘Maybe he just wasn’t man enough to deal with all that disapproval,’ said Luke, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

‘When he phoned from Dublin, he was in shock. I don’t think he was faking it.’

Shocked? Afraid the truth would come out, more like.

Luke was resolute. ‘My mam never lied to me.’

Matt’s eyes narrowed, but Luke wasn’t going to back down on this one, even if it meant their relationship was over almost as soon as it had begun.

‘Luke,’ said Matt, ‘whatever happened in the past, I think Annie would have liked us to get to know each other, don’t you?’

Surely that wouldn’t be a betrayal. After all, none of this was Matt’s fault. ‘I always wanted a brother,’ Luke said. That was true, but saying it made him feel shy and a bit nervous. He was still scared of feeling emotions that could be shattered so easily if – when – things went wrong.

‘The Stewart brothers!’ declared Matt, stomping his feet. ‘Double trouble. Baronsmere had better watch out.’

He preferred to think of himself as a Kiernan not a Stewart, but Matt was trying to be kind. Luke would play along – for now, at least.

Luke left the living room, not wanting to sit there brooding by himself. Matt had gone out after a friend phoned. He’d offered to take Luke with him but Luke hadn’t wanted to go. He hadn’t wanted Matt to go either. His brother’s energy and enthusiasm had helped him cope with this difficult first morning, making him feel less like a stranger, an intruder. But he hadn’t told Matt this. Didn’t want to spoil his plans. Some of his friends had younger brothers who’d been a pain in the neck. He didn’t want to be one of those.

Using his crutch, Luke pushed open the kitchen door and went in. Maggie was stirring and shaking pots on the stove while a dog sat close to the range, watching the cooking process intently.

‘Hello, love.’ Maggie’s homely face lit up with a smile when she saw him. ‘Can I get you something?’

‘I was wonderin’ if you needed a hand?’

‘Well, that’s kind of you. How do you feel about peeling potatoes?’

He smiled. ‘I’m Irish, Maggie. There’s nothin’ I can’t do with a potato.’

Once Luke had settled at the huge scrubbed wooden table, Maggie placed a bowl of potatoes in front of him and handed him the peeler. The dog came over and sniffed around his feet. ‘What’s his name?’ Luke asked.

‘Ollie. He’s obviously having a good day. He’s got a touch of arthritis which sometimes makes him cranky with people.’

‘What breed is he?’

‘Chesapeake Bay Retriever. Used to be Jack’s gun dog.’

‘Gun dog? As in hunting?’ Luke couldn’t keep the disapproval out of his voice. Typical of the Stewarts to be into callous blood sports.

‘Yes. A hunting dog. One of the best he was, so they say. Though why grown men should feel the need to go around blasting God’s own creatures out of the sky is beyond me. I blame it on too much red meat. Feeds the aggression.’

Luke grinned. ‘You could be on to somethin’ there.’

They continued chatting and Luke felt some of his tension release. He was comfortable in this kitchen, probably because it was the least formal place in the house. It was full of light from three big windows, and the copper pans hanging from the ceiling cast gleams of gold around the room. A rocking chair with patchwork cushions stood in the corner, and there was a cluster of large framed photos on the wall. Luke’s stomach lurched as his eye was caught by the central photo. Annie. Covered with streamers, holding on to Jack Stewart. The sight of his mother brought the pain of loss sharply back again. He stopped peeling. ‘When was that taken?’ he asked.

‘Your father doesn’t like that being there,’ said Maggie, as she came to stand beside him. ‘Doesn’t like reminders. He’ll never look in this direction. But this is my kitchen so I insisted. The picture was taken at New Year. Lord Leighton threw a big party. Annie looked beautiful that night. Her hair was done by a top Manchester stylist. Jack paid for him to come to the house.’ Maggie pointed to another photo, which Luke hadn’t noticed. Jack, Maggie, Annie and a small boy – obviously Matt. ‘And that one was taken in Spain,’ she continued. ‘We all went.’

Spain? Luke never knew his mother had been to Spain. He wondered what else he didn’t know. He looked at Jack and Annie, happy together, but the man had caused her so much heartache, and Luke dismissed the idea Jack had cared. It was easier that way.

‘Why did she leave, Luke?’ Maggie asked, sitting down at the table next to him. ‘Was it some trouble back in Ireland? Or was she homesick?’

Jack had covered his tracks well. Not even those he shared a house with could see through his lies. Eventually, he’d tackle Jack about that letter but would wait until he felt better, not just physically but emotionally. Jack would just deny it, and Luke wasn’t up to more arguments with him just yet, especially as he needed a safe refuge right now.

Is it money you want?
Nicholas’s words were still there at the back of his mind. He couldn’t let such an insult go unchallenged.
‘She left because she wasn’t wanted. Made to feel she didn’t belong.’

‘Is that what she told you?’ Maggie looked shocked. It was hard to have to burst her bubble. Annie had shared some memories with him over the years, and Joe and Liam had relished giving him the rest of the details, things that were too painful for her to talk about.