Semi-Sweet (44 page)

Would Patrick ever get to know his child in a meaningful way? Would he wander from relationship to relationship, never finding
what Bill had had with Patrick’s mother, albeit for a shockingly brief dozen years?

And was it really that surprising that neither of his sons was showing signs of committing to a woman, given their father’s
promiscuous lifestyle over the past two decades?

Bill sighed deeply as he ladled his famous chili into two warmed bowls and brought them into the sitting room, where his elder
son, recently moved back home, sat watching television.

“You’re back.” Mrs. O’Toole regarded Adam without expression.

“I am indeed,” he told her, keeping his smile firmly in place.

“And you’re switching to the piano,” she said accusingly, her hand planted on the doorjamb.

“Yes,” Adam answered. “Vivienne thought it might be a good idea. If at first you don’t succeed, and all that.” He wondered
if she was going to let him in.

She sniffed. “Vivienne tells me you don’t want milk anymore.”

“No,” Adam said, letting the smile slip a little, attempting to sound contrite. “I made an effort, because I didn’t want to
offend you, but it really doesn’t agree with me.”

“The only other thing I have is dilute orange.”

“That would be perfect,” Adam said. “I look forward to it.”

She stood aside finally and allowed him into the hall, just as Vivienne and a young boy emerged from the room along the corridor.

“Hello,” Adam said, moving toward her, turning slightly to let the boy past him. “I’m back.”

“Yes.”

She wore a dark blue dress he hadn’t seen before, which ended just above her ankles. Her hair was drawn off her face with
two blue slides. It fell to past her shoulders, and it was wavy. Her cheeks were pink. She gave him a small nervous smile.
Adam stood in front of her and lifted his hands. “Look,” he said, “no clarinet.”

“No,” she answered, the smile staying put. She turned and walked ahead of him into the room. Her flowery scent wafted back
to him.

The cat sat where it always had, tail twitching as it watched Adam walk in.

“Hello, Pumpkin,” Adam said. “How’ve you been?”

“You can sit at the piano,” Vivienne said, taking a sheet from the bundle on the table.

He wouldn’t admire the dress. He’d pretend he hadn’t noticed the new hairstyle. He’d be formal and polite and do nothing to
make her feel uncomfortable.

He took off his jacket and slung it across the chair he used to sit on. He took a seat on one end of the long piano bench
and waited, his eyes on the black and ivory keys in front of him.

“Would you believe I’ve never played a note on a piano?” he said.

“What you’ve learned so far will help you,” Vivienne replied. She sat on the other edge of the bench, leaving a gap of about
six inches between them. Adam felt the minuscule shift in atmosphere, heard the small rustle her movements caused. She cleared
her throat, a single sharp cough. He smelled flowers again.

“I’m glad you came back,” she said then, so quiet it was almost a whisper.

Adam kept his eyes firmly on the keys. “I’m glad you asked me,” he said.

“I was bullied,” she said in a rush. “At school, for years. It made me…the way I am. It’s not you, it has nothing to do with
you.”

“Okay,” he said.

He waited. The silence lengthened. He didn’t look at her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pumpkin’s tail flick back and
forth.

“See where I place my fingers,” she said finally. Her nails were painted the palest of pinks. The varnish was badly applied
and smudged in several places. “Now you. Don’t press down, just curve your fingers and rest them lightly. Try to relax them.”

She slid her hands away to allow Adam’s to replace them. Their fingers made the briefest of contact as the switch was made,
a feathery touch that caused her to draw away a fraction from him.

“So what now?” he asked, his fingers poised.

“Now we start with scales,” she said.

He couldn’t resist it. “Sounds fishy to me, but I’ll give it a go.”

A sound escaped Vivienne, somewhere between a giggle and a cough. “You should be serious,” she said, “or you won’t learn anything.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

It would take time. He might have to invest in a piano at some stage. It might even take a few more instruments and several
series of lessons.

But they’d get there.

“Now, you really and truly shouldn’t have.” Geraldine watched in the mirror as Hannah fastened the string of creamy oval beads
around her neck. “Darling, it’s gorgeous.” She turned and hugged her daughter. “I dread to think what you paid.”

“That’s none of your business,” Hannah told her. Much better to let her mother assume that the necklace had cost far more
than the thirty-two euro Hannah had gotten it for on eBay. Who’d have guessed the bargains to be had on that Web site, if
Adam hadn’t taken it into his head one fine day to look for a clarinet?

“By the way,” she said, “Adam’s just started taking piano lessons.”

Geraldine stared. “Piano? I thought it was the clarinet. Didn’t you say he’d bought one?”

“He had, but it wasn’t working out, so he sold it again. Now he’s switched to the piano.”

“Funny, I had no idea he was musical,” Geraldine said. “He never struck me as someone who was interested in music.”

Hannah smiled. “Well, he’s very interested now.”

“But you don’t have a piano,” Stephen said. “How’s he going to practice?”

“He got the loan of a keyboard,” Hannah explained. “His teacher’s brother had an old one. So this time next year, he’ll be
able to play ‘Happy Birthday.’”

Geraldine laughed. “I hope he’ll be able to play a lot more than that after a whole year. And speaking of birthdays, I think
it’s high time we cut that cake before the candles set it on fire.”

“Isn’t Alice coming?” Hannah asked. “I thought you were going to invite her.”

“I did, but to be honest, I wasn’t surprised when she said no. She has a lot on her mind, with Tom coming home in a few days.”

“You might as well tell her,” Stephen said.

Hannah looked from one to the other. “Tell me what?”

“Alice has asked me to take over as manager in the shop when Tom gets out of the treatment center,” Geraldine told her. “Just
temporarily—she’s planning to take him away till the case comes to court.”

“Take him away? Where?”

Geraldine shook her head. “She’s talking about the coast, but I don’t think she cares really. She just wants the two of them
to have a change of scene for a while, which isn’t a bad idea.”

“And what does Tom think?”

“I have no idea—in fact, I don’t think she’s even mentioned it to him yet. But he’ll hardly object to moving out of Clongarvin
for a while, after all that’s happened.”

“Well, no, I suppose not—but what about his job at the clinic?”

Stephen spread his hands. “Officially he’s entitled to six months’ unpaid leave, but however long it takes, his job will be
there for him if and when he chooses to return—he knows that.”

“And what about their house?”

Geraldine shrugged. “Alice was vague about that too. I suppose they might try letting it. It’s all a bit up in the air right
now.”

Hannah studied her mother. “And how do you feel about taking over in the shop?”

“To be honest, love, it makes a lot more sense to have only one of us in there these days, it’s gone so quiet. I just hope
this recession doesn’t last much longer, or we’ll all be twiddling our thumbs.” She put her sherry glass on the mantelpiece
and turned to the cake. “Now, that’s enough of that kind of talk—time to wish me a happy birthday.”

She blew out the three candles, and they ate cake and drank her health, and then they sat by the window looking out at the
endless rain as darkness fell.

Hannah told them that Nora had been in touch with Adam to say she’d found a job in a theater in L.A. “Right up her alley,
I’d say.” She mentioned that she was considering asking Una to do a couple of full days in the shop, instead of just mornings.
“It’ll give me some proper free time during the week.”

She didn’t add that she was thinking of approaching Una’s sister, Claire, if and when the time came for her to be able to
take on a second person to do one or two more days in the shop. Claire hadn’t gone back to the restaurant where she’d worked
before Jason’s death, but maybe in another month or two she might be glad of something part-time. It might suit them all—but
Hannah wouldn’t mention it tonight. Time enough for that.

She told them about the mini-cupcakes she’d been asked to provide for a christening. “I’m going to introduce them into the
shop, maybe three days a week, see how they sell. They’re fiddly, but there’s a better markup on them.”

She described a new variety she was trying out in the regular size. “Pineapple-mango. I’m calling it Tropical Delight.”

She made no mention of Patrick’s visit to the shop. She didn’t tell them that John had moved back to Scotland. She said nothing
about meeting Leah and her son on the street.

Finally, around ten o’clock, she pulled her phone from her pocket. “I’d better call for a taxi. It’s too wet to walk.”

Geraldine closed the sitting-room curtains. “It’s unbelievable, this weather. Mind you, I don’t know why we always expect
it to be better in the summer, because we haven’t had a decent summer in God knows how long.” She turned to the door. “We’ll
have a cuppa before you go.”

They were sipping tea when it happened. The three of them turned toward the curtained window.

Hannah put her cup down. “What was that?”

“It sounded like—” Geraldine began, but Stephen was already halfway to the door. They followed him out of the house and saw
the taxi leaning crookedly against the lamppost. Roof sign still lit up, engine still running, rain pelting down into the
slanted beams of the shining headlights. The road silver with accumulated water. Music still playing faintly from within the
taxi.

Hannah ran down the driveway. In the few seconds it took to reach the car, she was soaked. She wiped the driver’s window with
a trembling hand to see inside.

And there was Wally, slumped against the steering wheel, blood trickling from his temple. He opened his eyes briefly as Stephen
shouted at Geraldine to phone for an ambulance, as Hannah wrenched open the door and called his name.

“Hi,” he murmured, and his eyes fluttered closed again.

“It’s good to be home,” Tom said.

He’d lost more weight. His hair needed a cut. His shirt collar was grubby. The dark shadows were still under his eyes, the
whites still bloodshot. A mesh of tiny red lines wandered across his cheeks and over his nose. He looked cold.

“I’m glad to have you back,” Alice said. “It was…quiet without you.”

She’d put fresh sheets on his bed the day before and opened the windows to air the room. She’d hoovered and dusted and polished.
She’d filled a vase with cuttings from the shrubbery and put it on the dressing table, then on the windowsill, and then back
on the dressing table.

She’d taken her nightdress from the single room and put it under the pillow on her side of the double bed. She’d placed her
slippers on the rug where he’d see them when he walked in. Ten minutes later she’d gone back in and moved nightdress and slippers
out again, back to Ellen’s room.