Secrets Between Sisters: The perfect heart-warming holiday read of 2018. Kate Thompson
like a Rousseauesque jungle, except not as pretty,’ observed Río. ‘I looked after it as best I could, but gave up on it a couple of years ago. He just wasn’t interested. The garden was Mama’s domain.’
Dervla took a thoughtful sip of wine, not noticing this time how disgusting it was. ‘Shane took a picture of us on the lawn, once, by the pond. Do you remember? We were trailing around in our dressing gowns. It was shortly before Mama died.’
‘I still have that photograph. I found it just this morning.’ Río turned remorseful eyes on Dervla. ‘I meant what I said earlier, Dervla. I am beyond sorry about what happened with Shane.’
‘I know you are. And I’m sorry too that I didn’t accept your apology. I should have been bigger than that. We were going through such a horrible time then. I guess neither of us was thinking straight.’
‘Were you in love with him?’
Dervla considered. ‘No. I barely even knew him. I was just insanely infatuated–like a woman possessed, or a demented fan of some rock god. Were you?’
‘In love with him? No. I just thought I was. He was so good to me when Mama died.’
‘He was in love with you?’
‘I guess so. He was so supportive. I couldn’t have got through that time without him.’
‘I did pick up the phone to you a couple of times, you know, to say let’s make amends,’ said Dervla. ‘But you didn’t answer.’
‘I tried phoning you too. And then I got pregnant, and I couldn’t bear to tell you that Finn was Shane’s baby’
‘I knew he was. He takes after his dad, does Finn. He’s a good-looking boy–and charming, to boot. Any time I meet him on the street he’s full of chat. I’m glad you never put an embargo on him fraternising with his auntie. I’d have hated him to cold-shoulder me.’
‘He’s my best friend,’ said Río. ‘I adore him. I’ve been very lucky, to have produced something so fine when there are thousands of delinquents roaming the country.’
‘Does Shane have much input?’
Río shook her head. ‘No. Finn’s practically all my own work. Shane sends money from time to time, though he’s always broke. We keep in touch by Skype and e-mail’
‘When was the last time you saw him?’
‘About five years ago. He had a small part in a movie being made in Killary.’
‘Was he as winsome as ever?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you weren’t tempted?’
‘No. I had a man in my life at that stage. But he was a waster too. That’s why I had my tubes tied. I couldn’t bear the idea of having another child with an irresponsible father.’
‘We’ve got a lot of catching up to do,’ said Dervla. As she reached for the wine bottle, she wondered who Río might have talked to when she made the decision to undergo surgery; who might have picked her up from the day ward; who might have made her a cup of tea afterwards. She guessed that it would have been Fleur, and wished now that it might have been her. ‘I know hardly anything about you, little sister. Tell me more.’
‘There’s not much to tell,’ said Río. ‘I work hard, but at nothing in particular. I guess I’m a jack of all trades.’
‘What do you mean, jack of all trades?’
Río shrugged. ‘Sometimes I work in O’Toole’s—’
‘In the restaurant?’
‘No, downstairs in the bar. Sometimes I drive a taxi, sometimes I work in other people’s gardens. I do Fleur’s window display for her. Sometimes–if I’m lucky–one of my paintings might sell—’
‘You’re still painting?’
Río nodded. ‘Mostly landscapes. Some portraits. I’d prefer to do more portraits, but tourists tend to go for the landscapes.’
‘Where do you sell them?’
‘Fleur’s opened a little wine bar at the back of the shop. Some of my stuff’s on display there.’
‘Does she take commission?’
‘No. She does it for me as a friend.’
‘I knew you were driving,’ said Dervla. ‘And Fleur told me you were doing her window. But I never knew about the gardening. Where did the green fingers come from?’
‘I guess I inherited them from Mama.’
Dervla gave Río a speculative look. ‘You were wrong, you know, when you said there wasn’t much to know about you. There’s lots to know.’
‘Not as much as there is to know about you. I’ve been keeping tabs on you.’
‘You have?’
‘Yep. I know, for instance, that you have no man in your life right now because you’re “married to your career”.’
‘What? How do you know that?’
‘I hired a private investigator. Joke. I read a profile in The Gloss magazine when you were up for Female Entrepreneur of the Year, and I saw you on breakfast television, and I heard you being interviewed on Galway Bay FM last week. And your picture’s always cropping up in the society pages.’
‘You don’t strike me as the type of gal who bothers with the society pages.’
‘I have to sit in the dentist’s waiting room same as everybody else. Sometimes I even have my hair done, and get to read VIP magazine.’ Río took hold of a strand of her reddy-gold hair and examined the ends ruefully. ‘I’m way overdue a cut.’
‘W.B. looks as if he should have a wash and blow-dry too. What’ll we do with him?’
‘Maybe Mrs Murphy would like him as a memento of Dad.’
‘I’m sure there are other mementoes she’d rather have. Maybe we should go take a look at our inheritance.’
‘Our inheritance. A cat and a house. How much do you think this property’s worth?’
‘We should get a million for it.’
‘A million! You’ve got to be kidding!’
‘Think about it. It’s right on the harbour. If you stuck a picture window in upstairs you’d have a stunning view of the sea and the mountains, and ditto if you stuck a dormer in the attic. Plus there’s loads of room to extend.’
‘Would you get planning permission?’
‘Sure to. The precedent’s been set. People have been extending their properties upward and outward all over Lissamore. Floor space here is as valuable as it is in Dublin 4.’ Dervla knocked back her wine and got to her feet. ‘Let’s go take a look,’ she said.
Mrs Murphy had been busy upstairs. Frank’s bedroom had been Mr Sheen’d and Shake-and-Vac’d and Cif’d. The bed linen had been stripped, and the curtains taken down. A glance through the window told Río that they had been Ariel’d in Mrs Murphy’s machine, because they were billowing about brightly on the washing line in her back garden. Neither sister made a move to open the wardrobe door.
The attic, next. As Río climbed the stairs, she felt like a revenant. The ghost of her childhood self resided here, the little girl who had sat on the steps, hugging her knees to her chest and listening to the raised voices coming from the sitting room below. Looking back at Dervla, who was following her up