Chapter 11
ELEVEN
I was hoping that my dad would have retired his ancient Aston Martin and replaced it with something more practical – ideally a tiny city car with automatic gears. No such luck. Queen Mildred, as he always called her, is still gracing the garage.
Bella’s eyes widen as she runs her hands over Mildred’s smooth curves, the silver paintwork shining, the roof thankfully up. It’s not a day for cruising the country lanes in a convertible.
‘This is even more ancient than you,’ she comments, touching the famous winged insignia. ‘It’s kind of James Bond-y.’
‘You’re not wrong. This is a 1986 Aston Martin, and I was born in 1987. Not the most family-friendly of cars, but I have many happy memories of our times in Queen Mildred. To give her her full title.’
She nods reverently, and her eyes run over every inch of the car.
Dad had given me the keys once I promised to treat her with the respect she deserves, and after asking me lots of questions about my driving experience.
Not many people drive stick shift cars in the States, but I learned in one back here – in fact I learned in this very car, with my Dad.
I was going to take my test here, but time ran out, and I did it in California instead.
This, I tell myself as I slide into the cream leather seats, will be fun, and I’m sure it will all come back to me.
It does, eventually. After a few stop-starts, and more than the occasional stall.
Bella doesn’t seem to care, or even notice.
She’s switched off again and is staring out of the window, tugging absent-mindedly at her lip ring.
I don’t attempt to make conversation – I recognise that look, and I’d be wasting my time.
Plus it means I can concentrate on the driving instead.
The roads haven’t changed much, and there aren’t vast amounts of traffic at this time of year.
In less than ten minutes, I am taking Queen Mildred up the steep hill that leads to both Rosings and the more recently constructed Byrne house.
I park up outside the new build, realising that it has been built in the grounds of the older house.
It’s all on one level, sprawling in its own garden, which is filled with children’s play equipment – swings and slides, a wooden climbing frame.
A couple of abandoned footballs are scattered around, along with goal nets.
I smile, imagining how much joy grandchildren will have brought to Bernadette and Brian’s life.
With eight kids of their own, I’m guessing the next generation will be plentiful.
Probably enough for a whole football tournament.
I get out of the car, pausing to appreciate the serenity of the location. The hill looks down over the village and out towards the ocean. It is beautiful, surrounded by woods, the only sound that of birdsong. Until, that is, the world’s biggest screech rends the air in two.
‘Ellie de Vere, as I live and breathe!’ Bernadette screams, her voice as loud and strong as ever.
She is a tiny woman but has some kind of amplifier fitted in her lungs – she can make her words carry for miles.
Maybe she was always like that, or maybe she developed it in response to raising so many boys.
Whatever the reason, when Bernadette wants to make herself heard, the whole world listens.
She comes galloping out to us, followed by two blonde-haired children who look to be around five or six.
They aim straight for Bella, but look on curiously as Bernadette wraps me in her scrawny arms. She hugs me much tighter than you’d give her credit for, and I remember that while she has the looks of a sparrow, she also has the strength of a silverback gorilla.
I laugh and hug her back, delighted to see her.
She pulls back, pats my face, and proceeds to give me a thorough inspection.
‘Gorgeous as ever, darlin’,’ she says.
‘You too, Bernadette. You don’t look any older than when I left!’
That’s not entirely true – there are more lines, but she is still trim and spry and looks fantastic.
The main change is her hair. When I left it was a vibrant red like Cara’s, but now it is mainly white with a few strands of pale rose red mixed in.
I have a dim memory of seeing her in the tiny bathroom of their own house using henna on it when I was younger, and her telling me that red hair doesn’t go grey – it just fades until it’s white.
I guess she’s in her mid-seventies now and has embraced the change.
She casts a look at Bella, who is shuffling at my side trying not to attract attention. Ha, I think – good luck with that. Bernadette Byrne notices everything. She’s like the parenting version of a special forces soldier or a Navy SEAL.
‘I’ll be dealing with you later, Isabella. Go on in and get some breakfast now.’
I’m expecting a tirade, but Bella just nods and meekly does what she’s told, the other two trailing after her.
To be fair, I always used to do whatever Bernadette told me as well.
She’s just one of those women you don’t mess with.
As Bella goes in, Brian comes out – and I really can see the change in him.
He is physically the opposite of his wife, tall and brawny, a former rugby player.
I remember him as a giant in every possible way.
Now, nearing eighty, he seems to have shrunk in on himself.
He walks with a cane, and his hair is fully grey.
The eyes, though, are exactly the same – sparkling with laughter as usual.
‘Come and give an old man a hug now, will you?’ he says, smiling at me.
I fly towards him and, despite his obvious health problems, he still manages a fierce grip.
I find my eyes filling up with tears at being with these people again.
The people who were my second family, offering me chaos and fun and noise, and constant rounds of soda bread toast and mugs of tea.
I am ushered into the house and given the guided tour.
I learn that Sean, their youngest, is still at home with them, and still ‘playing the field’ when it comes to women.
Cara, as I already knew, lives nearby with her family.
Liam is over for Christmas from Dublin, they tell me, which answers at least one of my questions.
I get updates on the five older siblings, who I knew less well and was always slightly scared of.
In total, Bernadette and Brian have twenty-one grandchildren, and three great-grandkids.
I am shown more photos than I will ever be able to remember, plied with tea, and walked through every single room in their bungalow.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I say, once the tour is done.
‘So much space! And so much Christmas!’ There are decorations on literally every available surface, and a tree in every room – even the small bathroom has its own miniature pine in a pot on the window-ledge.
They always did go OTT at Christmas, which is natural with so many kids I suppose.
‘Well, with all the wee ones coming over all the time, why not? Only twelve days to go, Ellie! As to the space… it was a shock to the system in the beginning,’ Bernadette replies, looking scandalised.
‘The old place was always good enough for us, but those stairs were deadly steep, and it’s nice to have a bit of a garden around us, room for the whole tribe to play.
All thanks to our Liam, bless him. Talking of which, darlin’, how did you come to have Miss Bella in your possession?
She either left the house very early this morning, or snuck out late last night… ’
‘That’s awful behaviour,’ I say, faking disgust.
Bernadette laughs and points at me. ‘She’s not a patch on you, Eleanor de Vere! You had more attitude in your little finger than my seven boys had all together!’
‘I know. I was an arse, wasn’t I? My poor mum! As to Bella, we, uh, bumped into each other down on the beach this morning, and I offered to bring her home.’
‘Well, thank you for that. One less thing to worry about today. She told you Liam is her stepdaddy?’
‘Well, I think she used the words “dad”, “stepdad” and “whatever”. I didn’t press her on it.’
‘That sounds like our Bella,’ Brian responds, easing himself down into a comfy-looking armchair. ‘The other two are Alice and Alex, Liam’s twins.’
My eyes widen at the whole idea of Liam being a dad to three kids.
I can’t make it mesh with the old Liam, who wasn’t even capable of keeping himself out of trouble, but the new Liam?
The tall, calm, put-together Liam? That I can totally picture.
I didn’t get to see the children that much, but they must have their mother’s colouring, with all that blonde hair.
‘Wow. Twins and Bella. That’s a handful. Is he around, or does he still stay in bed until midday?’
Both of them laugh. I suppose my information might be a bit out of date.
‘He’s over at Rosings, Ellie. You know, the big house. He bought it didn’t he?’ Bernadette says. ‘Along with the land. He’s doing it up, gets stuck in every time he visits.’
‘Wow again. Last time we were there he fell through the rotten floorboards.’
‘I remember,’ his long-suffering mum replies. ‘Came home covered in bruises, his hair full of ceiling plaster. How that boy ever survived into adulthood, I’ll never know… why don’t you head over and see him, have a gander? You could take him some breakfast, you could.’
I do need to talk to Liam, so I agree.
‘No problem. Keep an eye on Miss Bella, won’t you? She seems a bit… down?’
I have no doubt that she will be safe here under the watchful care of Bernadette, but I feel better for saying it. She nods, and replies: ‘I will. I’ll get her doing some chores with me. She’ll complain and swear at me under her breath, but she’s a good girl at heart and she’ll go along.’