Chapter Two
I sat at our small kitchen table in the dark, only the lights from the street below spilling in. Something told me that Imogen was in huge trouble.
Imogen had a penchant for choosing the wrong men. Mum always said it was one of the few things she’d inherited from her. Considering what Patrick admitted to yesterday, I seemed to have inherited that trait too.
The door groaned when Mum came home from work in the early morning hours, smelling of spilled beer and smoke. She froze when she spotted me at the table. “Why are you up? Is something wrong with Finn?”
I shook my head. “He’s asleep. Has been for hours.”
Mum put a heap of coins and bills down on the table.
As usual, customers, mostly men, had tipped her more than generously.
At thirty-six, Mum looked as if she, too, could walk the catwalks of the world.
Women tipped her well because she was a jovial lass whose boisterous laughter was infectious and made them forget how pretty she was.
She sat across from me, frowning. “What is it, Aislinn? I know that look.”
“I need to go looking for Imogen. I have to know she’s all right.”
Mum began to shake her head, pulling her brown hair—dyed for as long as I could remember because she disliked hers just like Imogen—into a ponytail. “Aislinn…—”
We had this conversation several times before. Mum didn’t want me to leave. “Don’t try to talk me out of it, Mum. Aren’t you worried about Imogen?”
Mum sighed, looking down at her hands. Her fingernails were chipped, and she began to pick at the edges, breaking off even more of the polish. “Of course I am, but I’m even more worried about the truth.”
“So you have a bad feeling too?”
“How can I not? You know Imogen. She’s a lot like me when I was her age, always choosing the wrong guy.”
I nodded. Imogen had bad taste in men. Married. Much older. More often than not, criminals or losers.
“You haven’t dated for as long as I can remember Mum, so I can’t vouch for your taste in men.”
Mum waved me off. “I don’t want a man in my life. They are nothing but trouble.”
I rolled my eyes, but I kind of got it. Before Patrick I had stayed clear of men for that exact reason. I wasn’t sure if I’d inherited bad taste in men as well. Now, of course, I knew that I had.
I didn’t have time for someone anyway. Work, Finn and household chores took up most of my time.
Not to mention I was still making time every day to improve my cooking skills in the hopes that I could one day open up a restaurant of my own.
“I have enough money to pay for a one-way ticket to New York and a few nights in a cheap hostel.”
She paused. “What about Patrick? What does he say to you going away?”
I hadn’t told Mum about the breakup yet. She was exhausted when she’d come home late last night, and I didn’t want to burden her with my problems.
My expression must have given me away. Mum’s eyes widened. “What’s wrong? What did he do?” Mum had never been Patrick’s biggest fan, and her general distrust of men naturally made her assume he’d done something, and she was right for once.
“He cheated on me,” I said.
Anger twisted Mum’s lips. I could tell she wanted to say something really awful, but she was one of those people who preferred to say nothing if there was nothing good to say. “You broke up with him?”
I shrugged. “Yeah. Well, kind of. He asked me to think of my trip to the States as a break and to give us another chance when I get back.”
“Blimey, don’t tell me you agreed to this nonsense. That’s male code for wanting to cheat without cheating.”
“I didn’t agree. I didn’t say anything. I asked him to leave.”
“Don’t give him another chance. Once a cheater always a cheater, trust me.”
“I know, Mum.” My dad had cheated on her, repeatedly, and Mum forgave him time and time—until she finally stopped and then he took off. I hadn’t seen him since. That was fourteen years ago.
“I don’t want to think about him now. All I want to focus on is Imogen and how to find her as quickly as possible.”
Mum gave a terse nod. “You might need more than a few days to find your sister, and you need a return ticket too. You know I can’t spare any money, not with the horrendous interest rates and Finn’s horse therapy.”
We hoped to battle the symptoms of his spastic cerebral palsy, which resulted from a brain haemorrhage shortly after birth, with additional therapy.
We paid for Finn’s physical therapy with horses out of our own pocket; it wasn’t included in public health care.
Even if we weren’t sure if it would help with his spasms, it made him happier and had reduced his stutter so it was money well spent.
“I’ll find work in New York. They need waitresses there too, right?”
“Then you’ll need a work visa, Aislinn, and those are expensive.”
I bit my lip. I hadn’t thought about that part. “I’m sure there are employers who don’t care about visas.”
Mum shook her head. “You aren’t a girl who causes trouble. Don’t start now. Don’t go the illegal route. It leads nowhere.”
“Mum, I need to know what happened to Imogen. I can’t just pretend everything’s fine.”
“Maybe she wanted to cut all ties to us and Ireland.”
“Maybe,” I amended.
I wished I could say I was certain that Imogen wouldn’t do that, but she was a runner.
She ran from everything that caused her distress.
“If she doesn’t want us in her life, then I can try to move on.
But either way, I need to know.” I wasn’t sure if I really could.
Imogen and I didn’t have many things in common, but I loved her because she was my sister.
Not to mention I didn’t want Finn to grow up without his biological mother, even if Mum and I had mostly raised him ourselves.
In the past, when Mum spent her nights working to pay the rent, Imogen and I would huddle together in one bed and protect each other from the dark. That was what sisters were for.
Mum looked away, her lips set in a tight line. “Do you remember Gulliver?”
“Uncle Gulliver?” I asked. He was a distant memory. Tall and redheaded, the same shade as my hair. I had been five or six when he last visited us. He and Mum had fought loudly, and I never saw him again.
“Yes,” Mum whispered. When she looked up and met my gaze, trepidation filled her green eyes. “He’s in New York too, leading the Irish parish there.”
“Right, he’s a priest,” I said then paused. “Did Imogen go to him as well?”
Mum swallowed. “Gulliver and I aren’t on speaking terms. He thinks I’m a sinner.”
“Didn’t you at least try for Imogen?”
Mum pursed her lips, obviously not liking my indignant tone. “Of course I tried. I’d do anything for you girls and Finn.” She swallowed loudly. “We didn’t talk much, but he told me she came to see him.” Mum wrung her hands.
“That’s good, right?” If Gulliver helped her, she might be all right. As a priest, he probably had the right contacts to make sure Imogen didn’t get in trouble. “Did she sleep at his house?”
“No,” Mum clipped. Then in a softer tone added, “And it’s not good, Aislinn. Not good at all.”
I waited for her to say more and make sense. Mum was selective with sharing information about the past.
Mum got up and reached into her back pocket as if she was reaching for her cigarette package but she’d stopped smoking more than two years ago. Now, I was really nervous. “Gulliver is the confessor for the Devaney clan.”
My mouth fell open. “What?”
Mum shook her head. “I never wanted you to know. But if you go to New York, you can’t go blindly. You must stay away from Gulliver. ”
“Uncle Gulliver is involved with the Irish mob?”
Everyone in Dublin knew the name Devaney.
Their clan ruled over the underworld in the city.
Truth be told, their influence in all of Ireland was huge too.
I had, on occasion, seen one of their debt collectors at Merchant’s Arch during one of my shifts.
They were collecting money for “protection,” mainly from them.
“I didn’t know the Devaney clan is in New York too. ”
Mum looked increasingly uncomfortable, which, in turn, made me increasingly curious.
We had always stayed away from the Devaneys and everyone involved with them.
We led a mundane life, far away from trouble.
Not that they had any interest in us. “Lorcan Devaney, the second son of Devaney Senior, rules over the clan there,” Mum said, and I wondered how the hell she knew.
She must have seen the questions swirling in my eyes. “Your uncle mentioned it.”
The words were rushed and higher than her usual tone.
Suspicious, I narrowed my eyes.
“Do you think Imogen got involved with the mob because of Gulliver?” I asked, alarmed.
Mum shrugged. “You know Imogen.”
Damn.
“No, she wouldn’t be that reckless … right?” If they dangled the right carrot in front of her face, she’d try to take a bite.
Mum didn’t say anything.
I got up and paced our small kitchen. The floor boards creaked with every step. Outside someone hollered something unintelligible. “But if that’s the case, it’s even more important for me to find her. Maybe she needs help getting out of trouble.”
“Or maybe she’ll only drag you into trouble with her, Aislinn.” This changed so many things, and gave me a lead I didn’t have before. New hope flickered inside of me, even if the news about the mob wasn’t good news so to speak.
“Swear that you won’t go to your uncle. Swear it on my life.”
“Mum—”
Mum stepped in my way and grabbed my hands. “Swear it.”
“I can’t. If Gulliver knows where Imogen is, then I’ll have to talk to him.”
Mum’s grip on my hand tightened even more. “Don’t go anywhere near the Devaney clan even if Imogen’s trail leads right there. ”
“Mum, don’t be dramatic. I’m sure Imogen is fine and not involved with the mob.” I pursed my lips in contemplation. “Maybe Uncle Gulliver knows a place where I can work without a work visa.”
Mum’s eyes widened in alarm. “No.”
“Mum …”