Family Affairs Read online

  “I suppose I was overreacting, but I’m used to not being noticed here in Clifden, so it just surprised me, is all.”

  “You should probably expect it from Americans more than here, although hard to not catch a glimpse of your mug in the rag mags.”

  “You’re so kind, Dev,” she jeered. “Great vote of confidence!”

  “Not to change the subject from your adoring fans, but do you want to come into the city tomorrow? I have some stuff to do and expect to be there for a few hours at least.”

  “Oh, Dev, that’s perfect! Haven’t been into Galway yet this trip and dying to browse the shops, and maybe even buy a new laptop. What time are you leaving?”

  “Bums on seats at 9 a.m. sharp and am only bringing the jeep, so remember the lack of storage as you buy up the place, okay?”

  “No problem. I’ll choose wisely, oh stingy one,” she quipped as she stretched up out of her chair. “I’m off to bed. See you early in the morning. Thanks.” She rubbed her hand gently over the top of his head as she walked by and then disappeared upstairs.

  Dev felt the tingle all the way down to his stomach and put his hand up to rest on his hair as if to hold in the feeling. You fool, he acknowledged to himself as he realised what he was doing and promptly wrapped his hand around the now cooling mug and let it settle there.

  The morning was bright and cool after a brief spell of overnight rain as they drove the winding road into Galway. The Maumturks were sparkling as the sunlight caught patches of quartzite covering a considerable area of the mountain range. They both drank occasionally from their travel coffee mugs, the radio talk show keeping any silence from being, well, silent.

  They agreed to meet for a soup at a small well-known café near the Spanish arch and parted amicably to do their separate chores. Frankie was thrilled to wander the gorgeous boutiques and craft shops in the centuries-old city, and spent a very pleasant time picking out a few items for the lodge as well as a few pieces of artisan jewellery; not in her usual style but immensely appealing for that.

  Although she had her hair tied up under the habitual baseball cap and large dark glasses on there were several times when she became aware of someone watching her. Shaking it off as nerves, she tried her best to ignore it and reminded herself that such was the price of fame and that this kind of thing happened to her all the time.

  She headed for the café with only a half-dozen bags swinging from her arms and as she perused the menu pasted on the window she became aware of someone standing behind her, his reflection obvious in the glass. She stilled and tried to relax her posture, which had instinctively tightened. The man wasn’t directly behind but rather leaning against the wall of the alley behind her, just standing, staring.

  She spun round to study her watcher, but a laughing group of Italian students ambled by at the exact same time. Twisting, she thought she saw a glimpse of a tall man melting into the background. Larry? Was it him? It looked like him. Or did it? Flustered, she turned this way and that trying to see him but had no luck.

  “Gotcha!” An arm wrapped around her neck as she let out a panicked yelp.

  “Jesus, Dev,” she gasped as she realised from the smell of him who it was. “You frightened the life out of me. Don’t sneak up on me, please, not with everything going on.”

  “Sorry. Stupid of me. You just looked so absorbed I couldn’t resist.” He gave her cap a friendly tug and looked at her properly. “Damn, Frankie, you look scared. I really am sorry – just wasn’t thinking. Come on, let me feed you at least and you can show me your purchases.” He groaned in exaggeration at her snazzy bags and hauled her into the café.

  To distract her jitters he regaled her with his morning’s work. Choosing some mounts and frames for a specific selection of his photographs for the upcoming exhibition had been a taxing but satisfying project, he said, and he dragged out some samples to show her the final colours. She was genuinely interested and they had a heated debate about the question of framing all images the same or using each as a one-off to showcase different looks. He actually agreed with her about keeping the same frame throughout to unite the themes but disagreed, she suspected, simply to hear her argue and, mindful of his duty to watch out for her, keep her mind occupied on something other than her own situation.

  The following few days settled once more into a pattern. Added to this was a daily coffee up at Kings with Mary Louanne, who’d decided to extend her few days in Connemara and meet up with her tour group in a week or so back in Dublin.

  “Why, it’s just so darling here, I simply can’t bear to leave just yet,” she’d enthused to Frankie upon joining her at a table the morning after the Galway trip. “And I’ve been to the Ring of Kerry before, so I’m really not needing to visit there again.”

  Frankie was surprised, maybe unfairly, that this young southern woman was such a fan of Ireland and asked her about her travel choices.

  “My granddaddy, on my mama’s side, had mostly Irish in him and we all loved to hear the stories of how his daddy had come over to work in the mines. It was a difficult, difficult life for them growing up in a cabin in the Smoky Mountains, what with having ten children and only two rooms. Why, I can’t even imagine, can you?”

  Frankie agreed that no, she couldn’t, indeed, imagine. Her own mother had emigrated to the States in her early twenties but had come from a seemingly respectable and financially comfortable family in south Dublin, not unlike Jo’s background. Unfortunately, Carolina’s parents had died early, both close together, and she being an only child had no relatives left for Frankie to enjoy. Listening to Mary Louanne, Frankie got the impression her childhood had been problematic too, with not a great relationship with her mother. Her daddy, on the other hand, was mentioned frequently and the pair were obviously very close.

  “What about your mama and daddy?” Mary Louanne asked. “Are y’all real close?”

  It was one of the questions that Frankie hated. Not only did she have to admit her mother was dead, but also that she never had a father that she knew of. All the talk of Mary Louanne’s family made Frankie’s chest ache. She didn’t mind chatting about inconsequential things but found the whole family scenario too hard. She never had to discuss it with any of the Fitzgeralds – they knew her story and accepted her anyway. Her other girlfriends knew not to ask about certain topics, so having Mary Louanne ask so openly was a bit of a shock. Interviewers were always warned by her agent that family was off-limits and although there was speculation in the media on and off, it stayed off their radar.

  Frankie made an excuse to finish the coffee chat without actually answering that particular question and headed back to the lodge.

  Can you miss something you never knew? Or someone? Frankie knew only too well that not having a dad in her life left a gaping hole – she understood the heartache of watching other dads carrying their daughters, girls being chased playfully, bought ice creams. She saw dads turn up at recitals and clap the loudest, she saw them bear-hug their daughters as they did a first solo bike ride or pony jump or dive from even the lowest board. Frankie saw these dads bursting with pride and beaming with delight. She saw them at graduations and engagements and several weddings – oh, that hurt the most – the father-daughter first dance. How can one bear watching a daddy give away his little girl when you never had one to begin with?

  Frankie punched her pillow as she turned again in her bed, restless, sad and lonely. She wasn’t so naïve to believe that it was all rosy in the garden – she’d also witnessed several fathers roar at their girls, yell and rant and walk away from their girls. She’d seen Patrick distressed and upset when one of his own misbehaved, or was mouthy to their mum or himself. She’d witnessed the punishment of a closed door, a silence or a turned head. But she really, really wanted to have felt them for herself – even the tough bits – because she saw how much the Fitzgerald women respected Patrick, not despite all the rules and cross words over the years but because of them.

  Frankie also kn
ew how lucky she was to have had Patrick and Enzo di Franco as role models – two more different men you couldn’t get, yet each showed her what it meant to have a strong male in her corner. She’d also recently met with an old girlfriend who’d lived with her dad all her life and both despised and disrespected him – for good reasons. That man had abused his power, not through physical violence but through negativity and coldness. He’d rarely touched his daughter – she, too, had never had the dad hugs, or the applause or pride or support, and her dad was there. Having talked so much with Amy, Frankie realised that Amy probably had the raw end of the deal. At least Frankie could fantasise about how wonderful her own father would have been with no reality to cloud her possibilities.

  So, absent father or absent father? Which would she choose?

  What useless thoughts! There was no choice to be made. She didn’t have one. Her mother had never spoken about him, saying merely that she couldn’t remember which jerk it had been as she’d been on a bender that particular weekend in Vegas. I mean, really? She couldn’t remember?

  Carolina had sobered up during her pregnancy but had many slip-ups over the following years. Frankie had adored her mother but she never, she could admit to herself now, really liked her as a person. She’d been a self-absorbed, self-indulgent woman. She’d also had moments of brilliance and generosity onscreen, and when onstage she’d held a room spellbound in her hand. A massive legacy to deal with on the one hand and no legacy on the other. Christ! I’m a psychologist’s dream client, Frankie thought as she turned over once more in bed. They could get years of research out of my screwed-up life – if it wasn’t my own I could make a film out of it. Maybe I should write the script . . .

  Chapter 9

  With midsummer well past, July slowly slipped by. The weather turned mixed with several showery days equalled by beautifully sunny ones. Frankie and Mary Louanne, who’d ditched her tour completely and was working at a local bar while staying in a hostel, met most days for a chat and a coffee. Frankie was strangely drawn to her, almost in spite of herself, as they really had little in common. But Mary Louanne had a good sense of humour and called a spade a spade while managing to ooze southern charm. The locals enjoyed her accent and her delivery and bit by bit, Frankie was sharing her own story.

  The day Mary Louanne had found out who Frankie actually was had been a hoot. Frankie had arrived early for their chat and had been recognised by a few teens down from Dublin for their summer holidays. She’d laughed and teased them and was gracefully signing a few autographs, when Mary Louanne had come rushing up demanding to know what the fuss was about. The girls giggled and whispered and eventually showed the signature to Mary Louanne, who’d simply stared at it, frowning, disbelieving, and then had turned on Frankie in outrage.

  “Why, missy, you’ve all been laughing at me behind my very back! How was I to know you were so famous and all when I didn’t even know your last name? Oh, shame on me! You must think I’m just a big ole country hick! Why, I’ve seen so very many of your movies, yes I have!” She squinted soulfully at Frankie. “But I must say, your looks sure have gone downhill, sugar, since I saw that last one where you were you played some mobster’s moll – now she was beautiful!”

  “Sorry, Mary Louanne, but you must remember, most of what you see on screen is make-up and lighting – what you see before you is the real me.”

  Mary Louanne looked disappointed and then shrugged in her casual way.

  “Why, I believe you could be real pretty again if you just tidied yourself up a bit and stopped wearing them god-awful baseball caps!”

  This from the woman who wore heavy eye make-up, had bleached blonde hair in a dated style and always wore lipstick in just too bright a shade! Frankie never discussed style or fashion with her, as it was obvious it wasn’t on Mary Louanne’s antennae.

  And that suited Frankie just fine.

  Thankfully, Flynn had sent her Mac laptop back, so no need for another Galway trip just yet and no more emails had appeared. Frankie had begun her new project and carried her Mac with her everywhere, typing snatches and notes here and there. Mary Louanne had enquired what she’d been up to, but Frankie had again redirected the conversation as she’d closed down her machine and put it away.

  Dev spent most days off driving about the area taking shots for his exhibition, though Frankie figured he must have thousands by now and time was running out to get them all framed. He was due any minute here at the outside café to catch a lift back to the lodge, as his jeep was getting serviced, and when she saw him, he had several camera bags and a tripod under his arm. Mary Louanne was sipping her latte in the next chair, flipping through a magazine and giving a running commentary on all the celebrities’ latest gossip.

  “Hey, babe.” Devlin plonked all his gear down next to Frankie and signalled to MJ to come over for an order.

  “Hey yourself.” Frankie moved her laptop nearer her feet to make room for the amount of stuff that was all Dev’s. “Can you order me a fizzy water, please, and Mary Louanne, would you like something to drink?” she asked, turning to her right. “My brother Dev here is buying.”

  Dev frowned at Frankie and stuck his hand out towards the other woman. “Hey, nice to meet you and I’m not her brother.”

  Mary Louanne just about gushed out a greeting of pure honey as she shook hands with him and leaned sideways towards Frankie, comically fanning herself as if she were burnt all over.

  “Why, Frankie, honey, you never told me your kin was so darned handsome! My, oh, my, he’s just so pretty!”

  Frankie groaned and dropped her head dramatically on her hands. “Mary Louanne, please don’t encourage him, he’s big-headed enough as it is! And he’s right, he’s not my kin.”

  She grinned up at the offender and stuck out her tongue at him. He retaliated by flipping her cap off and mussing her hair before shoving the hat back on backwards.

  “There, no one’ll recognise you now – you look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge.”

  MJ arrived at that moment and they stopped play-acting to place the orders of double espresso for Dev, San Pellegrino for Frankie and latte for Mary Louanne.

  “Oh, you two are just so darling together,” she practically cooed. “Why, I can totally see why you’ve kept this hunk of manhood so well hidden!”

  “I haven’t kept him hidden . . .” Frankie began just as Dev said, “She’s been hiding me?”

  Mary Louanne clapped her hands delightedly and said, “See? Just darling!”

  “Jesus, that woman is unreal,” Dev complained as Frankie drove back home about an hour later. “Does she ever shut up?”

  “I know she talks a lot but I actually find it kind of soothing now. In fact, I just let her prattle on and can kind of drift off and dip in and out of what she’s saying. She’s harmless, Dev, and I think a bit homesick. She misses her dad.” Unaware of the wistful tone in her voice, Frankie turned right up the driveway to the lodge. “I may ask her over for the barbeque on the bank holiday weekend, if your family don’t mind. What do you think?”

  Dev glanced cautiously at her, picking up on her mood. “Sure, go ahead and ask her. The parents won’t mind. The whole gang will be down. Ali twisted several arms to get a chef replacement and Molly says she needs to get out of Dublin for a while. I gather it’s all off with Vegan Man and she wants to lick her wounds.”

  “Oh, poor Molly. Did he end things?”

  “No, it was her, as usual, but she feels so bad for hurting the chap. Jesus, you could write the fecking script with her – always the same, bleeding heart that she is.”

  “She’s so soft-hearted, isn’t she? I hope Caro and Toby will be down, too.”

  “Yup. The lot.” Dev opened the car door and grabbed his gear. “Do you need a hand with groceries?”

  “No, thanks, I got it.”

  “Right, I’m off down to the shore for a swim – I’ll see you later.” And he was gone.

  Frankie began to collect the few bits
and pieces from the supermarket, when she remembered she’d forgotten the chorizo for the pasta. She quickly drove the few minutes back into town, double-parking outside the shop. She hurried down the aisle to fetch the chorizo and, turning, almost knocked over the person standing right behind her.

  “Oh! my goodness. Excuse me . . . Oh!”

  She was staring into ice-blue eyes. The hairs at the back of her neck stood upright and a chill swept over her. Her mouth was instantly dry. Larry stood before her – Larry from the bus tour, unmoving, silent, barring her way. What the hell was he doing here? Gasping for air, Frankie dropped the chorizo, ducked around him and practically ran between the stands on either side of the shop. She threw a look over her shoulder and saw him turn and purposefully make his way after her.

  Shit!

  She raced out of the shop and dived into her car. Thank God she’d left it right there. She threw it into gear and spun off as Larry appeared on the pavement outside, cold eyes searching for her. She glanced in the rear-view mirror as she put her foot to the floor. Shit-shit! He appeared to be getting into a waiting car – was someone else driving? She couldn’t see but stared forwards as she sped back to the lodge.

  Pulling into the drive, she instinctively drove around the back, parked out of sight, and charged in through the back door.

  “Dev, Dev, are you here?” she called as loud as she could.

  Damn! Gone swimming – he’d never hear her. Heart thudding, she stopped and listened for any signs that she’d been followed. Silence. No, wait! Was that a car on the gravel? Where the hell was Dev? Silence again, except the hammering from her chest. Crunch – a soft crunch as if someone was creeping towards the house.

  She hurried though to the front hall, closing the door softly behind her. She edged towards the old front door, thinking she could sneak out that way if he was coming through the kitchen. And then she could run like mad, screaming for Dev at the same time. Even if she was caught, she figured she could make enough noise to attract Dev’s attention. Her breath coming in gasps, she turned the knob.