“Orla,” I say gently. I stop what I’m doing and face her, careful to keep my expression neutral. The last thing she needs is a reminder that she buried her grandson today. “It’s late. Why don’t you go and get some sleep? I’ll clear up.”
Her bottom lip quivers when she looks at me, and tears well in my eyes. Way to go, Amelia. I’m supposed to be the one holding it together.
“If you’re sure…” She peers around the room, and I can almost see her visibly shrinking. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Orla not rise to a task with a pair of rubber gloves and a defiant chin.
That settles it.
“I’m absolutely sure. No arguing.”
I place my hands on her shoulders and steer her towards the stairs. She feels frail beneath my touch, as if Ruairi’s murder has sucked the life force out of her, and my heart melts as I watch her mount the stairs slowly. She doesn’t look back, and I don’t move until I hear the bedroom door close behind her.
It will take me hours to get the house back to its usual pristine condition, but as weary as I feel, I know I won’t be able to sleep. Might as well get on with it; at least it will keep me busy.
I’m about to head through the double doors into the conservatory and kitchen when I hear a sound from the living room where I set up the early refreshments and the pictures of Ruairi that Eoghan had selected.
I realize that I haven’t seen Eoghan in hours. He must’ve needed some space and shut himself away in the living room when the guests relocated to the conservatory.
My heart thuds dully as I approach the room. At first, I’d assumed that the TV must be on, but as I get closer, I realize that the sounds are human. They’re real, they’re not coming from a speaker. But they’re making every hair on my body stand on end.
I hesitate outside the room. Frozen. Unsure of whether to turn around and pretend I didn’t hear them or open the door and go inside.
These are the sounds of someone grieving. Someone dying inside from the unbearable knot of loss and sorrow that they now have to live with.
I close my eyes and swallow, wishing I hadn’t drunk so much coffee. I can feel it sitting inside my chest threatening to come back up. I inhale deeply and hold it in my lungs until I feel dizzy. What would my mom do?
I don’t even need to think about it. I can hear her voice in my head.
“This isn’t about you, Mia. Someone needs help. Even if you just sit with them and let them know that you’re there.”
Slowly, afraid to disturb them, I open the door and peer inside the room.
It’s in darkness. The curtains are drawn. The lights are switched off, but the flames in the log burner are throwing a gentle orange glow across the room. I can smell liquor and perfume in the air as I peer around, searching for the source of the sobs.
I find it on the couch that’s facing the TV at the far end of the room. They have their back to me, and don’t know that I’m there. I don’t know if I should cough discreetly or just go and sit withthem. I have no experience with things like this, and I really miss my mom right now.
I don’t know how long I stand there, listening to them pouring their heart out onto the floor before I make my legs move. I’m still a few steps away from the couch when I catch a hint of familiar cologne.
It isn’t Eoghan.
It’s Declan.
My indecision instantly evaporates. He needs me. He needs someone to hold him through his heartbreak. So that’s what I do.
I sit beside him on the sofa, pull his head against my chest, and I hold him in my arms until eventually, sleep embraces him and he grows still.
10
DECLAN
I wakeup in Amelia’s arms.
My neck aches from sleeping on the living room couch. I feel wrung out, empty, but bizarrely clear-headed, the funeral having drawn a line underneath what happened to my son, allowing me to focus on what needs to be done. I won’t let Ruairi’s death go unavenged. The Murrays will pay for his murder, and they won’t rise from the ashes once I’m finished with them.
I’m still wearing my black suit. No tie. Reeking of brandy.
Amelia is still dressed all in black, crumbs embedded in the knees of her pants, her hair working loose from the bun it was tied up in yesterday.
While I have her all to myself and the house is still quiet, I soak up her presence in this room. In my life. She looks so peaceful in slumber, her face unblemished by life, plump lips parted like an infant oblivious to their position in the big wide world.
