As I hurriedly navigate the darkness along the cobblestone alleyway, illuminated only by the single lamp post, my mind spins with questions: What does an Irish lawyer need to talk to me about? And why now, after all these years?
CHAPTER 7
THE PUB
I thrust open the creaking, weathered door to The Fox and Hound, one of London’s most iconic Irish pubs. The punters’ eyes dart up from their pints as I enter. A faint fire crackles in a stone hearth, and the atmosphere is saturated with centuries-old wood and freshly poured Guinness, coupled with the scent of fried chips and sausages. The jukebox in the corner blares out an old ballad of love lost and exile, emerald eyes and fields of green, while glasses clink, raucous laughter echoes through the rafters and someone sings along off-tune.
Business as usual at The Fox and Hound. I walk up to the bar, feeling the weight of the day starting to lift off my shoulders as I take in the lively atmosphere around me. The bartender greets me with a warm smile, and I order a pint of Guinness. She nods and slides the glass across the counter to me, the foam cascading down the side. I take a sip, relishing the bitter, smooth flavour. The pub is a bit of a dive, but it’s also one of the only places in London where I feel like myself. It’s where I used to come when I need to escape the monotony of my daily life and just be myself – no expectations, no judgement.
It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. The dark, low tables and mismatched cushioned stools haveseen better days; a string of tiny green bar lights flicker against the deep mahogany walls and stained-glass windows. Mirrors and photo frames reflect light off each other, obscuring the haze of dust hovering in the air. I feel the weight of a lifetime of memories in the air. The low murmur of drunk voices echoes throughout the pub.
‘Daisy!’ Big Sean exclaims, eyes wide and hands outstretched. ‘God, it’s great to see you.’ He shuffles around the counter, untying his apron as he steps closer to me, his every movement exaggerated by his ample girth.
Big Sean is a giant of a man, with a heart to match. He stands a full head and shoulders above me, his bulging arms barely contained within the sleeves of his greying T-shirt. The light catches in the intricate filigree of his gold chain, accentuating the weathered lines on his freckled skin. His calloused hands rest reassuringly against my shoulders, and he smiles down to me with kind eyes set beneath tufts of his thick, white brows. Ancient tattoos ripple around muscular forearms, hinting at stories untold.
He wraps his arms around me, pinning mine to my sides, my frame completely enveloped in the soft warmth of his embrace. ‘Daisy! Let me have a peek at you!’ he exclaims. ‘You look very important indeed, all dressed up in your fancy attire! Are you keeping well?’
I shift my gaze to my figure-hugging black suit, towering heels and tailored blouse. ‘Yes, everything’s fine. Just came straight from work – I don’t usually wear this kind of gear.’
‘Your mother was a hard worker too, wasn’t she just?’ He brushes his hand lightly against my cheek as his eyes glisten. ‘Look at you, Daisy. The same long red hair she had, the same green eyes… even that little smile of hers!’ He closes his eyes tightly, trying to keep the tears from flowing freely down his cheeks. Big Sean may look tough on the outside, but he had aspecial place in his heart for my mother; they were close friends for many years, and he was one of the few people who knew her well.
‘Your mother was an incredible woman, Daisy. Strong and brave.’ His voice trembles with emotion, and he has to pause again, biting his lips to compose himself before continuing. ‘She used all her energy to protect your little family, never once giving up no matter the odds. She could have done anything with her life yet chose to stay here, wanting you to have everything you deserved…’
I take his hand in mine and give it a reassuring squeeze, which brings a faint smile to his face.
After taking a deep breath he starts speaking again. ‘Time passes but know this – nobody will ever replace her in our hearts or forget the fine woman she was.’
He pulls me to him, and I lay my head against his shirt where I can hear the thud of his heart. After a beat, he wipes his face with his arm and claps his hands. ‘Would you like some bacon and cabbage? Is that still your favourite?’
A wave of fond memories washes over me and I nod, a smile breaking onto my face. ‘My long-time favourite! Thanks, Sean, but I can’t stay for long. I have to meet my boyfriend for dinner, so I can’t this time. But thank you. You always remember the little things.’
Our eyes meet in sudden understanding, the silence between us taking on a heavy urgency.
‘Yes, indeed, for my sins… Sometimes I’d rather forget, but, sure, we must play the hand we’re dealt…’ He forces a big smile. ‘Haven’t seen you in a long while – are you still busy with the big job?’ His voice is soft and full of concern. ‘Making sure they know who’s in charge?’
‘You bet,’ I tell him.
He breathes deeply, and his jaw sets firmly as his brow furrows in thought. He’s not buying it. ‘Well, don’t let anyone be thinking they can push you around and get away with it, d’ya hear me?’
You can’t lie to Big Sean. That’s why he liked my mother so much – she couldn’t lie. He trusted her with the whole shebang – running his empire. She oversaw the staff, the stock, accounts, code for the safe… and she kept all his secrets.
And, in return, he guarded all hers. Even from me.
He takes my arm and guides me to a secluded booth in the corner. ‘Wait in here a minute – I’ll go round up our lawyer friend, James O’Connor. I’m just over there behind the bar if you need me.’ He taps his finger to his nose. ‘Any trouble and give me the sign, Daisy. Me and the lads will be right over and he won’t cause you any further bother.’ He straightens, dusts his hands on his trousers and gives me a tight-lipped smile. I feel such comfort that he’ll keep a watchful eye over me, and I know beyond doubt that if any trouble comes our way, he’ll be able to handle it no problem.
I slide into the snug booth and run my fingers over the flat oak table, the grain deep under my fingertips, the surface smooth and worn by the hands of many. Every touch resonates with the ghosts of those who once sat here. The flicker of the candles makes the air seem alive, as if it’s breathing, carrying a hint of sweet earth or dried grass, a sense of belonging that I can’t explain and have never understood.
I sit waiting, my mind churning. What could this lawyer want to go over after all this time? The investigation into my mother’s death had been closed years ago; concluded as an accident. If she’d been wearing a helmet, or had her bicycle lights on, or hadn’t been riding so late at night, she may still be here, they’d said.
My heart aches as I remember standing on the side of the road, staring at the flowers and candles that adorned the spot where she’d been hit by a car. It didn’t seem fair that she was gone, that her light had been snuffed out so soon.
Whiskey glasses clank noisily against the counter, the volume intensifying with each passing second. The room is thick with a pent-up tension, a fever pitch. I’m relieved Ash isn’t here – he’d hate a chaotic, sticky-floor place like this, preferring sophisticated cocktail bars, with their hushed conversations and low-key, well-lit décor. I’m much more drawn to places like The Fox and Hound, where people are eager to joke over a beer and join in on lively conversations. I feel so much more at ease here – no stilted small talk or intense scrutiny, even when surrounded by strangers.
Suddenly, there’s a loud crash from behind me, followed by an eruption of rage and shouting. I whirl around quickly to find two men brawling on top of the pool table in the far corner of the room. Big Sean slams his fist on the counter and rallies some huge-looking skinheads to restore order. But, instead, a tall, dark-haired man leaps from his bar stool and raises both hands over his head. He’s dressed in a plain white tee that does nothing to hide his toned physique, plus a well-worn pair of jeans. His face is chiselled and angular, and his vivid blue eyes are framed by jet-black hair. As he steps forward, a hush descends; the room feels like it’s suddenly wrapped in a cocoon of silence. His eyes flick briefly to Sean, and in a voice of unquestioned authority, he calmly says, ‘I’ll take care of it.’
The room stills in an instant; everyone’s attention is riveted on him. His gaze slowly sweeps across the room, taking in the scene with a practised ease. Sean nods and clicks his fingers, commanding several of the bulky bodyguards to stand by, ready to pounce if called upon.
The man radiates an air of confidence, moving with a grace that speaks of years of experience in these types of situations, unfazed by chaos. He steps between the scuffling men, tearing them apart with one strong, swift movement. His hands grip each by the shoulder, and he keeps eye contact with them while speaking in a low, steady voice. His words are too hushed for me to hear, but by the wide eyes and lowered gazes of those in the room, I can tell the men get his point.
