‘Are you from Dublin?’ asked Toni.
‘No,’ said the girl. ‘I’m from the Planet of Trinity!’
Lou laughed out loud this time.
‘Where are you going to in Dublin?’ she asked the girl.
‘I don’t know. A hostel?’
With her eyes still on the road, Toni said: ‘You can stay with us.’
After all, she thought, she had a big house and who knew how much longer she’d have it. Might as well have guests in.
‘Wow, I love this place. This is yours?’ said Trinity, as Toni clicked the electric gate zapper and the big wooden gates slid seamlessly back to reveal Elliot Lodge, the house that one obsequiously flattering magazine profile had called ‘a modern home designed with the essence of Art Deco’.
‘Yeah,’ muttered Toni, throwing the gate zapper into the front of the car. The closer they’d got to Dublin, the more her anxiety had increased.
Was she mad to bring Lou and Trinity here? The house was possibly the property of the bank now. Or maybe a loan shark? Or possibly the Criminal Assets Bureau, because if Oliver’s borrowings had been from some organised crime guy and who knew what other stupid things Oliver had done in his gambling mania, then she and Oliver were unwittingly funding organised crime? Perhaps some hoodlum would emerge from the front door and warn them off? Art Deco cost a fortune and it now belonged to somebody called Big Jimbo who might appear with a baseball bat and tell them to ‘eff off’.
‘It’s big,’ Trinity went on as they drove in the gate and the house faced them, the beautiful and wildly expensive cloud tree still sitting in the flower bed to the left of the vast glass front window. At least nobody had dug the tree up and taken it, Toni thought, staring at it with narrowed eyes. That was something. The cloud tree had cost thousands.
The entire place had been a money pit that they’d managed to keep going because Oliver liked the good things in life.
‘We need to be seen living in the right sort of place,’ he’d said every time Toni winced when a new bill came in for the extensive renovations. ‘People in our line of work have to have a home that reflects us.’
Toni had loved the house, but she hadn’t needed it to reflect any part of her. She’d liked it because it was luxurious, proof to herself of how much she’d achieved. It was the same with clothes or handbags – they weren’t there for anyone else, just for her. Oliver had wanted this house too, had loved it. But if he’d lost as much money as he’d said he’d lost, it would be gone. Oliver had ruined it all.
And if his removal of nine thousand from her credit card was anything to go by, her money was probably all gone. Her safety and security. It was only in the losing of it that Toni finally realised how important her financial security was. Money meant nothing until you didn’t haveit.
‘How many of you live here?’ asked Trinity carefully as she took in the size of the house.
‘Just myself and my husband,’ said Toni grimly.
She felt Lou’s comforting hand on her leg, patting it.
‘You don’t know anything for sure, yet,’ Lou said.
Toni sniffed. Since they’d picked up their passenger, Lou had reverted joyously back to being the lovely, kind sister Toni had always known. It was as if having a young person in the car had made her forget all her random irritation and grief and become cosily kind again.
Like a mother. Nottheirmother, obviously, but a good mother.
Toni turned the car before parking. Just in case they had to make a getaway. Lou didn’t appear to notice this bit of forward planning and for that, Toni was grateful. She unlocked the hall door and went in, finding to her utter surprise that the alarm was on. No hoodlums then?
‘Wow,’ Trinity said yet again. ‘This is an amazing house, Toni.’
Toni might have liked the admiration for her beautiful home had she not been about to lose it. She normally loved people cooing over the poured concrete floors, the giant Japanese walls where Oliver had indulged his love of Yamato-e art.
The pictures, three huge pieces painted in delicate golds and autumn colours, Oliver’s favourites, had cost a fortune and what were they worth now ... ? Probably damn all. Like expensive jewellery: nothing. She felt a sudden pang that she had never been interested in things like Chanel handbags. Now they were things worth collecting. Vintage Chanel flap handbags in old leather made money when you kept them and sold them years later. But not – she looked down – handmade carpets in the same colours as the Japanese art. They were probably now worth the same as nylon office carpet tiles in resale value.
‘I can see you calculating every item,’ whispered Lou.
Toni closed her eyes and wished she could stop doing it.
‘I am,’ she said. ‘That couch ...’ She gestured into the open-plan lounge where a deep couch in the same bluey-green colour of Monet’s lilies dominated the room.
Each room has a different shade, the obsequious article cooed.
‘The couch cost fifteen thousand because it was handmade for the space ...’ said Toni, feeling numb now. Fifteen grand. They must have been out of their minds.
