“Do you know she nearly died when she had Callum?” Marie said to a room that was heavy with silence. “Grant told me once about it. He wasn’t there – she went into labour suddenly and was found on the kitchen floor by Amelie’s mum next door. Callum was okay but Rachael lost a lot of blood. I think you three were looked after by Amelie’s mum for a few weeks because there wasn’t anyone around and your dad had a big court case.” She sighed. “Silly man.”
“I remember it,” Jackson said, handing me back Max’s letter. “It wasn’t a good time. I think it’s nice for us to have the toys and clothes and photos, but I think we get rid of the letters.”
I looked at Killian, seeing the slight nod that was almost imperceptible. “I’m going to give the letters to K,” I started to collect them all up. “He can put them into one of the safeboxes at his offices and they’re there. I think it would be wrong to get rid of Max’s because it’s not our property and he should know of its existence. It’s up to him to decide what to do with it. I think we should keep ours with them as the three give a story together and that’s part of our history, but I don’t want anyone stumbling across these. They’re not nice.” I handed them to Killian. He gave me a smile that told me he was good with my decision. “What do you think, Jacks?”
My brother, the most steady and level of the four of us older kids, nodded, arms folded. “Now isn’t the time for Max to read that. I don’t think there’ll ever be a time for Callum to know there was one for him.”
“Agreed. The rest of the stuff’s cute though. Ava will be able to do something with displaying it so our kids can see it. I think they’ll find it interesting.” I knew Eliza would be fascinated, and Niamh loved hearing her grandmas talking about when they were little, so my girls at least would be curious.
We packed the cars up, Killian and Owen distributing the wine – of which there was more than we expected – and packing up the other odds and sods that we knew we didn’t want to throw or leave behind.
“Are you staying over there tonight?” Marie asked when we were ready to go.
“I think so. Ava and I will go over in my car and I think Owen and Jacks are coming too.”
“Any of the kids?”
“Probably Rose, maybe Teddy,” Jackson said, giving Marie a hug. “You did the right thing, forgetting about those boxes when you did.”
She nodded. “A poor memory can be useful sometimes.”
I laughed. “Poor memory, my arse. You knew damn well what you were doing. Have you got baby keepsakes for Seph, Payton and Ava?” If all of our stuff was laid out and not theirs, Seph would sulk for a year.
“It’s already at Oxford. The wardrobe in our bedroom, top of the left hand side, next to the window. There are more school reports and photos from holidays. Have a root through it and use what you want. You can store anything in there too.”
“More treasure,” I smiled. “Anything to avoid in there? No little blue pills for dad, or sex toys?”
I could see Jackson dying out of the corner of my eye, which made this all worth it.
“Your dad doesn’t need little blue pills. Everything is in working order. You’re safe in that wardrobe, don’t go in the one next to it unless you want to be more damaged than you already are.”
“Claire will be in there later.” Killian shook his head. “So prepare for photos on the group text.”
“Never. I wouldn’t do such a thing.” I absolutely would.
MEMORY TEN
GRANT
I’d never felt so elated or apprehensive at the same time before, the drive from Gatwick airport to my home in the Oxfordshire countryside peppered with stretches of silence between me and Marie when we were both clearly thinking about what was happening in the next few hours and the implications of what we were doing and furiously fast conversation when we seemed to talk our way to the same paragraph of the same page, a plan or a strategy coming together.
“Your kids have had a lot of change already,” she said, as we joined the first of many country roads. “How many nannies have they had since Rachael died?”
“How many have they had since Jackson was born, you mean? Probably about fourteen. I wasn’t there during the week, but from what I gathered, Rachael asked a lot of them. I don’t think we gave a good impression of what it was like to work for us. And the kids weren’t easy. They’re still not easy.” I glanced at her, hands remaining on the steering wheel. I’d left my car at the airport during my trip so I could get home as quickly as possible. “You might spend a few days with them and charter a plane back to New York.”
She smiled, a knowing little grin that made me slightly more nervous.
“Grant, I’m one of nine. The second eldest, so I grew up with seven younger siblings. Our mam was around and she didn’t have the same difficulties with her mental health as Rachael did, so we weren’t missing a parent but we had times when we brought ourselves up. We fought and shouted at each other, and did some horrible things to each other, but if someone new entered the fold, we really ganged up on them. We had an old fashioned governess one summer because my dad had some strange idea that we needed extra lessons – we probably did, I think it was the summer two of my brothers were asked not to return to school in the September. She lasted four days. We locked her in an outhouse, knowing she was scared of spiders. Bernadette and Colm kept finding spiders and posting them through a gap in the window. It was terrible, looking back.” She was still smiling.
“How long was she locked in for?” I asked, expecting her to say half an hour.
“About twelve hours. The gardener found her just before sunset. She didn’t come back after that. She was horrible though, really nasty to one of my sisters. Your kids may achieve the same standards as we did, but there’s half of them. They won’t scare me.” She glanced at me. “Can I speak bluntly?”
“I think you always do, but go ahead.”
“Your kids have experienced rejection from their mam, from you with you being at work so much, from the people paid to look after them. They’ll go into every relationship expecting to be rejected so they’ll find it hard to make that attachment because they’ll be scared they’ll be hurt again. Playing up for people’s part of that.”
I let the quiet sit there for a minute while I decided what to say.
