My Louboutins click across the mosaic tiles, the sound echoing through the spacious reception area. Louise, the bubbly blonde head receptionist, cradles a phone between her neck and ear. When she finally glances up, her face lights up with an effusive welcome.
I raise a hand, fighting an overwhelming surge of nostalgia.
Flames crackle from a roaring open fire which the porters light daily, not only to create a welcoming ambience, but because the weather in this part of the world leaves a lot to be desired most of the year. The familiar smoky scent of burnt kindling assaults my nostrils while a million childhood memories flood my brain.
Returning to the long days of an unpredictable Irish summer, the weak sun shines a surprisingly powerful light on everything that’s missing in my life. It’s impossible to pretend anything here. It’s impossible to hide. Especially from myself.
It’s why I don’t come home often. Selfish, I know. My sisters probably need me more than they let on, but it’s self-preservation.
It’s been ten years since the night that turned our lives upside down. Perhaps this time I might finally be able to put on my big girl’s pants? After all, if I can get over my fear of sort of dating again after Ethan, surely I can come to terms with something that happened ten years ago and find a way to be present in both my sisters’ lives without spiralling into a hot grieving mess.
The night Mam and Dad died, Ryan and Jayden disappeared to the States with their father. We had no idea the two events were connected at the time. Sasha paced the castle day and night, mourning the loss of our parents, and her first love. Five months later, when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, Sasha lost a baby she’d never planned on having.
If she can get through all of that, surely I can get through a couple of weeks here?
The hotel manager, our dear school friend, Megan Harper, bounds down the intricately carved walnut staircase, greeting me with a grin bright enough to illuminate Blackpool.
‘Well, well, well… the wanderer’s returned!’ Her warm arms envelope me into a hug I hadn’t realised I needed. My shoulders sag and I squeeze every drop of comfort from this exchange because shortly it’ll be me who has to be the strong one.
I can’t return to help and be anything less.
Burying my face in her red spiralling curls, I tell her honestly, ‘It’s so good to see you, Megan.’
‘Your sisters are beyond excited about your arrival. They weren’t expecting you until tonight.’
‘I caught an earlier flight. I wanted to surprise them.’ I don’t admit it’s because I still can’t bear anyone driving to the airport for me. I mean, what if something happened to them on the road, and the only reason they were in the car in the first place was to collect me?
I would lose everything and everyone precious to me and it would be all my fault. I care about them too much to risk it. They say lightning doesn’t strike twice, but why take the chance?
‘I thought I heard your voice!’ Victoria, my not-so-little sister, shrieks from the top of the staircase before bounding down them, two at a time.
‘No need to run!’ I caution. ‘I’m here for two weeks.’
Gone is the gangly teenager from Christmas. The girl who lunges for me is all woman these days, her full chest squashing against mine.
I press a kiss to her cheek and squeeze her like she’s the most precious thing in the entire universe, because to me, she is. I might not be here nearly enough as I should, but not a day goes by I don’t miss her.
‘I can’t believe you’re actually here!’ Bright hazel eyes twinkle from behind thick, quirky, black-rimmed glasses. Chanel, no less. Apparently, she’s developed an interest in fashion in the last six months.
‘Of course I’m here. I had to see you’re okay. It’s like a fucking zoo out there.’ I gesture to the madness behind the gates.
‘Language,’ my older sister chastises from the bottom of the staircase. I’m so wrapped up in the growth of our little sister, I didn’t notice Sasha descend. Elegant as always in a pencil skirt and silk blouse, she mockingly wags a finger in our direction.
‘I’ll be eighteen this weekend! And there’s no law that states under eighteens can’t say “fuck” anyway.’
‘Mammy and Daddy would turn in their graves if they could hear their baby spouting such foul language.’ Sasha’s full lips are poised into a firm line she can’t hold straight for more than three seconds. An infectious burst of laughter tumbles out as she and Victoria cackle, clinging on to each other’s arms.
‘As if!’ Victoria snorts.
She might have only been seven years old when our parents passed, but she clearly remembers our father’s propensity for swearing like a sailor.
My attention darts between the two of them, dumbfounded they can joke about Mam and Dad so easily.
To hide my shock, I reach into my oversized handbag for the gifts I brought. Pristinely wrapped perfume from an exclusive Dubai boutique.
‘Here.’ I press them into each of their hands as they squeal with excitement. Passing guests stop and stare, grinning at the excitement bouncing between them. I feel like an outsider. I guess I only have myself to blame.
I expected to return to a sombre, sorry affair of continued mourning, but my sisters are carrying on like normal, even amongst the despicable media frenzy at the gates, as if the deepest, darkest secrets of our private lives, and a thousand rumours about each of us haven’t been splashed over every trashy tabloid over the past three days.
