‘Sally, did you ask anyone’s advice before you gave him this money?’
‘No, I didn’t. I’m an adult and it was my money.’
‘You don’t think that might be why he came?’
‘Absolutely not. Nobody knew I had that money. I didn’t tell anyone.’
‘But he knew you didn’t work for a living; he knew you lived in a beautiful new home.’
I was annoyed now. Why did she think I was a fool?
‘He was entitled to the money, Aunt Christine. Ever since I started going to therapy, I’ve been told to work on my trust issues and to give people the benefit of the doubt. Now you’re telling me that Dad was terrible, you’re implying that my brother only wanted money from me. Dad loved me.’
‘Didn’t you just tell me that Peter said the same thing about your birth father?’
‘Are you comparing Tom Diamond with Conor Geary?’ I could feel the anger within me. I jumped up and stood over her.
‘Of course not, I –’
‘Don’t you dare speak to me about them in the same breath. They were nothing like each other …’ I stopped myself, appalled at my own temper taking over again. Aunt Christine had stumbled backwards out of her chair and was now standing behind it, as if she needed to protect herself from me.
I took a deep breath. ‘I … I’m going to bed.’
Aunt Christine was silent. I should have apologized but I was still incensed by her words. Was my mum, Jean, also a victim of domestic abuse, physical and emotional? It was all too much.
It was not yet 10 p.m. Next day was Saturday. I was due to play in Farnley Manor.
Aunt Christine stayed in her room while I had breakfast alone on Saturday morning. I was distressed and sat at her piano, but I couldn’t bring myself to lift up the lid. Eventually, I left the house without saying goodbye and hailed a taxi to take me to the station.
On the train, my phone rang. It was Angela. ‘Sally, you have terrified Christine, she just rang me in floods of tears.’
I didn’t say anything.
‘Can you hear me?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘And that guy who was staying with you is your brother? I can scarcely believe what she told me. Why didn’t you come to me? And why didn’t you go to the guards with him?’
‘It was none of your business and it wasn’t Aunt Christine’s business to tell you.’
‘Who else knew about this? Mark?’
‘Yes, he’s family. It’s our own private business.’
‘You are supposed to tell me when … You gave this guy a million euro?’
‘What about you, Angela? What about the truth you never told me?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Is it true that Mum was going to leave Dad? Was he violent towards her?’
I heard her deep sigh at the end of the phone. I desperately wanted her to deny it. But she said nothing. I hung up. Everyone in the train carriage was staring at me.
In the taxi from the train station to Farnley Manor, the radio was on and the taxi driver tried to engage me in conversation about the headlines: ‘First case of coronavirus confirmed in the Republic of Ireland. The man, from the eastern part of the country, recently travelled from Italy. A statement from the Minister for Health is imminent.’
I turned up for work just in time. I had never needed the piano more. Lucas asked me if I was all right. I guess my eyes were puffy and I was not communicative. He sent me a pot of hot coffee and some cake and insisted that I eat something before I started, but I carried the tray to the piano and forced myself to play. I started with the last movement of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 14, a fast and fiery piece, my fingers flying up and down the keyboard in a frenzy, trying to work the anger out through my hands. It was the first time I’d played since I learned that Conor Geary had been an accomplished pianist.
