Rumbling like a powerful engine starting up, the huge gate then smoothly swung inwards with surprising grace. A wide curving driveway was revealed, illuminated by spotlights high up in the trees. Inevitably feeling dwarfed, Shane walked up the drive that had been laid for hulking SUVs. As the floodlit, architect-designed home grew closer, he could not help but be awed by its spread, by the clever flourishes, its perfection. The crunch of waves sounded from the back of the house and the Irish Sea seemed to be just another thing you could buy. It wasn’t until this moment that he realised just how rich Otto was. He’d known of his exclusive address, but to see it all with his own eyes was something else.

  Spots beamed down on the parking area from the edge of the flat roof, while inside, the windows and hallway contained an array of lamps and ceiling fittings all blazing bright. Shane couldn’t help but think of his immensely frugal father, always running around turning off the lights and pulling out plugs.

  Shane considered Jenny and her obsession with Clareville. If you came from this world, who could blame you for doing anything to keep it. But then he reminded himself that getting the Clareville house had always been a remote possibility, not only due to Vera’s mistreatment of Jenny, but also because he would have been a beneficiary.

  Vera detested him for many reasons but, ultimately, on behalf of her precious and lost son, Hugh.

  A quarter of a century had passed since he decked Hugh in that inner-city pub. He now had conflicting feelings whenever he thought of it. Shane still felt pity for Hugh when he pictured the spectacle of his humiliation. He still wished it hadn’t happened – or rather that it had never had to happen. But it had felt justified, and still did. How thoroughly deserved. How damn good; like something every man should experience at least once in his life.

  After her son’s death, Vera had rarely spoken to Shane again. The last time they’d exchanged a sentence of true importance was on the day of his wedding.

  37

  Seventeen Years Ago

  They had decided to tie the knot just three months after getting back together. But despite their telling only friends that they were going to Edinburgh to sign the papers, Vera and Joan had miraculously appeared in the lobby of their three-star hotel on the morning of the wedding.

  The desk girls sensed something significant about Vera – helped, no doubt, by Joan’s relentless fussing. When Jenny and Shane appeared in the lobby and experienced the shock of Vera’s presence, the staff almost ignored the bride-to-be, so intent were they on making sure that Vera had her coffee in the most comfortable sofa with the nicest street view. Shane then had to hear, again and again, how wonderful and lovely his future mother-in-law was.

  Greeting Jenny, Vera and her youngest daughter mimed a kiss. At least, their cheeks brushed against each other. Barely exchanging pleasantries with Shane, Vera then explained where she was staying (a five-star hotel), that she was in Edinburgh for one night and that she would accompany them to the meal afterwards. All of this was done in the manner of one finally accepting a long-standing invitation, rather than that of a gate crasher. Throughout all of this, Joan remained to the side, like an interpreter for a foreign dignitary, while snapping pictures of Vera with Jenny and Vera with her new friends, the hotel staff. When Vera was ready to move, she would say, ‘Joan,’ as if to a dog; and Joan would perk up and follow.

  Despite the jolt of Vera’s appearance, Shane hoped that this would be the burying of the hatchet between mother and daughter. Perhaps their marriage had the magical power to heal this broken family. Even though Jenny whispered an urgent, ‘I’m so, so, so sorry,’ Shane detected in her a suppressed elation at her mother’s unexpected presence. Could this be a sign that her mother still loved her; that a page had been turned?

  At the registry office, Vera’s charisma resulted in the registrar and his secretaries addressing their attention mostly to her, rather than to Jenny and Shane. When one of the office staff stepped forward as witness, Vera dismissed him with a wave and, uninvited, signed in his place. Of course, she also made it into every photograph, carefully curated by Joan.

  Shane had booked a brasserie recommended by the hotel. It was a classy restaurant but not filled with particularly, visibly, classy people; a ‘dress stylishly, but don’t bother sporting your best attire’ kind of place. Vera sat opposite him, looking at her new son-in-law, eyes wandering to the left, to the right, and above him. She was trying to take in as much of Shane as possible. Finally, she said, ‘You are well, I hope?’ She did not hope that, but Shane let it slide. Then she added, ‘You look… all spruced up. A nice effort.’ Her carefully delivered compliment made Shane feel belittled. He knew he was being put in his place.

  At Vera’s right hand sat Joan. When the waiter brought over the slabs of menu, she almost vanished behind hers, and Shane pretty much forgot about her. Joan was like wallpaper under the stairs – just there. It was something he’d learned to take for granted when he’d first gone out with Jenny – that if Vera was somewhere public, then Joan would be, too, as her plus one, her driver, her personal shopper.

  At that stage, Shane’s attitude towards Joan was of empathy. In public, both sisters were well-liked and admired. But only one of them needed alcohol to turn the shine on. Despite her love of parties, Joan had lived her life as if guaranteed another one someday; one where she could then be cool, free and have lots of sex. She had taken to religion and, like their mother and even Hugh, had always been very extrovert with her devotion. The family liked to pray in public, as if that made their prayers purer. So yes, Joan was devout – when sober. But when drinking, she would often trot out her mother’s favourite saying: ‘Commit one sin and you might as well commit a few more. One or ten – they earn the same sentence. Eternity.’ While Joan was often the life of the party, outside big social events she kept the world at a polite distance, so that people never noticed that her public gaiety was based on nothing; a light coating of cheerfulness stretched over an empty void.

  Jenny turned to Joan and said, ‘I heard you and Ted have split.’

  Shane suppressed an audible gulp. It had been Jenny’s big news a week ago – Ted had finally left Joan, after giving her a chunk of his life and three daughters. Shane was amazed that Ted had lasted that long, considering his wife visited her mother twice a day and in between he had Vera popping around unannounced to take the best chair in the house for the chat shows that she and Joan loved so much. Vera even had her own key. Ted’s daily life had been reduced to sleeping for five hours, going to work and then coming home at seven to his big house to face three daughters and a wife who had all come to hate him – thanks to Vera’s unbending desire to have Joan and her family all to herself.

  Joan looked at her mother and snapped, ‘I thought we were sworn to secrecy.’

  ‘Oh, come on, it’s only Jennifer.’

  Shane noted the ‘only.’

  Jenny said, ‘Well, I’m genuinely sorry to hear that. I hope you and the kids are all fine.’

  Joan had taken off her shades. It was just for a moment. She put them back on and said, ‘Thank you. We’re all fine.’

  Jenny said, ‘Well, now you’re single, you’re on the market again. Imagine the exciting possibilities. You can find someone new. A proper Mister Right. This can be a big adventure. Joan, picture this – starting again with someone lovely.’

  ‘We may have separated, but Ted is still my husband. Are we ordering?’ She refilled her glass, already demonstrating her inability to attend any dinner without drinking the weight of the main course in alcohol.

  That was the last civil exchange Shane ever witnessed between the sisters. They would never bother even to pretend again. It had occurred to Shane, even then, that Jenny’s first mistake was talking about relationships to the envious Joan at the precise moment when Jenny’s marriage was beginning, and Joan’s had just ended. Her second mistake was suggesting, in front of Vera, that Joan might, in the future, divide her attention between her mother and a new lover. Vera’s displeasure was evident in a forced smile that looked more like a wound. Vera had, doubtlessly, played a role in fast-tracking Joan’s separation. Jenny had told Shane that, when Ted suffered a health scare, her mother had told her that Joan would be better off if he died – though qualified with a ‘may God forgive me’. But of course, what Vera had really meant was that she would be better off if Joan’s husband died.

  Shane spent the rest of the meal attempting to entertain his mother-in-law. Silence was always just one step away and it was a struggle to stop it from coming any closer. He tried to fill the distance between them with chat about their visit to Edinburgh Castle the previous day. ‘Interesting,’ Vera said, her muttered inanity a blatant sign that she had already tired of the topic and turned her head to gaze out the window to Princes Street, as if generously giving Shane a moment to soak up her noble profile.

  Shane gamely persisted between long flatlines of silence. He tried to draw her in with news about his book deal. At first her expression never shifted from ‘uninterested in the particulars’. But slowly Vera began to relax in his presence, feeling more at ease with Shane, now that she had identified his weakness – professional pride. With a warm smile, she said, ‘That’s nice. Making money from your hobby,’ as though he was making model ships. ‘I’m sure if it’s well received, some doors will open for you.’

  At the end of the long, long meal, Shane was pleasantly surprised when Vera accepted the leather envelope containing the bill for their wedding meal. Glancing at it, she passed it to Joan with a muttered aside. As usual, Joan sprung to life as if she was voice activated. She examined it for about a minute, making calculations, and muttered something back to her mother. Then, with a smile expertly calibrated to let you know how long was left in the conversation, Vera announced, ‘It should be fifty-five pounds each, including tip,’ and placed, precisely, one hundred and ten pounds into the leather envelope.

  By the end of the meal, Shane was reassured that his suspicions about Vera were correct. She was the definitive narcissist – and a narcissist was always just a narcissist. She could not change. She would not change. When his mother-in-law looked at a person, including her own children, all she saw was what she could get out of them. It might be attention. Sometimes it was someone that she could manipulate and control. If she couldn’t dominate the person, she’d try to make them fear her. By persistently doing all those things – controlling, dominating, using – she created all the drama that guaranteed her so much attention.

  Shane knew that Vera would always resent him, because he would never let her deep enough into Jenny’s life to mess it up with her type of crazy. Conversely, Vera would never let Jenny go, because that would be proof that Jenny didn’t need her and that she had no power over her. Therefore, Shane knew that going forward, there would be only two ways to deal with Vera. He could cajole her, endure her manufactured emotional dramas and be a doormat. Or he could limit contact with her.

  Shane had already made his decision.

  Because of all of that, Shane reckoned that it was to Jenny’s psychological benefit that her mother and sister had ostracised her since the age of eighteen. He’d always thought that it was amazing Jenny wasn’t totally screwed up. He couldn’t begin to imagine what Jenny would now be like if she’d been exposed to those people on a regular basis for her entire life. She’d probably be just like Joan.

  However, it did dishearten Shane that for the next seventeen years, Jenny would continue to go for weekly morning coffees and walks with Vera, despite the fact that as Jenny gained her own identity and built a happy life, she zoomed more centrally into the crosshairs of Vera’s scope. It was as if his wife was unaware that every minute in her mother’s company was just more of her life that Vera sucked on, fed on, nourished her sickness with. But it would continue until Vera was in the earth.

  38

  Now

  8.08 pm: Holding the front door, Jenny’s eyes met her mother’s and she asked, ‘You know everything? What do you mean?’

  Vera was inside almost before she had finished talking. Jenny was not entirely sure how she had done it. Vera had stepped forward as if there was room for her and her daughter’s body had shrunk back and made it true.

  Jenny corralled her into Shane’s office. That was where the drink was.

  ‘Where is Sha—’ Vera closed her eyes for two long seconds. Then, ‘Where is he?’

  Jenny eyerolled. Even now, her mother would not allow herself to use Shane’s name. Nothing would make Vera happier than if he had a quick sudden death from pancreatic cancer or a car crash. Though it would be perfect if he left Jenny. Not only would he be gone, but Vera would be able to laud her failed marriage over Jenny and say her favourite phrase over and over – ‘I told you so’ – even if she hadn’t told her so.

  Jenny said, ‘Shane’s out on some business.’

  ‘Look at the state of this place. How does anything get done in this room? It’s chaotic. Most messy people aren’t geniuses, Jennifer. They’re just messy.’

  Even if there had not been wine stains on the floor and across the book spines, the room would still have been far too messy for her mother. Vera had a cleaner who came twice weekly. For her, everything had its place and she found it immensely annoying, that there were people in the world who actually went to bed at night without first zipping their house up.

  Standing over Shane’s desk, Vera placed a condemnatory finger on his leather-bound journal. It was his work diary which, without fail, he filled in last thing at night – like a kind of prayer. Jenny placed a hand on Vera’s shoulder and edged her away from it. Picking out a bottle of Shiraz, she said, ‘It’s been a hell of a day… and it isn’t over yet. Want one, then?’

  ‘Of course,’ her mother replied, offering her exaggeratedly fake smile that made the tendons stand out in her neck. ‘Let’s have a heart to heart – or rather, a liver to liver.’

  Vera’s eyes shone as Jenny unscrewed the bottle and she edged towards it, like a plant in a dark corner of the room reaching and stretching towards the sunlight. The bottle had never disappointed, never let her down. Vera’s hand, wrinkled like an old apple, trembled when she lifted the glass; the journey from counter to mouth was a perilous one. The grey plague.

  Jenny sipped hers and, sneaking a glance at her watch – 8.10 pm – asked, ‘So, what’s this about?’

  ‘First, you and Joan. Sisters fight, Jennifer. Even the closest ones. I fought with mine, too. Just remember, that at the end of the day we are all family and, of course, that I love all my children equally.’

  Jenny stared at the deepest furrow on her mother’s forehead, as if that was where all her deceits were generated. Even when she was a child, she’d known that she was a distant third place to Hugh and Joan in their mother’s affections. Vera didn’t try to pretend otherwise. When Hugh was alive, Joan and Jenny had clearly been just luxury goods to her – dependable, rewarding things, to be taken out and played with a few times a month. But neither had minded being used by their mother. It had made them feel useful.

  Vera took another sip and placed the glass onto the side table. ‘I had told Joan to never bring up that London business, as who knows what will come creeping out if we overturn that stone? But today she did it anyway and I was not happy about it.’

  Often, her mother did not have a two-way conversation. Sometimes she simply talked at people. She forced words into their mouths. She was a master at making people say what she wanted to hear, and Jenny said, ‘OK.’

  ‘But Joan has never forgiven you. Because of that, it’s hard for me to… to keep her under control.’

  ‘Forgiven me for what? Living my own life? Anyway, I would’ve thought throwing me out of the house would sate her thirst for revenge – for this year, at least.’

  ‘Why do you insist on going on about that?’

  ‘We’re not going to talk about the house? Like, the fact that you’re throwing me out barely registers anymore. As in, “we’ve already done that” earlier today. Another item ticked off your Monday, A4, to-do list.’

  ‘Yes – we have done that. And I don’t see how you think rocking the boat is going to help matters.’

  ‘It’s not rocking the boat, Mum. It’s actually called communication.’

  Vera’s eyes glistened with a cruel intelligence that never ceased demanding the pleasure it needed to thrive. ‘You want to have a conversation? Well then, let’s have a conversation. Twenty-five years ago, you did the worst thing in the world. To your baby. To all of us. Yes, that and this house are connected. It’ll make sense but you’ll have to listen first.’

  ‘Stop, Mum.’ Jenny sounded like a child.

  ‘You wanted the conversation, so you’re getting it.’

  ‘Not this conversation.’

  Vera moved in even closer, which made it easy for her to momentarily grip Jenny’s arm, proving that Vera wanted her youngest daughter’s drama, any drama, all the drama. ‘You’re the one who returned to our lives. We didn’t come searching for you. We were shocked you came to your father’s funeral. If you hadn’t turned up, we could have said you were too upset to attend. Instead, you flew home, and we had to sit with you at the top of the church. You made yourself a distraction when no one wanted a distraction.’

  It was as if inside Vera’s brain there was a fountain pen, its nib soaked in cruelty, always at her disposal. She lifted her glass, her hand shaking so much, the wine splashed and stained her upper lip. Swallowing, she added, ‘I’m amazed Lorcan didn’t climb out of the grave at his own funeral.’

  Jenny was not amazed, because funerals were not for the dead but for those left behind. Lorcan’s suffering was over. Hers had continued. ‘Enough, Mum.’