Cecelia Ahern - The Book of Tomorrow

I shrugged nervously, knowing straightaway that I appeared guilty.

She threw something at me and it landed on the floor.

The envelopes I’d taken that morning and left in the kitchen when I’d found the pills in Rosaleen’s apron pocket. Then she threw something else, heavier, which thudded when it hit the carpet. I knew what it was straightaway. I reached out to grab the diary. I fumbled with the lock in an effort to open it and see if the burned pages were gone. Perhaps I’d changed the course already. But my questions were answered before I’d time to find out for myself.

‘You spoiled my fun, burning those pages.’ She smiled a crooked smile. ‘Arthur and your mother are at the house. I probably shouldn’t have left them…’ She looked off towards the house while chewing on the inside of her mouth. She appeared so vulnerable then, the sweet aunt who was trying to carry the world on her shoulders, that I almost reached out to her but when she turned to me the coldness was back in her eyes. ‘But I had to leave them. I knew you’d be here. I’ve an appointment to meet with Garda Murphy later today. You don’t know what that’s about, I suppose?’

I swallowed hard and shook my head.

‘A bad liar,’ she said quietly, ‘just like your mother.’

‘Don’t you dare talk about my mother like that.’ My voice trembled.

‘I was only trying to help her, Tamara,’ she said. ‘She wasn’t sleeping. She was tormenting herself. Going over and over the past all the time, starting to ask questions every time I brought a meal…’ She was speaking to herself now, almost as though she was trying to convince herself. ‘I did it for her. Not for me. And she was barely eating, so it’s not as though she took much of it. I did it for her.’

I frowned, not knowing whether to interrupt or let her talk it out with herself. While she was deep in thought, I reached for the envelopes. Looked at the name on the outside.

Arthur Kilsaney, The Gatehouse, Kilsaney Demesne Kilsaney, Meath

The next envelope had the same address printed on it but it was addressed to both Arthur and Rosaleen.

‘But…’ I looked from one envelope to another. ‘But…I don’t-’

‘But, but, but,’ Rosaleen mimicked me and it sent shivers running down my spine.

‘Arthur’s surname is Byrne. Just like Mum’s,’ I said in a shrill voice.

Rosaleen’s eyes widened and she smiled. ‘Well, well, well. The cat wasn’t quite as curious as I thought.’

I tried to gather the energy to stand. When I did, Rosaleen seemed to ready herself, to do something with one arm still behind her back.

I looked at the envelopes again, trying to figure out what was going on.

‘Mum isn’t a Kilsaney. She’s Byrne.’

‘That’s right. She isn’t a Kilsaney, was never a Kilsaney, but she always wanted to be.’ Her eyes were cold. ‘She only wanted the name. She always wanted what wasn’t hers, thieving little bitch,’ she spat. ‘She was a bit like you, always showing up when she wasn’t wanted.’

My mouth dropped, ‘Rosaleen,’ I breathed. ‘What’s…what’s wrong with you?’

‘What’s wrong with me? Nothing’s wrong with me. I’ve only spent the past weeks cooking and cleaning, doing everything, looking after everybody, holding everything together, as usual, for two ungrateful little…’ her eyes widened then and her mouth opened wide and she shouted out with such anger I had to block my ears, ‘…LIARS!’

‘Rosaleen!’ I shouted. ‘Stop! What’s going on?’ I was crying now. ‘I don’t know what’s going on!’

‘Yes, you do, child,’ she hissed.

‘I’m not a child, I’m not a child, I’m not a child!’ I finally shouted, the words that I’d been saying over and over in my head finally coming out now louder with each breath.

‘Yes, you are. You should have been MY CHILD!’ she shouted. ‘She took you from me! You should have been mine. Just like him. He was mine. She took him from me!’ Then, as if that took all the energy out of her, she seemed to collapse in on herself.

I was silent while I searched hard. She couldn’t have been talking about Laurence Kilsaney any more-that was years ago, before I was born, she must have been talking about…

‘My dad,’ I whispered. ‘You were in love with my dad.’

She looked up at me then, such hurt in her face I almost felt for her.

‘That’s why Dad never came back here with Mum. That’s why he always stayed in Dublin. Something happened between all of you all those years ago.’

Then Rosaleen’s face softened and she started laughing. Quiet chuckles at first, but then she threw her head back and laughed loudly.

‘George Goodwin? Are you serious? George Goodwin was always a loser, ever since he came here in his pretentious little car with his equally pretentious father, offering to buy the place. “It’ll make a great hotel, it’ll make a great spa,”’ she mimicked, and I could see him saying it, could imagine him arriving in his pinstripe suit with Granddad Timothy. Only short of pressing the red button to call in a bulldozer to knock the castle down, he must have been the devil to these people who wanted to protect their castle and their land. ‘He had to have everything, including your mother, even if she did have a child. Best thing he did was take your mother and you away from here. No! In fact, the best thing he ever did was end his life so those suits couldn’t take this land away too. That’s the best thing and only thing George Goodwin ever did. And he knew it too. I bet he knew it right up until he took that first sip of whisk-’

‘STOP IT!’ I shrieked. ‘STOP IT!’ I ran at her to hit her, slap her, anything I could do to stop her from saying all these lies, these horrible nasty dirty evil lies, but she got to me before I got to her. Those strong arms, toned from punching dough, rolling apple pies all day, toiling her organic vegetable patch, carrying trays up and down those stairs every morning, were strong. With one arm held out she pushed me so hard I instantly felt winded, as though my chest had been crushed. I went flying backward and hit my head against the corner of the locker. I lay on the floor gasping. Then I started to cry. My vision was blurred, I tasted blood in my mouth but didn’t know how as I’d hit my head. I was disoriented, couldn’t stand up, couldn’t find the door.

After a time, I don’t know how long, I finally saw Rosaleen at the doorway, her image blurred. Feeling woozy I sat up, I touched my head and blood was on my trembling fingers.

‘Now, now,’ Rosaleen said gently, ‘why did you do that, child? Why did you make me do that? We’ll have to work out what we’re going to say,’ she said. ‘We can’t have you going back like this, after seeing all of this. No. No, I must think. I must think now.’

I mumbled something so incoherent I have no idea what exactly I was trying to say. All that I could think of was that she’d said my dad had taken me and my mum away from here, that Mum already had me. It was impossible. Nothing made sense. They’d met at a banquet dinner, a posh meal with lots of people, and as soon as he’d lain eyes on her he had to have her. He said it himself, he said it all of the time. They fell in love straightaway. They had me. That was the story, that’s what Dad had told me. Maybe I’d heard it wrong, maybe Rosaleen was making it up. But I had such a headache and now I was so tired, my eyelids so heavy, I just needed to close them. I realised then that Rosaleen was talking, but not to me. I opened my eyes again. She was looking down the hall, looking a little fearful.

‘Oh,’ she had her small voice on again, ‘I didn’t hear you come in. I thought you were in the workshed.’