A Keeper(20)

‘Oh, Christ.’ She shuddered.

‘Did you not see the droppings? They are all over the carpets, shelves, everywhere. I got young Dermot to take your bags down to the flat. Mam and Dad are only delighted to give you a bed for a few nights.’

The person who didn’t share their delight was Elizabeth. What fresh circle of hell was this? She had hoped to slip quietly in and out of town and now she was going to be sharing a bathroom with Uncle Jerry. It was too much. She struggled to think of some excuse to avoid the unthinkable.

‘That is so, so kind of them but I …’ Elizabeth twisted her head left and right searching for inspiration. Nothing. ‘The thing is I’m actually …’ And then suddenly it came to her. The letter in her back pocket. ‘Kilkenny!’ she cried as if it was Gaelic for eureka. ‘I have to head into Kilkenny to see the solicitor and I’ll stay there tonight.’ She was almost panting with relief.

‘But sure, just come back tonight. There is no need to be spending money on hotels,’ Paul argued, knowing that he was sure to get the blame if his cousin slipped through the family net.

‘I’d be afraid to drive back tonight. You know, jet lag. I don’t want to fall asleep at the wheel.’ She was on a roll now and Paul’s face seem to accept defeat.

Half an hour later, having retrieved her overnight bag from the flat above the shop – ‘Why Patricia had to use a solicitor over in Kilkenny I’ll never know.’ ‘Never wanted anyone to know her business, your mother.’ – Elizabeth was parked in a lay-by just outside Buncarragh on her phone. Having called Ernest O’Sullivan to explain that she happened to be in Kilkenny, an appointment had been made for later that afternoon. Then she left a message on her son Zach’s phone and was now leaving one on Elliot’s unanswered phone. ‘Just wanted to check in. Zach let me know that he made it there safely. Hope you two are having fun. Talk later. Bye.’ Hanging up, she immediately regretted her message. She always hated it on the rare occasions when Elliot actually took up his role as parent. Much as she complained, in truth, she had found that the last eight years as a single parent had suited her better than the endless discussions, bickering and uneasy compromises that had made up the bulk of Zach’s childhood. What sort of mobile to hang over the cot. When he should get his first pair of jeans. Some things were not meant to be decided by committee. She was her mother’s daughter, she supposed.

O’Sullivan and Company, solicitors, were easy to find. Housed in a tall stone-fronted building that must have been a former home to some fat cat, it was located on the Parade just opposite the walls of the castle. Arriving early, Elizabeth sat in the Design Centre up the street and had a coffee and a small slice of a tray bake that tasted even healthier than it looked. She left most of it. Elizabeth felt nervous, she didn’t know why. Her mother was not the sort of person to leave loose ends or ambiguity. The house was hers and hers alone. She really hoped that Jerry and Gillian or even Paul and Noelle had not tried to meddle in her affairs.

Ernest O’Sullivan’s offices were slightly less impressive once you entered the building. They occupied only the second floor; what must have been a beautiful room had been sub-divided by cheap partitions and the ornate cornices visible in the hallway were covered by a low ceiling of tiles interspersed with strange metallic grids protecting those below from the neon strip lighting. A bored young girl who looked as if she could be heading straight to a nightclub after work showed Elizabeth into the cubicle that housed Mr O’Sullivan himself. She had resolved to refuse any tea or coffee but then realised that she hadn’t actually been offered any.

‘Hello, Miss Keane, very nice to meet you.’ A soft manicured hand was offered but Ernest O’Sullivan didn’t stand. Elizabeth was slightly taken aback by his rudeness but when she leaned in to shake his hand she noticed a black plastic handle at his back. He was in a wheelchair. Ernest was asking her about her journey and telling her what a pleasure her mother had always been to do business with but all Elizabeth could think about was how this man had got behind his desk. There didn’t seem to be room to navigate a wheelchair around it and besides, they were on the second floor. Was there a lift? She doubted it. Could it be he was just using a wheelchair to sit in? This was neither the office nor solicitor she had been expecting.

‘So, I wrote to you because, and I must really apologise, we found a codicil to your mother’s will. It should have been discovered along with everything else but it had slipped out of the file. I hope you understand. These things happen with old papers.’ His eyes blinked behind his thick glasses. The neon light made shiny tracks across his gleaming bald head.

‘Of course. Is it something I should be concerned about? Is there any dispute?’

‘Oh, no. On the contrary, you have had some added good fortune. You’ve been left another house.’

‘Another house?’ Elizabeth repeated, not understanding how this was possible.

‘Yes. It’s all very straightforward. Your mother held it in trust for you but now it is all yours to do with as you wish.’

‘A house? But where is it?’

‘Mmmm, let me just check.’ He riffled through a thick pile of papers on his desk and retrieved a large Manila envelope. ‘Here it is. Muirinish, in West Cork. Castle House, Muirinish, County Cork. I have no idea about the state of the place but congratulations. It must be worth something!’