The Girl From Yesterday (9 page)

‘Me not never leavin’ here.’

‘Really?’

‘Daddy says dis is our home. We can’t never go ’way from it.’

‘Oh. Well, if you like it I suppose that’s good, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah.’ She paused, gently plucking at the top string on the mandolin. ‘Sometimes I think it’d be nice to go, though.’

‘Well, when you’re older you can go and do whatever you want.’

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘Daddy wouldn’t like dat.’

‘It’d be up to you,’ I said.

‘No, t’wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘I has to stay. Fer ever and ever. Tha’s de rules. And you don’ wanna break de rules.’

I couldn’t get Lonnie’s words out of my head.

I was clearly aware that he was a figment of my imagination, some sort of strange mental episode brought on by grief, but I felt that this should not mean that he did not know what he was talking about. If my friend said something was not right, I was prepared to believe him.

Chaplin and I ate lunch the following day in a pub near the offices. Or rather I ate – he picked disconsolately at a chicken salad, taking up the individual pieces and nibbling on them before putting the frayed bits back down again. I had an open prawn sandwich on brown bread, and was not picking.

‘You’ve been researching and writing about the Blaneys for years,’ I said. ‘What’s the fascination? What makes them so compelling?’

‘You were out there for nearly a day,’ Chaplin retorted. ‘Would you say they warrant further study?’

‘From the point of view that they live in a veritable museum and live as if they were stuck in the Victorian era, yes, absolutely,’ I said. ‘But I reckon there’s more to it than that.’

‘This is still my story, Shane,’ Chaplin said. ‘I don’t want you rooting about in it without my say so.’

‘I am purely expressing idle interest,’ I lied. ‘But look, even if I did dig about, I would pass any and all information I unearthed on to you. Okay?’

‘Fair enough. So what do you want to know?’

‘Why have you made them your hobby?’

‘The Blaneys
are
the history of this town. Pieter de Ponse de Blaney built the castellum that is the oldest part of the Blaney’s house in 1344. In 1347 the Brothers of the Grey Cowl came here and built a monastery where the parish church is now. Over the next decade the town sprang up around it, with the Blaney family and their men as the protectors and rulers.’

‘You’re describing the way most towns developed during the medieval period,’ I said. ‘The religious orders were attracted to the big houses for protection, and the people came because they knew they could trade with the community of monks, and receive protection from the big house into the bargain.’

‘Every major event that took place in this town – the fire that nearly destroyed it in 1463, the visit of Henry VII in 1501 – all these things were brought about by the Blaneys. As the years passed, the estate fell into ruin, and towards the end of the nineteenth century the family kind of separated into two wings. One side wanted to remain with the house and the land, try to rediscover their former greatness, the other wanted to sell up and use the capital to found a business empire. Tom represents the old school, his brother Gerry the new.’

‘You indicated that Gerry is doing very well.’

‘He is the richest man hereabouts. Tom may, in actual fact, be richer, he has so much stuff hidden away in the house, but Gerry is better off in terms of fluid, cash money. He owns a car showroom, a pub, a hotel, a waste recycling plant, a factory that makes fertilizer . . . I could go on. He has a finger in every pie in town, and he is not afraid to let anyone know it. He has the capacity to appear charming – something Tom does not – but don’t be fooled. Gerry is a snake in human form. He will crush you and think nothing of it.’

‘Do Tom’s kids go to school?’

‘No. Dora is a qualified teacher – I think she taught in a primary school a couple of villages over, actually. Tom has them home-schooled by her.’

‘So the kids never leave the estate?’

‘You’ll come across them in town occasionally, but it’s a rarity.’

‘They’re pretty isolated then.’

‘Very. But that’s how Tom likes it. I mean, it’s clear he
is
being terrorized, but he had begun to develop a siege mentality years ago all by himself. He thinks it’s him against the rest of the world. This business with Gerry doesn’t help.’

‘Have you talked to Gerry about what’s going on? Get his side of the story?’

‘No.’

‘Can I do it?’

Chaplin raised an eyebrow, but then smiled.

‘You go ahead, son,’ he said. ‘I can’t wait to hear what you make of him, not to mention what he makes of you.’

Gerry Blaney’s car dealership was five miles outside of Garshaigh, on the Cork Road. I parked outside the showroom, and paused, peering through the glass front to see if I could make out the reason for my visit. The only person in evidence was a young woman with lots of blonde hair seated behind a high counter.

‘Do you have an appointment, sir?’ she asked in a lilting Southern accent – it could have been Cork or Tipperary, I wasn’t sure.

‘I don’t,’ I said, trying to look apologetic. ‘Would you see if he could make some room in his schedule to see me?’

‘He is very busy, Mr . . . uh . . .’

‘Dunphy.’

‘Mr Dunphy. But I’ll ask him if he might be able to squeeze you in.’

I wandered about among the cars while she spoke on the phone. The place was, in essence, a glorified used car lot. Blaney didn’t seem to specialize in one particular make or model – instead he filled the space with cars of various vintages and brands. I had to admit to myself that if I were in the market for a runabout, and needed it fast this was the sort of place I would gravitate to.

‘Shane Dunphy,’ a voice behind me said and, turning, I found myself face to face with a man in his late forties dressed in an expensive suit and smiling a smile that showed the attention of a lot of expensive dental work.

Gerry Blaney was tiny. Not as small as Lonnie, but not a lot bigger. I placed him at perhaps five foot one inch in height, and that last inch was mostly hair, which was died a creamy brown and piled high on his small head. He had spent time either in the tropics or on a sun bed recently, because he was dark walnut in complexion. His suit hung well on him, and he had a huge diamond pinkie ring. A thick gold bracelet hung from his skinny wrist. He was small and brash and vulgar. And despite all of that, charisma oozed from him.

‘Gerry Blaney,’ I smiled back, extending my hand, which he took and pumped vigorously.

‘You’ve decided to grace our little burgh with your journalistic abilities,’ he said. ‘I’ve read some of your work in the nationals. I’m not going to pretend to agree with your politics, but I can admire the work of a professional when I see it. Welcome to Garshaigh.’

Trying not to appear as flattered by these words as I was (I had only ever met family members who could recall having read my work), I said something fluffy and non-committal and followed Gerry to his office.

‘So how can I help you?’ he asked, taking a bottle of expensive Scotch from a shelf at his ear and offering me a glass.

‘I’m helping Robert Chaplin out with a story relating to a certain land dispute you seem to be involved in,’ I said, taking the drink and sitting down on the chair Blaney indicated.

‘Robert has always taken an unhealthy interest in my family’s affairs,’ Gerry said, though there was no anger in his voice. ‘I often wondered if it was because he was an orphan himself – he kind of adopted the Blaneys.’

I had not known my boss was an orphan. It felt somehow intrusive to find out this way. I made a note to myself not to mention it to Chaplin.

‘Your brother asked us to run the story,’ I said. ‘He claims you have gone to war with him over his inheritance. I witnessed him and his son being threatened by four men who were trying to get them to sell the house and land to the conglomerate who are developing the coastline.’

‘And these men you saw said they were representing me?’

‘No,’ I admitted. ‘But they certainly didn’t deny it. Gerry, they threatened the children. Apparently Dora has been attacked in the past. This is a nasty business.’

Gerry sipped his whisky and looked at me. He had relaxed back into his seat and looked comfortable, relaxed. My line of questioning was certainly not upsetting him one iota.

‘What do you want me to say, Shane? Am I contesting my father’s will and Tom’s right to be sitting on all that land and letting it rot with the weeds and the briars when it could be used to further the economic welfare of the entire community? Yes, I am. I have long suspected that my father was psychiatrically ill when he died, and that the will which was current, and was subsequently adhered to, was therefore null and void. I have spoken to the psychiatrist who treated my father, and he is in full agreement with me and has signed an affidavit to that effect. However, I am not sending armed henchmen to intimidate Tom, and I would never, ever, verbally or otherwise, bring harm on my nieces and nephews. I love those children as if they were my own.’

‘So who do you think is trying to hurt them then?’

‘I’d go and talk to the people out at Midden Industries. They’re the ones looking to develop the land. Their current site of choice isn’t winning them any friends. I expect they are anxious to find another.’

I nodded.

‘That makes sense.’

Gerry smiled benignly.

‘I have heard that you are a powerful man around Garshaigh,’ I said.

‘I have some influence,’ Gerry said. He was the one who was flattered now.

‘Seeing as your nieces and nephews are being openly threatened, do you feel motivated to do something about it?’

Gerry seemed to wince for a moment. It was only fleeting, though.

‘I do and I shall,’ he said. ‘I’ll find out who is behind all this, and put a stop to it. You see if I don’t.’

I put my glass back on his table and stood.

‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘I thought they were really nice kids. I’d hate to think somebody was pushing them around.’

He gave me a sort of half wave and I left him deep in thought. When I got out to the car I rang Chaplin and told him about my visit.

‘Seems like you got the upper hand,’ my editor said. ‘This time. Don’t get cocky. You’ve just poked a crocodile with a stick – you might catch it napping the first time, but the second you’re liable to lose an arm.’

‘I hear you,’ I said. ‘Listen, while the details of the case are fresh in my mind, I’m going to head out to the Blaney house.’

‘What in the hell for?’

‘I’m just following a hunch. I’ll call you later.’

I hung up while he was still spluttering down the line.

There was a strong wind blowing in from the sea when I got out to the house. I knocked as hard as I could, and rattled the rope inside the old ship’s bell someone had hung outside one of the doors, but no one answered. I walked around the side and followed a narrow gravel path that ran about the outline of the structure. Every time I came across a window I knocked and hallooed, but only the crows answered, and it began to look as if I had wasted my time.

I walked back to the car, only to find a visitor sitting in the driver’s seat.

‘Hello, Emma,’ I said.

The little girl was pretending to drive, trying to turn the wheel, reaching out for pedals with her feet.

‘I was hoping to see your dad,’ I said. ‘Is he around?’

‘I’m goin’ in to town in this car,’ Emma said. ‘Wanna come?’

‘Well,’ I said. ‘I do need to go back into town actually, I’ve got to see my boss before I go home, so a lift would be great, thanks.’

I opened the passenger side door and got in. Emma was still wearing the same shapeless dress, except it had one or two more stains on it than it had the last time I had seen her. Her blonde hair, still a mass of ringlets, had a greasy, unwashed quality and the child was still barefoot.

‘So what are you going in to town for?’ I asked.

‘Shoppin’,’ the girl said.

‘Shopping for what?’

‘A new dress for my mammy and for Winnie and for me.’ ‘That all? Just clothes?’

‘I’m gonna go into a café an’ get me a lovely cream cake.’

‘Yummy yummy!’ I said.

Reaching over slowly (I remembered the startle reflex I had seen on my last visit), I opened the glove compartment and took out a bag of sweets I kept there for long car journeys. They were a mixture of all kinds – the type you scoop into the bag and them bring to the checkout to have weighed. The brown bag contained jelly babies, liquorice allsorts, chocolate mice and a myriad other varieties. I held it out so it was under my blonde companion’s nose.

‘Do you think some of these might keep you going until you get there?’

‘Wow!’ Emma crowed, grabbing the bag with both hands (I silently thanked the powers that be that we weren’t really driving). ‘Can I have some of them sweets?’

‘You sure can,’ I said.

I realized almost instantly that I had made a mistake, as the child began to cram fistfuls of the candy into her mouth completely indiscriminately. Usually when offered a sweet from such an eclectic selection, children can spend long minutes deciding which one to munch first. Not Emma – she had no such scruples.

‘Hey, hey,’ I said, putting my hand on the bag. ‘You’re going to make yourself sick!’

She stopped immediately, her big blue eyes on me, wondering if I was now going to take the treat back as quickly as I had produced it.

‘One at a time,’ I said. ‘If you eat all that sugar that fast, you’ll just puke it all back up again.’

She slowed, stuffing only one or two at a time into her mouth in one go. I took a bottle of water from the cup holder and offered her some. She gulped some down.

‘I think you are pretty hungry,’ I said.

She nodded, turning back to the sweets. I wished I had brought a sandwich or some fruit. I hated seeing her gorge on such rubbish, but I didn’t have anything else to offer her.

‘Did you miss breakfast or something?’

‘Some days we don’t have breakfuss,’ she said.

‘What about lunch?’