Twisted River (21 page)

In the slew of e-mails in his in-box, hers was the one that clamored for attention. Mannix blinked and blinked, hoping it would melt away, be swallowed by the screen, flip and twist, invert and fade, in some fancy animation.

“We need to talk.”

That's what it said.
“We need to talk.”
Mannix sat at his desk, repeating the words again and again to himself.

“Give it to her straight,” Spike had said
. “Give it to her straight and then get out. Don't look back.”

Mannix had replied by text, agreeing to meet her in the flat in Pery Square on one condition. It would be only the two of them. Grace could not be there. Mannix felt shoddy. How could he look that child in the eye again after running out on her surprise? How could he explain that he could never be her father? It struck him then just how preposterous the whole notion was. And again he asked himself, for the millionth time, what had Joanne been thinking of?

Mannix had enough on his plate with two kids of his own. But perhaps that was not entirely fair. Izzy generally never caused a moment's angst or bother. He smiled and tooted the car horn as he dropped her off outside Girl Guides. She hadn't seemed particularly talkative in the car tonight but he supposed he was so preoccupied himself, he couldn't say for sure.

But Fergus. Fergus made up for all the lack of demands that Izzy made on them emotionally. There were times that just being in his company, Mannix could feel his energy slowly draining away. It wasn't a thought he'd ever felt inclined to share with Kate. Her love was truly
unconditional. He sometimes wondered at his own. This evening there had been yet another dimension to their troubles with Fergus. All because of that little scumbag Frankie Flynn. As soon as the business with Joanne was sorted, he'd get on to that.

His thoughts turned to Grace. Grace was a nice kid. She liked art and crosswords and baking. He remembered helping her with a crossword puzzle for homework when Joanne couldn't answer the clue. He complimented a poster she'd done in a calendar competition. She'd made him flapjacks once. But that hardly constituted being in loco parentis, now, did it? Mannix could not think of a single instance where he'd intentionally led them on. In fact, he'd always felt embarrassed when Grace was around, preferring instead to call when he knew she'd have gone to bed. No, he'd examined his conscience and satisfied himself that in Grace's regard, he had nothing to blame himself for. Whatever had happened was down to Joanne. It was her doing.

“I had Grace stay at my sister's,” said Joanne, opening the basement door. “She's about the only one I could trust with Grace's meds.”

Oh, great. He was at an instant disadvantage. The guilt treatment from the outset.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I just thought it might be best if she wasn't here. After . . . after . . .”

“Yeah, I know. After last time.” Joanne ushered him into the kitchen. She wore a white cotton shift dress and no shoes. “She was pretty upset, you know.”

“Well, so was I.” Perhaps it was best if he went on the defensive right away.

“You were?”

She looked at him in surprise, handing him a glass of red wine that had already been poured.

“Why? Pray tell . . .”

Mannix sat down at the kitchen table. He noticed then that the only light in the room was from the scattering of night-light candles flickering magically all around the room.

“Because it was never supposed to be about Grace. It was only ever supposed to be about us. And Joanne, if you really want to know, I feel really bad about it. I feel really bad about Grace. She's a nice kid and I like her.”

“I know you do. And she likes you, Mannix.”

The skin on her arms was taut and golden in the yellow half-light as she reached across the table to stroke his hand. He had to tell her now, before things went too far.

“Look, Joanne. I think we have to call time on this thing we have. I really think it's for the best.”

She looked at him in surprise as if what he said were entirely unexpected.

“Call time? This
thing
we have? I don't understand, Mannix. Really, I don't. What we have going here is way more than just a thing. You, me, and Grace. We're a team.”

“What?” Mannix heard himself croak. It was his turn to look shocked now. It was surely time for the velvet excuse, the soft-soap parting salvo. He was going to have to move quickly.

“No. Joanne. Let me stop you right there.” He put a hand on her arm. With her other hand she held it there.

“Maybe in another life. Maybe if we'd met before. This thing . . .
us
 . . . it's just unfortunate . . . It's all just an accident of timing.” He looked into her eyes. Trying to look sincere. “But I've got my own kids, Joanne. You know that. I've got Fergus and Izzy.”

“I know, Mannix. Don't you think I know that? And Grace knows that too.”

Joanne was looking at the mantelpiece above the French stove. She was smiling. Mannix followed her gaze, trying to see what it was that made her smile. But what he saw made him shiver. He felt suddenly afraid.

Was it what he thought it was?

Standing up and walking closer, Mannix plucked the frame from the shelf. How had she come by this? Mannix stared at the familiar faces looking back at him. It was a photo of him with Fergus and Izzy,
but there was something both odd and familiar about it at the same time. With a start, it came to him. It was the photo that he carried in his wallet of the four of them. Except that this photo on Joanne's mantelpiece didn't feature Kate. Kate had been cut out.

“Where did you get this?” Mannix asked, his voice shaking.

“From your wallet. I borrowed it and had it photoshopped,” she answered blithely. She was calmly sipping wine.

Stunned now, Mannix stared at the photograph, trying to gather his thoughts.

“So you see, Grace knows all about Fergus and Izzy. I've told her all about them.”

Mannix stared at her in horror.

“Grace has always wanted a brother or sister. But a brother and a sister both?” Standing up, Joanne moved in bare feet across the wooden floor and looked up at him.

“Don't you see? Don't you see how perfect this could be?”

His heart was racing. He found it hard to think. She smelled of lilies and red wine. He was in uncharted territory now. Without a compass. He was going to need to draw on all his reserves to get through this.

“Sit down,” he said gently to her. “Sit down, Joanne, and let me finish what I have to say.”

“Okay, Mannix, I'm listening . . .” She slurred a little. He glanced around the kitchen. There in the recycling pile next to the rubbish bin he saw an empty wine bottle. He realized then that she'd been drinking before he'd called. And quite a bit.

He was going to have to be creative. This excuse would have to fly. He was coming to the alarming realization that this woman wasn't stable. Joanne Collins was a fantasist. Flexing his mental muscles, he made a few minor adjustments to his story, a few meaningful tweaks, before attempting to speak.

She was looking at him now, her eyes dreamy and pupils large. She was drunk.

“My kids mean everything to me,” Mannix began. “Just as Grace means everything to you.”

She nodded and started caressing his cheek. He thought it best to let her.

“Even if I left Kate, she'd never let me have the kids. You don't know Kate, but she's one determined woman. You know the way it is here in Ireland. No matter what, the women always get the kids. I couldn't live without my kids.”

“But we could be so good together, Mannix. Our own little family. You, me, Grace, Fergus, and Izzy. A perfect family.”

He tried not to show his alarm, his fear. “I know that, Joanne,” he said. “And maybe if things had been different, who knows? Maybe if we'd met earlier, but it's all
ifs
,
buts
, and
maybe
s
.”

“Really, Mannix? Do we really have to settle for this? Skulking around my basement flat in Pery Square. Is that all that we are meant to have? There can be no more for us?”

“Joanne, what I came here to say, and I know that this is hard, but for your sake and my sake and most of all for Grace's sake, is that there can be no more ‘us.'”

“You are
kidding
. You are kidding me, Mannix. But we can go back to the way we were before, right?”

“No, Joanne. I don't think so. I really don't. I know it's hard. It breaks my heart too. But it's the right thing to do.”

“How can it be the right thing to do, for God's sake? How can breaking up be the right thing to do? I love you, Mannix. Don't you get that? I bloody love you and, God help her, so does Grace.”

Jesus. This was hell. He felt like a rabbit in the headlights. How had he become embroiled in something so perverse?

“I have to go, Joanne.”

Mannix removed her hand from his arm. Her red nails had been digging into him.

“Okay, okay, okay. Please, please, let's just go back to the way we were. I'm sorry I ruined it all. I'm sorry about the cake . . .”

She was sobbing now. Her eyes looked wild, mascara running down her cheeks.

“I've got to go, Joanne.”

He stood up from the table.

“Okay, go, then,
you fucking bastard
. You fucking heartless bastard. Fuck off home to your cold and frigid wife and your cold and frigid life! She doesn't deserve you. I deserve you. Grace deserves you. Go on, then . . .” And wielding her wineglass, she flung the contents at him, dousing him in the scarlet liquid.

Mannix wiped the splatters from his face.

“I'm sorry, Joanne. I really am.”

But she ran at him, pummeling his back. Mannix made it to the basement door, his shirt soaked in red wine. Walking up the steps she was still screaming after him.

“It was only a fucking cake. It was only a stupid fucking birthday cake!”

 • • • 

“Kate, put the diary way. I've got something to tell you.”

She looked at Mannix. “What is it? You don't think it's Oscar Harvey? You don't think that he's the one who killed his wife?”

“Forget about Oscar Harvey and listen. You're in danger, Kate. I'm sorry but there isn't any other way to say it.”

“What are you talking about?” Kate looked alarmed.

“Look, Kate, this is going to be hard,” he said, “and you're not going to like it, but it's important that you listen. And after I've told you, you're going to be really mad with me. In fact, you may very well hate me . . .” Mannix paused for breath. “You're okay now,” he continued, “but we need to act before anyone else gets hurt. And just so you know . . .” He felt a sudden lump swell in his throat and a wave of remorse rolled over him as he saw her stricken face. He never imagined telling her like this but he was cornered. “I want to say how sorry I am. I never meant for any of this to happen. God help me, Kate, I'm so very, very sorry . . .” He swallowed hard.

“Stop it, Mannix. You're scaring me now. Tell me what it is. Just tell me.”

He started slowly. “Well, remember last March, how I went on that training course to Boston?”

She nodded silently.

“And you and I—well, not to put too fine a point on it, but we weren't getting on . . .”

There was a flicker of recognition in her eyes, followed by a flicker of something else. He watched her tense.

“Yes?”

“Well, there was this woman on the plane. This woman and her daughter . . .”

Kate's eyes narrowed but she didn't move.

“It was a nightmare flight, plane all over the shop, cabin crew in their seats, drinks flying everywhere . . .” he exaggerated. “And this woman, well—she was pretty scared, so I did my best to chat and distract her. I suppose I felt sorry for her. I suppose I imagined if it was you and Izzy. This woman's daughter was sick and she was treating her to a trip to Disney World.”

Still, Kate didn't move. Not a muscle.

Mannix's heart was pounding and he could no longer look at Kate. Instead, he stared at a photograph on the Harveys' bedroom wall—a framed photograph of the giant rollers at Big Sur. He wished he could be there now. Anywhere but here.

“I suppose it was coincidence really,” he said, trying to keep his train of thought. “You see, Joanne and Grace, well, they ended up in the same hotel as mine on their stopover.”

“Joanne and Grace . . .” Kate repeated. She had gone quite pale.

“Yes. Grace is Joanne's eight-year-old daughter. They live in Limerick.”

“I see,” said Kate, her face set in grim lines.

“It wasn't meant to happen,” he blurted out. “I really want for you to believe that, Kate. I'm just not that type of guy . . .”

Confused, Kate blinked a few times, and then the significance of what he was saying began to dawn on her, her eyes registering disbelief. She opened her mouth to say something but shut it again. Her eyes narrowed and pierced through him.

“What type of guy are you talking about, Mannix? Just what exactly did you do?”

Kate was going to force him to walk the plank, to actually say it.

Here goes.

“I slept with her, Kate. I'm really sorry but I slept with that woman.”

He was unprepared for the force of her surprise. Clutching her hand to her mouth, Kate heaved as if she were going to vomit, and with her other hand she pushed herself off the bed. She ran for the en suite bathroom. He listened as she dry-retched and heaved. Tempted to go and check if she was all right, he opted for the safety of the bedroom.

Moments later, she appeared. She stood in the doorway to the en suite, squeezing a tissue.

“Just once?”

“Are you okay? You look awful,” he asked her gently.