Would I find fulfilment, or would I be lonely and lost, living in a world not meant for me?
I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, but soon the sounds of more guests arriving filled the house. I wasn’t in the mood to socialise, but I knew I should at least show my face.
I left my room and headed downstairs, swiping a glass of Prosecco from the kitchen and knocking it back, enjoying how the bubbles popped and fizzled on my tongue. Old-timey music played from the speakers, currently “Dream a Little Dream of Me” by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. People gathered in groups, chatting and sipping on drinks. I was right about it being more of a party than a ceremony. Some of the guests I knew by name and others just by their faces. Everyone had dressed up nice for the occasion. It seemed like Noah had invited half the town, and I started to feel a little claustrophobic. There were way too many people.
Didn’t they know they shouldn’t be here? a voice spoke loud in my head. This house will swallow them up.
I wasn’t sure if it was my subconscious or a premonition, but I sensed tonight wouldn’t be the peaceful, respectful gathering it was intended to be. I was especially on edge when Enda Riordan and his wife entered through the foyer, followed shortly by Kean and Sally holding hands. What? They were a couple now? Seriously?
Ugh, whatever. The two nasty bastards deserved each other.
I didn’t want to talk to them, so I grabbed another glass of Prosecco and scuttled down the narrow hallway leading to the utility room. I climbed inside the dumbwaiter, thinking my childish hidey hole was the perfect place to avoid Sally and Kean.
It was just about big enough I could fold my legs and sit as I sipped my drink. All I could hear was the muffled music and sounds of people chatting and laughing out in the kitchen and living room. Reminiscing about Victor. What a crock.
He’s wasn’t the great man you all think he was, I thought bitterly.
Footsteps sounded down the hallway, and a voice protested, “You can’t do this!”
I stilled. It sounded like Vee.
“I have to. People should know the truth,” Noah argued. What were they doing back here, and more to the point, what were they arguing about?
“It’s fine for you to come here, unleash mayhem and leave, but I have to go on living in this town,” Vee hissed.
“Don’t you get it? You don’t have to stay. You can leave and go anywhere. You should leave. I don’t know how you can stand to stay. It’s like this place has a hold over you.”
“It doesn’t have a hold over me. I just don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Of course, you do. Sometimes I honestly think you believe you’re old and sick, wasting away like Sylvia. You’re only forty, Vee. You’re smart and resourceful. You could go somewhere else. You’d figure out how to survive. I know you would.”
“It’s not as easy as you make it sound,” she said, weepy now.
Noah’s voice went low, his words emphatic. “I want them to suffer like we suffered. I want to show the whole town that they’re just as guilty because they knew what was happening and yet they stood by and did nothing.”
His words sparked a memory of Kean telling me how Vee would call his house late at night, drunk and rambling about how his dad knew something and did nothing about it. Had Enda known that Victor was violent with his kids?
“Don’t you want me to suffer, too?” Vee asked. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I should’ve defended you against Sylvia. I should’ve helped—”
“You were catatonic, Vee. I don’t blame you. You suffered worse than I did. You don’t deserve to suffer anymore.”
The affection and love in Noah’s voice was unmistakable when he went on, “Do you think I would’ve come anywhere near this town again if it weren’t for you? This house could crumble to dust, and I wouldn’t shed a single tear. But I came back because you’re still here. Tonight, I’m going to throw petrol on the flames and watch the place burn, and I’m doing it all for you, Mother.”
23.
I blinked and glanced down at the empty glass I held, wondering if the alcohol was making me hear things. Had Noah just called Vee mother? My thoughts scattered, my gut twisting with confusion and dismay.
Was Vee Noah’s mother? It didn’t make sense. He called her his sister all this time. Plus, there was the fact that Vee would’ve only been fifteen when Noah was born. That was way too young to have a baby, but it wasn’t impossible. Noah kept telling me I didn’t know the full story. Was this what he was referring to? And if Vee really was his mam, then who on earth was his father? My mind wandered again to the phone calls with Enda Riordan. It could be him. The thought made my stomach turn, because he would’ve been in his thirties when Vee was a teenager.