Page 44 of Redeem Me

‘Of course.’ I clear up the discarded cereal bowls. ‘Get dressed. We’ll go visit Mammy, then head somewhere nice for dinner.’

‘Can I order a chocolate brownie?’ Orla’s eyes light up.

I nod. ‘Only if you eat your dinner.’

‘Did you think any more about if we could get a dog?’ she asks.

‘Sorry guys, a dog is a huge commitment. I’m not here enough to take care of one. They need a lot of attention. They shed hair everywhere. They need to be toilet trained. Walked.’

‘But Ivy’s here now. She could help.’ Owen jumps from the couch to the floor like he’s a superhero. ‘Do you remember the time Mammy doggy sat Aunty Jenny’s puppy and it dug up the plants?’

‘I do.’ A flicker of warmth flares in my chest at the memory. ‘It’s a hard no, guys.’ Bad enough these two treat the couch like a trampoline. I refuse to have a furry beast slobbering all over it as well.

I cross the open plan room to the kitchen with the empty bowls. ‘Right, get dressed. Let’s see who is quickest. Timer starts now.’ The two of them scramble out of the room and up the stairs.

The scent of Ivy’s pomegranate perfume lingers in the kitchen. I force away the image of her sitting in the passenger seat of Rian’s car. Of his hand dropping to her thigh. Of him flirting with her. Making her laugh. The house is enormous, but suddenly, the walls are closing in on me. I need to get out of here. ‘Hurry up, guys!’ I call up the stairs.

We pile into the Bentley, and I drive slowly down the driveway.

‘You sure you don’t want me to accompany you?’ Damon checks as he opens the gate.

‘No, we’re fine, thanks.’ Security is important, but so is my sanity. Sometimes I just need to feel normal for a while.

We stop by the florist on the way to the graveyard and pick up a lavish bouquet of Isabella’s favourite blush pink peonies. The kids race up the narrow stone pathway to theirmother’s marble headstone, laughing and chatting about one of the characters on the TV show they were watching. Visiting their mother’s grave is normal for them, but it will never feel normal to me.

I lay the flowers, then run a hand over the top of the white shiny marble, while the kids skip between the tombstones.

‘Hi Issy.’ I pause, feeling the usual stir of guilt in my sternum, though this time, it’s for a different reason.

I blame myself for Isabella’s death. I hold Jack O’Connor responsible, more so than that fucking druggie, Danny Bourke, but I have to accept some of the blame. If Isabella hadn’t married me, she wouldn’t have been caught in the crossfire of the feud between the O’Connors and the Becketts. As long as I live, I’ll never forgive them for taking her from us. But I’ll never forgive myself either.

Today, I’m also shouldering the weight of my newfound feelings – I mean attraction - to another woman.

‘Caelon,’ a familiar voice calls, and I twist on my heels to see Isabella’s mother, Jocelyn, ambling towards us with a smile the size of Switzerland on her weathered face. She aged twenty years after her daughter’s death. Then again, so did I.

‘I thought I might meet you here.’ A slow smile stretches the width of her face.

‘Nanny!’ Orla and Owen run to their maternal grandmother. I should make more of an effort with Jocelyn. Even though the kids visit one weekend a month, I usually ask my parents or the nanny to drop them over.

Seeing my in-laws is hard. They’ve only ever been lovely to me, but again, I don’t want, need, or deserve their sympathy or affection. What I need is to avenge their daughter. To make someone pay for the huge gaping hole in our lives.

‘Hey you guys! You’ve grown in a matter of weeks! Are you coming to visit me soon?’ Jocelyn crouches and hugs the kids.

‘Can we come today?’ Orla and Owen bound around Jocelyn’s legs like a couple of excited labradors.

‘Of course you can,’ she coos, at the same time as I say, ‘Not today.’

‘Ahh, Daddy, Nanny said it’s okay. Please!’ Owen tugs at the hem of my polo shirt.

Jocelyn turns her focus on me. ‘I’d love to take them for a few hours if it suits you. I don’t want to intrude if you have plans, though.’

‘The plan is to eat a chocolate brownie,’ Orla announces, before beckoning Owen over to sniff a batch of giant wild daisies.

‘Maybe you’d like a few hours to yourself?’ Jocelyn whispers. ‘Or maybe there’s someone you’d like to spend a couple of hours with?’

It’s not the first time my mother-in-law has tiptoed around the notion of me moving on. The problem is, I don’t know how to. Not in the way that someone like Ivy wants or needs.

Ivy.

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