Page 45 of Boomerville at Ballymegille

‘Of course.’ Giles wiped a hand across his nose. ‘All kids grow up with a mother who is shit-scared of her husband and then mysteriously kills herself.’ He laughed as he met Malcolm’s angry gaze without fear.

‘Your mother’s death was a tragic accident.’

‘And I had a diet of sweeties that ensured I never felt the heartache, every drug available to dull the pain. Daddy’s shop was always open.’

‘Not anymore. You’ve only yourself to blame for your habit, no one forced you.’

‘But no one stopped me!’ Giles shouted. ‘You’re a bloody awful father and I wish you were dead!’

Somehow, Malcolm restrained himself. He turned and walked away. As he left, he called out, ‘We need to get you in rehab, think about it, you can’t carry on this way.’

‘The phone is waterproof!’ Giles called out. His shoulders shook and he began to laugh.

But the laughter soon turned to tears as his father disappeared into the villa. Anguish flowed out of every pore in his body and Giles slumped painfully to the ground. He gripped the legs of the chair as a violent shaking took over and he wept with grief.

As he had for his beloved mother.

19

Melissa woke early and slid out of bed to draw back the curtains in her room and look out at the view. As dawn rose above the misty fells in the distance and the world came into focus, the sky was filled with soft tones of pink, peach and gold, promising a glorious morning.

She felt excited.

Today was the start of infinite possibilities and as she prepared to leave Hotel Boomerville, she felt that a fresh page might also turn in the story of her life. It was up to her what she wrote on it, and having heard nothing from Malcolm, Melissa felt a glimmer of hope that he would, at long last, leave her alone. As the sky turned to blue and sunshine peeped through silvery swirls of marshmallow cloud, she turned away from the window and made a cup of tea. Sipping the warm, comforting liquid, Melissa determined to stop daydreaming of a life without her husband and make a fresh start.

In a short while, she would embark on a journey to Southern Ireland. She’d told Hattie that Malcolm wasn’t to be billed any further, nor was he to have any forwarding address. He could send someone to collect her car but mustn’t be told where she was.

Two letters, that she’d written earlier, lay on her dressing table, both addressed in her neat handwriting. The first, to Malcolm at Pendleton House, explained that she wanted to break all communication and start again on her own. She asked that he no longer contact her, nor try to find her. The second was to Patrick and she’d written lovingly to reassure her son that she was well and to give him her temporary address in Ireland. As Melissa picked the letters up and tucked them in her pocket, she hoped that Malcolm would do as she asked. She planned to stay in Ireland and if she enjoyed her time there and liked the area, she’d look for work and settle down. It didn’t matter what she did, she’d happily work in a café or restaurant.

Anything to be free again.

She’d packed the evening before and her cases stood by the door of her bedroom. An outfit for travelling hung in the wardrobe, alongside shoes, handbag and coat. Hattie had kindly helped Melissa deposit her money into a new account and sort out a bank card. She’d make her limited finances stretch while she gained her independence. There was no point in asking Malcolm for a divorce, nor would she expect a settlement. She couldn’t bear the thought of any further communication with him but, in time, when he’d calmed down, perhaps theywoulddiscuss divorce. God willing, he’d remarry and sort out the legalities, for she’d happily agree. But in the meantime, Melissa had letters to post and was about to begin a new adventure.

She couldn’t wait.

* * *

In the Rose Room,damask curtains, flowing full-length across a thick-pile carpet, were pulled back to reveal two sets of French doors either side of a marbled fireplace. White roses, arranged in tall vases with long trails of ivy, filled the mantel, their scent heady and strong as warm air breezed across the garden before seeping through open doors and into the room. The tables were neat with crisp white linen and shining silverware and a buffet, heavy with cereals, fruit, crisp bacon, thick sausages, tomatoes, mushrooms and all the components of a hearty feast, was ready for the early risers.

A young waiter stood in the hallway. He rang a gong to announce to the guests that breakfast was now being served and looked up as Melissa appeared.

‘Good morning, John,’ she said.

‘Good morning,’ he replied, ‘are you joining us for breakfast?’

‘Yes, absolutely, I’ve a long journey today but I’m just going to walk to the shop to post these letters.’

‘Can I take them for you?’

‘Well, if it’s no trouble, that would be very kind.’ Melissa reached into her bag and finding a five pound note in her purse, held it out with the letters. ‘They need stamps but keep the change.’

John took the money and tucked it in his back pocket. He held the letters and opened the front door. ‘Back shortly,’ he said and with a smile, strode off to the village shop.

The front door opened almost immediately and Melissa was greeted by Audrey and the Boomerville Babes.

‘Ready for the off, old girl?’ Audrey said as she beckoned the Babes into the hallway and indicated that they deposit their luggage. Bags of various shapes and age were heaped in a pile as the Babes unburdened themselves.

‘Yes, I can’t wait,’ she said. ‘I was about to go for breakfast before we set off.’

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