Page 94 of Thick as Thieves
I rush roundlike a lunatic fitting everyone in. My days are packed to the rafters, so in a weird way, my lunch date with Rowena is a bit of a break. I land back at home after a full morning, and my heart stutters when I see the two most beautiful babies in the world dressed in matching shorts but different T-shirts, and matching little blue socks. They never stay on, and we seem to end up with more odd socks than pairs we started with, but I love to see them with them on.
I arrive at the London home of my husband exactly on time. I always get a shiver up my spine as I come here, my mind unwillingly transported back to the two times I’ve visited in the past. Neither of the experiences make my top ten. Unless it’s the top ten most unpleasant events. Then definitely number one and two. Oh well, the third time's a charm.
We unload the car and carry the seats up the steps. Tommy is developing arm muscles to rival the Rock as the boys are getting heavier. Valentina goes to get a drink with Tommy downstairs in the kitchens as I head to where the new butler, Casey I think his name is, is directing me, nodding formally, and smiling politely.
I struggle in with a seat in each hand and my bag strapped across my body. No one comes to help me. No one jumps up from the table to get my boys. I could be Casper the Ghost walking into the room, for all the notice anyone takes. No one looks up from the starters they’re all clearly tucking into. I’m not late. She said 12:30. Unless she meant half an hour after midnight, expecting me to creep in under the cover of darkness.
One by one, all the sounds of cutlery scraping stops. The low lull of chatter grinds to a halt. As if they’re a set of coordinated dominoes, they each look at me in turn. Rowena is the last to turn her head. She couldn’t have choreographed it better if she had rehearsed for weeks.
I know the moment the Purcell boys spot me. They all three rise as one and come towards us. Hugging and kissing them all, the twins—who are still asleep—get lots of kisses sent their way.
“They’ll be up in no time and you can play with them then,” I tell them. “Where’s your mum?” I ask Colm. Might as well converse with the kids as the adults are all clearly mute.
I can’t believe Rowena is breaking polite protocol, to be honest. I thought it was so ingrained. It must be killing her. It shows the magnitude of her dislike that she would act like this. And in polite company.
“She went to the loo a few minutes ago. She should be back by now. But Caoimhe is on her own. Mummy never leaves her.” He looks a bit puzzled, and stares at the pram and his sleeping baby sister.
Still, no one has moved. Looking around the table, there’s only one chair spare, obviously Orla’s as the baby’s there. I look around at the assembled crew.
Oh. My. God. It’s like the rogues gallery. Rowena and her two sisters, Niamh and Siobhan, Chrissy, Isobel, and finally Betty. Betty, oh dear.
“Have you got a spot for me? And a couple of chairs for the boys?” I ask the general crowd. Taking in the room, I see the high chairs in the corner.
Turning to Oisin, I lower my voice and ask, “Can you fetch them across, Oisin, please?” I point to the chairs and smile at the boy. Still no one has greeted me.
His grandmother, Niamh, calls them all to her. “Boys, come sit down.” She may as well not have spoken. They don’t move.
Frustrated, I turn to face Rowena. “Why can’t they get the chairs? You invited me for lunch and there’s no chair for me? For us?”
She stands and moves to the side board and rings a bell. An actual fucking bell. I look at her in amazement.
“We have some business to sort out, first of all,” she says in a tone of voice that she thinks is superior, and I should know it.
I bend down to Colm and whisper, ”Find your mother. She should be back by now.” Then I pull Eamonn to me, whispering into his hair, “Tommy, downstairs kitchen.”
I beckon Oisin to stand next to me and the sleeping twins. He looks up solemnly at me, and nods his head. I nod mine slightly back. He moves his hands as if he’s pulling goggles down onto his eyes from his head and I break into a smile and wink at him. He’s telling me he knows we are under attack.
“Really?” I say, addressing the assembly as I turn around and look about the room, as if I am looking for a chair, distracting the women from the moving little boys. “What business would that be then?” I make a show of asking one of the helpers to get me a chair, even though I know one is not coming.
“I’ve asked you here today to get to the bottom of a puzzle,” Rowena pronounces. “I demand to know and have it proven if those boys,”—she points at my sons—“are my grandsons or not. I cannot be expected to attend a first birthday party for them not knowing if they are in fact my sons' children.” Her imperious tone matches her face. She looks around at the assembled minions for affirmation and of course they all nod their heads.
I let out an involuntary laugh, and she looks shocked. I debate whether to just leave, but my curiosity is killing me, what this motley crew have got in common. So I calmly tell her, “They are. And you’ve been told this already by Kellen a few months ago. Also before they were born, if I’m not mistaken. Don’t you believe your own son? Or your own eyes?” I point to the two sleeping mini replicas of her own son.
“We have evidence that they are not his,” she asserts, averting her eyes from the obvious Russell boys.
I continue calmly and sedately, “Rowena, do not pursue this view, or line of questioning. I’m here at your request. Not the other way around. I’m telling you these children are Kellen’s sons. If you carry on, I’ll leave and I’ll not be back. And I’ll take all of your grandsons with me.” My threat is delivered with calm and measure. I know it’s a mean one, but she is pissing me off. This on the back of everything else.
“Prove it, then, if you have nothing to hide with yourfull term children,” puts in Chrissy.
“Are you all blind?” I say to them. “I have nothing to prove, these boys have nothing to prove, and I won’t. I’ll go, but mark my words, Rowena, I’m not coming back.” I turn, bending to pick up the carry car seats, and frown at the two men I don’t recognise now entering the room.
“You were with Xander before you got pregnant. Those children might be his,” exclaims Isobel.
I laugh out at that, shaking my head. “No, I wasn’t. You need your facts checked.” I start to turn away, I’m not arguing this with them.
“I saw you with Xander multiple times,” Betty adds, her voice trying to sound confident.
I turn and stare her down. “After the babies were born. And you signed an NDA, so I’ll see you in court.”
