WHO WE ONCE WERE.
A/N: First of all thank you all for reviewing the first part of this chapter, and sorry for the delay on posting the second part, I have no excuses except for the annoying interference of RL. Also thanks go out to Jedi Skysinger for finding time in her busy life to Beta this chapter for me.
Dublin, April 1999.
The aftermath.
Fiona eyes flickered open and she yawned. The comforting smells of her mother's home cooking wafted up the stairs from the kitchen below, enticing her to continue to wake rather than burrow down under the blankets and go back to sleep: Bacon, sausages and eggs and, if she wasn't mistaken, there would be a pile of fried bread on the table, too.
Her stomach rumbled and clenched, reminding her it had been days since she had eaten anything, and her head throbbed in sympathy, making sure she didn't forget all the alcohol she had poured down her throat. Rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, she stared up at the high ceiling and groaned as all that had happened in the last week came flooding back to her. She had been a fool.
The creak of a loose floorboard warned her of somebody approaching her room and, by the time she heard a gentle knock on her door, she was already sitting up with her back up against the wooden headboard.
"Fiona, tis just me. It's time ta get up, darlin'. I've brought ya sommit ta eat." Maeve Glenanne walked into the room, her arms spread wide apart holding a massive tray piled up with food.
Maeve was only a little over five feet tall. Even in her sixties, her reddish brown hair remained free of any grey and her blue-green eyes still sparkled with a love of life. Handing her daughter the tray to put on her lap, she sat down on the edge of the bed.
"This's too much." Fiona stared at the spread her mother had laid out for her. Sausage, several strips of bacon, a scrambled egg and two slices of fried bread filled one plate and on another there was a soft bread roll, with butter and jam, and a large mug of strong sweet tea and a glass of orange juice.
"Nonsense, yar fadin' away ta nuttin, girl, an' this'll help yar hangover." This was Maeve's answer to any problem: a good hearty breakfast, and strong Irish tea.
"Am nae hungover," Fiona denied her mother's accusation.
"Na? Well, ya soon will be. Ya stank like yer had drunk a brewery dry when Ryan brought ya har yesterday." She tutted with disapproval.
Fiona looked away, ashamed at the way she had let herself wallow in grief. Michael wasn't dead. He had run off like a rat and she didn't even know why. Was it sommit she'd done? She couldn't think of anything that would have made him abandon her in such a cruel manner. He'd been furious with her over the armoured truck robbery, but that had been months ago and he hadn't complained about the night spent under the stars while they hid out from the army and UDF patrols trying to chase them down. Besides, hadn't he taken her to Amsterdam afterwards? She smiled at the memory of their stay in the Dutch capital posing as diamond smugglers. If it hadn't been fer me, he'd a ended up dead an' dumped in one o' tha canals.
"Fiona! Are ya listenin' ta me, girl?"
"Yes, sorry," she muttered, giving her mother a sideward glance before delicately picking up a piece of fried bread and nibbling at the crust.
"I wa' sayin', ya need ta eat up and then get yarself dressed. Am not havin' ya moonin' around tha house like some lovesick teenager. Ya need feeding up an' some fresh air in ya. Ah never understood why ya had ta live in tha dump o' er flat."
Fiona bit down hard on the bread to stop the retort which had come to mind. What she wanted to say was that she had lived in that so-called dump of a flat because it was in a neighborhood where she was her own woman, far away from interference from her family. Yes, she could have afforded better and she was pretty sure that Michael could have requested some CIA/MI6 funded home for the pair of them. But that run-down neighbourhood had given them some privacy and kept them safe.
Instead she forced down the crust and muttered. "We liked it."
Maeve pushed herself upright, her blue green eyes sparking with disapproval. "Aye, I've noticed ya like a lot o' tings tha' are no good fer ya." She stroked her hand over Fiona's cheek. "But yar home now. Finish up an' then come down an' I'll find ya sommit ta do."
Knowing what was expected of her, Fiona slowly picked her way through the meal, eating a little of everything. To do anything less would bring about a long lecture about how she was not capable of looking after herself.
Feeling full and with her alcohol related headache reduced to a dull throb, Fiona moved the tray to the top of her dresser and opened the wardrobe she had inherited from her Great Grandma Glenanne. Staring at the contents, she felt tears well up in her eyes. During her time with Michael McBride, she had pushed the memories of her old life to the back of her mind.
The beautiful, exquisite articles of clothing filling the wardrobe were a stark reminder of her life before the death of her sister Claire which had sent her back into the embrace of the Provisional Irish Republican Army. They were all that remained of a time when she had cut a bloody path through most of Europe and the Middle East on the arm of international arms dealer Armand Andreani.
It was the tall, dark and mysterious French aristocrat who had introduced her to a wonderful world filled with beautiful things. He had showered her with gifts of designer clothing, expensive jewellery, and exotic weaponry. Then later on, after he had won her heart, he had set about showing her the world. They stayed in only the very best hotels and ate at the finest restaurants, living and dining with the criminal elite on three continents.
For three years, she'd had the world at her feet and then, early one morning in a small Bosnian village, she'd thrown it all away. There, as Armand's representative, she had seen the full horror wrought by the weapons she had helped supply.
It had taken the sight of the bloody massacre of a whole village committed by men with guns supplied by Armand to sever their relationship. Sickened by the evil surrounding her, she had completed the deal because to do anything else would have resulted in her own death and had immediately excused herself with the tale of a family emergency. Only once she was back in the safety of her mother's home had she informed Armand that she wouldn't be coming back to him.
Looking at the five year out of date clothing, she sighed. Maybe she should take some time to visit some of Dublin's designer showrooms and buy some more up to date items. She had money and no reason now not to raise her profile. Maybe it was time to remove all remnants of Michael McBride.
Reaching inside, she pulled out soft cotton cargo pants that she had bought in Paris, which at the time had cost over five hundred francs, and a black cashmere sweater that had come from Milan. Once she was washed and dressed, she unbraided her hair and stared at the frizzy mop which surrounded her face. She was going to have to wash it again to get it under control. For now, she gathered it up and twisted it into an untidy bun before picking up the tray and going downstairs.
Walking into the kitchen, she came to a stop when she saw Liam sitting hunched over the kitchen table, wolfing down a full Irish breakfast while being doted upon by their mother.
"Ah, Fiona, come an' have a cuppa wiv ya brudder while I go an' dig out a pair o' boots," Maeve spoke brightly, her hand tenderly combing through Liam's shock of greying sandy colored hair on her way past.
Fiona blinked slowly. "Boots?"
"Ta walk tha dogs. A dose of fresh air will do ya tha world o' good an' the dogs need ta go out," Maeve replied as if talking to a child.
"I have got plenty o' boots up in me room."
"I won't have ya spoiling yar fancy footwear crossin' muddy fields. I swear I saw Roseanne's walking boots in tha utility room las' week. Let me take another look."
Roseanne was Sean's wife and the mother to his two children. English Irish, he had met her three years earlier when he'd spent a summer in London. Everybody had been surprised when he returned home with his 'foreign' bride, especially as he hadn't told any of the family about her until they arrived at the Belfast docks. But Roseanne had fit in immediately, endearing herself to the family matriarch when Sean had announced his bride of two months was already pregnant.
"Really, Ma, I can-"
Liam interrupted, banging his knife and fork down onto the now empty plate. "Thank ye, Mam." He pushed the plate in Fiona's direction. "While ya find tha boots, Fi kin do tha washin' up fer ya."
Pale blue-grey eyes locked with blue-green in a battle of wills, until blue-green backed down and grudgingly picked up the plate and walked over to the sink, dropping it into the foamy water with a splash.
Maeve watched the interplay between her eldest and youngest children. Fiona was the only one left of her babies who had the courage to test Liam's patience. It was his only weakness as far as she could tell. Liam had taken over as head of the family when he was barely twenty six years old. He had abandoned his training as a doctor and taken up the reins of the family business with a grim determination. Her quiet, studious boy had pulled the family together in their grief and had then set about surprising the hell out of anybody who thought the Glenanne clan were a spent force.
He ruled over his brothers with a rod of iron. Sometimes she thought he was too hard on them, growling out his orders with barely a word of explanation. The girls though had usually gotten their own way in the end. Claire, God rest her soul, used to get it by being sweet and kind, charming Liam into seeing things her way, while Fiona stood up to him, amusing him with her courage or pure pig-headedness. He had even allowed her relationship with Michael McBride to develop, though they had lived together without so much as an engagement ring on her finger.
Finally, she found what she was looking for and walked back into the kitchen with a pair of brown leather laced boots in one hand and her own waterproof jacket in the other.
"Here's yar boots an' ya can borrow me coat. I'll put 'em by tha radiator t'warm 'em."
"Thank ya, mammy." Fiona wiped her hands dry on a towel and smiled sweetly. "I'll go now."
"Ya not havin' another cuppa?" Maeve asked, feeling like she had missed something. Her baby girl didn't do sweet.
"No, I should go now." Fiona walked over to take the boots and coat from Maeve's hands. "Befer I say sommit I shouldn't." She flashed an angry glare at her older brother's back.
Sitting on the doorstep of the utility room, Fiona laced up the leather ankle high boots and grabbed up the three rope dog leads hanging on a hook next to the door.
"Fiona, I will be talkin' ta ya when ya get back," Liam called out.
Stepping out into the cool spring morning, she slammed the door loudly behind her.
The family guard dogs were pacing in their runs waiting for their morning exercise and, as soon as they spotted somebody leaving the house, they set up a loud, almost deafening cacophony of barks and yelps as they jumped up at the mesh fence of their accommodation.
"SHUT UP, THA LOTTA YA!" she bellowed loudly and instantly all three dogs quietened and sat.
Apart from the occasional whine and moving of their front feet, all three waited while Fiona attached the leads to their collars.
"Come," she ordered and set off at a brisk walk out of the courtyard and onto the winding lane at the front of the house.
Five minutes later , she was off the road and onto open farm land. Removing the leads, she sent the dogs away so they could stretch their legs while she walked along a wide, mud covered track which bisected the fields that in a few months' time would be covered by long grass waiting to be cut for hay.
With her head down, she trudged along the path trying to avoid slipping over on the slick surface, only looking up to keep a check on what her mother's three large, long haired Belgium shepherds were getting up to. She needn't have worried; the dogs were well trained and stayed in sight, frequently coming back to her side of their own accord as if they were keeping a check on her.
Leaving the hay field, she came to another field, this one surrounded by sturdy stone walls. Leaning against the wooden gate which marked the entrance, she stared at the occupants with open admiration: four mares each one with a foal at foot. She wasn't an animal person, she would never harm one; however, unlike some people, she didn't see the need to have an animal in her life. But, along with a love for designer clothing and hi-spec military hardware, Armand had encouraged her to take an interest in the glamorous worlds of horse racing and polo. She had forgotten how many deals she had attended with military dictators or international terror groups during elite sporting events.
Suddenly, for no reason that she could see, the mares took off across the field at a gallop, their foals keeping up easily on their long spindly legs. Back and forth the animals raced with their tails waving like flags in a breeze until they finally came to a stop near where she stood. They eyed her and the dogs, which were watching with rapt attention, their nostrils wide as they snorted in excitement.
Then, just as suddenly as they had set off galloping, they now dropped their heads and began to graze while the foals moved closer to their dams to get their own nourishment. One of the mares lifted her head to nuzzle her baby's back as it drank. The sight caused Fiona to sniff and turn away. She would never have a baby, never have a child to … How could she? Michael was gone and she didn't want anybody else. She was determined never to cause herself so much heartache again.
Tearing herself away from watching the horses, she continued on her way around the edge of the stone wall towards a small copse of trees which would lead her back onto the road and back to the mother's home.
Burying her hands into the pockets of her coat, she whistled loudly to call the dogs to follow her and made her way in between the trees and out the other side. There, on the edge of the tree-line, she stopped and let out a vicious curse.
She had forgotten where this trail would lead her. Last time she had covered this ground, she hadn't been alone and it had been in the pitch black. They had walked from the house along the lane using flash lights to guide their steps.
There, down a narrow, overgrown track in a small hollow, was an old wooden hay barn. Now it was nearly empty, most of the bales already gone to feed the farmers livestock over winter. But four months earlier on Christmas night, it had made a cozy, warm shelter from the cold night air. For some reason, she was unable to tear her eyes away from that ramshackle, broken down building.
It had been Christmas… The last time they had visited her mother together had been last Christmas at the annual gathering of the whole family. Of course, when she had first brought it up, Michael had tried to get out of attending.
"Christmas – families," he'd pulled a face and then turned away. "They're just not my thing... Bad memories."
But in the end she had worn him down and had convinced him to go with her and she had been so happy that night.
"Happy Christmas, sweetheart, now whar's thot man o' yars?" had been the first words out of her mother's mouth when they had arrived at the house.
"He's getting' tha presents outta tha car," she'd replied, giving her mother a kiss on the cheek. Her mother's greeting had been a sure sign that Michael was accepted as a member of the family.
Then, later in the day, after the Christmas dinner had been eaten and the table cleared away, she had walked past the back door where Sean, and Liam had been standing, watching an impromptu football match taking place in the courtyard.
"I tell ya, Liam, McBride is head o'er heels in love. Ya heard how he pulled har outta tha' ambush. Ya need ta give tha man a chance."
"Aye," her eldest brother had answered. "Mebbe I will."
First her mother's words of welcome, then Sean's words of support and lastly Liam's grudging approval…as far as she had been concerned the day had been a success.
Late in the evening with the party in full swing, Michael had used all his spy skills to sneak through the kitchen and extract their jackets from under the eyes of half her family. In need of a little privacy, they had disappeared into the night, walking side by side along the unlit lane with only a single flash light to show them the way.
He'd wrapped his arm around her shoulders, holding her tight against his side, while her arm had settled about his waist, her hand tucked into the back pocket of his black dress pants.
"Are ya sure ya don't mind? I hadda ta get away... Too many bad memories o' home." She'd felt a tremor run up his back as he explained why he had wanted to get out of a house full of Glenannes and their relatives.
"They all like ya, Michael," she'd reassured him, leaning in closer. "I heard Sean talkin' ta Liam an' they both said yar a good man."
He'd looked down at her then, and even in the dark she could make out his look of disbelief. "Your brother Liam spent the whole meal staring at me as if he'd a been happier craving me up wid tha' big knife o' his than serving tha turkey."
She'd laughed and reached up to place a chaste kiss to the side of his mouth. "He looks at everybody like thot. It dinnae mean anything. If he did nae like ya, ya would nae been invited."
They'd passed by the small copse of trees where she stood now and the flash light had picked up the outline of the old barn.
"Let's not talk about your brothers," he'd suggested, edging them off the lane. "In fact, let's not talk at all."
She'd yelped as he'd suddenly picked her up to carry her over the long grass and mud, while she shone the light on the barely visible path.
The barn had been filled with bales of hay nearly up to the rafters, but it had taken him less than two minutes to find an old wooden ladder laying in the long grass, and before long they were twenty feet up in the air snuggled down surrounded by sweet smelling hay.
As soon as he had cleared a spot for them, he'd helped her up the ladder and pulled her down onto his lap and into a tight embrace. His lips had trailed hot fervent kisses along her hairline, eventually reaching her lips as his mouth closed over hers. He had deepened the kiss, his tongue stroking against her teeth and gums until she sighed and opened her mouth to him.
For a long time, they'd just kissed and held each other, their bodies entwined and gaining warmth from their closeness. But soon it wasn't enough. They both needed the feel of bare skin under their fingertips. Jackets were discarded and then, as time went by, a white dress shirt and an expensive silk top ended up thrown onto the hay bales that Michael had turned into the walls of their den.
Fiona let out a soft moan as she remembered the way his teeth had dragged over one nipple and then the other, his hands skimming over her exposed flesh, touching so lightly it was like torture.
They had taken their time that night, safely out of sight in their own little nest. She remembered the sensation of his fingers sliding inside her, awaking another deeper level of ecstasy. She'd whimpered into his neck, urging him to go faster. But instead he had slowed; his touch had become even softer and more languid, teasing her into a frenzy.
When he had eventually covered her body with his, he had stared into her eyes with such intensity that she had been sure she had seen real love burning in his gaze. Her arms had snaked up, her fingers on his back reaching lower, urging him to enter her.
She could remember the feeling of the tip of his manhood touching her, driving her wild with want and the look of satisfaction on his face as he had taken his own sweet time. Very, very slowly, he had filled her up until they had become one.
He'd kept his weight off her, using his elbows as his fingers combed through her hair. Then as his mouth claimed hers in a deep sensual kiss, he began to move, long and slow thrusts designed to drive her wild.
Only as she reached the peak of her pleasure did he begin to speed up, slamming into her with force as he followed her over the edge, clinging together as their bodies recovered.
She stood staring at the barn, her breath quickening at the memory of the night they had spent an hour away from the party taking place back at her mother's house, until one of the dogs barked loudly and bumped against her leg.
"Huh?" She jumped as she was brought back to the present by a wet nose nuzzling at her hand. With a final, wistful smile, she turned away from the view of the barn.
"I need ta get away fram har," she muttered, "Am not gonna get rid o' ham when he's everywhere around me." Reaching for the dog at her side, she clipped the lead to his collar and then called the other two to her side as well.
()
With the dogs returned to their kennels, Fiona crossed over the cobblestone yard which separated the outbuildings from the house, making her way towards the back door which would lead her in to the utility room.
"Fiona!" Liam stood leaning against the high stone wall which surrounded the yard.
"Don't ya have some place ta be?" she asked turning to face her oldest brother.
"Am right whar I need ta be... I came ta tell ya, I've hadda quiet word wid yar landlord, an' cancelled tha lease on yar flat. Ryan is clearin' out tha place fer ya, so ya don't have ta go back thar."
"Ye've done wha?" Her voice went up several octaves and she closed the rest of the distance to stand directly in front of him.
"Ya don't need it anymore," he told her patiently. "Ya'll be stayin' har wid our Mammy, till yer over yar loss and – fram thar, – we'll see."
She was completely incensed. How could he do this? "I'm not a child, Liam! Ya cannae tell me wha'-" She got into his face, standing on her toes, her fists bunched in his shirt.
In that moment, she had forgotten who she was dealing with. Nobody laid hands on Liam Glenanne, not since he was twenty six years old and had taken over the position as head of the family. Her wrists were suddenly caught in a powerful vice like grip, the pain forcing her fingers to release the front of his shirt and then he spun her around until her back crashed into the stone wall.
Releasing her, he pointed a rigid finger into her face, his eyes filled with rage. "Ya'll do as yer tol', girl," he snarled, then as he took back control, he stepped away from her and dropped his hands to his side. "Don't make me raise me voice ta ya again... Yer stayin' har 'til I say different."
Abruptly he turned to leave, clearly thinking he had made his point. But Fiona's temper was up and she still wasn't thinking clearly.
"Whar tha hell d'ya get off thinkin' ya can dictate whar I live and who I see... Ya might get away wid bossin' -" as she yelled, her tightly made fists hit him with a flurry of heavy blows squarely between the shoulder blades
Liam spun around fast this time. He made no effort to catch hold of her hands. Instead, his arm swung and landed a resounding slap to her cheek, causing her knees to buckle. She would have fallen, but he took hold of her arm, keeping her on her feet.
"Ya can't keep me har!" she sobbed.
He waited while she regained her feet, all the time his blue-grey eyes bored into her while his fingers dug into her arm. Then, all of a sudden, he released her. Dropping his gaze, he raked his fingers through his hair and took several deep breaths before turning back to her.
"I wa' hopin' ta save ya fram this," he began slowly, "but I can see ya ain't gonna stop... So here it is. Yer stayin' har cos it's tha only place I can keep ya safe... I'm sorry Fiona, luv, yar man is a Yank spy workin' some joint mission wid MI6... He wa' jus' usin' ya, sweetheart."
Fiona felt her whole world fall away. Liam knew… Fear engulfed her heart.. "Wha' did ya do?" she asked in barely more than a whisper. Then louder, as panic set in. "Wha' did ya do, Liam?"
"Nuttin', I did nuttin' to ham... But he's left ya in tha shit now.. Ya know wha' people will say? Wha' they'll do ta ya?"
He took hold of her. Gripping her shoulders, he shook her so hard that her teeth rattled and her head smacked hard against the wall. "If it ever comes out, yer dead, ya know thot?"
The two siblings faced each other, both breathing heavily, the desperation in her brother's tone chilling her to her bones.
"Would ya let 'em?" she asked in a small voice. "Would ya let 'em take me, Liam?"
He let go of her and stepped away, pacing before her like a caged animal. "Jaysus, girl, is dat wha' ya tink?" He shook his head and then became still. His eyes seemed to darken and his expression turned deadly serious. "I'd kill 'em all, I'd burn down the whole feckin' organization."
A shiver ran down Fiona's spine at Liam's words. She knew he meant every word; he'd start a bloody civil war to keep her safe. Her lip trembled as she fully realized the consequences of what she had done.
"An tha's why yer stayin' har." He cupped her chin, tilting it upwards so she was looking straight at him. "I can't keep ya safe if yer runnin' round lookin' fer ham... Thar's rumors spreadin' and other people have been lookin' inta McBride. I'm tryin' ta put a stop to it... Dis could be tha end o' us, Fiona. Tha council... if they had enough evidence, tha'd wan' yer head. It would be public. Tha'd make an example o' ya... D'ya tink we'd stand fer thot?"
The true horror hit her hard and she broke free and sank down the wall until she was on the ground, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Ya stay har. Ya let me deal wid it all..."
"Who knows?" she asked. She couldn't bear the thought that her mother knew.
"Nobody, jus' me an' now you... Nobody else is gonna find out a ting." He pulled her back to her feet. "So yer gonna wipe yar face and act like yar boyfriend left ya. Tha' way our ol' mum never finds out how ya war tricked into bringing a bastid spy into tha house."
She nodded and gulped, wiping away the tears.
"Go fer a walk round tha garden while ya settle yar nerves. Then stop actin' tha fool an' stay put til I say otherwise."
Not trusting herself to speak, she just nodded again and took a step away when he touched her gently on the arm. "Fiona, I didnae wan' ta tell ya. I war hopin' if I kept me eye on ham, I could stop him doin' any harm an' I tort wid tha way he wa' wid ya, mebbe he'd come round ta our way o' tinking... But, I cannae let ya throw yar life away on tha bastid."
She screwed up her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose as she tried to sort out the jumble of emotions racing through her brain. That Liam had known was a massive shock. Liam not doing anything to stop her from dating an American spy was hard to believe.
"Swear ya didnae hurt ham," she demanded. "Thot ya ran ham off, back ta Kilkenny or Belfast or whar'ever ya sent ham..."
She could see the disappointment written on Liam's face; her fear for Michael's life was giving her away.
"I didnae hurt ham and whar ever he is now is nuttin' ta do wid me."
She stared into her brother's eyes trying to read the truth of his words in his eyes.
"We'll never talk o' this again," she told him firmly and thankfully he nodded solemnly in agreement and slowly walked away.
Fiona watched Liam disappear around the corner of the house and listened as she heard a car door slam and the engine spring to life. Sucking in a ragged breath, she fought down the urge to scream. When she had invited Michael Westen into her life, she had never imagined that it would end like this.
With a finally sniff and angry swipe at her tear-filled eyes, she opened the door to the utility room and slipped inside. Removing the mud-caked boots, she left them to dry near the radiator and hung the coat up on one of the many hooks in the wall.
Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply and took back control over her heart. Her mother was never, ever, going to find out what she had done. She was going pull herself together and lie through her teeth to keep Maeve Glenanne safe and happy.
Opening her eyes, she set off through the door which led into the large kitchen and instantly stopped, frozen in place. She could hear her heart thudding in her chest and her head reeled, making her feel faint at, the sight which greeted her.
The kitchen table was covered by a thick plastic sheet and there on top were three 12 bore double barrelled shotguns, a Smith and Wesson .38 calibre revolver and a dismantled AK47 assault rifle.
"Mammy?"
Maeve looked up and smiled as she expertly began to reassemble the AK.
"Ya got sommit planned, Ma?" Fiona stepped further into the room.
"It's Wednesday," the older woman replied crisply. "I always clean tha guns on a Wednesday," she answered, snapping the last part into place and raising the weapon to look along the barrel. "Why don'tcha make us a cuppa tea while I put dis lot away?"
Fiona nodded and went to the kettle. After filling it up with water, she plugged in the lead and switched it on before emptying the tea pot and dropping in fresh tea leaves.
"So wha' did Liam have ta say tha's gotcha all in a tizzy?" Maeve called out from where she was storing the weapons in a cupboard under the stairs.
Fiona took her time filling the teapot with boiling water and laying out two of her mother's fine bone china cups on their matching saucers.
"He told me he'd ended me lease on me flat."
"Aye, it's fer tha best. Yar better off here wid yar family... at least fer a while." Maeve waited for Fiona to finish making the tea and then held the door open for her daughter to carry the cups through into the living room.
Once sat down in her high back chair next to the fire, Maeve took her cup of tea and placed it on the small round topped oak table beside her chair. She looked up at her sad-eyed, youngest child and sighed softly.
"Come har, child, an' let me brush yar hair." She patted her knee, signalling for her daughter to sit at her feet.
"Am not ten years old anymore, Ma."
"I know thot, but can't ya jus pretend fer an old lady and let me brush out yar hair? Remember how I used ta do thot fer you an' Claire... I miss havin' me little girls around me."
Sighing, Fiona put her cup down on the fireplace and sank down on to the thick woollen carpet. Pulling out the pins that had kept her frizzy mop of hair out of the way, she waited patiently for the drag of her mother's hairbrush. Closing her eyes, she felt Maeve's fingers carefully work through the tangles before commencing to brush a shine into her daughter's brown gold hair.
The familiarity of her mother's touch brought fresh tears to Fiona's eyes as the image of the mare nuzzling her foal's back as it drank came to her and she fought back the misery she felt. She would never have a moment like this; she would never sit and brush out her own daughter's hair.
Sinking down further, she rested her head on her mother's knee and tried to let all that had happened, and what may yet happen slip away.
"Ya know, I never planned this life fer ya." Fiona opened her eyes at her mother's words. "But things happen an' ya end up havin' ta play the hand yer dealt. Your Daddy started off wantin' ta be a priest, he wa' -"
"I know tha stories, Ma."
"Aye, but will ya listen ta an old woman?"
"Fine."
"Yar Daddy wa' tha most handsome man I ever saw. I decided he wa' tha one fer me when I wa' fifteen years old. He o' course never gave me a look. He wa' too wrapped up in his Bible. He wa' gonna become a priest." She laughed out loud at the thought. "Aye, kin ya believe tha?"
Fiona nodded her head, she had heard the tale of how they met and the great love they had shared. It was what she had wanted for herself. Her father had turned away from the priesthood for her mother, had turned away from serving God. Yet Michael wouldn't even turn away from serving his country for her.
"It took me two years ta get thot stubborn man's attention. Oh, but once I got it," she sighed. "He left tha seminary an' went fram studying tha bible ta be larnin' to be a chemist. All we ever wanted war a little shop, with a flat above an' ta raise lotsa fat children. But things change an' thar's not a damn thing ya kin do about it. I wa' pregnant wid Pat when yar Uncle Milo wa' killed. Tha poor boy wa' jus' on a night out in Derry. It twas a rubber bullet tha' did it."
She gave a short humorless laugh. "Aye, a rubber bullet, it hit him in da throat and tha wa' tha end o' him." She raised a hand to her eyes and leaned back in her chair. "Yar Daddy wa' furious, oh such a fury in tha man. Well, ya know tha' fer yoursel' don'tcha? Ya have yar Daddy's temper. Ya all do, all except for our dear angel up in heaven."
Fiona remained with her head on her mother's knee. She knew the story inside and out, and back and forth, just like she knew all the family stories. Listening to her mother talk soothed her, calmed her bruised and battered soul. She was home, safe and sound.
"Oh, he wa' for tha Cause and dey loved ham. A chemist, an educated man, and oh most o' all they loved tha bombs he could make. I hoped when ya babbies came along, it would cool da fire in ham. An' ya know fer a while it did. He worked at Shaunessy's pharmacy fer a while." Maeve's dreamy expression pulled down into a frown.
"But dey wouldnae leave him alone, not tha Brits or tha IRA. Ya warn't even a glint in yer daddy's eye when they came an' took him off ta the Maze. Ten soldiers it took, an they gave him a such a beating. First time, they held him fer trey weeks, tha second time fer a month." She smiled to herself then, stroking her long fingers through her daughter's hair.
"Can ya remember tha time thot they took him an' Pat, God rest his soul, away an' you bit thot damn constable's ankle? Oh my, how I laughed. I had ta pull ya off him and you had yar arms wrapped around his leg an yar little teeth buried in deep."
Fiona smiled, but she didn't want to. It hurt so much it tore her apart that she could smile when her heart was breaking.
"Yar daddy did wha' he thought wa' right an' tha's wha' Liam is doin' now. Ya know thot, girl, dontcha? He loves ya, an' wants ta protect ya."
"He wants ta control me. Am a woman, Am nearly thirty years old an' I'm still being ordered about by tha lot o' ya. At least wid Mi-"
"Oh, he gave ya yer independence d'he girl? Left ya on yar own good an' proper. Is tha want ya want? Fer us all ta leave ya alone?"
"No, no, I want-" She shook her head and got to her feet. "I don't know wha' I want and tha's tha problem."
Back in her room, she lay on her bed with an arm flung over her eyes. She felt like she was being suffocated. How could Michael have left her with all this to deal with? He had to have known there would be fall out when he left. Why hadn't he at least warned her he was going to abandon her to her fate?
She wasn't the same person any more. She wasn't even sure if she could become the dutiful daughter again. Her whole being protested at the thought of having to return to following her brother's orders and having them all watch over her as if she was too fragile to be left unguarded.
She knew they did it out of love, but it didn't change the fact she had grown. Armand had started the process of change, opening her eyes to the world far more than her university education had ever done, and Michael had shown her that a gun or a bomb wasn't always the right answer to a problem. Both men had encouraged her to think for herself and had valued her for her quick mind and tactical expertise. And neither had expected her to just be a trophy on their arm.
It came to her then; she didn't want to go back to having her life mapped out by what her eldest brother thought was best for her. She sat up, a look of determination on her face. She needed a plan. She needed to be able to confront Liam and tell him what she was going to do and make it something he couldn't say no to.
She needed something that allowed her to get away from Ireland, at least for a little while. But it had to be somewhere Liam at least approved of and it had to be where she would have the space to sort out her messed up life on her own.
Hours later, still with no plan, she took a pause from her pacing when she heard the phone ring downstairs. She could hear her mother talking to somebody, but couldn't make out the words. Then, just as she was going to turn back to her thoughts…
"Fiona, thar's a call fer ya!"
It had to be word on Michael... Had they found him? She blinked away the thought, praying that wasn't the news she was about to hear.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she noted the happy smile on her mother's face. Before Maeve handed her daughter the phone, she couldn't help passing on the news.
"It's thot nice Armand Andreani. He's just spoken ta Seamus and he wants ta come callin'... I've invited ham ta dinner."
Fiona's breath caught in her throat. Out of the blue, she had the solution to her problem. Her family had done business with him, had trusted him. Armand had the resources to get her out of Ireland. They had worked together before. Liam could hardly object to her working for or with him again.
The only question left was whether protecting her heart and winning her independence was worth the price of her soul.