Page 2 of Her Last Walk Home
Words deserted him. He tugged open the door, which was prone to sticking on the mat in damp weather, and watched as his sister dropped an enormous wheelie suitcase on the floor before brushing past him.
By the time he made it to the living room, after eventually succeeding in shutting the door with a shoulder push, Grace had divested herself of her coat and was sitting beside Sergio. Wearing a woollen dress, heavy tights and walking boots, she looked totally different from what he remembered. She seemed a lot older than her thirty-three years.
‘Grace, this is Sergio. Sergio, this is your Auntie Grace. She’s come all the way from beyond Galway to stay with us.’
‘Grace is cool,’ Sergio said.
‘Master Sergio, I’ve been called all sorts of things in my life, but that’s the first time I’ve heard my name and cool in the same sentence.’ Grace looked up at Boyd. ‘We will get along just fine. Are you making tea, Mark?’
‘Ehm, I’ve dinner in the oven, but if you want tea…’
‘I wouldn’t have mentioned it if I didn’t want it.’
‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
In the kitchenette, he recalled just how black-and-white Grace saw the world. Never one to waste words, she uttered aloud what others merely thought. She was her own woman. And he realised something else. How could he have been sostupid? His cramped one-bed apartment was definitely too small for three.
With the kettle boiling, he leaned against the breakfast bar and studied his sister. She wore her hair tied back in a meticulous ponytail with a red satin ribbon. Her cheeks were a little sunken. When had her face become so thin? She caught him staring.
‘Remember what I said about catching flies, Mark. You need to be careful.’
‘I was supposed to pick you up later at the station. Did you catch an earlier bus?’
‘I must have, otherwise how would I be here?’
‘Right. And you took a taxi from the station?’
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. To Sergio, she said, ‘Your daddy is such a silly billy. I hardly walked, dragging my case behind me, in that weather.’
‘You could have phoned me,’ Boyd said, aware of the petulance that had crept into his tone.
The kettle whistled. It was impossible to have a straightforward conversation with her. He wanted to call Lottie to ask her to come over and rescue him. But he had to make the tea, then the dinner, and sort out beds for the night. Perhaps having Grace to stay was not one of his brighter ideas.
2
Katie Parker watched from the top step of the stairs as her mother arrived home from work just after six. Lottie banged the door, shuffled out of her black puffa jacket, balled it up, feathers flying like dust motes in the air, and stuffed it on the floor beneath the overflowing coat rack. She took off her boots, with one foot on the heel of the other so she didn’t have to bend down and tug them off. Then she ran her hands through her damp straggly hair, took a few deep breaths and made her way to the kitchen. Another door banged.
‘Bad day again, Mam?’ Katie said to the air.
She grabbed the banister, stood and made her way into her bedroom she shared with her three-year-old son, Louis. She’d been nineteen when her boyfriend, Jason, was murdered, without knowing she was pregnant. She hadn’t even known herself. Louis was adorable. Jason’s father, Tom Rickard, loved his grandson, and lodged a regular stipend in Katie’s account for him, but she couldn’t bring herself to touch it.
The few jobs she’d had hadn’t worked out. Childcare was expensive and she regularly found herself unemployed and unemployable. The days seemed as endless as the impossibility of holding down a job.
She flung herself on the bed. Burying her head in her pillow, she yelled into the synthetic foam. It did nothing to relieve her anxiety, but at least she was doing something.
Turning over, she stared at the yellowing ceiling. The roof of the old house had sprung a leak the week after Christmas and her mother couldn’t afford to get it fixed. Lottie’s guy, Boyd, and their colleague, Kirby, had ventured into the attic and nailed a few boards where the slates had disintegrated. But rain still dripped into her room. Now Louis had a cough and she feared his asthma would spiral. Maybe she should put some of Tom’s money towards a deposit for an apartment. No, she needed a proper job. She needed to feel like the real Katie Parker again. She needed a life. And then she realised what was at the centre of her anguish. She missed her dad.
A knock on the door and her mother stood there, holding Louis’ hand.
‘I can mind this imp tonight. Why don’t you go out? Meet some of your friends.’
‘What friends? They got on with their lives while mine stagnated.’ She hadn’t meant to sound irritable, but that was exactly how she sounded. She had pushed her girlfriends away. Dropping out of college hadn’t helped. The few dates she’d had turned tail the second she mentioned her son.
‘What about that guy you dated for a while last year? I thought it was serious. What happened there?’
Katie’s stomach clenched. She sat up and put her hands beneath her to hide the shaking. That had been a disaster. Another reason why she was Katie-no-boyfriends. She forced a smile. ‘I’ll ring around a few of the girls. And thanks, Mam.’
‘You need to cut yourself a break. Life’s too short. Getting a job is just one part of life; it shouldn’t consume you. It will happen. In the meantime, have some fun.’