What Will Be

Book 3: The Carmel Sheehan Series

by Jean Grainger

Genres: Literary Fiction; International Crime & Mystery

Synopsis

USA Today Bestselling author Jean Grainger wants to take you to Ireland...

As long as Carmel stays in London, nothing can happen to shatter her perfect life. But something is pulling her home. Should she resist?

She has a wonderful marriage, a rewarding career and a great bunch of friends. As far as she's concerned, the sadness of her past can stay back in Ireland, where it belongs.

For Carmel, Ireland only means misery, loneliness and fear and she never wants to return. The new, confident and happy Carmel only exists on the cosmopolitan streets of Britain's capital. If she ever was forced to return, she fears she would revert to the mousey downtrodden woman she once was.

But when her beloved father suggests a family road trip along Ireland's famous Wild Atlantic Way, she hasn't the heart to turn him down. She tells herself that Sharif will be by her side, and that maybe her father is right and Ireland isn't the terrible place she's made it out to be. But trouble is brewing once more for Carmel and everything she struggled to build looks like it is disintegrating.

As Carmel returns to the land of her birth, she discovers that she cannot fully embrace her future, until she makes peace with her past, and with her country.

A heartwarming story of families, love and loyalty, set against the backdrop of Ireland. 

What Will Be, is the final book in the Carmel Sheehan Story.

Release date: April 14, 2018

Publisher: Independently published

Print pages: 220

Sample

What Will Be

Chapter 1

For Carmel, life married to Sharif Khan and working at Aashna house was bliss. She finally had the life she’s only previously seen on TV. Love, a beautiful home, a rewarding career, friends. Things she was sure were never destined for someone like her.

 

The dreadful Julia Sheehan was in the past and Carmel tried to allow her former sister-in-law and her viscous efforts to destroy her and Sharif as little space in her head as possible.

 

Bill had agreed to the divorce and  had even sent a wedding gift, so as far as Carmel was concerned that sad chapter of her life was over. The years as an unloved child in Trinity House, the dreary, lonely years married to Bill Sheehan and the terrorization by his horrible sister, the damp unwelcoming farm, the farmhouse that was essentially a shrine to Bill’s first wife Gretta, all over. It was firmly in the past and she would not blight her future by letting it in.

 

Her life had been a rollercoaster from that day she read the Facebook message from Sharif, telling her that her entire life had been predicated on a lie. That her birth mother had not abandoned her, and she was not an unloved, unwanted child, foisted on the Irish state services. The complete opposite was true. Dolly Mullane had dedicated her life to finding her daughter, but sadly it was too late for Dolly by the time she actually was found.

 

The discovery that not just Dolly loved her but that the man that was potentially her father was alive was a revelation. Of course it didn’t alleviate the pain of loss and the sense of a missed opportunity she felt on a daily basis that Dolly died before she came to Aashna, but Joe McDaid was alive. He didn’t know of her existence, he knew nothing of what became of his girlfriend all those years ago, and it was a tale of such sadness and resentment that she could hardly bear to think of it. 

 

There were so many junctures in her life that if things had gone even slightly in another direction, things would have been so different. If Sharif had not seen a CarmelIreland on FaceBook that had the same birthday as Dolly’s daughter. If the nuns in the mother and baby home, or at Trinity had changed her name instead of allowing her keep the one her mother chose. If she’d ignored the message Sharif sent, if she’d chickened out of going to meet him in Dublin. If Brian McDaid hadn’t appeared in Aashna in the closing weeks of his life, then everything could have been so different.

She felt he hand of her mother guiding her in ways she couldn’t really verbalise, but she was a strong presence in her life. Maybe she was imagining it, it could well be the case and she was sure any psychiatrist would say she was dreaming or wishing or something, but for Carmel, Dolly was a real and present person in her life.

 

She spoke to her often, and made time each day to go to the little chapel on the grounds. It was peaceful there and the general hubbub of the hospice didn’t reach it. It was a place for reflection, for quiet time, for serenity.

 

Joe McDaid was never far from her thoughts, as she tried to extrapolate into a future she couldn’t imagine. Round and round her mind went different scenarios. In almost every fantasy, it began well with her gathering the courage to seek him out. She could picture herself outside a house in Dublin. An ordinary house on an ordinary road but inside was her father. Maybe. The fantasy always started well, with Carmel being brave and determined, but sometimes he is pleased at first, but then she tells him the story that Brian shared with her and he breaks down, or he gets angry and doesn’t believe her, or he does believe her but wants nothing to do with her. Almost inevitably it ends badly. Since Brian’s death several nights  she’d woken in tears, only to take a moment to realise where she is, in Aashna, in her and Sharif’s apartment, in bed with his arms around her, soothing her.

 

 

Sharif was right, the best thing to do was just to allow herself time to get used to the idea that her father might still be out there. Every time she thought about making contact with Joe McDaid, she gave up. She vacillated between thinking that her life was better than it ever was, that she should leave well enough alone to wanting to pick up the phone and ring him.

Brian, Joe’s brother and long standing friend of Dolly’s was dead, taking with him her only tangible link to her father’s family.

 

The arrangements for Brian’s funeral clicked into motion effortlessly, as they did on an almost daily basis in Aashna House. The whole process in England took far longer than in Ireland where people were buried within three to four days of their death. Here it could be weeks unless there was a religious reason to do it quickly. She’d been to hundreds of funerals in Ballyshanley, even the most tenuous connection meant you attended the funeral, and they were generally huge affairs.

 It was different here but each tradition was represented and respected, and every effort was made to give everyone a fitting send-off. That was a duty often falling to Nadia, to talk with the patient and families before the death to determine what arrangements they would like. She was wonderful at it and it ensured there was rarely a conflict after someone died as to how their passing should be marked.

 

She recalled the night Brian died, how she felt like she had a duty to him, that she had never felt with anyone before.

‘Will I call Tim?’ she’d asked as she entered the little office where Sharif was recording the details of Brian’s death..

‘Sure, he’s expecting it, but it’s still a shock.’

Carmel scrolled through her phone for the number. Then she stopped.

‘You know, Sharif, I think I might just take a taxi over there, tell him in person. I know we don’t normally do that, but I’d like to, is that okay?’

He looked up. ‘I’m sure he’d appreciate that; you can bring him back here with you and we can make whatever arrangements he wants. Brian asked me to inform his family back in Ireland, but it’s still very early. Given the circumstances, I don’t know how much they know about his and Tim’s relationship. I think we can give Tim some time before involving the extended family. It’s four thirty a.m. now, so I’ll call them around eight. A few hours either way won’t make any difference.’

Carmel rang Tim’s mobile once the taxi dropped her outside the door.

‘Hello?’ Tim was instantly alert.

‘Tim, it’s Carmel, I’m outside your house.’

‘Oh…Oh, right…I see…’ He seemed flustered. ‘I’ll be right down.’

She waited and, after a few moments, she saw his shadow approach the door. He opened it and she stepped inside. He was dressed in pajamas and a brown checked robe and slippers. No words were necessary.

He just looked at her and she nodded slightly. Tim’s hand went to his face as he tried to process the news that the man he had loved for nearly fifty years was gone. Carmel put her arms around him, and he allowed her to comfort him. Silent tears flowed and they just stood there in the hall.

‘He was so peaceful, no pain at all. And at the end, he smiled so happily, Tim, he called Dolly, and his mother, I think he saw them…’

He released himself gently from her embrace. ‘I’m glad. They were as thick as thieves that pair, always laughing or conspiring about something. And he adored his mother.  He told me that he filled you in on the story, it was their only point of argument, him and Dolly; he wanted to tell his brother so badly.’

‘He did.’ They walked through to the lovely bright kitchen and Tim asked, ‘Will we have a cup of tea?’

‘We’re Irish, it’s what we do, isn’t it?’ she smiled.

Tim busied himself with the kettle and getting cups while she chatted. She had seen enough in the time she’d been at Aashna to know grief had many forms. No two people reacted to the death of a loved one in the same way. Sharif always allowed people the time and space to respond as they wanted, so she tried to do the same.

Tim sighed. ‘I can’t believe he’s gone, I know that sounds stupid, he was in a hospice, and sick for so long but I just…’ His shoulders shook and Carmel went to him. She took the tea pot from him and put her arms around him once more. Her kindness seemed to open the floodgates. She just stood there, letting him cry.

 

Brian was now laid out in the little chapel of rest in Aashna. She strolled up there to sit with him in the silence. His family were presumably coming from Ireland, though she had no idea of the details yet, they were her family too it would seem, and the thought of it produced a myriad of conflicting emotions. Curiosity, trepidation, excitement, terror, the whole gamut. They would arrive shortly, and then she would withdraw, but for now it was nice to have the time. In the days since his passing Tim had seemed not just grief stricken but on edge as well.

Standing beside his open coffin, she hoped the sense that she got in the room when he died, that he’d seen the faces of people he loved, was what really happened. She believed in that, and she’d read of it being an international phenomenon, across all cultures, nationalities, ages, and eras. When she saw the pain and the deep lines on his face caused by the cancer almost smooth out in front of her face, she felt such a strong sensation that he was happy to go and that he wasn’t alone.

‘Carmel.’ She started, snapping out of her reverie to find Sharif at her shoulder.

‘Can you come home for a while…?’ She smiled, she loved the way he called their little apartment home.

‘Sure, is everything okay?’ she walked beside him across the butter and gold coloured pebbles surrounding the chapel.

‘Yes, I just wanted to see you, have some time. It’s been so busy lately and you’ve been arranging the programme and

 with Brian, I just miss you.’ He held her hand as they approached the front door.

She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him as he put the key in the lock. ‘I love you, Sharif Khan, really, really love you.’

‘Of course you do, I’m fabulous.’ He grinned as she swatted him on the bum.

Putting the kettle on while she opened some post that was on the mat, he said, ‘There was one thing I wanted to talk to you about.’

‘Go on…’ She was worried.

‘Well, in Brian’s living will, you know the thing people can write before they die outlining their preferences, he just asked that there be a simple Mass, no big fuss and that his brothers and sisters be informed. He has two sisters and two brothers living, I believe, so as you know, we have contacted them, made them aware of his death, and they are going to come over for the funeral, all four of them, I believe.’ She could see he was wary of telling her.

‘But shouldn’t Tim be doing that?’ She was surprised that job had fallen to Sharif.

‘Well, the thing is, I don’t think Brian’s family knew he was gay.’

Carmel nodded, it was making sense now. The way they were together, so united, but so private. It also explained why Tim was so reticent about coming to Aashna now; he was probably afraid of running into one of Brian’s family.

‘I see. Poor Tim, he can’t even be seen to grieve properly, it’s a hard situation.’

‘Well, yes, it is, but it’s their choice, so we just have to do what Brian wanted. I’m sure he and Tim talked about it, so…’ he shrugged.

‘You didn’t say anything to them about me or Dolly or…’

‘Of course not,’ he led her to the sofa. ‘That’s your story to tell, whether you decide to tell it or not is up to you. I just wanted you to know they are coming here on Tuesday; I didn’t want it to come as a shock.’

‘Okay…I suppose I guessed that would be the case.’ she didn’t know what to say. Joe McDaid was coming here, Dolly’s boyfriend and possibly her father.

‘Do I have to see them?’

Sharif smiled. ‘Carmel, you’re forty years old, you don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to go to anything you don’t want to. And if you want to go to Brian’s funeral as a member of Aashna House staff and not ever indicate to his family that your connection is anything more than that, then, of course, that’s what you must do. Or if you want to tell them who you are, and who your mother was, then that’s fine too. Whatever you wish is fine. I’ll be by your side all the time, you’ll be safe.’

His voice was so gentle. He understood her insecurities. Growing up in an institution, however benign, didn’t, she’d learned, equip you very well for the real world. She was so used to being told what to do and when to do it, first at Trinity House and then all those years with Bill and Julia, that she doubted the power of her own judgment. Sharif recognized that and was gently coaxing her into a life where she was the captain of her own ship.

‘Okay…thanks. I don’t know what is for the best, I mean, they’re grieving their brother, they won’t need me barging in on top of them.’

‘Well, if you’re unsure, then why not just see how it all goes? Maybe it will come out naturally or maybe it won’t, either way, you’ve got me and everyone here as back up. You are not alone.’

‘Maybe I should make myself scarce, I mean, it’s not really my place anyway to be there; we are related, but not in any way that his family would want to know about…’

‘Carmel, you work here. Of course, you can take some holidays if you like, I’m not saying it as the boss, but you have every right to be there as a member of Aashna House staff. If it helps, I spoke to his sister and she seemed very nice. She explained that Brian didn’t tell them he was ill. When I asked him about family visits a few weeks ago, he told me he didn’t want them fussing. His sister, Maggie, seemed to want me to understand that they hadn’t just abandoned him. Apparently, every time they would suggest visiting, he’d say he was away or busy and they couldn’t understand why he had rejected them. Joe, especially, was very hurt because they were always close. He texted and emailed and all of that, and he went back to Dublin before the cancer got too bad, but he wouldn’t allow them to visit him here. We had a really long chat and I never mentioned what he said, obviously, but I think the burden of knowing what he knew about Dolly and not being able to reveal it to his brother was hard for him to bear, but he made a promise to your mother and he was determined to keep it.’

Carmel nodded. She admired Brian for his loyalty to Dolly but her heart went out to the rest of his family. She didn’t know of course, but they sounded nice and it must have been hard for them to hear he’d died and he never contacted them to say goodbye. She could never understand it when she heard of families falling out, if she’d had a family of her own she would have loved them, but maybe that was just an overly romantic view of things.

 

 

Chapter 2

Carmel lit a candle in the living room of their sunny apartment and sat down, back straight and eyes open, taking a deep breath. She exhaled and tried to still her thoughts. Today was the day of the funeral and she was still undecided whether to go. Maggie, Brian’s sister, and her husband Dominic had arrived from Ireland with the rest of the family the previous afternoon and checked into a local hotel. They came and spoke to Sharif and the undertaker in the evening about the arrangements, but Carmel stayed in their apartment. Just knowing that members of the McDaid family were on the grounds of Aashna was enough to make her anxious.

She tried to focus on her breath. If ever she needed direction, it was now.

Part of her wanted to rush out, to meet Joe, to tell him who she was and to ask him if he would consider a DNA test to see if he was her father. But, the bigger part of her was governed by fear. She tried to analyse it, fear of what? The answer was clear, fear of rejection. What if he told her to get lost, or worse still, resented her intrusion in his grief for his brother, and all of that was leaving aside the whole business of what his father did to Dolly. She tried to focus on the future, to leave the past where it belonged but Brain’s deathbed revelations of how Joe’s father was so intent on hurting his son, that he felt such depths of hatred for his own boy, he hurt the person Joe loved the most, Dolly. She tried so hard not to run a grotesque film in her head of a young woman, happily walking home from work on winter’s evening, full of excitement at the prospect of a marriage proposal from the lad she loved, only to find herself dragged inot tome undergrowth and raped byt the man that would be her father in law. And she might be the product of that violent attack. She wanted to believe that it wasn’t true, that she was conceived in love, but it was all so complicated. She knew from the way Brian explained it that nobody in the McDaid family was under any illusion about what kind of man their father was, but he was dead now and how would they react to a total stranger showing up, raking over old ground, bringing all those painful memories to the surface once more? Or perhaps with time they have come to forgive him for being a terrible father, a violent husband, and her intruding on their lives, claiming a part of their family would be rejected out of hand. She couldn’t blame them. Every time she thought she had the guts to face them all, she was crushed by an icy wave of dread crashing over her head once again.

She listened to the guided meditation she was playing from for calm, the soothing voice on the sound system encouraging her to fill her senses with serenity, to picture herself walking by the ocean. To see herself barefoot, on the beach, the warm waves lapping around her feet, the sun on her face, breathing in the warm salty air. Normally it worked but not today, she was too wound up. Her moth was dry, her heart pounding a cold prickle of sweat between her shoulder blades.  She switched it off and checked her watch, it was almost time.

Eventually, in the small hours of the morning when there was no possibility of sleep, she decided to take Sharif’s advice. Just to go as a member of the staff and see what happened.

She was dressed, in black trousers, black ankle boots, and a cream shirt, and her blonde hair was brushed till it shone. She thought she should wear some make-up, her eyes had dark circled beneath them from lack of sleep. She applied some concealer and foundation but didn’t risk anything else. Before she could start to over think it again and dredge up all the associated fears, she grabbed her bag and went out the door.

Approaching the chapel, she almost fled, but forced herself to walk on. Sharif had offered to accompany her, but she needed to do this on her own. In general he didn’t attend funerals, if he were to start that process he would get nothing done and some family would be bound to be insulted if he missed their loved one’s memorial service, so he made time for each family after a pateint’s death and left it at that.

  She hoped her appearance was just neutral. In Ballyshanley, she used to blend seamlessly into the background with her boring clothes and mousy brown hair, but less so now. Her blonde hair had been restored and she was aware for the first time in her life of admiring glances from men. But she only had eyes for one. Perhaps she should have taken him up on the offer to go with her. Suddenly she longed for Sharif’s tall, solid presence. He was so unusual looking, with his dark almond shaped eyes that looked like they were ringed in kohl, skin the colour of caramel, and silver hair  that nobody would take a second look at her.

   The beautiful engagement ring he’d had given her was back in the apartment; she felt it was too flashy for a funeral.

She debated stopping and introducing herself to the group standing chatting quietly outside the chapel, but she lost courage, so she just continued inside and took a seat at the back. Only the undertaker and the priest were inside preparing for the ceremony, the coffin was at the top of the chapel. In Ireland it was traditional for the body to be taken from the house or hospital by hearse and driven to the church where the deceased would lie overnight but things were done differently here. She hoped the undertaker was aware of the cultural and procedural differences between the countries and that someone had explained it to the McDaids. She almost smiled at the sense of protectiveness she felt for that family, though to them she was just Aashna staff.

The music began to play, and Brian’s family slowly walked in. Carmel instantly recognised the hymn, it was Our Lady of Knock. She’s always loved that one as a child, the lyrics telling the  story of a group of poor people, children included, who saw an apparition of The Virgin Mary on the gable wall of the church in 1879. The idea that such things happened in Lourdes, or Garabandal or Fatima was one thing, but that Our Lady chose a small village in County Mayo was always a source of pride to her young self. She never doubted the validity of the testimonies of thise present at the time, though she wasn’t sure now. She’d never been to County Mayo but it warmed her to think such a place existed in Ireland.

Being confronted with Ireland and the Irish again was something she’d have to steel herself for. To her, she now realized, England meant a safe haven, a place of refuge from the sadness of the past. Though she loved to hear the Irish accents, and think about aspects of life that were unique to her native country, she knew that she had no wish to ever return. The Carmel Murphy, then Sheehan, that scared child, then woman, that endured life back there no longer existed and she was never returning. Not if Carmel could help it.

  The family took their seats at the top of the small chapel and Carmel fixed her gaze on Brian’s sisters and brothers, as they passed, all sitting on the front pew. They looked like any other family she supposed. The two sisters were like polar opposites, one tall and slim and elegant looking, the other short and heavyset. The men were tall, both grey haired, one had blue eyes the other grey. Which one was Joe she wondered? Behind them were close to twenty other people, wives, husbands, and children, she assumed. She smiled at how Irish they all looked, even the number of people was Irish. She had been saddened at first when she came to England to note how few people went to funerals. She had explained to Zane and Ivy that funerals were as big as weddings in Ireland, bigger often because no invitations were issued.

They’d laughed when she told them that back in Ireland they say the only difference between a wedding and a funeral is one less drunk.

Anyone who had even the most tenuous of connections to the departed went to a local funeral, and those who were connected to the family of the person too. Colleagues, old school friends of the deceased’s grandchildren, almost everyone in the town or village if it was in the country, everyone went. Back in Ballyshanley, she and Bill went to every single removal or funeral in the whole town. It would have been considered the height of disrespect not to. The family was propped up emotionally by their community for a long while afterwards, food was delivered, the house became a kind of open house and people came and went to pay their respects, eat and drink. The body was almost always laid out in the sitting room, and people would come by the coffin for a final goodbye, often kissing the head of the body. She’s explained that in the café one day and people were astounded. Death here in England was a private thing.

‘But what about children and so on?’ Ivanka asked, fascinated.

‘What about them?’ Carmel was confused.

‘Well if the body is lying there and everyone mills around it, who takes care of the children?’

Carmel smiled. ‘They are there too. The Irish don’t have a weirdness about death that seems to persist here, dead bodies are part of life, little children would always see their dead people lying in their coffins. And unless the death was tragic or of someone young, there’s a kind of happy atmosphere. It’s hard to describe but in Ireland a funeral really is a celebration. People stand around telling stories, eating and drinking and remembering. If it’s summer time the people would gather outside too and loud bursts of raucous laughter or even a sing song wouldn’t be unheard of.’

She found to her astonishment that her new friends were fascinated with every aspect of life in the next island over, and very few British people had ever visited Ireland. Because emigration as so much a part of the Irish story, people going to England for work was commonplace but the traffic across the Irish sea seemed distinctly one way.

She’s told them about how beautiful Ireland was, how steeped in history and culture, and when Zane suggested the all go for a long weekend to Dublin she’d gone along with it, but she knew nothing would ever drag her back there again.