Read Online Wednesday's Child by Shane Dunphy - Free Book Online Page B

was peculiar. There were definite traces of an English accent, but there was also an American flavour and some very Irish aspects too. She spoke quickly, however, and with total confidence, as if she expected to be listened to and obeyed immediately, so that it was difficult to focus on her accent or locution.
     
    Betty seemed momentarily fazed. Cordelia kepther full focus on Betty during this brief lull. I realised that she had not looked at me at all. It seemed that she perceived Betty as being the one in charge and that, as the hired help, I did not warrant any attention. The pause continued and seemed to stretch out interminably. I was about to intercede when Betty said: ‘Where has Max gone?’
     
    ‘He’s gone into town.’
     
    ‘The bus will be due back in a few minutes. He’ll surely be on it, seeing as you’re home from school. We’ll hang on and then we can all go and get something to eat together. Hop in.’
     
    Cordelia stayed exactly where she was, although she seemed to have lost much of her bluster. It was obvious that she had no idea where her father was, and that his absence was as much news to her as it had been to Victor. Both these children were scared (Ibar, who was poking the beetle with his forefinger, seemed totally oblivious), and in their different ways were trying to hide it. I wondered what had been going on in that little cottage. Cordelia sagged in almost exactly the same manner as her brother, and suddenly she looked every bit her thirteen years. She opened the door, steered Ibar in first and then climbed into the back, Victor following. Glancing into the rear-view mirror I saw a look pass between them. I couldn’t read what it meant, but it seemed to me to be a sigh of resignation.
     
    We drove back into the village and I parked across the road from the bus stop.
     
    ‘The bus from town gets in at half past four, doesn’t it?’ Betty asked.
     
    Nods answered her question.
     
    ‘Only a couple of minutes to wait then.’
     
    The bus was only ten minutes late, and when it stopped three people disembarked.
     
    None of them was Max McCoy.
     
    I looked over at Betty. The atmosphere in the car had become tense. Betty and I knew the children were trying to keep whatever game was being played going, and they knew that we could clearly see that something was wrong. I started the engine.
     
    ‘I’m going to drive back out to the house,’ I said. ‘I think that when we get there, we’ll talk again about what’s really going on.’
     
    Cordelia started to speak. I cut across her before she could get the first word out. I had sat back for long enough.
     
    ‘I’d like you to just think about things for now, Cordelia,’ I said, keeping my tone level but firm. ‘You’ve already spun us one yarn this afternoon, and I want to hear the truth from now on. We’ve done it your way. Now it’s time for you to do it our way. Okay?’
     
    I saw her eyes glaring at me in the rear-view mirror. She was barely keeping the anger in check, but then I reckoned that Cordelia was very good at keeping things in check. She had had a lot of practice.
     
    When we were back out at the McCoy cottage, I killed the engine and turned to the children. Victorwas simply staring at his hands, his body slouched as low as it could go in the seat. He seemed to be trying to make himself as small as possible, sinking into the fabric of the car, seeking to disappear. Cordelia was looking straight ahead, past me and down the road as if looking for an escape route. Betty sighed deeply. Ibar was still silent and implacable.
     
    ‘So what’s going on?’ I asked.
     
    ‘You don’t know where Max is, do you?’ Betty said.
     
    Victor began to mutter something unintelligible. Cordelia said: ‘He should be here. But sometimes he … isn’t. Just lately he’s not been well.’
     
    ‘He’s been sick?’ I asked.
     
    ‘Yes. But not like the flu.’
     
    ‘Has he been drinking again?’ Betty asked, the