Free Sleep Sister: A page-turning novel of psychological suspense by Laura Elliot Page B

would understand.
    ‘I don’t know what to do.’ She touched Stewart’s arm as they stood on the pier.
    ‘About Sara?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes. She won’t come to the phone when I ring. I can’t believe she’ll let Daddy die without saying goodbye to him.’
    ‘I’m sure she’ll change her mind. Come on – let’s go back. Standing here in the cold won’t solve anything and we have a war zone to tidy up.’
    Reluctantly, she left the pier and turned in the direction of Main Strand Street. As they approached the house she noticed the long car parked outside.
    ‘A Mercedes!’ Stewart stopped to examine the registration plate. ‘Very flash.’ He sounded impressed. ‘Wonder who that belongs to?’
    ‘I know the owner.’ Beth was surprised at the calmness in her voice. She turned the key in the front door and entered.
    Albert Grant had put on weight. She could see it on his face, under his chin. He stood in front of the fireplace, smiling. He had grown a moustache. It tickled her cheek when he hugged her. She was swamped in his warmth, the familiar scent of Old Spice and soap.
    She forced herself to stand still until he released her.
    ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she demanded.
    ‘What a way to greet your uncle, love. I’m surprised at you,’ Connie said reproachfully. She made an attempt to tidy bottles out of the way then stopped, embarrassed by the debris of the party.
    ‘Well, I’m surprised too. He only comes to Dublin when he has something nasty to do. I’m just wondering what it is this time.’
    ‘I came when Marjory told me the sad news. Poor Barry. A fragile grip on reality at the best of times.’ He stared at Stewart, then back at Connie. ‘I presume this young man is your son, Mrs McKeever?’
    ‘He is indeed.’ Beth saw her mouth tremble as Albert ignored Stewart’s outstretched hand. A whistle shrilled from the kitchen: the kettle was boiling. She rose to her feet. ‘Tea or coffee, Councillor?’
    ‘Tea will be fine, Mrs McKeever.’
    When she left the room he took off his jacket, easing his shoulders in circular movements. ‘That’s better. I’ve had a long drive. It’s good to see you again, Beth, although I hoped we could have met under happier circumstances… Like a visit to your unfortunate mother.’
    ‘I asked you a question and you still haven’t answered it,’ she replied. ‘What are you doing here?’
    ‘I think it’s fairly obvious. I’ve booked into the Oldport Grand for the night. In the morning I’ve organised an ambulance to collect your father and take him home to Anaskeagh.’
    Beth froze. ‘No fucking way!’
    ‘Beth!’ Connie, horrified, stood in the doorway, a tray in her hands. ‘I can’t believe my ears. Shame on you.’
    ‘I’m sorry, Connie. But he can’t just suddenly appear and start taking over. He wants to take Daddy away.’
    Connie placed the tray on the coffee table. She glanced fearfully towards the councillor and shook her head. ‘I’m afraid there’s some mistake, Councillor. Barry has no intention of going back to Anaskeagh.’
    ‘Please, Mrs McKeever, don’t make a scene,’ he interrupted her smoothly. ‘I’m only doing what is right and proper under the circumstances. This is not exactly the ideal environment for a sick man.’ A smile touched his lips as he surveyed the room, raising his eyebrows at the sight of the empty whiskey bottle lying on the floor.
    ‘Daddy isn’t going anywhere,’ Beth shouted. She was aware of Stewart holding her hand, trying to calm her down.
    ‘Mr Grant, you can’t just ignore what my mother is saying. Barry wants to stay here with us.’
    ‘Young man, I mean no disrespect to your mother.’ Albert gave a slight bow in Connie’s direction and swept his gaze back to Stewart. ‘But I need hardly remind you that she is not Barry Tyrell’s wife. As the law stands she has absolutely no rights, no say, no decision.’ His tone changed, became placating as he turned his attention