Free Blood And Water by Siobhain Bunni

regretted almost every single minute of her time with Cathal. Her charming man with his handsome good looks and irresistible grin turned out to be nothing more than an arrogant, self-obsessed schmuck. A classic Aston Martin shell with a rusty, knocked-off Skoda engine underneath. Enya hated the way he managed to tie her in emotional knots, making her feel inferior to his apparent greatness. Like a ferret he burrowed under her confidence, taking it down from its foundations up until she wasn’t sure of anything anymore. It was only after he was gone that she realised just how much of herself he had emasculated and, more devastatingly, how much she had let him.
    It took William, who neither forgot nor forgave, with his festering resentment and bruised pride, to exact his revenge and bring Enya’s world tumbling down.
    He called her on her mobile when she was overnighting at a conference in Galway.
    “Nothing to worry about, but Lia’s not well,” he told her. “She’s with your mother back at the house.”
    “Where’s Cathal?” Enya asked, concerned but not worried – his tone lacked the urgency to suggest it was an emergency.
    “The crèche tried to call him but he’s off air. I know he’s been involved in this constituency think-tank thing out in the back of beyond so he won’t have coverage. That’s how come we’ve got her. She’s with your mother at the house, so nothing to panic about.”
    The idea of Lia with Barbara on her own in the house was disconcerting. It wasn’t that her mother would intentionally upset Lia but, without knowing her state of inebriation, it could go either way. Eyeing up the remainder of the conference agenda, Enya reckoned it wasn’t worth the stress or the guilt if anything happened to Lia while in her grandmother’s care. So, checking out early, she made her way home. It was a two-hour drive during which she tried to remember giving the crèche her parents’ number but couldn’t, but was glad she had, wondering what would have happened otherwise. Taking her father at his word, she didn’t try to contact Cathal. There was no point. She’d see him soon enough and then, she decided, they needed some sort of contingency plan for next time she was away and he had to work.
    But there was no ‘ think-tank thing’ at all. William watched from the opposite side of the road, his Mercedes tucked in behind a van. From there he saw Enya pull into the driveway and look curiously at Cathal’s car parked in its usual spot and, less than ten minutes later, Cathal and his half-dressed and dishevelled secretary leaving the house in a flurry of arms and shirttails.
    “Gotcha!” William declared and, beaming, he started the engine and pulled out into the road, delighted he’d discovered the malicious rumours were true after all.
    His phone rang not long after he’d driven away.
    “ Where is she? ” Enya shouted without introduction.
    Expecting it, William replied simply, “She’s at the crèche.”
    “How could you?” she spat.
    “What? You’d prefer that he carried on behind your back, making a fool out of you, out of me?”
    “Admit it, Dad, you don’t give a damn about me, or Lia for that matter. All you’re interested in is settling the score, isn’t that right?”
    “It’s for your own good,” he told her smugly without an ounce of remorse.
    “Oh, fuck off, Dad,” she spat and hung up the phone.
    The memory of that day and those that followed still made her want to throw up.
    Hearing a key in the door she dried her face and busied herself at the sink, pouring the now stone-cold coffee down the drain and rinsing her mug.
    Ciara trudged into the kitchen, calling her name only to stop as she spied her at the sink.
    “Oh, you’re in here.” She heaved two large shopping bags onto the island countertop. “It’s murder out there,” she puffed, slightly out of breath, oblivious to the state of her sister. “Bloody traffic on Mercer Street is mental, lights are out