Chapter 10
TEN
The two hours turn into three, and then into four, and before I know it, night has fallen. Ryan has set up a cosy base camp in the living room of Whimsy, the floor lined with comforters and blankets from the upstairs cupboards. He assures me they’re all being replaced as part of the renovation, and although they’re perfectly clean, they are on the shabby side.
I lean back against the wall, and bask in the simple act of sitting still. A couple of little lamps are bathing the room in gentle light, and Ryan has cleared the hearth and got a fire burning.
I watch him use the old-fashioned poker, then slide the guard into place. The crackle and hiss of the coal is so soothing, and the heat is wonderful – but I’m not sure how capable I’m going to be of building my own fire. It looks a lot more complicated than I expected.
Ryan settles opposite me, and passes me a can of Guinness. Eileen called round with some sandwiches earlier, which we shared with Eejit, and although the surroundings are a lot less glamorous than Bancroft Manor, I feel a deep sense of contentment.
Some of it is the physical exhaustion. Nothing like a few hours of real work to make you appreciate the simple things in life. I’ve cleaned and scrubbed and taken endless trips up and down the stairs. Ryan was treating small damp patches with a product that involved him wearing a mask that made him look like a space alien, and I have worn rubber gloves for so long that it felt like peeling my own skin off at the end of the day.
We had music playing on his phone hooked up to a speaker, and sang along to Motown classics from our respective spots. He really does have an amazing voice, and during an especially intense performance of ‘When A Man Loves A Woman’ I had to stop what I was doing and just listen. He must be a hit on karaoke night.
He told me they were planning on ripping out the kitchen and replacing all the units, but now he’s just going to do a ‘cheat version’ and install new surfaces and doors to save time. The whole cottage will be re-decorated, the thatched roof serviced, and the leaky shower fixed. Once he points it out, I see a stain on the downstairs ceiling where the water has pooled. Then there’ll be new curtains, furniture, and bedding to install before I can move in.
This isn’t exactly how I’d planned to spend my vacation, but I realise it’s all worked out for the best. When I was alone in London, seeing the sights as a solitary tourist, that’s exactly how I felt – solitary. Deep down I yearned for company, for someone to talk to, for someone to see those sights with. I think that if the rest of my trip had followed the same route, I’d have flown home early with my tail between my legs and Nanna Nora’s nest egg wasted.
Since I arrived here, though, I’ve been swamped with company, and I’ve felt busy, engaged in both my own life and other people’s. It’s a good feeling, and I’m even relishing the aches and pains in my back and shoulders.
As I rest, my phone pings, and I see an excited message from June, asking for pictures of everything and everyone.
I send some of the ones I took earlier in the day, then look over at Ryan and ask: ‘Can I take a picture of you for my friend June?’
‘I don’t know about that. I’m not sure I’d like to be, what do you call it, objectified?’
He gives me a wink to show he’s joking, then flexes his arms so his muscles pop. I snap a pic, and quickly press send. It’s around midday back home, and I know she’ll be waiting. I laugh as her response lands.
‘What does she say?’ he asks.
‘She says you look like a ride!’
‘Fine taste, your friend June. If you’re needing any more poses, just let me know.’
Once I’m off the phone, he holds his Guinness can up, clears his throat, and says: ‘May the roof above us never fall in, and those gathered beneath it never fall out!’
I smile as I recognise the toast from Nanna Nora, and join him in finishing with a hearty: ‘Slainte!’
We pop open our drinks, wait until the first hiss has passed, and glug away. It’s an acquired taste, Guinness, but one I have already experienced many times.
He grins as I finish my first pull, and says: ‘I didn’t expect an American woman to be so fond of the black stuff there, Cassie!’
‘Ah, well, that’s because beneath the accent, I’m mainly Irish. My grandma was a Murphy, and my dad is an O’Hara. Guinness was one of the first drinks I ever took. My friend June and I stole a few cans of it from Nanna Nora’s stock, and guzzled it down in the neighbourhood park. We were fourteen at the time.’
‘And how did that end?’
‘About as well as you’d expect. Black puke, terrible hangovers, and a ferocious telling off from my dad.’
‘That sounds like fun. Be careful now, we don’t want a repeat performance.’
I assure him I am much better at drinking these days, and we sit in companionable enough silence for a while, listening to the music.
‘So,’ he says, after a few minutes, ‘what’s your story, Cassie O’Hara? Why are you here?’
‘Oh, I don’t have a story, Ryan. I’m just on vacation.’
‘For a month. On your own. Nah, there’s definitely a story there – I can see it in your eyes. I’d say you had a bad case of the heartbreak.’
I laugh, and reply: ‘Well, who doesn’t? And I’m not about to tell you my life story, I barely know you.’
‘Well now, that can only be fixed one way – how about we take a leaf out of Georgie’s book. One question each that we have to swear to answer truthfully, as God is our witness.’
I narrow my eyes at him, and answer: ‘Just one? And I get to ask anything?’
‘Anything at all. Cross my heart and hope to die. Come on – we’ve bonded over the smell of cleaning products, woman! And Eejit wants to know, too, so he does.’
The dog is curled up in a cosy ball between us. He lifts one eyebrow at the sound of his makeshift name, and lazily thumps his tail on the floor.
‘Okay,’ I say, smiling at how peaceful he looks right now, this yipping beast that had me corralled like a sheep the day before. ‘Only for Eejit though.’
I drink a little more, and take a deep breath. I rarely talk about my life to anybody outside it, and that is a very small circle – basically June and my family. I don’t really have work friends, and never did – my whole social circle revolved around Ted, and when he left me, I never quite had the confidence to build a new one. But why shouldn’t I tell him? I’ve felt ashamed and embarrassed about what happened for years, and maybe it’s time to stop. Maybe it’s time to try and make it an anecdote, and drain it of its power over me.
‘Well,’ I begin, feeling nervous but also a little exhilarated, ‘I guess it’s a story as old as time. Boy meets girl. Eighteen years old, and in love. Ted was his name, and we were together for a long time. All the way from college until we were thirty-four.’
I pause, and he says gently: ‘So, most of your adult life, then, was spent with this Ted fella?’
‘Yep, it was. We lived together, did everything together. And we were getting married. In fact we almost did get married, but he called it off at the last minute.’
‘How last minute?’
‘As last minute as it comes,’ I say. ‘Right at the altar. In front of our family, all our friends. I stood there in my wedding dress, looking into his eyes, and he told me he couldn’t go through with it.’
‘Jaysus wept! What a terrible thing to do someone – especially someone you claim to love. Why would a man do such a thing?’
He looks shocked, sympathetic and a bit angry all at the same time. He shakes his head, and adds: ‘Ted was clearly a fecking eejit!’
I laugh and reply: ‘That’s exactly what my Nanna Nora said! As to why, I guess now, a few years later, I kind of understand. Even though we were in our thirties, we’d only ever known each other. We’d met too early, maybe, and dived in too deep when we weren’t quite ready for it. I don’t think he planned it, I don’t think there was any intention to jilt me so brutally – he just realised, as he stood there, that it was wrong. That he wasn’t ready. And maybe, by that stage he had his eye on somebody else… maybe, in his own way, he was trying to do the decent thing.’
‘Well, you have a different idea of decency than me, Cassie. So was that it? The end?’
‘Apart from a lot of weeping, wailing and downright begging on my part, yes. He moved out. He moved on. He got married this year, actually. And I… I guess I stalled. I put my whole life on pause, because I was so ashamed, so shocked.’
‘Of course you were! This was the man you were expecting to spend the rest of your life with. The man you thought loved you and cherished you, who you trusted – and he abandoned you. Splitting up would have been tough enough at any time, but the way he did it? I’m surprised you’re still standing!’
‘Ha! Well, I wasn’t, for a long time, Ryan. Then my Nanna Nora – the Murphy – passed away, and left me a little money in her will, and this is what I decided to do with it. Make my great escape. June told me it would be good for me, and she’s never wrong.’
As I speak, I feel tears stinging the back of my eyes, and try to shake it off. It’s not even that I’m sad about Ted anymore – I’m sad about myself, and how badly I let myself down. Ryan, clearly a man well-attuned to such things, immediately scoots across to my side of the wall. He puts a beefy arm around my shoulder, and roughly tugs me close until I’m nestled into his chest. He smells of paint and wood and hard-working man, and I feel like I could stay there forever.
‘Come on, now, let it all out – it’ll be good for you!’ he says, dropping a gentle and entirely non-predatory kiss on top of my head.
I do as he instructs, and have a good old cry. He rubs my arms, and holds me close, and murmurs comforting words that make me feel safe. It feels good to have talked about it all, and to be consoled without judgement.
It also feels, I realise, as I start to compose myself, a little too intimate. My hands have crept around his torso, and I feel the hard, flat outline of his abs beneath my fingers, and his breath on my skin. I haven’t been this close to man since Ted, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. My body says yes, but my mind says no.
I know I need to extricate myself and put some distance between us, but I like it here, in his arms. The fire is warm, the lighting is low, and the music is mellow.
Just as I think that, the song changes – and we leap from the end of Bruno Mars singing ‘Just The Way You Are’ to the brain-crunching opening to ‘Firestarter’ by The Prodigy.
I laugh into his now-soggy chest, and he says: ‘Well now. That was a mood-changer, wasn’t it? Serves me right for my mixed-up play-lists. I’ll get us another Guinness from the fridge.’
We both have plenty left, and I suspect he is simply giving me the time to gather myself. He walks back in, passes me the can, and takes his earlier position on the opposite side of the room. I am grateful for the simple courtesy, and for the fact that despite his self-confessed playboy tendencies, he didn’t take advantage of the situation. Grateful, and possibly a tiny bit disappointed.
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘For listening, and for being so… nice. You need to be careful, that kind of thing might ruin your image.’
‘You may be right. But I have six sisters – three older than me, three younger – so I’ve wiped away many a tear in my time. You okay?’
‘Yes,’ I say firmly. ‘I am. I feel much better. So, my turn – I can ask anything?’
He nods, but does look a little wary.
‘What’s the story with you and Charles? Both of you seem like great guys, but it’s clear that you don’t get on. Why is that?’
He tenses slightly, and says: ‘Ah, well, that’s simple enough, Cassie. Another story as old as time. He thinks I slept with his wife.’
I do a double take, and splutter out: ‘What?’
‘His ex-wife, these days. Leonora. Quite the one, is Leonora.’
‘And did you?’ I ask. ‘Sleep with his wife?’
‘Absolutely no, I did not. I may be a feckless playboy, but I have rules – and I don’t mess with married women.’
‘So why does he think that?’
He takes a quick drink, and his expression is hard to read.
‘Probably because she told him I did. I don’t know why – to hurt him, maybe, by saying she’d been screwing the help? Or to hurt me – because she tried her best, she did. She made no secret about what she was after, and it was quite the task to keep saying no. I have my rules and I stuck to them, but she’s a beautiful woman. She wasn’t used to being rejected, and she never quite forgave me for it. So before she finally left for her new life in the South of France – as you do – she put the boot in.’
I turn this information around in my mind, suddenly understanding the sense of underlying conflict between the two men. Charles’s pride has been injured, and he blames Ryan for at least part of that.
‘Haven’t you, I don’t know, just told him it’s not true?’ I ask.
‘He’s never asked. He just believed her, and I’ll not be lowering myself to the lord of the manor and begging forgiveness for something I never did.’
Ah, I think. Charles isn’t the only one who is proud. I shake my head, amazed at the stubbornness of them both.
‘Well, that sounds insane to me, but what do I know? I’m just a visitor. I hope you figure it out anyway.’
He shrugs, and is obviously ready to change the subject.
‘It’s no big deal. Now, darling Cassie, I still have work to do, and I plan on doing plenty of drinking while I do it. It’s time for me to get you back to the big house.’