Chapter 3
Helen McCarthy saddled up her horse, Davy, checked the girth, then swung herself onto his back. She turned him out of the stable yard, trotted along the winding drive, out of the gate, and pointed Davy in the direction of the beach.
On her own two feet, Helen was ungainly. Yet from a distance, sitting comfortably on the tall stallion, her seat so assured . . . girl and horse made a perfectly elegant picture.
It was the only time Helen felt in control.
Three minutes later, they’d reached the long stretch of white sand.
‘Giddy-up!’ Helen tapped Davy’s bottom and the horse began to canter. The wind whipped around her face, the crash of the waves deafening her. As was often the case, Helen began to sob loudly, her wails matching those of the seagulls up above her.
She rode until she reached the far end of the beach.
She slowed Davy to a trot, and they carefully picked their way through the rocky outcrop onto the sheltered sandy cove Helen had come to regard as her own private haven.
She came here when things were bad. Consequently, it was where she spent most of her time.
Dismounting Davy, she tethered him to a rock that stuck out of the sand, then walked slowly towards the waves.
For a few moments, and not for the first time, Helen contemplated continuing to venture right out until the waves brushed her thighs, her stomach, her neck, then eventually closed over her head, bringing peace and silence.
Tears began to trickle out of her eyes once more, stinging her salty cheeks. She shook her head. She was too scared of water to drown herself.
Helen turned and walked back, climbing onto the rock that gave the best view of the coast. As she surveyed the scene, her eyes fixed on the blinking of the Galley Head Lighthouse, shrouded in mist.
School had been more miserable than usual, if that was possible. She had heard Sorcha and her cronies giggling about the fun they’d had at the concert at the GAA hall last Saturday night. Helen was filled with hurt at the way they stopped talking immediately when they noticed she was behind them.
The rejection of Sorcha O’Donovan was particularly painful. The girl was very pretty, bright and popular, with a mother and father who loved her. In short, Sorcha had everything Helen herself longed for.
She looked up to the sky. In forty minutes or so the day would end and blackness would descend. After a night of respite, the sun would rise and Helen would have to endure the humiliation of rejection once again.
‘Oh, Mother, why did you and Daddy leave me?!’ she wailed.
How many other children in the village had lacked a comforting arm around their shoulder when they’d tripped and fallen?
How many had missed their bedtime story, or the kiss with a rough male cheek that spoke silently of love and security as the light was switched off?
‘I have nothing, nothing!’
Helen knew her last statement was dramatic and far from true. There was one thing she was going to have very soon, and lots of it.
She wiped her eyes with a none-too-clean hanky and tried to order things in her mind.
‘Will I spend my whole life crying?’
‘You might.’
Helen jumped and turned around. The elegant figure of Con Daly came into view. He stood on the rock, towering over her. She blushed an unsightly red colour.
‘Isn’t this view grand?’
Helen sniffed and wiped her nose. ‘It is.’
‘It might be my favourite spot.’
‘Mine too.’
‘I know.’ He came and crouched on the rock beside her. ‘The perfect place for useless articles like you and me to come and be alone.’
Helen guffawed. ‘You’re not useless. All the girls at school were raving about you and your band.’
‘Were they now?’ Con raised an eyebrow. ‘Any girl in particular?’
‘Should there have been?’
Con shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
‘Oh.’ Helen’s shoulders sagged a little.
‘I didn’t see you there,’ he said.
‘No. I didn’t want to go by myself.’
Con exhaled deeply. ‘Ah, Helen, what it is to be living on the edge of society like us. Tolerated, but never accepted. I’m all for leaving as soon as I can.’
‘Lucky you.’ Helen ground her riding boot into the sand.
‘You have nothing to keep you here either.’
‘I have fear to keep me here, Con.’
‘Yes, ’tis a powerful thing, fear. But never forget that loneliness gives you strength. You can spend your life observing others, on the outside looking in. You end up learning a lot about human nature that way.’
‘I’ve learnt that it stinks,’ she replied bitterly.
‘Come on now, life isn’t that bad. You have that grand mansion and the land around it. Plenty of money to make your dreams happen. The world is your oyster.’
‘I’d trade it all to be popular. And as pretty as Sorcha O’Donovan.’
Con grinned. ‘I think everyone would like to be as pretty as her. But you can buy yourself a new hairstyle and a set of friends.’
Helen sighed. ‘I suppose so.’
Con stood up. ‘I’m off. I have an assignation at my palace over there.’ He indicated the hut.
‘You do?’
‘Yes.’ He put a finger to his lips. ‘But it’s a secret. Goodbye, Helen.’ Con reached out and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Helen’s heart began to beat faster and her body was filled with an indescribable warmth. ‘You know where I am if you want a chat.’
‘Thanks, Con,’ she choked.
Helen watched him step easily over the rocks and disappear.
She thought about what he had said. Despite his reputation as an unwashed layabout, Con was a clever man. The conversations they’d had over the years were infrequent but memorable. He was the one person she knew who did not treat her as if she had no brain in her head.
Plus, he seemed to become more handsome every time she saw him.
For want of any other man to think of, she thought about Con. She supposed she was a little in love with him, but aware that her feelings would never be reciprocated.
What man could ever love her?
She pulled her scarf up around her ears.
The wind was starting to bite. Con had just voiced an idea that had been dancing around Helen’s head more and more insistently in recent times.
Seamus O’Donovan had assured her she’d be a very wealthy young lady.
Helen wasn’t quite sure exactly how rich she’d be, but it was a simple matter of asking.
She knew her lawyer thought her dense, that she’d never be able to grasp her financial situation or cope with the responsibility of running the estate.
Maybe he was right. She certainly struggled at school, unable for some reason to make sense of words written on the page, even though she understood the meaning in her mind.
But numbers were no problem. She had always been excellent at maths.
And this large amount of money that would soon be hers .
. . as Con had said, it could buy her an escape.
She could go anywhere she wanted – somewhere where she could start again.
But where? She’d hardly been out of Ballymore.
Did she have the courage to leave a life that might be difficult, but was at least safe and familiar?
Helen looked out over the darkening skyline. There was no more time for thinking. She had to ride home before the light was lost completely.
She mounted Davy. As she trotted along the beach, she saw a glow emanating from Con’s hut.
Drawing closer, Helen heard the sound of laughter coming from within. She called her horse to a halt and watched for a moment. Con’s silhouette appeared in the small grimy window. He was joined by a second silhouette. Their mouths met and they shared a kiss.
Helen blushed bright red, hating herself for spying, but unable to avert her gaze. Eventually, the door of the hut opened and a slim figure emerged. It wasted no time in scampering off across the dunes before Helen had a chance to see who it was.
She continued to watch as Con came out and stood in the doorway. A match flickered and Helen saw the red glow of a cigarette. It was almost completely dark now. Davy huffed in impatience.
Helen cantered away along the beach.