Chapter 5
‘So, Helen, you can see from the figures that the investments your trustees have made have been rather successful. Your money has more than doubled. Now, it’s obviously your decision, but I would recommend you keep the investments as they are and live off the interest. I’d say there will be enough to provide for the upkeep of the house and grounds, and also keep you very comfortable. ’
Helen looked across the desk at the papers sat in front of Seamus O’Donovan. There were columns of upside-down figures relating to her financial future – figures she must grasp and understand if she was to take control of her life.
‘May I take those home with me, so I can look through them?’
Seamus raised an eyebrow. ‘Why of course, Helen. But without wanting to seem rude, it’s doubtful you’ll be able to make sense of them.’
‘I’m sure you’re right, Seamus, but I’ll take them just the same.’
‘Grand job. Now, Helen, I need you to decide whether you wish me and the other trustees to carry on managing your money for you. As I said before, I’m also prepared to continue to manage the house and grounds.
We would have to come to some kind of financial agreement for my trouble but I would not be greedy.
’ Seamus tidied the papers in front of him, slid them into an envelope and handed them to Helen.
‘Thank you, Seamus. I appreciate all your help and I’m grateful to you and the other trustees for managing my money so well for the past fourteen years.’
‘’Twas nothing, Helen. Good luck with those figures. I’m happy to help if you want anything explained.’
Helen stood up. ‘Can we meet again next week?’
‘Of course.’ Seamus walked her to the door. ‘Come on Wednesday for your usual supper with us. Arrive a little early and we can talk before we eat. And, Helen?’
‘Yes, Seamus?’
‘In three weeks’ time you’ll be a very wealthy young lady. Until then I am still a trustee of your estate. Therefore I feel justified in giving you a few words of warning. Trust no one. There are a lot of people out there who will want to take advantage of your, er, youth – and money.’
Helen smiled at him. ‘Thank you, Seamus. I’ll be careful.’
‘Grand. Goodbye then.’
‘Goodbye.’
Helen opened the heavy entrance gates to the drive that wound up to the house.
As she walked she looked at the land around her with new appreciation.
The formal gardens were small, with most of the acreage in the farmland surrounding the house.
This was rented out to local farmers for grazing.
As the house came into view, she studied it.
She’d always thought it ugly, its solid greystone walls built to withstand the salt air, rain and high winds that came from living so close to the sea.
It was always cold inside. The six formal rooms downstairs were never used.
Aunt Betty gave them a once-a-year spring clean, then the dustsheets would be replaced over the antique furniture, all in immaculate condition due to the lack of use.
She and her aunt lived mainly in the kitchen, where the range burnt night and day.
Apart from the large black-and-white-tiled bathroom, the only other room Helen visited was her bedroom.
Ignoring the grand, high-ceilinged bedrooms on the first floor, she had tucked herself up in one of the cosier attic rooms, originally used by the servants.
A large window seat allowed her to view the village of Ballymore on one side and the beach on the other.
She spent a lot of time sitting there, gazing out at the world.
Helen let herself in through the side door that led through a lobby into the kitchen.
There was a note from her aunt saying she’d retired early.
A pot of overcooked stew was simmering on the range.
Helen helped herself to a bowl, then sat down at the large wooden table and took her papers out of the envelope.
Two hours later, the bowl of stew was untouched and congealed beside her.
It had taken her a while to work out what the columns meant and what needed to be added together to produce the grand total.
Helen whistled. If she’d got it right, then ‘grand’ was the right word.
‘A fortune,’ she breathed. Certainly enough, she thought, to see her comfortably through the rest of her life.
Helen stared into space. Where was that life to be? Here? Where she was so unhappy? Or should she take her money and start afresh somewhere else?
Helen shook her head. She was a coward. She could see herself staying here for the rest of her days. If she had someone to go with her, a friend maybe, then it might be an option.
She yawned. It was almost midnight. Tomorrow, thanks be to God, was Sunday, which meant no school.
Helen folded her papers away in the envelope and made her way upstairs to her attic bedroom.
She woke to a beautiful sunny morning. Knowing how quickly the weather could change and not wanting to waste a minute of it, she threw on some clothes, said a quick good morning to her aunt as she passed through the kitchen and saddled up Davy.
She loved riding on summery Sunday mornings: the beaches were deserted as the rest of the town was at mass.
A good canter along the shore left Helen feeling exhilarated and ready for breakfast. As she trotted homeward, she saw a distant figure running away from the beach. She watched as the figure retrieved a bicycle from a hollow in the dune and dragged it onto the road.
‘Sorcha O’Donovan,’ she breathed, wondering what she was doing out here when every other God-fearing Ballymore citizen was in church.
Sorcha waved at someone behind Helen, then pedalled off at high speed towards the village.
Helen turned and saw Con Daly perched on top of a sand dune. He was only a few feet away from her.
‘Morning to you, Helen. And isn’t it a beauty?’ he smiled at her.
A sob choking her throat, she could only nod in his direction.
With a click of her heels, she rode off along the beach.
The following Wednesday, Helen sat in Seamus O’Donovan’s office.
‘There.’ She passed him the envelope full of papers.
‘Thank you. Did you manage to grasp the situation?’
‘Yes, I think I did. At least I know now how much money I have and how the investments work.’
‘And do you wish to keep them going as they are?’
‘For the present, yes.’
‘Good. I suggest you open a bank account and then I can pay in a monthly amount. Do you have plans for the future, Helen?’
‘I . . . not at the moment.’
‘Well now, you have enough money to take your time and decide.’ Seamus looked at his watch. ‘Time we were going upstairs. Mary will have our supper ready.’
After supper, rather than wanting to delay the moment the two of them would adjourn to her bedroom, Sorcha could hardly wait to get Helen alone.
‘You saw me on the beach last Sunday, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, I did. Meeting Con Daly.’ Helen studied her bitten fingernails.
‘No! Whatever gave you that idea? I had a terrible headache. I wanted some fresh air, Helen, that’s all.’
‘Oh. I thought I saw you waving to him?’
‘He . . . he’s a friend. I see him when I walk on the beach sometimes.’
Helen swallowed hard before speaking. ‘Do you always let your friends kiss you?’
‘I . . .’ Sorcha studied Helen’s pallid face. Her eyes kept darting around Sorcha’s bedroom, as if she was terribly nervous. ‘You have it wrong, Helen, really you do.’
‘I’ve seen you before, Sorcha, at night once. You were definitely kissing Con Daly.’ Helen plucked up the courage to meet Sorcha’s gaze. ‘I heard you laugh.’
Sorcha pulled out the chair from her desk and sank down into it.
‘So, Helen, you’ve seen me. Will you tell?’
‘I don’t see any reason why I should.’ Sorcha didn’t believe her. ‘So, tell me all about it. Are you in love?’
Sorcha bit her lip. ‘Helen, you swear you won’t tell? No one knows, not even Maureen.’
Helen nodded. ‘If you trust me, I swear I won’t.’
It looked like Sorcha had no choice and, besides, she was bursting to tell someone. ‘All right then.’
Sorcha stood up and opened her bedroom door to check no one was lurking on the landing outside, then sat down on the bed next to Helen.
‘There’s not much to say, really. I love Con Daly and he loves me.’
Helen sat in contemplation. ‘Will you marry him?’
‘One day, yes.’
‘He wants to leave Ballymore. Will you go with him?’
Sorcha looked surprised. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Oh, Con and I talk sometimes,’ she said coolly. ‘Don’t you worry that one day you’ll go to his hut and he’ll be gone?’
‘No. He understands that I can’t leave Ballymore at the moment. He’s going to go to Dublin and get a record deal and then my daddy will see that he can take care of me.’ She knew she was saying too much, but she couldn’t help herself.
‘He must really love you to stay.’ The back of Helen’s eyes began to sting with tears. She fought them, hard.
‘Yes. But please, Helen, if Mammy and Daddy knew any of this now, then . . .’ Her voice trailed off.
Helen stared at her for longer than was comfortable. ‘I’m good at keeping secrets when I want to. Do you think Con will make it?’
‘Oh yes. He has a fierce good voice, Helen. And he writes all his own songs.’
‘What if your parents find out?’
‘They’ll rant and rave but I’m nearly seventeen. One day I hope that Con will become famous and make lots of money and we can come back to Ballymore and everyone will be pleased to know us.’
Sorcha sounded out of breath. Helen realised she wasn’t as confident as she seemed.
There was a knock at the door. ‘Seamus is ready to drive you home, Helen.’
‘I’m coming, Mary.’ Helen stood up.
‘You swear you won’t say anything?’ Sorcha pleaded.
Helen gave her a half-smile. ‘I swear.’
Sorcha eyed her. ‘If you did, Helen McCarthy, God forgive me, I think I’d kill you.’
Helen nodded slowly. ‘I know.’ Sorcha followed her out of her bedroom and down the stairs. Seamus was waiting in the hall.
‘Thank you for supper, Mary. Bye, Sorcha.’
‘Bye, Helen.’
Helen followed Seamus out of the front door.
That night, Helen gazed out of her bedroom window.
She could see the small oil lamp twinkling in Con Daly’s hut on the beach.
She sighed. Why was life so unfair? Not only was Sorcha popular and pretty, but she had Con Daly.
There was no doubt that Con would make it.
They would run away from Ballymore and start a new life together.
It seemed Sorcha had everything Helen wanted.
She sat staring out of the window for a long time.