Chapter 7
Her mother reminded Sorcha of a sinner entering Heaven, looking left and right as if she might be struck down at any minute.
‘Can we close the curtains, Sorcha, just in case?’
‘There are no curtains, Mammy.’ Sorcha shrugged. ‘Don’t worry. Daddy would never come back here if it was the Blessed Virgin herself commanded it.’
‘I brought your envelope.’ Mary handed it over. ‘And the bags of clothes you asked for.’
‘That’s grand, Mammy. I’m very grateful.’
Mary glanced around the hut uncertainly.
‘Sorcha, please, your daddy won’t tell me what happened yesterday.
He came home drunk. I’ve not seen him like that before.
He says he never wants you to set foot in our house again.
Of course, he’s exaggerating. You must come home.
You are our daughter. Once he calms down, he’ll see sense. ’
‘No, Mammy, he won’t.’
‘Then tell me what happened!’
‘He found me and Con here together in the hut. We were . . . kissing.’
Mary studied her daughter’s face. ‘Was that all, Sorcha O’Donovan? Your daddy might be a puritan, but even I cannot see him banning you from our house for kissing Con Daly.’
‘I . . .’ Sorcha blushed and hung her head. ‘No, Mammy. That’s not all.’
She sank onto the couch and stared at the bare floorboards.
Mary sighed. ‘I see. Well now, it’s no good me telling you what a stupid girl you’ve been, is it?’ Sorcha shook her head. ‘Have you been to confession?’
‘Oh really, Mammy. As if that’ll help me and Con.’
‘Sorcha! I’m doing my best to stay on your side, but I won’t tolerate that kind of talk! It’s best I leave.’
‘Don’t go! I’m sorry, Mammy, really I am. I meant nothing by it but I just couldn’t tell Father Moynihan. Besides, Con and I are leaving for England tomorrow.’
Mary swallowed hard. ‘Are you now?’
‘Yes. I don’t think we have a choice. Daddy will never forgive us. Con is already ostracised in the village and even if we married, it would make things no better.’
Mary stared at her daughter, her face a mask of sadness. ‘What will you live on?’
‘Con has some money saved, and I have a little in the envelope you brought me. As soon as we get to England, Con will find a job. He has a grand voice. He’s hoping he’ll be able to get a recording contract.’
Mary nodded. ‘Well, ’tis true there will be more opportunities for him in London. He has no future here.’
‘Oh, Mammy, I’m so sorry. I never meant for this to happen. I can hardly believe it has.’
Mary paused. ‘Sorcha, are you pregnant?’
‘No, Mammy.’
‘Well, I suppose that’s one blessing we must count.’
‘Yes.’
‘So, you love Con Daly, do you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you think he loves you?’
‘I know he does, Mammy. He tells me all the time. As soon as we get to England, we’ll be married.’
Mary watched as Sorcha’s eyes shone with happiness. She shrugged. ‘I hope you’re right. And I only hope Con Daly realises the sacrifice you’re making for him.’
‘You think I’ve ruined my life, don’t you?’
Mary sighed, then sat down next to Sorcha on the couch and took her daughter’s hand in hers.
‘I’d not be much of a mammy if I wasn’t feeling scared for you, Sorcha. You’re so young. I could scream and shout at you, tell you what a silly girl you’ve been, but what is the point? Your daddy’s already done that and you’re leaving anyway.’
‘We have no choice, Mammy, really, not now.’
‘No, I suppose you don’t, Sorcha.’ Mary stared off into the distance. ‘I once loved someone very much when I was about your age. He too went away but I wasn’t brave enough to go with him. Ah well.’ Mary smiled. ‘I got your daddy instead.’
‘Do you love him?’
‘Of course I do,’ Mary replied briskly, visibly pulling herself out of her reverie. ‘Does he know of your plans?’
‘No. No one does, except you. Do you think he’ll ever forgive me?’
‘I think it’s doubtful. He worships you, always has done since you were small. He still sees you as his baby, which will make the hurt worse. But never mind Seamus for a moment. When you’re settled you must write to me with an address.’
‘Of course I will, Mammy.’
‘Best to send any letters to Maureen’s house. She can pass them on to me. Your daddy collects the post every morning and I wouldn’t trust him not to tear a letter from you up.’
‘Will you explain to Maureen what has happened?’
Mary nodded, then looked at her watch. ‘I must go. Your daddy will be expecting his dinner on the table.’ She stood up and Sorcha followed suit. ‘Take care of yourself.’
‘I will.’
Mary reached out and pulled her daughter to her. She kissed her on the forehead. ‘If there’s ever anything you need, I’ll try and get it for you.’
‘Thank you, Mammy.’
Mary’s eyes were bright with tears as she headed for the door. ‘Ah well, Sorcha, there’s half of me that envies you. Goodbye, my darling. May God go with you.’
Mary was just about to shut the door when Sorcha remembered the question that had been nagging at the back of her mind.
‘Mammy, how did Daddy know where I was yesterday?’
‘Helen McCarthy telephoned us to say she was concerned because she thought she’d seen you on the beach earlier and the storm was very bad.’
‘Oh.’
‘Why?’
‘No reason.’ Sorcha went to the door and gave her mother a hug. ‘I’ll miss you, Mammy. Goodbye.’
Sorcha sat on a dune and stared out at the sea. The day was hot and the water was a perfect Mediterranean blue. The sound of the waves hit her senses as though she was hearing them for the first time.
She realised then how lucky she’d been to grow up in such a beautiful place.
Her mind turned to the long lazy summer days she’d spent on this beach with her friends.
And all the winter nights she’d scuttled home in the lashing rain to find a plateful of steaming stew and a warm fire to dry herself against.
Her life in Ballymore. A life that had seemed so dull while she was living it but now seemed so perfectly safe and secure. She felt like crying, but steeled herself not to. There was no turning back.
Con placed his hand on her shoulder. ‘Ready?’
Sorcha nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Good. I’ve not bothered locking the hut.’ He smiled.
‘No.’
Con sat down next to her. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘Yes.’ Sorcha nodded. She stood up. ‘Come on, Con. I have a call to make on our way.’
Helen heard the doorbell ring, but, knowing her aunt would answer it, lay where she was on her bed.
‘Helen, it’s for you.’
She swung her legs off the bed and went onto the landing. ‘Who is it?’
‘Sorcha O’Donovan.’
‘Oh, I . . .’ She stood reluctantly at the top of the stairs.
‘Come on, Helen,’ said her aunt irritably. ‘Sorcha’s waiting.’
Helen made her way slowly down the long oak staircase. Sorcha was standing in the hall.
‘Shall I put the kettle on?’ asked Betty.
‘No, thank you. I only have a few minutes,’ Sorcha replied brusquely.
‘I’ll be in the kitchen if you change your mind.’
As Helen reached the bottom step, Betty turned and walked down the hall. Sorcha watched her, waiting for the click of the kitchen door. Helen saw she was pale, but perfectly composed.
‘Hello, Helen. I came to say goodbye.’
‘Oh, I—’
‘I came to thank you for telling my father where I was yesterday.’
‘I . . . I was worried. The storm, I . . .’
‘Don’t waste your breath on lies, Helen. You knew where my father would find me. You wanted him to.’
‘No. I—’
‘Con and I are leaving for England today.’ Helen said nothing.
‘I just wanted to ask you why, that’s all.
You gave your word you wouldn’t tell.’ Helen found she could not speak.
Eventually, Sorcha gave a small smile. ‘You expected my father to find me in the hut, then take me home and ban me from ever seeing Con Daly. And like a good little girl, I’d settle down again in Ballymore, Con would disappear and I’d have lost my chance of escape, and Con too. That’s what you planned, isn’t it now?’
Helen stared guiltily past Sorcha at the man stood behind her.
‘And what you have succeeded in doing is the opposite. My father refuses to let me ever set foot in his house again. So I say thank you. What you did has made it impossible for me to stay. Con and I have to leave.’
Helen had nothing to say.
‘Maybe it’s good there’ll be a sea between us, Helen. I knew you were jealous, but I didn’t know you hated me so much. I shall try and forgive you, because you deserve pity. You may have lots of money but you don’t have a single friend. I hope I never lay eyes on you for as long as I live.’
‘I . . .’ Helen tried to retort but nothing came out. A large tear plopped onto her cheek.
Con moved closer to the open doorway.
‘Sorcha, we must go,’ he said softly.
‘Yes, I’ve said what I came to say.’ Sorcha turned and walked towards Con, then she turned back to Helen.
‘Well, you’ve succeeded in one thing. Now I have no family either, just like you.
But I do have Con, and he loves me. I doubt you’ll ever know how that feels.
Goodbye, Helen.’ Sorcha turned on her heel, and began to storm away from the McCarthy manor.
When Con did not immediately follow, she whipped around to observe the pair sharing a protracted, lingering look.
Helen was staring at Con with intensity, and Sorcha noted her shifting uncomfortably from side to side.
‘Con! It’s no good intimidating her. Let’s go. ’
Helen shut the door, then immediately turned and ran upstairs to her bedroom. She threw herself on the bed and sobbed.
‘It’s so unfair, it’s so unfair,’ she repeated over and over. Eventually she stood up and dried her eyes, the sting of Sorcha’s words still burning in her mind. Why did she feel like the villain? Sorcha and her friends had been just as cruel to her over the years.
She opened the top drawer of her bedside cabinet and took out the freshly opened bank account book. Sitting down on her bed, she studied the amount that had been deposited only yesterday. She brushed her hand across the figure written in ink.
This was the only legacy from her parents. Her life had to change. And if no one would help her change it, she would have to find the courage and the strength to change it by herself.
Twenty-four hours later, Sorcha was standing looking over the railing at the fast-disappearing coastline of her native land. Con’s arms were wrapped around her, sheltering her from the strong sea breeze. He turned her in towards him.
‘Well, Sorcha-porcha, we’ve gone and done it. Scared?’
She looked up at him, his face dim in the approaching dusk. ‘A little.’
‘Me too.’ He pulled her close. ‘But we have each other, whatever we have to face. And that’s all that matters.’
‘Yes.’
Con looked over her head and whispered a silent goodbye.
‘I promise you one thing. The next time I return home, the whole country will know I’m coming.’
Two months later, another figure stood in almost exactly the same spot on the deck of the boat. Up for a breath of fresh air from her stuffy cabin, Helen refused to let herself shed a tear.
Ireland had done her no favours. She hoped the country in which her mother had been born would.