Chapter 37 West Cork, Ireland, July 1964
Helen 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 went to saddle 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.
After a good burst over several hundred feet, Helen felt greatly improved.
She tried to reason why seeing Con and Sorcha together had upset her so much.
She had accepted that, although she was a little in love with Con, there was no chance he would ever give her a second look.
Perhaps, she reasoned, it was that Sorcha O’Donovan had everything she didn’t: a loving family, popularity, and effortless good looks. Well, now she had Con Daly too.
Helen pulled Davy’s reins and brought him to a stop, before taking a moment to enjoy the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean.
The expanse of grey-green water stretched as far as the eye could see.
Some days, it was as still and glassy as a millpond.
On others, the waves thrashed and roared like a vicious mythical creature.
Today, the water lapped gently against the sand, and the vista would not have looked out of place on a postcard sent from a Mediterranean shore.
Helen stared at the ocean for a long time.
It was beckoning, alluring . . . She shook her head.
Helen turned Davy around on himself, before taking a leisurely trot towards home.
As she approached the dunes, she saw a figure giving her a wave. Was it . . .? Yes. Con Daly.
When Helen waved back, Con began to coax her over.
‘Helen McCarthy!’ he called. ‘I want to talk to you.’
A small surge of adrenalin washed over her, and she steered Davy towards Con’s dune. He made his way down onto the beach and gave the horse’s nose a scratch.
‘Ah, you’ve got yerself a fine fella here, Helen.’
‘Thank you, Con.’
‘How is he at being tied up?’
‘He’s good.’
‘Well then, why don’t you hop on down? We can leash him to my hut. I was thinking we could share a hot drop?’
Tea with Con? This was not an opportunity Helen was going to turn down. ‘Okay.’ She dismounted her stallion and led him by the reins through the dunes to the shack Con called home.
‘Ah, ’tis a far cry from your own palace, Helen, but it’s mine. Here.’ He took Davy’s reins and attached him to a stretch of nylon rope, which in turn was connected to a timber post emerging from the sand.
‘Will he be all right here, Helen?’ She nodded. ‘Grand. Come on in.’
Helen followed Con into the small, dank abode. There wasn’t much within its four walls, save for a battered old sofa, with an indentation where Con clearly slept. She also noted a stove with a small fire burning.
‘Have a seat, Helen. I won’t be a minute with your tea.’
‘Thank you.’
Con produced a pair of grimy-looking mugs from a battered cupboard and placed the kettle on top of the stove.
‘I often look up at the hall and think of you, Helen McCarthy.’
Helen’s cheeks were immediately red-hot. ‘Oh, do you?’
Con nodded. ‘You must get lonely up there, all by yerself.’
‘You must get lonely too.’
He shrugged. ‘Ah, it’s not so bad down here. I’ve only the one room! But if I were rattling around that grand house all day, I know I’d end up driving myself mad.’
Helen tried to force a giggle, but some spittle caught in the back of her throat, and she ended up coughing loudly. ‘I have an aunt,’ she managed, recovering herself.
‘Ah, so you do.’ Con poured the boiled water into the mugs, before steeping some pre-used leaves.
‘Here we are.’ Con handed Helen her tea and sat close to her on the sofa, so that his leg was lightly touching hers. Butterflies began to flap in her stomach. ‘We’re cut from the same cloth, aren’t we, Helen?’
‘What do you mean, Con?’
‘We’re both different. Not afraid to follow our own path.’
Following the same path as everyone else was pretty much all Helen had wanted to do for her entire life, but she understood where Con was coming from. ‘I suppose so.’
‘Don’t you just want to spread your wings and get away?’
‘Out of Ballymore?’
‘Further. Out of Ireland.’
‘Oh. Maybe. I remember you saying that you want to go to London.’
Con took a moment to look deeply into Helen’s eyes. ‘Oh yes. I’d say I want that just about more than anything.’
A pregnant pause hung in the air, as if Con was expecting Helen to talk. She obliged. ‘Well . . . why don’t you?’
‘Why don’t I what?’
‘Go to London.’
Con sighed and stood, slowly crossing the hut to stare out of the solitary window. ‘I would if I could, Helen.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘But it’s impossible.’
‘Why?’
‘My heart would break if I left.’
Helen was unsure of what to say and took a moment to formulate her response. ‘Well . . .’ she offered, ‘Ballymore certainly is a beautiful place.’
Con chuckled. ‘Ah, ’tis not Ballymore I’d be missing.’
She understood. ‘Oh. You mean Sorcha O’Donovan.’
Con nodded morosely. ‘Yes. I’m in love with her. But she won’t come with me.’
Helen was hardly thrilled to be counselling Con on the subject. ‘I’m sure you could convince her,’ she managed.
He shook his head. ‘I wish I could, Helen. But she spoke to her daddy the other night and sounded him out. She says he wouldn’t accept it. So she’s going to stay put.’ Con took a gulp from his mug. ‘Don’t you have some business with Seamus?’
Helen nodded. ‘Yes, he manages my estate for me.’
‘What’s he like?’
She inhaled deeply as she considered her response. ‘Efficient.’
‘No, I mean as a man, like. Is he a fierce old dragon like Sorcha tells me?’
‘I . . . don’t really know. He’s my solicitor, so I pay him. He has to be nice to me.’ Con looked a little disappointed at the answer. ‘But I can see how it wouldn’t be good to get on the wrong side of him.’
Con swallowed the remainder of his tea and returned to the sofa. He sat cross-legged and faced Helen, his face a little more intense now. ‘Sorcha said that if she told her daddy about me and London, he’d throw her out of the family. Do you think that sounds about right?’
Helen considered it. Whenever she had called around for dinner, it was true to say that Sorcha and Mary appeared apprehensive around the family patriarch. ‘Yes, I reckon so.’
Con bowed his head. ‘’Tis a terrible thing, that. Sorcha’s only crime is falling in love with me.’ Even though Con was openly discussing his feelings for Sorcha, Helen’s heart still panged at the sadness she perceived in his eyes. ‘Ah, Helen. We’ve been alone our whole lives, haven’t we?’
‘Yes,’ she muttered.
‘And now, I discover the one person who made me feel better about everything can’t come with me when I leave Ballymore. Only you can know how sad that makes me. Imagine having someone in your life who took the pain away, and you had to consider losing them . . .’
Helen did not have to imagine. ‘Have you thought about staying?’
Con slapped the side of the sofa. ‘I can’t. Sorcha doesn’t realise it, but we could never be together here. Not properly. Her daddy wouldn’t let us. You know the whole town is after thinking I’m a tinker.’
‘Yes. And they think I’m strange.’
Con jumped to his feet. ‘That’s exactly what I’m talking about! No one understands us like we understand each other.’
‘I suppose that’s true, yes.’
‘We’re clever. But no one sees our cleverness, because they have ideas about us in their heads before they’ve even met us.
’ He began to pace around the room. Helen was a little unsure of the direction the conversation was taking.
‘Sorcha O’Donovan just needs to be brave and trust me. You trust me, don’t you, Helen?’
Helen swallowed hard. ‘Yes.’
‘You and I have to look out for each other. We need to be our own little team and watch each other’s backs.
You know that I’ll always be here for you?
’ Helen remained silent. ‘I will, Helen McCarthy.’ Con stopped pacing and took her hand.
‘Would you be there for me, Helen?’ he asked, his eyes wide and pleading. ‘I’d never forget it.’
She was assured in her answer. ‘I will, Con, of course.’
He broke into his trademark beaming grin. ‘I knew you’d help.’
Helen had begun to understand what was being asked of her. It would be painful, yes, but it would please him. There was no debate. ‘I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you when I’m next with Seamus.’
Con dropped her hand. ‘If only it were that simple.’ Helen was deflated that her suggestion hadn’t pleased him. ‘Seamus is a smart man. If you suddenly start speaking well of me out of the blue, he’ll work it all out, and stop Sorcha from seeing me.’
‘Oh. What do you want me to do?’
Con took a pause. ‘I want Sorcha to be free.’
‘I’m not sure that answers my question,’ Helen replied.
‘Seamus needs a shock. If he sees Sorcha and me together, then he’ll disown her, and we’ll be able to go to London.’
Helen was taken aback. ‘Goodness, Con. Do you really think that would be—’
He cut her off. ‘You and I both know that Sorcha O’Donovan would be better off without her daddy ruling her life. Remember, we’re more observant than anyone else. We both know that this is the best thing for her.’
‘And you,’ Helen reminded him.
Con shrugged off her comment. ‘Maybe so.’
Helen steeled herself. ‘What are you asking of me?’
‘I want you to send Seamus to the beach when Sorcha and I are together.’
Helen’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Oh, Con, I . . .’ She shook her head. ‘He’ll be fierce angry.’
‘I know.’ Con folded his arms. ‘That’s the whole point. If I have to take a slap or two, then I will.’
Helen rubbed her hands together, agonising over Con’s request. ‘I really don’t know if I could do that, Con. It seems a little unfair on everyone. Myself included.’
Con looked hurt and took a while to reply. ‘Okay, Helen. I understand. I just thought . . .’ He waved his hand. ‘It sounds silly.’
‘What?’
‘I really thought we understood each other. That we were the same. I guess I was wrong. Sorry to have interrupted your ride home.’
Helen stood up, embarrassed, placed her half-full mug on the stove, and began to make her way to the door. Before she could reach out for the handle, Con grabbed her hand and drew her close to him.
‘You’d be setting me free, Helen.’ With his spare hand, he gently turned her face towards his and placed a light kiss on her cheek.
Helen melted. ‘You’d do the same for me?’
Con nodded slowly. ‘Of course I would.’
Helen gulped. Con Daly had her in the palm of his hand. ‘All right. I’ll help you,’ she whispered.
Con removed a strand of hair from Helen’s face. ‘I knew I could rely on you.’