Chapter 39
Sorcha was passing her father’s closed office when she heard the telephone ringing inside. She entered and went to the desk to pick up the receiver.
‘Hello?’
‘Sorcha? It’s Con. How are you?’
‘Hello, Con. I’m . . . okay.’
‘Is the funeral over?’
‘Yes.’
‘And is your mother all right?’
‘All things considered, she’s doing exceptionally well. And you? Are you okay?’
‘I’m grand, Sorcha, just grand. Are you flying home tomorrow?’
‘I was planning to fly home on Sunday, but when I called the airline they said the plane was full. So I’m on the Monday flight, which means I’ll be home in time to travel to New York with you on Tuesday.’
‘Ah, now, that’s why I’m calling. There’s been a change of plan. I’m flying out on Sunday.’
Sorcha bit her lip. ‘Why?’
‘I promise there’s a very good reason, Sorcha. But there’s no problem. You come home and fly over as you would have done on Tuesday and I’ll see you in New York. Is that okay?’
‘Fine.’
‘Grand. Well, see you next week in the Big Apple then.’
‘Yes. Goodbye, Con.’
Sorcha put the telephone down. She was on the verge of tears. Con had been civil, but there’d been no warmth in his voice, no hint of the closeness they’d once shared.
Had he stopped loving her? She just didn’t know.
Sorcha sighed, left the office and walked across the hall. As she opened the front door she heard the rumble of thunder. She shivered, wondering whether to go back upstairs and retrieve her raincoat, but she was late already. She could always borrow something from Maureen to get her home.
Sorcha decided to put all thoughts of Con out of her head, desperate to enjoy the evening with her oldest friend.
She headed across the square and down the high street towards Maureen and Tommy’s shop.
After the ten-minute walk, her arms were covered in goose pimples.
Sorcha pushed the door open. Tommy stood behind the counter grinning at her, his face still a childish mass of ginger freckles.
‘Ah, Sorcha! ’Tis grand to see you. You’re looking so well.’
‘You do too, Tommy.’
‘Maureen’s upstairs. She’s been slaving in the kitchen as if the Blessed Virgin herself was coming to tea. Here, I’ll show you up.’
Tommy beckoned her round the counter and pushed open the door at the back of the shop. In the narrow corridor, all manner of boxes were stacked haphazardly. Sorcha edged past them and followed Tommy up the wooden stairs.
‘We had a delivery this afternoon. I’ll maybe join you later but I’ll have to sort it all out. Anyway, I think Maureen wants you to herself for a while. In here.’ Tommy pushed open a door which led to a small, steamy kitchen. ‘Your guest has arrived, sweetheart.’
Maureen, red-faced from her exertions, wiped her hands on her apron and came to kiss Sorcha.
‘How are you?’
‘I’m well, very well.’
Before Sorcha had time to move, three small heads with ginger hair appeared from the room next door and clung on to the back of Maureen’s legs, their impish eyes peeping at Sorcha from behind their mother’s skirt.
‘Is this her, Mammy? The one who’s married to the famous singer?’ asked the tallest boy.
‘Aye, she is,’ smiled Maureen.
‘I’ll be downstairs a while, sweetheart. Call me when it’s ready.’
Maureen nodded as Tommy closed the door.
‘Come on now, you three, let your mammy go so I can show Sorcha into the sitting room.’ Maureen rolled her eyes as she turned and headed across the kitchen, three little pairs of hands still clinging to her legs. ‘Come in here and sit down, if you can find the space.’
Sorcha followed Maureen into a tiny room, furnished with a battered sofa, a coffee table and an old black-and-white television perched precariously on a small shelf. The floor was awash with children’s books and toys.
‘Ah, you three! Look what you’ve done. You promised you’d keep it tidy for me,’ Maureen chastised them as she bent down to pick up a rag doll and a car.
She went over to the window and sighed. ‘I’d send them out into the yard to play, but the heavens have opened.
Sit yourself down, Sorcha. There’s a little whiskey to drink if you like. ’
‘No, just a glass of orange squash would be lovely.’ Sorcha sat down. As she did so, the smallest child, her face covered in freckles, her hair a mass of thick, curly red, came shyly towards her, climbed on her knee and stuck her thumb in her mouth.
‘Honest, Teresa, you are an incorrigible child. She’ll take a lap from anyone,’ Maureen said proudly. ‘Fierce outgoing she is. How she’ll be at sixteen with the lads I dread to think.’
‘Introduce me to your two boys,’ encouraged Sorcha.
‘This is Tommy Junior.’
‘Hello, Tommy. And how old are you?’
‘Four, missus.’
‘Well now, you are a big boy. And your brother, how old is he?’
‘Sean’s three. Still a baby.’ Both boys moved slowly towards Sorcha.
‘I’ll be getting your drink,’ said Maureen. ‘You look after your Auntie Sorcha now.’ And she went into the kitchen.
An hour later, after Sorcha had read several picture books, played with toy cars and admired drawings scribbled in her honour, Maureen called them in for tea.
She picked up Teresa and went into the kitchen.
The round table in the corner had been covered with a lace cloth and Maureen had put a pretty floral decoration in an old vase in its centre.
‘The table looks lovely,’ Sorcha enthused.
‘Thank you. Sit where you’re comfortable. I’ll call Tommy.’
The two boys were already sat up, so Sorcha squeezed by them and perched with Teresa still in her arms.
‘There now. Tommy’s coming. I’ll serve up. I’ve cooked bacon and cabbage to remind you of your old life,’ smiled Maureen.
Tommy entered the kitchen with a bottle tucked under his arm.
‘Wine, no less, Tommy? Jesus, Sorcha, you are honoured,’ teased Maureen as Tommy searched in the drawer for a corkscrew.
Eventually, they were all sitting down and Teresa was torn off Sorcha’s knee and placed in her wooden high chair. Sorcha looked down at the mountain of bacon, cabbage and potato in front of her.
‘This smells delicious, Maureen.’
‘And I want to see that plate clean. You’re a little too skinny for my liking.’
‘Take no notice. She’s just jealous because of her generous curves,’ smiled Tommy.
‘And who was it that gave them to me, Tommy Dalton? Three babies in four years?’
‘And I love every ounce of them, as you well know. Sean, take your hands out of your potato and eat with your spoon!’
As she ate, Sorcha listened to the playful banter between husband and wife and the affectionate way they chastised their offspring. She found herself envying the warmth in the tiny, cluttered home.
Later, with the three children tucked up in their broom cupboard of a bedroom, Tommy laid out the plans for the new bungalow on the kitchen table. Maureen took Sorcha through every detail.
‘Of course, Tommy and I will do most of the work ourselves to save money. It’ll take that bit longer but it’ll be worth it when it’s done, especially with another on the way.’
Sorcha looked at Maureen in surprise. Maureen rolled her eyes and nodded. ‘I suspected but it wasn’t confirmed until I visited the doctor’s this morning. At least it gives us a goal. And we wanted another, didn’t we, Tommy?’
‘So you tell me, sweetheart.’ He put his arms round her waist and kissed her on the cheek.
Sorcha joined Tommy for a tot of whiskey in celebration.
‘Goodness, it’s past ten. I ought to be leaving. Mammy’s fine in the day, but then it gets to this point at night and she starts to become maudlin.’
Maureen tweaked back the curtain and looked out. ‘Fair drowned you’ll be, Sorcha. I’ll get you an umbrella and a jacket.’
‘Thank you. And bless you for such a grand dinner. I feel completely stuffed.’
‘Not as stuffed as I’ll be in a few months’ time,’ laughed Maureen, disappearing off to retrieve a brolly and a jacket.
‘Bye, Tommy. Maybe next time I’m here I’ll be coming to visit the bungalow.’
‘With God’s help, let’s hope so.’
‘Come down and I’ll see you out,’ called Maureen from the bottom of the stairs.
Sorcha walked down and followed Maureen through the shop to the front door. She opened it and Sorcha saw the high street was awash with puddles.
‘Just to remind you you’re back in the Emerald Isle,’ laughed Maureen. She put both of her arms around her friend and hugged her tightly. ‘Don’t be a stranger, Sorcha. Write to me, won’t you?’
‘I will, I promise. I can’t tell you how lovely it’s been to see you. And I’m so glad you’re happy, Maureen. I think your family are gorgeous.’
‘Aye, I’ve no complaints. It’s not a bad little life I have for myself.’ She nodded. ‘You take care, Sorcha.’ Maureen looked deeply into her old friend’s eyes. ‘You know, it strikes me that there’s something worrying you at the moment. Am I right?’
‘I . . .’ Sorcha wavered for a few seconds, then shook her head, pride preventing her from pouring out her marital problems to Maureen. ‘I’m concerned about my mother. I hope she’ll be all right when I have to leave her to go home.’
‘You know how it is in Ballymore. The village will rally round. She’ll not be short of company, that’s for sure.’
‘Yes. Of course. She has plenty of friends. I just feel guilty for going.’
‘I’m sure your mammy understands you must be with your husband. If my better half was a handsome, famous pop star, I’d not be torn from his side for more than a few seconds.’
Sorcha opened the umbrella. ‘Here I go. Bye, Maureen.’
‘Bye, Sorcha.’
She stepped out into the downpour. The rain drove into her back as she hurried up the high street, and she arrived home a dripping, sodden mass.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph! You’re like a drowned rat! Here, let me take your wet things and I’ll run a bath before you catch your death!’ Mary fussed around her as Sorcha peeled off her soaking clothes.
In the bath, Sorcha pondered her evening at Maureen and Tommy’s. She wondered how the couple survived in that cramped little flat with those three beautiful but exhausting children.
‘Love,’ Sorcha said as she draped a flannel over her face. That’s what it was. Tommy and Maureen adored each other and their children. It didn’t matter that they had very little and had worked all hours for everything they did have.
Maybe Con and she had too much.
But did they have enough love?
They used to, that was for sure.
Sorcha refused to believe it had gone. Granted, things had not been right for some time, but surely it was solvable?
She knew her marriage was at a crossroads.
If she left things as they were, there was no hope.
But if she was prepared to try to make a new start, wash the slate clean and forget all the niggling problems that had forced the two of them apart; plus – and this was the most important thing of all – if she could persuade Con to do the same, then maybe they had a chance.
She could do it.
Sorcha removed the flannel from her face.
‘I love you, Con Daly,’ she informed the ceiling.
And for that love, she was prepared to fight.
‘Now, are you sure you don’t want to come back with me?’
‘No. I want to stay here and get on with my life. There’s so many things I want to sort out.
Your daddy left me well provided for and I’ve already had someone mention they’re interested in taking over the practice.
I think I’m best to sell the house lock, stock and barrel.
I’ll find a smaller place in town somewhere. ’
‘I was only thinking of a break, Mammy. A few days. I’d love you to see our house in London.’
‘And I will come, Sorcha, maybe in the autumn. But just leave me be for now.’
Sorcha studied Mary for signs of impending depression, and decided that her mother was looking much better.
‘If you get lonely, call me, any time of the day or night.’
‘I will of course, but I have a lot of friends here who have already given me invitations. In fact, I’ve never been so popular,’ Mary smiled. ‘Now put your coat on and be off with you. The taxi’ll be here at any moment.’
Ten minutes later, Mary embraced Sorcha as the driver put her suitcase in the boot. It was still pouring with rain and Sorcha shivered involuntarily.
‘I hope you’re not on for a cold. Keep yourself wrapped up.’
‘I will.’ Sorcha gave her mother one last hug. ‘I know I shouldn’t say this, because it was such a dreadful few days for you, but I have enjoyed it.’
Her mother gave her the warmest of smiles. ‘Me too. And now there’s no reason why you shouldn’t come home whenever you want. Bring that husband of yours next time.’
‘I will, I promise.’ She ran to the car and hopped inside, Mary following her under the umbrella.
‘May God go with you, Sorcha.’ She swallowed back tears.
‘See you very soon, Mammy.’
The driver started the engine. ‘I’ll call you to let you know I’m home safe. Goodbye.’
Sorcha’s mother stood on the pavement, watching the taxi until it disappeared around the corner of the square.
For some awful reason, Mary O’Donovan had the strangest feeling that she wouldn’t be seeing her daughter again.
Sorcha said a silent goodbye to Ballymore. She swallowed hard and noticed the roughness in her throat. Her mother was right: she was on for a cold.
The rain-washed streets glistened as the taxi sloshed through the puddles. This was where it had all begun for her and Con.
She was determined she would not let it end.