Chapter 46
Helen was feeling calmer as she drove home that evening.
She’d received a call from Freddy to say Con had been in touch with him.
Apparently Con had a song he was working on which he was prepared to record as The Fishermen’s final single.
Freddy wasn’t sure what Todd would have to say as there was no answer from his house, but he suggested they go ahead and have Con do a rough cut in the studio.
They also agreed they’d let Derek, who’d returned from Spain that afternoon, lay down his track too, just as a precaution.
As Helen negotiated Hyde Park Corner and headed for Holland Park, she considered the implications.
Was it possible that she could manoeuvre Con’s estranged, frightened and pregnant wife back into her husband’s arms?
If he was reunited with Sorcha, there was a possibility that Lulu would return to Todd, apologies would be made, Con and Todd would be reconciled and the whole thing would blow over as Freddy had suggested.
Not only that, but with a baby on the way and a grateful Con by her side once more, she thought that Sorcha had a chance at true happiness. Helen owed her that.
All she had to do now was engineer a meeting.
Sorcha was sitting out on the terrace nursing a glass of wine that contained no more than a sip.
‘Hello. How are you?’
‘Okay, I think. I hope you don’t mind but I opened a bottle. I probably shouldn’t drink, what with the baby, but . . . I thought I’d have one final glass.’ Sorcha shrugged.
‘I don’t think that amount will hurt. I’ll join you. You look very pale, Sorcha.’
‘Wouldn’t you, in my shoes?’
‘Yes, yes, of course. I’ll just get myself a glass.’ Helen went to the kitchen, returned and poured herself some wine. She sat down and studied Sorcha’s wretched expression.
‘Any idea what you’re going to do?’
‘Have a baby in seven months’ time.’ Sorcha gave a shrug and a half-smile.
‘You won’t tell Con?’
‘No.’
‘Do you not think he has the right to know?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You’ll bring the baby up alone then?’
‘Maybe I’ll have to.’
‘Well, you could always—’
‘No.’ Sorcha shook her head. ‘I couldn’t. Even if I don’t go to mass any more, I still believe. I could never bring myself to terminate the pregnancy. What Con has done is hardly the baby’s fault, is it?’
‘Can you really say you don’t love him?’
‘No. Of course I still love him, Helen. I’ll always love the rat.’
‘Well, if you’re totally set on not telling Con, you have to think about the future. You’ll have to consider where you’re going to live.’
‘I know. I’ve been thinking about that today. I was wondering if I should go home to Ballymore. But can you imagine the town gossips? I couldn’t take it. I don’t want to overstay my welcome with you. I’ll start looking for a flat tomorrow.’
‘Don’t be silly, Sorcha. You can stay here as long as you want.’
Sorcha felt her eyes filling with tears. ‘Oh, Helen, you’ve been kinder to me than I deserve.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Helen brusquely. ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve really enjoyed the company.’
‘I think I might have gone mad if I hadn’t had you to talk to.’
‘Well then, that’s settled. You’ll stay with me for the time being, okay?’
Sorcha smiled gratefully. ‘Okay.’
Two days later, Sorcha was awoken from an afternoon nap by the telephone. It rang three times then stopped – Helen’s code. Sorcha waited for it to ring again.
She picked it up after the first ring.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s me. Listen, would you do me a favour, Sorcha?
The car’s gone in for a service and the garage has just rung to say they need to fit some new brake pads.
I can’t collect it until tomorrow morning.
Would you come to Metropolitan and pick me up?
I thought we could go for a bite of supper. It might do you good to get out.’
‘Okay.’ Sorcha was reluctant to go near Metropolitan, but after Helen’s kindness, she could hardly refuse such a small favour.
‘Good. I’ll tell the receptionist to expect you. She’ll know where to find me. See you around six.’
‘Yes, bye, Helen.’
Sorcha put down the receiver and locked the front door behind her.
Con entered the glass doors of Metropolitan Records and strolled up to the reception desk.
‘Hello, Mr Daly,’ the receptionist smiled. ‘Suite two is all ready for you. I’m Miranda, by the way. I started here last week.’
‘Oh.’ Con frowned. ‘Is suite one not available? That’s where I usually work. I much prefer it.’
‘Er . . .’ Miranda scanned the booking list. ‘No, I’m sorry. Mr Longthorne is working in it.’
‘No, Derek left half an hour ago while you were at lunch,’ said Melody, the other receptionist. ‘He said he wouldn’t be back, so you can go in there.’ She leant over and smiled at Con, dangling the key on her fingers.
‘Thanks, Melody.’ Con took the key and walked off through the lobby to the stairs leading down to the basement.
‘Mr Daly, you haven’t signed in,’ Miranda called after him.
‘Leave him be, Miranda.’
‘But Miss McCarthy said we always had to get everybody to sign in no matter who they were,’ persisted Miranda.
‘In this building, Con Daly is above God and Helen said nothing about immortals. Now answer that switchboard, for goodness’ sake.’
Con unlocked the door to recording suite one. As he entered, he could smell Derek’s pungent aftershave still lingering in the air. His mohair cardigan was neatly folded on the sofa and a pile of notes in his small rounded handwriting were taped to the desk. It was obvious he had not yet finished.
Con hoped the receptionist was right and he wouldn’t be back today. The last thing he needed was a showdown with his former bandmate.
He sat down on the swivel stool and switched on the console.
The song inside him was ringing round his head, asking to be laid down.
He’d record the melody line first. The song should be as simple as possible, just him and his old acoustic guitar.
The chorus was where he could turn up the volume and arrange some nice harmonies and instrumentation for Todd, Ian and Derek, if they agreed to play on the last track.
Con took his guitar out of its case and disappeared into a world of his own.
Sorcha pulled up in front of Metropolitan Records at five to six.
As she’d driven across London, she had begun to think about the child growing inside her. It was what she’d wanted all those years. Whatever the problems she faced, she would not think of the baby as something negative.
Sorcha touched her stomach timidly. ‘We’ll be fine, baby,’ she murmured. Then she reached for her handbag, got out of the car and walked through the entrance.
‘Hello.’ Sorcha felt uncomfortable and nervous being inside the building so closely associated with Con.
‘Hello, Mrs Daly. Miss McCarthy’s just called me to say she’s downstairs in recording suite two. She asked for you to go straight down and join her as she might be a while yet.’
‘I . . . okay,’ Sorcha acquiesced, praying she wouldn’t have to hang around long.
She took the steps down to the basement and headed along the dimly lit corridor to recording suite number two.
The room was in darkness and the door was locked.
The receptionist must have got the suite number wrong.
She walked further along and peered into suite one.
The lights were on, but it too looked deserted.
Sorcha pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The control room and the recording studio beyond the glass were empty.
Turning, Sorcha went to leave, but before she could grab the handle, the door was opened for her.
Con stood there, a plastic cup of coffee in his hand.
They stared at each other. Sorcha noticed Con had visibly paled.
‘Hello, Sorcha.’
‘Hello.’
‘Were you looking for me?’
She thought she saw hope in his eyes.
‘No. Helen, actually. The receptionist said she would be down here.’
Con shook his head. ‘No. I’ve not seen hide nor hair of her all afternoon. Why would you be looking for Helen?’
‘Because she asked me to meet her here. We’re going out to supper.’
‘I didn’t know you and Helen were so friendly.’
‘We are. I’m staying with her, actually.’
‘You and Helen McCarthy are housemates?’
‘I had nowhere else to go. Helen’s been very kind.’
Sorcha felt dreadfully dizzy. She took a step towards the door.
‘The receptionist must have got it wrong. I’ll go back upstairs.’ She began to sway.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, I . . .’ She was seeing stars. Not now, please, she begged her body as her legs threatened to give way completely.
Con caught her as she fell, the cup of coffee he’d been holding splashing to the ground. He half dragged, half carried her to the couch in the corner and laid her on it. Her eyes were closed and her complexion grey.
‘Sorcha, Sorcha.’ He patted her cheeks as her breathing came in short, sharp bursts. He watched helplessly as she gave a low moan and struggled to open her eyes.
‘I’ll ring for a doctor. You’re a terrible colour altogether.’ He stood up.
‘No, it’s passing, don’t. I’ll be fine in a minute. Could you get me some water?’
‘Don’t move. I’ll be seconds.’
Con left the studio, filled a glass with water from the kitchenette tap and ran quickly back along the corridor.
‘There.’ He proffered the water and Sorcha raised her head to take a sip.
‘I’m sorry, Con. I feel a complete eejit.’
‘Don’t be silly. The smell of Derek’s aftershave is enough to make anyone feel faint,’ he smiled.
‘Was he here?’
‘Earlier. And it still lingers.’
Sorcha sat up. Con watched the colour slowly return to her cheeks.
‘Are you ill?’
‘No. I’m fine.’ She was willing herself to find the strength to stand up and leave. ‘I must find Helen.’
‘Reception will know you’re down here. Rest a while. You look a sight still.’
‘Thanks. As a matter of fact, so do you.’
‘Todd broke my nose.’
‘No less than you deserved.’
‘I don’t know about that. Nothing ever happened between me and Lulu, you know.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I’m sorry, Sorcha.’
‘So am I.’ She was feeling better and wanted to leave. She swung her legs off the sofa.
‘Do you have to go?’
‘I . . . oh, Con.’ Tears filled her eyes.
‘Don’t cry, Sorcha, please. I can’t bear it when you cry and I know it’s me who’s responsible.’
He sat down next to her and rested a hand on hers.
‘I . . . I’ve written a song. For you. I’ve been down here messing around with it before it’s recorded properly next week. Would you listen to it for me?’
Sorcha sniffed. ‘If you really want me to.’
‘I do.’
‘Okay. Let me go to the ladies’ to tidy myself up a bit.’
‘Sure.’
Con gave her a weak smile as she left the room. He shivered, then grabbed Derek’s cardigan and put it on. He sat down in front of the console to rewind the tape.
Sorcha splashed her face with cold water and replenished her lipstick. Seeing him again was so painful. She’d listen to his song, then find Helen and leave.
‘It’s called “Losing You”. Ready?’
‘Sure.’
She went to sit down on the sofa as he pressed the play button, his back towards her on the stool in front of the recording console. She heard the strains of a soft guitar through the speakers.
‘Losing you, after all these years of loving you,
Is the hardest thing I’ve ever been through.
And it’s true, after all the things I’ve said to you,
And the way that I’ve been cruel to you,
What else could I expect you to do?
Losing you, losing you.’
Sorcha’s eyes began to fill with tears as Con started to sing along to his own voice.
‘So I’ll try, for as long as it might take me,
And if you don’t return, it’ll break me.
I love you.
Please come home, for the home is where the heart is.
And all this being apart is killing me.
Losing you, losing you.’
Sorcha stood up, her eyes blinded by tears.
‘I love you, Con,’ she murmured, unheard over the music. She walked slowly towards him.
Suddenly she was aware of a figure standing just inside the door.
‘Hello, I . . .’
For an instant there was confusion in the figure’s eyes. Sorcha watched the figure raise both hands and point a gun at Con’s back.
‘What are you—?’
The figure pulled the trigger.
‘No!’ Sorcha dived for Con. A bullet whistled through the air, shattering the glass panel, followed by another and another.
Sorcha fell against Con, knocking him off the stool to the ground, her body shielding him from the hail of bullets.
The figure left the room.
The music still played.