Chapter 22
PATRICK
At the end of the barbecue, when they were all getting into the minibus, Patrick had seen Rosie and Grace loading up the back of the Land Rover.
Laurence was already half-cut and seemed oblivious to their struggles.
The gazebo was ready for the bin and it lay in bedraggled pieces at Rosie’s feet. He knew how it felt.
The party had continued on the minibus on the way home.
Rosie’s husband had sung old Irish songs all the way, a cocktail in either hand.
But Patrick couldn’t understand why he hadn’t helped her up when he had hurt her?
Was he so selfish and self-obsessed he hadn’t even noticed?
And Laurence had piled on to the minibus with the rest of the guests and hadn’t stayed to help Rosie and Grace.
Patrick had begun to collect the glasses but Grace had shooed him away.
Patrick couldn’t work it out at all. Rosie had obviously made a terrible mistake marrying him and by her non-reaction today she was fully aware of how little she could depend on her husband.
They all piled back into the hotel, some carrying their shoes, their clothes wet, sand in their hair, smiles on their faces. And then he saw his father. He’d almost forgotten about him, in all the craziness of the barbecue, but there he and Sandra were.
‘Oh, here they are,’ said their father, Brian.
‘The prodigal sons. My heirs… ha! Heirs to nothing these days. What’s an old farm in East Cork going to fetch?
’ When their mother had died, the farm had gone to their father because they had been still technically married.
The fact that he’d moved out and had lived in the town years before meant nothing.
Seán held out his hand. ‘Hi, Dad, thanks for coming.’
‘The drive was even longer than it should have been,’ grumbled their father. ‘The traffic trying to get into Dublin was woeful. Who’d be wanting to come to Dublin? Who’d actually want to come here?’
Patrick wished he was back in Boston, in Fitzgerald’s, the low lighting, the low voices, chatting with Johnny in the kitchen, or Elaine on front of house, and he realised he missed Kerry-Anne.
They were good together, a great team. She was reliable and intelligent and fun, in her own way.
And he liked the rhythm of their days, her calling into the bar to see him and check up on business; he always needed to know what she thought and he always took her advice.
In Boston, life was simpler. There was no family dragging you down or complicated emotions.
He just needed to get through the next few days and play his part now for Seán’s sake.
He stepped forward, hand outstretched. ‘Dad, good to see you again.’
‘Is it? Really? You think it’s good to see me? Ha!’ Brian looked around at his audience, poking Sandra to make her react. ‘This one, pleased to see me. He turned his back on us long ago.’
Patrick smiled blandly, showing no emotion, and then Seán cleared his throat.
‘Dad,’ Seán said, ‘this is Niamh, my fiancée.’
‘Well, it’s so nice to finally meet you.’ Niamh was holding out her hand. ‘You’re very good to come all this way…’
‘Sure, it’s not that far.’ His father had shifted, Patrick noticed, from that cantankerous curmudgeon to the charming version of himself.
‘It’s only Midleton. It’s not Mars. Ha?’ He looked around to see if anyone had heard his joke.
‘And anyway,’ went on Brian, ‘aren’t we Corkonians always up to Dublin for the All-Ireland finals. We know the road well, so we do…’
Niamh laughed encouragingly. ‘Sure you do, you lot are always winning…’
Brian was ignoring Sandra completely, but Seán had reached past Brian and grasped her hand, pulling her slightly into the group. ‘How’s it going, Sandra?’ he said. ‘Good to see you again. This is Niamh, my fiancée.’
Sandra looked embarrassed to be there. ‘Hello, Seán, good to meet you, Niamh. Congratulations. You both must be excited.’
‘Oh, we are,’ said Niamh. ‘We can’t believe it’s our actual wedding weekend.’
Sandra smiled at her. ‘Well, I wish you all the very best.’
Patrick turned to Sandra, holding out his hand. ‘Hello, Sandra.’
‘Hello, Patrick. Good to see you again.’ She shouldn’t have got involved with their father while he was still living in the family home. God, it had been so complicated. But there was something heartbreaking about her, despite what she’d done.
Sandra looked tired, he thought, and there was something about her which always tugged at his heartstrings.
She’d had an affair with his father, which he’d once thought was unforgivable, but he’d still been in school when all that happened.
Now he couldn’t help but wonder if it was all quite so black and white.
Sandra had always seemed a little timid, not the femme fatale you might imagine.
She was pale and thin, and wearing a floral dress which looked a little faded.
For the first time in his life, he hoped she was all right. She didn’t look as though she was.
‘Long drive up from Midleton?’ Patrick asked her.
Sandra nodded. ‘Four hours. We took it slowly. Didn’t go too fast. And we missed the match traffic at least.’
‘You missed the barbecue on the beach,’ said Niamh, ‘but there’s dinner tonight on the terrace and then a garden picnic tomorrow and then the rehearsal dinner.’
‘Jaysus, we haven’t even got to the wedding yet,’ said Brian. ‘Do you want to tire everyone out before the ceremony?’ He looked around again to see if anyone was laughing.
‘Well, we wanted to make an event of it,’ explained Niamh. ‘We’ve got guests arriving from all over the world.’ She smiled at Patrick.
‘Is Paddy-Joe doing the milking?’ asked Seán to his father.
His father turned to him, a face on him which showed that his son was either stupid or mad. ‘Sure, I sold the cows last year,’ he said. ‘Don’t farm any longer. Life of leisure now.’
‘Who’d you sell them to?’
That look again. ‘Paddy-Joe, of course. Who’d you think’d take them? Paddy-Joe’s got the grandchildren in helping him. I had no one and nobody.’ He spoke angrily, a glare in his eyes. That was their father all over, resentful and blaming everyone for supposed slights.
Sandra looked uncomfortable as though she would rather be anywhere than with him.
‘Well, hello there! If it isn’t Sandra, my old pal from Doobs!’ It was Rosie’s aunt Lucinda, a small, angry, rodenty dog under her arm. ‘What are you doing here?’ She proffered her lips in Sandra’s vague direction, making little puckering sounds.
‘I’m here for Seán’s wedding,’ said Sandra, a little diffidently. ‘He’s Brian’s boy. Brian is my partner.’
‘Well, hello, Brian,’ said Lucinda, turning to the man beside Sandra.
‘I’m Sandra’s old pal from Dubai. We were both working out there years ago.
’ She shook his hand. ‘You’re so welcome to Cliff Top.
It’s my family’s hotel. My dear, departed sister owned it and made it what it is.
I think it’s called a boutique hotel, these days.
But my niece is now in charge and she likes to pick my brains for ideas, design, hospitality, food, that kind of thing. ’ She smiled at them.
‘And this is Seán,’ said Sandra, as Lucinda shook his hand.
‘Well, you’re very handsome, aren’t you? Rugged. But refined. It’s a nice mix.’ She turned to Patrick. ‘And you are?’
She obviously had no idea who he was.
‘Patrick,’ he said. ‘Brother of the groom.’
‘Well, isn’t that lovely. And what is your line of work?’
‘Dairy farmers,’ said Patrick, quickly. ‘We work with cows, milk them, hose them down, we’re all covered in mud most of the time.’
Seán laughed, as though he had guessed what Patrick was doing.
Lucinda’s face froze for a moment. ‘Farming? Cows?’
‘You know, those big four-legged creatures?’ said Patrick. ‘Produce milk.’
‘Well, I’m a big fan of milk,’ said Lucinda, her conversational abilities drying up. ‘Although I do like a squeeze of lemon in my tea these days.’ Her eyes rested on Patrick. ‘Have we met? I could swear I’ve seen you before? Were you ever in Dubai?’
He shook his head. ‘Not Dubai, no. I live in Boston.’
‘Ah, Boston. I know the O’Briens? Or the Fitzmaurices? Or the Kilcullens? No? None of them? And so you’re here for your brother’s wedding? Are you already married?’
‘He’s unmarried,’ said Niamh, laughing. ‘We’re trying to find him someone.’
‘Ah, a lonely heart,’ said Lucinda. ‘Perhaps, being on a farm is lonely. I have heard so many stories about farmers who can’t find love. And all they need is a good hose down. Although…’ She looked Patrick up and down. ‘You’ve scrubbed up nicely.’
She was just as snobbish as she ever was, thought Patrick.
He and Seán locked eyes. Patrick glanced around, looking for an escape.
Lucinda turned to Sandra. ‘Loneliness is a curse, isn’t it, Sandra? I am sure you never get lonely, with all these men in your life…’
‘Well…’ Sandra looked embarrassed. ‘It’s not quite like that…’
‘I am not a lonely person, either,’ said Lucinda. ‘For one thing, I have my little Pedro…’
Brian reached out to stroke the dog’s head, but Pedro twisted himself up, chomping at the air.
‘He’s a frisky little fella, isn’t he?’ said Brian, withdrawing his hand.
‘Pedro is one of life’s happy souls,’ said Lucinda. ‘He’s out there, living life to the full. There’s a little bench just off the road to the beach, overlooking the sea, and we often go there and contemplate the world. It’s very healing, isn’t it, Pedro?’ She kissed his head.
‘There you are!’ It was Laurence who was now elbowing his way into the centre of the group.
‘Father of the groom?’ He pumped Brian’s hand.
‘Glad you could make it. My own father was late to my wedding. Caught in some kind of aeronautical strike at Faro on his way back from a golf holiday. Well, that was his story, anyway.’ He looked glazed, his eyes bloodshot.
‘I’ve had too much to drink already but…
’ His eye was caught by some of Seán and Niamh’s friends who were carrying bottles of Prosecco out to the terrace.
‘…I am planning on having more!’ The other guests cheered loudly.
‘My wife is going to be so angry with me,’ Laurence grinned, ‘but I’m having far too much fun. ’
Patrick couldn’t help himself, feeling a fury on behalf of Rosie and the twins. ‘You really should go home.’
‘But then I’d miss all the fun,’ boomed Laurence. ‘And Seán and Niamh don’t mind, do you?’
‘Of course not,’ they mumbled.
‘I feel like I’m on holiday,’ said Laurence. ‘But…’ He looked at Patrick. ‘Maybe I should check in with the gang. Have a quick nap and return for more merriment in a little while.’ He handed Lucinda his glass. ‘Hold this, Luce,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back soon.’
Poor Rosie. Why was she married to this awful man? It really didn’t make sense.
‘I’d better go and have a shower,’ Patrick said, edging away.
‘We’ll see you later in the bar,’ said Niamh. ‘Drinks at 7 p.m. and then dinner at 8 p.m. You can meet my parents, they’re on their way.’
‘Patrick, wait for me…’ It was Kate, hurrying to keep up with him as he walked out of the lounge and towards the stairs. ‘Well done for reminding Laurence about his responsibilities,’ she said. ‘The man is acting like it’s his own wedding.’
‘I’m amazed he ever had his own,’ said Patrick.
‘Exactly. Who would marry him?’ Kate laughed, falling into step with him.
‘I’ve already had too much to drink. I think we were all overexcited after the beach barbecue.
’ She laughed, as they ascended the stairs to the bedrooms. ‘Did you see that woman, what’s her name?
The owner or whoever she is? Not Grace.’
‘Rosie.’
‘Rosie! That’s it! What was she doing with the barbecue?’ She laughed to herself. ‘What a klutz.’
He was already feeling irritated by his father, Lucinda and Laurence, and this comment was enough to almost push him off the edge. But he kept his voice steady.
‘I think she had it under control,’ he said. Kate’s room was three doors down from his and they stopped outside hers.
‘Today was fun, wasn’t it?’
He nodded, realising that she wasn’t to blame for his irritation and that she was doing her best for the wedding. ‘You were really impressive when you pulled Laurence’s arm.’
‘Yeah, well…’ She shrugged. ‘All in a day’s work.
He was holding it in a strange way. I’d already noticed he was hunched over it and I just had to pop it back in…
’ And then Kate leaned forward, her mouth aiming at his, a slightly alarming, intense expression in her eyes, which was either homicidal or romantic, he couldn’t quite tell.
And then at the last moment, she changed her mind, her head completing a smooth parabola, and her lips landed on his shoulder.
‘Oh, Patrick,’ she said, ‘you’re so…’ She paused. ‘Enigmatic. Unknowable. Silent.’
‘Oh God,’ he said, trying to laugh it off. ‘None of them sound complimentary.’
Kate shrugged. ‘I mean, you’re not entirely silent. Just not overly talkative. Or loud. Or one of those men who beat their chests and tell you how amazing they are and never ask a single question. You’re not like that.’
‘Thank you. I think.’
She laughed again. ‘Well… I have a view of the sea from my room,’ she said teasingly.
‘So, if you want to inspect my view, let me know.’ And she slipped inside her room, leaving him wondering if there wasn’t another life somewhere available for him, something simpler and easier.
Somewhere which wasn’t so confusing. He hadn’t always been the silent type.
He and Rosie must have exchanged a lifetime’s worth of words that summer.
And at night, they would lie in each other’s arms, talking until they fell asleep.
They had so much to say. It was only at the end when he knew there wasn’t a future for them, and she knew it too, and they stopped talking.
It had all been his fault, and now all he wanted to do was talk to her and make everything right again.