have preferred not to know about my humiliation. But I supposed that had always been too
much to expect in a close-knit school in a close-knit town. I sighed. The prospect of facing Jo
Blair had been bad enough, without knowing there would be gossips lurking on every corridor.
Tina patted my arm.
‘You’ve nothing to worry about,’ she said. ‘Everyone knows you did nothing wrong.
You should report her. She can’t get away with speaking to you like that.’
‘I’d rather just forget about the whole thing. There’s only one more half-term to go, and
then she’ll move on, won’t she?’
‘Maybe not. She’s told a couple of people that there hasn’t been much interest in the
post of permanent head, and that she might apply for it herself,’ Tina said, and although I was
concentrating on the road, I could hear the dismay in her voice. ‘You can imagine how popular
that news has been.’
I digested this information as I drove through town and on towards school. I’d
convinced myself that I could grin and bear working with Jo for the rest of term, because then
there would be a long holiday to recover and things would go back to normal with the arrival
of a new head teacher in September. How would I feel about the prospect of working with Jo
Blair for the foreseeable future? She was a similar age to me; she could conceivably stay in
place until I retired. Almost thirty more years of this? I parked in my usual place and looked
up at the school building where I had spent so many contented years. Contented wasn’t as good
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as happy, a voice whispered in my ear – a voice with a distinctly Irish twang. Was this where
I really wanted to spend the rest of my working days? A few weeks ago, it wouldn’t have
occurred to me to ask the question. What was going on?
Tina unfastened her seat belt and turned to me.
‘And for the record,’ she said. ‘Don’t think I didn’t notice your reaction to Paddy Friel
when I mentioned him.’
‘I didn’t react!’
‘Exactly. You didn’t start to spit or hiss, and smoke didn’t emerge from your ears.
What’s been going on behind closed doors? You’re warming to him, aren’t you?’
‘Only if by warm, you mean a couple of degrees above freezing point.’ I laughed as
Tina pulled a disappointed face. ‘Okay. Perhaps not every bone in his body is evil.’ I thought
back to last night. ‘He might not be the vain, self-centred celebrity I imagined. Not on
weekdays, anyway. Now can we stop the interrogation and go into work? I don’t want a telling-
off for being late on top of everything else …’
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CHAPTER 14
The day passed more quietly than I had feared: Jo Blair was busy in her office and on the
infrequent occasions that she passed by my desk, we managed to avoid any reference to the
events of yesterday, by the simple expediency of not speaking at all. As far as I knew, the
missing exam papers hadn’t turned up, but apparently I wasn’t trusted to be involved with that
any more.
I was counting down the minutes until home time, and my last evening with Paddy,
when my mobile phone vibrated and ‘The Chestnuts’ flashed up on the screen. My heart
plummeting to my feet, I answered with a shaky ‘hello?’
‘Is that you, our Eve?’ shouted Gran. ‘Speak up, chuck. I can’t hear you.’
‘Yes, it’s me,’ I said, in a steadier but still quiet voice. The last thing I needed was for
Jo Blair to catch me on a personal call. ‘What’s the matter? Is everything okay?’
I’d told Gran never to telephone me at work unless it was an emergency, and this was
the first time she’d ever done it.
‘What are you up to, more to the point?’ Gran said. ‘What’s all this about your Paddy
having an injury? You didn’t do it to him, did you? And why is he at your house?’
‘Of course I didn’t do it! He had an accident on the walk. Didn’t the source of your
gossip tell you that?’
‘Oh, I didn’t look past the headline and the photo. Mrs Pike was too busy crowing that
she knew something I didn’t. You could …’
‘Hang on,’ I interrupted. I glanced towards Jo’s door and escaped to the corridor where
I didn’t need to whisper. ‘What headline and photo?’
‘The photo of Paddy in your front room. You should have tidied first. There were two
dirty mugs and a plate on the coffee table. You don’t want folk thinking you’re a slattern.’
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‘But Gran,’ I said, speaking slowly, as I was beginning to think there might be
something wrong with her after all. She wasn’t making any sense. ‘I haven’t taken any photos
of Paddy at my house, so you can’t have seen one.’
‘I’m not doolally yet, thank you. Look on that computer of yours if you don’t believe
me. The whole world has seen it, not just me. I want the full story on Sunday!’
And with that she was gone, leaving me completely bewildered. I wandered back to my
desk and typed Paddy’s name into the internet search engine. The first result was for his
Wikipedia entry – he was on Wikipedia! I tried not to be too impressed and instead clicked on
the second result, for an article in today’s online edition of a tabloid newspaper.
It was only a brief story, puffed out with regurgitated details of Paddy’s previous TV
appearances – more than I had realised, and a curious mix of serious shows and celebrity trash.
The article mentioned that he had been injured in a ‘heroic rescue’ involving a small child –
the balloon didn’t get a look-in – while helping to raise money for a nursing home on behalf of
an old family friend. And there was a picture of Paddy, lolling on my sofa with a brave smile
on his bruised face and a huge bandage wrapped round his leg. I knew for a fact he hadn’t worn
that bandage in my presence this week, so it must have been an embellishment for the
photograph. Talk about fake news! I couldn’t believe he’d had the shame to go through with
it, or that the newspaper had even published the story. Who was interested in this rubbish?
On closer inspection, I discovered that quite a few people were interested, judging by
almost a hundred comments at the bottom of the page. They were mainly nauseating messages
from adoring fans, commending his apparent bravery and offering some eye-watering remedies
to help him recover, although one comment made me laugh: it told him to man up, cut his hair
and stop being a ‘big girl’s blouse’.
I flicked back through the article, blood boiling. ‘Old family friend’ – I hoped that
didn’t mean me. Never mind the old, my feelings for Paddy were far from friendly. How dared
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he invite the press into my home and put my shabby furniture online for all the world to see?
How vain must he be, how desperate for publicity, that he would use any misfortune to further
his own career? While I had been rushing through my work, making time to check on him in
my lunch break, had he been sneakily plotting and using my home for his own ends? What
next – a full-page spread in Hello? I c
ouldn’t believe that I’d softened towards him this week,
and even been glad of his company; he was clearly the same hollow man I had always thought
him.
The usual Friday night happiness didn’t even register as I stormed out of school at the
end of the day and drove home at record speed. I said goodbye to Tina, slammed through my
front door and marched into the kitchen, where I found Paddy busy cleaning the hob.
Far from being impressed, the sight increased my fury. Was he suggesting I was a
slattern too?
‘Are you sure you’re well enough for that?’ I asked, talking over his question about
how my day had been. ‘I see you’ve been able to take your bandage off now. Are you sure it’s
not too soon? I’m surprised you didn’t go the whole hog and apply a plaster cast.’
‘It’s not as easy to buy one of those in the chemist.’ Paddy laughed, but the smile faded
quickly as he looked at me. ‘What’s wrong? Has that Blair woman had a go at you again? Do
you want me to go in there and sort her out for you?’
‘No! It’s nothing to do with school. My day was going perfectly well until I saw a
photograph of my living room on the internet!’
‘Ah. It was the dirty plate, wasn’t it? I should have spotted it. Sorry. But give me some
brownie points, I’ve tried to make amends by tidying up and cleaning the kitchen since then,
even in my poor injured state …’
I glared at him. He really wasn’t getting it. He really was so entirely self-absorbed that
he couldn’t think of anyone else at all. Did he expect me to be pleased with him?
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‘It has nothing to do with the plate! It’s about you inviting strangers into my home
without even having the courtesy to tell me, let alone ask. It’s about the fact that you’re using
Gran and The Chestnuts to make yourself look good, and no doubt to try to get a role on some
other shoddy TV show to earn more money that you probably don’t even need …’
‘Not a shoddy TV show.’ Paddy’s voice was hard, and his eyes were flat, no hint of
their usual twinkle. ‘My agent phoned earlier. I’ve been offered a guest appearance on a BBC
comedy panel show. And yes, it’s decent money for cracking a few jokes and smiling into the
cameras. Why would I turn that down?’
He was serious. What had happened to him? What had happened to that boy I had loved
– the boy who had looked after me the day I had been attacked, who had tidied away my
shopping and wiped away my tears? He hadn’t cared about money or taken himself too
seriously. He had been kind, passionate and had cared about others – at first, at least. And it
suddenly occurred to me that I didn’t know this man in front of me. I had accused Paddy of
inviting strangers into my home, but I was the one who had allowed a stranger to stay.
‘You really are a hollow figure of a man, aren’t you?’ I said. ‘Every tear I shed over
you was a waste. I should have celebrated my lucky escape.’
I walked out and went upstairs to get changed. I wasn’t furious with him any longer –
he wasn’t worth the energy. But I was furious with myself. I’d known what he was like, how
little substance there was to him. No one knew that better than I did. So what had I been doing
these last few days, looking after him and treating him like a decent human being? Enjoying
his company, whispered a mischievous voice in my head. How had I let him fool me again?
I had taken off my blouse and was looking for a T-shirt to wear for a run when I heard
quick footsteps on the stairs.
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Paddy’s voice called out, ‘Eve, let me explain …’ and then there was a cry of pain, a
couple of thumps and silence. I rushed out of my room. Paddy was lying on the stairs, clutching
his leg. I ran down to him.
‘What have you done now? Has it popped again?’
‘No, but jeez, it hurts like it did at the start.’
‘What were you thinking, running up the stairs like that?’
‘I was thinking that I didn’t want to leave without trying to explain. Not this time.
Believe it or not, I have grown up in the last seventeen years.’
I didn’t have an answer to that. He was the one on the floor, but I was the one who felt
wrong-footed.
‘Wait there,’ I said – needlessly, on reflection – and squeezed past him down the stairs.
I returned with the crutches he had abandoned a couple of days ago. With some heaving on my
part and some cursing on his, we managed to get him back on his feet.
‘You’ve put on weight. You didn’t used to be this heavy,’ I said, catching my breath.
‘I’d prefer to call it muscle. Not such a hollow figure, am I?’
‘Not physically.’
He worked his way back downstairs and I followed until he was settled on the sofa
again.
‘You probably just overdid it,’ I said. ‘Rest now and it might be fine in the morning.’
‘I hope so.’ So did I. He might be desperate to go on his date, but I was equally desperate
for him to leave so that life could go back to normal – the familiar life-without-Paddy that I
had adapted to over the years.
He looked at me as I hovered by the door. I wondered whether I could still escape for
a run if he was in pain again. ‘Don’t think I’m not enjoying the view, but feel free to put more
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clothes on before you tell me off for looking where I shouldn’t.’ He grinned. ‘You didn’t wear
underwear like that in my day. Your man must be something special.’
I didn’t bother covering myself up. What was the point? He had seen it all before, more
times than I could count, although I was considerably more toned now – but then, I’d never
had the joy of a child of my own, to sag and stretch everything out of shape. And the underwear
wasn’t for Rich, though he certainly appreciated it. It was for me – my one indulgence, a secret
reminder that somewhere, deep down, I was still me: an independent woman, not a stand-in
mother, forgotten aunt, ungrateful daughter or abandoned lover.
‘I didn’t let strangers in your house, for the record,’ Paddy said, as I turned away. ‘It
was only Jamie.’
‘Jamie?’ I came back into the room.
‘Tina’s lad. From across the road.’
‘Why was he here?’
‘He came round for a chat while you were at work. He’s interested in the media, and
the newspapers and all that kind of thing.’
‘So?’
‘So I let him make up a story and take a photo, and gave him a contact name at the
newspaper …’ Paddy shrugged. ‘The bandage was his idea. I couldn’t see any harm in it. I
didn’t think it would actually make it online. Must have been a quiet news day, you know?’
Was it true? Had he been doing a favour for Jamie, not grasping for publicity for
himself? I didn’t know. He could say one thing – look totally innocent – but behave in a
different way entirely, as I well knew. How could I ever trust him again?
‘I get why you don’t want to talk about the past,’ Paddy said, when I hesitated in the
doorway. ‘But don’t judge me on it, okay? I’m not that boy any more.’
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I nodded, but I still wasn’t sure whether to believe him, or what to think if I did. So I
took my usual course, and went for a run, climbing the hills around Inglebridge until I was too
exhausted to think at all.
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CHAPTER 15
Paddy hobbled into the kitchen the next morning, carrying his bag but wearing the grim face
of a man who knew his hopes of a hot date were about to go pop as surely as his muscle had
done a few days before.
‘You’re not fit to drive, are you?’ I asked, flicking the kettle to make him a cup of tea.
‘I can try.’
I watched him wince as he sat down at the table.
‘Is your car an automatic?’
‘No.’ He winced again as he tried to move his leg, as if changing gears. He put his head
in his hands. ‘I’ve really screwed this up. I overdid it yesterday. I’m such an idiot.’
His reaction seemed extreme. It must have been quite some date he had lined up. But
surely, if he was as attractive as people gave him credit for, the woman he was due to meet
would be happy to wait? I didn’t make the point. It could hardly have been less of my business.
I concentrated on making his breakfast instead, wholemeal toast slathered with the butter he
had included with the supermarket delivery. Gran would have been proud of him.
I carried his plate over to the table. He looked up.
‘Eve, I don’t suppose you would …’
‘Absolutely not! Seriously? You expect me to drive you home, so you can meet your
date? I’m not your pimp, Paddy!’
He toyed with the toast on his plate and I backed away to the sink. He was unbelievable!
Thinking only of himself again, albeit his carnal rather than financial desires this time. Why
would he think …
‘It’s not that sort of date.’ I turned, because there was something in his voice, an odd
reluctance that caught my attention. ‘It’s my mam. It’s her birthday today.’
A Dozen Second Chances (ARC) Page 17