“She’s not the type to care too much what others say.”
Sheila raised her eyebrows. “Can you imagine what her mother had to say about it? She’d have no doubt tried to put a good face on it if Patricia had a boyfriend. She’s the kind who would have arranged a hurried wedding, pretending it was a honeymoon baby, but she’ll have a hard time talking her way out of this one.”
Sarah gave a weary sigh. “I’d imagine she’ll talk them into getting married as soon as possible.”
“Do you think so? Now, no offence or anything, but I would have imagined that Mrs Quinn was looking for someone a cut above Con Tierney as Patricia’s husband.” Then, she caught the look on Sarah’s face. “I think a painter and decorator is fine, but if she had her way, Patricia would be marrying a teacher or a doctor or someone like that.” Her eyes narrowed. “Mind you, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if Patricia had her eye on Con all along. Any time we were all out together she was always laughing at his jokes and hanging on every word he said.”
“I never noticed,” Sarah said quietly. “I never imagined for a minute that there would be anything between them.” She looked over her friend’s shoulder to the window and the green fields beyond. “It makes you realise you don’t know anything in life – I think nothing will ever shock me again.” She turned back to Sheila. “All the months of me making sure that Con kept his hands to himself. I thought we only had a few weeks to get through and then I’d put up with whatever I was supposed to do. If the truth be told, I was dreading our wedding night. The thought of it frightened me.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I just can’t understand how someone would just do it on the spur of the moment the way Patricia did.”
“I wonder was he the first?” Sheila mused. “Or whether she’s had other lads before? I suppose we’re never going to know.”
Sarah’s gaze went back to the window again. At times she felt she was still in a weird dream, and that she would wake up and things might just go back to normal again.
Sheila sighed. “Well, they’re stuck with each other for life now whether they like it or not.” She drummed her fingers on the table now, thinking. “If they get married, I wonder if they’ll stay here in Tullamore or move away. It would be the right and decent thing for them to go and not have you constantly bumping into them around the town.” She paused. “If they do decide to brazen it out and stay here, what will you do?”
Sarah looked over at her, wondering if her friend was actually enjoying all the drama. “I haven’t thought about it,” she said. “I’m still going around explaining that the wedding is off, and I haven’t thought beyond that yet.”
After a cup of tea Sarah stood up to go, weary from going the whole thing over and over again. And she still had to make the journey back through town to get home without meeting anyone.
The whole scenario was never-ending, as each person she told wanted to express their shock and indignation over it, and then ask her further questions she hadn’t even thought of herself.
She supposed couldn’t really blame them. It was only human nature. And amazingly, the more people she spoke to, the more matter-of-fact she heard herself sounding. She was getting used to people knowing what had happened. Maybe Father Kelly was right. Maybe it was only a nine-day wonder.
Maybe sometime in the future she might have a conversation again that didn’t centre around Con Tierney and Patricia Quinn.
Chapter 5
The town was quiet and Sarah cycled back with her gaze kept firmly ahead. She parked the bike at the side of the house and, just as she went towards the cottage, Martina came rushing out.
“I thought I heard the bike on the stones,” she said, looking all flustered, “and I thought I’d better warn you. You’ve had nothing but visitors since you left.”
“Who?” Sarah asked.
“Con Tierney called up an hour ago, saying he needed to talk to you.” Martina rolled her eyes. “As you can imagine, I gave him a very cool reception.”
“Thank God I missed him,” Sarah said, giving a weary sigh. “He’s the last person I want to speak to.”
“He said he’ll call back later,” Martina informed her, as they started walking towards the front door. Martina indicated towards the two black bicycles which were parked against the wall. “And Father Kelly and Miss Reynolds are here to see you.”
Miss Reynolds was Sarah’s old National School teacher who lived nearby. She was retired now, but she still kept a keen interest in her old pupils.
“Miss Reynolds?” A feeling of shame and humiliation washed over Sarah. It was bad enough that the priest knew all that had happened, but the thought of facing her old schoolteacher made it worse.
“They arrived about ten minutes ago and I’ve made them a cup of tea.” Her eyes shone and Sarah realised that whilst Martina was horrified by her sister-in-law’s public jilting – and its future implications for her and James – there was a part of the drama she was actually enjoying. “Father Kelly is such a lovely man, and Miss Reynolds has been very nice too,” she prattled now. “She was saying what a great seamstress you are, and what a lovely job you made of her tweed skirt last winter.”
Sarah nodded, hardly noticing the fact that Martina had paid her a rare compliment. She walked towards the kitchen, offering a silent prayer that she would have the energy to cope with yet another excruciating conversation.
The visitors were seated at the kitchen table. The priest stood up when Sarah came in. “I was talking about you to Miss Reynolds, Sarah, and we thought we’d take a trip up to see how you are today.”
“I’m grand, Father.” Sarah was aware that her strained voice sounded anything but grand. “I’ll survive.” She looked over at her old teacher. “Hello, Miss Reynolds. It was nice of you to call up.”
Kitty Reynolds stood up now and came around the table to take her old pupil’s hands in hers. “Well, Sarah, I know underneath it all you’re a strong girl, and I know you’ll get through this. In fact, it could be the making of you.”
Sarah gulped. Whilst the old-fashioned, strict teacher had always been encouraging towards her – even after Sarah had moved on to secondary school – she had never shown her any kind of physical affection before.
When the teacher let go of her hands, Sarah sat down at the table. “I’ve sorted out a few more things,” she said looking from the teacher to the priest. “So it’s a case of trying get back to normal now.”
Father Kelly studied at her closely. “Take it easy now – don’t be too hard on yourself. You’ve had a hard knock and it could take a while to get over it.”
“I was thinking the very same thing myself,” Martina chipped in, as though anxious to be included in the conversation.
Sarah nodded slowly. There was something about priest’s demeanour that made her think he and Miss Reynolds wanted to say more. Then she wondered if he didn’t want to speak out in front of her sister-in-law. She looked down at his empty teacup. “Would either of you would like another cup of tea?” she asked, getting to her feet.
“I’ve had plenty,” the teacher said.
“And you, Father?” Sarah checked.
“No, no,” he said, holding his hand up, “Martina has looked after us well. I’ve already had two cups and a big slice of apple tart.” He patted his stomach. “Sure, I have to look after me figure!” He gave a big hearty laugh.
“What about a drink?” Martina asked, looking from the priest to the teacher. “A little whiskey or brandy?”
“Not at all, we have to be going,” he said, speaking for them both. “I’ll take you up on the drink another time. I have to make a few sick calls in the evening, and it wouldn’t look well if I was breathing alcohol fumes all over them.” He laughed again, then he looked at his watch and got to his feet. “We must go now. I have to look in on old Mrs Doherty on my way back.”
They thanked Martina for the tea and cake, and Sarah went outside to see her guests off. They collected their bicycles and then Sarah held
the gate open wide for them to walk the bikes out.
When they got out onto the road, the priest looked back at the cottage. “We were hoping for a private word,” he told her. “We didn’t like to be talking in front of Martina . . .”
Miss Reynolds looked at Sarah. “I have an idea that might help you out of your difficulty.” The teacher took a deep breath. “I wonder would you consider taking a little break away from Tullamore. Away from Ireland?”
“What kind of a break?”
“I have a distant cousin over in England – Newcastle-upon-Tyne to be exact. Lucy – an unmarried lady in her late thirties. I was speaking to her on the phone only last night. She has a business – a wool and sewing shop – in the centre of Newcastle city. I’ve been over there to visit her several times.” She waved her hands. “I won’t waste time going into unnecessary details. Anyway, it seems she has a vacancy for a young woman in the shop at the moment, and I wondered if you might be interested. I told her I could vouch for your sewing skills, and that you’ve made me various things over the years.” She raised her eyebrows in question now.
Sarah’s stomach lurched. She had only been to Dublin twice in her life and a few times to Galway. The thought of going to England seemed like being asked to fly to the moon.
When he saw the look of shock on her face, Father Kelly tried to reassure her. “Newcastle is a nice, friendly place in the North of England. I’ve been there once myself. It has a beautiful cathedral.”
“There are plenty of Irish over there,” the teacher went on. “The woman who usually works in the shop has to look after a sick relative. It might only be for a few months, but I thought of you straight away . . . I thought it would get you over this awkward period.”
Father Kelly smiled encouragingly. “By the time you come back, things could be settled here and the wedding business all forgotten.”
If only that was true, Sarah thought. He obviously didn’t know how small-minded and vicious people could be. If he spent a few days in Martina’s company he might just get an idea of how things really were. Lying in the dark at night, she had wished she could just disappear for a while – maybe even forever – but in the daylight, the reality of moving to a big, strange country was every bit as frightening.
“I’m not sure, Father . . . I’ve never been to England. I wouldn’t know where the place was or anything.”
“Ah, sure that’s no problem.” He smiled reassuringly at her. “If you decide you are interested, Miss Reynolds can easily advise you on the boat times and all that kind of thing.”
The teacher looked her in the eye. “I’m not expecting an answer immediately. I told Lucy about you – said what a talented, clever girl you are. Exactly what she needs. I said I’d have a word with you, and get back to her in the next few days when you’ve had a chance to think it over.”
Sarah nodded her head. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
Miss Reynolds lifted her calf-length dirndl skirt up a few inches and put a leg onto her sturdy old bike. “Take your time and drop down to me when you’ve decided one way or another.”
“I will . . .”
The priest put his black hat on. “Look after yourself now, and I’m keeping you in my prayers. We’ll find some way to help you out of this situation, one way or another.”
Sarah suddenly realised that the priest had obviously been racking his brains and had gone to ask the teacher for her assistance. Tears suddenly welled up in her eyes at their concern and kindness.
“Drop down to the Parochial House if you want to chat anything over,” he said, tipping his hat.
The elderly pair set off cycling in a rather unsteady manner, but straightened up as they gathered speed and disappeared down the hill.
As Sarah went back into the cottage, she decided to say nothing about the priest’s suggestion. Her situation was certainly desperate, but to move to another country to escape from it was surely too drastic? Although even as she thought it, she realised that neither the priest nor Miss Reynolds reckoned it was too drastic.
Martina was washing up at the sink. She turned to Sarah. “Wasn’t that nice of them coming up to see how you are?”
“It was. I have a headache and I’m going to have a lie down for an hour.”
As she put her head on the pillow, Sarah realised that she had been afraid to mention the visitors’ suggestion to Martina. She knew that it would suit her sister-in-law very well if she had somewhere else to go, whether it was in Ireland or further afield. Neither she nor James had said anything outright about being stuck with her now, but Sarah knew it was only a matter of time.
As it was only a matter of time until she had to face other people. She would have to go into work the day after tomorrow and suffer the sympathy and questions she knew would be showered on her by the other staff.
And she now had to face another visit from Con again. She would have to make sure she was geared up for him whatever he had to say.
Sarah buried her face in the pillow. When would it all end?
* * *
A knock came on Sarah’s bedroom door. Martina stuck her head in. “You have visitors again,” she said. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s Con along with his mother. Me and James are going out for a short walk to let you chat on your own.”
Sarah’s heart sank like a stone in shallow water.
She had prepared herself for another visit from Con again – had rehearsed what she was going to say – but what on earth was his mother coming up to the cottage for? She had never had any reason to set foot in it before. She dragged herself into a sitting position and then got up to check her appearance in the dressing-table mirror. Her face looked paler than she’d ever seen before. She lifted her powder compact and rubbed the little velvet pad over her face and she gave her hair a quick brush. Then she took a deep breath and went out to the kitchen. The tall, dark-haired Con and his shorter, sturdy-looking mother were standing by the kitchen table.
“Sarah . . .” Con said, moving across the floor to greet her. “We need to have a good talk.”
Sarah side-stepped him and put her hands behind her back. “We’ve done all the talking that needs to be done.” Ingrained good manners made her look over to acknowledge her other visitor. “Hello, Mrs Tierney. I suppose you know the whole story?”
“I do,” she said. “But there’s news you don’t know yet, and I’ve come up with Con to make sure you hear the right story.”
Sarah looked at the woman who would have been her mother-in-law. She straightened up, her arms folded defensively in front of her. “I don’t want to be disrespectful to you, Mrs Tierney, but there’s no point in wasting your breath.”
Mrs Tierney’s eyes flitted over to her son and then back to Sarah. “What went on was disgraceful,” she said, “and there’s no excusing it. But from what Con tells me, it was a moment of madness that he’ll regret for the rest of his life.”
Sarah nodded her head, deliberately keeping her gaze away from him. “We’ll all regret it,” she said, feeling the same hot anger beginning to rise inside her that she’d felt the night she had slapped his face.
“But things have changed,” Mrs Tierney said. “She’s . . . Patricia Quinn went into hospital yesterday morning and she’s lost the baby.”
Sarah caught her breath – and then realised she felt no raging anger, no confusion, no great waves of emotion. Just a dull, flat nothingness. What happened to her the night that Con told her about him and her bridesmaid had killed off any feelings for him.
“If you are willing,” Con said in a low voice, “we can go back to where we were before this business all happened. I promise that I’ll make it up to you, I’m not saying it will be easy for you but –”
“This business?” Sarah snapped. “Is that what you call it? This business?” She started to laugh now – a high hysterical laugh. She looked from mother to son. “You honestly think I would even consider taking you back?”
Mrs Tierney came over to
touch her arm. “Now, Sarah,” she said, a slight tremor in her voice, “there’s no point in throwing everything away. Apart from this one mistake – this one bad mistake – you and Con have got on just grand. And the family all think the world of you. Poor Orla is devastated by all this carry-on.” Tears suddenly came into her eyes. “He’s been a stupid, stupid lad . . . but if you can just see it in your heart to forgive him, he’ll make it up to you.” She looked over at her son – her eyes appealing to him.
“I’ll do anything,” Con said quickly. “You’ve no idea how much I regret what happened, and I’ll go on regretting it for the rest of my life.”
Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “And Patricia Quinn? Does she regret it too? Have you both talked about it? Have you been to see her since she lost the child?”
Con lowered his head. “I went up to the house to see her this morning.”
“It was only the decent thing,” his mother said. “I made him do it. He had to see her face to face – there were the two of them in it – and he had to see her and make things right before coming to see you.”
Sarah imagined the scene with Patricia and her mother up at the house, and knew without a doubt that there would be no welcome for him. She sat down on the old pine chair, folded her arms, and then looked at the man who she had thought would be her husband. “Tell me what was said. Tell me what you and Patricia discussed.”
Con’s hands came up to his face now. “Oh, Sarah . . . do we have to go through this? Is it going to make it any better?”
“I want to know what you both said.” Her voice was cool and calm. She knew he would find the explanations excruciatingly embarrassing, but she didn’t care.
He took a deep breath. “It was all said the other night, even before she went into hospital,” he told her. “We both knew we had made a mighty mistake . . . I think she’s relieved now it’s all over, and I know I am.”
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