“That’s very convenient for you,” she said. “But no matter what you both feel now, you’ll always know that you had that between you. It will always be there.”
“There’s plenty been in the situation before and got over it,” Mrs Tierney said. “There’s only ourselves and yourselves, and the Quinns, who know anything about it.”
“And Father Kelly,” Sarah said, “and all the business people I had to cancel for the wedding.”
“Cancel?” the older woman said. “Have you been to the priest already? Have you cancelled the wedding breakfast and everything?” She shook her head. “Oh, dear God!”
“I have,” Sarah told her, feeling a stab of satisfaction that they hadn’t even considered she might do that.
“You were very quick off the mark,” Con said.
“Not as quick as you were to ruin all our plans,” Sarah retorted.
There was a most uneasy silence.
Then, Mrs Tierney, undaunted, started again. “What we need to keep in mind here,” she said, “is that there was only one occasion of madness, and it’s all over and done with. Both Con and Patricia Quinn want to forget that it all happened and get on with their lives, and both the families want to put it behind them.” She gave Sarah a little reassuring smile. “It’s you and him that belong together – and always did. Con wants the chance to show you how much he’s learned from the mistake, and he’ll spend the rest of his life making it up to you.” She looked over at her son. “He’s a hard-working lad, and he’ll make sure there’s always food on the table and turf on the fire. He’ll never look at another woman as long as he lives.”
“How can you ask me to forget what’s happened?” Sarah said, an incredulous look on her face.
She looked over at Con now and his gaze caught hers. In that moment she saw the pain and the guilt in his eyes and she knew with an inexplicable certainty that he had learned his lesson, and she would never have to worry about him being unfaithful again. His whole demeanour told her that the last few days had devastated him and made him realise that he had risked their whole future together.
She knew that if she could find the strength to forgive him that she would have the upper hand with him – that he would always be trying to make up for his terrible mistake. If she could remind herself that his relationship with Patricia Quinn amounted to nothing more than a few minutes of madness out of a few years of a good steady courtship. If she could forgive Con, she could go ahead with the wedding plans – the date for the church and the hotel would be unlikely to be snapped up by someone else since yesterday – and she could escape from Martina and James as she had been so desperate to do.
Why should she throw everything away for the sake of one indiscretion? Other people got over things – and so could she.
“If you agree to put this behind us,” Con said, “I promise you that you’ll never regret it.”
“I’m glad you came up today,” her voice was steady, “as it’s helped me to see things more clearly. I need to get away from this house . . . I need to have a fresh start.”
“We will have a fresh start,” Con reassured her. “We’ll have a whole new life together.”
“Yes, we will . . . but it won’t be together.”
“Now don’t be talking like that,” Mrs Tierney pleaded.
Sarah held her hand up. “It’s all finished between you and me, Con. I can never forgive you or Patricia Quinn for what you’ve done.”
“You can’t mean it,” Mrs Tierney gasped. “You can’t throw everything away!”
“It was Con who threw it away, not me.”
There was a short silence during which things suddenly seemed clear to Sarah. Glaringly clear.
She went across to the door and opened it wide. “I’d be grateful if you left now as there’s nothing more to be said.”
Mrs Tierney walked out first, dabbing her eyes.
Con halted at the door. “I’ll give you time,” he said. “I’ll wait as long as it takes for you to forgive me.”
Sarah looked him straight in the eyes. “Don’t waste your time,” she told him. “I wouldn’t take you now if you were the last man on earth.”
Chapter 6
Newcastle-Upon-Tyne
On Saturday afternoon Lucy Harrison locked the door of her sewing shop and then turned towards the lane, her head bent against the slight breeze that lifted strands of her long, curly dark hair. She walked up the cobbled Pilgrims Lane, giving a brief greeting to any of the other shopkeepers she met on her way. She never stopped to chat to any of them. No one would have expected it, as by now they were used to her quiet, self-conscious manner.
As she walked towards the busier streets at the centre of the city, she was preoccupied with thoughts of the girl who would be travelling tonight from Ireland to begin work in the shop on Monday.
Lucy felt she had been caught unawares by the phone call from her father’s cousin, Kitty Reynolds, and almost railroaded into making an instant decision about taking the girl on. When Kitty realised that Lucy was running the sewing shop on her own, she had said that she had the perfect assistant for her – Sarah Love. The elderly teacher had briefly explained the girl’s position – something to do with a broken engagement very close to the wedding – and how it had caused a lot of bitterness and gossip. She said it would be better for Sarah to move away until the dust had all settled.
Lucy wasn’t at all sure she wanted a young girl working in the shop with her. At times she had even found the presence of Mary – her previous helper – to be intrusive. It wasn’t that there was a single thing wrong with the pleasant, middle-aged woman; it was more the effort of having to talk to her when she didn’t feel like it and pretend to be interested when she had more serious things on her mind.
Working on her own might be harder some days, but at least she could retreat to the kitchen at the back of the shop without feeling she had to explain herself.
When Lucy had hesitated about taking on the responsibility of a girl leaving Ireland for the first time, Kitty Reynolds had reassured her that Sarah Love would be no trouble.
“Once she gets over this bit of an upset, Sarah will be grand,” the teacher said. “It will do her the world of good to see a different country and different people. And you can rest assured that she is a hard worker and the finest seamstress you could ever come across.”
“But won’t she miss her family and friends?” Lucy had said. “And she might find a big city very hard to adapt to after living all her life in the country.”
“She only has a brother and his wife at home,” Miss Reynolds had said, “and they can’t wait to be rid of the poor girl.”
Lucy had given one last shot at trying to put the teacher off. “To be honest,” she had said, “I’m more used to working with an older woman. I’m not sure how good I would be at handling a young girl. It’s something I have no experience of.”
But Miss Reynolds was determined in her plan. “Sarah’s not a giddy sort. You couldn’t have anyone better. I taught her and she was one of the brightest girls in the school. She learns quickly and easily and has a great way with people – young and old. And if you put that together with her sewing skills, it makes her the perfect shop assistant for you.” The teacher had paused for a few moments to let it all sink in.
“I’m just not sure . . .” Lucy said.
“Give her a try,” Kitty said, “and if it doesn’t work out you can just send her home again. It’s as easy as that. If you can even keep her for a few weeks it would be a great help to the girl, to get her over this. God knows she needs someone to give her a helping hand and I know you’re the right person to do it.”
Lucy wasn’t at all sure about that, but in the end she found herself agreeing, just to end the uncomfortable phone call.
It was only when she hung up the receiver and went to make a cup of tea that it dawned on her that the teacher had meant the coming weekend which was only a few days away.
Sarah Love w
ould be travelling overnight on Saturday to arrive on Sunday.
Chapter 7
It was a clear, dry Saturday evening when James drove Sarah up to Dublin for the boat to Liverpool. He parked the car outside the terminal and then carried her new case over to the ticket office. It was a big case, packed to capacity with the winter clothes she had stitched the previous year, and as many summer outfits she could squeeze in. The trip was not a holiday and she didn’t know if or when she would return to Tullamore.
“I’m fierce sorry for the way things have turned out.” James put the case down between them. “I’d never have thought that Con Tierney would have done the dirty on you like that.” He rubbed his chin. “Who would believe it? Just over a week ago we were all talk about weddings, and now you’re leaving for England.”
Sarah looked at her brother. She couldn’t remember a single time when he or Martina had been “all talk” about her wedding. Is that what he really thought? He had said very little about the wedding, and had even left it to his wife to say he would pay for it.
James suddenly touched her arm. “I hope you’re not going because of the new babby? We could always have made space for you . . . maybe built another room on or something. I wouldn’t like you to think we wouldn’t give you a home.”
Sarah swallowed back the bitter response on her tongue. He had said nothing of that in the last few days. He had made no effort to talk her out of going. He had sat silently while his wife did all the talking. Just listening, while Martina said what a great opportunity it was for her, and how England would be the making of her.
He hadn’t argued when Martina said that people would only be talking and laughing behind her back about what Con Tierney and Patricia Quinn had done, and that she’d be better off finding herself a decent fellow over in England.
The one redeeming thing that James had done was give her two hundred pounds when they stopped off for a cup of tea in Kinnegad this evening. He’d slid the folded envelope across the scratched wooden table, saying, “That will help you to get on your feet. I’d put some of it by for your wedding and I added a bit more to it.”
Sarah had opened it and when she saw all the ten-pound notes she realised that this was her “Goodbye and Good Luck” money. That this was James’s way of easing his conscience about turning her out of the family home.
It was better than nothing, and more than she had expected of him. She didn’t protest.
After giving her the money, James had turned towards the window. For a few moments he appeared to be thinking deeply.
“It’s a fine evening,” he said then, looking off into the distance. “A red sky coming up. You’ll have a good crossing.”
Sarah remained silent. What did her brother know about good crossings? What did he know about anything? He’d never been out of Ireland in his life. He had rarely been out of Tullamore. The odd trip to Dublin and Galway had been his furthest travels. And yet, here he was, waving her off to a new life on a cattle-boat full of strangers.
* * *
She had decided not to book a berth on the overnight boat, as Miss Reynolds had warned her that you never knew who you could end up sharing with. The teacher said she had once travelled with a drunken Dublin woman who had alternatively sung or been sick all night. Better to find a quiet corner on the boat beside decent people, who would keep an eye on your things while you slept or went to the toilet. Sarah had also taken her advice about keeping her purse inside her clothes, and had worn a jacket with a zipped inside pocket under her coat.
When she arrived up in the passenger lounge, Sarah had looked around her, and then spotted an empty, vinyl-padded bench behind a well-dressed couple with two sleeping small children. It looked as good as she was likely to get. It was away from the bar and out of the main passageways where people would be wandering, or staggering, up and down.
After a cursory conversation with the couple – who told her they were from Carlow and going over to a wedding in Liverpool – she settled down on the bench. She sat for a while, reading her book and watching the other passengers. Then, when the boat moved off, she looked out of the porthole behind her until the land had disappeared and all she could see was grey water. As the dim evening slipped into complete darkness, Sarah decided she might as well try to get some sleep. She took a thick cardigan from her case and wrapped it around her handbag to use as a pillow, and then she put her coat over her as a blanket.
The trip was long and tedious, but calm and relatively quiet. She ate little and slowly to make sure she didn’t feel sick, and even though the boat had given the occasional lurch, she had been fine. The only problem was the drunks who did the rounds of the floor – whistling or singing – to see who they could engage in chat. Most of the time Sarah had kept her eyes closed – even when she wasn’t trying to sleep – so as not to encourage anyone to sit beside her.
She must have slept for a few hours, because when she woke the boat was totally silent. All the noisy drunks and singers were asleep. Sarah shifted into a sitting position, turned to look out of the porthole behind her and saw the sun coming up over the sea. It was such an unexpected, beautiful sight that she blessed herself in thanks. Then, she lay back down and murmured The Memorare prayer to Our Lady, asking her for a safe journey to Newcastle and the strength to cope with her new life.
Chapter 8
After queuing for ages to disembark, Sarah arrived at the docks in Liverpool and then took a double-decker bus into the city centre. She was tired as she had slept little, and felt in need of a proper wash. Before the boat had docked she had gone to the ladies’ toilets and changed her underwear and done her best to freshen up with a facecloth.
The bus dropped her off outside Liverpool Lime Street station, and after a two-hour wait she caught the train up to Newcastle-Upon-Tyne.
Being a Sunday, the train was quiet, so she dozed on and off and was almost startled when she heard her stop being announced. She quickly pulled her coat and hat on, and then lifted her handbag and book and made for the luggage area to retrieve her case.
When she stepped out onto the platform, she had to stop for a few minutes to take in the size of Newcastle station, and negotiate her way out. She asked a porter and he told her to go up the steps and across the bridge to the entrance, which took her another five minutes as she struggled with her heavy case.
Lucy Harrison was waiting for her outside the ticket barrier as arranged. Miss Reynolds had described her cousin accurately – medium height, very slim with shoulder-length, black curly hair. She was wearing dark slacks under her Burberry raincoat.
Sarah’s heart quickened when she got closer to the barrier. The teacher hadn’t mentioned the deep frown-lines on the shopkeeper’s forehead and the fine but noticeable streaks of silver through her black hair. But those features concerned Sarah least; it was the pale face and the distracted, heavy look in her eyes as she came forward to greet her that bothered her.
“How do you do? I’m Lucy Harrison,” she said, in a clear clipped English accent. Her hand came out to shake Sarah’s. She gave a brief smile which went nowhere near her dark eyes.
“I’m Sarah . . .” Her throat felt hoarse. “Sarah Love.”
“I hope your journey wasn’t too bad? It’s a long haul from Ireland, isn’t it?”
“It was grand,” Sarah said. There was no point in starting off on the wrong foot by complaining about how little sleep she’d had. She had arrived safe and well and that was all that mattered.
“I see a trolley over there.” Lucy pointed. “Your case looks very heavy and I think it would be easier if we wheeled it out to the car. Stay there and I’ll get it for you.”
While she was gone, Sarah looked up at the big station clock and saw that it was half past three. She had lost all sense of time, and suddenly realised it was Sunday and she hadn’t been to Mass. Her heart sank. It was too late now. There was nothing she could do, and it hadn’t been deliberate. She would visit the nearest church or the cathedral as so
on as she could to make up for it.
Her mind flitted back to Tullamore and she wondered if people had stood outside the church in Harbour Street this morning discussing her absence. News travelled very quickly, and it would only take a couple of weeks of her missing Mass, for people to know that she had moved away. By now, more and more people would know the reason behind it.
She wondered if Con and Patricia Quinn had thought of her this morning when they knelt at the altar. She wondered if they would see or even acknowledge each other if they met. For all she knew, they could be back together, safe in the knowledge that she was on the other side of the Irish Sea.
James had sorted things out with her job in the hotel and had gone in to pick up her wages. The only person she had told face to face about her move away was Sheila who had not tried to dissuade her or tell her she was mad for leaving. She had just put her arms around her and said she would miss her, and promised to write to her every week.
Sarah could imagine the local postman, Kevin O’Reilly, delivering the letters she would send back to her friend. “That’s one from over the water,” he would state, “Going by the handwriting, I’d say it’s from the young Love girl. Wasn’t it a terrible pity about the wedding?”
Tears welled up in her eyes at the thought of all the familiar people and places she had left behind.
Sarah suddenly caught herself and drew her thoughts back to the present.
The shopkeeper came back a few moments later and helped Sarah to lift the case onto the trolley and then they walked across the expansive station and through the portico entrance, to where Lucy Harrison’s blue Austin Somerset car was parked.
“I’ve organised a room for you in Victoria Street,” the shopkeeper explained as they turned out of the station and left up the main road. “A business acquaintance of mine owns it, and it’s a fine big house with five or six bedrooms and a bathroom. I think he has four already sharing it at the moment.” She paused. “It must be three if he has one of the rooms to spare. He has nurses in it and two students from the Medical College.”
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