Sarah Love

by Geraldine O'Neill

  * * *

  It was a few weeks later, when the incident with the window had faded, that Sarah came face to face with Isobel Brown outside the bank. She had been standing checking her bank slip when the thin, blonde girl came walking towards her. Before she had time to think about it, Sarah stepped right in front of her, barring her way.

  “I want a word with you,” Sarah said, guiding her over to the wall of the bank where they wouldn’t be in anyone else’s path.

  “I haven’t done anything!”” The girl’s face was stiff and defensive.

  “Do you know that your mother was very abusive to one of our staff out in the street? She called her the most terrible names. The sort of names that people are not allowed to use.”

  “It was nothing to do with me,” Isobel said, her eyes darting around, checking no one could hear them. “I’m not to blame for the way my mother behaves. I told her not to go near the shop but she dragged me there. I didn’t even want the job in the first place.”

  “I know it’s not your fault,” Sarah said, “but your mother is going to get into very serious trouble if she keeps this behaviour up. Do you want the police calling out to your house?”

  “What d’you mean?” Isobel looked incredulous. “The police won’t come out for people havin’ a row.”

  “We also had another incident – a more dangerous one,” Sarah informed her. The girl went to move, and Sarah again moved in front of her to bar her way. “We had the police at the shop and they’re carrying out investigations about a brick which was thrown through the shop window the night after your mother abused Lisha.”

  Isobel’s face suddenly paled. “It wasn’t her – it couldn’t have been her.”

  “How do you know?”

  Isobel turned her face towards the wall. “Because . . . because she told me da that she’d had a word with the black girl and he went mad. She didn’t say owt about calling the girl names, but she said she’d had a word about her stealing English people’s jobs.” She looked at Sarah directly now. “Me da gave her a belt for causin’ trouble again and she said she wouldn’t go anywhere near the shop. She’s terrified of him when he gets his temper up, so I know she wouldn’t have dared go back near your shop.”

  Sarah looked at her, unconvinced. “I still think the police need to know about the things she said to Lisha.”

  “Look,” the girl said, “I promise you that you won’t get any more trouble off her. I’m gonna go straight home now and tell her that the police know and she’ll be terrified. We had them at the door before Christmas because she had a run-in with a neighbour over his dog and then the dog ate some rat poison by mistake and the man blamed her . . .” Her voice tailed off as though she suddenly realised she had said too much. “Anyway, me dad gave her a good hidin’ for the police coming to the house, so I know she wouldn’t so anything that would get her into trouble again.” She shook her head. “She definitely wouldn’t lob a brick through a window.”

  Sarah’s mind worked quickly. “Well,” she said, moving back a bit now, “the police have taken the brick away to be examined for finger-prints.” She lowered her voice. “If I were you I’d have a private word with your mother and tell her that she’d better keep well away from the shop because the police will be keeping an eye out for her.”

  “I will,” Isobel said.

  “I’m not saying that you should go and cause trouble between her and your father, because he sounds like a violent man.”

  “He is,” she said. “He’d kill her if he thought she’d put a brick through a window.” She paused. “Not that I’m sayin’ she did, like . . .”

  “Well,” Sarah said, “let’s just leave it at that, and hope there’s no more trouble.”

  Isobel started to move away and then she stopped. “Tell the young girl – the coloured one – that I’m sorry for what me mam said. It wasn’t right.”

  When Sarah got back to the shop she took Lucy aside and explained the situation to her.

  “Well done,” Lucy said. “You certainly sound as though you handled that very well. I’d say that’s the last we’ll hear of Mrs Brown.” She paused. “Do you think we should tell Lisha that you spoke to the woman’s daughter or is it best to leave well alone?”

  “We’ll tell her,” Sarah decided. “She needs to know that we didn’t sweep what happened under the carpet. She needs to know that people have to stand up against ignorant people like Mrs Brown.”

  Chapter 37

  The summer passed quickly. Secretly, Sarah had dreaded seeing Father Kelly and Miss Reynolds in July, but the afternoon of their visit went off much better than she had hoped. Lucy’s father had deteriorated further, hardly recognising anyone, so Lucy told the teacher there was no point in visiting him and that it would be best to remember him as he was. Instead, she and Sarah took them for a run out to Whitley Bay. They went for a meal in a nice restaurant, and the visitors protested when Lucy and Sarah insisted that they share the bill. Afterwards they had a stroll along the seafront since the weather was lovely.

  Both the priest and the teacher thought that Sarah looked almost like a different girl with her short modern haircut, and Miss Reynolds said she had matured and grown more sophisticated since living in England.

  “They’ll all get a big surprise when you come back for a visit,” the elderly teacher said. “Sure, they’ll hardly recognise you with your hair and your lovely new clothes. Have you made any holiday plans yet?”

  Sarah told her that she hadn’t as she was busy working and studying but that she would be over when a convenient time came up. Ireland in fact wasn’t on her agenda, as she had been given a list by the college of fashion shows that were on throughout the year in London, and she planned to go there instead.

  When she was walking on her own with Miss Reynolds, the teacher said, “You know, Sarah, you don’t have to worry about coming back to Tullamore because of Con Tierney. He’s up in Dublin all the time – in fact, I’ve only seen him once since you left. He and his sister Orla are both doing very well there, working for a decorating firm. Orla goes out to people’s houses and advises them on the colours and wallpaper and furniture that would suit their house. I was talking to his mother and she tells me they have big plans to open up their own company in the not too distant future. Seemingly, they’ve already saved quite a bit and their grandfather died and left a house and they got a good share out of it.”

  Sarah didn’t say that Sheila Brady had already told her all this, apart from the inheritance bit which must have been kept quiet. Neither did she say she wasn’t a bit surprised that Con was doing well – he had always had big plans.

  “Mrs Tierney asked me to send you her best wishes and to say she often thinks about you.”

  Sarah felt herself squirm at the memory of the last occasion that they spoke up in the cottage. It all seemed so far away and foreign.

  “She says that Con has never got over you and never will.” Miss Reynolds turned to look at her. “Do you think that time could make a difference to you, Sarah?”

  “In what way?”

  “If Con was to do well with his business and maybe you were to think of moving back to Dublin. You would easily find work there, and you’d be away from any tittle-tattle but still living at home in Ireland. Sometimes these things work out much better the second time around when hard lessons have been learned. He’s not the first to make a mistake and you could fare a lot worse.”

  “No,” Sarah said. “Time would make no difference at all.”

  * * *

  Sarah’s first term finished in July and she was delighted when she received her results and found she had received A’s for most of her projects. She knew that put her up at the top of the class and it gave her a great sense of achievement.

  In August David McGuire paid a surprise visit into Harrison’s when he was having a week’s holiday back home.

  “I heard there were big changes here,” he said, winking at Sarah, “so I thought I’d come
down and see how you were all getting on.” He waved his hand around. “You wouldn’t recognise it with all the fancy décor and the vases and things in the window. Is it doing well?”

  “It’s going very well,” Lucy told him. “We’ve now got three full-time staff including Margaret and we have a Saturday girl, Lisha, who worked over the summer to let us have holidays.”

  David thumbed in Sarah’s direction. “I’d be surprised if this one has taken any holidays.”

  “Excuse me!” Sarah said, with mock-seriousness. “I often have day trips out.”

  Lucy looked at Sarah too, and raised her eyebrows. “She hasn’t taken any proper holidays yet, but she will be having them later whether she wants them or not.”

  After chatting for a while about the shop and the new manager over in the bookshop, Lucy told Sarah take David upstairs to see her apartment and to make him a cup of coffee.

  “I can’t believe it,” he said as he looked around upstairs. “This building was an absolute wreck. Fair play to her, she’s turned it into a beautiful flat, and whoever has picked the furniture and curtains and things has a very good eye.”

  “Thank you!” Sarah laughed. “It was me.”

  When they came to Sarah’s bedroom she opened the door but, presumably thinking that it was too personal, he just glanced inside and carried on down the hallway.

  After he had admired the sitting-room, they went back to the kitchen. Sarah put coffee and a tin of chocolate biscuits on the table, and as they sat talking – often cutting across each other – Sarah realised that she had missed their chats. Before things had got awkward between them, she liked his easy-going ways, his joking banter – the things he made fun of that took her back to her carefree teenage years in Ireland. And yet, as they sat across the Formica table from each other, she felt there was a change in him, something she couldn’t put her finger on.

  Certainly, his clothes were more modern and his thick dark hair was fashionably longer. Sarah had teased him about it, and called him a “Mod” – but there was something other than clothes that had changed about him.

  David laughed when she commented on his Italian-look narrow trousers, narrow lapels and thin tie and said he looked like someone from the Beatles or Rolling Stones.

  “You probably know a lot more about men’s fashions than me. I actually haven’t got a clue, I just pick what looks kind of modern but not too outlandish.” He looked vaguely embarrassed.

  “I’m only kidding. Your clothes are lovely, David. They’re very stylish and you look really well.”

  “Well, thank you,” he said, laughing. “There are record shops and clothes shops springing up all over London, and everybody goes for a walk down Carnaby Street or The King’s Road at the weekends. There’s such a great buzz around the place, you end up buying things without realising.”

  “Oh, it sounds really exciting,” Sarah said, her eyes shining. “I’d love to see all the new boutiques they have down there especially Biba and the Mary Quant shop, Bazaar. We’ve been studying all those new designers on my fashion course.”

  He looked impressed. “You certainly sound as if you’re well up on things.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I see you’ve branched into clothes, I noticed some dresses downstairs.”

  “It’s really just a few styles,” Sarah said. “We haven’t really room for clothes-racks. I made a few of those simple dresses for myself and Lucy, and she suggested that I make up a few samples to see if there’s any interest. I just put them out in the shop the other day and I think we’ve sold half of them already.”

  “Well,” David said, “maybe that’s the way to go. It’s a case of making something cheaply and getting a good profit from it. I wish selling books was so simple.” He glanced towards the door and then lowered his voice. “Hey, what’s happened to Miss Harrison with her new hairstyle and modern clothes? I can’t believe the change in her – she looks about twenty years younger.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes at him. “You are terrible . . . Actually, I talked her into colouring her hair and we’ve gone shopping together around the boutiques here and in Durham and bought some of the new styles. She’s really lovely, David. I know she’s a bit older than me, but Lucy is the best friend I ever had.”

  “I know,” he said, “I’m just kidding about her. She is a very nice lady.” He paused. “Look, I’ve got a nice apartment down in Chelsea. Why don’t you come down for a few days and I’ll take you around? I know where all the main shops are and we could go to concert or a show or something like that.”

  Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  He held his hands up. “You don’t need to worry about me getting any ideas about us being more than friends. I got the message loud and clear. Besides, I’m seeing a girl in London at the moment.” He leaned across and took a Kit-Kat from the tin.

  Sarah was amazed to feel a sudden stab of disappointment – of jealousy almost. As soon as she felt it, she immediately realised how ridiculous it was. She had only ever seen him as a friend and couldn’t begin to imagine how they would be as a couple, and, apart from the fact that he now lived in London, there would always be the problem of Harriet.

  She stole a glance at him as he unwrapped the biscuit and it dawned on her that the change was not in his hair or clothes – it was in his eyes. He no longer looked at her with the lingering interest that had been there since the first day they met. He had got over her. He saw her just like any girl – she was no longer important to him.

  As he was leaving, David reminded Sarah of his invitation to London.

  “I promise I’ll think about it,” she said,

  “Bring one of your friends. I have a spare twin room.” He smiled. “You can even bring Miss Harrison.”

  Neither of them mentioned Harriet as the memory of last Christmas was still lurking in the background, although he had asked after the District Nurse earlier.

  “I might bring one of the other girls. Lucy will probably be busy as she has a new man friend,” Sarah told him. “He’s a widower and he’s very nice.”

  He tutted loudly. “Dear, dear, dear – all the years I was here and nothing exciting ever happened. I go away for a few months and everything has changed.”

  As she closed the shop door after him, Sarah felt as though the sunny day had suddenly become overcast and grey.

  It was incomprehensible – since she was the one that had sent him away – but she felt she had lost something warm and familiar. Something of herself.

  * * *

  Lucy’s father died suddenly in August. Sarah took over the running of the shop to let her employer take a couple of weeks to sort out the funeral and all the legal paperwork.

  When Lucy had got the phone call on a Sunday night, saying he had died, Sarah wasn’t sure how her employer would feel about things. Lucy’s life had totally changed since she had started seeing Peter Spencer, and although they had taken it very slow and steady due to him recently being widowed, there was no doubt that their relationship was serious. Sarah was afraid that all the improvement in her friend’s health might be undone by losing her father, without having had a chance to reconcile things properly with him.

  Sarah called out to the house on the Tuesday and was relieved to see Lucy there with Peter, looking both bright and calm. Lucy brought her into the sitting-room while Peter went to pour them both a sherry.

  “There’s nothing I can do to change what happened,” Lucy said, “so I’ve just got to accept it. To be honest, Sarah, I grieved for my father a long time ago. He was always a difficult man and there was nothing I could do to change that, but when his mental faculties started to deteriorate he was like a total stranger. I looked after him when my mother died, while he was still capable of living at home. I visited and cared for him when he was in hospital and the nursing home. I kept visiting him when he was abusive and even violent towards me. Each day I went into the nursing home I never knew what sort of reception I was going to get.” Sh
e shrugged. “How can I be upset that all that pressure is gone?”

  “I’m so glad you feel like that,” Sarah said, going over to embrace her. “I know you put up with more than most daughters would have done, and you have nothing to reproach yourself for.”

  As Sarah went to move away, Lucy kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, my dear friend – you’re so good at saying the right things.” She cleared her throat. “I know the worst of his condition was caused by his brain deteriorating with age, and I forgive his behaviour because of that. Now, I have to look to the future –” She halted as the drawing-room door opened.

  “And hopefully,” Peter said, coming into the room carrying two sherry glasses, “you’ll be able to find more time to spend with Charlotte and with me.” He gave them both a glass and then stooped to fleetingly kiss Lucy on the top of her curly head.

  As she watched the touching scene, Sarah felt a great rush of emotion. She suddenly knew the tide had turned for Lucy. Peter Spencer would look after her and make up for all the terrible things that had gone before.

  Chapter 38

  In September, Sarah decided that she would go to London and she asked Jane if she would like to come with her. The nurse said she would love to go, as she had holidays still to take. She also said that she’d only been to London once when she was a teenager at school, and that she had a friend from college who was working at a hospital in the city who she would like to catch up with. She was delighted when Sarah explained that they would have a place to stay with her friend, and that she could get them reduced-priced tickets for a fashion show.

  Lucy was pleased when she heard that Sarah had finally made plans to take a holiday. She had taken the fortnight in August to sort out her father’s business and Margaret had taken a week in July and was on her second week now.

  “I’m going the Saturday after next if that’s okay,” Sarah told her, as they were going over an order for material. “And I should have another dozen of those Crimplene short skirts with the belts ready before I go, and the multicoloured cotton dresses.” She paused to think. “You might be best to order some more of the blue and pink Crimplene and the striped cotton too.”