Divided Loyalties

by Patricia Scanlan

  Patricia Scanlan was born in Dublin, where she still lives. Her books have sold worldwide and have been translated into many languages. Patricia is the series editor and a contributing author to the Open Door series. She also teaches creative writing to second-level students and is involved in Adult Literacy.

  Find out more by visiting Patricia Scanlan on Facebook.

  Also by Patricia Scanlan

  Apartment 3B

  Finishing Touches

  Foreign Affairs

  Promises, Promises

  Mirror Mirror

  Francesca’s Party

  Two for Joy

  Double Wedding

  Divided Loyalties

  Coming Home

  Trilogies

  City Girl

  City Lives

  City Woman

  Forgive and Forget

  Happy Ever After

  Love and Marriage

  With All My Love

  A Time for Friends

  First published by Bantam Press, a division of Transworld Publishers, 2006

  This paperback edition published by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2015

  A CBS COMPANY

  Copyright © Patricia Scanlan 2006

  This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

  No reproduction without permission.

  ® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster Inc. All rights reserved.

  The right of Patricia Scanlan to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

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  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  PB ISBN: 978-1-47114-123-2

  EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-47114-124-9

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

  Simon & Schuster UK Ltd are committed to sourcing paper that is made from wood grown in sustainable forests and supports the Forest Stewardship Council, the leading international forest certification organisation. Our books displaying the FSC logo are printed on FSC certified paper.

  One of the most precious things a friend can give is time.

  To dear Alil and Aidan who gave me so much of their time and help when I was moving house last summer.

  This book is dedicated to both of you with much love and gratitude.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I myself do nothing. The Holy Spirit

  accomplishes all through me.

  Robert Blake

  Dear Holy Spirit, thank you so much for Divided Loyalties and for all my other books.

  With great gratitude I give thanks:

  To Jesus, Our Lady, St Joseph, Mother Meera, St Anthony, St Michael, White Eagle and all my Angels, Saints and Guides. My most wonderful inspirations.

  To my parents and family: we are so lucky. For all the love and cherishing: thank you. Without you it would all mean nothing.

  To all my friends who are such a support, and I especially have to mention Sheila O’Flanagan, computer whizz and dear friend, who has dragged me screeching and protesting into updated Macs, broadband, and all those computery bits that terrify me. Dear friends, you know who you are and you know how much I value you.

  To Evelyn and Ruth Shern, who always get the first read and give me honest opinions. Dear Evelyn, I hope you enjoy this one.

  To Sarah, Felicity, Susannah and Olivia, my champions as well as my agents. Thank you so much.

  To Francesca Liversidge, my editor and protector in the hard world of publishing. Dear Francesca, you’re my rock and always have been.

  To all in Transworld, and Gill Hess and Co – a great team to have behind you. Onwards and upwards!

  To my colleagues in HHI who make work fun.

  Thanks also to my colleagues at New Island – looking forward to Series Five. And then . . . To Fintan Ardagh and all at Ergonomics Ltd for The Chair of chairs! It’s mega! Thanks to Kim, David and all at Witherspoon Associates. I really appreciate what you do on my behalf.

  To Professor Ciaran Bolger, thank you. My life has changed completely.

  To all in the Bon Secours Hospital, Glasnevin, for their consistent kindness. Not only to me, but also to my family.

  To KC. My God! What are you trying to do to me? I saw you in your leathers and thought this is as good as it gets. Now I’ve seen you in your tux . . . What next!

  To all in Powerscourt Springs Health Spa. You’re still the best, and it was a great anniversary party.

  To John and Pat in Rathwood Homes and Garden who were very helpful.

  To all who helped me move house but especially to: Brian Hennessy and all at Sherry Fitzgerald in Killester. Your kindness and patience were unbelievable. It was a joy to do business with you.

  To Fiona, Anne Marie and Jenny in Mason’s Estates who have always been so helpful and professional.

  To Garrett Fitzpatrick and Dorothy in O’Reilly Doherty & Co, and to Frank Furlong in AIB Finglas. Always only a phone call away.

  To Dave Stapleton, who painted my house as if it was his own and who gave me so much advice, as well as hanging up dozens of paintings.

  To Keith Rooney, who is a fabulous carpenter.

  To all, a big and heartfelt thanks.

  And especially thanks to you, my dear readers, who consistently go and buy my books and send me lovely letters. May your lives be full of Love and Blessings. Enjoy!

  CONTENTS

  WINTER

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  SPRING (three years later)

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  SUMMER (the same year)

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  AUTUMN (a year later)

  35

  36

  37

  38

  WINTER (the same year)

  39

  CHRISTMAS DAY

  40

  WINTER

  1

  ‘Let’s try for another baby?’ Shauna Cassidy fingered the flat, full pack of her contraceptive pill and scowled resentfully. Her husband, Greg, groaned from his side of the bed.

  ‘Aw, Shauna, I don’t know. Chloe’s been such a handful since she was born, and besides, she’s only two.’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ Shauna flared indignantly, her heart sinking at his negativity. This wasn’t the first time that she’d broached the subject of trying for another baby. For the last couple of months she’d become increasingly broody. She wanted Chloe to have a brother or sister close in age to her but, so far, Greg wasn’t having any of it.

  ‘Come on, Shauna.’ He yawned and nearly gave himself lockjaw. ‘She had colic for the first year. And that bloody reflux. Not to talk about the temperatures every time she’s getting a tooth.
She rarely sleeps a full night, we’ve only just started to have a social life again and we’re moving to the Emirates in January. Your timing is lousy.’

  As if on cue, a fretful squawk from the room across the landing turned into a heart-rending howl. ‘And you want another one?’ Greg muttered, turning on his side and pulling the duvet up over his ears. Shauna glared down at him.

  ‘Come on, Greg! I don’t want to start another month on the Pill; we need to talk about this sooner rather than later.’

  ‘Not tonight. I’m knackered. For God’s sake go in to her or we’ll never get to sleep,’ he growled.

  ‘Ah you’re always knackered,’ she said exasperatedly as she threw back the duvet and hurried into the next room to comfort their little daughter.

  Greg felt the tension begin to seep out of his body as he stretched his limbs and heard Chloe’s sobs peter out as his wife’s soft crooning soothed her. Was the woman mad? he wondered drowsily. Imagine two babies in the house, screeching and yelling. He loved his daughter but she’d completely disrupted their lives. Even Shauna couldn’t deny that. They rarely had a night out together. Everything had to be arranged around feeding times and nap times. It was a pain in the butt. There were times he even felt that Shauna was so completely focused on Chloe and her needs that she’d hardly notice if he wasn’t around any more. He remembered how she’d always made a fuss of him and danced attendance on him before she’d got pregnant. Those days were a distant memory.

  Perhaps it would all change when they went back out to the Gulf. He was really looking forward to going to work in the Emirates, despite the instability in the region. He’d kept in contact with people he’d known and they all assured him that life went on very much as normal in spite of the volatile political situation. Shauna felt a little jittery sometimes, especially when the bombs had gone off in the residential compounds, but Greg had pointed out that Abu Dhabi was much more stable than Saudi and far more cosmopolitan. The war in Iraq wasn’t having such an impact there. Look at all the people going out on holidays and buying property in Dubai, which was only a couple of hours’ drive down the highway, he’d pointed out reassuringly. If they didn’t go now they’d never go, he urged. His wife had reluctantly agreed, knowing that he was right, at least about the timing.

  They’d met at a party in Riyadh ten years ago. He was an architect in a big construction company. Shauna had worked in the personnel department. They were both in their early twenties, making lots of money and having a ball. They’d clicked and started dating. Greg sighed, remembering those carefree days. They’d had a great, relatively stress-free couple of years and then come home to get married.

  The money they’d made in Saudi had bought them a four-bedroom house in Malahide; they hadn’t even needed a mortgage. They’d bought it in Shauna’s name so they wouldn’t have to pay stamp duty as they were still paying off the mortgage on the place that Greg had bought when he was single. The apartment was now let, and the rent more than covered the mortgage repayments.

  Greg wanted to increase his property portfolio and get into the property business in a big way. He’d bought and renovated two small redbrick houses in Cabra and made a relatively good profit on them. It had given him the taste for property speculation. Another stint in the Gulf would boost the bank balance enough to get him on the next rung of the property ladder.

  It had all been going swimmingly until Shauna had got broody. He’d managed to put her off for a few years but she’d said that she didn’t want to be too old having her first child and that thirty was considered quite old for a first-time mother. Reluctantly, he’d agreed to try for a baby. Chloe had been conceived a couple of months after they’d stopped using contraception and Shauna had been over the moon.

  Greg scowled under the duvet. It seemed she was getting broody again. As he’d told her, her timing was lousy. Well, she could forget it. When they moved back to the Gulf they’d have an au pair to help out with Chloe and they were going to start having fun and socializing again. Life in Abu Dhabi would be far less restricted than their life had been in Saudi. It was just what they needed. Once they were out there, she’d forget all this baby stuff. His eyelids drooped and within minutes he was asleep.

  Shauna could hear her husband’s snores rumbling across the landing. Selfish lump, she thought sourly. Greg rarely got up to attend to Chloe. You wanted her, you deal with her was the unspoken reproach that had permeated their marriage since she’d had the baby.

  What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he enjoy their child? Why couldn’t he see that it would be good for them to have another baby, sooner rather than later, so that the children would be companions for each other? It made sense. They’d be around the same stage getting through all the childhood and teenage stuff. They’d be close to each other, there for each other in times of trouble, just like her siblings were there for her.

  She looked down at Chloe’s blond head nestled into her shoulder and her heart contracted with love. Her daughter’s curls were the colour of spun gold and framed her head like an angelic halo. Her two little cheeks were fire-engine red and her chin was damp from dribbles. Shauna wiped her mouth tenderly with a soft bib. Chloe whimpered.

  ‘It’s all right, darling. Let’s give you a drop of Calpol and you’ll be as right as rain,’ she murmured, stifling a yawn. It looked as if it could be a bumpy night. If she was up with one child she might as well be up with two, she thought resentfully. If she didn’t get pregnant soon Chloe would be too old for her sibling. She’d love to have another little girl. It would be wonderful for her daughter to have a sister. Shauna smiled, thinking of her own sister, Carrie. She was really going to miss her when she went back out to the Gulf. Not only was Carrie her sister, she was her best friend. She’d understand Shauna’s desire for another baby better than anyone would.

  2

  Carrie Morgan hated maths, always had and always would. She’d thought she’d finished with the damn thing for good when she’d left school. She hadn’t reckoned she’d be battling with it again in her thirties. And losing badly, at that.

  If she was having problems with subtraction how on earth was she going to manage when her children were doing isosceles triangles and all that gobbledegook? She tried again, as patiently as she could.

  ‘Eight from seven you cannot take. Borrow one and cross off the—’

  ‘No, Mom! That’s not the way Teacher does it,’ Olivia wailed. Carrie stared at her daughter in exasperation.

  ‘Well that’s the way we did it at school. I don’t understand the way your teacher does it.’ This new way of doing maths was doing her head in.

  ‘That’s ’cos you’re stupid, Mom,’ Olivia yelled as she stomped out of the kitchen in high dudgeon.

  ‘Olivia Morgan!’ Carrie roared. ‘Come back here and don’t be so cheeky. How dare you?’ At precisely that moment the pot of homemade vegetable soup bubbled over, the creamy froth foaming across the top of the cooker.

  ‘Lord Almighty give me patience,’ she muttered, lifting the pot off the heat. She could hear Olivia sobbing her way upstairs.

  ‘Mom, it’s just not your day.’ Her son, Davey, chewed his pen at the other end of the kitchen table as he struggled with his English spellings.

  ‘I guess not.’ She managed a smile as she wiped away the mess. Davey, thank God, was placid and easy-going compared to his younger sister, who was definitely going to end up on the stage, she thought ruefully. High drama and Olivia went hand in hand.

  ‘Do you know how to do the subtraction the way Miss Kenny does it?’ she asked him hopefully.

  ‘I think so, Mom. Will I try and explain it to Olivia?’ he offered.

  ‘We’ll let her calm down for a minute. You finish your spellings and we’ll have another go.’

  The shrill jangle of the phone made her sigh. ‘Hello.’ She tried to hide her irritation.

  ‘Carrie, I’m not feeling very well. Could you drop my dinner over instead of me having to come over to you?’
her father, Noel, said in his martyr voice. He usually ate dinner with them in the evening.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ She tried to inject a note of concern into her voice. This was all she needed.

  ‘I’ve a pain in my arm. I’m sure it’s nothing,’ he said mournfully.

  Carrie’s heart sank. As sure as eggs were eggs she’d end up bringing him to the doctor who’d arrange blood tests and ECGs, all of which he’d had done before.

  ‘Right. I’ll be over later. I’ll have to bring the kids with me; Dan’s working late.’

  ‘Thanks, love,’ her father said gratefully. ‘See you later.’

  As if I haven’t enough to be doing, she thought grumpily as she added a slab of butter and a sprinkling of salt to the potatoes and wielded her masher with a vengeance.

  Noel lived in a bungalow at the other end of the large seaside village of Whiteshells Bay, in North County Dublin, where she had grown up. It was convenient that he lived so close, but tonight was not a good night for one of his hypochondriac episodes.

  Tonight was Boy Scouts night. She’d been hoping Dan would be home to bring Davey to the club, but the sprinkler system in one of his glasshouses had gone on the blink and it had to be sorted. He’d sounded pissed off when he’d phoned her, so she’d bitten back her grumbling reproach and told him she’d keep his dinner for him. Dan worked hard for his family. He’d built up a sizeable market gardening business on the farm his father had left him but he had to spend long hours at work sometimes, to Carrie’s intense frustration.

  ‘You’ll be dead before you’re fifty!’ she had exploded in exasperation one wet, windy Sunday morning a few weeks ago, when he’d got out of bed while it was still dark to get dressed to go and inspect his glasshouses.

  ‘Forty-five, even,’ he teased as he towelled his chestnut hair dry after his shower.

  ‘I’m serious,’ she retorted, thinking how fit he looked as he stood, all six foot one of him, bare-chested, lean and rangy, in front of her, with a towel tied at his waist.

  ‘Ah don’t be grumpy,’ he chided, bending down to kiss her. She’d kissed him back, unable to stay mad at him.