Indecision

by Caragh Bell

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Published 2018

  by Poolbeg Press Ltd.

  123 Grange Hill, Baldoyle,

  Dublin 13, Ireland

  Email: poolbeg@poolbeg.com

  © CARAGH BELL 2018

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

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  Copyright for editing, typesetting, layout, design, ebook

  © Poolbeg Press Ltd.

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

  ISBN 978178199-275-3

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  www.poolbeg.com

  About the author

  Caragh Bell lives in West Cork with her husband and five children. When she isn’t writing romance novels, she teaches English and French to teenagers.

  You can connect with Caragh on Facebook (Caragh Bell-Writer), on Twitter (@BellCaragh) or on LinkedIn (Caragh Bell).

  Acknowledgements

  Writing this novel has been lots of fun and I’ve enjoyed every minute. It was so exciting to craft my characters and play with their lives.

  I want to thank my husband John for his encouragement and support. More often than not he would wake up to find the bed empty as I was downstairs drinking gallons of coffee and typing on my old laptop.

  To my wonderful children: Fodhla, Aoibhe, Lughan, Oscar and Feidhlim. You amaze me every day and I’m blessed to be your mother.

  Thanks to my parents John and Ann. You have always supported me through good times and bad; you are simply the greatest. I will always be your best traveller.

  Thanks to my siblings: Louise, Ian and Freyja. You all provided great raw material for my characters.

  To my mother-in-law Kathleen who read different drafts on her iPad and gave much-needed feedback.

  To my father-in-law Eugene, a wonderful writer and literary buff, who was banned from reading my book for that very reason.

  To my colleagues at school (especially those who sit at my table) for their tireless encouragement.

  To Gráinne Collins for insisting that I go public with my novels. She is my ‘favourite’.

  To Jackie Keogh for writing such lovely pieces in The Southern Star. The publicity was fantastic.

  To Daniel O’Driscoll, my confidant and advisor. You’re the best, Daniel.

  To Sue Leonard. Thanks for your kind review.

  To Gaye, thank you for editing and improving everything. I’ve learned so much from you already.

  To Paula, Kieran and all the crew at Poolbeg. Thank you for being so kind and welcoming.

  Finally, to Dan McCarthy. I can’t even begin to thank you for all your help. You saw my ‘bags of potential’ and gave me the much-needed boost to move forward. I’ll never forget it.

  For my beautiful family

  Chapter 1

  ‘How does five hundred a month sound to you, ladies?’

  Lydia bit her lip. This was the flat! She just knew it. Sure, it was in bad condition, but the location was fantastic. Five minutes from campus – only ten minutes from the city centre.

  ‘What do you think, Sam?’ Lydia turned to her best friend.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Samantha, screwing up her nose distastefully at the peeling walls and threadbare carpet. ‘It’s so dreary! Look at those grey walls.’

  Lydia laughed. ‘We are on a budget, you know. Come on, it’s so central. You could walk to work from here.’

  Samantha looked doubtful. ‘I suppose.’

  Michael McCarthy cleared his throat. He owned five apartments just like this around the city. These girls should realise that their answer really didn’t matter. He could fill this flat twice over if he wanted to.

  ‘Look, ladies, I’m a busy man – are you going to rent it or not?’ He tapped his foot impatiently and glanced at his watch.

  Lydia crossed her fingers. Please say yes, please say yes, she pleaded silently.

  Samantha threw up her arms in defeat. ‘Count me in, I suppose.’

  Lydia clapped her hands in delight. ‘I’ve a good feeling about this, Sam. A few books on the shelves and some pictures on the wall will make a big difference.’

  She turned to the landlord and smiled.

  ‘We’ll take it,’ she said.

  He shook their hands. ‘Good choice, girls. Trust me. This one has a nice view of the college.’

  Lydia took some cash out of her bag. ‘Will a month in advance be enough?’

  Michael pulled out a receipt book. ‘Yes, that’ll be fine. I’ll need a deposit of a month’s rent as well. Then I’ll collect rent on the first Friday of every month.’

  Samantha counted out a wad of notes. ‘Any hope of a paint job? I really hate the colour of the sitting-room area.’

  ‘If you want to paint it yourself, go ahead. Any decoration that doesn’t cost me anything is welcome.’ He handed them a receipt and a bunch of keys. ‘My wife will email you the contract later today. Once that’s signed, it’s all official. Now, I’ll leave you to it. Good luck!’

  He turned on his heel and exited the room, banging the door loudly. Seconds later they heard the roar of an engine.

  ‘And he’s gone!’ Lydia laughed.

  ‘Still, it seems like we can do what we like to the place and he won’t care.’ Samantha smiled. ‘I bags the room on the left.’

  Lydia shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter to me.’

  She walked into her new bedroom. It was quite small with a window looking out on the busy street. The violet walls gave it a feminine feel; it was lucky that purple was her favourite colour. A dusty mahogany wardrobe stood in the corner, next to a matching dressing table. A lamp with a lopsided shade stood precariously on the edge of the bedside locker.

  Samantha popped her head in the door and made a face. ‘Is that dry rot by the window?’ she asked, pointing to the windowsill.

  Lydia shrugged. ‘Maybe. Give me a chance – I’ll spruce this place up in no time. Now, enough of the negativity.’

  ‘Okay, okay, calm down. I’m going to head to the shop for some basics. Do you need anything?’

  ‘No, I’m all right. See you in a while.’

  The door slammed shut.

  Lydia hugged herself.

  After graduating with a French and English degree, she had enrolled to do a post-graduate diploma in education with Samantha. But after an intense year of teaching teenagers, she was positive that she never wanted to be a teacher. So she decided to do a Master’s in English and pursue her dream of becoming a writer. Her parents had agreed to bankroll her for another year, but after that she was on her own. They couldn’t understand why she didn’t go into teaching like Samantha. ‘It’s a fine dependable job,’ her father had said a million times. ‘Aren’t you trained now and all?’

  Lydia screwed up her nose. No way, she thought. Life has other plans for me.

  She unzipped her bag and started to pull out some clothes. Opening the wardrobe, she coughed as a cloud of dust blew everywhere.

  This place needs a good clean, she thought, grimacing. Not her favour
ite job in the world, it had to be said. Dominic always teased her about how messy she was. He couldn’t believe that she didn’t know how to use a washing machine.

  Dominic. Her expression softened.

  It’s going to be so weird without him, she thought sadly, looking at the enormous bed she would have to fill alone.

  Dominic and Lydia had met when she’d fallen off a gate while protesting against the possible introduction of college fees. He had helped her up and offered to buy her coffee. It was then, while he gently massaged the inside of her sprained wrist, that Lydia had a coup de foudre moment.

  They had been inseparable for the past three years. An unlikely match to say the least, she an Arts student and he a newly graduated doctor, yet somehow it had worked. Then Dominic finished his internship with a burning ambition to be a surgeon. This dream had led him to Dublin, over two hundred and fifty kilometres away.

  The prospect of Dominic not being around was unthinkable, but Lydia knew it was the best thing to further his career. She loved him too much to create a fuss.

  Anyway, she thought, he will be down most weekends. And absence is supposed to make the heart grow fonder.

  ‘Lyd? Are you ready?’ Samantha called. ‘Want to get some pizza before we head home?’

  ‘I’d love to, coming now.’

  Lydia grabbed her bag and closed the door of her new room.

  Samantha’s battered Golf pulled up outside Lydia’s family home, an old stone house partially covered in green ivy. Both girls had grown up here in Baltimore in West Cork – a small seaside village on the south coast and over an hour’s drive from the city.

  ‘Thanks for the lift, Sam.’ Lydia hugged her friend. ‘See you Sunday evening?’

  ‘Sure thing. Enjoy your last days of freedom.’ She smiled broadly as Lydia exited the car.

  ‘Oh, I will. Colin texted me earlier saying that he’s coming down for the weekend. God help me!’

  Samantha laughed. ‘Give him a big kiss for me. Talk on Sunday.’

  She waved and drove off down the street.

  Colin McCarthy was Lydia’s first cousin. A fellow English student, he adored hanging out with Lydia’s mum, his favourite aunt. Born and raised in Dublin, he was the only son of Helen’s older and extremely successful sister, Diana. Classically good-looking, spoilt but totally adorable, he had never wanted for anything in his life. His parents had a house in Killiney the size of a small country and Colin had sucked the silver spoon dry.

  ‘Hey, Mum!’ called Lydia, walking into the kitchen and dumping her bag on the counter.

  Helen Kelly walked into the kitchen, closely followed by Lydia’s dog Toto, a brindle Cairn Terrier who was the image of his famous namesake.

  ‘Hello, darling! Hungry? Dinner’s in the oven.’

  Lydia melted into her familiar embrace, loving the smell of perfume mixed with Shepherd’s Pie.

  ‘Sam and I had pizza a little while ago, so I’ll give it a miss.’

  Helen shook her head. ‘Won’t you be eating enough of that rubbish next week, young lady? I have a lovely pie made from yesterday’s leftover lamb.’

  Lydia shrugged and smiled. ‘You should have texted me.’

  ‘All the more for me, Auntie Hel,’ came a voice from behind and Lydia jumped.

  ‘Colin! I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow?’

  ‘No, sugarplum. I decided to jump in my car and avail of some home cooking and America’s Next Top Model with Molly.’ He kissed her lightly on the cheek. Kitted out in black Armani chinos, coupled with a purple Dolce and Gabbana shirt, he looked his usual immaculate self. His brown curls had unfamiliar streaks of blond which danced in the bright light of the kitchen.

  ‘New hairdo?’ enquired Lydia, amused.

  Colin beamed. ‘Felix was doing the usual trim and suddenly he screamed and told me that I just had to get these highlights.’ He paused in front of the microwave and peered at his reflection. ‘Are you impressed?’

  ‘You look gorgeous, Col.’ Lydia giggled. ‘Beautiful.’

  Colin gave her an arch look. ‘How genuine of you! I really feel it. Molly loves it, anyway. She has taste.’

  Lydia’s younger sister Molly walked into the kitchen at that moment, her hair wet from the shower. A seventeen-year-old version of Helen Kelly, she had a shock of blonde hair and twinkling blue eyes.

  ‘Did I hear my name?’ she asked, towelling her hair. ‘Who was talking about me?’

  ‘Moi,’ said Colin, pouring himself a glass of wine from the fridge. ‘We have a date to watch TV later, right?’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ said Molly. ‘Hey, Lyd, did you find a flat?’

  Lydia nodded. ‘It’s not exactly beautiful or anything but it is right next door to college. The pros and cons sort of balance each other out.’

  ‘How much?’ asked Helen, her half-moon spectacles perched on her nose as she read a recipe for pavlova.

  ‘Five hundred a month.’

  ‘God, I wonder what it’s like to pay rent,’ said Colin, wide-eyed.

  Lydia punched him playfully in the arm. ‘Watch it, rich boy.’

  When Colin had decided to study in Cork four years before, his father had purchased an apartment for him. It was situated by the college, looking out on the river. Lydia privately thought that his flat was more akin to a show house. Spotlessly clean, it looked like something from a magazine. Colin was incredibly house-proud and prided himself on his pristine white couch and gleaming marble floor. Lydia had once put a glass of wine down on his coffee table without using a coaster and there had been a meltdown.

  ‘Did Dom ring?’ she asked her mother as she poured herself a glass of juice.

  ‘No, honey, not yet. Go into the sitting room now and take Colin with you. I have to bake and his constant chatter will drive me mad.’

  ‘Gee, thanks,’ said Colin, following Lydia out of the kitchen. ‘So, cuz, how’s Dom doing in the big smoke?’

  ‘Okay, I think. He’s always so tired when he rings. I really miss him, Col. I mean we lived in each other’s pockets for three years and now I’m back to an electric blanket and girls’ nights out.’

  ‘Boo hoo! At least you’re not me! Do you know how hard it is to find a monogamous gay guy in Cork? In Ireland for that matter? My youth is passing me by, Lyd.’ He rolled his eyes dramatically.

  ‘Oh, you’re ancient all right, Col. Really past it.’ Lydia laughed. He always cheered her up. ‘Come on, EastEnders is on soon. Let’s get the couch before Molly.’

  Dominic rang just as Lydia was snuggling down under her duvet. His familiar ringtone pulsated through the room.

  ‘Dom,’ she murmured, settling into the pillow. ‘How are you doing, baby?’

  ‘Exhausted. I love every second of it, but it’s hard work. I assisted in a gall-bladder removal today.’

  ‘Yuk, how was it? I would pass out if I saw that much blood.’

  ‘It was amazing, Lydia, totally incredible. I got great feedback from O’Leary – remember I told you about him? The head guy?’

  ‘Oh yeah.’ Lydia’s tone was flat, but Dominic didn’t notice.

  ‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘he said that I can observe a triple bypass next Wednesday, but only from behind glass.’

  Lydia didn’t know why, but she felt her skin grow cold. Of course she was happy for Dominic – he was living the dream, fulfilling his ambition. It just felt like he was telling her about a world far beyond her imagination. He would be playing golf with O’Leary in the K Club while she’d be drinking a skinny latte in the student centre with Colin. He would be experiencing life-changing operations while she’d be getting to grips with the Norton Anthology of Poetry.

  Lydia, said a small voice inside her head, calm down. Far away hills are greener. He’s missing you just as much as you are missing him.

  She shook her head and started to tell him about her new flat and Colin singing Beyoncé at dinner.

  He laughed when she related how her dad had told Colin to
zip it or lose a limb. She pictured Dominic lounging on the couch, his brown hair flopping over his eyes.

  Fifteen minutes later, she hung up the phone. Closing her eyes, she tried to block out that niggling, uneasy feeling. The idea that Dominic was slipping away from her into a new exciting life that didn’t include her.

  Lydia Kelly, get a grip, she scolded herself. This is Dominic you’re talking about. He loves you to distraction. One more year and everything will be different. You’ll be back together and, who knows, you might have a job in RTÉ as an investigatory journalist.

  Lydia drifted into a dreamless sleep, while hundreds of miles away her boyfriend lay awake thinking about her.

  Dominic had been bowled over the first day he had helped her to her feet. He was intrigued by this fiery, passionate young girl. Jolted, he had bought her coffee and boldly massaged her injured wrist.

  He realised how lucky he was to have a girl like Lydia. She was genuinely a special person. He hated being away from her, but he knew that he had to follow his dream.

  Born into a wealthy family of doctors, Dominic had always known that he would study medicine. It was in his blood. Highly ambitious, he achieved top marks in his Leaving Cert and left for UCC, just like his father and uncle had before him. The ‘Meds’, as he and his classmates were known, were a small group and as a result were quite close. They organised annual skiing trips and had all worked in Africa during the summer of their fifth year. Dominic had been stationed in a hospital in Ghana, and it was there that he realised he wanted to be a surgeon.

  Dublin was a great city and there was no denying that the experience of working with Ireland’s top surgeon was a tremendous coup. He was bone-tired, but happy.

  Still, he missed Lydia. He missed her soft body and her lovely smile. The way she cried when animals got killed by predators on the Discovery Channel. The way she laughed. Her intoxicating smell. He even missed her world-famous pesto chicken, the only meal she was capable of making.