The rewards far outweighed any of the negatives and her fans made everything worthwhile. It was a surreal and amazing feeling to know that there were people out there reading her books and genuinely enjoying them. Shona had encouraged her to pursue her dream of writing. She’d been applying for various part-time office jobs when Charlotte started school.
Shona had suggested writing. “Why not try something new?” she’d asked. “You’ve said for years that you’d love to try writing books, so why not start now? It’s the perfect time; Charlotte and Emmett are in school most days, and at least if you’re working from home you can still be around when they need you. Colm’s earning enough money to keep the household going, so what you need is a flexible job and what could be more flexible than writing?” Her sister’s enthusiasm had been infectious so she’d done a creative writing course via correspondence and a few short months later she’d taken her first tentative steps on her writing path.
Colm’s mobile phone started ringing, shaking her from her daydreaming. She picked it up and glanced at the screen. It was a private number calling. “Darling, your phone’s ringing!” she shouted up the stairs, but there was no response. She answered it quickly. “Hello.” There was no reply but she could hear someone breathing lightly on the other end of the line. “Hello, can you hear me?” she repeated, still there was no response. She stared at the screen for a moment before the line went dead.
“Who was that?” Colm asked, eyeing her suspiciously when he saw his phone in her hand.
“Oh, I don’t know. I answered but they hung up.” She felt inexplicably guilty, as if she’d been caught out doing something wrong.
He took the phone from her and switched it off.
“Why did you that?” she asked.
“Because I want some quiet time alone with my wife,” he replied, taking her in his arms and kissing her passionately.
“What was that for?” She had the distinct impression that he was trying to distract her.
“Aren’t I allowed to kiss you anymore?” A note of irritation crept into his voice.
“Sure,” she shrugged dismissively, pushing her uneasiness to the back of her mind. “I should butter the toast.” She didn’t want to start another row and he’d been quite volatile recently; flying off the handle unexpectedly and shouting at the children for no real reason. She didn’t want to ruin her good mood by arguing with her husband, and in fairness, he was entitled to be edgy.
“Smells delicious,” he smiled, tucking into his scrambled eggs, his black mood gone as quickly as it had appeared.
Chapter 18
When had it started, the terrible rot that had set into their relationship? How could it have disintegrated so badly? They’d loved each other deeply, once upon a time. Why did she ever have to have set eyes on Mark McNamara? Fate, some would say it was written in the stars long before they’d ever met. Whatever it was, she could never hate him, no matter what he’d done. He’d given her two beautiful sons and she wouldn’t have changed them for the world.
She closed her eyes and recalled in vivid detail the first time she’d seen him; the arrogant, self-confident, handsome young man who was full of smiling charisma, always the centre of attention. She’d never expected him to even notice her, certainly not to pay her any attention. He could have had his pick of many beautiful girls on campus, most of them already hung off his every word, but he had chosen her. It had been as much of a surprise to her as it had been to everyone else. She was the shy, quiet, pleasant-looking, studious type, and he was the outspoken, gregarious extrovert. But she’d seen a softer side to him, an unsure side, a side which constantly struggled to measure up to everyone else. This was the Mark she’d fallen in love with, the real Mark who only she truly knew.
She often thought about him in the evenings, after Ethan went to bed, and the silence in the big, empty house became deafening. She remembered how they’d fallen in love with the house, their dream home, Cois Farraige. She could still see the excitement in his bright eyes and the concentration etched on his face as he drew plans and elevations of their future home. He was determined that they would have it, that house in particular. He’d always longed for a huge, rambling home, not like the poky little place where he’d grown up. Cois Farraige would be the house where they would live happily ever after, just like in the fairy tales she’d loved so much as child.
The house had been in ruins for many years. She'd often passed it on her way to school, and sometimes she and her friends would play in the ruined grounds, scaring each other with horror stories about ghosts and goblins lurking in the shadows. But she'd fallen in love with the old-world romance of the place and imagined the magnificent parties that had been held there many years ago. Sometimes she would go there alone, walking along the twisting path which led out of the village and wound up through the tall oak trees, arriving eventually to the top of the hill with its panoramic views out to sea, yachts dotting the harbour far below. It truly was a magnificent place, especially on a late summer evening when the light was fading through the trees. She loved to go there to sketch, losing herself in her drawings. She brought Mark there shortly after they first met and he was even more enamoured of the place than her, if that was even possible.
Eventually, her father had grudgingly bought the old place for them as a wedding present. He'd never approved of Mark, and it turned out he'd been right to have his misgivings about him. Maybe she'd married him as an act of rebellion against her controlling parents. Maybe she'd never really loved him at all. She shivered. Dark clouds covered the setting sun. The shadows seemed intense, menacing even. A storm was brewing. She tried to reassure herself as she rose to shut the heavy curtains against the fading evening light. The wind was beginning to stir, blowing the sparse leaves which still remained on the trees. Her memories and regrets were all she seemed to have left on the long, dark, winter evenings.
Mark's love of life had been infectious. He was interested in everything and everyone, but at the same time, there seemed to be a peculiar restlessness which she could sense in him. He was full of plans, and wanted to see the world, but all the while she felt he was searching for something more. She’d wondered if she'd ever be enough; in the end he'd shown her that she wasn't enough.
Nothing seemed to satisfy him. He was always reaching higher, looking for more; bigger, better, brighter. That was why she'd been more shocked than anyone when he'd asked her to marry him. He'd never seemed like the marrying kind. She'd never imagined him wanting to get married, settle down and have children but he seemed to have committed himself wholeheartedly to her. She would never have guessed what he'd been getting up to behind her back. He was probably addicted to the excitement and the adventure of it; someone new, something different, while having the security of a rich, trusting wife behind him. She punched the cushion beside her. He'd made such a fool of her! It made her blood boil when she thought of how she'd believed in him, trusted him and loved him. She'd given him everything and he'd thrown it back in her face over and over again. But somehow, somewhere deep inside, she knew she still meant something to him, just as Cois Farraige meant something to him and their children too.
It was like being on a rollercoaster. She went from hating him to loving him to hating him again. The memories kept coming back to her of the wonderful times they'd shared together. She remembered the heated arguments Mark had with her father about how much the house was costing to renovate. Her father was an overbearing man, used to getting his own way, but his domineering manner didn't faze Mark in the slightest.
“This project has gone way over budget! Do you think I'm made of money?” he yelled at Mark, his face red with temper. She often wondered if he'd have a heart attack right there and then on the spot. He always seemed to be worked up about something.
Mark was good enough for him. “You're right!” he yelled in retaliation, firmly standing his ground. “But it can't be helped.”
“It can be helped! You must stick to the budg
et!”
“We know the house we want, and I know you want to give your daughter her dream home. This will be a house of quality and grandeur and you'll boast about it to your friends and colleagues. This house will be unique. There's more to life than money.”
Her father had stared at him in shock. It had been a long time since anyone had had the audacity to shout at him. She would stand by and listen during their heated debates. Anyone could see that their house, overlooking the bay, was going to be spectacular and she knew her father could see it too, although he'd never admit it.
“Cois Farraige is like a diamond in the rough. It has this beautiful setting just waiting to grasp its newly polished, cut diamond,” Mark said once. He had a way with words, a turn of phrase that made you think, made you see things his way. He could certainly shut her father up fast enough.
Mark was ambitious alright. His head was full of ideas and notions, above his station, her father often grumbled. He had plenty of ambition but he didn't like to work hard. He enjoyed the easy life too much. Photography was his passion but it came naturally to him. It wasn't hard work and having a rich wife behind him meant he didn't have to overexert himself too much.
She thought about Mark often, especially since his release from prison. She wondered what he was doing out there in the big bad world while she sat home alone most evenings. He was probably enjoying life, as usual, making up for lost time, not giving her a second thought. She'd always been intrigued by his attitude to life. She wished she could erase him from her memory but no matter how hard she tried, her mind wandered to him.
Brianna Moynihan, her psychiatrist, said it was natural, considering they'd spent a lifetime together. But she also advised that although she couldn't control her memories resurfacing, she could control whether or not she dwelt on them. It was easier said than done. Practice, Brianna advised; as soon as her mind wandered to Mark, she should replace it with thoughts of something else. It was very difficult. The whole house reminded her of him. Her sons reminded her of him. No matter how hard she tried to escape him, he was everywhere, surrounding her, suffocating her. It was easy for him; he could move on with his life but she was stuck in a time warp. Why was life so unfair? She hadn't done anything wrong. She'd always done everything the right way and she'd been rewarded by a man who'd tried to kill her! Maybe it was time to stop doing the right thing and start doing what she actually wanted, regardless of the consequences.
More and more lately, she'd had the peculiar feeling that she was waiting for something. She didn't know what exactly, but she felt it in her bones, like something huge was going to happen just around the corner, if she could hold on long enough. She'd only ever loved one man her whole life, and that man was Mark. She wondered what it would be like to be with someone else. Would she ever fall in love again? Maybe she should go out and play the field, get it out of her system.
Brianna had encouraged her to try dating, joining groups, socialising and meeting new people, but she couldn't summon the energy. Some mornings, the very idea of getting out of bed was exhausting. She didn't know what she'd do if she didn't have Ethan to care for. He dragged her out of best whether she liked it or not! She and Mark had belonged together. She was his and he was hers. There were supposed to be together forever. How could she let herself fall in love with anyone again? If she'd known then what she knew now she'd never have given her heart away, certainly not to Mark McNamara.
Chapter 19
Mark drove along the road towards the coast. His head was addled so he did what he always did whenever he was stressed and headed to the coast. There was nothing like the fresh, bracing wind from the Irish Sea to clear the cobwebs and calm the mind. It was an unseasonably bright, sunny day and the incessant rain had finally abated. People were out walking their dogs, jogging and spending time with their families.
It felt strange in a way to be free again. His time was his own and it seemed that he had too much of it on his hands; too much time to think and ponder, to plot and fester. It didn't really matter what he did anymore. There was nobody left to care. He'd lost everything, which in its own way was oddly liberating. He could do anything he wanted. There was nothing or nobody to hold him back. What was the worst that could happen? There was nothing left for him to fear. He was on his own, completely alone in the world. One thing kept him going; and that was to find out who had framed him.
He missed Rebecca and the boys, more than he'd expected. Time had played heavily on him in prison and he'd thought about Rebecca and their life together a lot. He wished he could take back everything he'd done, take back the hurt and pain he'd caused. He hadn’t realised or appreciated the truly important moments in life until it had been too late.
He parked the car and began to walk, burrowing deep into his coat against the biting wind. He walked along the path, lost in his own world, remembering the many times he'd walked the same path with Rebecca. He missed her very much, but there was no going back. The only way was forward. He walked for miles, hardly noticing the distance, his long strides eating up the miles. His feet took him outside the village and up along the winding, twisting path between the tall oak trees.
Soon he arrived at the familiar spot in the road which offered his first glimpse of Cois Farraige. His heart skipped a bit, like it always did, whenever he saw the house for the first time after a long absence. It was his pride and joy, symbolising everything he had achieved and now everything that he'd lost. He leaned against one of the oak trees for a while and closed his eyes, his head full of the past.
He remembered the first time Rebecca had taken him to the house, the house that would eventually be theirs. She was wearing her chocolate brown suede jacket, her dark hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders, and she was smiling up at him, her face full of love and joy. Nobody had ever looked at him like that before or since.
“I hope this place will be ours one day,” she said shyly, hopefully.
The place was mesmerising. He'd never seen anything like it. He wanted to say something clever but didn't know quite how to respond.
“It's lonely here,” he said finally, shivering slightly. It had been a chilly afternoon when he'd first seen Cois Farraige, rather like today.
“It's beautiful,” she said, holding his hand tighter in hers. “Not like this. Obviously, we'd have to renovate, but this site is perfect. Follow me.” She led him through the trees. “Look at the view. We can see the entire harbour if we clear away some trees. It's hard to believe there's a whole city below us but we can't see it because of the way our house is set high up on the hill. I'll plant flowers and vegetables over here and maybe we could have a few hens for fresh eggs every day.”
“It sounds like a dream,” he said, listening to her with her bright eyes and glowing cheeks, her whole face lit up with excitement. “You make the whole place come alive.”
“I want to live here, just the two of us, a place of our very own, away from overbearing parents and people always telling me what to do, what to wear, how to look, and who I should date. I'm tired of people trying to control me.” She stopped suddenly, seeming to have run out of steam. An air of sadness descended upon her.
He'd cupped his hand under her chin and kissed her then, their first kiss under the trees, standing on the edge of their future. It seemed like so much more than a kiss, it was an unspoken promise too.
From then on their lives together seemed to be on fast forward. There was no embarrassment or holding back between them. He'd felt no need for game-playing or pretending to be someone else, someone better. For the first time in his life he knew he could be himself and that he was loved and accepted just the way he was. It was effortless with Rebecca. She delighted in his stories and listened intently to him as he talked about himself.
“Aren't you bored by my endless prattling?” he asked her one day.
“I'm not bored, I'm fascinated. We're very different.”
He looked at her quizzically then, wondering if she was mocking
him. “Different in a good way, I hope?”
“Of course! Your life has been carefree and easy. You could do whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. Your parents allowed you to be who you wanted to be.” She went on to tell him about her childhood and how her parents expected certain things from her; she had to be the best student, and had to have an approved circle of friends. Her mother was obsessed with appearances and although she appreciated the comforts of her lifestyle, being the only child of rich parents was stifling. She was expected to behave a certain way and mingle with other rich children who mostly seemed spoilt and one-dimensional. She couldn't wait to move away and live her own life, far from their watchful, judgemental gaze.
He began to see himself through her eyes and the childhood he'd had seemed carefree and fun. His parents had been fairly strict but they’d allowed him to choose his own friends and enjoy their camaraderie. Rebecca's life seemed controlled and staid by comparison.
She didn't tell her parents about him for many months.
“Are you ashamed of me?” he asked.
Unfaithful (The Complete Trilogy) Page 47