The Hollow Heart (The Heartfelt Series)

by Adrienne Vaughan

  Marianne could hear noises coming from the next room. She closed the laptop and crept across the landing to find Bridget in her cot, gurgling in animated conversation with Monty, who, with his paws on the rails, was making a soft gravelly noise back at her. Marianne stood in the doorway, marvelling. Two completely different species communicating contentedly with each other in a language they both fully understood; a pair of precious souls sharing a moment of communion in their own private corner of a very crowded planet. She had never felt the weight of responsibility so acutely.

  Sending Monty to his basket and settling Bridget down for the night, Marianne did something she had not done since she was a child. She knelt by her bed and prayed. Not to a God she had seen in holy pictures or on a cross, or to any of the deities man had conjured up to worship or fight for. But to whatever was out there; holding things together; keeping the gifts of love, life and hope coming at her. To whatever was giving her the strength, will and determination not to give in, not to crumble, not to let the side down. Because this was her side, the side she was on and she was damn well here to stay.

  “Amen to that!” she said out loud, before hopping under the duvet.

  Miss MacReady had lovingly washed and styled a variety of wigs for Oonagh’s homecoming. Marianne and a cluster of Quinn cousins had polished the pub until it shone. Padar filled every receptacle he could with flowers; lilies and roses, Oonagh’s favourites. He had cooked a huge paella, just the way she liked it, so she could share a bite with family and friends before retiring to her boudoir, freshly cleaned, and now home to the aforementioned wigs, grotesquely displayed on a selection of decapitated mannequins, Miss MacReady had collected over the years.

  The woman who stepped gingerly from the vehicle was hardly recognisable as the colourful, robust Oonagh Quinn they had all been waiting to welcome. She moved slowly, stooping slightly, her well-loved lilac leisure-suit hanging off her and, what remained of her lustrous hair, hidden beneath a towelling turban; the whiteness of it, stark, against the blotchiness of her skin, despite the makeup. There was nothing frail about her smile though. She beamed when she saw them crowding in the doorway of the pub. Taking Bridget from Marianne, she smothered her shining little face with kisses.

  “Mama Ooo-ah,” Bridget said loudly, eyeing Marianne to check if this was correct, hugging Oonagh happily. Padar bustled them inside, showing Oonagh to an armchair near the fire, which had been lit, even though it was a beautiful spring day. No-one needed to tell Oonagh it was great to have her home, nor did Oonagh need to say it was wonderful to be back, the sheer joy and delight of the whole occasion trickled into every corner of the room.

  Marianne was just getting used to Oonagh in the blonde Dolly Parton, when Oonagh announced two items of news. The good news was, her hair was growing back. The bad news, the Oncology Unit wanted to see her as soon as possible. Oonagh was very matter of fact about the situation. She assumed they had found secondary tumours and, although new battle lines were being drawn and the war was not yet over, just the thought of having to pull together every dilapidated fibre of her being to face another fight, completely exhausted her.

  Marianne took her friend’s hand. They were sitting together in one of their favourite places, a small clearing halfway up the cliff, just off the new road. It was where they brought Bridget and Monty on picnics as the days grew longer and summer started to stretch ahead. The Atlantic glistened below, a shimmer of diamonds, gentle and calm on today, of all days, when all Marianne could hear was a crashing in her chest and roaring in her ears.

  “You’ll be grand,” she said, unsmiling, to Oonagh.

  “Ah sure.” Oonagh’s universal response when things were too difficult or complex to be aired. She nodded over at the baby sitting beside the terrier, sharing her sandwich, diligently checking the halves were equal so neither would be deprived of sustenance. Monty waited to take the bread daintily as Bridget gurgled at him, deep in discussion about whatever was on the infant’s mind.

  “I just wanted to ask, Marie, if it’s not good, you know, at the hospital, well I’d feel better if I knew you’d be there, afterwards, when I’m not around. I know it’s a lot to ask but…”

  “Stop it Oonagh, don’t talk like that.”

  “I’m being serious. I will need to make arrangements, need things sorted.”

  Marianne closed her eyes briefly. “Of course, you can depend on me, whatever you need.”

  “Or whatever she needs.” Oonagh’s eyes filled with tears as she watched her little daughter. She wiped her nose on her sleeve. “You’re so good with her, the little one. You never wanted your own, Marie? Were you always the career woman?”

  “It wasn’t through choice.”

  “Really?”

  “No. I had a miscarriage, years ago. It made a bit of a mess of me, so they had to operate. It left me unable to have my own.”

  “Oh God, that’s terrible. I never thought… and all through this, me and my problems you never said a word. What happened?”

  Marianne looked out to sea, plucking at the grass, “Ah, it was a long time ago…”

  Oonagh was quiet for a moment and then asked, “And was this before George?”

  “Yes before George. A bad relationship, I was very young. A mistake.”

  Oonagh took Marianne’s hand, her pale face even whiter. “Tell me, Marie, you shouldn’t keep things like that to yourself.”

  Marianne took a deep breath.

  “Not long after my parents died, I had a mad fling with a well-known photographer in Paris. I was crazy about him, when he said we’d get married, I believed him. It was great to begin with; we partied as hard as we could, for as long as we could. Anyway, it turned out he’d always been a womaniser, and though I had a feeling there had been a few affairs, when I found out his young assistant was pregnant by him, well that was the last straw.”

  Oonagh gasped, nodding Marianne to continue. “I confronted him, he flew into a rage, denied everything, we had a huge row and he said he was leaving. I was distraught, we’d both been drinking. I ran out of the apartment after him, he was in the car, the engine was running, and I jumped in front of it as he pulled away. I flipped over the bonnet, like a rag doll, splat on the road, unconscious.”

  “God!” Oonagh exclaimed. “Did he not see you?”

  “He said not, but who knows, he was out of his head anyway. When I woke up in hospital, they told me I’d lost the baby – I hadn’t even known I was pregnant – I was bleeding internally, it was very serious and they had no choice but to operate.” Oonagh blessed herself.

  “Oh Marie, I’m so sorry. I never even thought you might have wanted children. Though you did seem to want Padar and I to have a child almost as much as we did. You never said a word though.”

  Marianne squeezed her friend’s hand.

  “It’s weird you know, everyone makes that assumption, if a woman doesn’t have children, particularly a career woman, they assume it’s by choice, when it’s usually the other way round. She has the career because she has no choice. It’s like being an amputee, everyone can see a limb is missing, but no-one dare ask how it happened.”

  “Marie, that’s just awful.” Oonagh’s eyes filled with tears. “And what happened to the father?”

  “We never told anyone the real story about my accident. The police would have been called and it would have been an awful mess. He took me in a taxi to the hospital so the emergency services weren’t involved, and no-one knew about the baby but us; it was our terrible secret.” Marianne looked out at the Atlantic, the flat horizon in the distance. “He married the assistant soon after. I moved back to England…made a new life.”

  “And did he get his happy ever after?”

  “Oonagh, life isn’t a film, I keep telling you that. I don’t know if he did, I hope he did. He’s not around now, anyway.” Marianne chose not to mention how Claude’s life ended.

  “The bastard, good riddance,” Oonagh hissed.

  “Don�
�t feel anger on my part, Oonagh. I let it go, ages ago. I didn’t think I could and then, I felt different and all the bitterness and pain was gone and I hadn’t even noticed. It wasn’t to be, it wouldn’t have been right. If we’d had a baby, I’d have stayed for the wrong reasons. That’s no way to raise a child, ending up blaming them for staying in a bad relationship. No, it was for the best.” She took Oonagh’s hands, looking her straight in the eye. “And there is more than one way to have a family, more than one way to be cocooned in love. It comes in many guises, I find. I mean, I would never have met George, you, Padar, Miss MacReady, Ryan – I wouldn’t have Bridget or Monty in my life.” She smiled across at the pair on the tartan rug, snuggled together in the sunshine.

  “And that’s a good thing? Have we brought you happiness, real love?”

  Marianne was shocked. “Are you joking? I love you. All of you. Okay, things aren’t perfect, but I wouldn’t swap any of you, change anything. I love every hair on your baldy head, you silly woman.”

  Oonagh smiled, wiping her eyes.

  “We’re more like sisters than ever now, that’s why I want you to mind Bridget, and Padar too, if you were able, I’d worry less when I’m over the other side.” Oonagh’s grey eyes were piercing. Marianne stared back at her.

  “The other side? What side is that you’re going to? Hey, they’re not holding a pair of white feathery wings in readiness for you, Mrs Quinn. George is on angel duty maybe, but you and I have no chance.” Grinning, Marianne tugged the blonde bouffant from Oonagh’s head to reveal her patchy pink, sprouting scalp. “You’re looking loads better these days; you’re on the mend, make no mistake about that. You’re just a bit too attached to this fecking wig!”

  Oonagh lunged at her to grab it back and, laughing, they hugged each other, a long rocking-together hug, high on the cliff, with the Atlantic swirling below and the gulls chorusing their tuneless, summer song above them.

  Chapter Twenty Six–

  A Smack In The Eye

  Ryan was speaking from his hotel room in Mayfair.

  “I was going to organise this as a surprise for you, but what about bringing Oonagh along for the ride?” Filming had finally finished and the round of publicity interviews was about to begin. After interviews in London and Belfast, next stop Dublin and a late night chat show.

  “Organise what?” Marianne was intrigued.

  “I’m sending a helicopter so you can come to the press reception and the TV show if you’d like?”

  “What do you mean, if I’d like? Try and stop me! A helicopter, wow, I’ve never ridden in a helicopter. Are you serious?”

  “Well, your fella is a famous movie star, what’s a trapping or two for my gorgeous girl and our lovely friend. So, what do you say?”

  Marianne whooped.

  “Wait till I tell Oonagh, she’ll freak. Your biggest fan, going to a real celebrity bash. Ryan, you’re an angel. She’s going to just love it, we both will; it will be a real tonic, honest it will!”

  “Great that’s all set, I’ll send the chopper on Friday morning. The press reception is that evening. We record the TV show live after that. You and Oonagh can enjoy Grafton Street together before I head to the airport for Paris and you go back to Innishmahon.”

  “Paris? You’re not coming back with us?”

  “Not this time, love. Coming to the end though, it won’t be too long now.”

  Marianne let it go. The excitement of the news of the helicopter trip would not be spoiled with a row.

  “I can’t wait to tell Oonagh, and I can’t wait to see you. Are we incognito or what?”

  “No way, come as yourself. I’ve fulfilled my part of the contract, the movie’s finished and I’m promoting it. After Paris I’m done, it’s time to get my life back!”

  “It’s a three-film deal, don’t forget?” Marianne reminded him, and herself.

  “I haven’t forgotten. Now go and tell the Queen of my Innishmahon fan club she can go to the ball, and I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.” They were just about to say their goodbyes when a small voice interrupted.

  “Sorry Marie, Ryan, apologies for the intrusion, but I couldn’t help overhearing…”

  There were gasps and muffled laughter down the line.“Ahem, what couldn’t you help, Miss MacReady?” You could hear the smile in Ryan’s voice.

  “The helicopter trip; the jaunt to Dublin for the press party; the TV show and all?”

  “And?”

  “Well, I was only thinking, if you and Marie are together, Oonagh might be left on her own, and she’s a lot better, but she’s not altogether well, and it’s years since I was in Dublin’s fair city. Sure I may never get the opportunity to go again.”

  Silence. The line crackled.

  “I’ve never been in a helicopter either.”

  “Marianne, any room for a little one?” Ryan asked.

  “Only if she promises not to cause any trouble. No flaunting herself and breaking hearts up there in the big city!”

  “Okay, I’ll sort things this end. That’s my three favourite women in the world coming to spend a couple of days with me, couldn’t be better. Have to go, love you.” Ryan clicked off.

  “Oh, Marie, that’s fantastic, amazing,” said Miss MacReady, “I’m thrilled, delighted, he thought to ask me. He’s a darling man. Now I must go and plan my ensembles, there’ll be at least three changes a day with that film crowd, I bet.”

  “Miss MacReady, you really are incorrigible.” The line went dead and Marianne had no time to bask in the glorious anticipation of the forthcoming sojourn into the five star world of her movie star lover. If she did not get her skates on and rush round to Maguire’s immediately, Miss MacReady would telephone Oonagh and spoil the surprise.

  “Don’t answer that!” shrieked Marianne, as she charged behind the bar and snatched the phone from Oonagh’s hand. “Thanks, Miss MacReady, I’m here now, no worries, I’ll fill Oonagh in on all the details. Leave it with me. Phew!” she exclaimed as she replaced the receiver, giving Oonagh her broadest grin.

  Padar stood holding Bridget under one arm and Monty under the other, so was incapacitated in the waving-off department. However, Pat MacReady the taxi man, made up for any lack of adieu, the three female incumbents of the helicopter may have been experiencing, by leaping up and down, flapping his arms repeatedly and making loud, whooping noises.

  Marianne glanced back through the helicopter window and laughed, looking from Pat to his elder sister, Kathleen, seated as close to the young pilot as she could possibly be without landing in his lap. She wondered if any of the MacReadys were normal. They seemed to range from slightly eccentric to barking mad. Miss MacReady immediately engaged the pilot in conversation and, by the time they had crossed the little stretch of water to the mainland, knew all about him, where he was from, marital status, the lot.

  “Single!” She nudged Marianne indiscreetly. Marianne took no notice; she was wallowing in the familiar, fabulous deep down rumble of excitement she felt whenever a reunion with Ryan was on the horizon. After a while, she noticed Oonagh was unusually quiet, strapped in behind them. She turned to find her face pink with heat despite her cream linen tunic and silk blouse, purchased online for the trip. When Marianne gave her a quizzical look, she expelled the breath she had been holding, explaining she hated flying, particularly over water for some bizarre reason. She did not know why.

  “Why didn’t you say?” Marianne asked.

  “What, and miss the trip of a lifetime. Are you mad? Not only Dublin; not only a live TV show; not only a press reception but THE film of the decade, stars, celebrities, media, paparazzi. Oh it’s almost too much!” She fake-fainted back into her seat.

  “Do you think there’ll be a red carpet?” Miss MacReady wanted to know, as she painted on a beauty spot with an eyebrow pencil in one hand, a jewel encrusted compact in the other.

  “Bound to be,” Oonagh nodded, the pinkness calming as they passed over the fields below.

  �
�Ladies, here’s the schedule and there are some drinks and snacks in the cooler box behind your seat,” the pilot indicated to Oonagh, who immediately dived into the box and emerged exclaiming,

  “Look! Champagne, strawberries, croissants and chocolate, happy days!” Her eyes sparkled, and Marianne felt an inner warmth and deep gratitude.

  “I love Ryan O’Gorman,” she said loudly.

  “We know,” Oonagh and Miss MacReady shouted back.

  Miss MacReady donned glasses to read out the schedule bearing the studio’s logo. It was very official and timed to the last minute.

  “Arrival Dublin 14:00 hours: Helicopter lands on rooftop of hotel

  14.30 – 15.00 hours: Private lunch with Mr O’Gorman

  15.15 hours: Check-in

  15.30 hours: Guests meet in foyer for informal photo-call

  16.00 hours: Press reception

  18.00 hours: Cars to the TV studio

  19.00 hours: Guests reception

  21.00 hours: Guests take seats in the audience

  22.00 hours: Show goes Live

  23.15 hours: Green Room reception

  01.30 hours: Cars depart for the hotel

  02.00 hours: Light supper and drinks served privately for Mr O’Gorman’s guests”

  “How lovely,” Oonagh cooed, “it all sounds just perfect.”

  Marianne could not resist taking the schedule from Miss MacReady and scan-read the rest.

  “Brilliant! Champagne breakfast the next morning, followed by a preview of the film, shopping, sightseeing and, at half past two, the helicopter flight home.”

  “Gosh! Dublin, Grafton Street, St Stephen’s Green, I haven’t been there in an age.” Miss MacReady was wistful.

  “We’ll even have time to hit the shops, I’m dying to buy Bridget lots of lovely things. It really is the perfect trip.” Oonagh was beginning to relax.

  In just over an hour, the helicopter swooped over the Dublin mountains as the city, sitting neatly in its perfect curving bay, lay glimmering in the sunshine before them. Beyond it, the Irish sea, a sparkling wrap around the coast.