by Natalie Hart
After a few minutes Mrs. Reidy appeared. She didn’t look as Emma expected, instead of the perfect slacks and blouse combination Emma had imagined she was wearing overalls that were covered in dust, or spices Emma guessed from the smell. She removed her rubber gloves and placed them in her back pocket.
“I’ll get us some tea,” she said. And without another word she left Emma alone again.
It was a few minutes later when Mrs. Reidy arrived back with a tray, there was a fancy teapot, cups with saucers, a sugar bowl and a dainty little milk jug.
“I don’t have much time for coffee,” she said.
“I love a good tea,” Emma said. At last managing to get some words in.
“People don’t know how to serve it properly, not these days.”
“How do you take yours?” Emma asked.
“I may look genteel and fine, but I like my cuppa like builder’s tea, thick as tar and enough sugar to stand a spoon.”
Emma did not expect that from Mrs. Reidy, she seemed to be a woman of contradictions and took delight in challenging people.
“I’m not very good with accounts though.”
“And that’s why I’m here to help.”
“First off Maher’s, the store, want me to give them a breakdown of my operation costs. I simply don’t know those exact details and—“
“Don’t!” Emma said. “Really. Don’t give them that. It’s more an area for a lawyer or an industry expert, but if they have your costings they know how tight they can squeeze you.”
“I suspected as much,” Mrs. Reidy said.
“And you were right to. Never show anyone your books unless you have a legal obligation to.”
“However they’re looking to subsume some of my profit for a marketing campaign,” she said.
“Ok, let’s figure out what you’ve done yourself, with your own money then we can deal with what the future will hold.”
As they spoke their tea went cold. Mrs. Reidy’s determination fired up Emma, she was a savvy woman. Really it seemed she just wanted an ear to listen to her worries, and confirm her thoughts. Her finances were sound. Mrs. Reidy was delighted when Emma told her she could get tax breaks because she did some of her business in Gaeltachts and other areas where Irish was the first language.
At that point Mrs. Reidy took a break to recite Emma her favourite poem, as Gaeilge. Emma couldn’t understand a word of Irish, the business subjects were her favourite in school but she really felt the passion in Mrs. Reidy’s love for the language.
“I think Patrick has the cúpla focal too,” Mrs. Reidy said.
“It wouldn’t come up between us, I can barely say, ‘I like cake’ in Irish,” Emma admitted.
“Well I think he’s teaching that little girl of his a few words,” Mrs. Reidy said. “She’s not here often enough to learn the language properly, but he tries.”
“His little girl?” Emma managed.
Her stomach had dropped, Patrick had a little girl. Emma was shocked at herself, he was almost forty, of course there was a chance he had relationships with other women, and that meant he might have a child. Despite herself Emma couldn’t help but feel less special. She thought back to the nights she fell asleep thinking of starting a family, and daring to hope that Patrick might be the right man for her. But he had a daughter, was he married already? Was he a divorced man? Maybe he still wasn’t fully divorced!
“She’s a darling,” Mrs. Reidy said. “She can be a little brat too but mostly she’s adorable. She has his eyes.”
“Aw, that’s cute,” Emma forced herself to say. “How old is she?”
“About eight or nine I think,” Mrs. Reidy said. “She loves coming over here, she’d live here if Patrick would let her.”
Emma thought of her own childhood, of the few times her mother dated men. She tried to be happy for her mother, but at that age it always felt like her mother had rejected her a little. That her mother’s love for her was lessened when she shared it with a man. She’d been a right little wagon at times, and she knew it affected some of her mother’s relationships.
She’d brought it up a few times since she left college. Her mother always told her those men were never right for her, and if they couldn’t love her daughter then they couldn’t be with her. But Emma remembered her mother crying when those men left her, and she regretted the part she played in that.
“She lives with her mother?” Emma asked.
“In London,” Mrs. Reidy said. “It’s no place for a child, nowhere to ride a bike let alone a pony! Her mother won’t let her have a pet so she spends her days here gallivanting with that dog Patrick has.”
Emma started to feel nauseous, she liked Patrick, but she didn’t love him, not yet. She knew his daughter loved him. She didn’t want to come between the two of them. Emma knew herself how hard it was for a young girl. In her own life she didn’t have a father but if his daughter only saw her father a few times a year it would be so tough on her.
She felt herself retreat. She couldn’t let her care for Patrick stand in the way of his love for his daughter.
“Anyway, I’m glad Patrick is here. I think it’s the right time for me to start picking his brain.”
“Absolutely, and I’ll help too,” Emma said. “We can schedule another visit for a time that suits and go over some of the trickier stuff.”
“Thank you so much my dear, and please, call me Helen.”
Emma dragged herself out to her car and sat into the driver’s seat. She didn’t want to move, she wanted to sit and collect her thoughts, just for a few minutes but she realised it would look weird if she stayed parked up in Mrs. Reidy’s driveway. She made herself look busy in her notes for a minute or two just so she could catch her breathe. She summoned the strength to drive away, and was only two minutes down the road when she pulled into a little entranceway to a field.
She rested her hands and the wheel and her head on her hands. She shouldn’t have expected Patrick to tell her anything about a daughter. Why would he? They were business partners and just starting a relationship. If it didn’t work out there’d be no need to tell her anything, there’d be no strife and they’d go their separate ways. If things did look good for the two of them then she was sure he’d let her know when the time was right.
It still hurt that he hadn’t told her. It hurt her daydreams of starting a family, and it hurt her to think she might upset a little girl. Emma stopped her thoughts. She didn’t want to use his daughter’s relationship as a crutch for her own worries. She deserved a father, she didn’t deserve her father having a girlfriend who was worried about her. That wasn’t her place, she wasn’t her mother, that was another woman, a woman now in Patrick’s past. At least as far as intimate relationships go.
Emma didn’t want to intrude, she wanted Patrick to be happy with his child, he wanted her to love his child the way she already knew he did, and she didn’t want to get in the way.
Despite all that Emma couldn’t help but feel let down, like she was taking second place. Since the moment she had seen Patrick she’d been thinking of him as a father; as the father she would have wanted for herself as a child and as the kind of father she would want for her own children. It was his care and tenderness, his openness with his feelings and his fears that had made Emma accept she wanted kids of her own.
Now she couldn’t help but feel betrayed. It made so much sense that Patrick would arouse those feelings in her. He already was a father, and he already had a little girl to love. A dark thought rose in Emma’s mind. If she did make it work with him, if she did come to accept that he had loved another woman and they had a daughter together would he want another child with her. He was older than her, he might have passed his days of crying babies and nappy changes, of feeding a child through the night and sitting with a bawling baby when they were sick.
Sandra said to keep the question at the back of her mind, ‘Would he make a good father?’ Now it was all her mind could think about. And it seemed s
he had her answer, he had already made a good father. Mrs. Reidy spoke wonders about the little girl, Maia. She was gentle and polite, and she cared for animals and she got up to all the fun things children should get up to in the countryside.
Emma pulled out of the ditch and started to drive back to Patrick’s. She didn’t know what she’d do. She did know she’d keep quiet, she wouldn’t say anything to him. This was his story to tell her. It wasn’t for her to bring up her worries with a man who wasn’t ready for that at such an early stage of their relationship.
She drove up to the house and saw a note pinned to the barrel. She got out of her car and read it, Patrick had to help with some escaped and lost horses. He might be out late, it would be dangerous if they got on the roads. He said not to stay up waiting for him, she had three clients to see the next day and even more until late in the week.
Emma fixed herself a meal and went to her cottage, she settled down with a book. She had promised her mother she would draw and use the paints she had bought but she wasn’t in the mood. It wasn’t the right time for a celebration.
Chapter 8
The next few days passed without incident. The clients Emma dealt with were all listening to her, at least. Whether they took her advice was another question. She had tried to keep a straight face with Patrick, but she wasn’t sure if she had managed it. She was a little more distant with him and he seemed a little more distant to her.
Sunday morning he said he wanted to talk with her, she doubted he’d mention his daughter but the thought hung around her mind.
“Emma, will you tell me if you’re having issues?”
“What do you mean?” She asked.
“You’ve been quieter these past few days. You didn’t want to walk with me and Stan. And Stan missed you.” She knew he was really saying he missed her. She felt awful that it had become so noticeable. Patrick had never been shy with his feelings and now he was saying it was the dog who missed her.
“I’m just getting used to Ballyhane,” she said. “And I’ve been working hard.”
“You have been, everyone is raving about you, but—“
“But?” Emma said. She felt bad for being snappy with him.
“Not but,” he said. “I just hoped you could relax here, that you’d feel at peace.”
“It’s new,” Emma said.
“I know, I understand, but if there’s anything you need me to do then just say it.”
“I guess I need to find my bearings,” she said.
“You haven’t met anyone here in a social setting,” he said.
“I’ve been so busy with working.”
“And that’s not good. How about tonight we go out for a meal?”
“I don’t know, I’m a bit tired.”
“Then tomorrow, or during the week. You have the choice of the Chinese, a café that does lasagne and spaghetti, or there’s the gastro-pub a few miles out.”
“I’ve heard a lot about that pub.”
“Ok, just let me know when you’re ready for it. I’ll even dress up,” he said. “Just a little, jeans with no holes.”
Emma wanted to laugh. A week ago she would have laughed but she couldn’t believe in any truth in her laughter. Her thoughts had been playing on her.
Was she angry at Patrick for having a relationship? That’d be crazy woman territory, of course he had been with other women in the past but she felt it more intensely now. Was she worried that he wouldn’t want to start a new family? Or was she really just having difficulty adjusting to life.
“Have you spoken with your mother? Or Sandra? Amy is your other friend isn’t she?”
“You can’t get Amy on the phone,” Emma said. “She never answers calls, or texts, or e-mails, or Facebook messages. Too busy living the high life.”
“She’s a hotel receptionist isn’t she?”
“In a five star hotel, she thinks that means she has to live like she’s a guest there.”
“Why don’t you invite your Mother or Sandra down then?” He said. “There’s a nice trail I know and I could pack you picnic and you could set off for the day. Sandra is a photographer isn’t she?”
“It’s the latest in a long line of hobbies. She buys all the stuff and abandons them a few months later.”
“Invite her down, I’ll leave you two to have a day to yourselves.”
“Ok,” Emma said. “I’m sorry I’ve been so bitchy, it’s just a change.”
Patrick brought Emma up in his arms. “It took me a while to adjust as well. And if it doesn’t work out here then I’ll travel to see you in the city,” he said. “I’ll make it work, for you.”
***
Emma stalled for a few days, she worked with her clients and tried to make do. Her mother had been no help, of course. She was pushy, ‘tell him, dump him if you must but do something.’ That night Patrick asked her again about going out for dinner. She felt bad telling him she was tired, and she needed to go to bed.
She felt crazy, she was acting crazy. She’d have to get over this and deal with it like an adult, but she wanted to talk to someone. Her mother would just push her again, ‘just say it to him.’ She hadn’t coaxed the information about Maia out of anyone. Knowing he had a daughter wasn’t a big betrayal of his trust, it was more of a betrayal that she hadn’t told him she knew. But it was up to him to tell her about his daughter.
They had had good days. When she wasn’t thinking about his family life she really enjoyed being with him, but it was always lurking. She’d be enjoying spending time with him, and Stan and it would pop up in her mind, right out of nowhere.
She rang Sandra.
“Hey love,” Sandra said as she answered her phone.
“You up to anything?” Emma asked.
“I’m just chatting with Amy, having a bit of a natter.”
“Say ‘hi’ to her for me.” Emma could hear Sandra turn from her phone and say a few words, she guessed to Amy.
“Amy says ‘hi’ back, and to wipe the mud from your boots before you come back up here,” Sandra said. “When will you be back?”
“I have to teach a class this weekend, so maybe someday next week.”
“Aw, I hoped to see you this weekend. I have work all day and could do with a night out after.”
All Emma could manage to say was, “Oh!”
“You had other plans?”
“I was hoping you’d come to visit me over the weekend, I could do with having you down here.”
“What’s wrong?” Sandra asked.
Emma didn’t want to say, she felt her face curl up and she didn’t think she could hold it together over the phone if she opened up. There’d be no-one here to console her. She hadn’t felt this alone since the day she was left go from Desmond, Desmond and O’Malley. And even then she could visit Sandra straight away.
“Come on girl, silence is no good.”
“I’m just feeling a little lonely here.”
“Patrick didn’t say something, did he,” Sandra said, it wasn’t a question. Coming from Sandra’s mouth it was a threat on his life if he had done anything.
“No, Patrick’s been perfect, it’s me who’s the problem.”
“So you wanted me to come down over the weekend,” Sandra said.
“Yeah,” Emma sniffled.
“I have tomorrow off, I was just going to clean the apartment but I can live in filth for another few days. That’s how much you mean to me.”
“You can come tomorrow?” Emma asked.
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
“Well, no, you didn’t.”
“Ah god, it’s worse than I thought,” she said. “Do you need me to bring anything?”
“I left some books near the TV in my flat, will you use your key and pick them up for me?”
“Anything for you, babe,” she said. “Are you sure you can hold out until tomorrow?”
“The thought of you gracing Ballyhane with your snarky presence has me cheered up already.” Emma wip
ed her eyes, she didn’t think Sandra could tell she was crying.
“I’ll try and bring some chocolate as well, from James’ Café.”
“Patrick already has really good chocolate here,” Emma said.
“And I bet he has a swimming pool and Jacuzzi too.”
“Not yet, but I could do with a bath.”
“Get yourself a bath then woman. He must have one of those.”
“I think he does. I will.”
“Ok, I’ll drive down first thing tomorrow. The weather is looking good for it.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Emma said.
“Bye, hun.”
Emma dried her eyes and checked herself in the mirror, she wanted that bath but she didn’t want Patrick to see she had been crying. When she assured herself there were no signs of her tears, and after taking a few deep breaths she made her way to Patrick’s cottage.
“Can’t sleep?” Patrick asked.
“I thought a bath might help,” Emma said. It would help her sleep but it was more so she could relax. “You don’t mind do you?”
“I was just going to do the washing up, but you draw your bath before I take any hot water.”
“Thanks,” Emma said.
“Would you like a beer, or a cup of tea, or a double gin and tonic for your bath?”
“If I had a gin I’d fall asleep,” Emma said.
“That might not be a bad thing. I’d wake you before you go wrinkly.”
“I might bring myself a tea.”
“I’ll make you your tea, you get the bath ready,” he said. “There’s some bath bombs under the sink, feel free to use as many as you want.”
“You’ve obviously never used them, more than one and you’d have a very watery floor.”
“No, they’re not mine actually.”
They both went quiet. Patrick turned to make the tea and Emma had an idea of who owned the bubble bath supplies.
She let the tap run until steaming water was pouring out, but she was hesitant of using the bubble bath and fancy soaps Patrick had. She guessed they were his daughter’s and she didn’t want to invade her privacy. This was Maia’s home, not Emma’s.