Tara Flynn

by Geraldine O'Neill

  “I’ll just go and get a couple of programmes,” Tara said, pointing in the direction of the stall. “I’ll catch you back here in a minute.”

  “And I,” Kate replied, with a twinkle in her hazel eyes, “will look for the biggest box of chocolates I can find. I spotted the perfect box in a shop window on the way in. “ She giggled, the effects of the champagne still evident. “I’m in a chocolate mood tonight,” she warned, “so you’d better watch out!”

  Tara rolled her eyes in amusement, as the small, but distinctive form – her hair bobbing busily up and down – disappeared into the crowds. Wherever they went, Tara thought, Kate always livened things up.

  Five minutes later, Tara was standing in the same spot, holding the programmes and craning her neck to look for her friend amongst the crowd. There was a great buzz of excitement in the air, as people rushed backwards and forwards, getting organised before it was time to take their seats for the performance.Suddenly, Tara felt a firm hand on her arm, and she turned towards Kate. Only it wasn’t Kate Thornley. Tara found herself looking up into the intense blue eyes of Gabriel Fitzgerald.

  “Tara,” he said, his breathing sounding short. “I can’t believe it’s you . . .” He leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly against her cheek. Then, he stepped back to look at her again, amazement and delight etched all over his face.

  “Hello, Gabriel,” a calm voice replied. Considering her heart was hammering in her chest, Tara was amazed to discover it was actually her own voice. “How are you?”

  “I thought it was you – I thought I recognised your hair.”

  Tara felt her hands clench and her throat tighten. “I didn’t know you liked opera,” she said – and immediately felt silly. Why shouldn’t he like opera? And why should it be of any importance to her, whether he liked opera or not?

  “I’m not very knowledgeable about it,” he confessed, with a grin. “I thought I should take the chance to learn a bit more about it, since I’m living in London at the moment.”

  So he was living in London, Tara thought. She wondered about Ballygrace House. Perhaps his English wife didn’t fancy living in a remote village in the middle of Ireland? She looked up at him through lowered eyelids, and noticed how very blond his hair still was, although it was longer than she remembered. Little tendrils were growing down, curling at the back of his smooth neck. Gabriel had always been a very handsome boy – but now he was a devastatingly handsome man.

  Her gaze caught his, and when she saw the look in his eyes, she felt the familiar tightening in her stomach. It was the same way he had looked at her on the night at the New Year’s Eve ball in Tullamore, when they were teenagers. Tara turned her head away. She was obviously imagining it. Sure, wasn’t he a married man by now? She clasped the programmes tightly to her chest, and started to look around the crowds. “I’m waiting on my friend . . . I seem to have lost her.”

  “You’re not with . . .” he paused, the colour on his cheeks going deeper, “you’re not with the chap I met at the funeral?”

  Tara’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of both Frank and the funeral. “Frank? No . . . no,” she said, her head shaking vigorously, and her voice slightly higher. She felt completely flustered now. “I’m with my friend, Kate . . . we’ve just come down to London for the weekend.”

  “Have you been back to Ballygrace recently?” Gabriel asked, his eyes taking in every inch of her face.

  “No – not for a long time.”

  “I left some things of Madeleine’s for you,” he said “at your uncle’s cottage. I kept them . . . hoping I might see you.”

  Tara swallowed hard to ease her dry throat. “My aunt wrote and told me. Thanks, it was very thoughtful of you.” She looked down at the programmes. “I’ve been really busy in Stockport,” she said, feeling guilty that she’d misjudged him about the mementos. “I have a lodging business – plus my work – and everything. I’m going over soon, and I’ll pick the things up then.”

  “I believe you have some very nice property,” Gabriel said, and when he saw the surprised look on her face, he quickly added: “I met your friend, Frank, in Dublin Airport some time ago.” He paused. “It was around the time of your engagement.”

  “Engagement?” Tara’s brows shot up in amazement. She and Frank had never planned to get engaged . . . how could he? He had never mentioned meeting Gabriel Fitzgerald. What else, she wondered, had he not told her?

  Kate suddenly appeared, grabbing Tara’s sleeve in a flurry of excitement. “Sorry,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “I met a guy from college who I haven’t seen for ages. He was telling me all about this brilliant new designer who’s opened a place in London. Apparently she’s looking for staff –” Kate halted mid-sentence, suddenly realising that Gabriel was with Tara.

  “Gabriel,” Tara said, “this is my lost friend, Kate.”

  He stretched his hand out.

  “Gabriel’s an old friend from home,” Tara explained. “We’re from the same village, and we went to school together. I was very close friends with his sister.”

  Kate returned the warm handshake. “Another Irishman abroad!” she joked, taking in every detail of his six-foot, blond good looks, and his expensive, well-cut clothes. “Has Tara been boring you with all the details about her ordination over in Ireland? Or are you one of the lucky people who are going too?” Kate laughed. “It’s all she’s talked about this weekend. We made a special trip down to London so’s she could buy an really exclusive outfit for it – one that she wouldn’t see duplicated in Dublin.” She touched Gabriel’s arm and rolled her eyes. “She’s made it sound so exciting, I’m beginning to wish I had an invitation to it myself.”

  “Kate!” Tara gasped, on the verge of wringing her neck. “You really do exaggerate at times!”

  “Who are you with?” Kate asked Gabriel, ignoring Tara’s annoyance.

  Tara blushed at her friend’s forthright manner, although she had been dying to ask him the very same thing.

  “I’m –” He coughed to clear his throat, “I’m with a group.”

  Tara’s heart sank. He had not specified whether the group was family or friends. She was quite sure that his English wife must be part of it.

  Kate smiled. “I see you’re one of these mysterious Celtic types. Tara can be a bit like that at times.” She turned to Tara, handing her a ticket. “I’ll catch you inside.” Then she had the cheek to add: “Don’t be late.”

  Tara laughed and shook her head in exasperation.

  “She seems very nice – lively but nice,” Gabriel commented, obviously amused. Then, after a few moments’ hesitation, he asked: “This ordination, is it in Ireland?”

  “It’s my brother Joe – it’s in Dublin.

  “When?” he asked.

  “Next weekend.”

  “How long are you going over for?”

  “Saturday until a week the following Tuesday. We have the ordination in Dublin on the Sunday, and then his first Mass in Tullamore the next Sunday.” It suddenly dawned on Tara why he was so interested. She gave an apologetic smile. “I promise I’ll pick up Madeleine’s things when I’m in Ballygrace.”

  “Did you know Ballygrace House is up for sale?” Gabriel said suddenly.

  Tara’s body stiffened. “I heard rumours some time ago . . .”

  He nodded. “It’s definite now. The board is up in the office window. Next year, it will probably be the auctioneering business.” He shrugged ran a hand through his fair hair. “With my mother living in London – and I spend very little time over in Ireland, myself.”

  A bell rang out now, signalling for people to take their seats. Gabriel looked down at his watch. “I suppose I’d better make tracks.” He hesitated. “I don’t suppose we could meet tomorrow? Just for a short while.”

  Tara’s heart lifted – then, just as quick, she scolded herself. She had already been badly burned with one married man, the last thing she needed was
getting involved with another. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, “but we’re travelling back home tomorrow.”

  He nodded his head, as though he had expected a refusal.

  “How is your mother?” she asked, as they moved along in the crowd towards the auditorium.

  “Much better,” he replied, his arm guiding her. “In fact, I think she might remarry soon.”

  “Really?” Tara’s voice was high with surprise.

  “An Englishman. One of the leading barristers in London. He’s very nice, and he’s also very good with my young brother, William.”

  Tara shivered. The boy was obviously called after his dead father. She looked up at Gabriel and smiled brightly. “I’m delighted for her . . . please give her my regards.”

  He stopped dead. Then, he reached out and took both her hands in his. “My mother often talks about you,” he said quietly. “It was only afterwards that she realised the extent of your support for Madeleine – even during the worst her illness. You were the only real friend she had.”

  The mention of her youthful, golden-haired friend, suddenly brought a flood of tears to Tara’s eyes. She eased a hand out of his grip, deeply embarrassed at showing herself so vulnerable, and dug into her jacket pocket for a hanky. “I’m sorry . . .”

  “It’s me who should be sorry, Tara,” he said, manoeuvring her into a little corner, away from the crowds. “So very, very sorry.” He reached for her, and pulled her into his arms.

  Instinctively, Tara melted into his embrace, burying her head deep in his chest. Then, a little voice at the back of her head reminded her that Gabriel Fitzgerald was a married man. Gently, and without saying a word, she pulled away from him.

  The second bell sounded, signalling three minutes until the start of the performance – and the end of her brief, but disturbing, encounter with Gabriel Fitzgerald.

  Madame Butterfly went straight over Tara’s head, as she sat through the performance. Watching, but seeing and hearing very little, her mind was completely taken up by the whole incident with Gabriel Fitzgerald and the effect he had had on her. How could she still have feelings for him after all this time? And after all that had happened with Frank? How could she be so immature and silly, to lust after another married man?

  Occasionally, Kate dug her in the ribs to whisper a comment about the opera, or to push an immense box of chocolates under her nose. But even the sweet, cloying smell of the confectionery – which had Kate dipping into the box every five minutes – failed to tempt Tara away from her thoughts.

  When the interval came, Tara said she didn’t mind Kate rushing off to talk to her college friend again, and said she was happy to stay put in her seat.

  “I thought you might want to see that handsome Irishman again,” Kate commented. “I’m very surprised that you never mentioned him before. He is absolutely gorgeous.” Kate put her bobbed head to the side, and studied her friend carefully. “I’m sure you’re keeping something from me. I can tell these things, just by the way he looked at you.”

  Tara shrugged. “It doesn’t matter how he looked at me – he’s a married man.”

  “Oh, well,” Kate said, rolling her eyes. She had heard the whole sorry tale about Frank Kennedy. “Say no more.” She put the box of chocolates in Tara’s lap. “Help yourself while I’m gone. They might cheer you up.”

  Tara’s concentration was slightly better during the second half of the opera but she had lost the main thread of the story. She would have to ask Kate to explain it to her later.

  When the performance finished, Tara asked Kate if they could move out of the Opera House as quickly as possible.

  “I have no wish to see Gabriel Fitzgerald with his wife,” she explained. “It was hard enough meeting him, after all this time.” She gripped the handle of her bag tightly. “I just want to get out of here and forget that I ever laid eyes on him again.”

  Chapter Forty-two

  Tara looked along the pew at her father. When she caught his eye, she smiled reassuringly at him, and he winked back at her. He had changed so much since his return to Ireland.

  Some changes were for the better.

  His hair was still the same curly black, but now he washed it more often. His suit and shoes were impeccable today. But then they would be. Today he was up in Dublin to watch his oldest son being ordained into the priesthood. This was a very special day – a day very few fathers ever got to see.

  Shay stood tall beside his wife, his elderly aunts and his daughter. His brother Mick and his wife Kitty, were in the pew behind, with Tara’s half-brothers and sisters. He was surrounded by his family on this special day, and he looked fit and well. Everything about Shay Flynn’s appearance was for the better. Two years after her death, all those outward signs were still a testament to Ruby Sweeney’s love and attention.

  There were other noticeable changes about Shay. He no longer drank heavily – a couple of glasses of stout on a rare occasion. He could take it or leave it. Now sober, he never missed a day’s work. When he came home from England, he had followed Ruby’s instructions to the letter, and gone cap in hand to his old employers at the factory. He had explained how he was now off the beer and would be a model employee, an example to the others. Ruby was right. He was given a lowly job at first, sweeping the factory floor and cleaning the machines. Within a few months he was in a more respectable position, which he had maintained ever since.

  But the biggest change in Shay was within himself. If the light had not gone out of his life, it had certainly dimmed. Never again would he know the love he had known with the blonde, busty landlady. He had been a lucky man to have known such a woman. He knew of no other man who had enjoyed such a glorious – albeit brief – liaison. His relationship with Ruby had filled every little gap he ever had in his life. Even the tiniest gap that a man is rarely aware of.

  And he knew he would never be so fulfilled in his life again.

  But Shay was resigned to it. He knew the path that was laid out in life for him, from now on. He would tread it firmly and with his head held high. Tessie had made plenty of sacrifices while he had been enjoying life to the full in Stockport, and now it was his turn to make the sacrifices for her.

  His wife and his family were the main priority in his life, and he would stick to that into old age. He had made that promise to Ruby on her deathbed, and he knew – as sure as he had ever known anything in his life – that he would not break it.

  Tara felt intensely proud of her brother. Since her arrival in Dublin yesterday, she had felt overawed by the magnificence of the occasion. There had been no point in travelling all the way down to Ballygrace, to travel back today, so she had booked into one of the city centre hotels. Not the hotel she had stayed in with Frank.

  She had met up with Joe the previous night, and they had gone for a meal together. Although she had broached the seriousness of his vocation in her letters with him many times, she felt compelled to check one last time that he was truly doing the right thing. Like a bridegroom going into marriage.

  “Yes,” Joe had assured her, with an affectionate pat on the hand. “I have no doubts about what I’m doing with my life.”

  “Don’t be angry with me for asking,” Tara had said, her emerald eyes clouded with worry. “It’s just . . . a few years ago . . . you were having serious doubts.”

  “It was glandular fever, and it left me very weak and depressed,” he explained, “and my whole life seemed one big problem. Every little thing grew out of all proportion. But I took some time off, and, once I started to get back to full health, I could see what had caused it all.”

  “You’re sure?” Tara checked. “You don’t feel duty-bound to go through with the ordination or anything like that? One more or one less priest isn’t going to make a whole lot of difference to God.”

  Joe put his knife and fork down on the plate. “Wherever do you get your ideas, Tara? You’re talking like an agnostic.” He laughed out loud. Then, he s
uddenly looked serious. “I’m sorry . . . your faith must have been really shaken by that priest from Ballygrace.”

  Tara nodded her head. “It has been severely shaken. He almost ruined Biddy’s life.”

  Joe took both her hands in his. “I prayed for you and Biddy, when you wrote and told me.”

  “I thought,” Tara whispered, “that you might find it hard to believe. That you would think Biddy was lying. It’s such a terrible thing for a priest to do.”

  “It is a hard thing to believe,” Joe said gently, “but human beings do terrible things . . . and priests are only human, after all. Don’t forget, Lucifer, the devil himself, was an angel first. Hopefully, priests – like the one I intend to become – will make up for the sins of the odd bad one.” He paused. “After a spell in a priests’ retirement place in London, the Bishop sent Father Daly to work in a retreat house down in Cork, where he’ll only be mixing with adults. He won’t do any more harm to children in Ballygrace.”

  “Thank God for that,” Tara had said quietly, “and it’s to be hoped, that he does no more harm wherever he goes.”

  Watching the Bishop and the priests on the altar now, and Joe and his fellow seminarians – all in their celebratory robes – made Tara’s heart swell with pride. It crossed her mind more than once as to how her long-dead mother would have felt on this special day – and how sad it was for Joe that she had not lived to see it. To most Irish, Catholic mothers, it would be a dream come true. Joe was nearing the age his mother had died. It was a strange, Tara thought, for a child to have lived into adulthood longer than a parent. More than once she had to wipe a tear away, while at either side of her, Maggie and Molly constantly sniffled into their hankies. And as the two wrinkled old ladies witnessed the Bishop laying his hands on Joe Flynn’s head – their cup had finally overflowed. All the prayers and financial sacrifices offered up over the years had now borne the most wonderful, glorious fruit.