Feck it – I’ll marry you!
Noreen could not bear the thought of him being with anyone else. But she couldn’t just marry him to keep him off the market. Could she? Maybe that was what everyone did. You had no choice but to marry the man you loved. If you didn’t get married you couldn’t be loved.
It was very confusing. Except for one thing. Noreen knew that she did not want to get married. The more she thought about it, the more certain she was that she could not, would not, make the commitment to one person for the rest of her life. It just didn’t feel right.
As John hurriedly got dressed, Noreen stood watching him in agony, knowing there was nothing she could say to keep him with her. Nothing that wasn’t an outright lie or a shallow piece of plámás† that would fall flat on its face later.
He looked at her as he left, his face pleading with her to say something.
’Please don’t go,’ she said. ‘Not like this.’
John looked at her and, while he loved her, he knew he couldn’t do this any more. Noreen had to belong to him. Only to him. Whether she had, or hadn’t slept with another man since she had been here, the mere threat of it was intolerable.
‘I can’t go on pretending all this is alright, Noreen, because it isn’t. I’m just an ordinary Irishman. All this – it’s just not for me.’ And he walked out the door.
Noreen cried for an hour.
Then she went and rummaged in the kitchen for some comfort food. She didn’t have to look far. Annie had left out a selection of cut cheeses and crackers in case they got hungry in the night. With a snap of irritation, Noreen noticed Annie’s new, French wooden-handled cheese cutter was hanging neatly on its hook by the bread bin, and wondered why any woman would want to spend their hard-earned money on such pointless cooking appliances.
After stuffing back a dozen cheese-loaded crackers, Noreen pulled herself together. She had work tomorrow, and an exciting life to lead. She had scarified the love of her life to be on this adventure and to hell with John, and her father, and the wretched Catholic Church and its institution of marriage; she was going to make this adventure happen by being utterly wicked and naughty.
But before she let go of her goody-goody self entirely, Noreen decided to do one last good deed.
She picked up her letter pad and started writing.
Dear Mr and Mrs Black,
My name is Noreen Lyons and I share a flat in London with your daughter, Hanna…
* Irish slang for big, awkward man
† Flattery
31
Lara had experienced a sick dread in her stomach all the way down to the seminary. She had been greeted by a cold English cleric and taken into a small wood panelled room, which smelt of furniture polish and incense. A large crucifix hung above the mantelpiece. Carved from light wood, Jesus looked merely mournful, a far cry from the agonised bloody Sacred Heart pictures she had grown up with at home.
Lara had been given a cup of tea and left on her own for almost an hour. While she waited, Lara had wondered how she would feel seeing Matthew again. Did she still love him? Was that why she was here? Should she even be asking herself these questions?
Finally, Lara had heard a voice in the hall. It was the same cleric that had seen her in, saying rather crossly, ‘The young woman has been waiting for quite some time.’
She had frozen for a second and then, Matthew was there, standing in front of her.
As soon as she saw him, Lara was flooded through with an old emotion. The delight and excitement of seeing somebody familiar that you have not seen for a long time. He looked shell-shocked, so she smiled and walked across the room although the cleric was still standing there so she was unsure what to do when she got there. So she just stood and he said, ‘Lara. What a surprise!’
‘Don’t forget, evening prayer is in less than half an hour,’ the priest said before closing the door on them.
‘Yes, Father,’ Matthew said. He seemed embarrassed.
Perhaps the priest thought they were going to fall on each other the moment he left. Her last encounter behind a closed door, with Coleman, flashed into her head.
‘So,’ Lara said, ‘I heard you were in London and I thought I’d come and see you.’
It sounded so hollow.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘it’s nice to see you.’
That sounded equally small, and yet all the things she had imagined saying to him in this moment, the angry accusations, the incredulous fury at being abandoned, were gone. In their place was a vague feeling of familiarity, barely bordering on friendship. There was the same familiar, handsome face, the eyes shining with a mixture of sensitivity and vulnerability that she knew so well and yet the feeling she had been expecting, the overwhelming sense of loss, love – something – just wasn’t there. Lara was surprised to realise that she felt less joy in seeing Matthew than she had when his sister bounded unexpectedly into her life a few weeks ago. In fact, with the great love of her life standing in front of her, all Lara felt was guilt at having fallen out with Noreen over – well this ‘nothing’ moment.
She looked around the room at the life Matthew had chosen. This rarefied world of men in frocks and musty, cloistered martyrdom. The opposite of the modern, liberated, adventurous path she was on. The fact that he had chosen this over her was annoying, but no longer the point. They had shared a life together, but today they were worlds apart. Lara felt a little sad, but mostly she was surprised to find she felt relieved.
However, she had to make some effort so she asked, ‘How is the training going?’
‘Well,’ he said. ‘I’m enjoying the restoration work but I’m thinking of leaving the priesthood.’
The words just came out of his mouth. When he saw a wry, amused smile barely disguising her disgust, Matthew realised he was done with this. The pretence. The gradual, brainwashing slide into sanctimonious bachelorhood.
Lara looked interested now.
‘Oh?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ he said, matter-of-factly. ‘I’ve met somebody.’
Lara reeled as he explained, quite unnecessarily, ‘A woman.’
As subtle as a bullock’s bollocks, Lara remembered Noreen once saying of her often stupidly blunt brother.
He didn’t care. His mind was made up and he was saying it like it was. It was true. He had fallen in love with a woman.
It was in that moment that Lara realised Matthew hadn’t decided he loved God more than he loved woman. He just loved God more than he loved her.
Lara’s hackles rose. Leaving her for the priesthood was one thing. Leaving the priesthood for a woman, another woman, a better woman, a woman he…
‘I’ve fallen in love,’ he said to himself more than her, adding, ‘for the first time.’
For the first time. Had he never been in love with her? Clearly not. Well, that was a humiliation just too great to bear.
What about me? Weren’t you in love with ME? The words formed in her head but pride prevented her from saying them out loud. Instead, quite out of the blue, she found herself saying, ‘Me too.’
‘Really?’ Matthew said, without a hint of jealousy in his voice.
‘Yes. I’ve met somebody too.’
‘Well, I’m happy for you.’
Matthew expressed no curiosity about who it was because he felt none. He was just delighted that Lara was beyond his hurt. Lara was longing to tell him she had spent a whole afternoon having wild, passionate sex with a gangster but the other, greater part of her felt that would be disloyal. To Coleman. Not him. She certainly did not want a description of the woman he had fallen in love with over her, but not because she wasn’t curious or didn’t care.
Lara felt discombobulated and angry. She was confused and had no idea what might come out of her mouth next so she picked up her bag from the table and said, as breezily as she could, ‘Good for you. I’d better be going.’
Matthew raised his eyebrows at her quick departure.
‘Is that it?’
‘Well, phew. I thought you’d come here because you were cross with me or something.’
‘No, no,’ she said, her voice clipped. After putting her through all that to become a priest and now he had fallen in love and was walking away from it. The stupid, featherheaded, half-witted idiot! She wanted to kill him. ‘Why would I be cross?’ she said, opened the door and left. Then, unable to help herself she shouted, as loudly as she dared (which was quite loudly), ‘Enjoy your evening prayers, everyone!’ hoping it would get him into lots of trouble.
Outside the seminary, she lit a cigarette and started towards the Kings Road at full speed, marching off her rage.
Clearly, Matthew had never been in love with her. But knowing that made her feel angry, not sad. Not heartbroken. Then, a storm of emotion broke inside her and she began to think. Had she ever been in love with him? She had loved Matthew, although she wondered now, had she ever loved him more than Noreen? What she had fallen in love with was the idea of being with him. Two artists studying in Dublin then moving to London. Perhaps what she had really fallen in love with was the security of knowing who she was going to spend the rest of her life with so that she could get on with the important thing at hand, which was designing clothes. Matthew had simply gone along with her; she could see that now. She willed him into an engagement and he joined the priesthood to get out of it. The priesthood enabled Matthew to escape her plans for him and now, ironically, he was free to fall in love.
As the terrible truth of that settled inside her, a thunderbolt hit.
‘Me too.’
Was that the truth?
Could she be in love with Coleman, after all? Coleman was not a sensible option, the preferred option, the smart option. But then, you didn’t choose who you fell in love with. Perhaps the passionate attraction she had for him meant she was in love, but Lara was a pragmatist and artist. She loved people, of course, but she only fell in love with clothes. Perhaps that was by choice. She certainly wasn’t choosing to be with Coleman, not by any means. That would be reckless. Although, she had chosen Matthew even though he had never inspired the kind of dark passion that she had experienced with Coleman.
As Lara reached Sloane Square her anger towards Matthew abated and gave way to a more thoughtful train. She joined the evening crowds crushing along the pavements, city gents in bowler hats and cool cats in miniskirts weaving in and out of each other, bright red buses trundling past – somebody had painted the word LOVE in bright pink and parked it on the pavement outside C&A. Lara never tired of London, its energy and its style. She may have grown up in Ireland and been educated in Dublin but London felt like her home now, and Chelsea was her patch. The past really was gone for her now, inside and out. In truth, Matthew had given her a gift by leaving her. Would she ever have come here with him? Having seen him in the dry environment of the seminary, wearing his soutane and the serious, slightly worried expression he adopted whenever he was forced to come into contact with modern life, she doubted she would ever have got him to London. Not her London anyway. This crazy, swinging, beautiful place. In truth, Matthew leaving her had been the best thing he could ever have done for her. Maybe, just maybe, he had known that.
When she got back to the flat, Annie was in the kitchen and she was singing.
‘You’re in good form.’
‘Oh Lara,’ she said, flinging herself down on the sofa and flicking her tea towel in the air.
‘The most wonderful thing happened today.’
‘You’re in love?’
Annie giggled. ‘Well I don’t know about that but…’ Then she laughed again. Lara had never seen her so happy. ‘How did you know?’
‘Call me psychic. I can tell.’
She stood up and went over to the kitchen. ‘It probably won’t come to anything. I just met somebody in the cafe today that I liked, that’s all.’
This was the first time she’d shown any interest in a man. There must be something in the air, thought Lara.
‘Well, you’re so gorgeous, I’m sure he’ll be back.’
‘Oh,’ she said sadly, ‘I don’t think he’s really interested. He thought my modelling was inappropriate.’
Annie didn’t mention to Lara that he was a priest. That would just confuse things.
‘He’ll definitely be back then,’ Lara joked
‘Do you really think so?’
‘Of course,’ Lara said, slightly irritated by her coy innocence.
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘I invited him along to the shoot tomorrow.’
‘That’s great,’ said Lara. But it didn’t feel great.
Noreen had John and now even innocent Annie had met somebody. Lara had had enough of this day.
‘I’m going downstairs,’ she said. ‘If anyone comes looking for me, tell them I’m in a meeting with Coleman.’
Then added with a small smile, ‘And tell them not to disturb me.’
Annie, lost in her own delicious thoughts of a handsome Priest Charming was only half listening.
❊
Lara and Coleman had been avoiding each other. She, because she needed to process his action and he, she presumed, to give her time to do that. Or, more likely, she thought with a shiver of excitement, because he would be unable to keep his savage hands off her. To be doubly sure, she hoiked her skirt up a few inches, ruffled her intimidating bob out of symmetry and smeared on some candy pink lipstick to create a fashionably dry pout.
As she stood at the door of his office, Lara’s hands paused in anticipation before she knocked, and her stomach leapt when she heard his familiar grunt, imagining what might be awaiting her.
When she stepped inside, Coleman was sitting behind his desk filling in an accounts ledger.
‘Hi,’ he said, not looking up.
‘Hi,’ she said.
When he did look up his eyes were cold and querying.
‘How are you?’ he asked with disinterested distance.
‘Fine.’ Her stomach started to knot. Maybe he was mad at her for not saying ‘I love you’ back. She forced warmth into her voice and asked, ‘How are you?’ It sounded patronising.
‘Good,’ he said, then nodding towards the ledger, ‘busy.’
Coleman was so hard to read. He was showing no signs of loving her now. None. Maybe he was hiding it, for pride’s sake. Or maybe…
‘Was there something in particular?’
‘Yes,’ she said, smiling and taking a step towards him. ‘I was hoping we might go through some figures? There’s some new stock I’m interested in getting, but I’m not sure how to balance the takings with—’
‘Sure,’ he said cutting her off as if in a tremendous hurry. ‘Do you have them with you?’
Maybe he had gone off her.
No. Surely not.
She opened her palms to show her hands were empty and, trying to sound coquettish, said, ‘Oh dear – I seem to have left them upstairs.’
She was taking the first step in sashaying towards his desk when Coleman looked down at his papers, again, and said, ‘Did you do up those dresses for Maureen Chevron yet?’
Coleman had told her that she needed to put together a few special pieces for Bobby’s wife, to keep her and her crazy husband sweet. Lara had started a few drawings but then got too busy with the shop. Anyway, why couldn’t the woman just come over and pick some pieces herself?
‘Haven’t got round to it yet.’
He looked up at her briefly. ‘Well make sure you do. It’s important.’
Normally, she would have given him a mouthful for using such a patronising tone but she was bruised and felt more hurt than angry.
‘OK,’ she said.
When she didn’t move to go he said, ‘If you want to go and get those papers now, I can give you half an hour.’
Really? Is that it?
Lara stood for a moment and looked at him, waiting, willing him to look up again and see that she was on the verge of tears.
‘Shall we leave it for another time?’
Coleman ran his finger from side to side across the lines in his ledger.
Was he avoiding her deliberately? Simply trying hard to resist her? She checked and saw that his eyes were following the figures. It seemed like he was genuinely involved in his work. If he was avoiding her because he felt awkward, he was doing a very good job. Too good a job.
‘Perhaps that would be best,’ he said looking up briefly, holding her eyes in a harsh stare.
‘Perhaps it would.’ Lara tried to regain some dignity. And failed.
After she gently closed the door of Coleman’s office, she stood with her back against it and took a deep breath. In just one day she had experienced the indifference of two lovers. One had hurt her pride, the other her heart.
32
‘I don’t want you going near the bloke again.’
Noreen was having a bad day. Arthur had just got wind of the fact that she’d employed Handsome in the bar.
‘He is bad news, Noreen. Baaaad news. Do you hear me?’
‘I hear you, Arthur,’ she said, driving the drying cloth so far into the glass, she nearly broke it. ‘I’m just not listening.’
‘This is stupid, Noreen, he’s a daaangerous character.’
Noreen thought that was pretty rich coming from someone who nearly killed a man with an ironing board.
‘You’ll find I can be pretty dangerous myself if you don’t shut up!’
Arthur muttered something about ’aving words with Coleman and sloped off.
Noreen picked up another glass from the draining board and felt a bit sick. Not eaten-too-many-biscuits sick. Emotionally-upset sick. Noreen could not remember ever having felt this way before. A kind of empty, hollow dread, as if something rotten was around the corner. Or worse, nothing at all was around the corner.
As she was putting the glass on the shelf she saw Lara come down the stairs.
With nobody else there she had no choice but to address Noreen. She left a large envelope marked ‘stock receipts’ on the bar and said, ‘Would you give these to Coleman please?’
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