City Girl

by Patricia Scanlan

  Devlin buried her face against his chest. ‘Oh Luke, help me . . . I can’t cope with it any more. I . . . I can’t bear it!’ She was crying now, racking sobs shaking her body.

  ‘Can’t bear what, sweetheart? Tell me so I can help,’ he murmured, drawing her down beside him as he sat on the sofa and holding her tightly.

  His kindness was the key that unlocked the grief that had been imprisoned in her heart throughout all those eventful months since the accident. And the words came rushing out of her.

  ‘Oh Luke, Luke . . . the accident . . . I . . . I . . . my baby died a year ago today.’

  Devlin heard his sharp indrawn breath and went to draw away from him, sure that he was shocked, but his arms tightened around her and as she wept openly against his shoulder his hand gently stroked her hair. All the grief she had suppressed so long poured out of her and she cried bitterly as she told him everything.

  Later, he made tea for them after wiping her tear-stained face with a facecloth, as gently as a mother would her child. They talked for hours with no more reserve between them until pink slashes of dawn began to streak the eastern sky.

  ‘Go to bed, Devlin. I’ll be here when you wake up,’ he said, knowing instinctively that it was what she wanted. Her fingers rested briefly against his cheek.

  ‘Thank you, Luke. I can’t tell you how much you’ve help—’

  ‘Hush.’ He didn’t let her finish. ‘That’s what friends are for and you and I are friends. Never forget that! Now try and sleep!’

  As he sat on her sofa pondering all that she had told him, from the child’s conception, her own adoption and estrangement from Lydia, to her life over the past few years he realized why she had been so guarded and reserved.

  Luke knew without doubt that he was falling in love with Devlin. Nothing she had told him had changed that. If anything, he admired her all the more for all she had gone through. If he could help her get through this maybe she could put her past behind her and look to the future. A future that held him. The fact that she had told him everything, held nothing back, was a step in the right direction. She had even asked him about Nola! And he had thought she hadn’t even noticed his deliberate name-dropping. Luke smiled to himself. He had cared deeply for Nola when they were together but it was nothing compared to what he felt for Devlin. At last she had taken the first real trusting step in their relationship. Patience was a virtue he knew little of, but because of her he would learn. He fell asleep on the sofa, vowing to make her happy.

  He awoke before her and he showered and dressed quickly. He had met her straight from the airport so his luggage was still in his car and he was able to get a change of clothes. Luke knew there was something Devlin must do before she could accept the past. He rang Gerry, gave him a brief outline of his plan and listened carefully to the older man on the phone. Then, moving around her well-equipped kitchen he deftly prepared a tasty breakfast and brought it to her on a tray. Snuggled deep in the bedclothes with one hand under her cheek like a child, Devlin was sleeping soundly for the first time in a year. A deep untroubled sleep. He decided not to wake her and was halfway to the door when he heard her murmur, ‘Hi Luke.’

  ‘Hello, Devlin.’

  They smiled at each other. Later, when she had eaten, he said, ‘I want you to come somewhere with me today. Just trust me. OK?’

  Devlin met his steady gaze. She trusted him implicitly and without question she dressed and got into the car with him. ‘Why are we going to Wexford?’ she asked, a little shocked, as she recognized the route they were taking. Devlin hadn’t been to Wexford since the accident. Despite herself she shivered at the memory. She had instructed her solicitor to employ someone to take care of the farmhouse that Kate had willed to her. She had sold the farm but couldn’t bear to part with the house, so twice a week a local woman came in to clean and air it.

  Seeing the tension in her face Luke reached out a strong firm hand to squeeze hers gently. ‘Take it easy Dev. Trust me. I know what I’m doing. Now sit back and relax.’

  To her surprise she found that as the miles slid smoothly by she was quite calm and relaxed. It was as if after the exorcism of her grief, a huge burden had been lifted from her and although she paled at the spot where the accident had occurred, she was quite composed until Luke made a right turn instead of going to the harbour. He saw her tense, her hands clenched in her lap. His phone call to Gerry that morning while Devlin was still asleep had been to elicit directions to the graveyard.

  It was a beautiful summer’s day. The song of the skylarks filled the air and as he pulled over to the entrance of the cemetery he saw her bite her lip to stop it trembling.

  ‘Come on, love,’ he said firmly as he opened the car door for her.

  ‘Luke . . . I . . . I can’t. I’ve never come to visit.’

  Bending down, he drew her out, pity and understanding in his voice. ‘It helps, Devlin, I promise you. I know what it was like with my dad. You can’t go on forever pretending it didn’t happen. You’ve got to let go. Come on, I’ll be with you.’

  With one arm supportively around her shoulder Luke walked her slowly through the gateway of the peaceful and well-kept cemetery. Devlin knew where her uncle’s grave was and walked hesitantly in that direction. Luke gave her a quick hug. ‘Good girl,’ he whispered encouragingly.

  Tears streamed down Devlin’s face as she read the brief inscription. ‘Here lie Robert and Kate Seymore and their baby grandniece, Lynn Delaney. May God cherish and protect them in Heaven forever more.’

  Crying quietly Devlin bent to touch the clay. ‘Oh Lynn darling! Oh Kate, I miss you,’ she sobbed over and over again. Eventually her weeping ceased and she noticed through her tears that the grave was well cared for and covered with a profusion of small colourful bedding plants. Her grief eased and Devlin became conscious of the birdsong and the incredible serenity that enveloped this holy place. A kind of peace descended upon her and she stood just letting the healing balm of acceptance wash over her, knowing that when she was ready, Luke would be waiting for her.

  Later he took her to lunch in one of the delightful hotels overlooking the picturesque harbour. They talked quietly, free from strain, enjoying each other’s company. ‘Would you like to see the most beautiful place on earth?’ Devlin asked the tall broad-shouldered man with the kind amber eyes who was seated across the table from her.

  Luke reached over and took her hand. ‘If you’re bringing me, I’d like that very much,’ he said and a hint of a blush coloured her cheeks at the expression in his eyes.

  They drove, Devlin directing him, through the narrow winding roads to a long and lovely swathe of beach lapped by whitecrested waves, its solitude broken only by the magnificent symphony of bird-song. The sun sparkled on the glittering blue water, the lush green and gold patchwork of the fields behind them making a striking contrast. It was deserted because few knew of its whereabouts. Slowly they walked its length, hand in hand, for mile after golden mile.

  The comfort of his strong firm handclasp warmed her more than she had thought possible as Devlin heard him say, ‘I think you should try and make your peace with Lydia, I know you’ve the capacity to forgive her and it would mean so much to your father.’

  Devlin stared into his warm heavy-lidded eyes noticing how they crinkled so attractively when he smiled, and the deep laughter lines chiselled into his tanned skin. Slowly she lifted her finger and softly traced the outline of his firm sensual mouth.

  ‘Luke Reilly,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I think you are a very nice man.’

  They stared at each other.

  ‘May I kiss you?’ he asked quietly.

  Again she met his eyes, so warm and steady and comforting. Luke had told her it was time to make a new beginning. Smiling she raised her lips to his.

  Caroline’s Story – II

  Twenty-five

  His first blow sent her reeling against the sofa and knocked the breath from her body. At first she felt no pain, so shocked was sh
e by the unexpectedness of the assault.

  ‘Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!’ he grated, as his clenched fists battered her ribs and breasts. As suddenly as he started, he stopped. His eyes glacial, his fingers cruelly gripping her arms, he hissed at her, ‘Don’t ever do anything like that again without my permission. I don’t want you next or near that tramp. Don’t ever visit her in Ballymun again. I won’t have my wife seen in a place like that! Do you hear me, Caroline?’

  Too shocked to say anything, she could just stare back at him through pain-filled eyes.

  Walking over to the door he said coldly, ‘Dominic Carter is opening a new wine bar in town, I told him we’d put in an appearance tonight. Be ready for eight thirty.’ Then, as if nothing had happened, Richard picked up his briefcase and left for work. They had been married just six months.

  How long Caroline sat there she couldn’t remember, but eventually she dragged herself into the bathroom and eased her negligée from her bruised and battered body. Every intake of breath caused her pain but it was nothing to the mental anguish she was suffering. Nothing had prepared her for this! How could she have been so wrong about someone, she asked herself over and over. Had her great desire to be married blinded her to his true character? If she had looked hard enough would she have found any indications that would have given her an idea of what was to come? Horrified, she wiped the blood from her ribs where his wedding ring had torn her skin. Her wisp of a negligée had not been much protection against the ferocity of the beating. She climbed into the bath, wincing as the warm water made contact with her wounds.

  Why did he hate Devlin so much? He had never liked her, probably because she was not impressed with his status and position in life as people usually were upon meeting him. When he heard she was pregnant he was disgusted. Richard could be so prim. When he heard she was going to live in Ballymun he ordered his wife not to see her again. She cursed herself for leaving her cheque book lying around the bedroom. It had been all there on the stub. Pay Ms Devlin Delaney five hundred pounds. Standing in front of her, furiously angry, his skin mottled red with temper, he had roared at her, ‘What did I tell you?’

  ‘But it’s my own money!’ she had protested heatedly. Then he had hit her.

  What had she done to deserve such unhappiness? Her marriage had been a disaster from the start. Bitterly she massaged the baby oil into her bruised skin remembering the horror of her wedding night.

  Caroline had been so happy, anticipating the night of rapturous love that would be hers, when she finally became a woman, equal to Devlin, Maggie, the obnoxious Ruth and millions of others. Having spent a small fortune on her Janet Reger lingerie she felt beautiful, slim and even sexy for the first time in her life. They were honeymooning in Paris and she longed to explore its treasures with her new husband. Paris was supposed to be for lovers and it was springtime. If the wedding had been a bit of a disappointment she was certain the honeymoon would make up for it.

  Surprisingly, for such a social person, Richard had informed her that he would prefer a small intimate wedding. ‘Your mother and my father are both dead, darling, and I think it would be easier on our parents don’t you?’ When he put it like that, what could Caroline say? Then, Devlin wouldn’t be there, a source of great disappointment to Caroline, who had longed for her friend to be her bridesmaid. But she quite understood how Devlin, having just given birth, could not make it. Fortunately, Maggie and Terry were back in Ireland to make preparations for their final return and Caroline had fixed the date for when they were home, so that they could attend.

  There had been a family row about who was going to be bridesmaid. Her aunt wanted her to choose her daughter Rita, Caroline’s cousin, when she heard that Devlin couldn’t make it. But Caroline was adamant. Rita never had time to talk to Caroline when Caroline had been living at home and been fat and dumpy, but since Caroline had started dating Richard and begun to move in yuppie circles, Rita had become much more friendly, always angling for an invitation to join Richard and Caroline on a night out.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be a great way to introduce Rita to some nice well-off solicitor. I’m sure Richard must know plenty of them,’ her aunt would say, not a bit backwards about coming forwards. It was so sickening! Caroline knew she was being used, and for once put her foot down. And besides just because you were a solicitor didn’t mean you were the perfect catch, Caroline felt like telling her aunt. Paulo had been a waiter when she met him in Portugal, he had little money, no social position to speak of, although he was studying to be a doctor. Yet he had made her feel more alive and sensual and womanly in the two weeks she had been with him than Richard had in their entire courtship – despite his BCL! There were times when her aunt and cousin really irritated her. But it was partly, she had to admit to herself, that their behaviour made her question her own. Was she marrying Richard because he was considered a great catch? Or because she truly loved him? Or because she was afraid she would be left on the shelf?

  God, why was life so complicated? Did all brides have these problems and self doubts? Did all brides have families who seemed bent on upsetting their most important day?

  ‘I’m not wearing bloody tails. It’s not a goddammed circus we’re going to,’ her father had fumed, when Caroline told him that Richard was insisting on top hat and tails.

  ‘Please Dad,’ she pleaded. ‘Couldn’t you just do this one thing for me?’

  ‘I’ll feel like a right eejit! It’s far from bloomin’ top hats and tails you were reared, miss, so don’t go getting any notions about yourself,’ he had grumbled. Privately she had to agree with him. When she heard Richard saying he was wearing top hat and tails, and expected her dad and the boys to wear the same, her heart sank. Richard could be such a snob! Those ridiculous hats looked so silly on men, and the tails always reminded her of penguins. Of course, he was getting the whole thing on video. And when they came back from their honeymoon, they were going to throw a big bash for all their set. Big weddings seemingly were not the ‘in’ thing. But a small wedding and a big bash afterwards for the friends and acquaintances meant that you could invite as many as you liked and still get decent presents.

  ‘We’ll get the caterers in; it’s much cheaper than having a big reception but the effect is just as good! And it will be much less of a worry to you,’ Richard had explained to Caroline when they were making their plans. Was it true what Joyce Jordan had accused him of? Was he a ‘penny pinching skinflint?’ Or was he just being thoughtful, thinking of the feelings of their widowed parents as well as their own?

  There were times when she felt like calling the whole thing off. Only the feel of the ring on the third finger of her left hand kept her going. Soon she would be a Mrs and all her troubles would be behind her.

  It had been so good to hug Maggie when she met her in town a few weeks before the wedding. Maggie had managed to calm her down and had been delighted at being asked to be her Matron of Honour. It had been a bit of a rush getting a dress for her, but eventually they had selected a beautiful lavender silk outfit that had made the gorgeous redhead look a million dollars. Caroline was wearing a creation of satin and lace and she looked, as Maggie admiringly put it, ‘A real classy knock out.’

  Her aunt and Rita had been extremely cool. Her father had indeed looked like a little fat penguin in his top hat and tails and had a face on him that would turn milk sour. Her mother-in-law had sat throughout the ceremony and the meal that followed with an expression that suggested she had nothing to do with the whole affair; the boys were bored out of their minds. Richard’s aunt was deaf and everything had to be repeated at least three times and the urbane Charles Stokes who was Richard’s best man had got quietly pissed.

  Thank God for Terry and Maggie and her uncle who had laughed and chatted gaily and kept her mind off the rest of them. Because of them her wedding wasn’t a total fiasco. ‘Look at Ma Yates; she looks as though she’s got a poker stuck up her arse!’ the irrepressible Maggie had whispered to Caroline as the photograp
her fussed around seating them in various poses for the wedding photographs. In spite of herself Caroline took a fit of the giggles, causing Richard to look at her with eyebrows raised. He, to her surprise, had been quite tense throughout the day, fussing over this and that. He had been much more nervous than she at the wedding ceremony, his fingers shaking as he placed the wedding band on her finger. Caroline had been amazed at him. She had got to the stage where she just wished the whole ordeal was over and they were alone together. It was such a different wedding from Maggie’s and Terry’s joyful celebration.

  Finally it had been time for them to leave for the airport and she had never been so glad of anything as she was at the sight of the 737 awaiting them on the tarmac. The thoughts of being alone in Paris with her new husband were sinfully delightful.

  By the time they got to Orly Airport it was after eight, so they had driven straight to the hotel and ordered dinner. Then they had gone for a short stroll along the banks of the Seine, as they tried to relax after the tensions of the day. They didn’t talk much, just walked hand in hand, and she had been so happy when Richard had put his arm around her and kissed her tenderly under the lamplight. ‘You’re the least complaining person I know, Mrs Yates,’ he said smiling at her.

  ‘I’ve nothing to complain about,’ she smiled happily. Mrs Yates, how good it sounded. She had undressed for bed in glorious anticipation.

  For over three quarters of an hour Richard had skulked in the bathroom and when he finally did come out, dressed in a maroon silk dressing gown over his chocolate brown pyjamas, he had merely brushed her forehead with his lips, saying that he was sure she was exhausted as he was, and wishing her a good night’s sleep. With that he had got into the other double bed, leaving her twisting her wedding ring forlornly around her finger.