For Love or Money: A laugh out loud, heartwarming romantic comedy

by Clodagh Murphy

  ‘God, look how handsome I was,’ Peter said disgustedly. ‘No wonder you fell madly in love with me.’

  Jane laughed. ‘I wasn’t so bad myself.’

  ‘You were stunning.’ Peter turned back to her and smiled. ‘Still are.’ He took her hand across the table. ‘Beatrice to my Benedick. I still remember that day like it was yesterday. The minute you walked into that rehearsal room on the first day, I was lost – completely bowled over. I knew my life would never be the same again. You slew me.’

  ‘You recovered quickly enough,’ Jane said, slipping her hand from his.

  He shook his head. ‘I’m not over it yet. And it was the same for you, don’t pretend otherwise.’

  ‘I’m not pretending anything. I was dazzled.’

  ‘It was fate. We’d both met our match and we were helpless to do anything about it. Nothing could stand in our way.’

  ‘Tough luck for that girl you were with at the time. Leah, was it?’

  Peter felt a distant pang of guilt at the mention of the girlfriend he’d rapidly dispatched the moment Jane had come into his life. ‘Leah, yes. The stage manager.’

  Peter had always loved the first day of rehearsals, when it was all fresh and exciting – new people and ideas, the strange combination of competition and collaboration that electrified the room as they all tried to impress and outshine each other, buoyed up on a heady mixture of adrenaline, sexual tension and creative energy. And beneath it all was the ever-present promise of sex as they checked each other out, forming tentative friendships, making allies, finding lovers. That day he’d met Jane had been the most exciting of all, the energy crackling between them so fierce, he’d almost expected everyone else to be burned by the sparks.

  ‘You were such a star,’ Jane said.

  ‘Me?’ Peter reared back in surprise. ‘Not then. I was just a chancer with more neck than talent. But then I met you.’

  ‘I was no star myself.’

  ‘No, nothing so crass. You were a queen.’

  And she’d made him a king. Peter had been in awe of Jane’s theatrical pedigree, coming from the legendary Howard acting dynasty. He’d always felt like something of an imposter in that world, but Jane had taken his hand and led him right to the heart of it, and for the first time, he’d felt like he belonged.

  He’d been hugely impressed by her parents, and was gauchely thrilled to be marrying into theatrical royalty. He’d loved being part of her rather grand family, enjoying their expansive hospitality and unstinting generosity on long summer holidays at their gîte in France, or in the decaying majesty of their crumbling old house in Clare. Jane’s parents were gregarious and colourful. They surrounded themselves with writers, actors and musicians, throwing lavish parties and casual kitchen dinners with the same tireless enthusiasm. It all seemed worlds away from his dreary industrial background, and he’d been so grateful to Jane for sharing it all with him, like a wonderful dowry she gifted him when they married.

  ‘God, we were gorgeous then,’ he said wistfully, glancing at their photos again.

  Jane shrugged. ‘We were just young.’

  ‘Is that all it is?’

  ‘That’s about ninety per cent of it.’

  ‘God.’

  Jane gazed over his head. ‘I was twenty-six when that was taken,’ she said, nodding at the photo of herself.

  Neither of them said it, but Peter was sure they were both thinking the same thing: she’d been the same age Stella was now. What a strange thought.

  The waiter came to take their order, and Peter could feel Jane’s bemusement as he gave detailed instructions about how he wanted his food prepared, eschewing the rich sauces and oily dressings in favour of simply grilled fish and salad.

  She was looking at him strangely as the waiter left with their order.

  ‘I’m a changed man,’ he said to her by way of explanation.

  Jane frowned, looking slightly discomfited. ‘Are you?’ she asked. ‘What are we doing here, Peter?’

  ‘It’s just dinner,’ he said gently. ‘We’re just two old friends having dinner together.’

  ‘You should be at home with your girlfriend. Where did you tell her you are tonight?’

  ‘I said I was going to eat with some of the company.’ Jane shot him a weary look. ‘Well, it’s true,’ he said. ‘You’re one of the company.’

  ‘Maybe you haven’t changed at all,’ Jane said, and even though he knew she didn’t mean it in a positive way, Peter couldn’t help feeling pleased at the thought. ‘Maybe neither of us has. You’d think we’d know better at our age,’ she said, glancing at the photograph above his head. ‘We should have grown out of this by now.’

  ‘Grown out of what?’

  ‘Riding roughshod over other people’s feelings. Philandering. Letting sex trump everything. But here we are, still sneaking around—’

  ‘Not you. You were never a cheater.’

  ‘I never used to be. But with you ...’ She sighed. ‘I was complicit. I knew you were with Leah when I met you, but I snuck off with you that first night anyway. I let you take me to bed when you should have been with her. I’m here with you now when you should be with Stella.’ She gave an exasperated shake of her head, and Peter thought she was on the verge of walking out.

  ‘We shouldn’t be here, Peter. And yet ...’

  ‘And yet?’ He reached across the table, his hand open.

  She put her hand in his. ‘Here we are.’

  40

  Stella had been glad to have the wedding planning today to keep her busy. Having Lesley to talk to had really helped to distract her, and she’d managed to put everything else out of her mind while she was looking at houses with Rafe. She was grateful for the years of meditation practice that had given her the discipline to keep herself fully present in the moment and focused solely on what she was doing at any one time. But once she was alone again, her thoughts immediately drifted to home.

  My father died today, she kept thinking as she showered and changed for dinner, trying to impress it on herself, struggling to feel it. But she just felt remote and detached from it. She wondered what Dan was doing now, what the funeral would be like. They’d be having the wake tonight. She thought of the house filled with her relatives; the old neighbours passing through; her father laid out in the living room. Would her mother think of her ... miss her?

  Her mobile buzzed, vibrating on the nightstand, shaking her out of her thoughts. She picked it up and checked the caller ID – Dan. She swiped it quickly.

  ‘Hi,’ she said softly. She could hear noise in the background, and knew they must be in the middle of the wake. ‘How’s it going? Is it awful?’

  ‘It’s not so bad. Turns out everyone’s really fond of Dad now he’s dead. They’re all going on about what a great guy he was.’

  ‘Even Uncle Pat?’

  ‘He’s the worst of all. Inconsolable!’

  Stella smiled. She couldn’t remember a meeting between their father and Uncle Pat that didn’t end in a punch-up. They couldn’t stand each other. ‘I don’t suppose anyone’s mentioned me?’

  Dan hesitated a moment. ‘No,’ he said then.

  ‘I saw the death notice.’ She’d looked it up online. She wasn’t surprised there was no mention of her, but it still hurt.

  ‘I wanted to add you. He was your father too.’

  ‘It’s fine. It’s how he would have wanted it,’ she said bitterly.

  ‘Yeah, I guess you’re right.’

  ‘I wish I could be there for you, though. I’m sorry you have to go through this alone.’

  ‘I’m not alone. I have Annie. Though she might decide to leave me when she sees our fucked-up family in full swing.’

  ‘Come on, it’s a funeral. They’ll have to behave themselves.’

  Dan gave a humourless laugh. ‘Don’t be so sure.’

  Stella wished she could reach through the phone and wrap her arms around her brother.

  ‘Well, I’d better get bac
k to the ham sandwiches. It must be at least two minutes since my last one.’

  ‘Okay. Take care. I hope tomorrow isn’t too awful.’

  When she hung up, Stella paced the room restlessly. She sat at the dressing table to do her make-up, but jumped up again, unable to sit still. She felt agitated and unsettled, and desperately in need of someone to talk to who would understand. She picked up her phone to call Peter, but for some reason the thought of speaking to him only irritated her and she couldn’t bring herself to dial his number.

  He should be here, she thought, tossing the phone on the bed. She knew he’d care if she told him, and he’d come home if she wanted him to, but she resented having to prompt him. They were getting married. He was supposed to be there for her, and she shouldn’t have to plea for his attention ...

  She sighed, flopping down on the stool in front of her dressing table to finish doing her make-up. She was being unreasonable. Peter wasn’t psychic. She couldn’t expect him to know what was going on if she didn’t tell him. She tried to put it out of her head as she finished getting ready and went downstairs to wait for Rafe in the living room.

  But it was no use. Her mind was elsewhere, in her childhood home, with her mother and her brother, and her father in his coffin in the front room. She was consumed by a mounting sense that she needed to be there. Dan was right. He was her father too. She should be at the funeral tomorrow. She wanted to be with Dan; maybe even to see her mother ... She wouldn’t cause a scene. She could hang back, stay on the edge of things. But she had to go.

  She looked at her watch. It was almost seven. She would have to find something to wear. She stood up to go to her bedroom, but then sat down again. First she’d need to figure out a way to get to Gorebally for ten tomorrow. She picked up her phone to map out the journey. The first train in the morning was at seven-thirty, and didn’t get into Galway until just after ten. It was about another hour by bus to Gorebally, so she would have to go tonight and stay over. She could arrange a taxi in the morning to drive her the rest of the way. Or maybe there was a bus ...

  ‘Stella? What’s wrong?’ She looked up to find Rafe frowning at her in concern as he strode into the room. He slid onto the sofa beside her and took her hands. She realised they were shaking.

  ‘I—’ She stood up. ‘I can’t do dinner, sorry,’ she said agitatedly. ‘I need to go to Galway.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  She nodded. ‘There’s a funeral I have to go to in the morning.’

  He glanced at her phone, tossed on the sofa. ‘Your friend’s father?’

  She nodded; she’d forgotten she’d told him.

  ‘I thought you weren’t going to the funeral.’

  ‘I changed my mind. My friend called and ... he needs me there. I have to find a train.’ She picked up her phone.

  ‘No, I’ll drive you,’ Rafe said, standing.

  ‘Oh!’ She couldn’t think straight, her head spinning. If only she could take Rafe up on the offer, it’d be perfect. But she couldn’t ... could she? ‘Thanks, but that’s not—I mean, it’s really kind of you, but I couldn’t ask you to drive all that way.’

  ‘You didn’t ask me, I offered. I’m not letting you go on the train. Apart from anything else, Dad would disown me.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s only about two and a half hours to Galway. We could have dinner there, or somewhere along the way.’

  ‘It’s not Galway city, though. It’s Gorebally.’ She winced apologetically, rubbing her arms.

  ‘Right, that’s probably about another hour.’ He pulled out his phone. ‘Where were you planning to stay tonight?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I hadn’t got that far.’

  ‘You’re not staying with ... family?’ he asked tentatively, as if trying not to pry.

  ‘No. I was just going to find a B&B or something. Or stay in Galway for the night and find my way there in the morning.’

  Rafe nodded and started thumbing through his phone. ‘I’ll sort something out, while you go and get your stuff together.’

  ‘Thanks, Rafe.’ She blinked back tears, overwhelmed with relief. She couldn’t work out if it was a mistake involving Rafe, but right now she was just glad he was here.

  ‘Have you spoken to Dad?’ Rafe asked as he sat into the car beside her.

  ‘Oh! No, I haven’t. I suppose I should tell him where we’ve gone,’ she said, pulling out her phone. But she hesitated to hit his number, reluctant to disturb him when he was ... what? Out shagging his ex-wife? The thought didn’t sting as it should – it made her feel weary more than anything.

  She’d thought she didn’t care about the wedding, that she just wanted the marriage. But instead, she’d enjoyed organising the wedding, and now a cloud of inertia settled over her at the thought of what came after. She suddenly felt like being with Peter would be an enormous burdensome task that would crush her beneath its weight. Were they kidding themselves thinking it could work? She foresaw a life of endless effort, both of them trying too hard to jolly themselves and each other along and convince themselves they were happy. She wiped tears from the corners of her eyes and shook her head, trying to dispel her gloomy thoughts as she dialled Peter’s number.

  She couldn’t tell him the truth with Rafe beside her listening, but Peter was kind and sympathetic when she told him Rafe was taking her to Galway for a family friend’s funeral. She felt soothed as he spoke, the concern in his voice warming her. He apologised repeatedly for not being there.

  ‘Do you want me to go? I could head off now and meet you there. Or join you tomorrow?’

  ‘No, there’s no need. I’ll be home tomorrow.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad Rafe was there to look after you,’ he said. ‘He’s much more use than me in a crisis anyway.’

  She felt a little better after talking to Peter, comforted and less wobbly about their future together. He was a sweet, kind man, and she did love him.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Rafe asked her.

  ‘Yes, fine. Oh,’ she gasped, suddenly remembering. ‘You have that viewing tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll cancel it,’ Rafe said. ‘I’d be useless without you there anyway.’

  ‘Hilary would be over the moon to have you all to herself,’ Stella said with a smile.

  ‘Well, she’s not getting me. I’ll ring her in the morning and reschedule.’

  ’Did you find us somewhere to stay?’

  ‘I booked us a couple of rooms at this place,’ Rafe said, nodding at the satnav, where he’d put in the address of a small hotel on the outskirts of the town. ‘It was the closest hotel I could find, and it’s got decent reviews. But we can change it if you find something better.’

  ‘It’s pretty much the only show in town,’ she said. She looked the hotel up on her phone. It had been spruced up recently, and looked much more welcoming than she remembered it. ‘Apart from some B&Bs,’ she said, thumbing through the accommodation website. ‘And there’s a pub with some rooms above it.’

  ‘Well, if you’d rather stay at any of those ...’

  She suppressed a shudder at the thought of staying at a local B&B. She’d probably know the landlady. As for the pub, that was where Dan had told her they were going after the funeral tomorrow. It was way too close for comfort. Her best shot at any semblance of anonymity and privacy was at the small hotel. ‘No, this place looks good,’ she said.

  She felt increasingly anxious and queasy as they got closer to her home town, lurching nauseatingly between dread and wild optimism at the thought of seeing her mother tomorrow. She couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to speak to her after more than ten years. She didn’t dare acknowledge the tiny glimmer of hope that her mother would be glad to see her, and she tried to block out visions of tearful reunions, telling herself they were pure fantasy. But she couldn’t help thinking what a frightening man her father could be, and how cowed her mother had been by him. She wondered if things might be different now that he was gone and she was out from under his t
humb.

  ‘So this is where you grew up?’ Rafe said, looking around with interest as they drove through Gorebally’s single street.

  ‘Well, this is the downtown.’ At the top of the same road she said, ‘And now we’re entering uptown Gorebally.’

  ‘It’s quite the metropolis.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s very well planned out, so it’s easy to find your way around. No one ever gets lost in Gorebally.’

  It was almost ten when they arrived at the hotel. Stella hung back a little at reception, keeping her head down while Rafe checked in.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked her.

  ‘Yes, starving actually,’ she said, only realising now that she was.

  ‘We never did have dinner.’ Rafe turned back to the receptionist, who informed him that last orders in the restaurant were at ten, so they’d want to be quick.

  Stella would much rather hide in her room and get room service, but it wouldn’t be fair to Rafe after driving all this way to make him eat alone. So after quickly dumping their bags in their rooms, they went to the restaurant. She looked around surreptitiously while Rafe studied the menu, and relaxed a little when she didn’t see anyone she recognised.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  She looked up to find Rafe looking at her with concern.

  ‘Yes, fine. Sorry, I was miles away.’ She shook her head and tried to concentrate on the menu.

  ‘I’m sorry about your friend’s dad,’ he said gently. ‘You were obviously close, despite everything.’

  She shrugged. ‘We used to be. He was ... almost like a father to me,’ she said with a sad smile. ‘But I hadn’t seen him in a very long time.’

  Stella ordered fish and Rafe had steak. The food was good, but, despite having been hungry, she found she could hardly eat.

  ‘Is that not good?’ Rafe asked her, nodding at her plate.

  ‘It is. But suddenly I just don’t seem to have an appetite.’ She put down her knife and fork. ‘Sorry, I’m just a bit weirded out about being back here.’