Sarah Love

by Geraldine O'Neill

  Now that it was almost ready to move into, Sarah was doing her damnedest to keep out of it until they were married. Con had a different view of things. He would have been happier if they would meet up in the cottage regularly to do – as he called it – “a bit of courting”. But once they had got somewhere on their own, Sarah found out that the kissing and cuddling wasn’t enough for him.

  She had walked out on him on several occasions recently, once when he had tried to take her blouse off, and on another occasion when he had forced her hand on top of a part of his body that was out of bounds for a single girl.

  “If you don’t stop this carry-on, I won’t come down here any more when we’re on our own,” she had warned him. “It’s only a few more weeks until we’re married. Don’t go spoiling things now.”

  He had gone stomping off out the back door and down into the overgrown garden. Ten minutes later he had returned. “I’m sorry, Sarah,” he said. “I promise it won’t happen again.” He’d run his hand through his dark hair. “It’s just that you’re so lovely. It’s only natural I can’t stop thinking about you. Every night recently, I keep imagining what it will be like when we’re actually married.” He’d gone over and stroked her hair, then he had pulled her close and murmured in her ear. “I keep thinking what it will be like with your long blonde hair hanging down over your face and your breasts – like Lady Godiva.”

  “Don’t!” The picture he described terrified her. “If there’s any more talk like that, there will be no wedding.”

  Con had reassured her that he would keep his hands to himself until they were married, but the incidents had made Sarah wonder whether she actually loved him, because she had felt nothing but panic on both occasions. It worried her, because in most other ways they got on fine. Con had a good nature and locally was held in high regard, although he was inclined to be a bit loud when he’d had a few drinks.

  She’d had to bite her tongue on a few occasions when he got carried away, enjoying being the centre of attention and hogging the conversation. If it continued when they were married she would have to have a serious word with him about it, because she didn’t want to be one of those wives who sat in the background afraid to speak out. The other area of concern was more intimate. She had heard from friends that when you really loved somebody the sex thing came naturally. She hoped they were right. She would find out in a few weeks’ time.

  * * *

  Sheila had a corner cleared for Sarah at the cluttered old kitchen table, and the two girls sat chatting as Sarah ate a pork chop, fried potatoes and cabbage. Sheila had had her own meal earlier, and now sat opposite her friend eating a slice of apple tart. As usual, her elderly parents were seated at either side of the fireplace, “like two bookends” as Sheila often wryly referred to them.

  Every time Sarah visited they would be in the exact same spot, sometimes dozing and sometimes chipping into the girls’ conversation, although their poor hearing often meant they got the wrong end of the stick. Most of the time they all rubbed along together, but there were often occasions when Sheila felt the lack of privacy in the house. The only place she could have brought Sarah was into her bedroom, but her mother and father would have seen it as odd, and couldn’t imagine that the girls would have anything to talk about that couldn’t be said in their presence.

  “How are things going for the wedding?” Sheila asked. “It’s not long now.”

  “Grand,” Sarah said smiling. “I’ve only another few evenings’ work on the dress and it’s finished.”

  “What I’ve seen of it, it’s absolutely beautiful,” Sheila said, “and I’m delighted with the bridesmaid dress. You made a lovely job of it. I don’t know why you don’t go into it professionally.”

  A slight tinge of embarrassment came into Sarah’s cheeks at the praise. “I think Patricia was pleased with her dress, too.”

  Sheila rolled her eyes. “Well, if you can please that one, you can please anybody! She’s the fussiest girl you could come across.”

  “Oh, she doesn’t mean any harm,” Sarah said. “It’s the way her family are. They just worry about every little detail.”

  “The last time we were over at your house together, she kept going on about the dress being too loose at the front, and it looked perfect on her. She was breathing in and trying to grab handfuls of the material but there was nothing to grab.” Sheila sucked her breath in through her teeth. “I’d swear to God she’s only saying it to make the point that I’m stouter than her.”

  “Ah, she wouldn’t do that,” Sarah said, wrinkling her brow. “In fairness, she has lost weight. I’d say she’s gone down about half a stone between the first fitting and the last. She came over one night last week and I took it in a bit at the side seams, and it looks better now.” She paused for a moment. “I didn’t think she looked too well, between the loss of weight and looking very pale.”

  “Patricia’s the lucky type that’s more inclined to drop weight than put it up.” Sheila looked down at her half-eaten apple pie and shook her head. “I think I’d better start cutting out the sweet stuff or you’ll be letting the seams out on mine as opposed to taking them in.”

  “You’re grand as you are,” her mother commented loudly. “It’s better to have a bit of weight on you than to be looking all thin and pinched like Patricia Quinn. Her mother is the very same – you’d wonder if they ever eat a bite at all.”

  “Men like a woman with a bit of meat,” Jimmy Brady chipped in.

  Sheila clapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing out loud.

  She leaned across the table and whispered to Sarah. “You can’t say a word in this house without it becoming a free-for-all!”

  Sarah smiled. She was well used to the Bradys’ ways, as she was with her friend Patricia’s family. Both families were very pass-remarkable. Patricia’s mother was forever commenting about Sheila Brady, saying would the girl never think of getting out for a bit of a walk to lose the weight around her hips. Behind all the comments there was no real malice, and Sarah usually let it all wash over her with a smile.

  “How is the little cottage coming on?” Mrs Brady asked.

  “Grand,” Sarah told her. “We’ve the inside more or less finished. It’s all papered and painted.”

  “Oh, you’re lucky having a man that’s good around the house,” the old woman said. “Con Tierney can turn his hand to anything.”

  Sheila gave a low giggle and whispered to Sarah. “I hope he keeps his hands to himself before the wedding . . . I’ve heard a lot of men find it harder the nearer it gets.” She was not speaking from personal experience, as she had never had much luck with lads.

  “He’ll keep his hands to himself all right,” Sarah whispered back. “I’ve warned him if he doesn’t there won’t be any wedding!”

  “And no better woman to put him in his place. He’s a changed lad since he met you.”

  Sarah suddenly felt uncomfortable at the way the conversation had turned. She knew Sheila meant no harm, but her chatter had touched a raw nerve. She changed the subject to something more inane, and tried to put Con’s reputation as a ladies’ man before they met out of her mind.

  She spent over an hour at Sheila’s, cycled back into town to collect the items that Martina has asked for, then headed back to the hotel.

  She would keep busy for the next few hours, serving meals and clearing and setting tables for breakfast in the morning. When she got back home around ten that night, she would go straight to her room to continue working on the rosebuds and button loops on her dress. She would then cross off another day on her calendar – counting down to her wedding.

  Another day less until she was gone from the home she was no longer welcome in.

  Chapter 2

  The following afternoon Martina stuck her head into Sarah’s bedroom. “Are you working this evening?”

  “No,” Sarah said. “Patricia said she might call up to try her dress on again.”

  Martina mad
e a derisory snorting noise. “That one! She’s never satisfied. She’s been up and down here like a fiddler’s elbow. She must have tried that dress on half a dozen times and she’s still complaining that it needs taking in here or taking up there. She’s one visitor I won’t miss when you have your own house to entertain your friends.”

  Sarah stiffened up. Sheila and her mother had moaned about Patricia yesterday, but it was really just light chat. Martina saying the same thing sounded far more vicious. She didn’t know how much longer she could tolerate her sister-in-law’s manner. If it wasn’t for the trouble it would cause with James, she would wipe the floor with her.

  Martina had always been outspoken but she was now becoming blatantly rude – forgetting that the house she was living in was the only home Sarah had ever known. It was the house where there had always been a welcome for her friends from her warm-hearted mother. After she had died when Sarah was only thirteen, her father had done his best to keep the house running in the same way. There was always a cup of tea and some home-made bread or cake for anyone who called. Then, her father had dropped dead of a heart attack three years ago, and when the family picked themselves up again, they continued the same way of doing things. Shortly afterwards, Martina arrived.

  It was changed days.

  Martina crossed her arms high over her stomach now and said, “Was it chicken you ordered for the wedding meal?”

  Sarah looked up at her sister-in-law, surprised she was actually showing interest in her plans. “Well, a choice of chicken or roast beef . . .”

  There was a sudden awkward silence and Sarah turned her attention back to the white lace dress.

  Martina cleared her throat. “James wants to pay for it.”

  “For what?” Sarah asked.

  “The wedding breakfast.”

  “He wants to pay for it? He never said anything about paying to me . . .”

  “He’s a typical man; he always leaves those sorts of things to me.”

  Sarah bit her lip as she digested this unexpected news. She knew she should be delighted at the offer, but the way it was delivered made her unsure how to react. Martina should have given her the good news in a warmer tone and kinder words, but because of James Sarah couldn’t voice that opinion.

  “That’s very good of you . . . I wasn’t expecting it. I’ll have to let Con know. He’ll be delighted.”

  “We had to give you a decent present. It would look bad if we didn’t. He’s your only brother . . .”

  Sarah told herself to keep calm. There was no point in responding in the same manner as her sister-in-law had spoken to her – it had always backfired. And besides, she had promised herself that no matter what Martina said, she wasn’t going to take things personally. When Martina was in this type of mood, no one was spared from her sharp tongue.

  Sarah took a deep breath and smiled. “You’re both very good.”

  * * *

  She was standing by the bedroom window deep in thought when she caught sight of Patricia Quinn, pushing her bike up the hill. She was just turning away to walk down to meet her when something made her stop and watch. There was something unusual about the way Patricia was moving – something that wasn’t quite right. Her usual purposeful step had slowed down as if pushing the bike was a great effort, and she was looking around her in a strangely distracted manner. The small, slim girl always had a confident air about her, but the closer she came to the house, the more curious Sarah felt. She went out of the bedroom and through into the kitchen where Martina was stirring something in a pot, and then to the cottage door.

  She expected Patricia to have reached the gate by the time she got there, but there was no sign of her. Sarah went over to the stone wall to look down the hill, and saw her bridesmaid-to-be sitting on a rock with her head in her hands. She opened the gate and set off at a run down the slope to meet her.

  “Are you all right, Patricia?” she called.

  Patricia’s head jerked up when she heard the voice. She quickly moved to her feet and then gave a broad smile. A smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m grand . . .” she said, straightening up properly. “I just got a bit of a stitch in my side . . .”

  “You look very pale,” Sarah said, looking concerned. “And you were walking – you usually manage to cycle the bike up to the house.”

  “It’s only a stitch.” Patricia smoothed her navy-and-white spotted dress down and fixed the edges of her white cardigan, then she stooped to lift her bike up.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re okay now,” Sarah said, sensing that her friend didn’t want a fuss made. “I’m looking forward to seeing you in your bridesmaid dress. I think it’s going to be grand on you now.”

  “You’re not working in Butler’s later tonight, are you?” Patricia asked.

  “No, if I work in the evenings it’s from six o’clock to help serve the meals. I’m glad to have the night off to get my dress finished.”

  “Have you much left to do to it?”

  “Just the trimmings.” She smiled. “I’ve enjoyed doing them the most. I stitched some little roses in pink around the neck of your dress since you last saw it.” She waited for some sort of reaction – a sense of looking forward to the wedding – but there was none. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Patricia nodded. “I had fried potatoes before I came out, and I must have eaten them too quickly. It’s probably only a bit of indigestion or something.”

  “You’d want to be careful,” Sarah told her, as they started to walk along, the bicycle between then. “I’ve never heard you complaining of it before.”

  “I’ll be grand. How are the wedding plans coming on? You can’t have much more left to organise.”

  “Okay. But you’re never going to guess what’s happened.”

  “What?”

  “Martina told me that James is going to pay for the wedding breakfast. Imagine leaving it until a week before the wedding to tell me! I had it all organised that I would pay for it out of the bit of money that Daddy left me.”

  “Did you have to pay it in advance?”

  “No, they said it would be fine to pay it any time around the day of the wedding – before or after. I was going to go to the bank next week.”

  “And didn’t Con offer to pay for it?”

  Sarah’s eyes widened. “I wouldn’t let him. It’s the bride’s family’s place to do that.”

  “Well, since your parents are both gone . . . God rest their souls.”

  “He’s had to pay for a lot of the work at the house,” Sarah said. “He’s paid for all the plastering on the walls, the new doors, paint and wallpaper and everything.”

  “Did he offer to pay for the wedding or did he just leave it to you?”

  Sarah suddenly felt awkward, as though Patricia was suggesting that Con was mean or that she was so desperate to get married that she was paying for her own wedding. She knew she was more anxious than normal with all the arrangements and the strain of living with Martina and James. Maybe she was being too sensitive and picking things up the wrong way. The last thing she needed now was a falling out with one of her bridesmaids.

  “Oh, we chatted it out,” she said, in a deliberately light tone, “and I told him I was happy to pay for the wedding with Daddy’s money, because that’s what would have happened if he’d been alive.”

  “Under the circumstances I would have let him pay.”

  “It makes no odds,” Sarah said. “When we’re married what I have will be his anyway and vice versa.” She wasn’t exactly sure what money Con had, but he had a half decent job and never seemed too badly off.

  “Have you paid for the flowers and the wedding cars as well? Did you have to pay for those in advance?”

  “We paid deposits,” she said briskly. “We don’t need to pay the rest until next week.” Then she pointedly changed the subject. “I’m looking forward to seeing your dress on you. I hope you like the little roses.”

  Patricia parked the bicycle at the
side of the house and the two girls went in.

  Martina greeted Patricia with a nod and then turned to Sarah. “I brought our own bits of washing in from the line, but you still have things left on it.”

  Sarah gritted her teeth. It wouldn’t have killed her to take two blouses and a brassiere from the line. “I’ll get them later, thanks.” She turned to Patricia. “Will you have a cup of tea?” She knew that Martina had boiled the kettle only a short while ago, but it was unlikely that her sister-in-law would offer her friend a drink.

  “I won’t. I had one before I came out.”

  “It’s not like you to refuse a cup of tea.” There was a deliberate teasing note to lighten things. “I know you don’t care for cake or biscuits too much, but it’s not often you refuse a cup.”

  “We’d better get on with the dress,” Patricia said. “We need to get that all over and done with.”

  They went into the bedroom and closed the door. Patricia unbuttoned her blouse and then took off her skirt, leaving on her white, lace-edged petticoat.

  When she zipped the bridesmaid dress up, Sarah was relieved that it now fitted her friend’s narrow waist and hips perfectly. It was another thing to tick off her list of things to do before the wedding. “That’s it,” she said. “We can hang it up now and forget about it until the wedding.”

  “Grand,” Patricia said, reaching behind to unzip it.

  “Don’t you want to see yourself in the mirror?” Sarah was surprised as most people automatically moved to check how they looked in something new – particularly when it was something as special as a bridesmaid dress.

  Patricia looked down at herself, smoothing the satin over her stomach. “I can see it’s fine.” Then, she caught sight of her friend’s disappointed face and must have realised how little effort she was making. She moved over to the wardrobe and looked in the mirror. “It’s more than fine, Sarah, it’s beautiful. You’ve made a lovely job of it.”

  “You’re not yourself, are you? Have you still got the stitch in your side?”