Patricia slipped the dress down from her shoulders. “It’s easing. It’s not as bad.”
A knock came on front door of the cottage, and they heard Martina answering it.
“I think that’s Con’s voice,” Sarah said. “I wonder what’s brought him up here. He’s supposed to be painting down at the house.” She gave a little sigh. “Well, he may wait with Martina until we’re finished.” She turned to help Patricia step out of the dress, and as she put it on the hanger, she again noticed how pale she was. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Patricia did the zip up on her skirt, and then lifted her blouse. “I think I need to sit down for a few minutes . . .” She moved over towards Sarah’s bed, fumbling to do up her buttons. “I feel a bit faint.” She sank down on the single bed, and then, just as she had done earlier when she was coming up the hill, she put her head into her hands.
Sarah felt her heart quicken. She had never seen Patricia sick before, and there was definitely something wrong here. “A glass of water might help you,” she said.
“Thanks,” Patricia said, “and if you have a tea biscuit or a digestive . . .”
Sarah rushed out into the kitchen where Con was standing chatting to Martina, dressed in his decent clothes. He always made a point of giving her and James their place, and was always friendly and polite to them. He often gave James a hand with odd jobs around the house or farm, and if there was any atmosphere in the house between the two females when he called, he could be depended upon to diffuse it by telling some old joke or yarn. Sarah was grateful for it, as it was one less area of awkwardness between her and her sister-in-law.
“Patricia’s not feeling too good,” she told Martina and Con as she went over to the cupboard above the sink for a glass. “She looks as though she could faint any minute.”
“Jesus!” Martina said. “That’s all we need.”
Con took a step towards the bedroom door. “Will I go in to her and see if there’s anything I can do?”
“It might be no harm,” Sarah told him. It crossed her mind for a moment that he was in his smart shirt and trousers and not dressed for painting, and presumed something had come up. She filled the glass at the tap.
“I thought she was pale when she came in,” Martina said, her manner more pleasant than before. “Do you want me to get her a sup of brandy?”
Sarah tried not to look surprised at her sister-in-law’s concern. “It mightn’t do her any harm. She said she would try a dry biscuit – do you know if we have any digestives?” She reached up for the biscuit tin.
“There’s a new packet up there,” Martina told her. “She must be bad if she’s looking for a biscuit. I’d say she’s not had any lunch or anything. You never see her eating much, that’s why she’s like a whippet.” She bent down to the cupboard to get the brandy bottle which was kept for emergencies. “I’d say she’s gone too long without eating.” Although thin, Martina prided herself on having a good appetite.
Sarah found the biscuits and then rushed back to the room with them and the glass of water. Patricia was still sitting on the bed, her arms folded and her gaze directed at the linoleum floor. Con was standing by the window, one hand cupping the lower part of his face, as though unsure of what to do or say. For a moment Sarah wondered if Patricia was embarrassed with a man around when she felt sick.
Sarah handed her the glass. “Drink this,” she said gently, “and try to eat the biscuit, it might help.” She looked over to her fiancé. “How does she look to you, Con? I was saying earlier that I thought she looked very pale.”
“I’ll be grand,” Patricia said abruptly. She took a sip of the water and then bit the edge of the biscuit.
The conversation came to a halt as Martina came through the door, solemn-faced and carefully carrying a small gold-rimmed brandy glass in both hands. “This will pick you up.”
Sarah was reminded of the priest in Mass dramatically holding up the chalice at the Consecration. She had to stop herself from smiling, because she knew they were expensive glasses that Martina got as a wedding present, and had never had the occasion to use. Knowing her sister-in-law, Sarah guessed that she was hoping that the fancy glasses would impress Patricia and be commented upon.
Patricia took the small, balloon-shaped glass and lifted it to her lips. She took a sip and then shuddered. “Oh, no . . .” she said, pulling a face. “I couldn’t drink that stuff.”
Martina moved to take it swiftly from her. “You’ll have it, won’t you, Con?” she said, turning towards him. When he looked hesitant, she thrust the glass in his hand. “It’s too good to waste.” She raised her eyes to the ceiling as though despairing of Patricia. “Go on, you might as well enjoy it as have me pour it down the sink.”
Con shrugged, then lifted the glass to his lips, downed the brandy in two large mouthfuls and handed the glass back to Martina.
“If you two want to go back into the kitchen, I’ll stay with her until she’s a bit better,” Sarah said, in case her friend was embarrassed at being the centre of attention.
“I’ll make a cup of tea,” Martina said, and she and Con left the two girls alone. Patricia took a few more sips of the water and managed half of the biscuit. “I’m really sorry . . .” she said several times, unable to meet Sarah’s eye.
“Sure, you can’t help being sick,” Sarah told her. “Just make sure you take it easy now.”
Gradually, Patricia’s colour came back to normal. She got to her feet. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to head off home.” She looked slightly shaky but had a determined look on her face.
“Stay and have a cup of tea.”
“I won’t, thanks. Con has called down to see you and I’ll only be in the way.”
“He’s not staying,” Sarah said. “He’ll be going shortly – he has work to do down at the house.” She looked at her friend. “Don’t be worrying about Con – he won’t have called about anything in particular. He’s up and down here regularly.”
Patricia’s eyes flitted towards the window. “I’ve tried the dress on and it’s grand, so I’ll head back home and get an early night,” she said. “We have a meeting in work in the morning.”
They walked out into the kitchen where Martina and Con were chatting. “She’s feeling a bit better now,” she told the other two.
“I think I just need an early night,” Patricia said, not looking directly at them.
As they walked towards the outside door, Sarah said, “Are you up to cycling the bike back, or will I ask Con to walk it down for you?” She glanced back at her fiancé. “You won’t mind wheeling Patricia’s bike down for her, Con?”
“No,” he said quickly. He put his teacup on the table. “Do you want me to bring it now or later?”
“No, no . . . I’m grand now, thanks,” Patricia said, going outside now, “and I’ll be fine cycling home.”
After she waved her friend off, Sarah came back into the kitchen. “What brought you up this evening?” she asked Con. “I thought you had a lot to do down at the house.”
“My mother asked me if you could go down to take a look at her wedding costume.” He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “She thinks the dress is too long and might need a bit taken off of it, and she said something about letting the seams out somewhere.” He looked at Sarah, a strangely perplexed look on his face. “I don’t know what she was talking about, but she asked me to tell you anyway.”
Sarah’s brow deepened. This was all she needed in the week coming up to the wedding. She hadn’t even seen Mrs Tierney’s dress and jacket. She was a big woman and God knows what sort of work the taking up and letting out would entail. She hoped it wasn’t going to be as complicated as the last job she had done for her. “Does your mother want me to come down this evening?”
He shrugged. “I think so . . .” He looked over at the window. “I thought we might walk down together and then you could take a look at the wallpaper I put up in the cottage last night.”
Martina made a lit
tle snorting noise. “Don’t you be getting any ideas, tryin’ to get her down to that house when ye’re all on your own, Con Tierney!” she laughed. “Ye may wait another couple of weeks until it’s all official. You don’t want to give everyone room to be talking about you.”
Sarah whirled around to face her sister-in-law. “Indeed he doesn’t have any ideas like that,” she said, “and I’m surprised at you saying such a thing.”
Martina raised her eyebrows, laughter still in her eyes. “God, you’re surely very touchy,” she said. “And wouldn’t Con be the strange man if he didn’t have ideas like that in his mind?”
Sarah acted as if her sister-in-law hadn’t spoken. She went and got her light jacket from the coat-hook at the side of the door. “We might as well go now,” she said to Con, “so that I’m back before it gets dark.”
They set off walking down the hill towards the town where they would come upon Con’s family house first and then, just a field further on, the cottage they would live in as man and wife.
“I’m glad to get out of the house,” Sarah said, taking a deep breath of the cool dark air. “It’s been one of those nights where nothing seems right. First Patricia feeling sick and showing no interest at all in her bridesmaid dress and then Martina making her usual nasty digs.”
It struck Sarah that Con was unusually quiet, and she wondered if she was complaining too much. He often commented on his mother’s moaning. He might be thinking that when they married she would turn out to be like his mother or Martina – or a lot of the married women they knew. She would have to be careful not to go down that road.
She glanced at Con now, and suddenly pictured him tall and broad in his wedding suit. He was a good-looking lad and a lot of girls would be proud to have him. She would make more effort. She would lighten up. If it wasn’t for Con she would be stuck in the house with Martina and James forever.
“How are things going on down at the cottage?”
“Grand . . .”
Sarah noticed that his manner was distracted and he was rubbing at his chin again.
A strange feeling suddenly came over her. A feeling that something wasn’t right. “Are you all right, Con? Is there something the matter?”
There was a few moments’ hesitation. Then, a cold hand struck at Sarah’s heart.
He came to a halt. His body was turned towards her, but he wasn’t looking at her. Wasn’t meeting her eyes.
“I don’t know how to say it . . . I was waiting for the right minute.”
Sarah stood still and waited.
“It’s Patricia,” he said. “She was going to tell you if I don’t tell you first.”
The dress, she thought. She doesn’t like the dress and she doesn’t want to wear it. Her mind raced. There was no time to make a new one, and more material would cost a fortune. Surely the dress couldn’t be that bad or Sheila would have complained?
Their eyes met, hers confused – his tortured.
“Seemingly . . . she has a child on the way,” he told her.
The night came to a standstill.
“Patricia has a child on the way?” she repeated. Her voice was a dull echo in her ears. “Are you sure?” And when he responded with a bare nod she said, “How do you know all this? Why has she told you?”
He closed his eyes tight and then moved his head upwards so that when he opened them again he was staring at the sky. “Oh, Sarah . . .” he said. “I’ve been a fecking eejit and I can’t tell you how sorry I am . . .”
Why is he apologising? she thought. What has Con got to do with Patricia? Why is he speaking on her behalf?
“I never imagined any of this would happen. It was stupid – a kind of madness. It was you I really wanted, but she turned up after you went home.” His voice seemed to disappear, and when it returned, it sounded like a stranger’s. “Honest to God – I have no feelings for her. It’s only you I love.”
And then she knew. Her heart dropped like a heavy stone and barbed wire tightened around her throat. She couldn’t speak. She could hardly breathe.
“I’ve been trying to work out what to say to you,” he went on, filling the huge silence from her. “But she was going to tell you this evening if I didn’t come up, and I didn’t want that to happen. I wouldn’t do that to you . . . you deserve better than that.”
She could hardly hear him now. All that was sinking in was that Con was telling her that her whole world – her whole future – had come crashing down upon her head.
All that she knew to be true and decent were no longer there.
She now knew the reason for Patricia’s strange reluctance coming up the hill to the house. For her nervousness and sickness. For her disinterest in the bridesmaid dress. For her concern about how far the wedding plans had gone.
Her supposed best friend knew that there was never going to be a wedding and now there was no house for her to escape to, to get away from Martina and James.
The thought hit Sarah like a bolt of lightning, and she suddenly felt faint at the enormity of it all.
Patricia Quinn had been sick because she knew what devastation her news would bring. How the wedding plans would all have to be halted. Or maybe she was working out how quickly she could put her own nuptial plans into operation. Because there was no doubt that she and Con would have to marry if she was having his baby.
“It only happened the once,” he said, as if he thought it made a difference. “It was the night we had the row . . . the night you ran out of the cottage.”
“You’re referring to the night you tried to get me drunk so you could take my clothes off me?” Her voice was tight and strained. “The night you wanted me to have sex with you?”
His face crumpled and he put his hands up over his eyes.
“Was Patricia just handy that night or did you have an eye for her all the time we’ve been courting?” She wondered that it sounded even vaguely normal. She wondered that she was able to hold this conversation with him.
“Honest to God, Sarah, I never thought of her before that night – and I never have since. She came up to the cottage just after you left. She was looking for you. We started chatting and then we had a glass of beer and then . . . I don’t even remember who made the first move or how it happened.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Christ Almighty, Sarah . . . what have I done?”
“It’s simple enough, you’ve ruined everything,” she told him in a slow and measured voice. “You’ve ruined us. It’s all finished.”
“No, no . . . We can sort it,” he said, “I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll explain to Patricia and her family – I’ll sort things out and make it up to you. Oh, Sarah . . .” He reached towards her.
She immediately slapped his hands away and then folded her arms tightly across her chest. “You’ll make nothing up to me,” she said. She gave a bitter little laugh. “There’s no fixing of this situation. Don’t cod yourself.”
“Don’t say that,” he pleaded. “For God’s sake give me the chance to sort it out.”
Sarah looked at him and she saw tears in his brown eyes. Tears mingled with fear. Then, as she looked past him into the darkening sky, she felt her heart harden. Everything had changed. Con Tierney was no longer the person she thought he was, and she couldn’t even allow herself to think of Patricia Quinn, her supposed friend.
Everything that had been sure and certain was gone, taking her future along with it.
She unfolded her arms and took a step towards him.
His eyes lit up as he saw what might be a thaw in her.
She met his gaze for a few moments and then she drew her hand back and slapped his face with a greater force than she had thought herself capable of. Strong enough to make the six-foot, broad-shouldered Con Tierney sway on his feet.
“I hate you!” she told him.
His hand came up to the reddening circle just below his eye. “It’s okay, I deserve it.”
“I hate you!” she repeated. “And I never want to see you
again for the rest of my life.” She suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to keep slapping him over and over again. To give vent to all the anger and humiliation she felt. Then, shocked at the ferocity of her feelings, she took a deep, shuddering breath to control herself. She held her head high, turned on her heel and started walking back towards the cottage.
“Whatever happens,” he called after her, realising there was no point in following, “I’ll love you – for the rest of my life.”
Sarah kept on walking.
Con and Patricia Quinn had betrayed her in the most humiliating way, and as she walked along she realised this was only the start. With almost every step she thought of another hurdle she would encounter over the coming days and weeks.
She would have to face telling people now – starting with her sister-in-law and brother. She couldn’t bear to even contemplate Martina’s reaction to the fact that she would now be staying in the cottage with them indefinitely. She would have to tell Sheila that her bridesmaid role was now redundant, and she would have to inform all the people who had been sent invitations that the wedding was off.
Then she suddenly came over all dizzy as she realised that she would have to cancel the wedding breakfast in the hotel, the wedding cake and the flowers. Her heart gave a sickening lurch as she thought of walking down to tell the priest that the wedding was off and the reason why. And even if she contacted Con and told him that he could do some of the dirty work he had caused, she knew she would still have to face the priest at Mass on Sunday.
Oh God! she thought. The utter humiliation.
These were only the obvious things that had jumped into her mind, and she knew there were probably other things she hadn’t even thought of. Within a few seconds she had wondered how on earth she was going to face the people in work. All the girls in the hotel who loved hearing all the details about how her wedding dress was coming on and how much more work Con still had to do in the cottage. And worse still, she had walked in on them only yesterday as they were discussing how much they had collected for her wedding present.
Sarah Love Page 3
