Sarah Love

by Geraldine O'Neill

  “Has something happened? Has there been another incident with your father?”

  “No, thank God. I haven’t been to see him. The unit said it would be best to let him get Christmas over.” She swallowed, trying to moisten her throat. “It’s me. I feel I’m talking too much.”

  There was a pause. “To yourself?”

  “No . . . but knowing me, that’s probably just around the corner.”

  Harriet started to laugh. “I’m glad you’ve got a sense of humour about it.”

  Lucy found herself smiling in spite of the seriousness. “Hopefully I won’t start talking to myself until my dotage, like my father.”

  “Well, go on,” Harriet said, “I’m listening.”

  “Basically,” Lucy said, “I feel I’m talking too much to Sarah – I feel I’m confiding in her too much. Letting my guard down.”

  “Well, it’s good to have someone you can talk to, and Sarah is a lovely, trustworthy girl. What exactly have you told her so far?”

  “Just about the trouble I got myself into over men.”

  There was a silence. “Did you tell her everything? Did you tell her about Durham?”

  “No – no! Of course not . . .”

  “It wouldn’t be the end of the world if you did.” Harriet’s voice was gentle.

  “I couldn’t.” Lucy was struggling to breathe deeply now. “What would she think of me?”

  “I know about it,” the nurse said. “I don’t think any less of you.”

  “But our relationship is different. There’s a professional confidentiality there.” She closed her eyes. “You’re used to seeing and hearing the worst of people and your job means you have to do it without judgement.”

  “But I’m not working with you any longer, Lucy. You’re up and about and functioning fine. I come to see you as a friend – a concerned friend – I don’t need to do it. I do it because I like coming into the shop to have a chat with you and Sarah. I enjoy it.”

  “You’re very kind . . .”

  “You’re not the first person to have made mistakes, Lucy.”

  “I know that, but there aren’t many women who have made such a serious mess of their lives as I have.”

  “You’ve improved over the last few years,” Harriet reminded her. “And I’ve seen the biggest improvement in you since Sarah came to work in the shop. I think you and she are becoming very good friends, and people naturally reveal more about themselves when there is an element of trust in the friendship.”

  Lucy finally managed to take a deep, restorative breath. “So you don’t think I’ve done or said anything terribly wrong?”

  “I’m sure you haven’t. But it might make you feel better if you stick to chatting about more ordinary things for a while.” She thought for a moment. “Were you drinking by any chance?”

  Lucy felt her face flush. “Yes, but not that much. A small glass of sherry before dinner, a glass or two of wine with the meal . . . nothing outrageous. I’ve drunk more when I’ve been on golf outings and felt fine.”

  “It may have mixed with your medication,” Harriet said, “but I’d guess it’s more to do with you feeling relaxed with Sarah and feeling you want her to know the real you.”

  “Do you think so?” Lucy wondered now. It was so long since she’d had a proper female friend that she had forgotten how deep any confidential exchanges had been with other friends in the past.

  “I do . . . I really do.” Her voice brightened. “So, what have you planned for the next few days?”

  “I’m going into see my father tomorrow afternoon and then I have a golf tournament on Saturday.” Lucy realised she felt much better already.

  “Good,” Harriet said. “Has Sarah told you I’m meeting her tomorrow?”

  “Yes, she has.” Lucy’s voice was lighter. “That’s lovely.”

  “We’re going out to David McGuire’s house. Sarah was invited to meet his grandparents and they’ve invited me. I really like him, so keep your fingers crossed for me, will you?”

  “They’re crossed already.”

  “Before I go,” Harriet said. “I want to point out to you that I’ve just confided in you about liking David, and I know that Sarah has confided in us both about some of the things that happened to make her leave Ireland.” She paused. “That’s what friends do. Do you get the point I’m making?”

  “I do, Harriet,” Lucy said. “And thank you.” She put the phone in its cradle now and lay back in the bed, feeling much lighter than she’d felt in a long time.

  * * *

  Sarah heard Lucy going downstairs and went into the bathroom for a quick wash and to brush her teeth. She went into the kitchen in her dressing-gown, carrying a Christmas present she had only remembered that morning. It was the one that David McGuire had given her. She had tucked it into a corner of her case and only found it this morning when she was looking for her face cream. She brought it down to breakfast as she didn’t know how her employer would be this morning, and it would give them a safe subject to talk about. Sarah felt very confused about all the things Lucy had confided in her. She also thought it would show Lucy that she valued her opinion, as she was afraid she had come across as defensive last night.

  “Did you sleep well?” Lucy asked, smiling brightly at her.

  “I did, thanks.” Sarah was relieved to see her back to her normal self. “How about you?” When their eyes met, she felt awkward and looked down to fiddle with her dressing-gown belt.

  “Not bad,” Lucy said, turning towards the cooker. “I have a pot of tea made and I thought we’d have some toasted crumpets for breakfast if that’s okay with you?”

  “Lovely,” Sarah said, going over to look out of the window at the weather.

  There was a small pause.

  “I’m sorry about last night,” Lucy said. “I got rather emotional. I said things I shouldn’t have, and tried to tell you how you should live your life – which was wrong of me.” She took a deep breath. “I’m afraid I’ve been inclined to keep things bottled up. I don’t know what happened when we were chatting, but it all just seemed to spill out. I really am very sorry if I offended or embarrassed you.”

  Sarah turned towards her. “You didn’t,” she said. “You were just trying to advise me and I appreciate it.” Two hot red circles came on her cheeks. “I’ve had the loveliest Christmas I’ve had for a few years here with you. I’ve really, really enjoyed it – and that’s the important thing.” Then, when she saw the obvious relief on Lucy’s face, she felt a sudden rush of compassion. “You have been more generous and kinder to me than my relatives back in Ireland, and I know anything you say to me is to help me avoid any pitfalls that I might not be aware of, and I do appreciate it.”

  There was a moment when both of the women thought of rushing over to hug the other, but each knew that it would break down the last of the barrier that was needed to keep the working relationship in its proper place.

  They both moved at the same time, Lucy to find the packet of crumpets and Sarah to show her David McGuire’s present.

  “What do you think?” she said, holding out the book.

  Lucy took it from her “‘Danta’ . . .” She halted, trying to pronounce the next word. “‘Grad – ha’?”

  “It’s Irish – the Gaelic language – it means ‘love poems’ and you say it ‘dawnta graw-ya’.”

  Lucy raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Do you think he’s trying to tell you something?”

  Sarah sucked her breath in. “Oh, don’t! I’m trying to believe what he said when he gave it to me.”

  “What did he say?” Lucy was still smiling. She opened the book and started leafing through it.

  “He said that it came into the shop in a box of second-hand books, and since it was written in the Irish language he immediately thought of me.” She looked at Lucy. “One of the times I bumped into him, we were talking about school and I told him that we used to speak in Irish in school. Where we live very few people speak it now,
so my Irish is a bit rusty.”

  Lucy held out the open book. “I wouldn’t know how to pronounce one word in it. I wouldn’t even have known that it was in the Irish language if you hadn’t told me.”

  Sarah looked down at the book. “But David would know how to recognise written Irish from his grandparents.” She bit her lip. “I can’t let Harriet see this . . . she might take it the wrong way. I’m sure he only bought it because it was Irish, not because of the love poetry thing.”

  “Well . . .” Lucy looked thoughtful, “I think you’re right not to mention it to her. He may have meant nothing by it, and you can thank him quietly when you’re on your own. Just keep it light and friendly.”

  “I’ll tell him I like poetry, which is true,” Sarah said, “and leave it at that. And I’ll make sure Harriet isn’t there.”

  Chapter 26

  Sarah stood waiting at the empty bus stop outside the station where she had arranged to meet Harriet at two o’clock. It was a cold but dry day, but she was wrapped up well. She was wearing a fine, plum-coloured jersey suit under her camel-hair coat, with her long black leather boots, black gloves and scarf. Her hair was in a French plait and she carried a large crocodile, square handbag which held two boxes of chocolates for David’s mother and grandmother. She had a bit of discreet make-up on, but nothing too obvious.

  She walked up and down at the stop to keep warm, and thought how quiet it was, and how most people were probably lying low after the Christmas period, having overspent and overeaten.

  When Harriet came cycling down to meet her, Sarah thought she looked particularly lovely in a bright green coat and with her long curly hair caught back in a clasp and make-up on. Harriet never wore make-up for work, but today she had made a big effort with some eye-shadow, mascara and lipstick. Sarah hoped the effort Harriet had made might give David a jolt and make him realise how lucky he was to have such a fine-looking girl interested in him.

  Harriet dismounted and lifted her handbag out of the basket at the front of the bicycle along with a Marks and Spencer carrier bag and dropped them at Sarah’s feet. “I’ll just leave the bike chained up here,” she said, indicating the office at the side of the building. “We’ve ten minutes until the bus comes so we’re in plenty of time.”

  The bus to Jesmond had plenty of empty seats but they climbed upstairs to get a good view of the passing scenery.

  “Did you speak to David?” Harriet asked.

  “Yes, I told him we’d be there around half past two.”

  “Did you say I was coming with you?”

  “No, it was a quick call and I didn’t get a chance to elaborate,” Sarah said. “I just said it was a friend.”

  “You got chocolates for them, didn’t you?” Harriet dug into her handbag. “I brought two boxes of Marks and Spencer’s biscuits. I hope they’re all right, my mother said you can’t go wrong with them . . .” She bent down to the carrier bag at her feet and brought out one of the boxes.

  “They look lovely,” Sarah said.

  The bus conductress came up and Sarah paid the fares. “I invited you, it’s my treat,” she told Harriet when she tried to give her the money.

  They chatted as they went along, with Sarah glancing every so often at the route directions David had given her, so they would know when to get off. Harriet knew the main areas in Jesmond, but she wasn’t sure exactly where the McGuire family lived.

  “I’m getting nervous now,” Harriet said, when Sarah said she was sure there were only three more stops to go.

  “Don’t be,” Sarah told her, beginning to feel nervous herself. What if David was annoyed she had brought Harriet? What if he was rude to them? “It’s only a visit,” she said, smiling. “What can go wrong?”

  They came into Jesmond and Sarah spotted the road name they were looking for, high on the side of a wall.

  “The next stop is ours,” she said.

  “Oh God . . .” Harriet said, and they both lifted their bags and headed for the stairs.

  There were several other people getting off, so they stood at the bottom of the stairs. “There he is,” she said, when the bus-stop came in sight. “You go first, Sarah, or he might get a fright and think you haven’t come.”

  As the bus started to slow down, Sarah steadied herself by gripping onto the silver pole. “Relax,” she whispered to her friend. “It’s not as if he’s a stranger.”

  David was waiting in the bus shelter and as the bus drew in, he stood back to let the passengers off. When he saw Sarah, his whole face lit up. “You found it all right?”

  His dark brown eyes were fixed on her, seeing nobody else.

  “Yes, we did,” She emphasised the “we”. She glanced behind her. “As I said I might, I brought a friend – Harriet came with me.” When she turned back towards him she could see he looked thrown off his guard.

  “I hope you don’t mind another guest,” Harriet said, smiling anxiously.

  David caught himself. “Harriet!” he said, smiling back. “What a lovely surprise. I’d no idea you were off today. I knew most of the shops would be closed, but I imagined you were flying around on your bike, visiting patients.”

  “We’re entitled to the odd day off, you know,” she laughed.

  “And it’s nice to see you wearing clothes for a change,” he said, winking at her.

  “You cheeky thing!” Harriet made a pretence of slapping him. “If anyone heard you saying that, God knows what they would think!”

  Sarah felt herself relax. It was going to be all right. David was being his old cheery, chatty self.

  They walked along the road for a few hundred yards past rows and rows of tall, Victorian redbrick houses, talking about what they had done over Christmas and things like what they had seen on television.

  “And how did you find it spending two whole nights with Miss Harrison?” David asked.

  “Very, very nice,” Sarah told him. “She really spoiled me with lovely food and drink and chocolates.”

  “I couldn’t imagine her letting her hair down somehow.”

  Sarah silenced him with a warning eye as she didn’t want Harriet thinking she discussed her boss outside of work. “You can have a good time doing quiet things, can’t you, Harriet?” she said, drawing her friend in.

  “Yes,” Harriet said, “but it’s nice to get out and about too.”

  They turned down a quiet residential street with the same tall buildings. “It’s just near the bottom of the road here,” David said. “We have a house on one side and my grandparents further down on the other side.”

  Sarah was taken aback. These were substantial, quite imposing houses – almost as big as the house in Victoria Street. For some reason she had presumed David would live in a small terraced house. He had never given her the impression that his family were well off, and she had thought they were just ordinary Irish people like her own family.

  “This is a lovely area,” Harriet said. “Have you lived here long?”

  “My grandparents moved here first,” David said, “and then we bought one about ten years ago. We’ve always lived in Jesmond though – our old house is only a few streets away.”

  Mrs McGuire was waiting for them in the large, modern kitchen, and after she thanked them for the chocolates and biscuits, she took them into the sitting room which had a dining area at the back with a table set with cold meats and salad.

  She shook Harriet’s hand and said, “I’m delighted this girl took a day off her work – from what David tells me she’s at the sewing machine night and day!”

  “She is,” Harriet agreed. “She’s never stopped since she arrived in Newcastle. I met her the first week she was in the shop, and every morning I came in she had done something different to the place. There were times I had to look around to check I was in the right place.”

  Sarah just laughed along with them and said, “It was kind of you to invite us.”

  “Oh, I had an ulterior motive, didn’t I, David? I’ve a few jobs I
want you to do for me, and I thought if I got you out to the house I would be able to hog your attention rather than queuing in the shop.”

  “I’d be delighted to do any sewing you need,” Sarah said with a smile.

  She looked around at the pale green walls with the gilt-framed paintings and family portraits, some old and some that looked fairly recent. She saw Harriet looking at one with Mrs McGuire and presumably her husband, with two boys who looked to be in their twenties and a girl perhaps older. The boy seated in the middle of the photo had David’s unmistakable grin.

  “That one was taken at David’s eighteenth birthday,” Mrs McGuire said.

  “I knew it!” Harriet exclaimed, “I recognised him straight away.” She picked up a small silver-framed picture taken around ten years previously with all four children in school uniform. “Ah,” she said, looking over at David, “don’t you look cute in your little blazer and cap?”

  “Aw, Mam!” David said, rolling his eyes and laughing. “Why do you have these out on show where everyone can see them and take the mickey out me?”

  “You’re lucky we’re not hiding them with the faces you pulled in some of the photos,” she retorted.

  They all laughed and, as the others studied more of the photographs, Sarah’s professional eye was drawn to the dark-green velvet curtains with the wine and green tasselled pelmet and ropes that tied them back. The windows were huge – similar to Lucy’s – and she knew that these particular curtains had been made by a long-established, professional company.

  “Nora and Jim, my mother and father-in-law, will be here in a few minutes,” Mrs McGuire said. She looked at Sarah. “They can’t wait to meet you and hear your lovely Irish accent. David’s sister, Pat, is coming too, with her little girl Jessica.” She glanced towards the window. “They should be here any minute. They live out in Gosforth. Mike, my husband, had to go into the office for a few hours but he’s hoping to get away this afternoon.”