Beneath an Irish Sky (Choc Lit)

by Connor, Isabella

  ‘But it no longer means everything to me,’ Jack said, and he meant it.

  ‘Perhaps you just need a holiday …’ suggested Grace.

  ‘I think it’s going to take more than a fortnight in Barbados to fix this.’

  ‘Talk to Matt. He loves you. You’ll work it out.’

  ‘Matt’s very angry, not just with me, but with you and Dad – because of the way you treated Luke. And Annie.’

  Grace looked shocked. ‘What have you been saying to him?’

  ‘Nothing. He heard about it from someone else.’

  ‘Village gossip,’ said Grace dismissively. ‘Matt should know better than to listen to that.’

  ‘I don’t think it was all gossip. Annie was made to feel she could never belong. And you were one of the people who made her feel that way.’

  ‘I tried, Jack – Lord knows, I tried, but we had nothing in common.’

  Jack shook his head. ‘You didn’t try. I saw that with my own eyes but didn’t want to rock the boat by pointing it out. And I’ll never forgive myself for that. I should have had more guts. And you should have had more compassion. Been less of a snob.’

  Grace stood up. ‘I’m not going to stay here and be insulted …’

  Jack cut her short. ‘No, I’m sure you can go elsewhere for it – I’m realising exactly what the people in this village think of us.’

  ‘I’ll put your rudeness down to the drink, Jack, and I just hope when you’re fully sober, you come to your senses …’

  Grace marched away, her heels clacking angrily on the wooden floor. Jack remained where he was at the table. ‘That’s already happened, Mother,’ he called after her. ‘I’ll leave you to see yourself out.’

  At the resounding slam of the front door, Honey whined and hid beneath Jack’s chair. He patted her head and wondered how long it would be until he managed to upset her as well. When he picked up the coffee mug, his hand was shaking.

  Friday morning, and another solitary breakfast. The house seemed to echo around Jack. Usually Matt had music thumping somewhere in the background and Maggie would be roving the rooms, cleaning and scolding as she went. Now there was nothing. They had gone, taking their life and their laughter with them. He missed them. But he was coping. Adjusting. That’s what he was known for, after all.

  As for Luke – well, maybe he was his son, maybe he wasn’t. There was no way Jack could have broached the subject of the DNA test since he’d got back from Ireland. Not if he’d wanted to avoid another scene even worse than the one after Nicholas’s visit. It just wasn’t worth it. Maybe Luke himself might suggest it in the future. Until then, it just didn’t seem to matter any more. He was too tired to care.

  Jack hadn’t left the house for three days. He didn’t need to. The fridge and freezer were stacked with enough food to last out weeks of a siege. He’d told Emer everything when she called in response to his e-mail. She’d approved of his taking a break from work but felt he shouldn’t be alone too much. It had been on the tip of his tongue to ask – no, beg – her to come to the May Day festival. He’d have to go, to fulfill his charity commitments, but he was dreading the sly looks and whispers. The gossip grapevine would be in full swing. He hadn’t wanted to expose Emer to that. So he’d told her he was taking a vacation and would be in touch on his return.

  And that’s exactly what he was planning to do when May Day was over. He’d take a hire car down to France – to Antibes, to visit Caroline’s parents, the Ingrams. Then he’d move on to Italy, island hop in Greece, take a boat over to Turkey and sip coffee with the Bosphorus spread before him. He’d travel as far as he wanted, as far as he needed, until the painful memories faded. He was loosening the bonds, backing away, withdrawing. Some would say he was running away. Perhaps he was, but he needed to get away from Baronsmere, from everyone – especially Luke. The time was ripe for change. He would view it all as the Chinese philosophers had done – not as a crisis, but as an opportunity. Perhaps he wouldn’t come back to Baronsmere at all.

  When Luke arrived with Kate at The Fox and Feathers, the pub was packed.

  Abbie waved to them from the far corner. ‘Wotcha!’ she said, as Kate and Luke joined her. ‘Where’ve you been? We got here ages ago to get these seats. The karaoke’s just about to start.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Matt, standing at the microphone on the pub’s small stage. ‘Those fortunate enough to have hearing aids, turn them down now. It’s Al and Tim, with sincere apologies to The Proclaimers!’

  When Al and Tim turned around to face the audience, everyone laughed at their thick-rimmed specs. Faking Scottish accents, they began to sing ‘I’m Gonna Be’. Luke knew the song, otherwise he wouldn’t have understood a word.

  ‘I’d walk five hundred miles to get away from that God-awful racket,’ said Abbie, swigging from a pint glass.

  Kate laughed and caught hold of Luke’s hand. He smiled at her. Everything suddenly felt so right. And this was the pub where his mother had worked. It was a comforting thought.

  Abbie was staring. ‘So – you’ve done it now.’

  ‘Done what?’ asked Kate.

  ‘Appeared in public. Now everyone’ll know you’re an item.’

  ‘That’s the idea,’ said Kate, and she kissed Luke full on the mouth.

  ‘Oh, get a room!’ said Abbie. ‘Gavin looks fit to burst a blood vessel.’

  Luke followed Abbie’s gaze and saw his cousin seated at the bar, scowling back at them. ‘Guess I’ll always be a pikey to him,’ he said.

  ‘No, it’s Katie he’ll be pissed about,’ Abbie told him. ‘She was his girlfriend once – for all of one date.’

  ‘Really?’

  Kate sighed. ‘Alas, yes – last year. I was young and very foolish. But all Gavin ever talked about was money and cars … and himself. Unbearable.’ She touched Luke’s arm. ‘It meant nothing. Believe me.’

  He did believe her but couldn’t help wondering if she’d slept with Gavin. Stupid male jealousy. The git was still staring at them. Luke couldn’t resist – he smiled and winked. Gone were the days he’d be made to feel inferior.

  Still wearing their glasses, Tim and Al crammed into the space left by Abbie as she ran to the stage.

  ‘Luke, my man!’ screeched Tim. ‘That song was in your honour.’

  ‘Luke’s Irish, not Scottish, you drunken dimwit!’ said Al.

  ‘Well, they’re all Celts, aren’t they?’ insisted Tim. ‘Oops … time for the ear plugs.’ He pointed to the stage, where Abbie was singing ‘I will survive’.

  ‘More than we will then,’ called her brother, thumping the table. ‘Right, I need beer! This performer’s thirsty!’

  ‘I’ll get us a round,’ volunteered Kate. When she reached the bar, Luke watched as Gavin slipped from his stool and put his arm around her. Kate immediately shrugged it off, but the cocky git just grinned and whispered something in her ear before moving towards the stage. Luke was vaguely aware of Abbie returning to the table, declaring, ‘I don’t know why I put myself through that every week.’

  ‘Put us through it, you mean,’ said Al.

  Abbie gave him an exaggerated smile and poked her tongue out.

  A moment later, Gavin took the mic and started to sing ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’.

  ‘Oh God,’ said Abbie, pretending to throw up. ‘And tonight, Matthew, I’m going to be … a complete tosser.’

  It was obvious the song was aimed at Kate. The prat was looking across at her as he sang.

  ‘Alcohol!’ cried Al, grabbing a bottle from the tray as Kate returned to the table. ‘Thank God! Need something to dull the senses when he’s on!’

  When Gavin finished singing, there was muted applause, mainly from his friends and some young girls who must have been out on day release. He bowed. ‘Thank you, fans. Now we all know tha
t karaoke night is a big part of our social week, and to really enjoy it – to belong – you have to sing.’ Gavin switched his attention to Luke. ‘If he’s going to be a regular, then he’s got to give us a song. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you – Luke Kiernan – or Stewart – or whatever.’

  There was silence, and Luke felt everyone in the room was watching, waiting to see how he would respond.

  ‘Shut up!’ hissed Matt. ‘No one has to sing.’

  Luke got up, though, and made his way to the stage. He’d show them.

  Gavin handed him the mic. ‘How about ‘Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves’?’ he said. His friends laughed and banged their table.

  Luke ignored them. He’d found the song he was looking for and smiled reassuringly at Kate. He knew he had an appealing voice. It ran in the family. Gavin had no idea Luke was used to singing in public. He enjoyed it. He’d done it in bars, or on evenings when he and other Travellers would make their own entertainment. He tried to imagine he was back there, with his mother and their friends.

  ‘Go on, son!’ shouted Tony. ‘Your mother stood in that very spot and sang for us – and bloody good she was, too.’

  Luke focused on Kate. Gavin had purposely directed a love song at her. Two could play that game. Chatter in the bar died away and the smile disappeared from Gavin’s face as Luke sang his mother’s favourite song, ‘You Light Up My Life.’ He didn’t take his eyes off Kate, and not just for Gavin’s benefit – the lyrics summed up his feelings so well that he became lost in them. He wanted Kate, wanted everyone, to know exactly how he felt.

  When he’d finished, there was silence at first, then applause. Matt was grinning, and Tim and Al were whooping and banging the table. Kate came onto the stage and threw her arms around him. ‘That was wonderful!’

  ‘Stay here,’ said Luke. ‘This one’s for you as well.’ He quickly showed Matt the song he wanted, and then launched into ‘Uptown Girl’. Al and Tim jumped up and joined in as Kate strutted across the stage, acting the role perfectly. Luke had achieved exactly what he wanted. Let people throw his background at him. This song would show them he didn’t care. He wasn’t ashamed of who he was, and anyone who had a problem with it could take a hike.

  The music ended to more applause, and Tim and Al bowed several times, saying with false modesty ‘It was nothing – really.’

  Back at the table, Tim said, ‘Shall we say ten per cent?’

  ‘What?’ asked Luke, puzzled.

  ‘Stick with me, kid – I can make you a star. Or … I’ve just had this great idea! We could start our own band! You can be lead vocal – you look like you’ve just stepped out of a boy band anyway. I can play guitar and so can Matt. Al can learn the drums. We’ll be a tribute band! Call ourselves Vestlife and promote my T-shirts at the same time! What do you say?’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’ Luke was laughing so hard his ribs ached, but the pain was worth it. At that moment, he felt he belonged.

  ‘Your little scheme backfired there,’ Al challenged Gavin, who was heading for the door. ‘Luke beat you hands down!’

  Gavin shrugged. ‘Amateur night crap.’

  ‘That includes you then,’ said Abbie.

  ‘Shut your mouth, slag!’

  Before he could think about it, Luke grabbed a pint of beer and threw the remains at his cousin. Gavin looked startled but then grabbed Luke’s T-shirt and yanked him to his feet. Christ, the pain in his ribs! For a second he was back in Ennis facing Joe, and he headbutted Gavin, who fell backwards, blood streaming from his nose.

  Matt was on the scene in seconds. He didn’t seem to care Gavin was hurt because he jerked him to his feet and thrust him into the arms of his approaching friends. ‘Get him out of here – now!’

  Gavin’s face was a bloody mess, and he glared at Luke. ‘You’ll regret that, pikey,’ he spat. ‘I’ll bring your world crashing down.’

  ‘Fuck off, Gavin!’ said Matt.

  ‘You can’t order me around!’ Gavin was wiping his nose with a handful of paper napkins he’d grabbed from a nearby table. ‘This isn’t your pub.’

  ‘No, but it is mine and I want you out of it,’ said Tony Hayes. ‘You’re barred.’

  ‘But it was that gypo who hit Gavin!’ said one of Gavin’s mates.

  ‘He’s been begging for a fight and he got one,’ said Matt. ‘Now, piss off!’

  Glaring at Matt and Luke, Gavin spat on the floor. ‘Let’s go before the Chuckle Brothers make me throw up.’

  When they’d gone, Luke slumped back into his seat. He felt sick.

  ‘All right, bro?’ asked Matt, sitting down in the seat opposite. ‘What happened? First Richard, now Gavin. It’s becoming a habit. Great targets, though.’

  ‘Luke defended me!’ said Abbie. ‘That bastard Gavin insulted me!’

  ‘Luke, you’re a regular knight in shining armour,’ murmured Al, looking impressed.

  Luke was no hero. What he’d just done – getting into a fight – was everything he despised. Why had he allowed Gavin to get to him?

  ‘Gavin grabbed him,’ said Kate. ‘It was hit or be hit.’

  Kate was wrong. If he hadn’t thrown the drink at Gavin, it was likely nothing would have happened. He’d lost his temper, and not because Gavin had insulted Abbie, but because he’d been flirting with Kate.

  The others smiled, but the evening had ended badly and it was Luke’s fault. He turned to Kate. ‘Can we go?’

  As Luke headed out, several hands patted him on the shoulder. People were saying ‘Well done’ and ‘Good lad’. He’d never felt such a fraud.

  ‘Luke,’ called Matt from the door, just as they got outside. ‘That first song, ‘You Light Up My Life’ …’

  ‘Mam’s favourite,’ Luke told him. ‘Though it made her cry.’

  ‘Just wondered,’ said Matt. ‘Last time someone sang it, Dad was here and walked out. He was in a foul mood for days.’

  Proof that Jack loved Annie – or hated her? Luke was too upset to try and fathom things out. He followed Kate to the car, thinking about what Gavin had said. I’ll bring your world crashing down. He’d need to watch his back.

  Chapter Twenty

  Ten o’clock on the village green and May Day was about to kick off. Luke was with Tim in front of a makeshift stage. The Baronsmere brass band started to play.

  ‘That sounds like ‘Thriller’,’ said Luke. ‘Not very May Day, is it?’

  ‘Totally May Day.’ Tim was swigging vodka from a lemonade bottle. ‘Because this place is full of the living dead. All prone to acts of reckless violence.’

  ‘Bet she’s the worst,’ joked Luke, as an old biddy with a blue rinse tottered past.

  ‘Sadie Nelson,’ observed Tim. ‘Definitely. Last year, her dahlias were passed over so she whacked the judge with her handbag. I thought she was barred this year.’

  Luke grinned. He didn’t always take Tim seriously but his entertainment value was priceless. May Day looked like it would be fun. Clowns, jugglers and merry-go-rounds, just like the big horse fairs. Tony Hayes waved to Luke then turned back to the sign he was hammering up over a stall that read ‘Madame Zelda: Fortune Teller’.

  ‘Madame Zelda’s really Babs Hayes,’ Tim told Luke. ‘She wears a headscarf and hooped earrings. Last year, she told me a temperamental woman would come into my life.’

  ‘And did she?’

  ‘Well, I was hoping it might be Lady Gaga. That she’d somehow become my New Best Friend. But it never happened. Ma did get Suki, the Pekingese, last year, though. And that’s one bitch with serious attitude problems. The dog, not my ma. So maybe it did come true.’

  Following a drum roll, an announcement from the stage told people to take their seats.

  ‘Show time!’ cried Tim, as people started to climb the side stairs to the stage. ‘That’s
the May Day organising committee. The parents wanted me up there to represent them in their absence. Told them I’d rather stick my head in boiling chip fat.’

  Luke scowled when he saw Grace Stewart in the middle of the front row, her hat so big it should have had its own seat. And there was Old Nick, smiling down at the common folk. Patronising git.

  Another drum roll, and a short, stocky man with an obvious hairpiece stepped up to the microphone.

  Tim offered the lemonade bottle to Luke. ‘Want some?’

  Luke shook his head.

  ‘You might regret it,’ Tim warned. ‘The speeches have been known to turn the normally sane into gibbering wrecks.’

  Hairpiece started talking. ‘Welcome one and all to Baronsmere’s May Day Festival. A tradition that has graced this green – this jewel of a corner of England – for well over a hundred years. Times may change but May Day in Baronsmere is timeless. A chance for our community to come together and celebrate its most cherished values – compassion, decency, good sportsmanship.’

  ‘Who is he?’ asked Luke.

  ‘Our mayor,’ Tim told him. ‘Horace Henderson. “Hungry Horace” we call him. Short on height, big on ambition. Napoleon complex.’

  ‘This great day would not have been possible without generous contributions from …’ Horace then started giving out more names than the phone book. Luke glanced across at Tim. The vodka was taking effect. As the speech continued, Tim dozed off and then jerked awake at each round of clapping.

  Ten minutes later, Luke poked Tim in the ribs. ‘He’s windin’ up now.’

  Tim looked at his watch. ‘God is merciful. Horace’s speeches can rival War and Peace.’

  The mayor apologised for his wife’s non-attendance, saying she was indisposed. Tim nudged Luke. ‘Dipso, he means. She’s currently drying out in a Swiss clinic.’

  ‘In her absence,’ droned Horace, ‘Lady Grace Stewart has kindly offered to speak on behalf of the organising committee.’

  ‘Oooh!’ said Tim, straightening up in his chair. ‘Old Grace must have pulled some fast moves. According to rank, it should have been Lady Middleton. In fact, Lady M looks a bit puce – she must be furious.’