When Crona got home in the early evening, Shirley told her that she was worried about Lola.
‘I’ve never seen her so bad with a hangover before,’ she said. ‘I know she’s upset too, but she hasn’t kept a thing down all day.’
‘She couldn’t be pregnant, could she?’ asked Crona.
Shirley looked horrified. ‘She’s on the pill. You were the one who told her condoms weren’t reliable enough and made her go to the family planning clinic, remember?’
Crona nodded and went into the bedroom, where Lola was lying with her face buried in the pillow. She sat on the edge of the bed and took her friend’s pulse.
‘You should see a doctor,’ she told her.
‘No.’ Lola shook her head.
‘You really should,’ said Crona. ‘I’ll bring you.’
‘Oh, all right.’ Lola didn’t have the strength to protest any more. She didn’t really have the strength for the ten-minute walk to the late-night surgery either, but supported by Crona on one side and Shirley on the other, she eventually made it. There were three people ahead of them. She closed her eyes and made a resolution never to drink red wine with sausages and rashers again.
Philip had phoned the flat twice more without success. He didn’t know whether to be worried or not. But he assured himself that it was highly unlikely Lola Fitzpatrick had done a runner with the Bluebell earrings. She lived and worked in Dublin, for heaven’s sake. She’d hardly be able to escape detection. If, indeed, she needed to be tracked down. He decided to give her until Monday to return them. He wouldn’t ring the flat again because his mother would want to know who he was calling. Adele was looking after him brilliantly, but she wasn’t giving him much time to himself. He certainly didn’t want to accuse Lola of having the earrings with his mother beside him.
She’d return them, he said to himself as Adele put a tray with his evening meal on his lap. She had to return them. After all, she could have had an engagement ring worth more than the Bluebells if jewellery was what she wanted. But, he realised as he poked at the mashed potato in front of him, he’d never really known what Lola Fitzpatrick had wanted, had he?
He’d been played for a fool whichever way he looked at it.
Chapter 7
Sapphire: a transparent gemstone, usually blue, second only to diamond for hardness
When Lola left the doctor’s consulting room, she was so white that her friends immediately thought she’d been given very bad news.
‘I’m pregnant,’ she told them and burst into tears.
Shirley and Crona exchanged glances.
‘But . . . but . . . isn’t the pill supposed to have a ninety-nine per cent success rate?’ There was a sudden note of panic in Fidelma’s voice.
‘When taken properly,’ said Crona. ‘Did you miss taking it at all, Lola?’ She put her arm around her friend’s shoulder.
Lola nodded weakly. ‘I don’t like bringing it with me when I go back to Cloghdrom. It’s not that my mother snoops, but . . .’
‘Oh, Lola.’ Shirley was close to tears too. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Let’s get you home first,’ said Crona. ‘Then we can talk about your options.’
They hurried out of the surgery and back to the flat, where Lola raced to the bathroom again.
‘I can’t believe being pregnant has made you so sick so suddenly,’ Fidelma said. ‘My mother had eight of us and was never once anything like you are now. And it’s not just morning sickness, for heaven’s sake. You were throwing up all day!’
‘The doctor says I have hyper . . . hyper . . .’
‘Hyperemesis gravidarum?’ finished Crona.
Lola nodded.
‘What the hell is that?’ demanded Shirley. ‘Is something wrong with the baby? Is that it?’
Crona shook her head and explained that it was a very severe form of morning sickness; although, she added, looking at Fidelma, sufferers could feel sick any time in the day. It could last until the end of the third month of pregnancy – sometimes even longer.
‘Hard to keep it a secret so,’ said Shirley.
The friends looked at each other in consternation. Although attitudes towards unmarried mothers were slowly changing in Ireland, many people, particularly in rural communities, still thought that a girl getting pregnant outside of marriage had brought shame on herself and her family. As a result, some chose to keep their pregnancies hidden. Occasionally a new arrival was said to be a baby of a relative who couldn’t look after it; in some cases the girl’s mother herself claimed to have had a late baby. Most people knew the truth. But appearances were everything.
‘The doctor doesn’t think I’m very far gone,’ Lola said. ‘It’s like my body has just realised there’s something else in there and is throwing a hissy fit. I’ve felt fine till now – well, once or twice a bit queasy, but everyone is a bit queasy from time to time for no apparent reason.’ Suddenly overcome with the reality of her situation, she leaned her head on the table. ‘I’m so fucked,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve made a mess of everything.’
‘You have to phone Philip straight away,’ said Shirley. ‘Tell him that you were shocked by his proposal last night and that you didn’t mean to say no. Tell him that you can’t wait to marry him. And the sooner the better.’
Lola raised her head slowly and looked at Shirley from eyes that had darkened in her chalk-white face.
‘Are you telling me to get married because of the baby?’ she asked.
‘What other option do you have?’ demanded Shirley.
Lola said nothing.
‘It’s the right thing to do,’ said Shirley. ‘For everyone.’
‘The doctor gave me information about places that can help,’ Lola told her.
‘Abortion clinics?’ Fidelma couldn’t keep the shock from her voice. Abortion was illegal, and a woman who wanted to terminate a pregnancy had to go to the UK. Nobody ever admitted to having had one. It was one of the great taboos.
‘No. Just, you know, agencies who help with your pregnancy, and afterwards . . . well, they find a home for the baby.’
‘D’you want to try to keep it a secret, Lo-Lo?’ asked Crona.
‘I might have,’ said Lola. ‘But with this hyperemesis thing . . . Shirley’s right, it’s not going to be easy.’
‘For God’s sake, Lola!’ Shirley exclaimed. ‘Why are you even thinking about anything other than Philip Warren? He’s a man who wants to marry you! That solves all your problems.’
‘I didn’t want to marry him yesterday. Why should I want to marry him today?’
‘Because everything has bloody well changed,’ said Shirley. ‘You’re fecking pregnant. Pregnant! You need to get yourself married pronto.’
‘I don’t want to marry Philip Warren just because of a baby,’ said Lola.
‘It’s not only about you any more,’ said Fidelma. ‘Think of what they’ll all say if you rock up to Cloghdrom with a bump and no ring.’
‘I’m not marrying somebody just because he’s the father of my child.’ Lola was adamant.
‘Plenty of people do,’ said Crona. ‘And plenty of people make it work. You’d be one of them, and in a way better position because he’s rich.’
‘No!’ Lola pushed the chair back and made another dash to the bathroom. ‘I wouldn’t.’
‘She’s out of her mind,’ said Fidelma. ‘Absolutely out of her mind.’
‘And she won’t listen to us,’ Shirley said. ‘She won’t listen to anybody. She never does.’
The doctor had given her a sick cert for a month. Lola had never been off work for so long before. Although she didn’t want to say it to her friends, she was frightened at how ill she was. And they were right about the enormity of her situation. There were no unmarried mothers in Cloghdrom, although she knew at least two girls who’d had babies an unfeasibly short time after they’d walked down the aisle. But nobody batted an eyelid at that. It was as though a ring on your
finger made everything all right.
Would Philip accept her back if she phoned him and tried to persuade him that her refusal had simply been because she’d been overwhelmed? Or would he tell her that she’d had her chance and she’d blown it? Would he even believe that the baby was his?
‘It’s very early days,’ she told Shirley the following morning. ‘If I go to him and tell him about it and we get married just to make everything seem all right, and then I lose it anyway, I’ll be trapped.’
‘You can’t make decisions on maybes,’ said Shirley. ‘You’ve got to see sense, Lola.’
‘I thought I was doing the right thing yesterday.’ Lola swallowed the antacid Crona had given her and made a face. ‘In fact I was sort of proud of myself. I wasn’t going to marry someone rich and handsome for the wrong reasons. I was being true to myself. And now . . .’
‘You can still be true to yourself,’ said Shirley. ‘And, well, he has a right to know. It’s his baby too.’
Lola gave her friend a scornful look. ‘Like any of them care when you’re pregnant,’ she said. ‘Like any of them want anything to do with you.’
‘He wanted to marry you.’
‘That was when I was a desirable single woman. Now I’m just someone who got herself knocked up.’
‘You’re not to think like that,’ said Shirley.
‘It’s the truth. I wanted more from life than getting married and having kids. And now . . .’
‘There’s nothing wrong with being married and having kids,’ said Shirley. ‘And for the sake of your baby, you have to do it.’
Lola said nothing. But when she came back from the bathroom, her face whiter than ever, she told Shirley that she wasn’t going to say anything to anybody. At least for a few more weeks. Until she knew there was no other choice.
Telling her again what a massive mistake she was making would only make her more pig headed, thought Shirley. Instead she suggested Lola stay with her own older sister, Nuala, while she was on sick leave. Nuala lived in the pretty town of Virginia, about half an hour’s drive from Cloghdrom. Her husband was in the Defence Forces and stationed with a peacekeeping mission in the Lebanon. Meantime Nuala, who worked at the local hospital, was alone in the house.
‘She’s the ideal person,’ said Shirley. ‘She doesn’t really like being on her own, and even though she’ll be working, she’ll also be able to keep an eye on you.’
‘It would be great to stay with her,’ said Lola. ‘But are you sure she’ll want me?’
‘I’ll call her now.’
When Shirley returned after making the phone call, she said that Nuala would be delighted to take care of Lola for a while, and that she was going to drive to Dublin right now to bring her home with her. The good thing, Shirley added, was that Lola had been to Cloghdrom fairly recently, so she didn’t need to go home again for a few weeks. As her mother never rang the office, Lola could call her from Nuala’s and Eilis wouldn’t know any different.
‘Maybe that aul’ hyper-whatsit will ease off while you’re there too,’ said Shirley. ‘I know it’s what the doc diagnosed, but he didn’t take into account the fact that you were also absolutely wasted.’
Lola smiled faintly. Given that the antacids hadn’t made much difference, she doubted it. The doctor had also given her some rehydration sachets, but Lola hadn’t kept the liquid down for more than a few minutes.
‘Nuala will look after you,’ said Crona as Lola packed a small case. ‘She’ll make sure you’re OK.’
‘The thing is . . .’ Lola looked at her friends, shamefaced. ‘I’m honestly hoping I’m sick enough that I will lose the baby.’
‘Don’t talk like that!’ Fidelma exclaimed. ‘That’s a terrible thought to have.’
‘But it would definitely be better all round,’ said Lola and rushed to the bathroom again.
Richard Warren was, like the vast majority of Irish people at the time, a Roman Catholic. Adele had been brought up as Church of England. They alternated their attendance at church between the two faiths, going to the local Church of Ireland one Sunday and the Catholic Church of the Three Patrons the other. Sometimes Philip attended with them, but this Sunday, given his crocked foot, he stayed at home. As soon as they’d left, he rang Lola’s flat.
Lola was almost ready to leave when she heard the phone ringing in the hallway. Sarah, from one of the downstairs flats, yelled that it was her boyfriend.
‘I can’t talk to him.’ Lola turned to Shirley. ‘Will you? Tell him I’ve gone home for the weekend or something.’
‘If I say that, he might try to call you at home,’ she said.
‘Oh crap, you’re right. Tell him I’m staying with a friend. Tell him I’m upset. No,’ she added, ‘don’t say that! He might think I’m going to change my mind. Just . . .’
‘All right, all right,’ said Shirley. ‘Don’t panic.’
Philip was getting impatient as he waited for Lola to come to the phone. When he heard Shirley’s voice, his hand tightened around the receiver.
‘She’s gone to see an old friend of ours in Cavan,’ said Shirley. ‘It was a kind of family emergency. I’m sorry, I don’t have the number.’
‘I need to talk to her urgently,’ said Philip.
‘If she rings, I’ll give her the message.’
‘Really urgently,’ he said. ‘It’s important.’
‘I’ll tell her.’
‘Is she back tomorrow?’ he asked.
‘I . . . I don’t know.’
Philip didn’t say anything else. He replaced the receiver with a bang. It didn’t necessarily have to be suspicious that Lola had headed off. But he’d never known her to go and stay with a friend before. And he couldn’t imagine what kind of family emergency would drag her back to Cavan. All the same . . . he told himself to breathe deeply . . . she still had to return to Dublin to work. The Bluebell earrings were worth a lot of money. But not enough for someone who’d stolen them to give up their job and disappear. He was making a mountain out of a molehill. Although he still had to get them back before his father realised they were gone.
The fact that he was unable to walk without crutches saved him on Monday. Lorraine didn’t say anything to his father about the earrings as she assumed Philip would bring them with him when he next came into the shop. She’d replaced the Bluebell display with the Adele Rose collection, a perennial favourite with the customers of Warren’s, so Richard didn’t notice their absence.
When Adele went to her Ladies’ Club meeting that morning, Philip rang the Passport Office and discovered that Lola was on sick leave, a fact that left him feeling rather ill himself. He thought long and hard for a few minutes, then picked up the receiver again. He’d never phoned the farmhouse before, and he tapped his fingers impatiently as he waited for his call to be answered.
‘Philip? Philip Warren? Lola’s boyfriend? Is everything all right?’ Eilis couldn’t keep the anxiety out of her voice.
‘I wanted to talk to Lola,’ he said.
‘Lola?’ Eilis was astonished. ‘She’s not here.’
‘I know she was going to stay with a friend, but now that she’s off work sick, I thought she might have gone to you instead,’ said Philip.
‘Off work sick?’ Eilis was even more worried. ‘With what?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Philip. ‘She hasn’t been in touch with me.’
‘She hasn’t been in touch with me either.’
‘Well, look, if she does, will you tell her I’m looking for her? And if she calls me, I’ll let you know.’
He hung up.
He was getting a really bad feeling about this.
Lola was feeling awful. She’d just been sick in Nuala’s bath and she was now rinsing her mouth at the sink. Her normally glossy curls were falling in lank spirals around a face that was still deathly pale, and her eyes were dull and listless. She pushed her damp hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ears.
Which was when she saw the Bluebell
earrings for the first time since she’d put them on in Warren’s a couple of days earlier. She gasped in horror. She remembered pulling off all the other jewellery and throwing it on the display counter, but she’d totally forgotten about the earrings, hidden as they were by her mass of hair, and very light despite the beauty of the stones.
She removed them with trembling fingers and, returning to the spare bedroom, put them into the pink plastic soap box in her sponge bag. The soap box was, she thought, an entirely inappropriate place for a pair of Adele Bluebells, but there was nowhere else to keep them. Not that she was keeping them, of course. She’d have to tell Philip. But how could she tell him about the earrings without telling him about the baby? She took a deep breath and gulped. And then sprinted for the bathroom again.
Eilis was far better at tracking down her daughter than Philip Warren had been. She phoned Shirley’s library and told them that it was a matter of life and death and that she had to speak to her at once. Shirley, thinking that perhaps it was Lola herself, took the call and almost immediately confessed that Lola was with Nuala.
‘But why?’ asked Eilis.
‘She needed a bit of time to herself.’ Shirley wasn’t going to break Lola’s confidences, but she was uncomfortable at not telling Eilis the whole truth.
‘Philip is going distracted,’ said Eilis. ‘Did they have a row?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Did he do something to upset her?’ Eilis’s voice hardened. ‘Is she hiding from him?’
‘Nothing like that,’ Shirley assured her.
‘Give me Nuala’s number. I’ll call her myself.’
‘How about I ring Lola and get her to call you?’ suggested Shirley.
‘You will not. I’m her mother and I’ll talk to her.’
‘But Mrs Fitzpatrick—’
‘Don’t you Mrs Fitzpatrick me, Shirley Clooney,’ said Eilis. ‘Give me the number. Better still, give me the address.’
Which was how Eilis, driven by Milo, turned up at Nuala’s doorstep later that afternoon and pressed the bell with such ferocity that Lola had no choice but to open it.
‘Well, missy,’ said Eilis as she walked into the hallway. ‘Are you going to explain yourself?’
What Happened That Night: The page-turning holiday read by the No. 1 bestselling author Page 7
