The Birthday Party: The spell-binding new summer read from the Number One bestselling author

by Meaney, Roisin

  Tension written all over her face, her whole body rigid with it. Oh dear, this didn’t look good. ‘Sit down,’ Laura said – but Eve made no move, just went on standing in the doorway.

  ‘Eve, what is it, love? Are you sick?’

  ‘I – no.’

  ‘Is it Imelda?’

  A shake of her head, hair tumbling.

  ‘Look, I’m just making scones for the morning – let me get them into the oven and we can talk. You want to boil the kettle for tea?’

  ‘No … thanks.’ Stepping into the room then, pulling off her jacket, folding it over a chair back.

  ‘Grab that cutter,’ Laura said, ‘and we’ll go faster.’

  In silence they worked, Eve’s head lowered, her face hidden as she pressed the cutter into the soft dough. Whatever was to come wasn’t good. Good didn’t keep quiet; good didn’t have you afraid to tell it.

  At length the baking trays went sliding into the preheated oven. A dozen attempts at least it had taken under Nell’s tutelage for Laura to produce a scone she could expect anyone to pay for – and even now it was a gamble each time, some batches decidedly more successful than others. Happily, her own family never minded eating the rejects.

  ‘Sit,’ she ordered again, shutting the oven door – and this time Eve pulled out a chair and perched on its edge, looking tense as a rabbit in headlights.

  ‘OK,’ Laura said, untying her apron strings, shaking it out. ‘We haven’t got a lot of—’

  ‘I’m pregnant,’ Eve said. Loudly, almost defiantly – and instantly, Laura thought, Of course you are. She should have known the minute the girl had shown up. What else would have her in such a pickle?

  She sat and put a hand on Eve’s knee, trying to frame the right response. Was there even a boyfriend? If there was, Laura had yet to hear of him. No serious romance, as far as she was aware, not since Eve and Andy Baker had finished – when? Must be well over two years ago now.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘OK. First things first. Are you absolutely sure about this?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ve missed a period? Or more than one?’

  ‘One – and I’ve been … feeling sick.’

  ‘OK … and I presume you’ve done a test?’

  A nod. Hardly obtained in Roone’s one and only chemist: she’d have gone to Tralee for it if she wanted to keep this quiet – and by the look of her, she did. Laura was pulled back to her own first pregnancy test, just a couple of months after marrying Aaron, and their wild excitement at the positive result. Yet to learn she was carrying not one but a brace of babies; in blessed ignorance too of the horror that awaited her, the obscenity of his suicide a week before his sons were born. Don’t think about it. Even now, years later, the loss of him could stop her in her tracks.

  She returned to the business in hand. ‘Eve, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I’m guessing this was a one-off – since I don’t think you’re with anyone at the moment, are you?’

  Another shake of the head. Just gone twenty, her birthday a couple of weeks ago. No party for her this year, with Hugh’s death still so fresh, but Laura had brought chocolates to the crèche when she’d gone to pick up Evie and Marian. From all of us, she’d said, and Eve had given a ghost of a smile and thanked her.

  She must have known by then, or suspected. She might have been counting days, and thinking about getting herself a test.

  ‘I had to tell someone,’ she repeated. Still in shock, still getting her head around it. This, on top of Hugh. The last thing she needed.

  ‘It’s good to tell someone,’ Laura agreed. The girl wasn’t what anyone would call a great beauty but she had a pretty enough face, and the same curvy figure as Laura, and of course that glorious hair. Ripe for the picking, if a man had a mind to.

  A thought struck Laura then. Awful, unthinkable on Roone, but needing to be voiced. ‘Eve, did someone … force himself on you?’ She couldn’t give voice to the word, not in this quiet, ordinary kitchen where her children ate and played and laughed every day.

  ‘No,’ Eve said. ‘No.’

  Quickly, definitively. An act of consent at least then, even if the goose, and whatever gander was involved, hadn’t thought to take precautions. Another unsettling thought occurred. ‘Is he married, Eve? Or in a relationship with someone else?’

  Eve’s eyes slid away to focus on Laura’s hand, still resting on her knee. ‘No.’

  Less vehement than her last response. Sounded like he was taken, and she didn’t want to admit it. Laura considered the possibilities. The year-round population of Roone was in the region of three hundred and fifty, with slightly over half of those being boys and men. In theory, any post-pubescent male could have done the business, but assuming she hadn’t dilly-dallied with anyone under eighteen, or over forty, the unmarried suspects probably numbered no more than twenty or thirty. Add in the married ones, and the total went considerably higher.

  Laura regarded the girl’s bowed head, watched the hands that were unable to stay still, fingers squeezing and twining about one another. She hadn’t had much of a life before Roone, by all accounts. A father she’d never known, a drug-addled mother who was still battling to kick the habit. Eve and her half-brother taken into care when Eve had been no more than nine or ten, the two of them separated when no foster family could be found to accommodate both.

  And to make matters worse, the teenage son of her foster parents had abused her for years, a fact she’d eventually admitted when she’d come to spend a summer on Roone with Hugh and Imelda, who’d offered respite fostering. And now Hugh, the closest she’d come to a dad, had been snatched from her without warning. A rough deal by anyone’s standard.

  Had it left its mark on her, all this trauma? How could it not? Laura vaguely remembered some talk of Hugh and Imelda looking for counselling for her, after they’d learnt of the abuse. Had it gone ahead and if so, had it proved effective in unravelling the girl’s misfortunes? She had no idea.

  ‘Eve, is there anything more you want to tell me?’ Like whose it is. Like why you were so careless. Like what you’re planning to do next.

  Eve didn’t lift her head. ‘It’s nobody you know, if that’s what you’re wondering. He’s not from here.’

  Not from here. Well, that was a relief, Laura supposed. Some tourist then, or a visiting relative of one of the islanders.

  ‘Have you told him?’

  ‘No.’ Pause. ‘I can’t. I just can’t.’

  Laura let it go. ‘So you’re – what? About six weeks gone?’

  Another nod.

  Six weeks would put it not long after Hugh’s death. A whole other consideration, best set aside now. Six weeks, all her options still open. Laura thought suddenly of Imelda, who wouldn’t be the most liberal. She’d disapproved of Laura and Gavin living together before they’d tied the knot. Oh, nothing had been said, Imelda had never pointed the finger, never condemned Laura to anyone else, as far as Laura knew, but the older woman’s censure had been there in the tiny drawing back that Laura had noted whenever they’d encountered one another. Judgement had been made, without a doubt.

  All behind them now, and Laura wasn’t one to hold a grudge. The two of them cut from different cloth, which was fine: a dull world they’d have if everyone thought the same – but the fact remained that Imelda held conservative views, and an unmarried and pregnant Eve would be extremely difficult for her to come to terms with, especially now. Better for all, maybe, if the problem was made to go away quietly.

  Eve looked up. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know I’ve messed up. You don’t have to tell me.’ Winding and pulling a strand of hair. ‘I … I’d had a bit to drink – well, a lot. I know it still shouldn’t have happened, I know that.’

  ‘I see.’

  A lot to drink, which would explain the lack of precautions. Drowning her sorrows maybe, after Hugh. Defences lowered, inhibitions gone. She wasn’t the first to be caught – and not the first on Roone either.
More than one island household with a baby being raised by grandparents – and that girl of the McCarthys last year, absent for four or five months. Looking after a sick relative overseas was what had been said, but there’d been whispers.

  Laura darted a look at the clock on the wall. Any time now Gav and the boys would show up. Mad about one another Eve and Andy had been, eyes for no one else. Were they sixteen at the time? Not much more than that. Nell watching them like a hawk, terrified they were going to run off together and come back married. The fire, the thrill, the butterflies of teenage love: oh, Laura knew all about that.

  Hadn’t lasted, though. Eve had been the one to call a halt after a year or so, and Nell had worried all over again when she’d seen how badly Andy had taken it. First love for him – for both of them, Laura guessed.

  The girl had her own quarters now. A couple of poky little rooms above the crèche that she’d been running since January, when Avril McGuinness had finally decided to call it a day after forty-odd years of giving the youngsters of Roone their first taste of organised education.

  Imelda will miss her, Nell had said, when word went round that Eve was moving out, but Laura had thought that Imelda wouldn’t be too disappointed. With Eve’s departure, she and Hugh would have the place to themselves again – and it wasn’t as if Eve was moving further than about ten minutes down the road. They’d have waved her off happily enough, Laura thought, little realising how short a time they had left together.

  So what now? As a dedicated and devoted mother of five, Laura loathed the idea of abortion, but undoubtedly there were times when it made life a whole lot easier.

  ‘So nobody else knows about this?’

  ‘No.’

  Laura supposed she should be flattered. Of course they had history, the two of them. Eve had helped out in the B&B her first summer on Roone. Laura’s idea, doing what she could to help the situation, despite Imelda’s disapproval of her living-in-sin status. Anyone could see that she and Hugh were floundering, not a clue how to handle the silent, sullen teenager they’d been landed with. Eve had agreed to do a few morning hours at Walter’s Place and she’d managed fine, and she and Laura had got on, as much as anyone could get on with her in those early days.

  And there was the other bond too, of course. A couple of weeks after Eve had started at the B&B, Laura’s twin girls had decided to put in an appearance before their due date, and nobody had been around to help with the delivery but Eve and a sister of Imelda’s, who happened to be staying there with her husband at the time.

  Somehow they’d muddled through the delivery, and the girls had been named after the two proxy midwives in gratitude, and Eve was godmother to Laura’s Evie.

  All very fine and good – but, Lord, why couldn’t she have chosen one of her friends to confide in? Why on earth bring it to Laura’s door? She didn’t have the energy, not with her father’s news determined to take up so much of her headspace. Still, here they were, and she had to deal with it.

  ‘So there’s no way you can get in touch with the guy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You can’t – or you won’t?’ Gently said, but it needed saying.

  ‘Can’t. I just can’t. It’s … complicated.’

  ‘Complicated? In what way?’

  ‘… I can’t tell you.’

  Silence. He was taken, definitely.

  ‘I made a mistake,’ Eve said. ‘I thought you’d understand.’ A trace of defiance in the words.

  ‘I do understand, Eve – Lord knows I’ve made my share of mistakes. I’m not judging you, or accusing you, just trying to figure it out. Look, I’ll do what I can for you, you know that, but I can’t give you money – we just don’t have it to spare.’

  ‘I know that. I’m not looking for money – I didn’t come here for that. I just wanted to tell someone.’

  ‘And that’s fine, you can always talk to me. I’ll try to help you, whatever you decide.’

  A beat passed.

  ‘I’ve already decided,’ Eve said steadily. ‘I know what I’m going to do. I’m keeping it.’

  The decision made, just like that. ‘Eve, it’s still early days—’

  ‘I’ve made up my mind.’

  ‘Are you absolutely sure? You’ve thought it through, and you’re prepared to raise a child without a partner?’

  A second passed. ‘Yes, I’m sure. I know it’ll be hard on my own, I know that, but it’s what I want.’

  Laura thought of Imelda again, and her likely reaction to this. ‘Eve, have you considered the implications – for everyone, I mean?’

  Eve’s mouth twisted. ‘You mean for Imelda.’

  ‘Well, Imelda for one. She’s been like a mother to you, Eve—’

  ‘She’s not my mother.’ Sharply said, the colour deepening a little in her cheeks. ‘She doesn’t get to decide this.’

  ‘I know. It’s your decision, I know that – it’s just, it’s such a huge one, Eve. It’s a life-changing one. You need to be absolutely sure you can handle it, that’s all.’

  ‘I am sure.’

  ‘You could also lose your job at the crèche – has that occurred to you? They might take exception to an unmarried mother running it. Look, I’m not telling you what to do—’

  ‘I don’t want you to.’ Her anger flaring again, her voice rising with it. ‘I don’t want anyone telling me what to do – Jesus, I’ve had enough of that! And I don’t care about the job – let them take it if they want to!’

  ‘Ssh, Eve, you’ll wake the girls.’ Poor foolish creature, blind to the obstacles, the many pitfalls on the path she seemed bent on. ‘Look, just keep me posted, OK? You can pick up the phone anytime, or call around again. And remember, you can always change your mind about this. You mightn’t think you will, but I’m just saying you can. Your options are still open for another few weeks.’

  Eve rose to her feet, took her jacket from the chair back. ‘Promise you won’t tell anyone,’ she said, pushing arms into sleeves. ‘Not Nell, or Imelda, or anyone.’

  Laura’s heart sank. Just when she was getting rid of one secret, along came another. ‘Eve, you’ll have to tell Imelda. She can’t hear it from someone else.’

  ‘I will tell her, but not yet. Promise you’ll say nothing.’

  ‘I promise.’ What choice did she have? She couldn’t betray the girl’s trust. Just then, to her vast relief, she heard the faint clang of the field gate being opened. ‘They’re here – I’ll let you out the front.’

  When she opened the door she saw the rain. Not falling hard enough to make noise against a window, but heavy enough to wet you if you were out in it for any length, and Eve had a twenty-minute walk home, with no hood. ‘Take this,’ Laura said, lifting an umbrella from the stand – but Eve produced a green fleece beanie from her pocket and pulled it on. Doing it her way, as ever.

  On impulse, Laura put her arms around her. ‘Mind yourself,’ she whispered, and Eve submitted briefly to the embrace before pulling away. Not one for displays of affection, never having experienced much of it. Laura watched her hurrying down the path, full of romantic notions, no doubt, of raising her child alone. Pictured herself breast-feeding the perfect little cherub in a rocking chair. No clue about colic and croup and the dozens of other infant ailments, the teething and the nappy rash and the endless feeds, the days and nights of little or no sleep, the terror of being completely responsible for keeping another human alive, with no training course to ensure that you knew what you were doing.

  She returned to the kitchen to find Gav and the boys there ahead of her.

  ‘What’s burning?’ Seamus asked.

  Susan

  ‘I CAN’T DO THIS ANY MORE.’

  ‘Can’t do what?’

  ‘I can’t live with you. I’m leaving.’

  That got his attention. That made him turn from his canvas and regard her with the intensity she’d found so thrilling when they first met. He hadn’t needed to lay a finger on her: that searching gaze, a
s if he could see into the core of her, was all it had taken to set her ablaze for him. That look, or his slow, lazy smile with half-closed eyes – those had been his weapons. Those she had never been able to resist, had never wanted to.

  He wasn’t smiling now.

  ‘You can’t live with me?’ he repeated. His voice mild but his gaze like ice, like flint. Boring into her.

  ‘You’ve changed,’ she said. ‘You’ve … gone away from me.’

  ‘I’m right here. I’m here every day.’

  ‘Luke, you know what I mean. We’ve been through this. I can’t reach you any more. It’s like you’ve shut us out, me and Harry, and it’s hurtful and unfair, since I can’t think of anything I might have done to deserve it, and you won’t explain, or even try to. I can’t take it. I give you everything, and I get so little in return.’

  A tiny narrowing of the eyes that she didn’t miss. ‘You live in the lap of luxury, and you don’t have to earn a penny.’

  The accusation stung. ‘You were the one who was all for me giving up work when we got married. Anyway, I’m not talking about money. You know that’s not what this is about. I don’t care about money.’

  ‘Easy not to care when it’s there for the taking.’

  ‘Luke, don’t do this. Don’t keep pretending you don’t understand. You’ve become so … distant. It’s like Harry and I don’t exist for you.’

  A beat passed. A horn hooted, one short peremptory note, below on the road. ‘You knew,’ he said, ‘before you married me. You knew what I was like.’

  ‘You weren’t like this.’

  He’d always been focused on his work; that much was true. Always so intensely driven, and she couldn’t say this hadn’t impressed her, his complete commitment to his art. It was frustrating too, certainly, when she felt he’d set her aside – but she’d weathered those times when he was lost in a painting, and waited for him to come back, and he’d always come back.

  But not any more. Even in bed now he wasn’t hers: he was there physically, but his heart, his soul, were somewhere else.