Where indeed? Dublin made the most sense, with practically all of her friends there, and Harry enrolled in a local school – but Luke was in Dublin too, and she would need to stay well out of his ambit.
‘I don’t know where,’ she admitted. ‘I haven’t decided yet.’
‘You could stay here. I’d love it, and so would the kids and Gav. We could find you a place to rent till you got sorted.’
Susan summoned a smile. ‘Thanks, darling. It’s lovely of you to suggest it, but I’m not sure Roone is for me. You know I love my visits, but long term …’
Long term, Roone would drive her out of her mind. She’d miss the shops, and her regular manicures and facials, and her twice-weekly yoga class. She wasn’t much of a walker, and hadn’t cycled for years. She didn’t swim or sail. She wasn’t interested in the Roone activities.
And anyway, what job could she hope to get on the island? She’d been working as a school secretary when she’d met Luke, but Roone’s one and only school was surely all sorted on that front, and she didn’t imagine secretaries were in big demand elsewhere on the island. She might pick up something seasonal – waitress, bar worker, the hotel might need a chambermaid – but come the autumn, when the tourists packed up and went home, she’d in all probability be surplus to requirements.
‘I’m just catching my breath here,’ she said. ‘I’m gathering my strength, trying to figure out what’s next.’
The room was tasteful and anonymous and blessedly quiet, although the receptionist had told her that the hotel was almost full. The rest of the residents might make their presence felt later on, but for now they were keeping it down.
‘It mightn’t be forever,’ Laura said. ‘He might come after you.’
Susan couldn’t imagine it – and neither, she was sure, could Laura – but she said nothing.
‘How will he find you, if he wants to?’ Laura persisted. ‘You’ll need to let him know, just in case.’
‘I will,’ Susan said shortly, smothering another bolt of frustration. Surely she couldn’t have forgotten what he was like. The idea of him coming to reclaim Susan, like some rom-com leading man, was as likely as him throwing up his painting and going to work in a donkey sanctuary.
The cartoons ended and Harry climbed silently onto her lap, his small heft warm and heavy against her as he ran his thumb across the soft fur of Toby’s blue ear and looked steadily at his half-sister. Sunlight ran down the cream walls and splashed onto the pale grey carpet.
‘So when does Tilly arrive?’ Susan’s other stepdaughter, the one she hadn’t known existed till a few years ago.
‘Four more days. The girls are that excited, you’d swear the Queen was coming.’
‘Isn’t that sweet? I must meet her for a chat when she’s settled in.’
‘She’d love that.’ Pause. ‘Susan, what’ll I tell people?’
‘Tell them the truth,’ Susan replied, conscious of her little son sitting silently in her lap. Listening, maybe. Understanding, maybe. ‘Tell them what I’ve told you.’
‘But, well, would it be wiser to say you’re just taking a break or something? In case anything changes, I mean. You never know, do you?’
‘Laura, please listen to me,’ Susan said quietly. ‘I know it might be hard for you to hear, but it’s happened. It’s over, and nothing is going to change that. You know and I know that he’s not going to come after me.’
Laura reached across and patted Harry’s knee, and smiled at him.
‘I know it’s not what you want to hear,’ Susan went on. ‘I know you’re disappointed. I’m disappointed too.’ Putting it mildly.
Laura made as if to speak, and checked herself.
‘What is it?’
‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Anything.’
‘Do you still … love him?’
Susan shifted slightly, adjusting Harry’s weight. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.
She wondered what he was doing right now, right this minute. Was he thinking about her? Had it sunk in that his wife and son were gone from him? And what would Harry make of it, the longer his daddy didn’t reappear?
Sooner or later she’d have to tell him what she’d done. She’d have to put it into words he’d understand, and try to ensure that he didn’t hold it against her. She was sure he loved Luke, in the unquestioning way of children – and now she’d separated them, and there was every chance that they’d never again live under the same roof.
‘Hey,’ Laura said, ‘are you OK?’
‘I’m fine,’ Susan said, but she wasn’t.
Laura put out her arms. ‘Harry,’ she said, ‘come with me to the window. Let’s look at the sea and find some boats’ – and off they went, leaving his mother to escape to the hotel bathroom, where she ran the tap so he wouldn’t hear her letting out her loneliness.
Despite what Laura said, Luke mustn’t love her. That was the ugly truth of it. She loved him, but he mustn’t love her back. He couldn’t, or he wouldn’t have let her walk out just like that. It hurt like hell that he’d chosen painting over her.
After a bit she sluiced her face with water and patted it dry, her eyeliner leaving black marks on the soft white towel. She and Harry would move on. She’d find a new home and a new job and she’d get over this, she’d recover. And in time her marriage would arrive at the same quiet ending as his first marriage to Laura and Tilly’s mother.
And Luke, in all likelihood, would not look for custody of his only son. He might not even want occasional contact. If this happened, if he and Harry became completely estranged, Harry might want to know about him one day. What was he like? he might ask, curiosity getting the better of him, and Susan would tell him the truth as kindly as she could. She’d explain that his father had an immense talent that had left little room for anything else. She’d say he’d loved her and Harry in his own way, but that it hadn’t been enough to keep them all together, and she’d have to hope that Harry would be content with that.
Life would go on. And in time, she might even learn how to be happy again.
Eve
She shouldn’t have lied to Laura. She shouldn’t have done that. But how could she have told her the truth, when Laura was so friendly with Nell? There was no way she could have risked it. Nell would hit the roof if she knew – and probably James too.
And Imelda. Every time she thought of the row they’d had – no, not a row, just Eve lashing out – it made her want to cry. She’d hurt Imelda, when Imelda was already hurting so badly. She was still hurting her by ignoring the phone calls – but how could she answer? How could she trust herself not to blurt it out, and destroy Imelda completely?
She opened her spiral-bound notebook and found a pen that worked. She sat at the rickety little table she’d pulled over to the window, and began.
Dear Mam,
I hope you’re feeling OK, and they’re treating you well. I just wanted to drop you a line and let you know
She paused, pen in the air. And let you know.
that something happened a few weeks ago. Well, two things happened. Hugh died in his sleep on the fifteenth of May, that was the first thing.
She stopped again to blot her eyes with a sleeve. Come on.
It was very hard. It was a big shock. Hugh was like a dad. He was there for me like my own dad never was.
She reread it, tapping the end of the pen against her teeth.
That’s not a dig at you. I don’t blame you for that. Anyway, a week or so after, I heard that a friend was having a house party for his twenty-first. I wasn’t going to go. I didn’t feel like a party, I was still in bits over Hugh, but a few pals said it might help to take my mind off it for a few hours, so in the end I went.
She set down her pen. She got up and walked to the sink. She filled a cup with water and drank it.
Andy Baker was at the party. I told you about Andy. We went out for over a year. I was the one to finish with him, and I can’t explain why. He begged me not to, he
said I was killing him, but something made me break it off. I think it was to do with Derek Garvey, and my head being all over the place. He was the one in the foster home who abused me. I told you about him too.
Again she set down her pen. She propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands as she read over what she’d written. It was so stilted, she’d never been any good at writing, but she felt compelled to get it all out of her – and this way she could tell the complete truth.
It was hard, though. It was reminding her of things she’d rather forget. The first time I saw you, Andy had told her – when they were solid together, when they were unafraid to say those things to one another – I knew there was something there. Every time I saw you I felt it more. And she’d wanted to hear it. She’d lapped it up, and said the same back to him.
And then, the Christmas after she’d ended it, when they’d been six months apart, Tilly had arrived on Roone, and word had flown around the island within days that Laura Connolly had a sister she’d known nothing about. Eve had seen her around the place; tall, pale freckly skin, wishy-washy hair. Could have passed for Irish until you heard her talk.
Eve had never cared for the Australian accent.
And the following summer Tilly returned to Roone, and word got out that she and Andy had become an item. When she heard it, Eve hadn’t known how to feel. She’d told herself she was glad for him, that he must have recovered from the hurt she’d caused him, but there was a small bit of jealousy too, if she was perfectly honest.
Would they have got back together if Tilly hadn’t arrived on the scene? Maybe, maybe not. After Andy, Eve had gone out a few times with Gary O’Donnell. She’d never fancied him, but he’d been coming on to her for a while, and she was lonely. It hadn’t lasted beyond a month though. Her heart wasn’t in it: there was no spark, no point to it, and his kisses left her unmoved. In the end she’d told him she still wasn’t ready for a new relationship. It’s not you, she’d said, that hackneyed old line, but it was all she had.
Relationships were tricky, living on a small island. For one thing, your options were seriously limited. And with boyfriends and exes all knowing one another, who could tell what information was being passed around? Avoiding anyone you’d rather not meet was difficult too. Best to stay single, she’d decided, until someone she couldn’t resist came along, so she’d kept her distance from anyone who looked like he might be working his way up to asking her out.
Two summers had come and gone, and Tilly with them, and she and Andy were still together, despite living on opposite sides of the world. Eve told herself she was happy for them, and she almost believed it. Didn’t stop her feeling lonely every now and again. Didn’t stop her being nostalgic for what they’d had, the magic they’d made when they were together.
And then, just a few weeks ago, Frog Hackett, one of Andy’s best buddies, had thrown a party for his twenty-first, and Eve had been invited along with everyone else. Despite her misgivings, she’d let herself be persuaded by her friends, and she’d gone.
But within minutes of arriving she’d known it was a mistake. Everyone was happy, everyone was laughing. A few were dancing. What was she doing there? She’d felt alienated from them, and disloyal to Hugh’s memory. She had no business enjoying herself. She’d made up her mind to leave – but before she could, someone had put a paper cup of wine into her hand. She’d knocked it back too quickly, anxious to be on her way, but it had floated into her head and made her want another.
She picked up her pen again.
I had too much to drink at the party. I think I was trying to drown my sorrows or something. Anyway, I remember crying at one stage, and Andy putting an arm around me. We left the party with a few others, but by the time we got to my apartment, it was just the two of us.
Now. The hard part.
I don’t remember a lot of what happened after that. We made coffee – well, one of us did, because I found the mugs in the sink the next morning. And then
She scrubbed her face with her free hand. Write it. Write it.
And then we slept together.
She crossed it out, and wrote,
And then we had sex.
There had been no sign of him when she’d woken early with a thumping head and a raging thirst – thank God it was Saturday, and no crèche. She wished she could remember it. Her clothes were in a tumble on the floor: had they undressed one another? Had it been hurried and exciting, or slow and sweet? Had he spoken? Had either of them? It killed her that she had no memory of it, none – but it must have happened.
It wasn’t the first time they’d gone all the way. Despite being mad about him, despite really wanting him, it had taken months, seven or eight months, before she was comfortable with that level of intimacy. He hadn’t pestered her, hadn’t pushed her in any way, but she knew he was dying for it too. In the end she’d been the one to initiate it, to make it plain that she was ready.
And they’d been careful, of course they had. They’d gone to Tralee on the ferry and bought condoms in a big chemist where nobody knew them. They’d giggled about how many they’d need, and what kind they should get. She hadn’t been able to look at the checkout girl as Andy had paid: she’d pretended to be really interested in the perfume display by the till.
It had taken them a while to get the hang of them – he was as clueless as she was – but they’d never been stupid. They’d been careful in the other sense too, careful to hunt out places where nobody would find them. No mean feat on Roone, but by then she knew the island almost as well as he did. They found their spots.
No condoms the night of the party, though.
She picked up the pen again.
And now I’m pregnant. Imagine that, Mam. Your daughter is pregnant.
Since the night of the party, she’d encountered Andy a few times, but they’d never been on their own. They’d had no proper conversation, not a single one. She guessed he hadn’t confided in any of the others about what had happened between them. Why would he, with Tilly on the way?
God, Tilly.
I feel bad that it happened, since Andy has a steady girlfriend. It wasn’t planned by either of us, but I know he’ll be feeling bad too that he was unfaithful. They only meet once a year, she lives in Australia and comes over for the summer, but they must be serious if they can keep it going like that. I haven’t decided yet whether to tell him I’m pregnant. I don’t know what to do about that.
She shouldn’t have said anything to Laura. She should have kept the whole thing to herself. She’d felt so completely on her own though: she’d needed someone to share it with, and Laura was the only person she could think of. She couldn’t tell any of her friends that she was pregnant, with them all having been at the party, and knowing that Andy had walked her home. They’d put two and two together in no time, they’d know it was his, and they couldn’t know, not yet. So she’d turned to Laura.
And telling her had helped. Saying it aloud, saying what she’d decided to do about it, had convinced her that it was the right thing. Of course she’d been shocked at first, when she’d realised she was pregnant – who wouldn’t have been, in her situation? But as the shock was abating, as the implications of what had happened were sinking in, she could see that it wasn’t the end of the world. In fact, the more she turned it over in her head, the more she could look on it as a positive development.
I’m keeping it, Mam. You’re going to be a granny. I don’t know how you’ll feel about that, but I hope you’ll be happy for me.
For as long as she could remember, she’d looked forward to being someone’s mam, maybe because her own mother had made such a mess of it. Maybe Eve wanted to redress the balance, give someone a loving mam, a mam who cared, and didn’t spend money on whatever drug she could get her hands on instead of buying food for her children.
Hadn’t she already been a mother to Keith, in everything but name? Hadn’t she practically brought him up while they were still living with Mam, before
they’d both been taken out of the house and handed over to strangers? She’d stolen food for him: she’d lifted packs of cooked ham from shops, she’d swiped bottles of milk from doorsteps, gone through supermarket bins to find stuff that wasn’t too much out of date.
She knew how to look after someone smaller than her, and she was determined to look after this baby as if her life depended on it. It shouldn’t have happened like this but it had, and she’d accepted it. Even if it meant everyone turning against her, even if it meant having to leave the island she’d come to love, she was having this baby – and she was going to keep it. She was giving it up for nobody.
Didn’t mean she wasn’t terrified at the thought of the labour. Being there for the birth of Laura’s twin girls four years earlier had stunned her: she’d known having a baby was painful, everyone knew that, but she hadn’t realised there was such a brutality about the business of giving birth, hadn’t known how it stripped away every ounce of – humanity, or whatever you’d call it. It ripped it all apart, it reduced the woman to a grunting, sweating, roaring mess. But Eve would get through it, like Laura had, like so many other women did.
What if Andy denied everything, if she decided to tell him? What then? It was only her word that it had happened. He could say he’d left her at the apartment door and gone straight home, and who would everyone believe? He’d been living here a lot longer than she had; his father had married an islander.
She didn’t think he’d deny it: he was too decent a person. But Tilly was about to arrive for another summer, and Eve couldn’t very well drop the bombshell before that. If she did decide to tell him, it would have to be after Tilly’s departure, sometime in August. She supposed it could wait, provided Laura kept her word and told nobody.
There’s another thing. I had a row with Imelda. I shouted at her, for no good reason. I feel really bad about it, but I think I needed to create a bit of space between us. I need to not be around her just now, until I make some decisions.
What of Hugh, she wondered, what would he have made of this? She remembered how proud he’d been when she’d got the job at the crèche. You’ve done well for yourself, love, he’d said. I knew you would. He’d had such faith in her, one of the few people who’d really believed in her. She couldn’t bear the thought that he might be disappointed now, that he might feel she’d let him down.
The Birthday Party: The spell-binding new summer read from the Number One bestselling author Page 6
