The Girl on the Cliff

by Lucinda Riley

Matt had moved to put his arms around her shoulders. “Of course I won’t, Charley, I know you’d never do that. We’ve been buddies forever and you’re no liar. Don’t cry, honey. We’ll sort this out, I promise. I gotta go away tomorrow, which maybe is a good thing. We both need some space and some time to think. Why don’t we talk when I’m back? When both of us are calmer?”

  “OK,” Charley had agreed tearfully.

  Matt had kissed her on the top of her head, then stood up. “Try to get some sleep.” He’d walked toward the door.

  “Matty?”

  “Yep?” He’d paused.

  “Do you want this baby?”

  Matt had turned around to face her slowly. “I’m so sorry, but if I’m honest, Charley, I just don’t know.”

  That had been a week ago. And now Matt was back home, just as uncertain as he’d been when he’d left. Actually, he thought, as he turned the key in the lock to open the door to his apartment, who the hell was he kidding? He was completely certain he didn’t love Charley or want a baby by her. If he went through with it, he would be doing it simply because he was a gentleman and had made an irreversible mistake. But then, how many guys had been caught out in exactly the same circumstances and had to do the “decent” thing? Charley was a childhood friend, whose parents saw his own on a regular social basis. He shuddered at the thought of the raised eyebrows at the country club if word got around that Charley was pregnant by him and he’d refused to stand by her.

  The point was, thought Matt as he took his hold-all to the bedroom, she held all the cards. If she decided she wanted to go ahead and keep the baby, Matt reckoned he’d have no choice but to at least make the effort to give their relationship a go. He supposed it could be worse—at least he knew her well, they got on, shared the same social background and friends . . .

  Perhaps he should look at it like an arranged marriage. The concept was a tried and tested one. After all, it hadn’t worked out with Grania. Matt glanced at the photo sitting on his bedside table and swallowed hard. Grania looked scarcely older than a teenager in the picture. It had been taken when they were on holiday in Florence, in front of the Duomo, and Grania was giggling as the sea of pigeons she was feeding flocked around her.

  Matt sat down heavily on the bed they had once shared—the bed in which he had unknowingly betrayed her with Charley. Maybe all he could do was wait and see what Charley had to say. But, Jesus, he missed Grania right now. What had shocked him was the need to speak to her about what had happened to him; apart from being his lover, she’d been his best friend. Her down-to-earth Irish wisdom had always helped clear his head. On a sudden, desperate whim, Matt reached inside his hold-all and drew out his cell phone. Not stopping to process what he was doing, he dialed Grania’s number, not even knowing what he would say to her if she answered, but simply needing to hear her voice. Her cell phone was off, so he dialed her parents’ number.

  It was answered on the second ring.

  “Hello?” It was a young voice, one that wasn’t familiar to Matt.

  “Hello,” he replied. “Who am I speaking to?”

  “You’re speaking to Aurora Devonshire,” answered the voice in its clipped English accent. “And who may this be?”

  “It’s Matt Connelly here. Do I have the right number? I’m looking for Grania Ryan.”

  “You do, Mr. Connelly. But I’m afraid Grania isn’t here.”

  “Would you happen to know where she is?”

  “Yes, she’s in Switzerland. On her honeymoon with my father.”

  “I’m sorry?” Matt struggled to make sense of the words he’d just heard. “Could you repeat that for me please, miss?”

  “Certainly. I said that Grania married my father a week ago, and is on her honeymoon in Switzerland. May I take a message? She’s due back any day.”

  “No . . . I mean . . .” Matt had to make sure what the child was telling him was the truth. “Is Kathleen, her mother, at home?”

  “Yes. Would you like me to get her for you, Mr. Connelly?”

  “I’d sure appreciate that.” Matt waited in an agony of suspense, praying that Kathleen would be able to denounce what the child had just told him.

  “Hello?”

  “Kathleen, it’s Matt here.”

  “Oh . . .” Kathleen paused before she said, “Hello, Matt. How are you keeping?”

  “I’m good,” he answered automatically. “I’m real sorry to bother you, but the kid I just spoke to told me that Grania is on her honeymoon. That she has gotten herself married. Is this true?”

  Silence ensued at the other end of the line. Matt heard Kathleen sigh heavily. “To be sure, Matt, apparently it is.”

  “Grania is—married?” Matt had a need to repeat the word over and over, to help his brain make sense of it.

  “Yes, Matt. She is. I’m . . . sorry.”

  “I gotta go now, Kathleen. Thanks for . . . er . . . telling me. Good-bye.”

  “You take care now, Matt,” Kathleen said, but the line was already dead.

  Matt stood where he was, shell-shocked. Grania . . . married? After all those years of refusing to do the same with him. She’d upped and left him without explanation, then only a few months later was married to someone else. Matt’s heart was pounding and he could feel the blood rushing around his body, rendering him dizzy. He didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry. It was surreal, bizarre . . .

  Matt decided to take the third option and get angry. He took her photo from his bedside table and hurled it against the wall, where the glass smashed into a hundred pieces. Panting with emotion, he heard the sound of the front door opening.

  “Jesus.” Matt swept a hand through his hair. “Give a guy a break for a few seconds, will you?” he threatened the skies. Inhaling deeply, he tried to control his immediate physical reaction to the news. It would take far longer to come to terms with the emotional ramifications.

  Five minutes later, there was a tap on his bedroom door. He stood up and opened it. “Hi, Charley.” To his relief, she looked far more like herself, her usual immaculate exterior back in place.

  She smiled brightly at him. “Hi, Matty, how’s it hanging?”

  “Oh, you know . . .” he managed.

  “Hey, honey, you look rough.”

  “Thanks, Charley, I feel it.”

  “Hard week at the office?” she said.

  “You could say that, yes.”

  “You on for dinner tonight?”

  “Yeah, that was the plan, wasn’t it?”

  “Sure was. I’ll go take a shower and we can be out of here in fifteen.”

  “Fine.”

  As Charley went to take a shower, Matt wandered into the sitting room and mindlessly pulled a beer out of the fridge. He switched on the TV, flicking channels, and found some baseball—mind-numbing enough to focus his attention away from the pain he was feeling. The intercom buzzed and Matt stood up to answer. “Hello?” he said into the intercom.

  “Hi, Matt, it’s Roger here. Grania lent me a book which I promised to drop by when I’d finished it.”

  Roger was a friend of Grania’s whom she’d once shared an apartment with when she’d first arrived in New York. Matt liked him. “Come on up.” He pressed the button and three minutes later he was offering Roger a beer. “How come you’re passing the neighborhood?” he asked.

  “I just visited a room to rent in a loft a couple of blocks down. Think I’m gonna take it. I like the area. Grania not around?”

  “No,” said Matt, slamming the fridge door harder than he needed to.

  “Right. So, how’s the career going? Grania told me you were getting quite a name for yourself.”

  “Did she? Yeah, well, we all gotta make a living. You’re an intern, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, and with the hours I’m putting in at the hospital, I’m beginning to wonder whether I should plump for an easier life.” Roger raised his eyebrows and took a swig of his beer.

  “Rather you than me,” agreed Matt. />
  “So, how’s Grania?”

  “I . . .” Matt sighed. “The truth is, old buddy, I don’t really know.”

  “Right.”

  There ensued an embarrassed silence as both men took another gulp of their beer.

  “I’m ready.” Charley walked out of her bedroom, then stopped as she saw Roger. “Who’s this?” she asked.

  “Roger Sissens, hi there,” he said, extending his hand. “And you are?”

  “Charley Cunningham. Good to meet you.”

  “You too,” Roger said as he stared at Charley for a little too long. “Say, haven’t we met before?”

  “No,” said Charley categorically, “I always remember faces. I’m real sorry, but I don’t remember yours. Are we off, Matty?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Matt was squirming in discomfort. He knew exactly what Roger was thinking and it was all wrong. Or, more painfully, right.

  “Don’t want to hold you guys up,” said Roger, gulping down his beer as fast as he could. “I’ll come down with you.”

  They left the loft and waited for the elevator in silence.

  “Well, good to meet you, Charley,” said Roger, who had reclaimed Grania’s book, having guessed the lay of the land. “See you around, Matt,” he said.

  “And you, Roger.”

  Charley took hold of Matt’s arm and tucked her own inside it, walking him swiftly off along the sidewalk. “Strange guy,” she commented. “I’ve never set eyes on him in my life.”

  Over dinner, Charley seemed intent on making small talk. They’d reached the coffee stage before Matt had the courage to bring up the subject they were there to discuss.

  “So, what are your thoughts?”

  “On the baby, you mean?”

  “Yeah, on the baby.”

  “Oh, I’m going ahead with it, of course. I mean, I’m thirty-five years old, I’ve always wanted kids. It’s a no-brainer, isn’t it?”

  “Is it? If you say so,” added Matt quickly.

  “And I wanna say that I’m sorry for the dramatics of a week ago. I’d just heard the news and I guess I was in shock. I behaved like the kind of needy female I’ve always despised. Hey, I’m a big girl, with a good job and a home of my own. Which,” Charley added, “Will be ready for me to move into next week. So, one way and the other, I’ll be out of your hair sooner than you know it.”

  “So are you saying,” Matt tried to choose his words carefully, “that you’re gonna have this baby whether or not I’m by your side?”

  “Yup.” Charley nodded. “This is the new millennium, after all. Women don’t need a man around any more to have a kid. OK, it’ll cause a few raised eyebrows at the country club, and Mom and Dad won’t like it much, but they’re just gonna have to live with it.”

  “Right.”

  “Hey, Matty.” Charley reached out her hand toward him. “Don’t look so shocked. I really got you last week, and I understand. I’m not interested in trapping you. You made it obvious to me that it had all been a mistake, a misunderstanding . . . really, I’m so over it now. We’re both grown-ups, and we can make this work, I’m sure. At whatever level,” she added pointedly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I guess it’s your turn to say how you feel. If you’ve decided you’re not ready to be a father, that’s fine by me. On the other hand, I’ll be happy if you want visitation rights to the baby, want to be involved in its upbringing. But those are all things we can work out as we go along.” Charley smiled brightly at him.

  “Sure.” Matt nodded. “So, I guess you’ve ruled out the thought of our bringing up the child together? As a real Mom and Dad?”

  “Yeah, of course I have.” Charley raised an eyebrow. “From everything you said, and everything you didn’t say,” she added. “Last week you made it real clear that a relationship with the baby’s Mom wasn’t in the picture.”

  Matt looked at her. And experienced a sudden rush of blood to his head. Whether it was the heartbreak of what he’d just discovered, or a gut instinct to hurt Grania as much as she’d hurt him, Matt didn’t know. But Grania was gone, and the woman sitting at the table opposite him, whom he’d known for most of his life, was having his child. What had he got to lose by giving it a go?

  “I’ve changed my mind,” he announced.

  “You have?”

  “I told you I needed some space to think. And I think that you and I could be good together.”

  “Really?” said Charley dubiously.

  “Yup.”

  “And what about Grania?”

  The name hung in the air like a black cloud.

  “It’s over.”

  “You sure?” Charley looked suspicious. “It didn’t seem to be this time last week. What’s happened to change your mind?”

  “I suppose I just got to thinking that you and me . . . we’ve always been close, even had a relationship way back when. And now this”—he indicated Charley’s stomach—“has happened, it feels like maybe fate is giving us a prod in the right direction.”

  “I see.” She continued to eye him. “You sure about this, Matty? As I said, I’d come to terms with having this baby alone. There’s no pressure from me at all. And I want you to know that.”

  “I do know that, Charley, and it’s appreciated. But I’ve just said I’m prepared to give it a try. How about you?”

  “This turnaround of yours is a real shock. I . . .” Charley was flustered. “I just don’t wanna get hurt by you again.”

  “I know you don’t. And I give you my word, on our baby’s life, that I won’t hurt you, Charley.”

  “I’ve been so sure that you didn’t feel for me the way I’ve always felt for you.” Charley lowered her eyes, embarrassed. “You know, Matty, that I’ve always loved you, don’t you?”

  “And I’ve always loved you,” Matt heard himself lie with surprising ease. Something had snapped inside him.

  “As a friend?”

  “We’ve been friends for a long time, Charley. And I think it’s a real good basis to take it further.”

  “OK,” Charley said slowly. “So, what are you suggesting?”

  “That, first of all, you don’t move out, but stay in the loft with me.”

  “In my bedroom?” Charley queried.

  “No.” Matt took a deep breath, and reached for her hand. “In mine.”

  “Wow, you sure know how to shock a girl. This was so the last thing I was expecting you to say tonight.”

  “Hey, you know me, full of surprises,” Matt replied, an edge of bitterness to his voice.

  Charley didn’t notice. Instead, she took his proffered hand. “Here’s to us,” she said softly, “and the little guy or girl we’ve created together.”

  “Yes.” Matt felt sick. “Here’s to us.”

  36

  Two weeks after Grania had left Dunworley to travel to Switzerland, she appeared in the kitchen unannounced just after lunchtime. Kathleen walked downstairs and found her daughter slumped at the table, her head resting on her elbows. She surveyed her for a full few minutes before she announced her presence.

  “Hello, Grania.”

  “Hello, Mam,” came the muffled reply. Grania did not raise her head.

  “I’ll be putting the kettle on for a brew, shall I?” said Kathleen.

  There was no answer from her daughter. Kathleen filled the kettle slowly and placed it to boil on the range. Then she sat down on the chair next to her and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “What’s happened, Grania?”

  “Oh, Mam . . . oh, Mam . . .”

  “Come here, pet. I don’t know what it is that’s upset you, but come to Mam for a cuddle.”

  Grania raised her weary head and her mother glimpsed her pale, pinched face. Kathleen closed her arms around her daughter and Grania began to sob pitifully. The kettle whistled for a full two minutes before Kathleen stirred. “I’ll be turning that kettle off now and making us both a cup of tea.” Silently, she made the tea, then brought it back and pl
aced a cup in front of Grania, who was sitting upright now, but catatonic, staring straight ahead.

  “Grania, I don’t want to interfere, but God help me, the look of you is awful. Can you be telling your mammy what’s happened?”

  Grania opened her mouth to try to form words, but failed on the first few attempts. Finally, she managed to utter: “He’s dead, Mam. Alexander’s dead.”

  Kathleen’s hand flew to her mouth and she crossed herself with the other. “Oh no, oh no, no, no . . . how?”

  Grania licked her lips. “He had—has had—a brain tumor. He was having treatment all the times he’s been away. He died . . . four days ago. As his wife, I had to stay and arrange his funeral. And sign all the papers.” Her words were robotic.

  “Sweetheart, pet, can you be managing to drink your tea? I think you’re needing some sugar. And I’m going to get something else that will help both of us.” Kathleen searched in a cupboard for the brandy she used to cook with. She poured a healthy amount into each of their mugs. Then she lifted the mug to her daughter’s mouth. “Drink, Grania.”

  Grania took three sips before she coughed and refused a fourth.

  “Grania, I know there is a story you’ve got to tell me, but”—she glanced up and checked the time on the kitchen clock—“Aurora will be home in less than an hour. Shall I call Jennifer, the mammy of Aurora’s best friend, and ask her to collect her from school and keep her for her tea? I’m thinking she shouldn’t see you like this.”

  “Please,” Grania agreed. “I’m not up to . . . I can’t . . . no.” A silent tear rolled down one cheek.

  Kathleen brushed it away with a gentle finger. “You look like you haven’t slept for a week. How about you getting into bed and your mammy bringing you a hot bottle?”

  “I don’t think I can sleep,” said Grania as her mother helped her to stand and led her up the stairs.

  “No, but where’s the harm in trying?” Kathleen removed Grania’s jacket and then her shoes and jeans, and tucked her up into the bed. She sat on the edge of it, as she used to do when Grania was small, and stroked her daughter’s forehead. “You try and sleep now, sweetheart. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.” As she rose, she could see Grania’s eyes were already closing. Kathleen paused on the landing, tears filling her own eyes. For all that her family laughed at her sixth sense, and her worry about her beloved daughter becoming involved with the Lisles, it seemed that her premonition had been proved right.