The day drags its way to sundown, and I’m a smeary eyed, frazzled mess by the time I get back to the apartment and fish out my phone. Still no messages. Why hasn’t Michael called? I shuffle to the window and peer out. The street noise rises up and into the room. It seems to clutter the air. I click on the radio. Sinead O’Connor.
‘For the love--’ I flick it off again, wander into the kitchen and peer into the fridge. Nothing but cheese. Damn. I forgot to hit up the grocery on the way home. I take out a wheel and slice it gingerly, then take a reluctant bite.
It is good.
I nibble at another slice.
The doorbell clangs, and I flinch.
‘It’s ten o’clock. Who the hell--’ I swing open the door. Brad stands, all smiles, in the hallway. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I heard you were back,’ he says.
‘From who?’
‘Okay, I saw your light on. I miss you.’
I move to swing the door closed.
‘Wait, wait, just two seconds,’ he says, jutting a hand in. ‘I just want to talk. Tomorrow. We’ll do dinner.’
‘We’ll do dinner?’
‘Look, Jules. I know it’s way too little too late, but I need to see you.’
I cock an eyebrow. Since when does Brad Scholer need anything?
‘I have to tell you something. One thing, and I’ll leave ya be,’ he says.
‘Just one thing? That all you have to say for yourself?’ I huff at him. This has to be some sort of trap. He looks down at me sheepishly, and the blue chunk of ice around my heart thaws just slightly. ‘Where?’ I ask as bloodless and flat as I can manage.
‘Tomorrow at eight. At Gold.’
‘One drink.’
Brad breaks out in a face long grin. ‘Great.’ He tries to hug me, but I duck him. ‘Great, I’ll see you then.’
I bolt the door behind him and pad back into the living room. The manila folder glares at me from the coffee table.
Now or never, Julie.
I slide the forms out and sign them with a shaky hand.
‘You’re never gonna believe who dropped by last night,’ I say to Kate as we waltz up Broadway.
‘He didn’t?’
‘He wants to have dinner.’
‘And you said no. Right?’ she asks.
I look over at her meekly. ‘I said I’d have a drink with him. It might end up in his lap.’
‘Classic,’ Kate laughs.
At the office, Kate’s IT entourage are huddled around her desk. The Aran video flashes on the desktop.
Jacob, the PR manager, pauses it. ‘Kate, this thing’s really blowing up. Are we in on this yet?’
I look over Kate’s shoulder at his screen.
‘I got the link to the petition,’ Kate says.
‘Do we know which agency posted it?’ Jacob asks.
‘Julie might know. She was like right there.’
All eyes on me.
‘I have no idea,’ I say. Kate flashes me a secret smile, but she doesn’t give me away.
‘Tina, can I see you for a sec?’ I ask.
‘Sure.’ She follows me into my office and I hand her a letter.
‘Send it today, please,’ I say.
‘To a Mr. Heaney…in Inishmore?’
‘That’s right.’ I prop open a new file and scribble away at a campaign sketch.
‘Ms Quinn?’ Tina asks.
‘Mmmhmm.’
‘Is everything alright?’
I set my pen down and look up at her. ‘Of course.’
I have everything I’ve ever wanted. The things I need? Jury’s still out on that one.
Tina clicks to the door, sliding past Kate. She nods at Tina slyly and marches up to my desk.
‘So, you’ve finally signed the papers to sell the factory?’ she says.
‘Yep,’ I nod and swivel round to take in the skyline.
‘And that’s what you want,’ Kate prods.
‘Yeah. It is.’
‘You don’t sound too convinced,’ she says.
‘I just need some time to adjust, you know?’
‘To what? This is your life.’
‘Yeah. That’s the weird part,’ I sigh. ‘Hey, you know that dress from the Mademoiselle shoot?’
‘The Jenny Packham?’
‘That’s the one. Can I borrow it?’
‘Um YEAH,’ Kate beams.
I make sure I’m more than fashionably late to Gold. I want Brad to sweat it. I want him to be absolutely convinced I’m not coming and then loose it when I breeze through the door in this shimmering golden laced number. As I skirt past the bar, I see him, shoulders hunched in his tailored slate suit and canary tie at the best table in the house. Oh, he’s sweating it alright. I float through the door and let the dress walk for me. There isn’t a head in the place that doesn’t turn.
‘Julie. Hi.’ Brad pulls out a chair for me and almost trips over himself sitting back down. The waiter minces over. ‘Two martinis,’ Brad says and turns back to me. ‘You look… God.’
I eye him, heart and head steady.
‘What is this, Brad?’ I ask.
‘I owe you a birthday dinner,’ he smiles. ‘Remember?’
‘I remember finding you in bed with one of your models,’ I snipe at him. The waiter arrives with the drinks and smirks at Brad.
‘How ’bout we don’t talk about the past?’ he says and raises his drink. ‘To the future.’
I clink glasses with him ironically. ‘What do you want, Brad?’
‘They do an unreal surf and turf here,’ he says, immersed in the menu.
I stare through the top of his head, and he looks up at me, slowly, deliberately. ‘I want you back,’ he says at last.
What?! I keep my eyes trained on his. He can’t be serious?
He reaches into his jacket pocket. ‘I would’ve waited for dessert,’ he says and pulls out a small velvet box.
Oh NO.
He drops down on his knees. ‘Will you marry me?’ He opens the box, and out gleams a stunner of a rock in an ornate filigree setting.
This isn’t the way it was supposed to happen?!
‘I’ll promise to love and respect you,’ he says. ‘And to be more understanding of your work. I’ll never let you down again, Jules. I won’t. I don’t want to lose you again. Ever.’
My breath hitches in my throat, and everyone, even the barmen and the waiters, gape at me. Brad shifts his weight from one knee to the other.
‘Love is about compromises,’ he says. ‘I had to lose you to figure that out.’
‘I’m sorry, I--’ Think I’m going to spew. ‘Got to go to the bathroom.’ I leg it to the toilet, ram my way through the door, and very nearly topple a tall blonde, crying loudly into her hands. ‘Cameron?’
She looks up, eyes muddied with smudged mascara. ‘We have got to stop meeting like this,’ she says and tries to smile.
‘Are you ok?’
She nods yes, but then sputters out another heaving sob. ‘No,’ she cries.
Oh boy.
‘Life is so damned unfair!’ she blubbers into a wad of toilet paper.
‘Um. Yeah. I guess it is. But hey, look at you! You’re still the head of fashion at Wilson and Partners!’
‘I lied,’ Cameron snuffles.
I blink at her.
‘I’m just her PA,’ she sobs. ‘Well, I was. She fired me today.’
Say WHAT? ‘But I thought you--’ Were the face of the city!
Cameron waves a hand dismissively. ‘Apparently, thirty’s too old to fetch coffees!’ she wails.
My mouth drops open. ‘But why did you lie?’
‘I was like so envious of you in college! You were always the smart one, and I was just…’ she sniffs dejectedly, ‘the dumb blonde.’
‘No, you weren’t,’ I say and squeeze her hand.
She looks up at me and flashes that million dollar smile. ‘Is that a Jenny Packham?’ she asks, wiping at her tears.
&
nbsp; ‘Yeah. Borrowed.’
‘It looks good on you. Really good.’ She smooths on a slick ruby lipstick. ‘How’s your new firm coming along?’
I look at myself in the mirror. ‘It’s not. Long story.’ Cameron freezes, eyes bulging wide. ‘Everything’s changed,’ I say, locking eyes with myself. ‘You ever feel completely lost?’
Cameron nods knowingly. ‘All the time,’ she smiles. ‘My grandmother used to tell me that if I ever got lost in life, there were two things I could do. I could sit down and wait for someone to rescue me, or I could turn around and go back the way I came. You pay attention to the signs along the path, you’ll always be able to find my way home.’
I gape at her, wide eyed. She’s right! It might not make much sense, but I have to do it. I gather Cameron up in a warm hug. ‘Thank you,’ I tell her. ‘Everything’s gonna be alright.’
I stride out of the bathroom, alight with confidence. Heads swivel to follow me back to the table where Brad waits, nervously fingering the velvet box. I give him a curt peck on the cheek.
‘I’ve got to go, Brad,’ I say and collect my bag.
‘Go? Where?’
‘Home,’ I smile and dart off.
Brad half rises, the little box outheld.
CHAPTER TWENTY
In the village of Kilronan on Inishmore, the St. Enda’s Day Feast is in full swing. Banners lash in the wind, sending a sharp snapping sound up the main street among the market stalls and the throng of people, all of them lined up to see St. Enda parade down the street with the pipers. I jump onto the pier in the gold, sparkling gown and a new pair of wellies, a manila envelope under my arm.
He promised he’d keep them at the house, but I’ve got to hurry!
I tear up the street and through the crowd, fingers pointing after me, and reach the cottage breathless. Familiar voices peel through the open windows.
‘Mum, we’re missing it!’ Cormac wails.
‘Whist, will you!’ Clare says. ‘Cathal, what do you mean you can’t find the file?’
I take a deep breath and ring the doorbell.
‘I’ll get it,’ Dermot says and jerks the door open. His mouth flops open when he sees me there on the stoop.
‘Thought I’d deliver it myself,’ I smile.
‘Julie, my God!’ Dermot whoops and pulls me inside. I wink over his shoulder at Cathal. Clare stands up and smooths her skirt. She puts a hand out to me.
‘Before you sign anything,’ I say, ‘I have a proposition for you.’
Cathal draws out a sheaf of forms. ‘Here is the new contract you requested,’ he says and hands them over to me. ‘And if you’ll excuse me,’ he nods his way to the door, ‘I have a party to get to!’
‘Thanks, Cathal!’ I shout after him.
‘What’s this?’ Clare asks, eyeing the forms.
‘It’s the sale price plus interest. I want to put it back into St. Enda’s,’ I say.
‘No, I couldn’t let you do that, now,’ Clare says.
‘On the condition that you take me on as your partner.’
‘Partner?!’ Dermot cheers.
‘I can’t be here full time, of course, so I need someone I can trust,’ I smile. ‘And if you can’t trust family, who can you trust?’
Clare frowns at me. Her brow furrows as if she’s ciphering some complex equation.
Please, Clare. Say something!
She sticks a hand out. ‘Deal,’ she says. I grasp her hand, and she pulls me to her.
And now we’re hugging. I pat at Clare’s back self-consciously, my body rigid, my mind wheeling. This is… weird. Clare hugs me tighter and, by invisible degrees, I feel myself relaxing into her embrace. A warm, wash of emotion overcomes me, and for a moment I feel my mother’s arms around me. A silent tear falls down my cheek. I reach up and unclasp Mum’s necklace.
‘I want you to have this, Clare.’ I thumb the pendant one last time and hand it to her. She stares into her hands reverently, and then smiles the warmest of smiles. She reaches out and refastens it around my neck. ‘No, I want you to keep it,’ I say, tears streaming now.
Clare cups my face in her hand. ‘I am,’ she says and hugs me to her.
‘Okay, now can we go?’ Cormac whines.
‘YES,’ Dermot and Clare smile.
She takes me by the hand and leads me out into the late summer sun.
The four of us wind our way into town just as the floats are beginning their trek around the market square. The air is laced with the bright smell of candyfloss and charcoal. Cormac darts off and picks Ava out of the crowd. She plants a sly little kiss on his cheek.
‘JULIE?!’ There’s a break in the crowd and Bridie careens over, tears already streaming down her face. ‘I knew you’d come back!’ she cries out.
‘Say hello to my new partner!’ Clare crows over the pipers.
‘Partner?’ Bridie can hardly believe it. ‘Time for me to retire, so,’ she jokes.
‘Don’t even think about it!’ I laugh. ‘St. Enda’s needs you!’
‘And I need you,’ Clare adds. ‘I’m not quitting my stall, you know.’
‘Oh, if Josephine were here to see this!’ Bridie says, hugging herself. ‘She’d be so very proud!’
Kieran strides over to us, arms raised triumphantly. ‘Looks like we have reason to celebrate this year!’ he says. ‘Thanks to Ms. Quinn.’
‘You all did the real work,’ I smile shyly.
‘What are they on about?’ Clare asks Dermot.
‘You haven’t seen it?’ replies Dermot. ‘Julie made a film. About us! It’s thanks to that we’ve been able to grab the attention of the press and win over the public! Without it, we’d never have convinced the Germans to re-open negotiations.’
‘They’ve agreed to further talks?’ I gasp.
‘Even better!’ Kieran says. ‘They’ve agreed to let us maintain our domestic market and our own branding! They said that investing in local identities is an avenue they’re interested in exploring.’
‘That’s brilliant!’ I smile.
‘Thank you, Julie,’ he says and claps me on the back. ‘I tell ya, Josephine knew what she was at, getting you to come home!’
‘Yeah,’ I laugh nervously and gaze across the crowd. There’s still one person I need to see.
Finton, Niamh, and Tom bustle through the crowd, instruments under their arms. ‘Julie!’ they cheer at me.
‘Hey guys! Where’s Michael?’
Tom glances nervily at the others. He leans into my shoulder, face drawn.
‘Didn’t he tell you?’ he asks.
‘Tell me what?’
Before he can answer, Colm and Mary appear, pumping all of our hands.
‘Best festival yet!’ Colm smiles.
‘How’s the herd?’ I ask him.
‘They’re getting on mightily,’ he says. ‘Would’ve lost twenty head if it hadn’t been for Michael.’ He clucks his tongue. ‘That sub they’re sending in from Dublin won’t hold a candle.’
‘Sub?’ I pale.
‘Michael took a lectureship at the university in London,’ Dermot explains. ‘He’s flying out today.’
I feel the blood draining from my face. I’m too late. I didn’t listen to my heart when I had the chance, and now I’ve lost him. For good.
Clare grasps my arm. ‘If you run, maybe you can still catch him,’ she says. Everyone eyes me encouragingly.
My mind cuts back to the cliffs and Michael’s goodbye. He hadn’t tried to keep me here for the sake of his heart. He loved me enough to let me follow mine, and I’m still following it!
I hike up my skirt and sprint to the nearest taxi. With one hand on the door handle, I freeze solid, the image of an abysmal highway tunnel opening before me. I can see Dad’s hands gripped white on the steering wheel, the semi bearing down on us, Mum’s head pitching forward as the truck smashes us broadside. The roof collapses inward on top of me, and I scream. I can’t stop screaming…
A horn wails, and I snap bac
k to the present.
‘You getting in or what?’ the driver asks.
I close my eyes and think of Michael. If I don’t let go of the past now, I’ll never know what my future could be. I slide into the back seat.
‘The airport,’ I say and clip on the seatbelt.
‘The strip, you mean?’
‘Um. I guess.’
‘Right.’
He peels backward and roars up a gravel back road. I dig my nails into the back of his headrest. Breathe, Julie. Breathe.
‘It’s this way?’ I didn’t think anything was this way.
He nods at me in the rearview. ‘You charter a plane, is it?’
‘No. I’m meeting someone. Could you go a bit faster maybe?’
‘Right you are.’ The cabbie floors it, and we wheel around a bend and onto a high, grass plain. Two turbo props and a helicopter sit on a spit of tarmac that doesn’t look quite long enough. ‘There she is,’ he says.
Made With Love: I Love You Forever Page 27
