“What if we all just go for a walk?” Pauline suggested. “Or the four of us could sit in the car and chat for a while . . .”
Rose opened her mouth in shock. “For God’s sake, Pauline,” she hissed, “you’re acting as though Jack Byrne’s the feckin’ Boston Strangler, or something! You’re a right kill-joy tonight.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “What’s wrong? I mean, it’s not as if you’re exactly shy with men, is it?”
Pauline shrugged, ignoring her friend’s jibe. “Nothing’s wrong . . . I’m just not sure if I want to sit in the car all the way to Tullamore with somebody I hardly know.”
“Grand!” said Rose, her eyebrows shooting up. “You can sit in the back of the car so, while I drive Jim McCarthy home to Kilbeggan.” Her chin jutted out defensively. “He’s let the other lads he came with go off in the van. If I don’t take him now, he’ll be left thumbing it home.”
Pauline took a deep breath, and forced herself to say nothing. Surely Rose would see how unreasonably she was behaving, when she took a few minutes in the cool, night air to think about it?
Rose did exactly the same as Pauline. She took an audibly deep breath, and then she rummaged in her handbag for a pack of Wrigley’s chewing-gum. She made a great performance of unwrapping a stick of gum without offering Pauline any.
Then, both girls buttoned up their cardigans, pulled their white wrist-length gloves on and walked back into the dance-hall in silence, arms folded defensively over their handbags.
Pauline was silently seething and vowing that she would never – ever – go for a night out with Rose Quinn again. How could she have been so stupid as to depend on somebody like Rose? She had thought she knew her well enough by now. She presumed that her friend had more pride in herself than to go off with some drunken, leering young fellow, that looked as though he had hardly left school.
Then, Pauline felt a light touch on her arm – and when she turned around, she was looking up into Jack Byrne’s smiling face.
“Well?” he said softly. “Am I allowed to see you home?”
Pauline took a deep breath. Whatever reservations she had about him earlier had now diminished. Being driven home by this friendly, handsome fellow suddenly seemed a far better option than playing gooseberry in the back of the car to Rose and her jarred, schoolboy escort.
At least Jack Byrne was sober, and he was older and more reliable-looking than any of the other men in the place. What harm could it do to take a lift off him?
There were plenty of girls who went out dancing every week, and went off on the bars of bicycles with fellas they’d only met. And there were others who had no qualms about going around the back of buildings or into fields with fellas.
But Pauline Kearney wasn’t like those other girls.
She might have a child without the benefit of a husband or a wedding ring, but she was not – and never had been – the type of girl that was easy with men.
She had only been with the one man in her life, and tragically, it had gone all wrong. A night when she was upset and drank too much, and let the wrong man comfort her. Although, in another time and in another place, he could have easily have been the right man.
But the fact was he was completely unavailable – and Pauline had paid the price for turning for comfort to the wrong man. She had been left literally carrying the baby. And she wasn’t one of these naïve young girls who was going to wail and weep and say she’d been taken advantage of – because she hadn’t. On the night that it all happened, she’d been as much to blame as the fellow. They had both gone into it with the excuse of having a few too many drinks – but the truth was both their eyes had been wide open to what they were doing.
It was one of those things that had just happened, one of those things that had been going to happen since the first time they had clapped eyes on each other.
And although now she was desperate to find a decent husband and a father for Bernadette, she wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.
She motioned Jack over into a quiet corner at the back of the almost-empty hall, while Rose stood sharing her chewing-gum with the McCarthy fellow.
Although she couldn’t hear what they were saying, Pauline knew that they would be giving out about her – saying what a spoilsport she was.
“Okay,” she said, looking Jack Byrne straight in the eye, “I’ll let you take me home – but it’s got to be straight home to Tullamore.” She narrowed her eyes. “If you have any ideas about pulling off the road or anything like that – then you can forget them. I’d sooner walk than have any carry-on like that.”
Jack Byrne held his hands up defensively – but his eyes were laughing. “What class of a fellow do you think I am?” he demanded. “I have a good reputation to think of – a businessman like myself.”
He looked so like Oliver Gayle at that moment, that Pauline felt herself suddenly relax. Fun-loving – great for the craic – Oliver. Oliver – the man who always stood up for her. Oliver – her sister’s husband.
Maybe, just maybe – Jack Byrne was cut from the same kind of classy material as her brother-in-law. Handsome, and with that devastating twinkle in his eye.
How the quiet, reserved, soft-natured Aisling had ever landed him, Pauline would never understand. He needed a woman who was fit for him. Who would give as good as she got. Who would keep his interest both in and out of bed. As Pauline knew she could.
Never in a million years could Aisling handle the likes of Oliver Gayle – and she should never have married him. But she had. And Pauline would have to make do with somebody who looked a little bit like him.
Jack Byrne moved closer towards her now, offering her his arm to link on to.
Pauline slipped her arm through his, and then she turned towards her friend. Rose was smiling and giving her a thumbs-up sign. She was delighted that things had worked out as she suggested.
Pauline smiled back – but it was a false, forced smile. Rose had well and truly burnt her boats. Rose was now on the way out as a friend – car or no car. From now on, Pauline would sit at home listening to the radio every night, rather than lower herself to Rose Quinn’s standards. She’d even prefer to listen to Charles spouting his theories about life on other planets or have to join in with the family rosary – than put up with Rose’s carry-on.
Pauline might have let the family down and let herself down having Bernadette – but she still had pride. And she would rather be alone and without a man – than risk having the wrong man.
Rose had no scruples. She’d made that plain tonight going off with a drunken young buck. She was laughing and hanging on to the young fellow, and calling to Pauline that she would see her tomorrow. According to Rose, it had turned into a grand night out.
According to Rose, they both had a lad now – and that made everything okay.
Chapter 15
It was very quiet in the car. Pauline wished it was like the American films, where you just leaned over and switched on a radio on the dashboard of the car – and then the silence was gone.
But this wasn’t the American movies, and Jack Byrne no longer seemed like the confident, amusing fellow he had been in the dance-hall. After chatting for a few minutes as they walked along the main street of Mullingar to where the car was parked, he had suddenly run out of chat. He was still mannerly and pleasant – but he was definitely quiet.
Pauline could hear herself chattering on much more than normal. Filling the gaps. Trying to find something to say that wasn’t about Bernadette – and avoiding anything that would locate her and the family easily. She didn’t want to listen to him telling her that he knew this one or that in Tullamore. Or even that he knew the shop and the family. Or maybe even that he knew Oliver. Nearly everyone knew Oliver Gayle.
As soon as Jack Byrne could place her and the Kearney family – he would know all about Bernadette. It was a foregone conclusion. It was too important a piece of gossip for people not too mention it immediately. It was human nature. And sadly – it wa
s always the way.
Once they had pulled away from the streetlights, and the houses had started to become few and far between, Pauline suddenly wished that she hadn’t agreed to go with Jack Byrne. She wished that she hadn’t been so weak as to agree with Rose Quinn.
And the feeling of regret grew stronger as they drove further out of the town, and deeper into the country, where there was only the odd light dotted here and there in the pitch dark.
They drove along the winding road to Tyrrellspass, with little conversation as Jack Byrne concentrated on the driving and Pauline wondered how near home Rose was, or if she had even left Mullingar yet.
“So . . . what do you do, yourself?” Jack finally asked in a low, well-spoken voice.
Pauline swallowed hard, her mouth and throat suddenly very dry. This was the difficult part, when she knew that the men were weighing up whether or not they would ask her out again. Seeing how the land lay.
“I work,” she said. “I work in the shop – my father’s shop.” She hadn’t really meant to tell him anything that personal – but for some reason she wanted to let him know that she had a decent family that owned a shop. She didn’t want him to think that she was like Rose Quinn – the type of girl that went off with young lads, who carried half-bottles of whiskey in their pockets.
There was a silence, as though he were considering her words carefully.
“Whereabouts did you say the shop was?” he asked, slowing down as they came to a bad bend in the road.
“Just outside Tullamore,” Pauline replied, hardly aware of what she was saying. She hadn’t noticed before how dark it was on this part of the road at night. She’d driven it with Rose a few times, and she’d often been on it with her parents and Aisling and Oliver. But she’d never noticed just how dark it was.
She lowered her head to look out of the car window, but there was nothing to see. Not a house-light to be seen – and nothing in the sky but shifting, dark clouds. She couldn’t even see the time on her watch it was so dark in the car.
Her mouth and throat were really dry now – and her hands clammy.
The lights of Tyrellspass came into view, and brought with them a great, silent wave of relief within Pauline. She found herself chatting again, asking whether he’d ever been inside the castle in Tyrellspass, or if he knew anyone from the village. They talked about a few of the well-known names, and before long they were back out in the dark again – heading towards Kilbeggan.
“What about yourself?” she said to fill the silence, and to steer the subject away from herself. “Do you work locally?”
“No – not locally,” he said. “I spend a good bit of the week travelling. I’m only around at the weekends in the Midlands.”
That still didn’t tell Pauline an awful lot. But then, she hadn’t exactly been forthcoming herself with information. She wondered again if Jack Byrne had something to hide. And if he had, no doubt it was the obvious thing. The thing men like that hid: a wife and family.
“I’m only back from England this last year,” he said quietly, “and I go back and forward there every couple of months.”
“You certainly get about a bit,” Pauline said, trying to sound flippant and confident. “And I suppose you have a girlfriend in every town?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t go out that much – just the weekends.” He turned his head towards her now, and she could just make out his profile in the dim light. “What about yourself?”
“Weekends,” she said. “I’m too busy during the week, unless it’s the odd play in town or something like that.”
Pauline felt almost weak with relief when at long last they came in view of Tullamore town. She lifted her bag from the floor, and checked the buttons on her cardigan again.
Then, just as they neared the first house, the car started to slow down – and Pauline’s heart jolted in her chest.
“I’m just going to pull over for a bit,” Jack Byrne said in a flat, matter-of-fact tone. Then, before she could protest, he had turned off the road and was heading down a small, dark lane. A few moments later, the car came to a halt in the dark.
“I’d rather if we just went straight on,” Pauline said, her heart now beating quickly. “My brother will be waiting up for me.”
But Jack Byrne said nothing. He just sat there silently.
Pauline looked out of the window, her moistened palm gripping the door handle. Her mind was racing now, as she debated whether or not she could run in her high heels. She could always kick them off and run in her stocking feet. She could run fast – she had always come first or second in races in school.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said in a sudden burst.
Pauline took a gulp of air and forced herself to look at him. “What?” she said, her voice sounding strangled and hoarse – and her hand still on the handle of the door. She had slipped off one of her shoes, and if he made a move towards her – she’d brain him with it!
There was another pause. “I like you,” he said quietly, “and I’d really like to see you again . . . but there’s something you need to know about me.”
“What?” Pauline repeated in a feverish tone.
“I was married . . .”
Pauline felt a huge wave of relief pass over her. He was married! So what? She hadn’t expected any better from him. He would have been too good to be true otherwise.
“My wife . . .”
“Doesn’t understand you?” Pauline said.
He shook his head. “No . . .” He gave a bitter sort of laugh. “She understood me all right . . .”
Pauline waited. But her hand had slid from the door handle.
“She died . . . two years ago. My wife died after having our little girl.”
Pauline felt as though someone had thrown a bucket of icy water over her. “Oh, I’m sorry, Jack,” she whispered. “I’m really sorry.”
Chapter 16
“I’m not going to pretend that it’s been easy,” Pauline said in a slightly defensive tone, “because it certainly hasn’t – but I’ve never once regretted having Bernadette.”
“I admire you for that,” Jack Byrne said gently. “A lot of girls over in England would just have had a child adopted or got rid of it – and no one back home would have been any the wiser.”
Pauline took a deep breath, amazed at the easy way she had been talking to this fellow. They’d been sitting in the car talking for over an hour, and in that time they’d covered a lot of ground in each other’s lives. First, Jack had told her all about his wife Peggy’s heart condition which they hadn’t realised was so serious until she was giving birth, and then he had filled her in on his life since Peggy had died. And all about how he had had to move back from England to have the baby near its grandparents and people who he could trust to help him out. Kind people who insisted that he needed the odd night out to have some sort of life for himself.
“Dancing is the one thing I love,” Jack admitted, “and so did Peggy. We used to go to all the Irish dancehalls when we were over in England.”
He had a natural and easy way of talking and listening, and before she knew it, Pauline had opened up and told him the story about Bernadette. “They asked me to consider both options in the hospital – but I could never, ever have gone through with an abortion.” She fiddled with her hair. “And I spent a couple of nights lying awake thinking about having her adopted . . . but I couldn’t go through with that either.”
There was a little silence. “I don’t mean to be nosey,” Jack said quietly, “but what about the child’s father? Did he offer to stand by you or what?”
Pauline’s back stiffened. “It wasn’t like that,” she whispered heatedly. “He offered to help in any way he could, but I wouldn’t let him. It was a mistake, a terrible mistake . . . and it was all my own fault. I knew he was married . . . happily married, and I should never have had anything to do with him.” She paused to catch her breath. “I think if I’d asked him, he might have left his
wife, but I couldn’t.”
“It must have been hard for you,” he said in a low voice.
“It was hard for both of us,” Pauline stressed. “I couldn’t go breaking up a marriage, and it would always have been there between us . . . all those lives changed because of one stupid incident. That would have been a terrible situation.” Then, to her horror, a huge sob suddenly came into her throat. “I’ll regret what happened to my dying day. I let myself and other people down . . . but at least I didn’t let Bernadette down. I’ve brought her up to the best of my ability so far. I’ve always put her first and I always will.”
Jack’s hand reached out and covered hers. “Well,” he said quietly. “For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing, and I admire you for it. It’s no easy job bringing up a child on your own.”
“That’s nice of you to say,” Pauline whispered.
“I’m not just being nice – I mean it.” He squeezed her hand tightly. “I’m glad we’ve had the chance to talk so honestly, and I think you and me have more in common than we might have thought.”
Pauline nodded and squeezed his hand back.
* * *
As the car pulled up outside the shop, Pauline’s eyes automatically moved up towards the bedroom window. “The light’s on – Bernadette must have woken up.”
Jack leaned across her and opened her car door. “You’d better go on in,” he told her. “You’ll only be worrying otherwise.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I really enjoyed chatting to you . . . I feel stupid for getting things so wrong about you. You’ve been so understanding about Bernadette and everything.” She halted. “And all you’ve been through yourself . . .”
“Don’t be worrying about anything,” he said, smiling. “I’ll phone you tomorrow.”
Pauline glanced anxiously towards the downstairs part of the house now. “There’s something going on . . .” she said, swinging her legs out of the car. “All the lights in the house are on!”
Aisling Gayle Page 13
