Tara Flynn

by Geraldine O'Neill

  Gabriel had been like a dog after a bone, refusing to let the matter of the girl rest. He had ferreted around, firing one question after another – trying to work out why she had suddenly left without a word of explanation. Finally, after interrogating Mrs Scully to the point of tears, he had headed back to Dublin, saying that he would not rest until he found Tara Flynn.

  What might happen if Gabriel succeeded was William Fitzgerald’s darkest nightmare. Should it become known what actually happened in Ballygrace House, he would face complete ruin. He suddenly felt dizzy, faint at the thought. He could face prison! His family would disown him – and he would lose his reputation forever. Pinpricks of sweat broke out on his forehead. Already, due to the pressures of Elisha’s pregnancy, they were back in separate bedrooms. Even worse, Elisha had moved into the bedroom that Tara had occupied during her stay in the house. Until now, he had managed not to put one step over the threshold of that bedroom. It was as though the spectre of Tara Flynn was inside the room – waiting to exact her revenge.

  He turned back towards the house now, the strong breeze a balm on his perspiring face.

  Another thought had occurred to him during his meanderings this morning – a thought that brought a sliver of hope to his tortured mind. Perhaps, if he were to find Tara Flynn and go down on his knees – humble himself in front of her – perhaps she might absolve him, as the priest had done in confession. And then, if Tara Flynn was as generous as he hoped and prayed for, he would plead for her absolute silence.

  Mrs Scully was waiting in the hallway with a glass of water and two aspirins, when he came back into the house. “They’re givin’ bad weather around Dublin and the Midlands for the afternoon,” she announced gravely, having just heard it on the radio. “High winds, seemingly. Dreadful for the time of year.”

  Her employer raised an indifferent eyebrow. “Indeed?” he said, in a lifeless monotone. He swallowed the two aspirins, then handed her back the empty glass. With leaden arms he lifted his hat and coat from the hall-stand, and then took his car keys from the hook on the wall.

  Elisha came to the sitting-room door. “You won’t forget about Gabriel? I would come with you but . . .” She looked down at her bulging stomach. Then, suddenly self-conscious, she straightened up, and attempted her usual regal posture.

  “No, no,” William said hastily. “The journey would be too uncomfortable for you. The road beyond Edenderry is particularly bad – pot-holes everywhere.”

  She nodded her head. “Have a safe journey.” When the door closed behind him, she went into the dining-room, and stood watching with huge empty eyes as the car roared down the drive.

  *  *  *

  William called at the university office, and asked if Gabriel might be excused a class to have an early lunch with him. He was not surprised by the cool reception, and was perturbed to notice that his son seemed to have lost some weight in the few weeks since he had last seen him .

  “Have you found Tara’s address in England yet?” was the first thing Gabriel asked, after they exchanged a terse greeting.

  William shook his head, then gave the reply he had rehearsed. “Her family – the uncle in Ballygrace and his wife – say they haven’t heard from her. Whether that’s the truth or not, I have no way of telling.” He paused for a moment. “I promised your mother I would call to see you . . . she’s very concerned about you.”

  Gabriel dropped his eyes to the ground. “How is she?”

  “Bearing up – considering her condition, and all the worry with Madeleine.”

  “I saw Madeleine a few days ago,” Gabriel said now. “She seemed calmer – more at ease with herself. She said she was looking forward to going down to Ballygrace for the weekend.”

  “Your mother asked me to mention that Madeleine is coming home next weekend also.” He took his hat off, and moved it round in a circle between both hands. “She wondered if you might do the same. She thought it would be nice to have the whole family together again.”

  They walked along towards Grafton Street, their silence covered by the usual city noises, and their bodies angled against the bracing wind, which Mrs Scully had correctly forecast. William gripped his hat tightly in one hand, after barely rescuing it from the wheels of a butcher’s van.

  “Where would you like to eat?” he now asked his son.

  Gabriel shrugged. “Anywhere but Bewley’s.” Sitting in the same restaurant that he had sat in with Tara would have just been too painful.

  *  *  *

  William heaved a sigh of relief when he started the car up again, and set out towards Madeleine’s hospital. Having lunch with Gabriel had not been quite the ordeal he had feared, but it had not, by any manner of means, been easy. It was as though Tara Flynn, with her flowing red hair and brilliant smile, had been sitting between father and son in the restaurant. Not in body, but definitely in spirit.

  Gabriel had offered a curt apology for his outburst on his last visit home. In retrospect, he realised he should have spoken out to the family about his intentions towards Tara at Christmas. More importantly, he realised that he should have made his intentions known to Tara herself.

  “I just presumed,” he told his father, utter wretchedness written all over his young handsome face, “that she would always be there. I know she had feelings for me that were understood without being spoken.”

  William had felt an arrow of guilt pierce his heart. He had been so, so blind – to everything but his uncontrollable lust – that he had not recognised the obvious attraction between his own son and Tara Flynn.

  Gabriel swallowed hard, unused to speaking so honestly to his father. “I presumed I had all the time in the world – that I could concentrate on my studies, and then return to Tara when it was all over. Maybe,” he confessed, hanging his head shamefully, “in my snobbish stupidity, I thought I might meet someone at university who was of my own class. I thought that I might meet someone who made me feel the same way that she did. Someone who had shared my privileged upbringing. But I was so wrong! Class and money have nothing to do with it. A beautiful, intelligent girl like Tara Flynn does not to come round twice in a man’s life. I was an immature fool, I should have spoken out when I had the chance – and then I might not have lost her.”

  Oh, how I wish you had spoken out at Christmas, William thought sadly, sipping his coffee. But then, would things have turned out any differently? Even if he had not become foolishly obsessed by the girl, he rationalised, Elisha would not have gone along with Gabriel’s wishes. Tara was fine as a friend for Madeleine – but only when all the other friends had deserted her. The stark reality was that Tara Flynn would not have been entertained at Ballygrace House had it not been for Madeleine’s misfortune.

  When he had paid for the meal, William impulsively reached across the restaurant table, and clasped Gabriel’s hand. “Some things happen in life – dreadful, unimaginable things – that are out of our control.” He paused, desperately searching for the right words. “Then there are other things, which we must take control of. Learning from our mistakes is the greatest lesson of all. And undoing any harm that can be undone.” He stood up from the table. “I wish I had been a better example to you . . . perhaps it’s not too late for me to learn yet.”

  *  *  *

  Madeleine was waiting in the day room for her father. She was, as Gabriel had said, much calmer than recently. William also thought she looked bright and cheerful, and pretty. The way she used to look, before her illness and all the pills had taken their toll.

  “I’m looking forward to coming home this weekend,” Madeleine said, planting an unaccustomed kiss on his cheek.

  “I wish the weather was milder for us travelling back,” William said, smiling warmly at her. “It’s bad enough struggling against the wind, but now we have hailstones and rain to contend with, too.”

  “I don’t care what the weather’s like.” Madeleine slipped her arm through her father’s – another r
are gesture of affection – as they braved the gusts of wind to run out to the car. “I feel so much better,” she explained as they turned out the drive. “I haven’t had those silly voices in my head for a while. I think my new medication is definitely working. I feel so well that I think I could do anything now.”

  William said nothing. Madeleine’s moods were like a pendulum, and good moods like today were not to be depended upon.

  They drove through Dublin, and then out along the country road towards Offaly. Madeleine chattered on, while William concentrated on negotiating his way through poor visibility. As they neared Edenderry, the rain eased off and a weak ray of sunshine peeped through the clouds.

  “Look, Daddy!” Madeleine suddenly shrieked, her eyes dancing with delight. She tapped at her window, pointing up towards the sky. “A rainbow!”

  William lowered his head and turned to look out of the passenger window, feigning interest to please his daughter. Until the situation was rectified with Tara Flynn, until he had made some sort of amends, nothing in life could hold any interest for him again.

  He looked up into the sky, and there, in all its glory, was the brightest and most perfectly formed rainbow he had ever seen. The sight of it brought unexpected tears to his eyes.

  “A rainbow means good luck – you can make a wish on it,” Madeleine babbled excitedly. “Maybe things are going to get better for everyone. Mother will have a lovely new baby soon – and that’s a fresh beginning for the family. And maybe I’ll hear from Tara soon.” She turned back to the window, and stared straight up at the rainbow. “I think I’ll make that my wish. That very soon I’ll hear some news of Tara.”

  William blanched at the mention of her name. He closed his eyes – just for a moment – as the dreadful guilt engulfed him once again. But it was a moment too long – that gave him no time to react – when a monstrous beech tree suddenly tumbled from the side of the road, down on top of his car.

  A huge, unrooted monster – freed from the earth by the raging winds – which crashed down upon the car, crushing the life from the father and daughter within.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The same Friday morning, Tara arrived at work more than half an hour early. “Mr Pickford?” She looked apprehensively into her boss’s office. “I wonder if I could ask your advice?” She put a cup of tea on the little drink mat on his desk.

  Mr Pickford looked alarmed. “Advice?” His voice reached a higher pitch than normal. “Advice pertaining to what, exactly?” He lifted the cup and took a mouthful of the steaming tea.

  Tara felt all her confidence starting to drain away. “How would a young woman . . . like myself . . . go about obtaining a mortgage?”

  Mr Pickford’s eyes bulged behind his thick glasses. He set the cup back down on his desk. “A mortgage, indeed . . .” He came round to sit on the corner of his desk. He folded his arms and pushed his glasses higher on his nose. “Are you planning to be married?”

  “No . . . no. Not at all!” Tara replied. “I have some savings,” she explained, “and I feel it might be wiser to invest it in property. Just a small house . . . nothing grand. I thought it might be better to buy something, rather than paying out rent.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Mr Pickford said. “I can see your point entirely.”

  “Another thing,” Tara went on hurriedly. “I want to buy a piano. I couldn’t have one while I’m still in lodgings, and I really need it to keep up my practice. I’ve found a music teacher near where I live, and I’m going back to lessons soon, to finish off the examinations I started in Ireland.” She bit her lower lip. “If I had my own house, there would be no problem about the piano. I also thought I might take on some pupils myself in the evenings . . . young children just starting out.”

  Mr Pickford raised his eyebrows in surprise. He had no idea that Tara had such an interest in music, but then, he rarely had personal conversations with his staff. “Of course you would need a piano, under the circumstances. Now regarding the mortgage business – your age, unfortunately, may well go against you. You’re somewhat younger than the average house buyer. But – there are exceptions to every rule. It would all depend on your circumstances. Your work record, previous bank accounts, references and so forth. And of course,” he emphasised, “you would have to have saved with a building society for some length of time. Prove yourself, as it were . . . before they would consider giving you a loan.”

  Tara nodded. “Which building society would you recommend?”

  “Oh, any of the large ones. There are several with branches in Stockport. I would suggest you open an account straight away and put any savings you have into it. What they want to see, is a regular amount going in every week or month, which would indicate that you could afford the payments if they gave you a loan.”

  “Yes, I understand. I’ll call into one of the building societies in the next week or so.”

  “You could take a longer lunch hour this afternoon,” Mr Pickford suggested, “and go into Stockport then. I think we could spare you this once, since you more than make up your hours at other times.”

  Tara clasped her hands together. “Oh, that would be grand . . . are you sure you wouldn’t mind?”

  “I think we can make an exception, on this particular occasion,” Mr Pickford replied carefully.

  *  *  *

  That afternoon, Tara came back to her office in Bramhall, with a building society account book in her handbag. The sense of exhilaration which ran through her, every time she looked at the book, was something she had never experienced before.

  “This,” she whispered to herself, as the bus turned towards Bramhall village, “is just the start. This is the first rung on the ladder.”

  *  *  *

  When she returned from work that evening, she had an unexpected visitor. Exactly how Frank Kennedy found where Tara lived she wasn’t sure. It didn’t seem like the sort of information that Mr Pickford would give to a client. Perhaps, she thought, it was Jean who told him. When she confronted him in Ruby Sweeney’s sitting-room, she discovered she was wrong on both counts.

  “I confess to having followed you home from work,” Frank Kennedy told her with a gleam in his eye, which said he was not sorry at all. “It was the only way I could get to know where you lived. Mr Pickford wouldn’t be the sort to divulge that kind of information – and it would have put me at a disadvantage in our business arrangements if I had asked him.”

  “You have a real nerve coming here,” Tara told him angrily, as she paced up and down the sitting-room floor. “If I’d answered the door instead of Mrs Sweeney, I would never have let you over the doorstep.” She stopped and looked him in the eye. “I’ve refused you three times in the last fortnight. What makes you think I’m going to change my mind, just because you’ve had the cheek to ask me again?”

  “I’ve got something very special to celebrate,” he said, smiling up into her lovely face. “And I would like somebody very special to celebrate it with me.”

  “What’s the big celebration?” she asked, her green eyes narrowed sceptically.

  “I’ve just closed an important deal today,” Frank Kennedy said in a low voice. “I bought the Erin Ballroom.”

  Tara’s mouth opened in an ‘o’ of surprise. He had obviously been checking things out at the dance hall, the night she and Biddy saw him.

  “Come out with me tonight,” he pleaded. “I’ve got to go to Dublin tomorrow for a few days, so tonight’s the only free night I have. We could go out for a meal, somewhere nice in Manchester – or whatever you want to do. It would mean an awful lot to me.”

  The instinctive refusal of his attentions suddenly froze on Tara’s lips, at the thought of him owning such an important business. Perhaps, she thought, I could learn something from this Frank Kennedy. He’s come over from Ireland, just as I’ve done, and he’s obviously prospered in a big way. He’s done exactly what I want to do. Who better a person to learn from? “If I do a
gree to come out with you,” she said, “then I want my friend to come, too.” Tara knew for a fact that Biddy had the evening off, and she never refused the offer of a night out.

  “A chaperone?” he asked, with an amused look on his handsome face. “Bring whoever you like – as long as you’re joining me, I’ll be delighted.” He stood up now. “I’ll pick you up at half-past seven – if that’s all right with you?”

  “Actually,” Tara said, walking to the door, “eight o’clock would suit me better. I have some things to do.” She may have agreed to go out with him but she wasn’t going to make it easy.

  “Eight o’clock it is.”

  Biddy was thrilled to bits about being asked to accompany Tara on her date. “What are you wearin’?” she asked excitedly as she rushed around the kitchen, determined to have all her chores finished early. “We’ll have to really dress up if we’re going into Manchester – it’s bound to be fierce posh. What d’you think I should wear?”

  “Whatever you feel happy in,” Tara replied.

  “I didn’t know you knew Frank Kennedy,” Ruby said, rushing into the kitchen.

  “Why?” Tara asked. “Do you know him?”

  “Not personally,” Ruby admitted, with a toss of her blonde, candy-floss hair. “I only know him by sight. Some of the lads I’ve had boarding here have worked for him. He’s a demon worker himself by all accounts, on the job at the crack of dawn. Even though he wears a white collar now, he can still wield a shovel with the best of them.” She gave Tara a sidelong grin. “You’re a dark horse, aren’t you?”

  “What d’you mean?” In spite of herself, Tara’s face broke out in a smile, too.