At times she was reminded of the evenings in Ballygrace House, when she had played the piano with Madeleine and Gabriel listening, and then a terrible sadness enveloped her. She would weep and ask questions out loud in the room. How could Madeleine be dead? How could such a young girl, who had hardly lived – who had never even had a proper boyfriend – be gone forever? How could God let such a thing happen?
At those times, she played the louder, more violent pieces of music – her fingers flying up and down the ivory keys with amazing speed. She would play on and on, until she was physically and mentally exhausted. Then, the worst of the feelings evaporated, she would move on to the softer, more romantic pieces, until a more tranquil frame of mind returned.
Her mind then would return to Frank Kennedy, and she would wonder what the future held for them. She was quite resolute they would remain as a couple, but she was not at all ready for the step which Biddy had just taken with Fred. Tara had given them both her warmest congratulations, and promised Biddy that she would take her into the shops in Stockport to pick a nice engagement present as soon as the Christmas holidays were over.
But she did not envy Biddy one single little bit. What was right for Biddy, wasn’t right for her. The life she and Frank were leading as a courting couple suited her perfectly. She enjoyed her evenings out with him, whether they dined at some nice restaurant, went to a musical evening, or went to the cinema. She loved his warm, entertaining company, and was happy for that to continue for the foreseeable future. She felt no need for engagement rings or talk of marriage.
Apart from Frank, Tara’s work, her lodging house, her music – and her plans for the future – were more than enough to satisfy her for now.
The physical side of their relationship would sort itself out one way or another, Tara decided. Since Frank had been away, she was surprised to realise that she didn’t feel quite so horrified by the thought of having a sexual relationship. Tara wasn’t sure this was due to living in a big town where people weren’t watching you all the time, or whether it was because her religious convictions didn’t seem so important as they did in Ireland.
Or maybe it was because Tara wasn’t so sure of God any more, after what had happened to Madeleine.
* * *
New Year came and went, and then suddenly, her old rigorous regime was back with a vengeance, as the lodgers started to return. Frank rang her at work the moment the plane touched down in Manchester Airport.
“That’s my last visit to Ireland for a while, please God,” he told her. “I’ve missed you more than you’ll ever know.”
That evening he came round to the house, and they shut themselves in the dining-room, where Tara played one beautiful tune after another on the black polished piano.
“You’re really not mad at me for going away over Christmas?” Frank asked quietly.
Tara shook her long red curls. “I told you I understood . . . and anyway, I kept myself busy with the piano.” She looked up into his eyes. “But I’m very glad you’re back.”
Chapter Thirty-four
In her own eyes, Tara lost her virginity to Frank Kennedy during a weekend holiday in January. Her dreadful encounter with William Fitzgerald, she decided firmly, did not count. As a birthday present – and to make up for being away over Christmas – Frank had booked them into the Pine Lodge Hotel in the Lake District.
He phoned the hotel in advance, checking that there would be a choice of rooms available. Then, when he announced the surprise during her lunchtime on the Friday, he checked whether they were to have single rooms or a double.
Tara only hesitated for a moment. “I think a double would be fine,” she said quietly.
“Are you sure?” Frank asked, his brow furrowed. “I don’t want you to feel . . .”
“You haven’t made me feel pressurised. It’s entirely my own decision.” Although she was nervous at the prospect, she managed a little laugh. “I’m twenty years old – it’s time I knew about the birds and the bees.”
“In that case,” he laughed, “I’ll make sure we have the suite which has the four-poster bed!”
The stately, elegant hotel was set on the banks of Lake Derwentwater and, as they drove towards it, Frank explained why he had chosen that particular place. “The travel agent informed me that the scenery was the inspiration for William Wordsworth’s poetry and Beatrix Potter’s writing,” he told Tara. “Since you’re such a keen reader, I presumed you would appreciate that.” He smiled. “I thought you might enjoy the chance to educate me on the literary side now, since you’ve been so patient teaching me all about the charms of classical music.”
Tara cuddled into his arm as they drove along. “I am so excited!” she said with childlike delight. “I can’t believe how well you’ve organised all this. I would never have been able to get away if you hadn’t sorted it out.”
“It’s called cheek!” Frank laughed. “Bloody cheek!”
Not only had Frank organised Biddy to look after Tara’s lodgers, but he had also sorted things, so that she had the weekend off from reception in the Park Hotel. More and more, Tara realised the influence Frank Kennedy had with business people in Stockport. His name only had to be mentioned and she could see their eyes light up in interest.
And yet, around her, Frank had no false airs and graces. They talked about everything with honesty and ease. With people like Mr Pickford and her lodgers, Tara was friendly and polite – but extremely private. She did not discuss her relationship with Frank, nor did she feel compelled to explain or excuse anything about her father. The two teachers quickly realised they had made a blunder where Shay was concerned, when she brought him up to the house a few nights after his arrival in Stockport.
After insisting that he put his cap in his coat pocket, she had brought him into the house, looked the two straight-laced ladies in the eye and said: “Miss Woods and Miss Marshall, I’d like to introduce you to my father – Mr Shay Flynn.”
The two ladies had blushed and shook Shay’s outstretched hand. They were – as Tara had anticipated – much too polite to mention their previous encounter with ‘that dreadful Irishman’. After that, they bent over backwards to be polite to their landlady’s father on any occasions that they met.
There was nothing to hide with Frank. Knowing that his own background was so similar to hers, and that they shared the same outlook and ambitions in life, Tara could totally relax and be herself in his company. Even when they had got into the ornate bed for the first time, he seemed able to read her mind.
“Tara,” he said softly, as she slipped into the four-poster bed in her new satin nightdress, “I know you’re more religious than I am . . . and I don’t want you doing this, if you’re worrying that you’re committing a sin or anything like that.”
“I’m not worrying, Frank,” she replied. “I’m grown-up, and I answer to my own conscience. And sure, if I do start to feel guilty – isn’t that what Confession is for?” She laughed gently, having unwittingly echoed Father Daly’s words to Biddy in his Christmas letter.
The physical bit was fine . . . much better than fine, Tara thought. She had not, thank God, seen William Fitzgerald’s face when she closed her eyes, and she had not imagined that it was his skin next to hers, instead of Frank’s.
The first time especially, Frank had been so gentle and caring with her – checking every few minutes that she was all right. While wordlessly reassuring him, Tara was relieved that she felt far more relaxed and confident than she had dared hope. If Frank had noticed that there were no bloodstains when they had finished loving the first time, he made no mention of it. Instead, he had kissed and stroked her, telling her she was the most beautiful, desirable woman in the whole world – and how he had dreamt of making love to her since the first time he had seen her in the Grosvenor.
Over the weekend they made love many times, often – to her own surprise – with Tara as the instigator. As soon as Frank’s skin touched her smooth skin,
all reticence melted away. But there was one particular moment when Tara was reminded of her past. Frank held her in his arms after the waves of passion had subsided, and whispered to her proudly: “You’re now a full woman, instead of my little virgin girl.”
For a brief second, Tara thought about telling him about what had happened with William Fitzgerald, but Frank had reached out for her again – and the moment passed. Some time, she knew she would tell him, because he was honest and open about himself, and because she knew he would understand.
* * *
Biddy was overwhelmed with relief when February came and went, without any word from Father Daly. Being engaged to Fred had given her a new purpose in life. Encouraged by Ruby – and by the silence from Father Daly – she had decided to wait a while before getting married, so that she could build up a stock of items for her ‘bottom drawer’.
“Start as you mean to go on, love,” Ruby advised, as they sat in the kitchen chatting over a cup of tea. “Make that Fred go shoppin’ with you every week, and get him to buy you any nice clothes or things for the house that you fancy. Get everythin’ off him while the goings good, for they all change when they get married.” Ruby pursed her red lips, remembering life with the late, mean Mr. Sweeney. “It suddenly becomes: ‘You can’t have this; you can’t have that! We’ve got the mortgage and the gas bill.’ Take my advice, Biddy girl. You want to get everythin’ out of him now, while you have him in the palm of your hand.” She suddenly let out a dirty guffaw of laughter. “Did you hear what I just said? Never a truer word was said by accident! It’s when they’re in yer hand, you can get anythin’ you want!”
Biddy looked vague, then it suddenly clicked. “Oh Ruby, you’re terrible!” She laughed loudly along with the landlady. “You’re obviously taking a leaf out of yer own book,” she said. “I noticed you got another big bunch of flowers yesterday.”
“Tulips and daffodils,” Ruby said casually, admiring her newly polished nails. “A spring bouquet.”
“Do I need to ask who from?”
“You know fine well they’re from Mr Flynn.”
There was a silence.
Ruby’s eyes narrowed defensively. “What about it? We’re doin’ nobody any harm. We’re two middle-aged people just enjoyin’ each other’s company . . . a few drinks, the odd game of bingo, an’ a bit of a laugh. Where’s the harm in that? I’m not takin’ the bread out of anybody’s mouths. I make sure he sends the money home to his wife and kids every week. From what Shay’s told me, there wasn’t much goin’ on between him and the wife in any case. You told me that yourself when he first arrived.”
Biddy nodded in agreement, not wishing to get on the wrong side of her good friend. She had told Ruby about Shay’s wife always nagging him about work and being too fond of a drink. But she had no idea when she was gossiping with Ruby, that it would give the impression that his marriage was of no importance. “It’s Tara I feel sorry for . . . I think she might have an idea about –”
“Tara can have all the ideas she bleedin’ well likes,” Ruby snapped. “She’s got nowt to do with me and Shay. An’ anyway, people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.”
“What d’you mean?” Biddy looked mystified.
“Just what I say. Look at the way she went on at you for havin’ a bit of a laugh with the lads here, and yet she would dare anybody to say a word to her about her dirty weekends away with Frank Kennedy.” Ruby lowered her voice, and leaned closer. “An’ he’s not all he’s cracked up to be. I’ve heard rumours about that Frank Kennedy . . .”
“D’you mean about the backhanders in his business deals and everythin’?” Biddy asked. She’d heard murmurs about how Frank had given a backhander to the manager in the Grosvenor for giving him the contract for the extension. “Sure, that goes on all the time in the building trade.”
“Well I know it goes on,” Ruby agreed, “but it’s not just his business wheelin’ and dealin’ I’m goin’ on about.”
“What then?”
“It’s his private life.” Ruby’s voice dropped. “Shay came across someone from County Clare the other week, and when he asked this lad if he knew Frank Kennedy, the lad not only knew him, but everybody belongin’ to him. Then, suddenly, he stopped dead, and asked Shay how he knew Frank’, an’ when Shay said that Frank was courtin’ his daughter – almost engaged like – the lad clammed up. He said it wasn’t for him to be tellin’ tales about Frank Kennedy, and that it wasn’t for one man to judge how another man conducted his private life. The lad said that you never knew when you might need Frank to put a bit of work your way, so it was best to keep your trap shut.” Ruby raised pencilled eyebrow. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard stories about Frank Kennedy, an’ you know the sayin’ – where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”
“What have you heard?” Biddy’s brow was furrowed.
Ruby drained the last mouthful of her tea, leaving pink lipstick round the rim of the cup. “I’m sayin’ nothin’. If there’s any truth in the rumours, then Tara’ll hear it soon enough.” Ruby shrugged. “Maybe she knows about it already and is quite content. That grand piano must have cost him a bleedin’ fortune.” She lifted Biddy’s hand, and studied her engagement ring. “Tara could have half a dozen of those for the price Frank Kennedy paid for that piano. Maybe she’d rather have a big house an’ a fancy piano than a wedding ring. Maybe it suits her to turn a blind eye.” Ruby suddenly grinned. “Maybe she’s not as daft as the rest of us!”
* * *
Shay went back to Ireland for a visit in July. There were a few slack weeks at work, due to bad weather, and he suddenly decided to head home. He got a great welcome from everyone, and immediately decided that going to England was the best thing he had ever done. Instead of dodging people all the time, embarrassed over his unemployed state – he discovered that ‘working away’ made him a figure of great importance. Everywhere he went, he was greeted with: “Howya, Shay! How’s the work goin’ over the water? You’re lookin’ well on it anyway.”
Shay swelled with pride, discovering that it was a much better feeling than the elusive state he had always pursued with alcohol. He also discovered that the more fashionable clothes that Ruby had insisted on him purchasing, made a great impression on everyone, especially his wife.
“We might go out for a walk this evening,” Tessie commented shyly on his second day at home. “It’s not often we get a fine evening and there’s no good in havin’ all those nice clothes, if nobody gets to see them.”
Shay had generously insisted on treating his wife to a new hairdo and a new dress – the first dress he had ever bought her – and then they both paraded round Tullamore that night in their finery.
“Shall we call in for a drink?” Shay suggested as they passed one of his favourite watering-holes.
Tessie looked hesitant, having good reason, going on Shay’s past record.
“Sure, there’s no need to be worryin’,” he said, taking her by the elbow. “I’ll only have the two glasses of beer, and then it’ll be straight home.”
And straight home it was. The younger children were put to bed, and the older children were out and about with the fine weather. For the first time in many years, Shay and Tessie were actually on their own.
Surprisingly, Tessie needed very little persuasion from Shay for them to creep into the bedroom, careful not to waken the children in the next room. The freshly-washed hair, the new shirt, and the fact he was sober made Tessie suddenly feel she had a new and better man.
And indeed she had. For there were improvements in Shay she could never have dreamed of. Instead of the impatient, rough couplings she had been used to with her husband, here was a man who was taking his time to kiss her – not only her lips – but other parts of her body he had never kissed before!
Tessie gasped and blushed with embarrassment, but did not ask him to stop. If this was what living away from home caused – she wanted more of
it! A sober, loving husband was something she thought only existed in romantic novels and women’s magazines. Shay was obviously missing her so much that it had made him a more loving and considerate man.
Even if he only came home for two or three fortnights a year, it was worth it all. An added bonus was the less Shay was home the less chance of any more pregnancies.
There was nothing now, Tessie suddenly realised, that Shay’s presence depended upon.
The children were better fed and dressed with the weekly money their father had been sending, and when he was at home he was interested in everyone and everything. All in all, peace and contentment reigned at long last in Flynn’s house.
Whatever had caused the dramatic change in Shay, Tessie neither knew nor cared. As long as the money kept coming in, and Shay remained clean and sober – she was happy. If there was a woman, as she suspected, Tessie Flynn reckoned she had a lot to thank her for.
* * *
The two men recognised each other in the same instant. Frank Kennedy was on his way out of the airport to pick up a friend’s car when he encountered Gabriel Fitzgerald who was on his way into the airport.
Gabriel was the first one to speak. “Tara’s friend, isn’t it?” he said, stretching out his free hand. The other held a heavy leather suitcase. “Gabriel Fitzgerald . . . from Ballygrace. You were at the family funerals.”
Frank nodded and gave him a very firm handshake. “Frank Kennedy. Nice to meet you under more ordinary circumstances. Are you travelling far?” he enquired.
“London – to visit my mother. She’s convalescing at my aunt’s with the baby.” He paused for a moment. “Have you seen Tara recently?”
Tara Flynn Page 49
