Tara Flynn

by Geraldine O'Neill

  Biddy’s heart pounded with feelings of relief mixed with guilt. If only she was the innocent girl Fred thought her to be . . . if only he knew all the business with Dinny and PJ. But Ruby had warned her to say nothing more to Fred than was absolutely necessary. The less he knew, the better for Biddy. Men were only men. And after all, Ruby said, they still had their feelings.

  Biddy came over to stand by the big, muscle-bound Fred. Fred her protector. Fred the man she was due to marry in two days’ time. She looked up into the wrestler’s face, her eyes full of gratitude and love. “Leave him,” she said quietly. “Let’s get out of here. He’s not worth dirtying your hands over.”

  *  *  *

  Under the circumstances, Biddy’s wedding went off very well. The Grosvenor provided a sherry and whisky reception in the wood-panelled foyer, and a photographer took pictures in front of the ornate marble fireplace. Afterwards, everyone moved into a small function room where they dined on vegetable soup, roast beef and Yorkshire puddings, and sherry trifle.

  Biddy wore her white, fitted, three-quarter length dress of satin overlaid with lace on the arms and bodice. Her sparkly headdress sat perfectly on her shoulder-length hair, specially curled for the day by a hairdresser. Tara had come up to Maple Terrace when Biddy had returned from having her hair done, and had helped with her make-up, and the pinning of her head attire.

  The nice parish priest in the local church performed the wedding mass, saying how sorry he was that the priest from Ireland couldn’t make it. No one mentioned the business with Father Daly. This was Biddy’s special day, and it was an unspoken agreement that it should not be tainted by any reference to the priest.

  Shay and the other lads from Ruby’s lodging house, all looked very smart, albeit slightly awkward, in their best suits with red carnations in the buttonholes. Fred and his brother looked smarter still, in brand-new suits, and Tara Flynn caught the eye of every man in the church with her dark green dress, and her flowing russet locks.

  The rest of the guests were made up of Fred’s family and friends from Preston, some of his wrestling mates, and some of the hotel staff. The wedding celebration was also a ‘leaving do’ for Biddy, because she had now given up her job in the Grosvenor to run Ruby’s lodging house single-handedly. Ruby had argued against it, saying that she could always ask Sally, her niece to come over from Liverpool. That had definitely made up Biddy’s mind, and the following day she had handed in her notice. The hotel manager was very good, and said that there would always be a job there for her when Ruby was back in the whole of her health.

  After the meal, the guests danced to a three-piece band which played regularly in the Grosvenor. Fred paid for the first round of drinks, and after that, everyone paid for their own. All in all, it was as nice a wedding party as Biddy could ever have dreamed of back in Ballygrace. She and Fred had received lovely wedding presents from his family and both their friends. Then Fred had given Biddy the best present of all as they posed for a photograph.

  “This is the start of a new life for us,” he had whispered, “and it’s what happens from today that counts. The past is in the past.” Biddy’s heart had almost soared into happiness.

  But the wedding day, could not – and would not – be complete without Ruby.

  *  *  *

  There was a lump in Biddy’s throat as she sat by Ruby’s bed, resplendent in her wedding attire. Fred was in a chair next to her, and Shay, tearfully morbid after a few drinks, sat opposite, holding Ruby’s limp hand. The wedding photographer – a wrestling fan of Fred’s – stood outside the ward smoking a cigarette, waiting for a signal that the patient had wakened up. As she studied the shrunken figure in the bed, for the first time ever Biddy noticed the landlady’s dark brown roots showing through her peroxide blonde hair.

  That inch of virgin brown hair, made Biddy feel paralysed by an inarticulate fear. Ruby Sweeney was meticulous in all aspects of her appearance – none more so than the upkeep of her bleached blonde hair. For Ruby to be unable to do anything about those dark roots – or worse still – to be unaware of them, filled Biddy with a terrible dread.

  All three sat mute by the stricken landlady’s bedside, waiting for her to take her place in Biddy’s wedding album.

  *  *  *

  After the celebrations were over, Tara lay wide awake until the early hours of the morning. In the last few months, she had lost two more important people in her life. Biddy was only a mile or so away – but she was now a married woman. Fred, who was moving into Biddy’s room, and Ruby were now her main priorities. Running the lodging house in Maple Terrace and visiting the hospital would take up all Biddy’s time.

  Frank Kennedy had disappeared from Tara’s life, permanently. She had heard that he had gone back to Ireland for six months, and presumed it was to spend more time with his wife and family. Strangely, she didn’t miss Frank as much as she thought she would. And stranger still, his absence did not cause the great pain it might. The greatest hurt had been to her pride. The fact that he had deceived her for all that time. But, she consoled herself, the most important thing was that she had got over it.

  The whole business of Frank, and the awful revelations about Biddy and Father Daly and Dinny Martin had left Tara drained. It was all too awful. She now felt old and weary.

  She stretched a hand out and checked the time on the clock again. It was nearly half-past two. Tomorrow was Sunday, and that meant early Mass, cooking breakfast for all the lodgers and then in the afternoon, working in the reception of the Park Hotel.

  Monday would start her weekday routine off again with work at Thornley’s Estate Agents, cooking dinner when she came in, and then teaching the piano in the evening. The winter and the start of another year in England was only months away. Months of the gruelling but satisfying routine that would fill a void in Tara Flynn’s life.

  A void which Gabriel Fitzgerald had completely filled for a short but glorious time. A void which Frank Kennedy had almost filled – but not quite. A void which Tara now knew might never be filled again, for she had lately come to realise that there were few men who she was actually attracted to. After Frank, she realised that she would rather be on her own, than make such a mistake again.

  Hard work – and the security and independence it gave – would now be the mainstay of Tara’s life.

  Chapter Forty-one

  September, 1956

  “I think,” Tara said, looking in the changing-room mirror, “that this is perfect.” She had nearly said that the rich brown velvet coat and dress was ‘perfect for an autumn ordination’, but decided against it. This was London, where there were people of every creed and colour, and it was better not to bring religion into conversation with a stranger.

  “It is, madam,” the sales assistant agreed, “the colour is perfect for your striking hair.” She paused, pressing her finger on her lips. “I’m sure there’s a hat which would match it perfectly. If you don’t mind waiting – I won’t be a moment.”

  Tara looked at herself in the mirror again. Harrods was the most expensive shop she had ever patronised, and this outfit was the most expensive she had ever worn. It worked out at a month’s wages in Thornley’s, and the hat, no doubt, would add another week’s wages on top of that. Then there would be the shoes and the handbag. But it would be worth it.

  Tara smiled to herself as she turned round in front of the mirror, her feet sinking into the plush carpet. The dress was short-sleeved and fitted her slim figure like a glove under the matching, slightly shorter ‘swagger-coat’. It reminded her of the first decent coat she had worn as a teenager – only the other one had been fashioned in wool, in a camel colour. She shivered, remembering how she had nearly worn the camel coat on a shopping trip up to Dublin – on the day she had met Gabriel Fitzgerald.

  The assistant reappeared at the curtain of the fitting-room. “I think the hat is slightly darker, madam,” she said, holding it out.

  Tara pulled the
velvet hat low down on her brow, being careful not to crush the delicate bunch of cream and rust flowers that decorated one side of the brim. A glance at her reflection told her that she would pay the price, whatever it cost.

  After lunch in Harrod’s restaurant, Tara planned to shop for her handbag and shoes, and for a special present for her godson, Michael. Biddy and Fred’s baby was due to have his first birthday the following week. It gave Tara the excuse to really splash out on him, as she adored buying the little boy presents. Biddy was always grateful for the gifts, since she had no family to buy him things, and felt awkward that it was Fred’s family who bought all the presents. There was only really Tara left, who Biddy could consider close enough to be anything like a relative. Ruby – her mother and friend rolled into one – and who would have spoiled little Michael, was now dead and gone.

  Ruby had lived long enough to hear of Biddy’s pregnancy, but had succumbed to her illness just three months before the baby was born. The first year of treatment and physiotherapy seemed to have worked, and then gradually, Ruby discovered one malignant growth after another. All in new places. Eventually, the hospital sent her home to spend her last months among her friends and lodgers.

  Shay had not left her side after the first summer of her illness, and when Ruby was no longer able to go out to the bingo or the pub, he lost interest in going out, too. In the latter stages, he and Ruby sat on either side of the fire, listening to the radio, and chatting over hot, weak brandies.

  Shay had never been able to talk to anyone the way he talked to Ruby. They talked about everything together – and more importantly – they had laughed together. Shay had laughed more in the last few years with his landlady, than he had ever laughed in his life before. And he did not know how he was going to face a future without the little blonde lady who had brought so much love and laughter into his life.

  Ruby Sweeney was no fool. She knew all this, because she felt exactly the same about Shay. Of all the men who had come and gone in her life – and all the lodgers who had come and gone through her door – Shay was the one she had found love and companionship with. When she first met him, she felt deep down that he was a decent man who had no confidence or pride in himself.

  It had given Ruby the greatest pleasure to watch him go from strength to strength due to having a decent job, and more importantly – a decent wage. Ruby reckoned that the few years she had had with Tara’s father had been the best they both had in their lives. But it could never have lasted. At some point, they both knew that Shay would have to return to his family in Ireland. Ruby had only borrowed him. The decision about when he would go back had now been taken out of their hands by fate. Shay would return when Ruby’s time was up.

  He had nothing left to stay for.

  Biddy had nursed her surrogate-mother right up until the end, and was devastated when the inevitable happened. The fact that Ruby had left her the boarding-house in her will had not been any consolation to her. It was Ruby’s dynamic presence, her cheery voice, and her motherly advice that Biddy wanted – not Ruby’s house.

  Around four o’clock, her shopping expedition completed, Tara caught a taxi back to her hotel in Victoria. She left a message in reception for her friend Kate – another redhead, but with a short and bobbed style – to call at her bedroom around six o’clock for dinner. Kate, who had replaced Jean in Thornley’s, had arranged to meet her sister in London that afternoon, which left Tara free to shop for the special outfit on her own. This evening they planned to have an early dinner in the hotel, and afterwards head out to the opera in Covent Garden.

  The girls had been planning this September weekend in London for ages, and for Tara it had been a complex task. She had to organise someone to cook the meals and clean up in her own house. The other part of the semi, which she had bought a few months after Biddy’s wedding, was home to six nurses, and running well under the care of a local woman. The fact that Tara was literally through the wall from it, meant that the same standards were maintained in both houses. If Tara had anything to thank Frank Kennedy for, it was for encouraging her to take well-calculated risks.

  The venture had gone so well that the Christmas after Tara had bought the second house, she was able to give up her weekend receptionist job in the Park Hotel. The spare hours on Saturday and Sunday afternoons now allowed her to take on more piano pupils, as she always had a waiting list of eager young pianists.

  Technically, Tara did not need to work at all, as the rent from both houses, more than covered the mortgage, and left her with enough to live on comfortably. But however well things were going, it never occurred to her to think of giving up working for Thornleys, or her piano teaching. The money from both jobs she banked every week, as an insurance against the future. Tara Flynn, after only six years in England, was an independent young woman, and an owner of substantial property.

  Although she took none of it for granted, Tara did not hesitate when it came to indulging her love of music and the theatre. She travelled into Manchester regularly to catch any new shows, opera or ballet. Lately, since she had become friends with Kate, she had taken to having the odd weekend away to places like Leeds or Newcastle. This trip to London was their latest foray into the shopping cities of England.

  Tara and Kate travelled down on the train from Stockport, after work on the Friday night. They had been recommended the hotel by Kate’s sister, who worked for a big travel agents in London. The hotel was minutes’ walk from Victoria Station and Buckingham Palace, and overlooked the Palace Mews. On their first evening, particularly warm for the beginning of September, they took a walk all around the palace area, and then strolled through St James’s Park, ignoring the admiring stares they drew from men. A strikingly attractive redhead was enough to catch any man’s eye, but two beautiful girls with flaming red hair was enough to cause accidents.

  When they grew tired of walking, the girls found a little Italian restaurant close by their hotel. As they chatted across the table lit with candles in wine bottles, Kate kept Tara amused with tales of ex-boyfriends, and scrapes she had got into in boarding school in Manchester. Tara, in turn, related stories of growing up in Ireland, shopping in Dublin, and how she had started up her little chicken and turkey business.

  Although she was sorry when Jean left Thornley’s Estate Agents to move to Newcastle, Tara was delighted with her replacement – the bubbly red-headed Kate. Kate Thornley was actually a granddaughter of the Mr Thornley, who had started the business up years ago, and her father was the major shareholder in the business. Kate, therefore, had a lot of clout with Mr Pickford when it came to odd days off, was mad about ballet and the opera and was never short of money. Her job in the estate agents was temporary – filling in until someone more qualified turned up to fill Jean’s position – and her father’s idea for keeping his flighty daughter occupied over the summer.

  Kate had recently completed a college course in fashion and design, but had found no openings in that field around the North West. Eventually, she planned to head for Paris or Rome, to work for one of the big fashion houses, but for the time being she was content working with Tara in the estate agency office. Her hairstyle and clothes were always of the latest fashion, and lately she had set a trend in the area for the combination of tight sweaters, Capri pants and flat ballet pumps. The outfit looked stunning on Kate’s petite, elfin figure. Tara – whose clothes veered more towards the more elegant and conservative – was also showing signs of Kate’s influence, and had added the odd casual sweater and trousers to her own wardrobe. The fact that Kate was single, and available for nights out and weekends away, had made a huge difference to Tara’s social life.

  “Your outfit is wonderful,” Kate breathed, as she studied the velvet dress and coat which Tara had lain out on the bed for her inspection. She lifted the hat, and pulled it on her own head. It looked nice with her straight red bob, but did not have the same impact as it did crowning Tara’s russet curls. “It’s much too sophistic
ated and expensive to be wasted on a boring church ‘do’. We’ll have to find you somewhere more exciting to wear it.” Kate was Church of England and only attended services at Christmas and Easter.

  “Heathen!” Tara scolded. “It might not seem very exciting to you, but my brother’s ordination is a very important affair.”

  Kate looked suitably chastised, then, tossing the hat on the bed, she spoiled it by asking: “Will there be any handsome, eligible men at the ordination?”

  “Handsome, eligible men? The place will be full of priests and nuns!” Tara shook her head in exasperation. “I wonder, Kate Thornley, have you any decorum at all?”

  The hotel menu was excellent. After some deliberation, Tara chose duck with port wine pâté and toast to start, followed by trout with almonds, while Kate opted for smoked salmon and steak in a pepper sauce. When they were offered the wine list, Kate waved it away. “We’ll have a bottle of Moët & Chandon, please.”

  Tara’s eyes opened wide with surprise. “Champagne?”

  Kate laughed. “To toast your trip to Ireland – and your brother’s ordination. And, to make up for being such a terrible heathen!”

  *  *  *

  The Opera House in Covent Garden was packed out for the Scottish Opera’s rendition of Puccini’s Madame Butterfly. Kate had booked the tickets weeks before, which saved them having to join the massive queue for seats. Once inside the foyer, both girls shrugged off the admiring glances cast in their direction by men of all ages. Their stylish outfits – Kate’s navy and white Chanel suit, and Tara’s wine, slim-fitting dress with a dropped waistline and flowing jacket – drew even more glances from the females.