by Zara Keane
Chapter Thirty-Two
“MUIREANN IS PREGNANT?” The floor shifted under Gavin’s feet like a rocking vessel. He swayed before righting himself. “That’s not possible.”
His words were as much a prayer as a statement. A wave of panic crested in his chest. She couldn’t be pregnant. He couldn’t be the father. Why the hell did this have to happen now?
Bernard’s beady eyes narrowed to slits. “I’ll expect you to pay up, you blaggard. I’ll bleed you dry, so help me God.”
“You’re already bleeding me dry,” he said wearily. “You and Gant have seen to that. Where’s Muireann now?”
“I don’t know,” the man muttered. “She told us she was pregnant, then took off in her car.”
“Probably couldn’t take your roaring,” snapped Bridie.
Bernard glared at her. “How’s a father supposed to react when his daughter tells him she’s pregnant by a someone who can’t marry her for another four years?”
“You could have listened to her.” Gavin tasted bile but swallowed past it. “Did she actually say I’m the father, or did you make an assumption? Because if I am the father, she must be around five months pregnant. I’m no expert, but she doesn’t look over halfway through a pregnancy to me.”
“She didn’t need to say you were the father. Sure, who else would it be?”
Fiona exchanged a significant glance with Gavin. “Muireann was abroad for weeks. Why couldn’t she have gotten pregnant while she was away? Like Gavin said, she certainly doesn’t look anywhere near five months pregnant.”
Bernard’s face went from scarlet to purple. “Are you calling my daughter a slut? That’s rich coming from you.”
“That’s enough.” Bridie moved toward her brother. “I won’t have anyone slut shamed in my house. Not Fiona and not your daughter. If Muireann slept with someone on holiday, she was free and single and entitled to do so.”
Bernard opened his mouth to let out another roar, but Bridie checked him. “I said that’s enough. Come on, I’ll drive you home. There’s no use in fighting with Gavin until we find Muireann and know more about the situation.”
Without waiting for him to protest, Bridie dragged her brother out of the cottage.
Silence descended upon the assembled company. Fiona was green with worry. Philip looked smug. The Major’s aged eyes were more sunken than usual.
Gavin took a ragged breath. What if he was the one making assumptions? What if Muireann truly was expecting his child? It wasn’t as if he knew anything about pregnant women.
Fiona put a hand on his arm. “I’ll go next door with you.”
“Ah, there’s no need,” he said, still shocked but rallying. “I’m grand. Stay here with your guests.”
“Bollocks. You’re far from grand. You’re in need of a stiff drink. And frankly, so am I.” She grabbed a bottle of vodka from her aunt’s drinks cabinet and turned to the remaining dinner guests. “I won’t be long. In the meantime, help yourselves to sherry trifle.”
“No problem, dear,” The Major said. “Take all the time you need. We can let ourselves out if necessary.”
Philip wore an insouciant smirk. “If I’d known your family get-togethers were this entertaining, FeeFee, I’d have come down with you to Ballybeg years ago.”
Her expression went from rigid to enraged in the space of a millisecond. “By the time I get back, I want you gone, Philip. And don’t bloody call me FeeFee.”
“Ah, now, I was only having a laugh. You’re overreacting.”
“If Fiona wants you gone by the time she comes back,” said The Major smoothly, “you will be gone. I’ll make certain of it.”
“And if you need any help getting rid of him, I’m more than willing to assist.” Gavin whistled for Wiggly Poo to come. For once, the puppy obeyed. He’d give him a doggy treat when they got home. Fiona looped her arm through his, and they stepped out into the bitter December cold.
Back in his cottage, Wiggly Poo made a dash for his basket and was snoring within seconds.
Gavin slid into a kitchen chair and stared at his hands.
“You okay?” Fiona sloshed vodka into shot glasses and placed one before him. “You’ve gone so white you’re rivaling me for the crown of palest person in Ballybeg.”
He could barely get the words out, had to clear his throat a couple of times. “It can’t be my baby.”
“You sure about that?” Her hands shook around her glass, but her voice was steady.
“I won’t know until I speak to Muireann, but we haven’t had sex since a couple of weeks before our non-wedding.” He downed his shot in one, relishing the burn of the harsh liquor as it snaked its way to his stomach.
Fiona clasped her trembling hands. A smorgasbord of emotions flitted across her face: shock, disbelief, hurt. “Did you know this was a possibility before we slept together? Luca made that comment about Muireann and pregnancy when you guys came by the Book Mark. I didn’t place much emphasis on it at the time.”
“No, of course I didn’t know she was pregnant. I’d never have let things get this far with you if I’d had any suspicion she might be carrying my baby. We weren’t planning on trying for a family for a while after the wedding—or at least I wasn’t.”
“But?” Her green eyes were filled with tears. “Luca’s comment wasn’t a coincidence, was it?”
“Not exactly. The morning of the wedding, Muireann mentioned her period was late. I was less than thrilled, to be honest, but we’d planned to have kids eventually, and I know I would have gotten used to the idea.”
Fury flashed across Fiona’s face. “So you did know she might be expecting.”
“No. Please hear me out. The day I collected my stuff from Clonmore Lodge—the day she trashed my stuff—she told me I didn’t need to worry because she wasn’t pregnant after all.”
“And you believed her?”
“Well, yeah. I had no reason to doubt her word.”
Fiona finished her shot and then refilled their glasses. “What a mess.”
“Yeah. The understatement of the decade.” He stood and began to pace his small kitchen. “My relationship with Muireann is over, and there’s no going back. But if I did get her pregnant, I can’t abandon my child. I won’t be like my father.”
“Your father?” She looked up. “You’ve never talked about him to me before.”
He stared out the kitchen window at the starry sky. “I don’t mention him because I try to forget he ever existed. Long story short, he took off when my mother was eight months pregnant. By all accounts, he was a loser. Given my mother’s subsequent taste in boyfriends, I’m not surprised. We were probably better off without him in our lives, but it didn’t feel like that when I was growing up.”
“You’re a good man, Gavin. If that baby is yours, I’m sure you’ll make a great dad.” She stood, scraping her chair over the terracotta-tiled floor. “I’d better get back to Bridie’s. Will you be okay on your own?”
No, he thought, please stay. “Sure. Get back to your guests. Any problem with Philip, let me know.”
Fiona bent to scratch Wiggly Poo’s sleeping head. “You’re a good doggie for biting Bernard. I’ll be sure to get you a nice, juicy bone next time I’m at the butcher’s.”
“Two o’clock suit you for tomorrow?”
Her head jerked up in surprise. “Surely you don’t still want to help out with painting the Book Mark? Kyle and Ronan can help me pack up the books. They’re due to help paint anyway. You should concentrate on tracking down Muireann.”
“I can do both. I made a promise to Bridie, and I intend to keep it.” He fumbled in his trouser pockets for his phone. “I’m going to try calling Muireann now.”
“All right,” Fiona said. “But if you need to meet her tomorrow afternoon, no worries.”
“Thanks, Fiona.” He took her hands in his and planted a kiss on her springy curls. “I’m sorry. For everything.”
“Hmm…,” Bridie said, standing in the doorway of F
iona’s small room. “You’re very dolled up for an afternoon hauling boxes.”
Fiona jumped at her aunt’s voice. She’d been staring critically at her reflection in the mirror, searching for flaws. “I’m only trying on a few outfits. Nothing wrong with that, is there?”
She pulled off the shirt she’d been trying on and threw it on the bed. This was stupid. She was stupid. She and Gavin might be destined to remain man and wife for the next four years, but he’d never truly been hers, nor would he ever be. Even if Muireann’s unborn baby wasn’t his, he’d never told her he loved her. The only one of them foolish enough to lose their heart was she.
“Ah, love.” Her aunt stepped into the room and closed the door. “Don’t cry.”
She rubbed her eyes and blinked. “I’m not crying. My contacts are acting up.”
“And I suppose your sinuses are also acting up? Come on,” Bridie said coaxingly. “Sit down on the bed beside me.”
Her face crumpled, and the tears began to flow. She sank down onto the saggy mattress beside her aunt, wracked with sobs.
Bridie put her arm around her shoulders. “There, pet. A good cry will do you the power of good.”
She leaned into her aunt’s sturdy form and surrendered to her emotions. Bridie let her get it out of her system, then handed her a fresh tissue to blow her nose.
“I shouldn’t be this upset,” she said between honks. “It’s my own stupid fault for letting myself fall for him again. I should have learned my lesson the last time.”
Bridie squeezed her hand. “Take it from one who knows—chances at true love are few and far between in this life. Don’t give up on Gavin yet.”
She gave a bitter laugh. “Did you not hear what Bernard said? Muireann’s pregnant. If she’s a few months pregnant, the baby might very well be Gavin’s.”
“Let’s break this down into what we do know, rather than what we don’t. According to Bernard, Muireann announced she was pregnant over Christmas dinner. They had an argument, and she stormed out. Bernard, being the eejit that he is, automatically assumed Gavin had to be the father and hared off to confront him.”
“Muireann’s been back in Ballybeg for weeks,” Fiona mused. “We know she saw Gavin at the Christmas Bazaar, and I’m sure she’s had plenty of opportunities since then to hunt him down and tell him she was pregnant. Why didn’t she?”
“Exactly.” Bridie drew the word out for maximum emphasis. “Muireann’s not the type to suffer in silence. If she thought there was any possibility of Gavin being the father of that child, she’d have gone straight to Aidan Gant and started financial negotiations for the baby’s upkeep.”
Her aunt had a point. She recalled her cousin’s gaunt appearance and concave stomach that morning outside the Book Mark, not to mention her peaky appearance at the Christmas Bazaar. Didn’t some women end up losing weight during pregnancy due to extreme morning sickness? “There’s no point speculating,” she said aloud. “Until Muireann reappears, we won’t know when her baby is due. I agree, though, that it’s totally out of character for her not to tell Gavin if she thought he was the father.”
“Fiona, apart from this business with Gavin, how are you coping being back in Ballybeg? I realize it’s hard for you being here. I’d hoped you might find it cathartic, but perhaps I was way off the mark.”
She hesitated for a moment before replying, gathering her thoughts. “To be honest, it’s been better than I expected—drama notwithstanding. It’s certainly not how I’d planned to spend my sabbatical, but I’m enjoying spending time with you and rekindling my friendship with Olivia. We’ve kept in touch over the years, but we don’t see one another that often. When I get back to Dublin, I intend to change that.”
“Having you in Ballybeg is good for Olivia.” Bridie’s brow furrowed. “I worry about the girl. Before you came back, I never saw her out and about socializing with people her own age.”
“She’s cagey about her relationship with Gant. I don’t get the impression she’s happy in her marriage but she doesn’t go into details. All I can do is be there for her and hope she’ll confide in me if she needs to.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
“Listen, Bridie, would it be okay if I went away for a couple of days after we finish painting? We’ll need to wait a couple of days before opening the shop to give the paint fumes time to dissipate. I could ask The Major and Mrs. Cotter if they’d look in on you.”
“Of course, love.” Her aunt squeezed her hand. “I’m in far better shape than I was when I first got out of the nursing home. I might see if Nora Fitzgerald would be willing to stay over. She’s always looking for an excuse to escape that useless lout she married.”
“You’re sure? If so, that would be fantastic.”
“Are you off anywhere nice?”
Telling Bridie the whole story about tracking down Ann Dunne was tempting, but she’d rather not say anything until she knew she’d found the right person. “Just a couple of days in Clare. I know some people there.”
“Clare’s a lovely part of the country,” her aunt said. “You’ll have fun.”
Fiona stood and rooted through her wardrobe until she located an old black sweatshirt bearing the faded logo of a rock band she’d once liked. She slipped it on and began gathering her stuff for the day.
“Are you sure you want to do this today?” Bridie asked. “Gavin would understand if you canceled.”
No, she definitely did not want to see him today. She wanted to curl up under her duvet and hide from the world. She took a deep breath. “I’ll be fine.”
Bridie gave her a hug. “You’re a good girl. It’ll all work out for the best. You’ll see. If he looked at me the way he does you, I’d be sorely tempted to turn into one of those jaguars.”
For a moment, Fiona was flummoxed. Then enlightenment dawned. “I think you mean a cougar, Bridie,” she said with a smile.
“Yeah, that’s the term. One of them big cats. Sort of like that Samantha in Sex and the City. Always running after hot young men, she was. Nabbed them, too.”
Fiona was temporarily bereft of speech. “You’ve seen Sex and the City?”
Her aunt raised an eyebrow. “Hasn’t everyone? Nora Fitzgerald has the DVDs. We used to watch them after bingo on Friday nights.” She looked wistful. “Pity they don’t make them anymore.”
Fiona placed a light kiss on her aunt’s plump cheek. Bridie smelled of face powder and Estee Lauder’s Youth-Dew. “Do you have everything you need before I leave?”
“Sure, go on, girl. If I need anything, I can give Nora Fitzgerald a bell. The number of times I’ve looked after her blasted cat, I’d say she owes me one.”
“In that case, I’ll be off. See you later.” Fiona stepped outside into the roaring wind.
Chapter Thirty-Three
GAVIN WAS WAITING for her on the doorstep of the bookshop. God, he was gorgeous, even with dark bags under his eyes and stubble on his jaw. He leaped to his feet when he saw her. “Hey, Fiona.”
His smile was tinged with regret. She itched to kiss it away.
“Gavin.” They stared at one another for a beat before she opened the door to the Book Mark. “Do you fancy a cuppa before we get started?” She slung her bag on the counter. “It’ll be our last opportunity to use the kitchen until the painting is finished.” Not to mention their last opportunity to be alone together. Tomorrow, Kyle and Ronan would be underfoot.
Gavin hesitated for a fraction of a second, then relented. “Okay. Why not?”
She put on the coffee machine and prepared Gavin’s usual extra strong espresso. For herself, she opted for a cappuccino. “I’m afraid we have no fresh-baked goods today. I do, however, have some leftovers from Christmas.” She extracted an airtight container from her carrier bag. “Do you fancy a mince pie?”
“Uh, sure.” He’d chosen his favorite seat and was drumming his fingers on the table. She’d noticed he did that when he was nervous. She fiddled with her lip ring and added
milk and sugar to the tray.
After placing the tray on the table, she slid into the seat across from him. “How are the O’Mahony’s? You went there for your Stephen’s Day lunch, right?”
“Yeah. Turkey casserole.” He reached for his coffee cup. “Liam and Nuala are fine, but Jonas isn’t doing too well. Luca’s mother left them just before Christmas and didn’t leave a forwarding address.”
“Crap. Poor little Luca. How’s Jonas coping?”
Gavin grimaced. “Single fatherhood doesn’t suit him. Luca’s autism diagnosis suits him even less. There’s talk of him moving back to Ballybeg with Luca.”
“Where would they live?”
“With Liam and Nuala initially.”
“Wow.” Fiona shook her curls. “Their predicament certainly puts our crazy Christmas into perspective.”
“I’ll say.”
He stared at her. She stared at him. He cleared his throat. She cleared hers.
“This is ridiculous, Gavin. To use the words people dread to hear, we need to talk about us.”
His gaze latched on to hers. “I know.”
Clasping her hands, she turned the silver rings on her fingers round and round. “We shouldn’t have let… whatever it was between us… develop. It was a mistake.”
A muscle tensed in his cheek. “I don’t agree.”
“You don’t?” Her hands froze mid-twirl, and she blinked in confusion. “Why not?”
He flexed his jaw and leaned back in his chair. “The time we spent together opened my eyes, Fiona. You made me realize that my outlook on life was skewed. I was so intent on not repeating the mistakes my mother made that I mistook a passionless relationship for one that was stable and secure.”
She heard her own intake of breath. “You never loved Muireann?”
He shook his head. “No, I did love her. Part of me still does. I even thought I was in love with her, and maybe I was for a time. All I know is that the emotion I felt for her was tepid in comparison to what I feel for you.”
Her heart pounded against her ribs. How did she react to that statement? Ask him if he was in love with her? She took a deep breath and focused on the vital question. “Will you go back to her if she is pregnant with your child?”
