Or at least they thought they did. Ardbawn had been a gossipy place sixteen years ago. It was still a gossipy place, but the conversations about people were far more superficial now than they’d been when he was younger. He remembered going into the local newsagent’s with his mother as a child and the woman behind the counter wishing him a happy birthday even though he hadn’t been wearing the ‘I am 10’ badge that had been attached to the card his parents had given him. He remembered too that the woman (Mrs Clancy, Mrs Clooney?) had looked outside and remarked that it was a great day for a wedding, and his mother nodding, while Mrs Clancy or Clooney had said that she never would have thought that Bernadine Doherty would’ve managed to nab Sean Fallon, God help her. He’d heard the sharp intake of breath from his mother before she’d replied that it took all sorts, and the woman behind the counter had nodded and said yes, and that Bernadine was a nice girl and she hoped she’d be happy with Sean. It was about time he settled down, she’d said; sure, hadn’t he broken the hearts of half the town . . . and then she’d looked at his mother, narrowed her eyes and said, ‘Sorry.’ Elva had said that there was nothing for the woman to be sorry about, that it was a long, long time since she’d gone out with Sean Fallon. She’d been a foolish kid back then, she’d told her, and then laughed a brittle laugh that Joe had never heard before.
She’d bought him an ice cream in the newsagent’s, even though before they’d gone in she’d said that he wasn’t getting anything at all because he was having a party tea afterwards and she didn’t want him to spoil his appetite. They’d walked back to March Manor, the ice cream melting over his hand in the warmth of the sun.
He hadn’t thought about that in years. But now he remembered the party, where he’d had a fight with Peter, Sinead had taken his Biggles book to read and Cushla had nearly choked on a tube of Smarties. He shook his head. Normally when he remembered scenes from his childhood they were softened by the passage of time and he recalled them as happy and contented. But his memories of that day included Elva slapping him across the leg for punching Peter in the face (a provoked attack; Peter had broken the toy robot he’d been given), and yelling that being chained to four spoiled brats wasn’t what she’d expected when she’d married his father. Marriage was a trap, she’d cried, designed to enslave women who were seduced by one day of looking like a princess and thinking that they’d be happy.
He’d been shocked at her words, and at the raw anger and pain in her voice. He’d been frightened, too, frightened that she didn’t love him any more, didn’t love any of them. He’d wanted to fling his arms around her and tell her that he was sorry, but he’d been too scared to do anything other than sit down in the big armchair in the corner of the room.
She’d come up to him a moment later, her eyes bright, her voice soft.
‘I’m sorry, love,’ she’d said. ‘I lost my temper. That was very wrong of me.’
‘I shouldn’t have been fighting.’ It had been all he could do not to cry. He was the eldest, a big boy. Big boys didn’t cry, everyone knew that.
‘I’m sure your brother was driving you mad.’
‘Like we drive you mad?’
She’d smiled then, although he couldn’t help thinking it was a sad smile.
‘Sooner or later everyone drives everyone else a bit mad,’ she’d said. ‘But we get over it.’
‘Are you over it?’
‘Of course I am.’
She’d put her arms around him and hugged him, and he’d stayed longer than was absolutely necessary in the comfort of her embrace. And then she’d told him that she’d better get on with things before his dad came home and she’d headed off to the kitchen, her high heels clicking on the tiled floor.
How had all this stayed stuck in his mind, unremembered for so long? he asked himself. Where had it been buried? Why hadn’t he remembered before now?
He stared unseeingly out of the window as the images of his beautiful mother flickered through his mind. He hadn’t remembered because it wasn’t important any more, he decided. The past wasn’t important. The only thing that mattered was the future.
Paudie said that. And his father was always right.
It was like old times, thought Sheridan, as she and Talia inspected themselves in the mirror before heading off for the nightclub. Both of them had glammed up for the night, and the pretty brooch that Talia had lent her for the lapel of her jacket was glittering beneath the ceiling light. It was ages since she’d looked as good as this. Clearly she missed Talia’s influence. She vowed to take a bit more care over her appearance when she went back to Ardbawn. Just because she was living in the heart of the country didn’t mean she had to let every single fashion trick she’d ever learned pass her by.
The party that Talia had invited her to was being sponsored by a new restaurant and nightclub in the city, and the owners wanted to get as much publicity as possible. The venue was being marketed as funky yet sophisticated, ideal for the modern, independent woman. Talia had told Sheridan that the magazine was using it as the backdrop to a piece about fashion in the city, and that the club was taking a chunk of advertising in an arrangement that suited everybody.
‘The mag is very commercially focused,’ she said. ‘A bit of an eye-opener really, I thought it would be more laid-back. But I guess the current environment has made everyone up their game.’
‘They won’t go the route of the City Scope, will they?’
‘Hopefully not.’ Talia sounded relaxed. ‘It’s a good team. I’m sorry that we’re a fashion and beauty magazine and there isn’t room for sports. You’d like working on it.’
‘I’m sure I’ll get something permanent soon.’ Sheridan didn’t want to talk about her precarious job situation at the start of a night out. ‘Tell me about the club.’
‘It’s a converted courthouse,’ said Talia. ‘So the theme is very much legal-eagle sort of stuff. I think it’s lovely, though.’
‘Hey, I don’t care what it is, I’m just glad to be out and about and away from Ardbawn.’
‘Poor Sheridan.’ Talia made a face at her. ‘A city girl stuck in the sticks. Is it absolutely awful?’
‘It’s OK in small doses,’ admitted Sheridan. ‘There’s parts of it that I like. But I don’t think it’s for me, to be honest.’
‘You haven’t fallen in love with village life and decided that the city is a horrible place and that everything is so much nicer when you know your neighbours?’
Sheridan laughed. ‘I’m not a stressed-out executive who needs to embrace a slower pace to find the meaning of life,’ she said. ‘I like cities. And I like not knowing everything about everybody. Not that I do in Ardbawn – at least not yet – but you know what I mean.’
‘Aunt Hayley said that you went to see her,’ Talia remarked as she adjusted the brooch and then rearranged some loose strands of Sheridan’s hair (which she’d put up for the night). ‘She told me you were a nice girl who was fitting in well. She liked you.’
‘Everyone in Ardbawn likes everyone else,’ Sheridan said. ‘It’s all one big love-fest.’
‘Not a hotbed of intrigue and mystery?’ asked Talia.
‘Apparently they all lead lives that are nearly as boring as mine,’ said Sheridan drily.
‘What about your complicated love life? Any more developments?’
Sheridan had rung Talia after the dinner with Joe had gone horribly wrong, and had called her too to tell her about seeing him with Ritz in the pub. Talia had been taken aback to hear that Sheridan herself had been there with Peter, and hadn’t entirely believed her when she’d insisted that they were just friends, even though Sheridan had reminded her that she had more ‘just friends’ who were male than any woman she knew.
Now she shuddered. ‘I’m staying away from anyone with the surname O’Malley.’
‘Maybe you just have to pick the right O’Malley brother.’
‘There is no right O’Malley brother.’
‘All the same . . . I thought you a
nd this Joe guy . . . When you talked about him, you sounded different.’
‘How?’
‘Excited.’
‘Truth? I was excited about him when I didn’t know who he was. Now that I do . . . let’s face it, I’m never going to be a fan of the family, and they’re certainly not fans of mine.’
‘He could still be, though.’
‘No. He couldn’t. As far as he’s concerned, I’m just a nosy journalist who’ll print anything about his father and his family.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘What if I suddenly found out that there was something dark and sinister about Elva’s death, d’you think I’d be obliged to write it?’
‘But you said there wasn’t.’
‘That’s not the point. If there was, as a journalist, I think I would have to.’
‘However since there isn’t – you won’t!’
‘He doesn’t know that.’
‘Tell him.’
Sheridan shook her head.
‘You’re crazy,’ said Talia. ‘Can I remind you again that you went out and bought a dress for this guy.’
‘I bought the dress for me.’
‘You’re impossible,’ said Talia.
‘I’m being realistic,’ Sheridan told her. ‘So can we drop it now? Please?’
‘Fair enough.’ Talia stood back and looked at her friend’s appearance critically. ‘Perfect, Cinders, you shall go to the ball. Although – given that you bought it for yourself – you should have worn the green dress tonight, it was stunning on you.’
‘I didn’t bring it with me. I was afraid I’d be overdressed.’
‘We’re going to a nightclub,’ Talia reminded her. ‘Overdressing is impossible.’
‘Perhaps I’ve been embracing the countryside too much.’
‘Hmm. Well, it might have affected your dress sense, but I have to say, Mizz Gray, there’s a certain glow about you.’
‘God knows why,’ said Sheridan.
‘Nothing like fresh air,’ teased Talia. ‘And maybe you’re still in love with the country man.’
‘Give it a rest,’ said Sheridan.
‘Whatever you say.’ But Talia winked as she picked up the VIP passes and ushered her friend out of the door.
The nightclub was fun. They drank cocktails, chatted to a variety of people and then danced until Talia confessed that her stylish skyscraper shoes weren’t built for anything other than sitting on a bar stool looking fabulous, and that her feet were killing her. It was exactly like old times, thought Sheridan, even if the times in the clubs had been few and far between. But it was good to be out with her friend, and good to feel that she was still part of something bigger and brighter than Ardbawn town and the Central News.
Her head was throbbing the next morning, although she thought it was more from the noise of the club than alcohol – she’d only had three glasses of champagne, after all. Her eyes were gritty, too, as she made enough tea and toast for her and her friend. She stood at the window of the apartment with its view across the city while she waited for the tea to brew. She’d enjoyed herself the previous night and she knew that no matter what happened with her career, she wouldn’t be staying in Ardbawn longer than was strictly necessary. A place where the only decent social outlets were the Riverside Inn and the Riverview Hotel just didn’t have enough long-term appeal for her.
Not, of course, that she’d have the opportunity to stay longer. Although she hadn’t given an exact date for her return, Myra was very definitely coming back to the Central News before the summer.
Which means, Sheridan told herself as she switched her gaze to the mountains that ringed the city, I need to get my act together on the job front again. She was wondering if there was any newspaper in the country that she hadn’t already contacted about work when Talia padded sleepily into the room.
‘Ooh, buttery toast. Lovely.’ She yawned as she picked up a slice. ‘I miss having you around, Sher. Enya’s great, but it’s not the same.’
Enya was Talia’s new flatmate. She was originally from Mayo, and went home most weekends.
‘I miss Kilmainham,’ said Sheridan. ‘We had such good times there. And I miss the City Scope too.’
‘I believe things aren’t going great there at the moment,’ said Talia as she poured herself some tea from the big red pot. ‘There’s talk of letting more people go.’
‘Oh no. What about Mr Slash-and-Burn’s success rate in rescuing failing businesses?’
‘I don’t think he can save the paper,’ Talia said. ‘You know yourself it wasn’t the world’s most efficient place to work.’
‘The journalists were efficient,’ Sheridan protested. ‘Whatever other problems they had weren’t our fault. I was thinking about it earlier,’ she added. ‘When I was wondering who I could apply to for a job. I was thinking that maybe I should become a blogger instead.’
‘But you wouldn’t make any money out of it.’
‘It would just be for something to do. And if it became really successful, I might pick up some ads. It’s better than nothing. Anyway, I’ve been looking at the sports blogs. I know I could do better.’
‘I guess it would keep your name out there at least.’ Talia nodded her approval. ‘Especially if you were tweeting and Facebooking as well.’
‘Right now the Central News is keeping me occupied,’ said Sheridan. ‘But sports is what I love doing and what I ultimately want to concentrate on. So this would be a good way of staying involved.’
‘Go for it.’ Talia spoke positively. ‘Start off with the tweeting; you can get up and running with that really quickly. I’m glad you’re looking at different options. You just have to have an open mind.’
Sheridan stared at her friend.
‘What?’ asked Talia.
‘That’s what I wrote for my horoscope this week,’ she said. ‘That I needed an open mind.’
Talia laughed. ‘Maybe you’re sending yourself subliminal messages.’
‘Maybe.’
‘In which case, keep that mind wide open. To job opportunities and other opportunities too.’
‘Blogger heaven,’ said Sheridan.
‘I was thinking of romantic opportunities,’ Talia said. ‘Given that you didn’t meet Mr Right last night, perhaps you’ll have to give Paudie’s son another chance.’
‘He’d be the one giving me another chance, but I can’t see it somehow,’ said Sheridan.
Talia grinned at her. ‘Maybe he’s keeping an open mind too.’
‘I shouldn’t have said anything to you about it,’ groaned Sheridan.
‘What did you predict for Virgos?’ asked Talia. ‘Given that you seem to have a talent for this.’
‘That everything you do will turn out exactly as you hope.’
‘Crikey. I’d better get my act together this week.’
‘You won’t need to,’ Sheridan assured her. ‘Phaedra, the oracle, has spoken. You’re tipped for the top whether you like it or not.’
‘So are you,’ Talia said. ‘You’re a winner at heart, Sheridan Gray. You know you are.’
Chapter 27
Nina was reading the Central News as she waited in the bar of Dublin’s Shelbourne Hotel for Sean to arrive. She’d only skimmed the paper earlier in the week because, thankfully, the guesthouse was exceptionally busy, due to people arriving for a golden wedding anniversary party in the town. Pat and Stan Buchan’s extended family was too big to stay in the house with them. Nina was delighted to have them stay with her, especially as they’d booked in not only for the night of the party itself but for a couple of days afterwards too.
Having every room occupied reminded her of why she enjoyed running a guesthouse. She didn’t mind the fact that she was up early to make a cooked breakfast every morning, or that she was constantly stacking and unloading the dishwasher. She realised that, for the first time since he’d left, her thoughts weren’t continually straying back to Sean. Nor was she agonising over what her next
step should be. She was too busy grilling sausages and bacon, clearing tables and generally looking after people to think of anything else.
All in all, she was doing much better now, and certainly felt more able to deal with her cheating husband than she’d been even a few weeks earlier. But no matter how much she told herself to be strong and unyielding, she couldn’t quite get over the fact that she still missed him very, very much.
‘Hi, Nina.’
He walked into the bar looking as handsome and as confident as ever. She wondered how men did that. How it was that they never appeared shaken or worried or insecure, no matter how appropriate those emotions might be. She knew that if their roles had been reversed, she would have slunk into the room, her guilty expression plain for all to see.
He sat down beside her.
‘Nice to see you in town for a change,’ he said. ‘And looking so well.’
She heard the slight tone of surprise in his voice. She knew she was looking better than the last time he’d seen her. She’d had her hair done at the weekend and had asked Danielle to update her colour and style. The more subtle shade and added highlights suited her.
‘You look well yourself,’ she told him.
‘Thanks. Can I get you anything?’
‘Another coffee,’ she said.
Sean ordered two coffees and then relaxed back into the seat.
‘So, when will I come back?’
She stared at him. There was no doubt in his mind that she’d forgiven him and was ready to allow him home. Why? Did he think she was so weak that she couldn’t cope without him?
‘I don’t know,’ she said.
‘For heaven’s sake, Nina! What’s the point in us meeting if I’m not coming home?’ His voice was harsh.
‘I . . .’ Her original reason for meeting him had been to tell him that she was ready for him to return. But when he made that assumption, when he’d already decided for her, she just couldn’t. ‘I needed to talk to you again,’ she said. ‘The last time was unexpected. I didn’t know what I wanted to say.’
‘What d’you need to say? You know I made a mistake, I’ve admitted it, I’m sorry about it. I’m sorry that I embarrassed you and our children. I know I was in the wrong.’
Better Together Page 33
