by Melissa Hill
“A million miles away from where supposed City-types like you hang out,” she replied, her smile widening.
Freya had been right, Natalie thought happily, there were plenty more fish in the sea, and she’d just decided she might like to try and land this one.
Chapter 13
“So how’s everything?” Tara asked her mother. It was her first visit to Castlegate since her return from Egypt, having been up to her eyes in work after the ten-day break.
“Everything is the same as it always is, Tara,” Isobel replied with a put-upon sigh.
“And Emma? How is she now? Has she said anything at all about the father yet?”
Her sister was fast asleep in bed right then, apparently “worn out from the stress of her pregnancy”.
Isobel shrugged. “If she doesn’t want to say anything, then none of us can force her.”
“Still, Mum – don’t you think all this secrecy about it is a little bit foolish, not to mention over the top? Fair enough if she doesn’t want to tell him, but why not tell us?”
“Well, it’s her own business, isn’t it? And anyway, who’s to say that telling the father will make things better? He could be an awful layabout for all we know.”
That was true, Tara thought, guilty of the fact she hadn’t before considered that Emma was being secretive about the father simply because she wanted nothing to do with him. But for some reason she didn’t think that was the case. Emma had given little sign of being troubled in this way, and Tara truly believed that all the secrecy was just her sister being her usual melodramatic self.
“Well, yes, of course it’s her own business, but by refusing to ask him for help, isn’t she making things hard on you and Dad too? It’s hardly fair that at thirty-one years of age she should be moving back home and expecting you to look after her.”
Isobel smiled. “Emma was always a home-bird,” she replied fondly.
Tara said nothing. Having got over the initial shock of Emma’s pregnancy, Isobel had now resumed normal service and was back to feeling sorry for – and needlessly indulging – her youngest daughter. Of course, Tara couldn’t blame Isobel for wanting to help Emma out in her hour of need, but still she felt annoyed at the girl for blatantly exploiting her mother’s generosity. Oh, well, she thought with a sigh, those two had always had a close relationship, and she knew Isobel would go to the ends of the earth just to keep Emma happy.
“I’m sure she has her reasons for keeping it a secret,” Isobel went on, “but, to be truthful, I’m wondering lately if she might have been in contact with him. She’s going out in the evenings a lot these days and doesn’t say where.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, she goes out for a couple of hours at a time, and then when she comes back she’s usually in much better form.”
“I wonder is it anyone from around here then?” Tara wondered out loud. They’d all assumed the father of Emma’s baby was some guy she’d been seeing in Dublin during her short stint living there. But perhaps not. Still, who could she possibly be seeing from around here?
“I don’t know,” Isobel replied, “but whoever he is, there’s no fear of her telling us anyway.”
With that, Emma appeared at the doorway, and Tara and Isobel looked at her guiltily, both wondering if she’d overheard them talking about her.
“Emma, pet!” Isobel cried, getting up. “Did you manage to get any sleep?”
Her daughter gave a deep sigh in reply. “Actually, I was just about to drop off when I heard Tara come in.”
This sounded innocent, but Tara knew her sister well enough to understand that there was a deliberate dig in there.
“Did you have a nice holiday?” Emma asked then, and again there was an edge to her tone.
Tara smiled, unwilling to let Emma’s theatrics get to her. “It was great, thanks. Sorry I haven’t been to see you before now. Work has been manic.”
“Oh, that’s OK – I’m sure you’ve got much more important things to be doing than worrying about me,” her sister replied mournfully.
“Sit down there and take the weight off your feet, pet,” Isobel urged, going over to the sink and filling the kettle. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
Tara marvelled at the way she fussed over Emma. Fair enough, she’d been sickly as a child, and this had always given Isobel reason to worry, but by the way her mother carried on, you’d swear Emma was still a helpless baby, not a fully grown adult!
It hurt too that her mother had never fallen over herself to do the same for Tara, but the Harrington family dynamic had always been the same, and at this stage in their lives it was hardly going to change. Especially not now, when Emma was in real “trouble”.
“I was just telling Tara all about Dave McNamara getting engaged,” Isobel said and, confused, Tara’s head snapped up. When Isobel flashed her a pointed stare she realised that their mother was trying to give Emma the impression that she and Tara had been partaking in a bit of local gossip rather than discussing her.
“Yes,” she replied after a beat, deciding to play along, despite the fact that this was the first she’d heard of the aforesaid Dave’s engagement. But perhaps this time her mother was right; Emma seemed in bad enough form as it was without thinking she was being talked about. “That’s a bit of a surprise, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” Emma replied sourly, evidently unimpressed by the news of the local councillor.
“He’s about the same age as you, isn’t he, Tara?” Isobel persisted as she stood waiting for the kettle to boil.
“Yes – we were in the same class at school.” Tara grinned. “It’s funny – he used to have a bit of a crush on me, actually.”
“He had a crush on everyone, Tara,” Emma said testily, angry spots of colour appearing on both cheeks.
“Right – I take it he tried it on with you too?” Tara replied laughingly, but inside she was a little miffed by Emma’s reaction to what had only been a jokey comment. Not unlike Isobel, her little sister seemed to really enjoy cutting Tara down to size. “Well, he hasn’t changed much over the years apparently.”
“Dave’s a nice lad, though,” their mother said. “He’s done great things for the village over the last while, so whoever she is – a Dublin girl, I’ve heard – I hope she makes him very happy.”
Again Emma rolled her eyes – Dave McNamara and his happiness were evidently the last things on her mind.
“So how have you been?” Tara asked cheerfully, changing the subject. “Morning sickness any better now?”
Emma looked at her as if she’d grown two heads. “Morning sickness?” she grumbled. “It lasts all bloody day!”
“There’s been no let-up at all, sure there hasn’t?” Isobel added, putting a mug of tea in front of her youngest daughter. “She’s been terribly misfortunate altogether with it. I never really suffered with that kind of thing at all when I was carrying ye, thank God.”
Hearing this, Tara quickly admonished herself for being so unfeeling about her sister’s plight; Emma was pregnant after all and must be finding it all hard going. Still, try as she might, she just couldn’t help but feel that Emma was keeping them all in the dark about the father of her baby for a very good reason. And if her sister had been messing around with someone she shouldn’t have been – namely a married or already attached man – then it was very difficult indeed to feel sorry for her.
Emma had always been the same at school – only interested in the boys who weren’t openly interested in her. Was it the challenge, the thrill of the chase? Tara couldn’t understand it. She knew that women like that existed, women whose only way of validating themselves was by proving their power over men – especially other women’s men – but she’d never been able to truly understand the psychology behind it and she hated to think that her sister might be one of them. What was the point?
Then again, she’d never been able to truly understand Emma anyway, the way her sister was so determined to feel continually hard done by a
nd so quick to play up to people in order to get out of anything she couldn’t be bothered doing. Like getting a job and earning enough money to put a roof over her own head instead of going back to her parents looking for handouts. Like taking responsibility for her own actions.
Then again, Tara thought, as she watched her mother fuss around her youngest daughter, why should Emma trouble herself about such things when the people around her were fully prepared to do all of them on her behalf?
Later that evening, having just about had enough of Emma and her “misfortune”, Tara went to visit Liz.
“You would have loved Natalie – she was an absolute scream,” Tara told her friend, as the two of them sat in Liz’s kitchen having coffee while Tara told her all about the holiday. “We had a such a laugh the day we went visiting the pyramids. And do you know, I’ve never known anyone to be so frank and open about what they really wanted in life. The girl is beautiful, successful, has this amazing, glamorous life and,” she told Liz enviously, “from what I’ve seen, a better wardrobe than Kate Moss, so she’s obviously loaded too. Yet all Natalie wants is to get married. Strange, isn’t it?”
Liz said nothing.
“To be honest, she reminded me a little bit of you in a way,” Tara went on. “You know, the way you were so excited about the prospect of marrying Eric and having a family of your own. It was all you wanted back then, wasn’t it?”
“Maybe the girl should be careful what she wishes for,” Liz said, her tone uncharacteristically sullen.
Tara looked at her, an amused expression on her face. “What? This coming from the happiest married woman I know?”
But her friend stayed silent, and just as quickly Tara’s amusement changed to a frown.
“Liz? What’s the matter?” she asked, setting down her coffee mug. “Has something happened?”
“I don’t know,” her friend replied.
For the first time, Tara noticed how drawn and anxious Liz looked today. She hadn’t really noticed anything untoward up to now but, come to think of it, she had been doing most of the talking for the last half hour or so, whereas Liz had just sat there quietly listening and saying little more than a brief “really?” and “that sounds nice”.
Tara sat forward in her chair. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I . . . I’m not sure. I could be just imagining it, but I think Eric might be . . . well, as I said, I’m not sure.”
“You think he might be what, Liz?”
Then Liz quietly told her about Eric’s seemingly strange behaviour and the longer and more unusual hours he lately seemed to be working.
“But what makes you automatically think he’s having an affair?” Tara asked, shocked by the admission. Liz never behaved like this before; she had always been one of the most rational people Tara had ever come across, and to see her worrying like this now was very disconcerting. Was there a chance that Eric was cheating on her?
“Tara, I don’t know how to explain it, and maybe it sounds silly to you, but I just know. Call it what you want, female intuition, whatever. He’s my husband, and lately he’s been acting very strangely, staying in Dublin for long periods of time – things like that. And then, when he is home, instead of spending time with us he goes out with Colm . . . and sometimes he even goes out in the evenings and doesn’t tell me where he’s going.”
At this something niggled in the back of Tara’s mind, but she was so surprised by Liz’s revelations that she couldn’t think of what. “But wasn’t that the plan? That he’d do all these extra hours so you could get the house finished?”
Liz shook her head. “Maybe it all sounds totally irrational to you, but you don’t know what’s been going on.”
“So tell me! Tell me what makes you think your husband, who I know adores you, is now cheating on you. Liz, it doesn’t make any sense.”
Liz’s expression closed over. “Fine – I’m sorry I said anything.”
“Oh, don’t be like that! I’m merely trying to get to the bottom of this, maybe try and give you a different perspective –”
“Tara, don’t use your pyschobabble on me,” Liz cried suddenly. “I’m not one of your clients!”
“No, but you are my friend, and I’m trying to help you.” This was very worrying. Liz and Eric were as solid as any couple Tara had ever known. “Look, maybe the move down here has taken its toll on Eric a bit more than it has on you. After all, he thought he’d find work of some sort here, didn’t he? It must be hard on him having to go back and forth to Dublin and leaving you and Toby so often, mustn’t it?”
“He doesn’t seem to have problems leaving us to go out with Colm,” Liz said petulantly.
“But he and Colm are friends, and you said before that it’s been difficult for you and Eric to get out together or find someone to look after Toby.” Then she had a thought. “Look, why don’t I ask my mum to pop over some night and keep an eye on Toby? Or, even better – I could ask Emma. She isn’t doing much these days, and it would do her good to get in some practice before –”
“No, thanks,” Liz said sharply, and Tara looked up, surprised by the vehemence in her tone. “Seriously,” she added, her voice softening a little, “I’m sure we’ll be fine. And you’re right – I probably am just imagining things.”
For a few minutes, the two of them sat quietly at the table, neither of them sure what to say. Shortly afterwards, the sound of the phone ringing broke through the silence and Liz stood up to answer it.
“Hi, Eric.” The cordless handset still held to her ear, she returned to the table and sat back down across from Tara. “Oh,” she replied then.
Tara looked up at the tone of her friend’s voice.
“I’m sorry to hear that, love.”
Well, Tara thought, whatever problems the two of them might be having, at least they were still on decent speaking terms. But by Liz’s concerned expression, it seemed that Eric was passing on some bad news. She stood up from the kitchen table and wandered into the living room, wanting to give her friend some privacy.
“I know that,” she heard Liz saying in the background, “but you and your mum will just have to go yourselves. Well, we can’t very well drag Toby along with us. It’s a long drive up to Belfast, and anyway, what about the dogs?” There was a brief pause. “Yes, I know that, but there’s not a whole lot I can do about that. I have Bruno coming again on Thursday, and there are another two booked in so . . . look, we’ll talk about it when you get home, OK? All right, love – I’ll have a dinner ready for you. See you then.”
“Trouble?” Tara enquired, coming back into the kitchen.
“Eric’s uncle just died,” Liz said sighing. “He was Maeve’s only brother, and he’s being buried on Saturday in Belfast, where the family’s from. Thing is, much as I want to go with Eric, I can’t just drop everything and go all the way up there for the removal on Friday evening – not with Toby and the dogs and –”
“I’ll do it,” Tara offered quickly.
“What? How can you?”
“Honestly, Liz, I’ll do it. Go with Eric on Friday – and stay for the full weekend if you like. It would give me an excuse to spend some time with my godson – I don’t see enough of him as it is, and every time I do he seems to have grown another foot or aged another year.” She smiled at Liz. “Honestly, it would be no trouble. I have a couple of appointments Friday morning, but I can arrange to do those and the ones I have in the afternoon over the phone from here – if that’s OK with you. And I don’t work weekends so –”
“You can do that? People won’t mind?”
“Not at all.” Well, no doubt some of them would mind having their sessions over the phone, Tara thought, but the prospect of a reduced fee would soon quieten them. And if her offering to baby-sit made things that bit easier for poor Liz, who seemed to be having a tough time at the moment, then it would be worth it.
“You’re sure? But what about the animals?”
“You let me worry about th
at. Looking after my favourite godson should be no bother, and walking and feeding a few dogs couldn’t be that difficult either.” OK, so she wasn’t the world’s greatest dog lover, but it couldn’t be that bad, could it?
“Tara, I really couldn’t ask you to do that,” Liz said.
“You’re not asking – I’m offering, actually I’m insisting. Go to Belfast with your husband for the funeral. I’m sure he’ll need you.”
“Well, I don’t know if he and his uncle were that close, but Maeve would obviously like us to go so . . .” Liz was finally coming round to the idea. “Now, are you sure you’ll be OK with Toby? He can be a bit of a handful, you know.”
“Me and Toby will be fine,” Tara insisted. “We’ll have a ball. And I’m well able to look after a few mangy dogs.”
Liz grimaced. “Please, don’t say that in front of their owners, or I won’t have a business when I get back!” she said, raising a smile for the first time that day. Then she shrugged. “But, if you’re sure.”
Satisfied that Tara really wanted to do this, Liz flicked through her kennels diary. “Like I thought, there are only three dogs and one cat booked in over the weekend, which isn’t too bad. One dog is already here, and the others are due in on Thursday evening. Obviously, I won’t take any more bookings in the meantime, and I’ll make sure I’m back early on Sunday evening, so you won’t have to deal with any of the owners.”
“Grand,” Tara replied briskly. “I’ll be down Friday morning and you can show me what needs to be done.”
“What about Glenn?” Liz enquired. “Won’t he mind?”
“Are you mad? Glenn will think he’s died and gone to heaven having the house to himself for a weekend. He’ll be able to watch Sky Sports morning noon and night! Although, now that I think of it, he’s working Saturday morning anyway, so I’m sure he won’t miss me.”
“I suppose,” Liz looked thoughtful. “Do you know, it will be really strange – I don’t think me and Eric have had a single night to ourselves since Toby was born. I know Maeve will be there of course, but still.”
