The Better Woman

by Ber Carroll

  I have to make something of myself. I can’t have come through the last year – the last seven years – to be nothing.

  Sarah: Moving Up

  Chapter 16

  Summer 1989

  Sarah’s class scattered around the world that summer: Emma and Fiona to Australia, Tim back to New York, and some of the others to Europe. Sarah promised herself that next year she would go away too. She’d work out some arrangement with Brendan and Mary and head off to America. It was a full year away, but she was adamant that the last summer of her college years would not be spent behind the shop counter.

  Nuala began dating a garda by the name of Colin. Colin’s conversation skills were very basic and he had no compensating strengths that Sarah could see. He was tall and broad, his face dour and his movements slow. It was hard to imagine him running after a thief, or doing anything else that required a degree of agility.

  Late one evening, as the sun smeared the sky with a bright orange sunset, Sarah went outside to put up the CLOSED sign at the entrance to the yard. She was dragging the sign across when a car pulled in. She pointed to the sign and mouthed, ‘Sorry.’ However, the driver continued on and drew up alongside her.

  ‘Hi,’ he said through the open window.

  ‘Hello,’ she replied. ‘I’ve just closed. The pumps are switched off.’

  ‘Okay.’ He made no move to drive away. ‘You don’t remember me, do you, Sarah?’

  Taken aback that he knew her name, she looked at him more closely. There was something familiar about his lazy brown eyes.

  ‘You’re the runner from the Mardyke?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I didn’t recognise you without the hat,’ she mumbled, taking in the scraggy brown hair flopping over his eyes. ‘Sorry, I don’t remember your name.’

  ‘Kieran Murphy,’ he said, extending his hand through the window.

  She shook it, awkwardly hanging onto the heavy sign with her other arm.

  ‘I haven’t seen you at the track for a while,’ he commented.

  ‘During the holidays I do more cross-country than track,’ she explained.

  His mouth lifted in a smile that made Sarah feel funny inside. ‘Ah! A country girl through and through.’

  She didn’t answer, couldn’t think of anything to say. Her face began to grow inexplicably hot.

  ‘Maybe we could run together sometime,’ he suggested.

  ‘Maybe . . .’ she shrugged in a poor attempt at nonchalance.

  ‘I’ll be at the track on Saturday morning from nine. Bye, Sarah.’

  He drove off before she had the chance to tell him that she had to work on Saturday. Her face still hot, she dragged the sign the remaining distance. Once in place, she stared unseeingly at the large black letters.

  Something about Kieran Murphy unsettled her. Gave her butterflies.

  Don’t be stupid, she admonished herself before turning to go back inside. You don’t even know him.

  On Saturday morning Sarah parked her Fiesta outside the Mardyke complex. The clock on the dash flashed the time as nine-fifteen.

  Why am I here? she asked herself.

  Because I want to run, was the only answer she would believe.

  She got out of the car before she could chicken out.

  There were a few runners jogging around the track. Her eyes glanced at them one by one.

  He’s not here.

  Deeply disappointed, and feeling very foolish, she togged off to her running shorts and began her stretches.

  ‘You’re late,’ said a voice from behind.

  Her heart somersaulted. ‘You said you’d be here from nine,’ she pointed out and continued with her stretches.

  ‘Fair enough,’ he replied, amusement sounding in his voice. ‘Are you ready?’

  She nodded.

  He adjusted the peak of his cap and for a moment his sexy eyes were looking straight at her. She got that funny feeling again.

  Side by side, they jogged onto the red clay. They didn’t talk for the first few minutes. Sarah concentrated on her breathing.

  ‘Okay?’ he asked eventually, shooting a glance her way.

  ‘Yeah,’ she nodded. ‘I suspect that I’m not in your league, though. You come here practically every day, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah. You could too.’

  ‘I’d like to, but I’ve too much on with work.’

  ‘Ah!’ He looked sympathetic. ‘Your boss is working you to the bone?’

  Because there was no point in keeping it a secret, she admitted, ‘Actually, I am the boss. I own the petrol station – and the shop.’

  He looked across at her, his lips twitching in a disbelieving smile. ‘You’re joking, right?’

  ‘My grandmother left it to me,’ she shrugged. ‘But don’t get too excited – I’m not that rich.’

  He chuckled. Laugh lines grooved his face and creased the corners of his eyes. Sarah noted that Kieran Murphy had a good sense of humour, as well as those very sexy eyes.

  ‘You’re seeing him tonight?’ Nuala asked, agog with all that Sarah had told her.

  Sarah couldn’t suppress her smile. ‘Yep. In the Star.’

  ‘You seem really keen on him.’ Nuala’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘You fancy him, don’t you?’

  Nuala’s mother, with practised bad timing, bustled into the kitchen.

  ‘Oh hello, Sarah. I didn’t know you were here, love. Have you had a cup of tea?’ Her beady eyes assessed the situation and established that no tea had been offered to the guest. ‘Nuala! Where are your manners?’

  ‘It’s all right –’ Sarah started to say but Mrs Kelly was already filling the kettle.

  ‘She has her head up in the clouds, that one,’ she declared with a nod in Nuala’s direction. ‘She can’t remember the time of day since she started going out with himself.’

  It seemed that Colin was already well known to Nuala’s family. Sarah wondered what they thought of him. Did they think he was as dull as dishwater too? That Nuala’s vivacity was wasted on him?

  Mrs Kelly flicked the switch and the kettle hummed to life. Then she reached up to the highest shelf of the pantry and took down a tin of biscuits.

  ‘Oh, lucky you, Sarah!’ Nuala exclaimed. ‘The chocolate biscuits are making a rare appearance.’

  When the tea was made, Mrs Kelly bustled away to do some chores upstairs.

  Nuala, her mother safely out of earshot, repeated her question of earlier.

  ‘Well, do you fancy him?’

  ‘Kieran?’ asked Sarah, drawing her out.

  ‘No, Bishop Casey,’ she shot back.

  They laughed and then Sarah came clean.

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I do fancy him.’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Nuala, taking one of the coveted chocolate biscuits from the tin. ‘I was beginning to think there’d be no one but John for you.’

  The Star was a casual pub and Kieran didn’t seem the kind to get too dressed up. Sarah tried on a number of outfits before settling on a scooped black top and a pair of jeans. Her make-up was subtle but for a heavy coat of mascara.

  Nuala, on her way to see Colin, gave her a lift to the city.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to meet up with me and Colin later on?’ she asked.

  Sarah shook her head.

  ‘I’ll give you a ring tomorrow,’ she promised as she got out of the car.

  The Star seemed a shell of its former self. With all the students on holiday, the summer patrons were a mismatch of young and old, grungy and smart.

  She saw Kieran sitting at the bar, wearing a well-washed dark T-shirt and drinking from a pint glass of Guinness.

  ‘Hi,’ he smiled.

  ‘Hi,’ she echoed, sitting on the stool next to him.

  ‘Your hair is nice down.’

  To her horror, a blush started to spread on her face. ‘Thanks. I always wear it up when I’m running.’

  ‘What would you like to drink?’

&nb
sp; ‘White wine, please.’

  He added another pint of Guinness to the order and there was a small silence as they waited for the drinks.

  Sarah’s wine was a cheap chardonnay but it helped steady her nerves. Everything about Kieran Murphy set her on edge: his lazy yet assessing eyes, the untamed hair, the toned body beneath the baggy T-shirt. She was intrigued by the contradictions in him. His laid-back attitude seemed at odds with the discipline that spurred him at the running track. His appearance on first glance was scruffy, but on closer inspection the T-shirt and frayed jeans were Levi’s.

  ‘Do you live around here?’ she asked in an attempt to get to know him better.

  ‘I have a bedsit up in College Road,’ he replied. ‘I’m originally from Clonmel.’

  Most students went home or abroad for the summer. Why did Kieran Murphy stick around, Sarah wondered.

  ‘I have a summer job with an engineering company in town,’ he said, anticipating her question. ‘My parents own a butchers in Clonmel. The lifestyle isn’t me, I’m much better off spending the holidays here, getting work experience, living close to the track . . .’

  A folk singer set up in one of the corners with his guitar and started to sing some traditional ballads. Sarah drank back her wine and ordered another round of drinks. She and Kieran listened to the familiar lyrics as they sat on the rickety stools. They spoke mostly through glances and smiles.

  Hours flew by, swallowed by a haze of moving music and strong attraction. The singer packed up his guitar and the proprietor called for the patrons to finish up their drinks. Sarah’s heart thumped in her chest. What now?

  ‘What would you like to do?’ Kieran asked, reading her thoughts.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she hedged. ‘What would you like to do?’

  ‘There are two options that I can see,’ he said, his voice soft. ‘We can go on to a club – or we can go to my place.’

  There was no mistaking the message in his eyes. Sarah knew well what would happen at his place. Was she ready for it?

  ‘Option two,’ she replied, her voice just as soft.

  I won’t sleep with him, she promised herself as she slid down off the stool. I just want to kiss him.

  Kieran asked the proprietor if he could buy a bottle of wine over the counter.

  ‘Trying to get me drunk?’ Sarah asked.

  His response was serious. ‘Not if you end up regretting anything.’

  His hand closed over hers and they strolled uphill to College Road. Having seen many students’ digs over the years, Sarah prepared herself for the worst.

  ‘This is nice,’ she said in surprise when she saw the bedsit. Tucked away in the attic of a two-storey house, it had an unexpected charm. With three skylights set into the sloping roof, a clean galley-style kitchen and a double bed, it was way above the usual student accommodation.

  Sarah sat down on the floppy sofa and Kieran handed her a tumbler of wine.

  ‘Sorry I haven’t got a proper wine glass – all of my guests to date have been beer drinkers.’

  Sarah wondered how many of those guests had been girls who’d chosen the option of his bedsit over a nightclub. Like her.

  He sat down, his thigh touching hers. His arm reached across her shoulders. He swigged his beer. She sipped her wine. A few minutes, charged with anticipation, passed.

  Finally, he leaned across. His lips had a sexy Guinness taste. He stopped, removed the tumbler from her hand, and gathered her close. Jolts of attraction shuddered through her body as he kissed her again. She felt his hand slide inside her low-cut top and cup her breast. His thumb ran across the nipple. His movements were smooth, clearly a combination of practice and natural instinct. His mouth dropped casually from hers. She felt soft feathery kisses on her neck. Her chest. Her breasts.

  ‘Stop,’ she snapped, her voice sounding sharp, panicked.

  He moved away, and she put her bra and top back into place.

  ‘It’s only our first date,’ she said, feeling awkward, unworldly.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said, seemingly unperturbed. ‘Whatever pace you want is fine with me.’

  To prove his point, he picked her tumbler up from the floor and put it back in her hand.

  *

  A few weeks later Sarah acquiesced to Kieran’s charms and had sex with him. All her worries, that it would hurt after the abortion, that it’d never be as good as it had been with John, that she didn’t deserve to be happy, dissipated between the silky sheets of his double bed. She rediscovered passion. Rediscovered closeness. Rediscovered love.

  They were very different to each other. She was intense: she worried about her studies, the shop, practically everything. Kieran was relaxed, and so hard to ruffle that she sometimes had the urge to shake him. But their differences were complementary and they generally brought out the best in each other.

  They did have one major thing in common: their mutual love of running. They went to the track four or five times a week. They spurred each other on, empathised over their respective aches and pains, and applauded their individual achievements.

  Gradually Sarah started to spend a few nights a week in Kieran’s bedsit and he began to help out with the shop.

  ‘If you’re going to work here, then I should pay you,’ Sarah said to him more than once.

  ‘I don’t want money,’ he insisted. ‘I enjoy it. I get to see more of you and some of the locals are a ticket.’

  He chatted away to the customers as if he had lived in Carrickmore all his life. He managed to charm even the most cantankerous of them. Like Mr Glavin.

  ‘There’s a small tear on that box so I’ll take twenty pence off the price for ya, Paddy,’ he said.

  From the look on the old man’s face, it was as if he had got the cigarettes for free.

  Mrs Burke, Peggy’s old friend, also approved.

  ‘That young man of yours could talk the leg off the table,’ she remarked. ‘And he’s very handsome . . . in a scallywag kind of way.’

  Nuala was wary of Kieran, though. For a start his scruffy appearance was in direct contrast to Colin’s fastidiousness.

  ‘He’d look a lot nicer if he cut his hair.’

  ‘I like his hair just the way it is.’

  Nuala’s next remark was a little harder to brush off.

  ‘Do you worry about . . .’ Her friend paused. ‘Do you worry about him staying faithful?’

  Sarah followed her gaze to the other end of the room where two attractive girls were hanging on to Kieran’s every word. She didn’t know whether it was his muscled body, his sensual smile or simply an urge to comb the ruffled hair, but girls buzzed around him like bees to a honey pot.

  Kieran caught her eye. He smiled slowly, sexily, making it obvious to all that she was his girl.

  Nuala saw the exchange and backed off. ‘Sorry. I’m in a catty mood tonight. You two make a lovely couple. Really.’

  Sarah continued to stare across at Kieran. Then she spoke from her heart, something she rarely did, even with her best friend.

  ‘For the first time in a long while, I feel anchored. I matter. And it’s largely because of him, Nuala. He makes me happy. It’s that simple.’

  Chapter 17

  Summer 1990

  If Kieran makes me happy, then why am I leaving him?

  Sarah stared out the window. Her first time on a plane, she should have been awestruck by the bulbous clouds skimming beneath the aircraft.

  Because I promised myself this. One summer away.

  Her final year at UCC was finished. It seemed like the perfect time to see some of the world. Leaving Kieran was the only downside. Usually so sunny and upbeat, he had become withdrawn as the date for her departure drew closer.

  ‘Remind me again why you feel you have to go?’

  Lying naked on his double bed, four days before she was due to leave, Sarah struggled to remember her reasons.

  ‘Because I was always left behind. Not just at college, but all through school too. I’v
e never had a holiday – not ever.’

  There was a secondary reason, though, one that Sarah wasn’t revealing. She wanted to test how strong she was, how confident, without Kieran. She wanted to test whether the depression had really gone, or if it was just waiting in the wings. It was a controlled test: she was doing the leaving, not someone else.

  Kieran, lying on his back, rested one arm behind his head and stared at the sloping ceiling. If Sarah looked hard enough she could see patterns in the cracked white paint. She often gazed at the rivulets on the ceiling after she and Kieran made love, until she fell asleep. Now she waited for him to say what he was thinking.

  ‘Three months is a long time, babe.’

  Too long for you to wait? Is that what you’re thinking?

  ‘Remind me why you won’t come with me,’ she said, sounding flippant but not feeling it.

  ‘You know why,’ he all but snapped. ‘You know well how hard it is to get a full-time job. So don’t make me feel like I’m doing the wrong thing.’

  Kieran’s summer work had paid off with a permanent job offer on the completion of his degree. Tempted as he was by the idea of jetting away to New York, he was practical enough to see that turning down the job could have a negative long-term impact on his career. With graduates forming a growing part of the unemployment statistics, there was a real chance that he’d return to join the dole queues. Anyway, he didn’t have a green card. Sarah did. Along with practically every other student in the country, she had applied for one. A lottery system, which didn’t care for Kieran or her responsibilities with the shop, had selected her as a winner.

  Sarah rolled on top of him, her face grazing his, her breasts hanging, waiting for his touch.

  ‘Let’s not spend these last few days together fighting,’ she whispered.

  His hands pulled her head closer and he devoured her mouth in an angry kiss.

  For the rest of their time together, any discussion about New York ended in sharp words and those angry kisses.

  The biggest surprise about JFK Airport was that it wasn’t shiny new. It looked like an old train station. It felt grim.

  Sarah walked along littered floors towards customs. There, a large mean-looking African-American scrutinised her passport and ticket.