Always You (20 page)

Sarah sat down again, trying not to show her surprise. Cahal had been vague about his father’s criminal past but she was certain he’d told her the offences were minor, even though he didn’t know what they were. Serious could mean any number of things. Drugs. Violent assault or burglary. Terrorist activities. Murder even. She shuddered involuntarily and said, ‘Like what?’

Ian broke eye contact and looked to the left. ‘I don’t know the specifics.’

‘And how do you know this?’

He stared at her, his eyes narrowed slightly, and she couldn’t help but feel he was taking vindictive pleasure in telling her, ‘I overheard my dad talking to yours once.’

‘Well, maybe you … you misheard. Maybe he was talking about someone else.’

‘I know what I heard.’

Sarah looked away. That might explain why Dad and Vi disliked Cahal so much. Dad had no time for anyone caught on the wrong side of the law and he had little faith in the redemptive power of the penal system. Once a criminal, always a criminal. A funny attitude for an ex-police detective, when you thought about it.

‘It was years ago,’ went on Ian, ‘round about the time your dad found out about your fling with Cahal.’

She glared at him, hating the way he tried to belittle what she and Cahal had shared. ‘Well, the father’s sins aren’t the son’s. Cahal can’t be blamed for what his father did.’

He sighed. ‘You don’t know what you’re getting into, Sarah. You don’t know the damage and the hurt you will cause your family if you persist in seeing this man.’

Sarah laughed. The situation was so ridiculous – her ex-husband telling her who she could and could not date. ‘Well I’ve news for you, Ian. I’m a big girl and I think I’m old enough to make up my own mind.’

‘You should make sure you’re in possession of the full facts first.’

Anger rose inside Sarah. She’d let other people come between her and Cahal once before – she would not let it happen a second time. ‘Look, the facts are these. Dad and Aunt Vi don’t like Cahal because he’s working class and he’s a Catholic. If me seeing Cahal hurts them, it’s because of their own snobbery and prejudice.’

‘Please, Sarah,’ he said, his voice catching in his throat. ‘I’m asking you one last time. Please forget about Cahal Mulvenna and give us a chance.’

‘No. Don’t you understand, Ian? There is no
us
. You and me are over. Finished.’

A look of bewilderment crossed his face and then his features seemed to crumple in on themselves. She could not bear to look at him any longer. She stood up, took a step towards the door but was stopped in her tracks by a stifled sob. She turned. Ian’s head was bent over the table, one hand over his face.

Filled with compassion, she went over, stood behind him and laid her hand softly on his broad shoulder. ‘I’m sorry.’ She stood like that for some long seconds until he composed himself.

‘I think you’d better go, Sarah.’

‘Do you want me to take the children?’

‘No,’ he sniffed. He shook off her hand and stood up. And looking at a space to the right of her he said, ‘I’ll be all right. Go, Sarah. Please. Just go, would you?’

Sarah stood just inside the door of the pub blinking in the gloomy light. And then she saw him, sitting at a table for two, wearing a casual brown leather jacket over a grey T-shirt – the same understated style he’d always favoured. His jeans were blue and well-fitting, darker and smarter than the scruffy ones he used to wear as a student, and his tan had faded a little, making him look more like the old Cahal. They stared at each other, and though it could only have been for a few moments, it felt like forever to Sarah.

She went over and sat down opposite him.

‘Thanks for coming,’ he said.

Sandwiching her hands between her knees, she said, ‘I guess this is our first date then?’

‘It is. If you want it to be.’ One corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smile and his blue-green eyes twinkled mischievously.

She stared into his eyes and grinned. ‘Remember what I said. One step at a time.’

‘Yes. And this is the first step, isn’t it?’

‘I guess so,’ she said and, tearing her gaze away, added, ‘So, are you all packed?’

‘Yep. I’m on the red eye to London first thing. Then on to Melbourne.’

‘It’ll be odd knowing you’re on the other side of the world. Getting up when I’m going to bed.’

‘It’s only for a fortnight. I’ll be back soon.’ He cleared his throat. ‘What would you like to drink?’

‘White wine please.’

He got up and went to the bar, the leather jacket, soft and buttery, skimming his slim hips. She wondered what had happened to his old jacket. She used to drape it over her shoulders sitting up in bed after sex, loving the way it smelt so strongly of him … She ran her hands through her hair and pushed the image out of her mind.

He came back to the table with a glass of wine for her and a Guinness for himself.

‘You might have stopped smoking but I see your tastes in beer haven’t changed,’ she observed, with a nod at the stout.

‘Yours have,’ he said sitting down. ‘You used to hate wine. Your favourite drink was Babycham.’

She laughed. ‘That’s right. I don’t know what possessed me. I couldn’t drink it now. Too sweet and sickly.’

He picked up the glass and admired the thick, creamy head on the stout, ‘Guess who I bumped into the other day in Belfast?’

‘Hmm?’ she said before taking a mouthful of wine.

He wiped froth from his upper lip. ‘Anthony from uni.’

The shock nearly made her spit the mouthful of wine over him. She gulped it down, her throat feeling as if it had all but closed over. The drink settled halfway down her chest, burning a hole. ‘Who?’ she squeaked.

‘You remember Anthony, don’t you? I hung out with him a bit.’

She shook her head.

‘You don’t remember him? Blond curly hair, big nose.’

She shook her head dumbly, hoping that the dim lighting hid her reddening cheeks. What a stroke of bad luck for Cahal and Tony to bump into each other.

‘That’s odd. I could’ve sworn I introduced you.’

‘You might have,’ she said and shook her head. ‘But I don’t remember. It was a long time ago.’

He shrugged. ‘That explains why you didn’t mention that he was dating your sister, Becky.’

She tried to smile but it felt like stretching elastic, so she feigned surprise by placing a hand on her heart and opening her eyes wide. ‘I didn’t make the connection.’

‘What a coincidence.’

With the moment of danger past, she smiled with relief.

Oblivious to her discomfort, he went on, ‘He seems very keen on her. Told me they’d moved in together.’

Sarah tried to look indifferent. ‘That’s right.’

‘He was some boy at uni,’ Cahal chuckled in admiration. He supped some beer and wiped the creamy froth from his upper lip with the back of his hand. ‘Quite the ladies’ man.’

Sarah took a drink to hide her agony. ‘What do you mean?’

‘We used to joke that he could talk his way into any woman’s bed. He’s been married twice too.’

‘I know.’ Sarah gulped down another mouthful of wine and he said, ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Sarah. That was insensitive of me. I got the impression he was really serious about Becky. You know what it’s like when you really fall for someone? Well, that’s how he seemed to me. Lovestruck. I’m sure she’s the one to finally make him settle down for good.’

‘Becky’s really fallen for him.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said again and reached out and touched her hand. Under his hot fingers, her skin tingled. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’

She smiled thinly. ‘It’s okay. Really.’ There was an awkward pause and she said, ‘I’ve been thinking.’

He removed his hand. ‘What about?’

‘Something Ian said to me the other day about your dad.’

He leaned back in the chair and laced his hands across his flat stomach. His eyes narrowed. ‘How come Ian got talking to you about my father?’

She twirled the glass of wine between her fingers. ‘I’ll tell you about that in a minute. But what I was thinking was … you know the way my dad and Aunt Vi were so set against you?’

‘How could I forget?’

She inclined her head. ‘Well, the thought occurred to me that it might have something to do with your father’s prison record. Maybe him and my dad had a run in?’

Cahal folded his arms and shrugged. ‘Maybe. But my dad was in prison nearly half a century ago. You wouldn’t imagine your father’d hold a grudge all this time.’

‘You don’t know him,’ said Sarah. ‘What exactly was your father convicted of?’

‘Drunken assault, I think – he liked to drink back then; he was an angry man. Still is. And I think he got done for theft too. Nothing serious, just stupid.’ He laughed, revealing strong white teeth and a pink mouth. ‘He stole a bunch of TVs once. And another time he stole a delivery of tiles off a building site and was caught trying to flog them. What he didn’t know was that they were a special one-off import from Holland. No one else in Northern Ireland was importing them at the time. Stupid bugger.’

Sarah smiled faintly. None of this sounded desperately serious. ‘Nothing paramilitary, then?’

‘God, no. The only cause my dad’s interested in is his own.’

‘You’ve never been arrested for anything, have you?’

He laughed at this. ‘Not so much as a parking ticket. Maybe they don’t like me because I’m a Catholic. Was a Catholic, I should say. I haven’t been inside a chapel in twenty years.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s not that. Ian said something about hurting my family by seeing you.’

He said bitterly, ‘Well, maybe it’s just a case of good old-fashioned snobbery, me being from working-class stock and having a jailbird for a father.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Sarah, looking at her hands. And yet she couldn’t help but think that there was more to it than that …

Cahal took a long sip of stout. ‘So, was Ian trying to talk you out of seeing me too?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. He wants us to get back together.’

His face paled. ‘And do you … is there a possibility …’

‘Oh, God, no,’ she said quickly, keen to dispel any misunderstanding on this count. ‘He just won’t accept that I don’t, and never will, love him.’ She took a sip of wine and, emboldened by it, looked Cahal straight in the eye.

‘But you must have once,’ he said softly, his words cutting through her like a knife. ‘You married him. You had his children.’

She closed her eyes in shame. She wanted to tell him the truth, but how could she when it reflected so badly on herself? And yet she had to make him understand. She opened her eyes and stared at a black-and-white print on the wall. ‘I never loved him, not properly. I cared deeply for him and I believed that was enough. I thought that I could make a successful marriage out of respect and fondness. I’m talking only of my feelings, of course.’ She braved a glance at him. He was nodding slowly, his eyes narrowed in concentration. ‘Ian loved me. He still does. And to be honest, I don’t know why.’

‘I do,’ he said and blushed.

She blushed too, momentarily lost for words, then gave him a sad smile. ‘I don’t deserve his love. I shouldn’t have married him. My reasons for doing so were selfish. I wanted a family and I feared being alone. I couldn’t return his love and I’m ashamed to admit that I made him miserable. And that was what destroyed the marriage in the end.’

He sighed gently and held out his hand across the table. Hesitantly, she reached over and he clasped her hand in both of his. Tenderly, he stroked the thin pale skin on her knuckles with a swarthy thumb. ‘We all make mistakes, Sarah. I think you’re being too hard on yourself.’

‘Thanks for saying that.’ She paused and stared at the back of his hand. The rhythmic movement of his thumb sent shivers down her spine. ‘I’m going to miss you when you’re in Australia, Cahal.’

‘I know.’

She raised her eyes to his. His pupils had expanded into deep, dark pools. The roof of her mouth went dry.

He squeezed her hand, sending shivers down her legs. ‘I’ll be counting the hours till I come back to you, Sarah.’ He leaned across the table till their faces were just inches apart. His warm, yeasty breath brushed her face. ‘Every single one of them.’

Cahal pulled up outside the Edwardian timber house, partially hidden behind a cream stucco wall. It was autumn in Melbourne and the yellow fig leaves from the tree in the garden littered the pavement. Temperatures had plummeted in recent days and everyone complained of the cold, though back in Ireland where the weather he’d left behind was similar, the locals, declaring it summer, were running around half-dressed.

Compared to its bigger, moneyed neighbours, the house was modest but it was quaint too, pretty even, and Cahal was proud that he’d been able to provide his family with a home in one of Melbourne’s most sought-after districts. But it wasn’t his home now. It was Adele and Brady’s. He tried not to resent it. He wished he could talk to Sarah. He pulled out his phone and looked at the time. She would be asleep now, waking soon to a new day.

He put the phone away, grabbed the brightly wrapped parcel and plastic carrier bag on the passenger seat and got out of the car.

‘Dad! Dad!’ called a child’s voice, pulling at his heartstrings. Harry, tall and skinny in his school uniform, came barrelling towards Cahal and threw himself at him. Cahal embraced the child, only just managing to hold on to the parcel and the bag. Then he set them down on the pavement and ran his hands across the boy’s bony nine-year-old shoulders and down his slender arms, feeling the shape and size of him as a blind man might.

‘I missed you, son,’ he said, tears welling up in his yes. He had not realised how much till now.

The boy sighed as if he’d been holding it in for a very long time. He threw his arms around Cahal’s waist. ‘I missed you too, Dad. I wish you would come home.’

The knife in his stomach turned. ‘I will, son. Just as soon as this job’s finished, I’ll come home for good.’

Harry dragged Cahal by the hand into the large open plan kitchen and family room at the back of the house. As soon as he saw his father, seven-year-old Tom bounded over and jumped into Cahal’s arms, clasping his hands around his father’s neck and his legs round his waist. ‘Daddy! Daddy!’ he squealed, throwing his head back and giggling. Cahal held him tight and kissed his soft cheeks over and over until he wriggled to be free.

And when he released him, there was Jed, standing with his hands in his pockets and sticky gel, a new development, on his dark hair. A gangly boy with too-big feet, and hands and arms beginning to muscle. A pang of regret pierced Cahal’s heart. The door on Jed’s childhood was slowly closing. Soon he would care more what his peers thought than his old man. And the siren call of women wouldn’t be far behind.

‘Happy Birthday, son,’ he said, pulling Jed to him fiercely and kissing the top of his head. Jed’s hands stayed in the pockets of his trousers but the boy leaned towards him, a subtle, yearning gesture that ripped at Cahal’s heart. ‘I missed you, Dad,’ he said, his voice oscillating between the high pitch of his younger siblings and the deep tones of manhood.

‘Hey you, want to stay for dinner?’ It was Adele, standing barefoot by the cooker stirring something in a pot, her bare arms nut brown from the sun, her long dark hair loose in natural ringlets. She came over to him and they kissed each other on the cheek, friendly-like, if a little stiffly.

They’d met at an art exhibition fourteen years ago. He’d only gone because the company he worked for was a sponsor – and it was marginally better than sitting alone in his empty penthouse overlooking the Yarra River. He was no connoisseur of modern art, but her pictures, great canvases streaked with bold splashes of colour, had intrigued him. And so had she with her strong opinions, straight talking and exotic heritage – she was one-eighth aboriginal.

‘Thanks Adele. I’d like that.’

Over on the sofa he handed out Irish rugby shirts, bags of Yellow Man and Tayto cheese and onion crisps, from Tangradee in County Down. Adele wandered over to watch and he said, ‘I got something for you too, Adele.’ He held out a large stiff envelope. A peace offering.

‘Me?’ she said, sounding surprised.

He nodded and she took the envelope. From now on, he thought to himself, he would make a real effort with her – and Brady. And he would stop resenting her. After they met at the art exhibition, it had all gone too fast. They’d dated, moved in together and she fell pregnant all within the space of six months. He’d done the right thing and, in doing so, condemned himself to a life with a woman he did not love wholly and fully.

She examined the little watercolour inside the envelope, a soft-hued scene of Carnlough Bay. ‘A friend, Sarah, suggested it. It’s by a local Ballyfergus artist.’

Adele smiled and said, ‘Thanks. It’s lovely.’

He sat with the boys while they tried on their rugby shirts and experimented with the crisps and toffee. Adele went over to the cooker and, after a while, he got up and followed her. ‘I know it’s been tough with my being away and you not getting a break from the kids.’

She shrugged, stuck a spoon in the pot and tasted the contents. ‘Brady’s pretty good with the boys. He helps out.’

Cahal swallowed the lump in his throat. ‘Well, I don’t take it for granted. I want you to know that.’