It Was Only Ever You (32 page)

‘I need to talk to you, Ava,’ she said, plonking herself down beside her. She stayed quiet for a few seconds, with her eyes lowered, wringing her hands. Ava realized she was not here for her, after all, but had some problem of her own she wanted to share. She felt the bite of resentful disappointment. Then Myrtle looked straight into her eyes and grabbed her hands.

‘I don’t know how to tell you this, I have been going over and over it wondering if there is a way I can not tell you – but you’re my oldest friend and you have to know the truth. And I am the only one that can tell you...’

Ava felt a knot tighten in her stomach. She did not know if it was fear of what Myrtle was about to tell her or the baby-wind cramps she had been experiencing all day. The threat of a pain was so intense, she felt as if her head was in a guillotine waiting for the blade to drop.

‘...but yesterday when I was... Oh, hell – I’ll just come out with it – I saw Patrick making love with Rose.’

What happened next was so shocking that Myrtle and the ladies would not be the better of it for years to come.

Demure, stoic Ava threw her head back and let out a scream so bloodcurdling and terrible that it reverberated through the sacristy and up the centre of the silent church like an invasion of demons.

At the same time, a gush of blood came pouring out of her, running down her legs, and spreading in a violent, crimson puddle on the linoleum floor. As Ava slumped forward in a faint, her shocked friend caught her body, shouting, ‘Quick! Somebody call an ambulance.’

*

When Ava woke up she was in a hospital bed. Myrtle was holding her hand, looking both concerned and frightened. Ava remembered the reason she was here like a bludgeon across her head.

‘The baby?’ she managed to say, although she knew the answer. Myrtle shook her head. There were tears streaming down her face. Ava, despite her situation, felt she should comfort her.

‘This is my fault,’ Myrtle said. ‘I should never have told you.’

‘It would have happened anyway,’ Ava said. ‘I had been having pains all morning.’

She should have gone to the doctor. They might have saved the baby. This was her fault. The business with Patrick and Rose, she did not want to think about that now. She couldn’t. It was too painful.

‘I called your parents,’ Myrtle said, ‘they are on their way. Do you want me to call...’

Myrtle couldn’t even say his name out loud.

Ava shook her head, then closed her eyes tightly and let her bitter tears burst out of the corners. As her old friend held her hand, Ava sobbed quietly into her growing grief and waited for her parents to arrive to take her home.

‘O
H
DEAR
, oh dear – this really is the most unholy mess,’ Father Moran lamented. And he wasn’t simply referring to the bloodstains on his new linoleum floor.

Breda, one of the more eagle-eared ladies, had been arranging a plate of flapjacks behind where Ava was resting and had heard her friend tell her about her husband’s indiscretion just before the miscarriage took place.

A rather zealous old-school Catholic, the lady believed it some form of divine intervention.

‘The Lord works in mysterious ways,’ she said to her priest, sagely.

‘He certainly does,’ said Father Moran. Although his withering look implied he wondered how the Lord expected him to tolerate such superstitious nonsense from some of his less erudite parishioners.

The poor girl. He wondered if there was anything he could do for her.

‘That Patrick Murphy,’ he heard one of the women say. ‘Carrying on with some girl from home right under her nose. And out there on the stage at the Emerald every week as if butter wouldn’t melt.’

Something began whirring in the old priest’s memory.

‘What’s the girl’s name?’ Father Moran asked, before catching himself engaging in idle gossip.

‘Rose,’ Breda said, delighted to not have to pretend she had not been listening closely. ‘She definitely said, “Patrick and Rose” – then the dreadful thing happened. The blood! The screaming! Goodness me but I shall never forget it! The Lord works in mysterious...’

There it was now. The full story. That wicked girl that he had picked up in Harlem had deliberately come over here to take away lovely Ava Brogan’s husband. The lad himself was hardly to blame. Sure, what could he do about it? Once a siren like that set her sights on an ordinary man, he would not be able to help himself. Ordinary men were different from the likes of himself who were destined for a higher order of behaviour. Even so, Father Moran had seen many a cleric fall prey to the seductions of a wicked girl. It was important for all men to be vigilant. The girl might have been forgiven if she had simply been seduced. But she had obviously come here on a premeditated mission. Father Moran felt somewhat guilty that he had not made the connection before now. He might have stopped this from happening if he had done so. It was hard to think now what to do for the best. In any case, he should give Tom Brogan a call and see if there was anything he could do to help the family.

*

Kissing Rose last night had been a mistake. He had not meant for it to happen, but while he was singing, Patrick had found himself overcome with emotion. He got caught up in the words of his song as if they were really true. And it wasn’t hard, because they had been true, once. He remembered how he had felt when he first wrote them, the desolate unhappiness he had felt leaving his true love behind. ‘Feel the words’ Sheila had said, and that was what he did. So, when he saw Rose standing in front of him, weeping with love for him, he understood for the first time the heartbreak he had caused her. In singing the words ‘it was only ever you’ he was genuinely pleading for her forgiveness and understanding. Coupled with this sadness was the elation that he knew he was singing better, and truer than he ever had done in his life before. When he walked across the room to kiss Rose he was in a trance of his own making. It was as if his own heart had drugged him. While they were kissing, he was carried back to the fields of Foxford and it was as if there was no one else in the room. No one else in the world. It felt as if they had never been parted. It felt so natural that it could not be wrong.

‘Do you really think this is a good idea, Patrick?’

Sheila had sneaked across the room and asked the question right into his ear with mocking pragmatism. It was over. The spell was broken.

He quickly broke away and went to the bar. When Rose tried to get him on his own again later that evening in the club, he avoided her.

Patrick was angry with himself for having given in to his old feelings. What had he done? What had he been thinking? Not only was he married to Ava, but he was not in love with Rose. Not any more. Over the past few weeks Rose had been making his life hell. Following him around at work, constantly trying to get him alone so she could persuade him to come back to her. He had held firm, but now, it seemed he had ruined everything in that stupid moment of weakness. Patrick had allowed himself to get carried back to who he once was, who they once were together. He was not that boy any more. He was a married man, soon-to-be father and a successful singer. Once enough money started coming through he would send what he owed back to Rose’s father and ask him to come and take her back to Ireland so she would stop causing trouble for other people.

Patrick left the Emerald early to go home and get changed before the evening shift. They had been rehearsing ‘It Was Only Ever You’ all day and Sheila had given him the evening off. ‘I don’t need you until about ten tonight, Patrick. We’ll just warm up your voice with a couple of numbers, and put the new single out to the audience. But I don’t want you to overdo it. I want you on top form from now until we break you out.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said. She gave a swipe to tell him not to be cheeky. Sometimes Patrick wished he could just tell Sheila what was going on with him. She was, in her own way, kind and he did feel that, singing aside, she cared about him. But he knew Sheila didn’t like hassle, and right now, that’s what his whole life felt like.

As he opened the door of the flat Patrick concentrated on how much he had been looking forward to seeing Ava all day. She would be back from her church work by now and they would have a couple of precious hours alone together.

But when he opened the door and walked into the bedroom, where he thought he heard her, Myrtle was in there. She had one of Ava’s suitcases on the bed and was filling it with clothes.

‘What’s going on?’ Patrick asked.

Myrtle didn’t even look up at him but continued folding and throwing clothes into the suitcase in a rather violent, pointed way.

‘What does it look like? I am packing a bag for Ava.’

‘What’s the matter? Where is she?’

Myrtle stopped and looked at him. For a second he saw the terrible look of pity cross her face. Then, seeming to think better of it, she bared her teeth at him and said, ‘What the hell do you care? Philandering bastard.’

That could only mean one thing. She’d seen them. She’d seen him kissing Rose.

‘I can explain—’

Myrtle shook her head and carried on with the packing.

Maybe she hadn’t told Ava yet?

‘Myrtle, please. It was a terrible one-off mistake. I’ve been under a lot of pressure – Ava would be heartbroken...’

‘Huh!’ she exclaimed in a sharp huff. ‘She’s a lot more than heartbroken, Patrick,
she
is broken. She is in the hospital...’

‘The hospital?’ Patrick stared at her in shock. What did she mean?

‘Yes, Patrick! The hospital! Congratulations for ruining her life...’

‘Which hospital? I have to get there now – is she all right?’

Myrtle looked at Patrick and his face was a mess. It was contorted, horrified. This was not how she had expected him to react. She took a deep breath and for the second time that day delivered ruinous news.

‘She lost the baby...’

‘Jesus Christ no.’ Seeming to lose the strength in his legs he sat on the side of the bed. The baby? He had not really thought about the baby that much since Ava got pregnant. It was really her concern, her joy. He just went along with it. But now, suddenly, this thing, this person that he had not even come to know in any way, was gone. Why did he feel it with the shock of death when it had not even been properly alive to him? How must Ava be feeling? He had to see her, right away. He had to put his arms around her and tell her everything would be all right.

He stood up. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s go.’ He knew he had to act fast but everything seemed vague, abstract, as if none of this were truly happening. ‘I’ll drive us to the hospital...’

‘Patrick, sit down,’ said Myrtle. He was in shock. This was terrible. She wanted to hate him, for her friend, but she couldn’t. He was broken. And if there was anything more pitiful in the world than a broken man, Myrtle did not know what that thing was.

She put her hands on his lap as she had done with his wife earlier.

‘Ava knows about you and Rose.’

‘You told her?’ he said. He could feel a bulb of anger open in his stomach. Then he remembered the baby was gone – their baby – and the bulb rotted away to nothing.

‘I told her,’ she said. This was the bravest Myrtle had ever been in her life. Twice in one day. She wished, more than anything, then, that she had kept her mouth shut about Rose. Patrick loved Ava, that was clear to her now. He was eaten up. What had she done?

‘Look. She doesn’t want to see you right now. Her parents have arranged to collect her from the hospital. I am going directly out to the Bronx with her bag. I will tell her how upset you are and how sorry you are and perhaps you can call tomorrow and go and see her then?’

‘I’m coming with you now,’ he said, standing up. ‘I have to see her, Myrtle. Please, you must help me. I promise, if you can just tell her to see me, I can make all of this right.’

Even though, in his heart, in this moment, he could not feel that was true, if he was able to get Ava and say it to her then perhaps everything could be made right again.

‘Please, help me,’ he said, again.

Myrtle had no choice. She finished packing the case and let Patrick drive her out to the Bronx.

They drove quickly and in silence. Patrick did not ask any details. He did not want to know. He was still in shock. All he wanted was to see Ava. He would hold her in his arms and let her pour everything out on to him. He would explain about Rose, tell her everything. He would say he was sorry over and over and over again, and he would keep saying it until she gave in. He would tell her the truth and she would forgive him. He would make everything all right again.

Tom Brogan met them at the front gate.

When Myrtle had told him she would go back to the apartment to get Ava’s clothes, he had thought this might happen.

He was not long off the phone to Father Moran, who explained about Rose. Patrick and she had been engaged in Ireland. He had promised to marry her, to send for her when he was on his feet. Instead, the rogue had married his daughter. Doubtless, as his wife had always suspected, for money and gain.

Who knows, but perhaps Patrick and his girlfriend had always planned to run off together when they had the money to do so. Tom Brogan barely cared what they had been planning to do. He was just horrified to have allowed his daughter to be part of such a treacherous manipulation. Tom Brogan was not a man given to fury. He was liberal and forgiving. He was always willing, perhaps too willing sometimes, to give the benefit of the doubt. This was not one of those times. Tom Brogan had no doubt whatsoever that Patrick and Rose had lied to his family and hurt his daughter, immeasurably. His wife believed that the news of Patrick’s betrayal had brought on Ava’s miscarriage. Perhaps she was being dramatic, but it pained him to think that, in insisting that Ava’s relationship with Patrick was ill-advised, Nessa had been right.

Tom felt that he had failed in his duties as Ava’s father. He had failed to protect her from a bad marriage, and from a bad man. Not only that, he had been responsible for putting the cuckoo into her nest.