To Love a Way of Life (8 page)

“Thanks!” The young woman beamed. Emma knew what it was like to be a broke student. She might not have earned anything in months, but only being able to afford crackers and noodles after a night out was not a nice way to live for anyone, even students.

Emma rested the ice-creams down on her passenger seat and drove up the roadway to Patrick’s house. There was no sign of him at the door but Stan greeted her. He must have sniffed the ice-cream.

Emma called out to Patrick but there was no-sign of him. She unwrapped the two ice-creams and set one on the ground for Stan. He bit into it. She worried he’d get brain freeze but he seemed happy enough.

Emma sat on a barrel and kicked her legs, she was happy to back in the countryside. Patrick emerged from the house, his face was grave and serious but when he saw Emma his downturned look broke into a wide smile. He was so cautious with his moods Emma got a kick in her stomach from seeing him smile.

“I’ve missed you,” he said as he walked over to her. He held her elbow and before Emma had a chance to get a word out he kissed her on the lips. Not a passionate embrace, but the kiss of a man who cared for a woman, not just desired her.

“I’ve missed you too,” Emma said.

“I see Stan ate my ice-cream.”

“And he loved it,” she said. “We’ll have to take him on a longer walk this evening.”

Emma pulled the third ice-cream from behind her back. “I presume a Cornetto is to your taste?”

“My favourite,” he said. “Although I sometimes like a mint-choc Cornetto too.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Patrick sat up on the barrel next to Emma as she scooted over. He put his arm around her as he happily bit away on the ice-cream cone.

“You’d nearly get used to this, wouldn’t you?”

“I can’t believe it’s real,” Emma said. “It’s so perfect out here.”

“It’s not all perfect,” Patrick said. She could see his face take on a darker tone for just a moment.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

“Nothing, just some trivial things causing problems. Nothing for you to worry about.”

Emma had her doubts.

“Nothing I should worry about either,” he said.

“I’m a good listener if you want to talk?” Emma said. “And far less pushy than my mother.”

“I think we turn out more like our parents than we realise.”

“God, I hope not,” she shuddered at the thought of forcing everyone to have fun like her mother. Sometimes people needed to wallow in their misery for a while. It was cathartic.

“You never knew your father, did you?” Patrick asked.

“No. And I wouldn’t have wanted to. My mother was as good as two parents.”

“And you don’t want to turn out like her,” he said.

“I’d like my children to have a father.”

Patrick stayed quiet, and that look of gloom took over his face again, for longer this time.

“Well, I have to father all these incompetent farmers,” he said.

Emma noticed the change of subject, she guessed it wasn’t the right time to talk about family. She hoped she hadn’t scared him and silently cursed herself for mentioning it.

They were just getting to know each other as a couple, and it was too soon. She’d have to try and stop herself. Her thoughts turned to Sandra’s advice, she’d keep the father question at the back of her mind but not dwell on it. She wasn’t sure if she could keep it away from her thoughts.

“Is that’s what’s been bothering you?” She asked.

“I wanted to know if you’d be willing to do something.”

“Of course, anything.”

“It’ll mean less money for you, but it would help a lot of people.”

“I saw you transferred the money from Daniel and Peter into my account this morning. I could live on that for a week, frugally but I’d have everything I need.”

“There’s plenty more work, but this could cut down on it. I was hoping you’d give a class on basic accounting practices, bookkeeping that kind of thing.”

“Absolutely. It would be great for me as well. I do accounts, they don’t need me for basic incomings and outgoings. They should be doing that themselves.”

“I knew you’d agree,” he said.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, that’s why I’ve already reserved the back room in the pub for Saturday week,” he said. “We can rearrange if you want to go back to the city for that weekend.”

“That’s not a problem, I said I’d see my mother but I can see her the weekend after. I know I’m booked up for a while”

“Why don’t you invite her down?”

“Are you serious?” Emma asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be? The bedroom in the other cottage is ready, and it has electricity, just not running water.”

“You want to meet my mother?”

“I want you to show your mother you’re cared for down here,” he said. “I wouldn’t want any mother to worry about the safety of her daughter!” He stuck his head into her neck and went at her, play-acting at a man ready to ravish a helpless heroine.

“You’re serious aren’t you?”

“Don’t tell me she’s not worried, I would be.”

“My mother is delighted to see me gone! She thinks this is the best thing to happen to me in years.”

“Do you think it’s the best thing to happen to you in years?” He asked.

“It’s certainly in the positive column,” she said. “What about you?”

“I’d have to think,” he said as he rolled his head around. This was a playful side Emma hadn’t seen in Patrick too often. She was glad to see it. From the looks she had seen on his face she figured he needed to blow off steam. Especially if that girl in the shop was right about him being tense the past few days.

“The shop in town, who’s the girl who works there?”

“The supermarket or the shop?”

“The little shop, she’s training to be a vet.”

“Oh, that’s Ais, or ‘Aisling’ now she’s in college in the big city.”

“She said you’ve been grumpy the past few days.”

“She’s just jealous of you,” he said. “She’s had a thing for me since I arrived.”

“And you didn’t indulge her?”

“I may have felt good that despite being in my mid-thirties—“

“Late thirties.” Emma said.

“Ok, in my thirties; that I can still attract the attention of young women.”

“You have my attention.”

“And I count my blessings every day that I do.”

As Stan licked every last speck of ice-cream from the wrappers in the flower pot Emma felt the heat rise between her and Patrick. He kissed her again, not a welcome back kiss, there was passion this time. He pushed her hair behind her ear and let her know that he was for her.

“I missed you,” he said as their kiss ended. “I’m glad you’re home.”

P
atrick gave Emma instructions to get to Mrs. Reidy’s house. She was an artisanal food producer, mainly specialising in anything to do with chili peppers, spices and relishes. She didn’t feel the need for Patrick’s help until very recently when she had been approached by a high-end retailer for her products. She would be in a few shops, only one branded store but they were global, in three cities in Ireland, London, Edinburgh, Manchester, a few American cities and Paris. They were a big deal when it came to high quality food.

The only words of advice Patrick gave to Emma was, “Mrs. Reidy is always called Mrs. Reidy, and she has a few notions.” It had been a long time since Emma had dealt with a woman who had notions about herself, she pictured the woman as having a perfect garden and a well worked nose for sniffing out gossip, not that Mrs. Reidy would ever admit to indulging in gossip.

When she drove up to the picturesque house she knew she had been correct about Mrs. Reidy’s garden. She parked and knocked at the front door and a man in his sixties answered. He wore slippers and corduroy pants and he looked tired. He didn’t say a word to Emma but just waved her in. He pointed to a room and walked away in silence. Emma waited for a few seconds and then she heard a television having its volume turned up. She figured she’d better sit, and wait.

After a few minutes Mrs. Reidy appeared. She didn’t look as Emma expected, instead of the perfect slacks and blouse combination Emma had imagined she was wearing overalls that were covered in dust, or spices Emma guessed from the smell. She removed her rubber gloves and placed them in her back pocket.

“I’ll get us some tea,” she said. And without another word she left Emma alone again.

It was a few minutes later when Mrs. Reidy arrived back with a tray, there was a fancy teapot, cups with saucers, a sugar bowl and a dainty little milk jug.

“I don’t have much time for coffee,” she said.

“I love a good tea,” Emma said. At last managing to get some words in.

“People don’t know how to serve it properly, not these days.”

“How do you take yours?” Emma asked.

“I may look genteel and fine, but I like my cuppa like builder’s tea, thick as tar and enough sugar to stand a spoon.”

Emma did not expect that from Mrs. Reidy, she seemed to be a woman of contradictions and took delight in challenging people.

“I’m not very good with accounts though.”

“And that’s why I’m here to help.”

“First off Maher’s, the store, want me to give them a breakdown of my operation costs. I simply don’t know those exact details and—“

“Don’t!” Emma said. “Really. Don’t give them that. It’s more an area for a lawyer or an industry expert, but if they have your costings they know how tight they can squeeze you.”

“I suspected as much,” Mrs. Reidy said.

“And you were right to. Never show anyone your books unless you have a legal obligation to.”

“However they’re looking to subsume some of my profit for a marketing campaign,” she said.

“Ok, let’s figure out what you’ve done yourself, with your own money then we can deal with what the future will hold.”

As they spoke their tea went cold. Mrs. Reidy’s determination fired up Emma, she was a savvy woman. Really it seemed she just wanted an ear to listen to her worries, and confirm her thoughts. Her finances were sound. Mrs. Reidy was delighted when Emma told her she could get tax breaks because she did some of her business in Gaeltachts and other areas where Irish was the first language.

At that point Mrs. Reidy took a break to recite Emma her favourite poem, as Gaeilge. Emma couldn’t understand a word of Irish, the business subjects were her favourite in school but she really felt the passion in Mrs. Reidy’s love for the language.

“I think Patrick has the cúpla focal too,” Mrs. Reidy said.

“It wouldn’t come up between us, I can barely say, ‘I like cake’ in Irish,” Emma admitted.

“Well I think he’s teaching that little girl of his a few words,” Mrs. Reidy said. “She’s not here often enough to learn the language properly, but he tries.”

“His little girl?” Emma managed.

Her stomach had dropped, Patrick had a little girl. Emma was shocked at herself, he was almost forty, of course there was a chance he had relationships with other women, and that meant he might have a child. Despite herself Emma couldn’t help but feel less special. She thought back to the nights she fell asleep thinking of starting a family, and daring to hope that Patrick might be the right man for her. But he had a daughter, was he married already? Was he a divorced man? Maybe he still wasn’t fully divorced!

“She’s a darling,” Mrs. Reidy said. “She can be a little brat too but mostly she’s adorable. She has his eyes.”

“Aw, that’s cute,” Emma forced herself to say. “How old is she?”

“About eight or nine I think,” Mrs. Reidy said. “She loves coming over here, she’d live here if Patrick would let her.”

Emma thought of her own childhood, of the few times her mother dated men. She tried to be happy for her mother, but at that age it always felt like her mother had rejected her a little. That her mother’s love for her was lessened when she shared it with a man. She’d been a right little wagon at times, and she knew it affected some of her mother’s relationships.

She’d brought it up a few times since she left college. Her mother always told her those men were never right for her, and if they couldn’t love her daughter then they couldn’t be with her. But Emma remembered her mother crying when those men left her, and she regretted the part she played in that.

“She lives with her mother?” Emma asked.

“In London,” Mrs. Reidy said. “It’s no place for a child, nowhere to ride a bike let alone a pony! Her mother won’t let her have a pet so she spends her days here gallivanting with that dog Patrick has.”

Emma started to feel nauseous, she liked Patrick, but she didn’t love him, not yet. She knew his daughter loved him. She didn’t want to come between the two of them. Emma knew herself how hard it was for a young girl. In her own life she didn’t have a father but if his daughter only saw her father a few times a year it would be so tough on her.

She felt herself retreat. She couldn’t let her care for Patrick stand in the way of his love for his daughter.

“Anyway, I’m glad Patrick is here. I think it’s the right time for me to start picking his brain.”

“Absolutely, and I’ll help too,” Emma said. “We can schedule another visit for a time that suits and go over some of the trickier stuff.”

“Thank you so much my dear, and please, call me Helen.”

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E
mma dragged herself out to her car and sat into the driver’s seat. She didn’t want to move, she wanted to sit and collect her thoughts, just for a few minutes but she realised it would look weird if she stayed parked up in Mrs. Reidy’s driveway. She made herself look busy in her notes for a minute or two just so she could catch her breathe. She summoned the strength to drive away, and was only two minutes down the road when she pulled into a little entranceway to a field.

She rested her hands and the wheel and her head on her hands. She shouldn’t have expected Patrick to tell her anything about a daughter. Why would he? They were business partners and just starting a relationship. If it didn’t work out there’d be no need to tell her anything, there’d be no strife and they’d go their separate ways. If things did look good for the two of them then she was sure he’d let her know when the time was right.