Love Knot
By Sheila O'Kelly
Published by Sheila O'Kelly at Smashwords
Copyright 2010 Sheila O'Kelly
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To Niall, Denis and Ruth with love
With thanks to: Breffni O’Kelly’s bookclub for their invaluable feedback; Michael O’Kelly; and Sharon Hunter.
Chapter one
I NEVER would have been involved with Jack Ratcliffe at all if I hadn’t mixed up the train stations. We had planned to wrap up our one-year journalism course – or how to drink vats of alcohol, stay up all night and stagger into class red-eyed and rumpled without getting thrown out – at a journalism careers’ seminar in Cork. Where presumably we would learn how to drink even more.
I arrived early that Friday for the Cork train hoping me and Patrick – Patrick came before Jack – yes I know it’s a bit confusing – could sort ourselves out that weekend.
I hauled my rucksack down from the number 14 bus and smiled cheerily at the driver as I jumped off in Dublin’s city centre at D’Olier Street.
I ambled down the quays, over Butt Bridge to the train station on Amien Street and climbed the steps of the broken, litter-ridden escalator up to the platforms. At the top I peered towards the seats scattered around the echoey station hall, but wasn’t able to see anyone from my class. I was gumming for a smoke so took off my rucksack and rummaged. Found a squashed packet at the very bottom, lit one and headed for the ticket hatch.
‘Hi, when is the Cork train leaving please?’
‘The Cork train – that’s at 10.45, love, but you won’t get it here.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘This is Connolly Station, love, the train to Cork leaves from Heuston – always has done.’
‘But I was meant to meet my whole class, oh fuck (sorry). What if I got a taxi?’
‘You’ll be okay if it gets there in 25 minutes.’
I dashed out of the station and down the long ramp to the taxi rank with a cold sweat lifting up the hairs on my skin.
‘How…long…would…it…take…to…get…to…Heuston…Station?’
‘Take it easy, take it easy, what’s the hurry. It’ll take just as long as it takes love. You just throw your rucksack in the back there and relax.’
He held my scuffed rucksack gingerly by the straps as he took it from me and stowed it in his immaculate boot.
The taxi stuttered down the hill and headed towards the quays in appalling traffic. I couldn’t stop the tears of frustration rolling quietly down my cheeks and I could see the taxi driver sneaking the odd peak in his rear view mirror. Soon I couldn’t find any more dry bits in my well-used tissue. Every traffic light seemed to be red and when they were green pedestrians blithely ignored them. Lorries hemmed us in as we stop-started along by the Liffey. My throat was tight and my stomach hard as a rock.
‘Don’t worry love. Once we get past Capel Street Bridge, it’ll be grand.’
And right then the traffic did thin out and by Merchant’s Quay we started to move smoothly.
I managed to spill all my coins on the floor of the taxi when I pulled out a £1 note to pay the fare. I grabbed a handful of them, jammed them in my jeans pocket and dashed into the station.
There was a little old lady with a yapping dog foostering around with her handbag at the ticket desk while the woman behind the counter explained the timetable in a monotone voice.
I held it together for about 30 seconds before abandoning the queue and dashing out to the platform to see where the train was. There it was alright, just disappearing down the track from platform 2.
Slumping down on to one of the slatted wooden benches and staring pointlessly down the long, empty track I cringed at the thought of going home to face my father and his ‘I told you so’ spectacles – the brown ones he wore on his day off.
I wiped my nose discreetly with the back of my hand as I plodded to the ladies and washed my face with toilet paper. At the ticket desk I explained and the clerk got her supervisor.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Sinead O’Neill.’
‘Ah yes, your friend, Elizabeth Murphy, left your ticket. You can go down on the next train.’
I wanted to hug the life out of the capable-as-always Elizabeth.
With the ticket safely tucked into the inside of my wallet I headed in an excited daze towards the café and got a cup of coffee and some toast. At the red, chipped formica table I arranged my feast and fished out my musty copy of Pride and Prejudice that I had found on the shelves at home. Couldn’t concentrate on Elizabeth Bennett – all that moral outrage was beginning to get on my nerves.
Patrick had probably gone down on the train with the others. He probably didn’t even notice that I wasn’t there. Or care. It would never work with us anyway. Half the time he made me feel nervous. I hadn’t a clue what was going on in his head. Did he just want a quick fling or what, but, but, sometimes he gave me kind of significant looks. I didn’t know what they meant, but they made my stomach kind of flip.
I sighed, glanced up vaguely and saw a bearded man with long hair coming towards me. I had seen him somewhere before, but couldn’t quite remember where.
‘Hi there,’ he said expectantly.
‘Hello?’
‘Sinead, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, that’s right, I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.’
‘It’s Jack, Jack Ratcliffe. Can I join you?’
‘Yeah sure.’
Then I knew – I was flattered he remembered me. It was at my aunt’s house. He was a journalist on the Irish Guardian. And must be at least 25.
‘What are you doing here?’
I told him I’d missed the train, but left out the bit about going to the wrong station. Then I told him about the seminar.
‘You’re not serious,’ Jack said.
‘Yes, why?’ I asked.
‘Because that’s where I’m going too. I’m giving a workshop on “How to become a journalist”, or something. Don’t know what I’m going to tell all you young people.’
‘That’s one of the workshops I was going to do,’ I said.
‘Why, do you want to?’
‘Want to what?’
‘Become a journalist.’
‘Oh, yeah, well I hope so,’ I said, embarrassed and fiddling with my hair. ‘I’ve just done a year’s journalism course.’
Jack looked at me intently as he nodded his head. I blushed and lowered my eyes taking in his comfortably worn black leather jacket, clean denim jeans and well-polished loafers.
‘Well if you don’t want to miss this one, we better make a move,’ said Jack.
We got seats near the dining car. Jack took my rucksack, ushered me in beside the window and settled down facing me across the table.
‘So, what made you think of trying to get into the business?’ asked Jack.
‘Well, I worked as a copy girl on the Sunday Globe when I was at school…’
‘Good for you.’
‘And since I left I’ve been working on the parish newsletter, so you know, I thought I’d give it a try.’
‘That should all help.’ That intense gaze again. ‘Are you interested in any particular area?’
‘I think I’d like to get into financial reporting,’ I said, hoping he wouldn’t ask me too much about fiscal policy or something as the idea had only just struck me the week before.
I couldn’t think of anything else to say, and started idly looking at the mother and toddler at the table on the other side of the aisle, then through the window spotting cows and horses in the fields. Jack turned toward the window and caught my eyes in the reflection.
‘I forget the countryside exists when I’m in the city, and then when I’m out walking through fields I wonder how I last so long without it,’ he said.
‘Yes, I always mean to get out into the countryside more often,’ I lied.
‘Really? Well, would you like to go for a walk somewhere outside Cork while we’re down there?’
‘Well, I mean, are you sure you’d have time?’
‘No problem.’
I thought it was a funny request after knowing me for half-an-hour, but I said:
‘I’d love to,’ doing my best not to blush.
‘Good. I’m starving; I think I’ll go and get something to eat in the dining car, would you like to come?’
‘Yeah, great.’
I got up and walked quickly towards the dining car, so as to avoid any embarrassing bumping into each other. I sat at the one free table left and Jack followed me. I ordered first to make it clear that I did not expect him to pay for me. We both had the full lunch.
It was nice to be sitting with him rather than eating rubber ham sandwiches alone.
‘So, how did you get into journalism?’ I asked.
‘I worked on the Northern Democrat in Donegal for two years before getting a job on the Irish Guardian,’ said Jack.
We finished our meal and both lit a cigarette. I caught the eye of the waiter and asked him for the bill.
‘I’ll get this,’ said Jack.
‘No, no, we’ll split it,’ I said getting out my purse.
‘I insist, you can do the same for some impoverished student some day,’ said Jack.
When he had put it like that it seemed all right so I went along with him.
I dropped my purse on the floor and we both reached down under the table for it – for a second I felt the tips of his fingers touch mine. He smiled as he handed it to me across the table. I was too embarrassed to look at him, although I could feel him looking at me. I gathered myself together in the few seconds it took to replace the purse in my small green army surplus bag.
Back in our seats we started reading the papers. I gave myself a stern talking to. For God’s sake…relax…don’t get so emotional… He only asked you to go for a walk…it doesn’t mean anything…and what about Patrick? I could see Patrick clearly, all 6’3” of him with his unruly blonde hair, and brown eyes that could sometimes turn me to jelly. But his picture began to float away into the middle distance as I dozed off.
I woke up with a jump when Jack tapped me on the shoulder to say we were in Cork.
The stalwart Elizabeth was waiting on the platform. Patrick was there too.
‘Hi there,’ said Elizabeth.
‘Hello, I’m Jack.’
‘How are you Jack, I’m Elizabeth and thanks very much for coming down to the seminar.’
Elizabeth took my arm and steered me aside. She brushed off my enthusiastic hug of thanks.
‘Sinead, what happened you? I didn’t know you knew Jack Ratcliffe.’
I explained.
‘Hi Patrick, how are you?’ I asked.
‘Thought you’d changed your mind?’ said Patrick, ruffling my hair disconcertingly, pushing me affectionately on the arm and grinning that way he had.
I bent down to pick up my bag and gave him a wouldn’t-you-like-to-know smile.
‘Jack, the seminar is tonight at 8, I hope that’s all right?’ said Elizabeth all business like.
‘Yeah sure, that’s fine; it will give us a chance to have dinner. You’re all staying in the hotel?’ asked Jack.
‘Yes, we got a great deal,’ said Elizabeth.
They went outside and got a taxi. Elizabeth sat in the front and I was left to sit in the back between Patrick and Jack. Patrick put his arm along the back of the seat behind me. I was so befuddled that I left the conversation to the others. When we finally arrived at the hotel I got out of the taxi last.
‘Sinead, you’re sharing with me, and Jack your key is at reception,’ said Elizabeth. ‘The others are in the bar, and we’ve booked dinner for everyone at 7.00, so you’re welcome to join us for a drink whenever you’re ready. I’ll go upstairs with you Sinead.’
Jack and Patrick both went to pick up my rucksack but Jack didn’t seem to notice Patrick and deftly looped the straps over my shoulders. Elizabeth beckoned me and I went with her saying a general goodbye to the two men. ‘What’s yer man like?’ asked Elizabeth.
‘Oh, eh, nice.’
‘Patrick was very anxious to come to the station to meet you,’ said Elizabeth.
‘Was he?’ I said casually.
‘What’s wrong with you? I thought you were mad about him.’
‘I don’t know why you thought that,’ I said trying to sound as if Patrick was the very last thing ever on my mind.
‘Never mind. Oh yes, I knew there was something I wanted to ask you. Did you get that summer job in the bookshop?’ said Elizabeth.
‘I did, yeah, I’m starting in a couple of weeks.’
‘Brilliant. What’s the pay like?’
‘Thirty quid a week – it’s not great – but it’s better than working in that smelly office canteen again!’
‘Well, you’ll be a lot richer than me. I still have nothing. Listen, I’ve already had a shower so the bathroom is all yours. I’m going down to join the others, I’ll see you when you’re ready,’ said Elizabeth.
Elizabeth was very loyal and dependable, and her organisational skills were awesome but she could be a bit too practical sometimes.
I took advantage of the abundant hotel hot water and had a deep, luxurious bath. No sudden icy gush of water nor anyone moaning about wasting the immersion. I slid my shoulders under the suds and replayed the train journey with Jack. The next time I met him I would definitely play it cool.
Chapter two
When I got down to the bar Patrick and Jack were sitting opposite each other. I sat down beside Patrick.
‘Hi again Sinead,’ said Jack.
Those eyes again.
‘Hi Jack.’
‘I got you the notes from the earlier seminar,’ said Patrick.
‘Oh, right, thanks,’ I said.
I started chatting to Elizabeth and some of my other classmates. The afternoon seminar had been: ‘Making a living from freelance journalism’. Probably a short seminar: ‘you can’t’, I snorted.
‘No it was good,’ said Elizabeth slightly tetchily, ‘but they do make it seem a lot easier than it is. My cousin freelanced for four years and barely made ends meet.’
‘It’s a rat race out there. You need guts and perseverance,’ said Jack leaning over towards Elizabeth.
‘We’re going on a day trip to Sherkin Island tomorrow, do you want to come?’ Elizabeth asked Jack.
‘Sure,’ drawled Jack.
‘You’re coming, aren’t you Sinead?’ asked Elizabeth.
‘Oh, yes I think so,’ I said as enthusiastically as I could. What had happened to our walk?
‘And don’t worry about tickets or anything, I got sponsorship from Guinness’s,’ said Elizabeth.
‘God Elizabeth – you’re a genius. Put me down and I’ll let you know for definite as soon as I can,’ I said.
Elizabeth, some of the others I and went into the dining room. Patrick joined us just as I picked up the menu. I was still buzzing from my encounter with Jack and was delighted at the chance of being with Patrick without giving a damn about where our relationship was at.
‘How are you Patrick?’ I said a bit too gaily.
Patrick was slightly taken aback and raised his eyebrows at me quizzically. I ignored this and got out my cigarettes.
‘I thought you’d quit,’ said Patrick.
‘Yeah, well…,’ I said lamely, remembering that Patrick had successfully given them up.
Nobody else at the table smoked and I wasn’t really enjoying it so I put it out after a few drags.
I had chicken Kiev with mashed potato, green beans and a glass of Liebfraumilch. Patrick had steak, chips and a beer, and spoke mostly to Elizabeth.
The seminar was in a large room, not quite a conference hall, and there were about 100 chairs.
Jack was already sitting on the little platform at the top sipping water. He nodded to me as I came in and I smiled slightly.
We settled ourselves in the middle of the three-quarters full room. I was very aware of Jack up there on the dais and found it hard to concentrate on the conversation.
The lights dimmed and Elizabeth stood on the platform and introduced Jack. I sat back and didn’t hear a word he said but was far away imagining us setting up our own newspaper together – a new Sunday paper that would take the country by storm with its stunning design and investigative journalism. The applause at the end broke the fantasy.
‘What did you think?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘Oh, erm, great.’
‘Are you going to do his workshop?’ asked Elizabeth.
‘No, I think I’ll do Paula Murphy’s “Feature Writing”. I’ve heard she’s very good,’ I said.
I couldn’t handle going into Jack’s workshop and coolly discussing my career plans.
‘I’m down for that too,’ said Patrick.
There were about 15 people gathered when Patrick and I arrived at the room. I tried to juggle it so I would be sitting at the end beside one of the people already there, but somehow Patrick got in beside me.
Paula Murphy, a thin energetic blond woman, came bustling in with an overhead projector. The main thing, she said, was to remember: ‘Journalism is great fun’, then flipped her hand and made a high-pitched exclamation, ‘wooh!’ She did that a lot.
Sitting with my arms folded I became aware of Patrick’s fingers touching my fingertips and then curling around the tips of my fingers. I unfolded my arms, got out a notebook and made an attempt to look as if I were taking notes. This didn’t seem to put him off and he rested his arm along my leg. A week previously, I might have responded but this time I was relieved when the session was over.
Jack arrived at the door of the bar as we went in to join the others.
‘Hello again,’ I said.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Jack asked.
‘Yeah sure, I’d love a glass of Guinness.’ (Why did I say a glass, I usually ordered a pint?)
‘How come I didn’t see you in my workshop?’
‘Oh, well I was at your lecture, and I will be talking to you tomorrow anyway,’ I said.
I cursed myself for being too eager.
‘Elizabeth has given me a ticket for the trip to Sherkin Island tomorrow, how about going on that instead of the walk?’ said Jack.
‘That’s a great idea,’ I said, but I was disappointed.
We joined the others. Patrick brought over two pints and put one down in front of me. He turned and spoke into my ear conspiratorially.
‘Why don’t we skip that Sherkin Island trip tomorrow and go for a wander around the city instead?’ he said with his back towards Jack.
‘I already told Elizabeth I’d go.’
‘Oh, well if you’ve told Elizabeth. One way or the other, I wont’t be going. I have to deliver a parcel to my aunt,’ said Patrick.
‘So you couldn’t go to Sherkin Island anyway!’
One week he was all over me, then he seemed hardly to remember my name. This on-again off-again palaver was too much. I was damned if I was going to keep him amused for the day. I’d had enough of him. By one o’clock it was clear the others were in for an all-nighter but I was shagged and headed up to bed.
It was lovely to get in between the clean sheets in the peaceful room. I needed to think, read and then sleep.
Chapter three
I woke early the next morning with All The President’s Men lying open beside me. It was a beautiful, calm sunny day. Out of the corner of my one half-open eye I could see the untidy heap of Elizabeth still in a deep sleep with the bedclothes tossed around her.
I had the feeling something significant had happened but couldn’t quite remember what. Jack Ratcliffe! I smiled unwittingly.
What a beautiful day! How could I ever have felt as bad as I did yesterday at that train station? No problem is that bad – it’s just a matter of perspective. My mood was dampened slightly when I stood up and felt immediately nauseas. I retched into the sink and vigorously splashed my face with cold water remembering that the night before I had done what my mother always told me not to do and drunk the water from the bathroom tap.
I got into the shower and scrubbed myself enthusiastically. Pulling on my brother’s old stone coloured Levi’s and my fisherman style mustard chunky jumper, I pictured the day ahead.
I decided to go for a stroll and get a newspaper before breakfast. What a luxury to be so carefree and away from home – as free as a bird. I went down to the little newsagent I had spotted on the corner down the road from the hotel. As I went to push the shop door open someone pulled it from the other side. It was Jack Ratcliffe.
‘You’re up early,’ said Jack.
‘So are you,’ I said kicking myself for the inane reply.
‘I had an early night. Giving a seminar was harder work than I expected. Have you had breakfast?’
‘Not yet.’
Jack waited for me while I went in and got my paper; we headed back to the hotel. I made full use of the menu and thoroughly enjoyed my toast and ‘full Irish’ breakfast. Jack just had muesli and coffee.
We didn’t talk much as we read our papers, although I thought I saw him looking at me over the top of his. Eventually, the others started coming down in dribs and drabs. When I saw Patrick heading for the restaurant I swallowed down the last of mine and told Jack I’d see him later on the bus.
In our room, the beds were bathed in sunshine and I flopped onto mine and basked in the intense heat.
My peace was disturbed by a knock at the door.
‘Can I come in?’
It was Patrick.
‘Shit; all right, the door’s open.’
‘I’ve been trying to catch you, but you keep disappearing.’
‘Look, I’m glad you’ve come, I think we need to talk…’
‘So do I,’ said Patrick. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve seemed offhand, but you must admit you were playing hard to get, but Elizabeth…’
‘Oh my god. Have you been talking to Elizabeth about us? You know, I don’t think we’re really suited. We both seem to expect different things from each other at different times.’
‘I know our weekend in Wicklow wasn’t perfect but it was getting there,’ said Patrick.
‘That weekend was a mistake,’ I said.
‘A mistake! You didn’t think so then. I don’t understand. You were complaining we didn’t have enough time together and now I’m trying to fix that. I even went this morning and got a ticket for the Sherkin island trip.’
‘Well you needn’t have bothered on my account. Look Patrick, it always seems to be on your terms. I’m trying to tell you nicely, that that’s it; I’m sorry if there has been some misunderstanding, and even though it is a dreadful cliché, I hope we can still be friends.’
‘Friends! I don’t want to be your bloody friend. I thought we meant more to each other than that.’
‘Well, you had a funny way of showing it,’ I said.
‘You’re a fine one to talk. What about that do at my parents’ house last week – you wouldn’t even come.’
‘I told you I had already arranged to meet Elizabeth. You always expect me to fit into your plans and drop everything. I really don’t think we should keep this up; we’re getting nowhere. You’d better go.’
‘Well at least we agree on one point,’ Patrick said and stormed out the door.
I was confused when he’d gone. I’d expected to feel elated and in control, but I had a deep worried feeling as if there were something I’d forgotten.
I went down to meet the others in the foyer. Elizabeth was there busily counting heads and negotiating with the bus driver.
I bumped into Patrick getting on the bus and he looked straight through me. I was surprised that he could still hurt me like that. Jack was already ensconced half way down the bus with another of my classmates. Probably just as well. I sat in at the front with Elizabeth.
‘Sinead, where have you been hiding yourself – I’ve hardly seen you since we arrived?’ said Elizabeth.
‘I wanted to get a good night’s sleep so I could enjoy today. And it was such a gorgeous morning I got up early,’ I said. I felt slightly guilty – as if I were hiding something – but I hadn’t done anything, it was Patrick who should be feeling awkward.
‘Oh, okay. Early nights, what next, knitting patterns and acid drops?’ Elizabeth poked me in the ribs.
‘Ha, ha. Well I suppose I might as well tell you – Patrick and I have officially called it quits.’
‘Oh, so that’s it. Yesterday morning he said he wasn’t coming on this trip, then late last night he asked if there were any spare tickets. I wondered what was going on. Well Sherkin Island will really take your mind off things,’ said Elizabeth. ‘On a day like today it’s glorious.’
‘I’m really looking forward to getting a bit of fresh air,’ I said enthusiastically.
Elizabeth looked at me with an amused air.
‘Fresh air? You?’
The movement of the stuffy bus along the twisting road began to make me a bit nauseous.
‘My God, you’re green. Do you want me to ask the driver to stop for a minute?’ said Elizabeth.
‘No, you’re grand, I’m just a bit car sick. I’ll try to go to sleep, that usually works,’ I said.
I woke up as everyone was getting off the bus.
‘How are you feeling?’ asked Elizabeth.
‘Oh, I’ll be fine in a minute.’
I did feel much better when I got off the bus in Baltimore. At least the sea looked dead calm.
It was a quaint little village with houses scrambling up the hill behind the main street which looked out on to the sea. The small harbour had two piers. Along one were fishing boats and men preoccupied with nets; along the other were boats from the local sailing club. People stood around chatting and enjoying the sunshine. The bus driver pointed out Sherkin Island just across the bay.
The little passenger ferry was moored at the outer pier alongside the fishing smacks. Its green paint was flaking off and it was alarmingly weather beaten. The boatman look amused at our concerned glances as he helped us down the slippery steps on to the little boat. I had a look inside the dark, battered cabin and decided to stay on deck. As the ferry moved out of the harbour we waved enthusiastically to the people on passing boats.
I chatted with some of my classmates and I could see Jack looking out to sea with a couple of the others. Patrick was standing down at the other end on his own. My nausea returned as the ferry chugged across the little bay.
We got off the ferry one by one. Jack and I were the last two. Just as I was putting my foot on the pier I felt dizzy, missed my step and swirled into unconsciousness. When I came to, Jack was patting my face with a damp t-towel and holding a glass of brandy to my lips. I smiled wanly, turned over on my side and got violently sick.
‘I’m sorry, I’m all right really, it’s just the combination of the bus trip followed by the boat. I’ll just go over and sit on that bench.’
I failed miserably in my attempt to stand up.
‘Hold on there a sec,’ said Jack and helped me stagger over.
Elizabeth and Patrick came running back.
‘What the hell happened to you?’ Elizabeth asked.
Patrick looked at Jack and then at me.
‘Well, you’re obviously in good hands,’ he said and walked off after the rest of the group.
I was embarrassed and indignant. Jack looked after Patrick and I realised that he had picked up some of the vibes between us.
‘You go on I’ll stay with Sinead,’ said Jack.
‘Are you sure? I don’t mind,’ said Elizabeth.
‘No, I insist.’
This wasn’t quite the way I had imagined things.
Jack held my hair back as I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees. He gently stroked my back in a circular motion but I had to ask him to stop as even that motion was making me feel sick again. I smiled wanly at him.
‘What about some brandy,’ Jack said.
‘What I really want is to brush my teeth and have a cup of tea,’ I said.
‘Do you think you could make it to that coffee shop, and I’ll go and get you a toothbrush?’
Jack gave me his arm and this time his touch felt firm and comforting. I felt a definite shiver up my spine as his hand touched my wrist.
He settled me down in the coffee shop, ordered some tea and went off to the shop next door. The tea tasted wonderful and I began to feel better.
When Jack came back, I went and brushed my teeth, came back and assured him I was feeling much better. We admired the little harbour through the window. The atmosphere had slightly changed between us. Every so often there was a couple of moments silence when we just looked at each other smiling, and once we both laughed at the same time about nothing in particular.
‘I think if I went for a bit of a walk now, it might clear my head.’
‘I’d better accompany you – just in case,’ said Jack.
Now we were having ‘that walk’.
We strolled peacefully up the little road with its ragged line of grass down the centre that led from the harbour to the rest of the island. The sea disappeared and the sand dunes and bumpy, sheep-scattered fields undulated on either side of us. I had almost fully recovered and was happy to keep ambling. We rounded a corner up a little hill and the cosiness of the little road was blown away by a beach hollowed out of the side of the island.
The empty sandy expanse was a glimpse of paradise – it looked unreal as the sun glittered teasingly on the rippled water. It was hard to imagine the island ever beaten by wind and rain. We walked down to the edge of the shore and dawdled along.
Jack took my hand and pulled me away just in time to save my feet from a rushing wave. He held on to my hand caressing the back of it with his fingers. We went and sat down on some rocks warm from the midday sun. Slowly, Jack put his arm behind my back. I could feel my heart thumping and was afraid to move. We faced each other and when I caught his eyes they were so penetrating that I began to examine my shoes in great detail. Jack put his hand under my chin and tilted it up. I was still taken by surprise when he kissed me gently on the mouth.
Just as the kiss was growing more intense, we heard a babble of voices and looked around to see the whole tour group coming through the grassy sand dunes on to the beach.
‘Oh, shit,’ I said.
Jack grinned at me:
‘Sure it’ll give them something to talk about…back in a sec, got to take a leak.’
‘Well I see you’ve been well taken care of. Feel better now or did your recuperation start last night?’ Patrick hissed at me.
‘Patrick, it wasn’t like that.’
‘Forget it, I don’t want to hear, and you had the nerve this morning…’
Patrick stopped as the rest of the group trickled over and Jack came back.
‘We’re going down to see the old shipwreck, are you coming?’ asked Elizabeth.
Jack looked at me.
‘No I think I’ll stay here…I’m not really up to it,’ I said.
‘See you back at the ferry then.’
The group headed off.
‘Will we go back down to the harbour?’ Jack asked taking my hand.
I smiled at him and nodded. I wished Patrick hadn’t seen us. I stopped to get some sand out of my shoe. When I stood up I walked with my hands in my pockets.
‘I’m sorry that must have been awkward for you. I gather there was something between you and Patrick.’
‘Well, it’s been off and on for a while. What about you, have you been seeing anyone recently?’
‘I was, it didn’t work out. She was 10 years older than me and married.’
‘What?’
‘Have I shocked you?’
‘Surprised. That’s all. And now, I’m six years younger than you,’ I smiled but immediately thought shit! Over-eager again.
As we reached the harbour the afternoon ferry was just about to pull out.
‘Look, why don’t we get this ferry and head back on the earlier train?’ said Jack.
‘Let’s go,’ I said.
We ran laughing down the pier and just made it. I asked the ferryman to pass a message on to Elizabeth.
We caught a bus from Baltimore and I began to relax in the crook of Jack’s arm. We didn’t talk much but a few times we looked at each other and kissed gently. At the hotel in Cork, we each went up to our rooms to collect our stuff. Just as I was finishing packing, Jack put his head around the open door, came in and shut it behind him.
‘Well I’m ready. We have about half an hour, will we go down and have a cup of coffee?’ I suggested.
Jack didn’t answer. He caught my hand and pulled me gently towards him. This time we kissed passionately ending up sitting on the edge of the bed. Jack began to inch my tee-shirt out from the waist of my jeans. I felt almost overwhelmed by desire and confusion.
‘No, I’m sorry no, it’s too soon and I’m not ready to go so far so soon.’
‘It’s all right, don’t worry, everything will be fine.’
‘No Jack, really, it’s not all right.’
‘I thought you wanted to come back here with me?’
‘I did. But to go back to Dublin with you on the train, not to my hotel room. You do understand don’t you?’ I said.
‘No, Sinead, I don’t,’ Jack said in an unfamiliar cold voice. ‘I know you want to, so what are you worrying about?’
‘Look, it’s just too soon, I don’t take these things casually.’
‘Well you were obviously sleeping with Patrick.’
‘What? That’s absolutely none of your business.’
‘Now you say that, but on the beach you were pouring your heart out about him.’
‘I think you’d better go,’ I said, fighting back tears.
Oh my God, that was the second time that day I’d said that in that room.
‘I think I’d better stay and straighten you out,’ Jack said taking hold, roughly this time, of my two wrists.
‘Jack, I’m telling you to leave,’ I said.
‘I don’t think so. You young ones are all the same so don’t come over all virginy on me.’
I tried to control my shaking. Was I about to become one of the rape statistics? The voice of my teacher at the Self-Defence-For-Women class came back to me: don’t waste energy arguing with him. Forget the luggage, somebody else can get that. Jack was on my right-hand side. I stamped as hard as I could on his left foot with the heel of my shoe while shouting at the same time. When the fright made him let go, I struck him hard under his nose with the ball of my right hand. Without waiting to see if I had done any damage, I ran out the door and down into the lobby. I went into the bar and asked for a brandy.
‘Are you all right love, you look a bit pale,’ said the bartender.
‘I, I, I…just heard my granny died,’ I whispered.
‘Oh God, I am sorry. Can I do anything for you?’
‘Thank you so much. Could you please ask someone to get my luggage from my room and phone for a taxi to the station?’
‘Certainly love.’
The bartender went off and in no time I found myself being left off at the station. I looked along the platform, but there was no sign of Jack. Just to be sure, I got into a no-smoking compartment and settled down with my book.
I breathed a grateful sigh when the train pulled out, but I barely had my book out of my bag when the door of the carriage slid noisily open and there was Jack. He sat down out of breath.
‘Look, I’m sorry Sinead, that was unforgivable of me. But did you have to hit me quite that hard?’ he grinned, rubbing his nose. ‘Mind you, I can’t say it didn’t turn me on a bit!’
‘Jack you might think it was funny, but I certainly don’t. And if you don’t mind I’d rather not sit with you.’
‘It’s a free country, I can sit anywhere I like.’
‘Then I’ll move and if you follow me I’ll tell the inspector there is a strange man harassing me. In case there is still any misunderstanding, I want to make it quite clear that whatever might briefly have started between us, there is nothing now. As far as I am concerned I hope I never lay eyes on you again.’
‘Oh come off it Sinead.’
I began to get my rucksack and coat.
‘All right, all right, I’m going, but I won’t let you off that easily.’
I wished I had never met him. I felt so humiliated and foolish for not realising what he was like. And what did he mean ‘he wouldn’t let me off?’
I was beginning to shiver so I closed the window.
I got a cup of coffee when the tea trolley came and sipped it anxiously. I tried to do the crossword in the paper but couldn’t. I forced myself to read the paper even though the words danced disjointedly on and above the page. Whatever else about Patrick I had never felt frightened of him.
Chapter four
I started getting my stuff together when the train entered the outskirts of Dublin. People looked so cosy as we flashed past their houses and caught a glimpse of them in their kitchens and sitting rooms. As if they didn’t have a care in the world. I got my stuff together in plenty of time so I could make a quick exit and walked briskly to the taxi rank. I didn’t want to walk down the quays for a bus and risk bumping into Jack again. It was a relief to sit back with a total stranger driving. I could breathe again.
When we turned into Palmerston Gardens, I felt as if I had been away for a year. I let myself in, told mam I hadn’t been feeling all that well and asked her for taxi money. The fire was lighting in the sitting room, dad was doing the crossword and Donal was watching telly.
‘Sinead, you’re as white as a sheet,’ said dad.
‘I think I got a tummy bug.’
‘How did you get that, did anyone else get it? Would you like some soup and toast?’ said mam getting up and generally fussing.
‘That would be absolutely perfect, no one else got it, I don’t know how I got it, maybe it was the food on the train.’
I collapsed into the warmth of mam’s armchair and let the atmosphere envelop me. The light from the fire, which dad always insisted on lighting even in summer, was reflected in the shiny black piano.
For once I welcomed mam’s fussing, although there was no way I could tell her what had happened.
‘Don’t eat anything until I have a look at you,’ said dad.
‘No dad, I’m fine; I don’t think I’m going to be sick again – I just need the soup and then I’ll go to bed.’
‘Here you are dear, do you want anything else?’ mam said coming back into the sitting room with a tray. ‘Move away from the fire, you’ll only come out in a sweat.’
‘Oh for goodness sake, Nora, stop fussing,’ said dad. ‘You just need a nice rest.’
‘Yeah. I think I’ll take the tray up to bed.’
‘Don’t say yeah dear,’ mam said.
‘Donal, you carry it up for her,’ dad nodded at Donal.
I went up and was sitting on the edge of my bed when Donal brought the tray in.
‘What’s up, Sinny, you really look awful?’
‘Aw, I just feel a bit sick.’
Chapter five
It was a full two weeks later when I took the pregnancy test. The house was strangely still that morning as I waited the agonising 30 minutes for the test to reach its verdict even though I was pretty sure I knew. And there it was, the thin blue line. Now I could see the evidence, I didn’t really believe it. It must be happening to someone else. How was it that just the previous day I had assumed I could float along on life and make plans as I chose? Why hadn’t I cherished that freedom?
It was also the morning that I was starting my job in Hodges Figgis bookshop and I had to be at St Stephen’s Green by 8.45. I swallowed and pulled on my ‘work outfit’ newly purchased by mam in Richard Alan’s on Grafton Street. I found the trouser suit strangely comforting; I felt lousy and my thoughts were muddled, but at least I knew what I had to do for the next hour.
I was barely dressed when I had to run into the bathroom to retch up the last few ounces of last night’s late-night snack. Already things were out of my control.
Everybody was their usual polite selves at the breakfast table and hoped I would have a good day. But mam couldn’t stop herself from saying how washed out I looked. I wanted to shout at her to shut up and mind her own business.
I managed to eat a couple of slices of dry toast and then was grateful to be able to say my goodbyes and get out of there and catch the bus. I had to get off at the top of Harcourt Street and walk the rest of the way down as every lurch of the bus sent my stomach whirling.
Two other students were starting at the bookshop that day too, Margaret and Shane. I hit it off with Margaret straight away and it was great to be out of the claustrophobia of home, and away from Patrick, Jack and the whole bloody lot of them.
Shane was a nice friendly boy with a passion for motorbikes – he seemed very young for his age but in a kind of charming way. He kept trying to tell Margaret and me about the intricacies of the latest Suzuki and which one he was going to buy at the end of the summer. He seemed genuinely disappointed when we were lacklustre in our enthusiasm.
Mr Byrne was in charge of schoolbooks, and of us. He took the whole thing extremely seriously and explained that the credit-card device, which he handled like a piece of Ming china as he admired it reverently, was to be used by him only. Mere students could not be trusted to master the intricacies of fitting in the bits of flimsy paper and running the slide thing precisely across the credit card.
This meant that Margaret, Shane and I were confined to taking school lists from people and looking for their books on the shelves. It was all very boring. I had imagined that working in a bookshop was somewhat erudite and romantic.
By the end of the morning Margaret and I were already irritating the life out of poor Mr Byrne. And when he found us for the second time collapsed into giggles in the storeroom, he looked so sad.
‘I thought you were two sensible girls,’ he said in a mystified tone.
We tried to look suitably contrite but barely lasted until he was gone out to the counter again. We did make more of an effort and by that evening Mr Byrne seemed suitably placated by our attempts to speed things up and bring out the correct books. And so I got through the days.
With Grace away I was lonely – Margaret was great but I didn’t want to go into the whole pregnancy thing with her.
I managed to cover the bouts of vomiting at work by telling them I had an eye problem and needed eye drops regularly. I even put a bit of salt in my eyes from time to time to make it look convincing.
Mr Byrne turned out to be totally harmless and tolerated Margaret and me quite well – we did actually work hard. Shane joined in our conversations from time to time but had learned there was not much point in trying to interest us in the respective merits of Yamahas, Triumphs and BSAs.
Chapter six
Being busy all day was just what I needed, even though it meant that I was putting off dealing with the growing reality. I almost convinced myself that it would all just go away – it had just been a nightmare. And now I was awake in the real world.
Stuck in traffic on the bus was often the time that I allowed myself to wallow a little. I was idly looking through the Evening Press one such evening when an ad caught my eye.
‘Spacious bedsit.
Suit single girl.
£7 p.w. Tel: 973576.’
The more I looked at the ad, the more I liked the idea. Why not, I earned £12 a week so I could probably just about afford it and I could get another job after I finished up in Hodges Figgis.
But I’d have to tell mam and dad.
‘I need to tell you both something,’ I said gearing myself up for my major announcement at dinner later that night.
There was silence. I half-hoped they would figure it out themselves.
‘You’re not going to like it.’
Still silence.
‘I’m moving into a flat and I’m…’
‘You’re doing no such thing,’ mam said.
‘And you’re what?’ dad asked.
‘I’m…I’m…’ but no words came out.
‘In God’s name, tell me you’re not trying to say you’re pregnant?’ dad finally whispered.
‘Yes, right first time. I’m preggers.’
‘Oh my god!’ Mam said. ‘You can’t be. Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I’m sure. Do you think I’d say anything if I weren’t one hundred thousand gazillion per cent sure?’
‘How could you go and get pregnant?’
‘I didn’t “go and get pregnant”. It just happened. And we did use contraception, but it…it didn’t work; if you want to know the stupid thing burst,’ I lied. ‘So it’s not my fault, I couldn’t help it. So just leave me alone.’
I ran out of the kitchen up to my room.
A few minutes later mam tip-tapped on my bedroom door.
‘For God’s sake will you leave me alone.’
I was lying on my bed smoking a cigarette.
‘Sinead, I have to talk to you.’
Mam strode into my room.
‘Sinead! You’re not smoking on top of everything else are you?’
‘As if that bloody well matters now anyway.’
She let this pass, but I could see her struggling to contain herself as her dream of my life was shattered.
‘Sinead, how many weeks are you?’
‘104, 120, six million, what’s the difference?’
‘But you’re so young. Too young for this. I couldn’t bear to watch you go through the gossip, the pity, the nausea – and we couldn’t possibly give the baby away for adoption…I’ve reared two children already…who is the father?’
‘Never mind, it doesn’t matter who he is, he doesn’t know.’
‘Sinead, how many weeks gone are you; it’s important?’
‘I dunno, I suppose about 10 weeks, as if it makes any difference.’
‘Ten weeks! You didn’t deliberately plan to have a baby, did you?’
‘Jesus no, of course I didn’t.’
‘Well, you know, you don’t have to.’
‘What do you mean? Oh, I see, you’ve always gone on about how wrong abortion is, but it’s different for us. We can’t have our nice tidy life upset. Well I’m having this baby and I’m keeping it, even if you kick us both out on the street.’
Even I was surprised at this pronouncement.
‘Oh don’t be ridiculous, you know there’s no question of anything like that.’
‘Just leave me alone will you?’
‘All right, all right, I’m going – you should try and sleep, you’ve worn yourself out.’
I woke from a deep sleep when it was getting dark – I was starving and went down to the kitchen where the others were having tea. My mouth watered at the smell of the food. I helped myself to toasted cheese and rasher sandwiches from the china plate in the middle of the table.
‘How are you feeling now?’ dad asked.
‘I’m fine and please for the next six months, don’t keep asking me how I feel. If there’s anything wrong I’ll let you know.’
Dad restrained himself from saying anything else.
‘Donal, how’s your study going?’
I exchanged looks with Donal. Dad was always deriding Donal’s choice of the ‘so-called profession’ architecture.
‘Fine.’
‘Good keep that up. At least you’ll be able to earn a salary and lead a decent life. Not like some people.’
Oh, god he was building himself up to one of his explosions.
‘But this! How could my own daughter have got herself into such a mess? Sinead, you’ll have to tell us who the father is. His parents will have to be told.’
‘What for? No, dad, no. I’m not going out with him anymore. He doesn’t even know.’
‘Sinead, is it that Patrick?’
‘I told you Daddy, I don’t want to get into all that.’
‘All that! We’re talking about the father of your child, of my grandchild for God’s sake. You can’t just ignore it and hope it’ll go away. You have no choice but to go “into all that”. Sinead, you do know who the father is don’t you, or were there so many that we’d have to have an identity parade?’
‘You fucker.’ I had never used bad language to my parents before.
‘Sinead, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I know you’re not like that, it’s just me, I’m so worried. I want to do what’s best for you and the baby. Please I’m sorry.’
I was sobbing.
‘If you would only tell me who the father is. How could anyone abuse your youth by seducing you? Sinead, it’s all right. Let’s forget about the father for the time being. Maybe you should go back to bed. How’s the job going?’ he said desperately.
‘It’s alright. Helps keep my mind off things.’
‘Yes, I expect it does,’ dad sighed.
‘Goodnight, Dad…I’m. I’m…see you in the morning.’
‘Goodnight sweetheart.’
Chapter seven
I couldn’t stand it at home and did move into the ‘spacious’ bedsit the following Saturday.
It was the converted boxroom of a small redbrick house in Ranelagh. My bed occupied the right-hand side of the room and on the left were wall-to-ceiling cupboards that housed my clothes, kitchen and everything else. There was a space about two feet wide down the middle of the room stretching from the door to the window. This tiny patch of floor was covered with flecked gray lino over which I had put a cotton Indian rug, folded in two. The cupboard doors were chipboard covered with battered gloss purple paint. And the shiny vinyl wallpaper was pink and grey. The net curtains featured a little boy going fishing and the dirty flowered curtains were brown and orange. I had been in the room an hour when the door came off its hinges. It was a week before the landlord fixed it. In the meantime I had to pick it up and move it to one side to ‘open’ and ‘close’ it.
I told myself I didn’t care about the grottiness. At night-time I brought home a frozen dinner, heated it up in the tiny oven and ate it on my bed, read magazines and fell asleep. Dinner was my first meal of the day because I was too sick to eat anything except dry crackers before then.
I was overcome by tiredness and by having to put on a brave face all day.
But I was surviving.
I went home for Sunday dinner the week after I moved out but the worried anxious faces of my parents were too much to bear. I wouldn’t give them my address, but said they could phone me at work in case of emergency. I did give it to Donal and made him swear he wouldn’t tell them.
I longed for Grace to come back from her summer working in Germany – she was the only person I felt I could have talked to.
I was on my feet all day in the bookshop. It was mind-numbingly boring, but the repetitive nature of the work was all I could have coped with. And working with Margaret helped a lot.
Dad kept phoning me to get me to go to the hospital. And by early August, when I was 14 weeks pregnant, he finally persuaded me to attend an obstetrician in a maternity hospital in town – an old college friend. I gave in – I was absolutely dying in the heat – and thought he might be able to give me something.
I got Mondays off in lieu of Saturdays and made my appointment for Dr King’s 10.00am clinic. There were four other women waiting, one had a toddler with her, one a new baby, one looked as if she were about to go into labour at any second and the fourth was at about the same stage as me. They all wore wedding rings and the woman with the toddler also wore a very conspicuous diamond engagement ring.
For seven weeks I had been living day-to-day with the 24-hour nausea taking over my life. I had been unable to think about the future, but the women in the clinic suddenly brought to life those drawings in Everywoman, ‘the foetus at 30 weeks’, ‘the baby at six weeks’.
‘What a beautiful baby,’ said the mother with the toddler. ‘Is it a boy or a girl?’
‘It’s a girl,’ said the woman who, after breast-feeding her six-week-old baby, had put her on a blanket on the floor and was gazing at her enraptured as she cooed, smiled and kicked her legs.
‘What weight was she?’
‘Seven pounds 12.’
‘That was a good size.’
‘How many weeks are you?’
‘I’m 24 now, thank goodness,’ said the mother of the toddler.
‘You don’t look it; I was huge at that stage.’
I hid in a magazine to make sure they wouldn’t try to include me in the conversation. I was in shock at what lay ahead – a real baby, just like the one on the floor, who needed to be smiled at, picked up, fed, who would depend on me and whom perfect strangers would feel the right to question me about.
‘Is this your first visit?’ the nurse asked as she came into the waiting room.
‘Yes,’ I said startled.
‘Come on in then.’
I followed her out to a little room.
‘I just want to take blood and urine samples and your blood pressure, all right dear? And hop up on those scales ‘til I get your weight. That’s it, now take a seat here, good girl. Now, your name is?’
‘Sinead O’Neill.’
‘Oh yes, your father is a friend of Dr King, isn’t he? When was your last period?’
‘Around the middle of April.’
‘Hmm, that means you’re due about the last week in January. Now, I know you’re not married but what is the father’s name? We need it for our records.’
‘I’d rather not say,’ I said.
‘This is totally confidential,’ the nurse said kindly.
‘Just put unknown – I know but he doesn’t,’ I said and much to my embarrassment found myself sobbing convulsively.
‘Oh you poor thing. Have you spoken to anyone about your “situation”?’
‘No, not really.’
‘What about your parents?’
‘They tried to help but they just kept on arguing about it,’ I sobbed. ‘Couldn’t stand it any more so I moved out.’
‘So where are you living?’
When I started describing my bedsit to the nurse the reality of how awful it was hit me for the first time.
‘You know, we have a social worker here. I can put her in contact with you if you like; she could talk to your parents too.’
‘I don’t know. The worst thing at the moment is the sickness and the heat – is there anything you can do about that?’
‘Well, you are 14 weeks now, it should start easing off. Otherwise, I know it sounds cruel, but mothers just have to put up with it. It’s just too dangerous to take any medication. Are you eating properly?’
‘Kind of.’
‘Maybe it was a good idea to move out from home for a while. But don’t you think that now everyone has got used to the idea you should go back where you will be properly looked after. You are a bit underweight for your stage and you don’t want to feel sicker than you do already.’