It Was Only Ever You (11 page)

During the speeches, Dermot had to get up and give gifts to the bridesmaids. His speech was witty and articulate. And as the room filled with laughter she felt a small snap of pride. As he praised the bride’s beauty his eyes moved across the room to her. When he came back to the table he rested his hand gently on Ava’s as if to apologize for having left her for so long and continued to attend to her, lighting her cigarettes, pouring her coffee and passing her petits fours.

The band came on stage and began to warm up for the bride and groom’s first dance.

‘I believe the singer is very good,’ Dermot said. ‘He is recently arrived from Ireland, so I believe.’

‘No rock and roll then?’ Niall butted in. ‘Will I have to wait until later, Ava, before I steer you away from my selfish brother?’

The opening verse of ‘Down by the Salley Gardens’ came floating across the worn, wooden dance floor and the bride and groom began their first dance.

‘Aha,’ Dermot said. ‘A nice slow start. May I...?’ He stood up and reached for Ava’s hand.

‘This song is my father’s party piece,’ she said to Dermot.

‘And it’s a waltz,’ he said. Then clasping her hand added, ‘Could it be any more perfect?’

It was Ava’s turn to blush. She could barely believe this was happening to her. Being asked up for the first dance, and a waltz! She did not even dare look across the room at her mother. Nessa would have to be hospitalized with sheer joy.

As they joined the wedding party on the dance floor Dermot placed his hand firmly on the small of her back and clutched her right hand awkwardly in his left. Ava’s initial thrill waned somewhat when she realized that Dermot was, indeed, a clumsy and disjointed dancer. With a terrific confidence that his skill did not warrant, he clunked her about on the dance floor with a heavy foot, bruising the tips of her toes with almost every step, and driving her off in a straight line away from the dance floor. Ava redirected him firmly just as the singer came and took his place at the front of the stage. Ava could see that he was around her own age. He was wearing a deep green velvet suit. His hair was soft black curls, his eyes – she could see even from here – were a striking blue.

She could not say if his face was handsome or not because he wore an expression of such ecstasy as he sang ‘Down by the Salley Gardens’ that she could almost feel his emotion sliding over her skin.

The deep, glorious sound of the young man’s singing voice affected her so deeply that Ava could feel her legs weakening beneath her, as if she were about to faint. She loosened her back and arms and sank her head on to Dermot’s shoulder.

Delighted with the intimate gesture Dermot relaxed his footwork so that the two of them were simply shuffling on the spot in a sideways embrace. He closed his eyes and drank in the perfume of Ava’s hair. He distracted himself from the closeness of their bodies, her breasts against his chest, her breath on his neck, by planning how he could capture her affection. Perhaps he would make a statement and take her for lunch during the week to the Law Society Club. That would impress her. It would show Ava, and her family, that he was serious in his intentions.

‘I
DON
’
T
WANT
him in Dublin, or even London where he might come back,’ Eleanor had said. ‘I want him as far away as possible.’

John had persuaded her that New York was the best option because his cousin owned a golf course. ‘He can give him a job and we’ll be able to keep an eye on him.’ Although he had said it to appease her, Eleanor knew that John had wanted to keep an eye on the lad to make sure he was all right. She would have sent him to Australia or South America and let him fend for himself without a second thought. She felt certain, too, that the wretched boy would have just taken the money and gone anyway. Although she was more afraid of him coming back.

John did not say anything directly to her, but she knew he thought she was being too hard on Rose and the lad. If it had been left up to him, Eleanor felt certain that he would have let the romance play out, right there, in front of all their neighbours. He didn’t know how these things could come to a sorry end. He had married the first girl he had fallen in love with, which was her. He could never know the pain that bad decisions in love could make when you are young.

John felt guilty, about lying to his daughter as much as about banishing the boy, but Eleanor knew that they were doing the right thing. In time, Rose would forget this silly lad and Eleanor would fix her up with a nice man from a good family. Someone with a profession. A lawyer or, ideally, a young doctor who could join her father in the practice. In the meantime she would indulge Rose by letting her go to art college. She might even rent an apartment in Dublin and join her there so she could keep a close eye. Eleanor intended to keep a very tight rein on Rose until she felt confident that her daughter’s future was certain and safe. This business with the Murphy boy had been a warning shot across the bows. They had caught it just in time, it seemed.

It had been almost six months since they had banished Rose’s young man to America. A week after he had disappeared Rose was due to go back to boarding school in neighbouring Crossmolina. She refused point-blank to leave Foxford when the summer ended, saying she would prefer to sleep at home and had no interest in the company of the other girls. Her parents knew it was because she was hoping that Patrick would appear under her window one night, and she wanted to be there. As it was her final school exams year, her parents conceded. So John was forced to drive her to and from Sligo each day for her studies. It was an hour’s drive there and back, very disruptive for his working day, but he felt so guilty that he conceded. As each day passed, Rose grew more and more silent and withdrawn. It broke John’s heart to see her suffer so, and every day he felt an increasing compulsion to confess. But the lie seemed to grow larger, his actions more difficult to explain. As time went on, and she didn’t get better, his cruelty was less easy to justify. John felt he had no choice but to try and draw her into jolly conversation, with less and less success until they simply sat in a terrible sad silence, Rose nursing the secret of her broken heart alone, and her father knowing what was happening, that he had caused it, and yet unable to do or say anything about it.

Christmas came and went, but the pining didn’t go away.

Rose was listless and sad all the time, with barely the energy to pick at her food before going straight up to her room after dinner. She withdrew from her parents completely. They tried to persuade themselves that she was upstairs drawing, fighting to deny the fact that she was no longer coming downstairs to show them each finished piece as she had done since she was a child. In truth, both of them knew that she was simply sobbing into her pillow after Patrick Murphy. Both of them had expected her to be upset, but as two months turned to four and Rose grew thinner, John became genuinely worried that his daughter was losing her mind. Even Eleanor was beginning to doubt that she had done the right thing.

One evening, after they had made a particularly excruciating effort to please her with a coq au vin dinner and her favourite fresh cream sponge from Clarke’s in Ballina, Rose had stumped up to her room immediately afterwards. Her face was stricken with grief. John was heartbroken, watching her slowly climb up the stairs as if her navy school stockings were too heavy for her legs.

As soon as she was out of earshot he turned to his wife and said, ‘It’s not right, what we are doing, Eleanor. I have to tell her the truth.’

His wife’s reaction was so immediate and so strong that it frightened him.

‘You will do no such thing.’ Her voice was an angry growl. ‘You think you know, but you know nothing. She’s upset, but she’ll get over it. If she carries on with him...’ She stopped abruptly and began clearing the plates.

Eleanor was prone to hysterics so John didn’t push any further, but he resolved to find a way of talking to Rose over the coming days.

Patrick had been sending letters to Rose, care of John, as they had arranged. As the letters came through, Eleanor had, of course, absolutely insisted that they should not be passed on. So, when Eleanor went to stay with her sister for a few days, John decided to act. He knew his daughter would be angry and upset, but she would see sense, he was sure, and in any case this terrible situation had to end. By the time Eleanor came back from her sister’s house, the situation would be sorted out. So, before he called Rose down for her breakfast on this Saturday morning, he went into his office and unlocked the bureau drawer where he kept cash and confidential documents. But, as he reached to pull out the unopened letters from Patrick, the telephone rang. Dr Hopkins ran quickly out of the hall to answer it. His was one of five telephones in Foxford, including the postmistress’s and the priest’s. If it rang on a Saturday morning, it was probably an emergency.

‘Come quickly, Doctor, Enda fell down – he’s not breathing.’

Katherine Pryor from just down the road. Enda’s second heart attack – he could save him again, but he’d have to act fast. John grabbed his bag from the hallstand and ran out the front door, without even closing it behind him.

*

When he started up the car, Rose looked out the window and saw him leave.

It was safe to go downstairs.

Weekends were hell these days. She could not stand to be around her parents. Even though they had not known about her relationship with Patrick, some part of her felt that if they had known the cause of her misery they would have been pleased. Possibly even gloated. The mere fact that she could not tell them about this huge, consuming sadness that she felt in losing the great love of her life was enough, in itself, to carve a huge chasm between them. How could they possibly understand the pain she was feeling? It was as if somebody had cut off one of her limbs. She had not known how much a part of her he had become until he had gone.

His family had told her. Sinead had said, quite casually one day, ‘Patrick’s gone to Dublin. It’s all very mysterious. Somebody offered him a job in America and off he went. Just like that!’

‘Just like that.’ Rose’s heart was broken.

She didn’t believe it at first. Patrick would never leave her, and if he did, he certainly wouldn’t do it without saying goodbye. Without offering some kind of an explanation, a note, something. But there was nothing. Nothing but a big empty hole where love had once lived. And not just love, it seemed now, but hope and her future and all the dreams and ideas she had of them being artists together, out in the world, painting and singing. Two beautiful people in love, ready to set the world alight. Without him, she wasn’t beautiful any more. Without Patrick she had no fire, no heart. She was a shell. She wanted to die.

How could her parents possibly understand? Anyone understand? Except him. And yet he was the very person causing all of this. She had loved him, she had trusted him with her heart and also with her soul. And now, in breaking that trust, he had not only broken her heart, but scooped out her soul too. Rose was lost. Bereft. Broken.

However, she was also occasionally hungry. Just never in front of her parents.

So as soon as her father’s car took off at speed down the drive, she knew it was an emergency – probably a heart attack. They were the most popular emergencies around here. Her father did love saving lives. The glory of it kept him going, so he would probably be spending half the day driving to the main hospital in Galway and back. With her mother away, that gave Rose a full day on her own in the house. This meant that she could be depressed, but without the pressure of knowing that her parents were watching her. She couldn’t enjoy her cake with her parents gazing at her, wondering if her eating was an indication that things were getting better. Which, of course, they weren’t.

As Rose came down the stairs she noticed that the front door was open. While she was closing it, she noticed that the study door was wide open too and the drawer on her father’s bureau was pulled out. John always kept his desk drawer tightly locked because he often kept a lot of money in there. He banked most of his takings but liked to keep a good deal of cash in the house as well, for paying the gardener, or getting the car fixed – although she often heard her mother complain about it. Rose had an immediate fear that perhaps they had been burgled, and that her father had rushed out in pursuit – before reminding herself that he would hardly have taken the car. Somewhat intrigued, she walked in and laid her hands on the brown leather desktop and, as she did so, she saw an envelope just tucked into the drawer, as if it had been half pulled out when her father was disturbed. Picking it up, she was confused to see it was addressed to her and in a familiar hand. Under it were two more. Her stomach sank and her hands shook as she tore open the first envelope.

M
Y
DARLING
R
OSE
,

By now your father would have told you about our wonderful plan to set everything up for our future together.

He has sent me over to America to a cousin of his, a big, important man called Desmond, who runs a golf course, and I’m going to work there for a while until the singing takes off which please God won’t be too long. America is the home of rock and roll, Rose, and I’m so happy to be going there as you can imagine! The English lads like Tommy Steele and Cliff Richard, well they’re all right but America is where it’s all happening! If I am going to be discovered, that’s the place to be. Jerry Lee Lewis? Sure, he’ll only be trotting after me once I get going! I might be the new Elvis yet! Now, I know what you’re thinking, Rose – you’re thinking but if he’s the new Elvis he’ll have all the women screaming after him and there’ll be no room for the likes of me! Well you know that will never happen. You are the one for me, my wee Rosie Hopkins. Here I am sitting on an aeroplane, up above in the sky among the clouds – looking down on Ireland which is smaller from up here than you can imagine. I should be off the head with excitement and looking out the window and thinking of all the adventures ahead of me. But all I can think about is you, my darling girl, aghrá. It has been so hard these last few weeks, pretending I didn’t want to see you. I hope you got my last note saying I was away up to Dublin for work and that, and you didn’t go thinking that I had abandoned you altogether – although you would know me by now that that would never happen. That was the hardest thing of all, not seeing you or being able to tell you where I was going and what I was doing. But your father knows you the best of all. Better than me even, I’m thinking, and he said you would try to stop me going. But, Rose, my darling Rose, this is the best thing for us, and that is certain. I’ve nothing to give you back home (except all my love and kisses and more besides!) but in a few short months I’ll be able to send home for you, pay back all the money I owe your father for his kindness in sending me here although I know he did it for you, more than for me, because he wants you seen right with a man with prospects, someone you can rely on. That’s what I want too, so that’s why I came without stopping to say goodbye. I hope you’ll forgive me – and I know that you will.