Love and Shenanigans (Ballybeg, Book 1) (The Ballybeg Series) (12 page)

“Take a seat.” Gant gestured to two leather armchairs on the other side of his desk. “Olivia will bring the coffee tray shortly. I had a copy of your marriage certificate faxed from Las Vegas.” He shuffled the papers on his desk and shoved a printout across the desk.

Gavin stared at his hands. “It’s the real deal?”

“Oh, yes. You’re definitely legally married.” The slick smile was back in place. He might be one of Bernard’s cohorts, but he was thoroughly enjoying this situation.

Gavin shifted in his seat. “How do we end the marriage? Can we fly to Vegas for a quickie divorce?”

Gant laughed. “If only it were so simple. You’re not legal residents of Nevada. You’ll have to file for divorce here in Ireland.”

“That’ll take ages,” Fiona said. “Is there no way we can get an annulment?”

“Hard to do, I’m afraid. In order to get an Irish court to grant an annulment, you have to prove the marriage is either voidable or void. A voidable marriage is one which can be judged to be no marriage at all because one or both partners suffers from a serious mental illness or is incapable of sexual intercourse. This may be due to impotence or homosexuality.” Gant eyed Gavin slyly. “I take it that’s not relevant in your case?”

Cheeky sod!
Gant was loving seeing him brought low. “No, it is not relevant.”

“What about the other type of null marriage?” Fiona asked.

“A void marriage is one that never existed. For example, one or both of the partners was already married, the partners are too closely related to be legally married, or one or both of the partners were incapable of giving their consent at the time of the ceremony.”

Gavin’s ears pricked up. “Does being drunk off our arses count?”

“Intoxication is one reason to declare a marriage void, but it is rarely accepted in court. Sure, if it were that easy, half of Ireland would be running in with that excuse.”

“But we were genuinely drunk at the time of our Vegas wedding,” Fiona said. “As was our officiant.”

“I believe you, but it won’t wash in court. The ceremony took place eight years ago. If you’d come home to Ireland and immediately initiated proceedings to annul the marriage, you’d have stood a chance. You say you first found out the marriage was valid on Saturday morning, but the claim is almost impossible to prove.”

Well, screw that.

“If we go for the divorce option, how long will it take?” Gavin asked.

Aidan shrugged. “Officially, it’s five years from start to finish—barring unforeseen complications.”

If Aidan had punched him in the solar plexus, Gavin couldn’t have been more winded. “Five years?” he spluttered. “You can’t be serious.”

Five years of his life in free fall? No flipping way.

“We can probably get it down to four because you’ve been living apart for at least a year.”

“We’ve never lived together,” they said in unison. Their eyes clashed for a second, reigniting the old spark of awareness. Gavin massaged his temples. He must be losing the plot. They were sitting in a solicitor’s office discussing their divorce, and he was remembering her naked.

“The courts won’t care you never lived together.” Gant’s smirk was seriously getting on Gavin’s nerves. “Provided we can prove you’ve maintained separate addresses and for the past twelve months, we can start the proceedings for divorce. I’ll warn you it’s not only a long process, but also an expensive one.”

“Whatever it costs, we’ll work something out,” Fiona said. “Right, Gavin?”

He stared at the geometric design on the carpet. For flip’s sake. He’d have to compile a list of his mounting debts.

Olivia entered the office, bearing a tray laden with freshly baked scones and steaming black coffee. Under normal circumstances, Gavin would have pounced on the scones. This morning, his stomach roiled at the sight of food. He accepted a double espresso and knocked it back in one.

“Now that we’ve discussed your divorce, I have a small matter to parlay with Gavin.” Gant’s grin was positively gleeful. This did not bode well.

Fiona took the hint. “I’ll wait outside and have my coffee with Olivia.”

When the door clicked shut behind them, Gavin met Gant’s amused expression. “I assume I’m the latest addition to Ireland’s unemployment problem.”

Gant steepled his fingers. “Put it this way: Bernard’s given me a box containing the contents of your desk. In accordance with your contract of employment, your salary will be paid in full until the end of your period of notice.”

Gavin took a ragged breath.
Shite.
Not unexpected, but a crushing blow all the same.

“He’s also supplied me with an itemized list of the wedding expenses you owe him.” Gant shoved a piece of paper across the desk.

At the sight of the sum written on it, bile surged up Gavin’s throat. The cost of the wedding was no surprise, but seeing it in black and white was a stark reminder of how quickly his life had turned into a sewer system.

“Bernard knows you can’t afford to pay this amount at once,” Gant continued, “therefore, he has a proposition for you.”

Gavin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Go on.” Whatever scheme his almost father-in-law had concocted would not be to his benefit. The man’s idea of a business proposition generally left the other party a weeping, bloody mess.

“From my understanding, you and Muireann currently split the cost of the mortgage repayments on Clonmore Lodge.”

“Yes.” And a hefty sum it was, too, regardless of Bernard’s supposed bargain sale price on the house.

“If you agree to pay the full mortgage repayments between now and the time you sell the house, Bernard will give you until Christmas to pay the money you owe for the wedding. In addition, he will furnish you with a glowing reference to show prospective employers.”

Gavin bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. “Firstly, I’m legally entitled to a reference. Secondly, the law does not require me to reimburse the Byrnes for the wedding. I intend to do so because I feel a personal obligation to Muireann. Finally, how the hell does Bernard expect me to cover the mortgage if I’m out of a job? Glowing reference or not, I’m unlikely to find a new position immediately. My redundancy payment will only go so far, and we all know how hard it is to offload property in Ireland these days.”

Gant shrugged. “You’re entitled to a reference, true, but not to a glowing one. As for finding the money to pay the mortgage… frankly, that’s your problem. If you refuse to sign the deal, you’ll have to pay back the full cost of the wedding by the middle of October.”

“What if I tell Bernard to go fuck himself?”

The smirk evaporated. “Then you’ll be hard pressed to find an architectural job anywhere in the south of Ireland.”

In other words, Bernard would pull strings to ensure he had no choice but to emigrate. His hands balled into fists.
The rat bastard.
“This is blackmail. What’s to stop me from calling my union rep?”

“Absolutely nothing. Go ahead and call them if you wish.” The Cheshire cat smile split his cheeks. “However, Bernard did mention a small matter of missing funds from the shopping center project. He seemed to think you might know something about it and is considering contacting the police.”

Gavin’s pulse quickened. “That’s total bollocks and you know it. I’m the architect. I have nothing to do with the company finances.”

“Nevertheless, Bernard believes he has compelling evidence against you. And given that you’ve just announced to over three hundred people your intention to commit bigamy, I doubt the police will be inclined to believe you’re 
above theft.”

He staggered to his feet, his world spinning. “I’ll need to think on it.”

“You do that.” Gant stood to see him out. “But don’t think too long. Bernard Byrne is not a patient man.”

Fiona pounded up the stairs of Cork University Hospital. Her lungs were burning, and her bad leg was aching. Why had she quit going to the gym? Laziness? Lack of time? Both?

“Excuse me.” She dodged a white-clad doctor descending from the second floor and took the remaining stairs two at a time.

It was just shy of three o’clock, and visiting hours on St. Ignatius ward were in full swing. A green-faced patient attached to various IVs was wheeled out of the lift, and a man on a stretcher was wheeled in. Visitors crowded the nurses’ station inquiring after family members and friends.

Nurse Collins, the friendly nurse from yesterday, was wheeling an elderly man down the corridor.

“Your auntie came through the surgery fine,” she said with a cheery smile when Fiona approached. “She’s resting in her room.”

“Thanks.” Fiona struggled to catch her breath after her dash up the stairs. Tomorrow she was buying running shoes. “Is she ready for visitors?”

“Your uncle and cousin were already here. Bridie’s a little groggy, but I’m sure she’d love to see you.” Nurse Collins’s smile stretched wider. She leaned closer to Fiona in a confidential manner. “Your cousin told me what you’re doing.”

Stealing her man? Wrecking her wedding? Marring Muireann’s otherwise perfect existence with her plump-and-pierced presence? The list of possibilities was endless, and none should have put a benevolent smile on Nurse Collins’ face.

“What do you mean?”

“She said you’ve canceled your world trip to look after Bridie.”

Whew
. Nothing too horrific, thank goodness. “Not canceled. Postponed.”

“How wonderful.” Nurse Collins patted her arm. “After six months of looking after your aunt and her shop, you’ll need the break.”

An icy trickle wound its way down her back. “What?”

“If she’s lucky, she can return to work in four, but we usually estimate six to be on the safe side.”

Her mouth gaped so low she’d start drooling if she didn’t haul her jaw into place.
Oh, feck.
What had Muireann done?

Nurse Collins’s beeper emitted a piercing sound. “Back to work I go. Stop by the nurses’ station on your way out, will you? We need to organize Bridie’s stay at the nursing home.”

“Nursing home?”
What the feck?

“She’ll need to spend a couple of weeks in a nursing home after we discharge her. She’d have to be there even longer if she didn’t have you to look after her at home. Pop by on your way out, and we’ll discuss the details.”

“Uh… sure.”

Nurse Collins and the wheelchair disappeared into a room to the left, leaving Fiona to gather her racing thoughts. This was a joke, right? Were they seriously expecting her to cancel the trip she’d spent five years saving for? She’d taken a sabbatical from teaching to travel, not to play the role of nursemaid and general dogsbody. Would Bridie be out of commission for six whole months?

“Watch out!” An old lady in a motorized wheelchair whizzed past.

Fiona leaped to the side with seconds to spare.

“Sorry, dear. I’m not used to the brakes on this thing yet. Are you okay?”

“I’m grand,” Fiona said, waving her on. “No harm done.”

The old lady moved off down the hall. Would her aunt need a wheelchair when she got out of hospital? How would she be able to go shopping if no one was with her?

The olive green walls spun, forming a whirling tunnel of echoing voices chastising her for her failures as a niece, as a cousin, as a friend.

She went into Bridie’s room. If her aunt had looked poorly on Saturday, today she looked like death—bloodless lips and chalky complexion.

Fiona bent to kiss her.

Bridie opened one blue eye. “Thank feck it’s you. I was afraid Muireann and Bernard had come back.”

“You’re remarkably chipper for a woman described as groggy by one of the nurses.”

Her aunt emitted a derisive snort. “Would you want Bernard and Muireann hovering over you if you felt like shite? One bellowing abuse at all and sundry, and the other moaning about her various woes. I had to pretend to be out of it. It was the only way to get them to leave.”

“You’re dreadful,” Fiona said, laughing. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, pet. Sit down and talk to me.”

She pulled up a chair. She’d tell Bridie there’d been a miscommunication. Her aunt would understand.

“Bernard says you’ve canceled your trip to stay and run the Book Mark.” Bridie’s wan face creased in concern. “Why didn’t you tell me? You said you’d postponed until next week.”

“No, I…”
Tell her. Tell her now.
“Does Sharon still work part time at the Book Mark?”

“Yes. I don’t know what I’d do without her. She’s a cheeky minx but a good worker.” Bridie slumped further into her pillows. “I’ll be honest with you, Fiona. The business is struggling. Those who can afford it have switched over to digital. The rest are suffering from the economic downturn and sticking to used books. I can’t afford to pay someone to run the shop for me, and I can’t afford to close for however long I’m unable to work.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get it sorted.”

“Are you sure about this, pet? Won’t you lose money by canceling at short notice? Bernard was convinced your insurance would cover the cancellation cost, but to the best of my knowledge, that buffoon hasn’t traveled farther than the UK.”

A buffoon indeed. With a cunning, calculating cow of a daughter. Fiona’s fingernails dug into her palms. How dare they try to manipulate her into staying in Ballybeg? Bernard had plenty of money. Why couldn’t he hire a nurse to look after his only sister? This trip was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Why should she have to cancel it?