She smiled to herself as she drove along the dual carriageway, enjoying the feel of the wind on her face. Despite the late hour, the sun was still shining, the sky was blue; everything was so perfect, you’d think whoever was in charge of the weather had given her this fabulous evening on purpose.
Of course, she always looked forward to returning home to Castlegate, a small, picturesque and hugely popular tourist village some twenty miles outside of Dublin city, and again she wondered if she and Glenn should think seriously about moving back to live there. But Glenn loved living in the city and, with the majority of Tara’s clientele to be found in the capital, it wouldn’t be practical just yet. But it was certainly something to think about for the future.
She put the convertible into fifth gear and deftly moved into the fast lane, only remembering to check her rear-view mirror at the very last minute. Eeek! Her heart lurched, but luckily there was nothing behind her. She exhaled deeply and shook her head from side to side. It was all very well being in a good mood, but she really should be more careful – especially when driving this bloody thing!
Approaching a set of traffic lights on red further down the road, Tara eased off on the accelerator. Typical – once you got stopped at the first set, you got stopped at them all, she groaned, tapping her nails against the steering wheel impatiently. Then, vaguely sensing she was being watched, she looked to her left and spotted the driver of the car alongside flash her an appreciative smile.
Tara reddened and looked away, desperately willing the lights to change. She supposed she should be used to the attention by now, the sporty Renault cabriolet turning heads wherever they went – much to Glenn’s delight – but Tara always felt like such a bloody poser in this thing.
Then again, a blonde in a convertible always got attention, didn’t she? Never mind that the blonde in question was really a strawberry-blonde who badly needed her roots done, wore very little make-up and was today dressed in decidedly unglamorous sportswear – totally undeserving of such attention. If anything she looked like some cheeky gurrier who’d hot-wired the thing!
She stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the other driver. Why on earth she had let Glenn talk her into buying this she’d never know.
But wasn’t it a blessing twice over that the weather was fine? Because even though she’d been driving the car a few weeks now, she still couldn’t for the life of her figure out how to put the top back up. She had meant to ask Glenn for another demonstration before she left but had forgotten.
Glenn, as always, was horrified at Tara’s lack of appreciation of auto-excellence.
“What’s the point in having a class machine like that if you don’t appreciate it?” he’d say, while Tara would roll her eyes and point out that she’d have been much happier in an ordinary, run-of-the-mill Golf or something, rather than this snazzy, attention-seeking number he’d insisted they get.
She eventually spied the turn-off for her parents’ place, which was situated in a small mews just outside Castlegate village. She made her way tentatively towards their house, hoping that no one she knew would see her driving this pretentious car. She could almost imagine the comments. “Did you see that Harrington one in her fancy car? Who does she think she is coming down from Dublin and lording it over us all? Next, she’ll be telling us all how to live our lives like she does with all those snobs up in the city!”
Tara’s career as a life coach was something she knew her poor mother had a terrible time trying to explain to the neighbours and couldn’t quite get to grips with herself.
“Surely people don’t need to be told how to live their lives, Tara?” Isobel would say, when Tara had first set up her consultancy. “Surely they have enough common sense to be able to work things out for themselves?”
Tara had given up trying to convince her mother that there were people out there who needed some form of direction in their lives, who needed somebody objective to help them get to grips with things like time management, relationship issues and – more often than not – boost their self-confidence. And most importantly, there were people out there who were willing to pay good money to do so.
“It’s perfect for you,” her best friend Liz had said, when Tara originally broached the idea of life coaching. “You have a natural empathy with people and, unlike lots of people I know, you have a terrific ability to see things objectively – not to mention that you’ve got a lot of common sense about things – well, your love life aside,” she added sardonically.
Tara ignored the jibe. It was all right for Liz; for as long as she’d known her friend, she’d wanted marriage and babies and happy families and all that. Tara, on the other hand, had no interest in marriage whatsoever, and she and Glenn were perfectly happy the way they were. Tara spent most of her time trying to help people decide what it was they wanted from life and how to get it, but despite what Liz thought, she herself didn’t have that problem.
Reaching her parents’ house she parked outside and prayed inwardly that the rain would hold off for the rest of the evening. Despite the earlier sunshine, there were by now a few dark clouds gathering overhead, so fingers crossed. Glenn would not be best pleased if the car’s lovely leather interior got drenched! On second thoughts, she rooted in the glove compartment and pulled the instructions handbook out. She’d get her dad to have a look at it – maybe he could figure out the mysteries of raising and lowering the top.
She rang the doorbell and cast a nostalgic glance around her dad’s well-tended garden. Her parents had lived in the same estate since Tara was born and through all of her subsequent thirty-four years.
Thinking of her and Glenn’s rented house in Dublin, and their polite but rather detached neighbours, Tara now felt a brief loneliness for the sense of community always present here. Most of the families in this estate had lived here just as long as her parents and knew each other well. Now, while it had of course been a right pain in the backside getting caught sneaking out of the front window at night to go to the disco when she was a teenager, Tara thought it was nice to know that there was someone you could trust with a set of spare keys, or someone to call in to for a chat whenever you felt a bit lonely. Tara had nobody like that, really, not since Liz had almost a year earlier moved here with her husband Eric (who was a childhood friend of Tara’s from Castlegate) and young son. And single-handedly running a one-to-one life-coaching consultancy wasn’t exactly conducive to gossipy chats!
But she was calling over to Liz’s house later and was planning to spend the night, so no doubt they’d have a good chat then.
Tara smiled warmly when her mother opened the door.
“I thought you’d be here earlier,” Isobel said by way of greeting, her face impassive as she regarded her eldest daughter. “Too busy telling people how to live their lives, I suppose.”
“Hi, Mum!” Ignoring the remark, Tara stepped forward and gave her mother an enthusiastic hug. Isobel had never taken what her daughter did for a living seriously, and Tara didn’t expect that to change now. “I thought I’d be earlier too, but the traffic was heavy, and I got stuck at every single red light on the way.”
“Is Glenn not with you?” her mother asked, looking behind Tara, and her eyes widened as her gaze rested on the car. “Is that thing yours?”
Tara shrugged. “Yep. Glenn’s wanted one for ages. As long as it’s got four wheels and a steering wheel, I don’t care what I drive.” She wasn’t sure why she felt she had to be dismissive of the car, particularly as the money to buy it had been hard-earned and, as Glenn had insisted, “totally well-deserved”. Perhaps she felt it would be better if she herself got the jibe in before her mother had the chance.
“I see. A bit fancy, isn’t it?”
“It’s just a car, Mum. And no, as you can see, Glenn’s not with me. He had to work up some extra hours in order to get time off for the holiday. I thought I told you that?”
“Right. Well, it’s probably just as well he isn’t,” Isobel replied cryptically as she closed the door behind them, but Tara hardly heard her.
“Is Dad here? The garden looks great – and I can’t believe how much the clematis has spread since last year . . .” She rambled happily on, all the way in from the hallway to the back of the house and out to the kitchen. Then she stopped short.
Tara’s younger sister Emma was sitting at the kitchen table alongside their father, her face solemn and mournful, and instantly Tara knew that something was up.
While talking to her mother on the phone a few days back about her impending visit, Isobel had briefly mentioned something about Emma being a bit off form.
“Why, what’s wrong with her?” Tara asked, before adding silently – this time.
“Ah, she’s very down in the dumps,” Isobel replied. “She came down from Dublin last weekend and was going around with a face on her like a wet week.”
Man trouble no doubt, Tara thought, and smiled indulgently. At thirty-one, Emma was three years younger than Tara and, in more ways than one, very definitely the baby of the Harrington family. Emma had probably got a bee in her bonnet over some guy she was seeing in Dublin and had come home to Castlegate for some attention and sympathy. Which, of course, was something she’d get from Isobel in spades. Emma was the baby, the pet and the one who over the years had always needed a lot of mothering, much more than Tara who, from a very early age, had sought independence and was very self-reliant.
For this reason, and the fact that she was usually man-less, often jobless and habitually gave off a general air of misfortune, Emma was very much the favourite in the household – something Tara had long since come to terms with and wasn’t at all bothered by. Still, despite their different personalities, she and Emma had always got on reasonably well, although at times Tara did find the “poor me” aspect of her sister’s behaviour a little irritating.
So, what was the problem this time? Emma was always experiencing some kind of drama, and if it wasn’t trouble with a man, or trouble with one of her friends, it was trouble with work. Despite the fact that there were “Staff Wanted” signs everywhere Tara looked and companies seemed to be crying out for employees, for some reason Emma couldn’t seem to hold down a job either in the village or in Dublin. Laziness being the obvious reason, Tara mused, but quickly stopped in mid-thought and urged herself to snap out of judgemental-older-sister mode.
“Emma, hi – how are things?” she asked easily.
“Hi,” Emma responded with one of her trademark mournful looks – the one that implied that the world and his mother were conspiring against her.
Tara groaned inwardly.
“Maybe you could use your life-coaching skills on your sister, Tara,” her mother said, her voice tinged with annoyance. “After what she’s just told us, she certainly needs them.”
“What do you mean?” Tara looked curiously at Emma.
“I’m pregnant,” her sister replied in a small voice.
Tara’s eyes widened. Oh dear, this was a problem.
“I just told them the news before you arrived. I’m three months gone.” Emma glanced away, refusing to look any of them in the eye.
“But . . . but how?” Tara spluttered, shaking her head in bewilderment. “I mean . . . I didn’t know you were seeing anyone or –”
“Neither did we,” her mother interjected, her voice laden with disapproval.
“I’m not . . . I wasn’t seeing anyone,” Emma confirmed quietly. “It was a mistake . . . an accident.”
“An accident? You mean a one-night stand?” Tara persisted, while her father looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the whole scenario.
Emma nodded, her huge blue eyes filling with tears.
“Oh, Emma!” Her heart instantly going out to her sister, Tara took a seat alongside her at the table. “I know there’s no point in saying it now, but you really should have been more careful –”
“Er, I’d better go back out to the garden.” Evidently feeling awkward with the conversation, and the direction it seemed to be taking, Bill stood up. “I’ll be back in later on,” he told Isobel, who remained stony-faced as he went out and closed the door behind him.
“I know I should have been more careful, and I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Emma said, her eyes shining with tears. “Believe me, it was the last thing I expected –”
Tara shook her head. This was awful. Though, at thirty-one years of age, at least Emma was old enough to cope with an unplanned pregnancy and was a million miles away from the state of some unmarried teenager.
“So, have you told the father?” she asked.
Emma shook her head vehemently. “No, and I’m not planning to tell him either.”
“What? What do mean you’re not planning to tell him?” Isobel’s eyes flashed with annoyance.
This was a shock for every parent, but perhaps even more of a shock for their mother, Tara supposed. Coming from a small village like Castlegate, Isobel’s initial concern would undoubtedly be about what the neighbours would say.
“Why wouldn’t you tell him?” Isobel demanded.
“It’s complicated, Mum,” Emma replied, her face going even paler, and Tara wondered why she looked so uncomfortable.
“Complicated? What could be complicated about it? Call me old-fashioned but the two of you were there, so the two of you should be responsible. Or is it that you don’t even know who he is?”
Tara sighed inwardly. When upset, Isobel could be unnecessarily vindictive, although not usually where Emma was concerned.
“Mum, I . . .” Emma seemed lost for words, obviously taken aback by her mother’s chastisement of her.
“Look, it’ll be OK,” Tara interjected softly, hoping to defuse the situation. “Everything will be OK.”
“It certainly will be OK,” Isobel remarked, her tone brooking no nonsense. “As long as the fellow in question, whoever he is, admits his responsibility and stands by you.”
Tara looked questioningly at Emma.
“That’s not going to happen, Mum,” Emma stated, her chin lifting in determination. “The father of this baby will have nothing to do with it.”
Tara’s heart sank even further in her chest.
“Emma –” said Isobel.
“Mum, as I said before, it’s complicated and I don’t want to hear any more about it!” Emma’s voice was raised. “I’m sorry that this has happened – I didn’t want it to happen, and I certainly don’t need you making me feel any worse than I already do about it, OK?”
Isobel pursed her lips but said nothing more.
For a little while, the three women sat in the sun-filled kitchen, each lost in her own thoughts, Tara deciding that you didn’t need to be a life coach to figure out that something was very wrong here, and that Emma wasn’t giving them the entire picture.
Why was she so insistent that the pregnancy be kept a secret from the father? Granted, if it was simply a one-night stand and she didn’t know the guy that well, fair enough, but didn’t she realise how difficult this was going to be without his help, financial or otherwise?
“You’re certain you don’t want to tell him?” Tara asked gently. “It’ll be tough bringing up a baby on your own and –”
“I’m positive,” Emma replied firmly, looking her sister straight in the eye. “I don’t want to tell him and, before you ask, I’m not going to tell you either. This is all my own fault – I did something very, very, stupid, and now it seems I’m going to have to pay the price.”
Later that evening, Emma lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling. She still couldn’t believe this was happening to her.
How could it have happened? Why had it happened? Well, she knew exactly how and why, but why did it have to happen to her?
She couldn’t tell him – not now. Emma’s heart tightened as she thought about their night together, how great it had been at the time and then afterwards how abruptly her happiness had come to an end. How could she have been so stupid? He didn’t care about her, had never cared about her, and now here she was alone and carrying his baby.
And to think that Tara had been trying to get her to approach him, at least for support – how ironic was that? No, this would be her burden, and hers alone. Well, her mum and dad would probably have to shoulder some of that burden too, and Emma felt a bit guilty about that. Just when she was getting her life back on track too. Just when she’d found a job and career that really fulfilled her, that got her excited about getting up in the morning and going to work, got her excited about the future. She’d really enjoyed living in Dublin these last few months, but all that was at an end now, wasn’t it? She’d have to move back home again.
She knew people thought her lazy and selfish at her age to be always relying on her parents and moving from job to job. But her mum didn’t mind having her living at home with them and, anyway, her mum understood that her youngest child didn’t have the drive or ambition or pure confidence of her eldest.
No, Tara was the high achiever in the Harrington family – her with the nice new car, own business and optimistic outlook. But it was easy for her big sister to be optimistic, because everything had gone right for Tara since she’d first come into the world, healthy and happy, whereas Emma had nearly died at birth and had spent her first few months riddled with coughs and infections and every kind of baby illness you could think of.
And whereas Tara had excelled at school, Emma had been bored senseless. She couldn’t give a damn about dull things like maths and history and stupid bloody Irish. What help were these things to you in life at the end of the day?
No, at school she much preferred messing about with her friends and trying to get the boys to notice her – she couldn’t give a damn about V-shaped valleys and stupid glaciation. Of course, if the teachers were any good they would have realised she wasn’t learning anything and would have worked extra hard to ensure she “got” it – but no, in class they were too busy fawning over the lick-arses to pay attention to the likes of her.
So it wasn’t really her fault that she hadn’t got a good result in her school exams and therefore not enough points to go to university. Just as it wasn’t her fault that she could never find a job she liked or one she was any good at. It wasn’t her fault at all. All she had ever wanted was to be a model, but at five-foot three she wasn’t tall enough and, of course, that wasn’t her fault either. Maybe if she hadn’t been so sick as a child she might have grown that little bit more, but there was nothing she could have done about that either. No, for Emma life so far had turned out to be a series of disappointments.
And now this pregnancy was another in a long line of problems Emma had to surmount, although at least her mother, despite her initial annoyance, had agreed to give her as much help as she could.
As had Tara, although clearly she would have preferred Emma to seek help from the father. But, of course, that was Tara – trying to find solutions all the time. Emma sniffed. Didn’t she know that sometimes there were just no solutions to be found? That life didn’t always turn out rosy, like it seemed to for her?
A stray tear escaped from one eye and traced a line down Emma’s cheek. Nothing ever seemed to go right for her – ever. Whereas everyone else seemed to sail through life without a care in the world. And she often wondered why that was. What had she done to deserve this – why should she be the one alone and pregnant while he could go back to his happy little life and all the rest of it, without giving her a second thought?
Emma wiped her eyes and lifted up her chin.
Maybe she shouldn’t make things so easy for him after all. Maybe Tara was right; maybe he did deserve to know. Deserved to know that he couldn’t let her think they had a future and then just discard her like a piece of filth, leaving her to pick up the pieces of the mess he’d made.
No, Emma thought determinedly, he should not be allowed to get away with it. And now, all she had to do was find some way of making sure he didn’t.