Sarah stood just inside the door of the pub blinking in the gloomy light. And then she saw him, sitting at a table for two, wearing a casual brown leather jacket over a grey T-shirt – the same understated style he’d always favoured. His jeans were blue and well-fitting, darker and smarter than the scruffy ones he used to wear as a student, and his tan had faded a little, making him look more like the old Cahal. They stared at each other, and though it could only have been for a few moments, it felt like forever to Sarah.
She went over and sat down opposite him.
‘Thanks for coming,’ he said.
Sandwiching her hands between her knees, she said, ‘I guess this is our first date then?’
‘It is. If you want it to be.’ One corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smile and his blue-green eyes twinkled mischievously.
She stared into his eyes and grinned. ‘Remember what I said. One step at a time.’
‘Yes. And this is the first step, isn’t it?’
‘I guess so,’ she said and, tearing her gaze away, added, ‘So, are you all packed?’
‘Yep. I’m on the red eye to London first thing. Then on to Melbourne.’
‘It’ll be odd knowing you’re on the other side of the world. Getting up when I’m going to bed.’
‘It’s only for a fortnight. I’ll be back soon.’ He cleared his throat. ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘White wine please.’
He got up and went to the bar, the leather jacket, soft and buttery, skimming his slim hips. She wondered what had happened to his old jacket. She used to drape it over her shoulders sitting up in bed after sex, loving the way it smelt so strongly of him … She ran her hands through her hair and pushed the image out of her mind.
He came back to the table with a glass of wine for her and a Guinness for himself.
‘You might have stopped smoking but I see your tastes in beer haven’t changed,’ she observed, with a nod at the stout.
‘Yours have,’ he said sitting down. ‘You used to hate wine. Your favourite drink was Babycham.’
She laughed. ‘That’s right. I don’t know what possessed me. I couldn’t drink it now. Too sweet and sickly.’
He picked up the glass and admired the thick, creamy head on the stout, ‘Guess who I bumped into the other day in Belfast?’
‘Hmm?’ she said before taking a mouthful of wine.
He wiped froth from his upper lip. ‘Anthony from uni.’
The shock nearly made her spit the mouthful of wine over him. She gulped it down, her throat feeling as if it had all but closed over. The drink settled halfway down her chest, burning a hole. ‘Who?’ she squeaked.
‘You remember Anthony, don’t you? I hung out with him a bit.’
She shook her head.
‘You don’t remember him? Blond curly hair, big nose.’
She shook her head dumbly, hoping that the dim lighting hid her reddening cheeks. What a stroke of bad luck for Cahal and Tony to bump into each other.
‘That’s odd. I could’ve sworn I introduced you.’
‘You might have,’ she said and shook her head. ‘But I don’t remember. It was a long time ago.’
He shrugged. ‘That explains why you didn’t mention that he was dating your sister, Becky.’
She tried to smile but it felt like stretching elastic, so she feigned surprise by placing a hand on her heart and opening her eyes wide. ‘I didn’t make the connection.’
‘What a coincidence.’
With the moment of danger past, she smiled with relief.
Oblivious to her discomfort, he went on, ‘He seems very keen on her. Told me they’d moved in together.’
Sarah tried to look indifferent. ‘That’s right.’
‘He was some boy at uni,’ Cahal chuckled in admiration. He supped some beer and wiped the creamy froth from his upper lip with the back of his hand. ‘Quite the ladies’ man.’
Sarah took a drink to hide her agony. ‘What do you mean?’
‘We used to joke that he could talk his way into any woman’s bed. He’s been married twice too.’
‘I know.’ Sarah gulped down another mouthful of wine and he said, ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Sarah. That was insensitive of me. I got the impression he was really serious about Becky. You know what it’s like when you really fall for someone? Well, that’s how he seemed to me. Lovestruck. I’m sure she’s the one to finally make him settle down for good.’
‘Becky’s really fallen for him.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said again and reached out and touched her hand. Under his hot fingers, her skin tingled. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’
She smiled thinly. ‘It’s okay. Really.’ There was an awkward pause and she said, ‘I’ve been thinking.’
He removed his hand. ‘What about?’
‘Something Ian said to me the other day about your dad.’
He leaned back in the chair and laced his hands across his flat stomach. His eyes narrowed. ‘How come Ian got talking to you about my father?’
She twirled the glass of wine between her fingers. ‘I’ll tell you about that in a minute. But what I was thinking was … you know the way my dad and Aunt Vi were so set against you?’
‘How could I forget?’
She inclined her head. ‘Well, the thought occurred to me that it might have something to do with your father’s prison record. Maybe him and my dad had a run in?’
Cahal folded his arms and shrugged. ‘Maybe. But my dad was in prison nearly half a century ago. You wouldn’t imagine your father’d hold a grudge all this time.’
‘You don’t know him,’ said Sarah. ‘What exactly was your father convicted of?’
‘Drunken assault, I think – he liked to drink back then; he was an angry man. Still is. And I think he got done for theft too. Nothing serious, just stupid.’ He laughed, revealing strong white teeth and a pink mouth. ‘He stole a bunch of TVs once. And another time he stole a delivery of tiles off a building site and was caught trying to flog them. What he didn’t know was that they were a special one-off import from Holland. No one else in Northern Ireland was importing them at the time. Stupid bugger.’
Sarah smiled faintly. None of this sounded desperately serious. ‘Nothing paramilitary, then?’
‘God, no. The only cause my dad’s interested in is his own.’
‘You’ve never been arrested for anything, have you?’
He laughed at this. ‘Not so much as a parking ticket. Maybe they don’t like me because I’m a Catholic. Was a Catholic, I should say. I haven’t been inside a chapel in twenty years.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s not that. Ian said something about hurting my family by seeing you.’
He said bitterly, ‘Well, maybe it’s just a case of good old-fashioned snobbery, me being from working-class stock and having a jailbird for a father.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Sarah, looking at her hands. And yet she couldn’t help but think that there was more to it than that …
Cahal took a long sip of stout. ‘So, was Ian trying to talk you out of seeing me too?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. He wants us to get back together.’
His face paled. ‘And do you … is there a possibility …’
‘Oh, God, no,’ she said quickly, keen to dispel any misunderstanding on this count. ‘He just won’t accept that I don’t, and never will, love him.’ She took a sip of wine and, emboldened by it, looked Cahal straight in the eye.
‘But you must have once,’ he said softly, his words cutting through her like a knife. ‘You married him. You had his children.’
She closed her eyes in shame. She wanted to tell him the truth, but how could she when it reflected so badly on herself? And yet she had to make him understand. She opened her eyes and stared at a black-and-white print on the wall. ‘I never loved him, not properly. I cared deeply for him and I believed that was enough. I thought that I could make a successful marriage out of respect and fondness. I’m talking only of my feelings, of course.’ She braved a glance at him. He was nodding slowly, his eyes narrowed in concentration. ‘Ian loved me. He still does. And to be honest, I don’t know why.’
‘I do,’ he said and blushed.
She blushed too, momentarily lost for words, then gave him a sad smile. ‘I don’t deserve his love. I shouldn’t have married him. My reasons for doing so were selfish. I wanted a family and I feared being alone. I couldn’t return his love and I’m ashamed to admit that I made him miserable. And that was what destroyed the marriage in the end.’
He sighed gently and held out his hand across the table. Hesitantly, she reached over and he clasped her hand in both of his. Tenderly, he stroked the thin pale skin on her knuckles with a swarthy thumb. ‘We all make mistakes, Sarah. I think you’re being too hard on yourself.’
‘Thanks for saying that.’ She paused and stared at the back of his hand. The rhythmic movement of his thumb sent shivers down her spine. ‘I’m going to miss you when you’re in Australia, Cahal.’
‘I know.’
She raised her eyes to his. His pupils had expanded into deep, dark pools. The roof of her mouth went dry.
He squeezed her hand, sending shivers down her legs. ‘I’ll be counting the hours till I come back to you, Sarah.’ He leaned across the table till their faces were just inches apart. His warm, yeasty breath brushed her face. ‘Every single one of them.’
Cahal pulled up outside the Edwardian timber house, partially hidden behind a cream stucco wall. It was autumn in Melbourne and the yellow fig leaves from the tree in the garden littered the pavement. Temperatures had plummeted in recent days and everyone complained of the cold, though back in Ireland where the weather he’d left behind was similar, the locals, declaring it summer, were running around half-dressed.
Compared to its bigger, moneyed neighbours, the house was modest but it was quaint too, pretty even, and Cahal was proud that he’d been able to provide his family with a home in one of Melbourne’s most sought-after districts. But it wasn’t his home now. It was Adele and Brady’s. He tried not to resent it. He wished he could talk to Sarah. He pulled out his phone and looked at the time. She would be asleep now, waking soon to a new day.
He put the phone away, grabbed the brightly wrapped parcel and plastic carrier bag on the passenger seat and got out of the car.
‘Dad! Dad!’ called a child’s voice, pulling at his heartstrings. Harry, tall and skinny in his school uniform, came barrelling towards Cahal and threw himself at him. Cahal embraced the child, only just managing to hold on to the parcel and the bag. Then he set them down on the pavement and ran his hands across the boy’s bony nine-year-old shoulders and down his slender arms, feeling the shape and size of him as a blind man might.
‘I missed you, son,’ he said, tears welling up in his yes. He had not realised how much till now.
The boy sighed as if he’d been holding it in for a very long time. He threw his arms around Cahal’s waist. ‘I missed you too, Dad. I wish you would come home.’
The knife in his stomach turned. ‘I will, son. Just as soon as this job’s finished, I’ll come home for good.’
Harry dragged Cahal by the hand into the large open plan kitchen and family room at the back of the house. As soon as he saw his father, seven-year-old Tom bounded over and jumped into Cahal’s arms, clasping his hands around his father’s neck and his legs round his waist. ‘Daddy! Daddy!’ he squealed, throwing his head back and giggling. Cahal held him tight and kissed his soft cheeks over and over until he wriggled to be free.
And when he released him, there was Jed, standing with his hands in his pockets and sticky gel, a new development, on his dark hair. A gangly boy with too-big feet, and hands and arms beginning to muscle. A pang of regret pierced Cahal’s heart. The door on Jed’s childhood was slowly closing. Soon he would care more what his peers thought than his old man. And the siren call of women wouldn’t be far behind.
‘Happy Birthday, son,’ he said, pulling Jed to him fiercely and kissing the top of his head. Jed’s hands stayed in the pockets of his trousers but the boy leaned towards him, a subtle, yearning gesture that ripped at Cahal’s heart. ‘I missed you, Dad,’ he said, his voice oscillating between the high pitch of his younger siblings and the deep tones of manhood.
‘Hey you, want to stay for dinner?’ It was Adele, standing barefoot by the cooker stirring something in a pot, her bare arms nut brown from the sun, her long dark hair loose in natural ringlets. She came over to him and they kissed each other on the cheek, friendly-like, if a little stiffly.
They’d met at an art exhibition fourteen years ago. He’d only gone because the company he worked for was a sponsor – and it was marginally better than sitting alone in his empty penthouse overlooking the Yarra River. He was no connoisseur of modern art, but her pictures, great canvases streaked with bold splashes of colour, had intrigued him. And so had she with her strong opinions, straight talking and exotic heritage – she was one-eighth aboriginal.
‘Thanks Adele. I’d like that.’
Over on the sofa he handed out Irish rugby shirts, bags of Yellow Man and Tayto cheese and onion crisps, from Tangradee in County Down. Adele wandered over to watch and he said, ‘I got something for you too, Adele.’ He held out a large stiff envelope. A peace offering.
‘Me?’ she said, sounding surprised.
He nodded and she took the envelope. From now on, he thought to himself, he would make a real effort with her – and Brady. And he would stop resenting her. After they met at the art exhibition, it had all gone too fast. They’d dated, moved in together and she fell pregnant all within the space of six months. He’d done the right thing and, in doing so, condemned himself to a life with a woman he did not love wholly and fully.
She examined the little watercolour inside the envelope, a soft-hued scene of Carnlough Bay. ‘A friend, Sarah, suggested it. It’s by a local Ballyfergus artist.’
Adele smiled and said, ‘Thanks. It’s lovely.’
He sat with the boys while they tried on their rugby shirts and experimented with the crisps and toffee. Adele went over to the cooker and, after a while, he got up and followed her. ‘I know it’s been tough with my being away and you not getting a break from the kids.’
She shrugged, stuck a spoon in the pot and tasted the contents. ‘Brady’s pretty good with the boys. He helps out.’
Cahal swallowed the lump in his throat. ‘Well, I don’t take it for granted. I want you to know that.’
She nodded and said pleasantly, ‘So, how’s Ireland? Must’ve been nice to visit home.’
He paused to consider this. He had not thought of it as home. It was nice to see fields greener than anywhere on earth, to sup a good pint of Guinness and load up on an Ulster Fry. And of course, there was Sarah. But home was where his boys were.
‘The Sarah you mentioned, she’s not The Sarah is she?’ He’d told Adele all about Sarah when they’d first met. He later wished he hadn’t. In the latter throes of their marriage, Adele had said it was like competing against a ghost.
He nodded. ‘The very same.’
Adele’s eyebrows rose a few centimetres on her forehead and she tapped the spoon on the side of the pot, then set it down. ‘Are you back together?’
‘Not exactly. We’re sort of seeing each other. But …’
‘But what?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. She says she never received any of my letters.’
‘That’s odd. You wrote loads, didn’t you?’
He nodded and Adele said slowly, ‘And you don’t believe her?’
‘It’s not that. I’ve just never quite forgiven her for putting her family before me. For not coming to Australia when I asked her. How do I know I can trust her?’
Adele frowned and folded her arms. ‘We’ve been separated for how long?’
‘Nearly five years.’
‘And in that time, how many women have you dated?’
‘Eh … I’ve had a few blind dates. And more than a few one-night stands.’
‘They don’t count,’ said Adele dismissively. ‘But you do know the reason for that, don’t you? Why you’ve not found a steady girlfriend?’
He shook his head stupidly. And she said, rather sadly, ‘You’ve never gotten over her, Cahal. She was … she is the love of your life, isn’t she?’
He bit his lip and she smiled. ‘Not many people get a second chance, Cahal. But it sounds as if you and Sarah have. Don’t mess it up. We all make mistakes, and she was only a girl twenty years ago.’
He smiled his thanks, the lump in his throat making it impossible to speak.
‘Is this for me, Dad?’ Jed called out, holding up the present Cahal had brought with him.
Cahal swallowed. ‘Yes, son. Happy Birthday. Go on, open it.’ As he watched the boy turn it over in his hands, his eyes filled inexplicably with tears. His marriage may have been a failure but his sons were the greatest achievement of his life.
And then, to his dismay, the patio doors burst open and Brady came lumbering in, spoiling the moment.
‘Hey, Cahal,’ he said genially, filling the room with his sheer size and testosterone.
The doors crashed shut behind him. A former rugby league player turned high school sports teacher, he was blond and tanned and stood at six-foot-six. He must’ve weighed eighteen stone of hard-packed muscle. Tugging at the top button of his shirt with his huge hand – he never looked entirely comfortable in anything other than sports clothing – he tossed his briefcase on a chair like an envelope. He shook Cahal’s hand vigorously, then looked at the parcel in Jed’s hand. ‘What’s this, then?’
Adele went over to Brady, placed a proprietorial hand on his chest and kissed him on the lips. ‘Cahal’s brought over Jed’s birthday present. How was work?’
‘Had to cancel the bloody after-school rugby fitness training again. Not enough turned up. Can’t understand kids these days, Cahal,’ said Brady with a heavy sigh, ripping off his tie.
Jed peeled the paper off the present and gasped.
‘When I was their age all I wanted to do was play sport,’ said Brady.
‘It’s an iPad!’ cried Jed incredulously, holding up a sleek slab of grey metal and black glass, as thin as a magazine. He grinned, touched a button and the screen flicked into life. ‘Oh, Dad, it’s brilliant. I can’t believe you got me an iPad.’
‘It’s the new one. Top of the range, son,’ beamed Cahal.
Brady whistled. ‘That’ll have cost you big bucks.’
Cahal said, ‘I thought you could use it for homework. You know, for browsing the web. As well as playing games, of course,’ he added, not wanting to sound like a killjoy.
Brady sniffed, threw himself into an armchair and turned his attention to Cahal. ‘Wanna sink some piss?’
Cahal bristled. He hated the crude way Brady spoke in front of his boys – his language belonged on the street, not in a family home. ‘No thanks.’
Unperturbed, Brady shrugged his huge shoulders. ‘Suit yourself. I’ll drink with the flies then.’
‘I’m driving,’ said Cahal, a feeble apology for his terseness. He reminded himself that it was in everyone’s interests, the boys’ especially, if they all got on.
Brady smacked his lips together. ‘Toss us a stubby, will ya, Adele? My throat’s as dry as a nun’s nasty.’
Jed sniggered and shared a secretive smile with Brady, sending a dart of jealousy straight through Cahal’s heart.
‘Brady!’ said Adele in a tone that managed to be both remonstrative and indulgent at the same time. She retreated to the kitchen and Tom, who was hanging over Jed’s shoulder staring at the iPad screen, looked up and said, ‘What’s a nun’s nasty?’
‘Nothing,’ said Cahal coldly. Thankfully, Tom’s attention was soon captured by the bright iPad screen once more.
‘How are you getting on at school, Harry?’ said Cahal, quickly changing subject.
‘Okay.’
‘Are you still in the top set for everything?’
Harry’s shoulders sank and he shot a quick glance at his father. ‘Everything but spelling. I’m in the second set now.’
Cahal frowned and Brady said, with a beaming smile, ‘Did Harry tell you that he made the school swim team?’
Immediately Harry’s body language changed. He sat up straight on the sofa with his hands sandwiched between his knees and smiled at Cahal.
‘Harry, that’s brilliant! Give me a high five.’ They slapped palms and Cahal resisted the urge to return to the worrying subject of Harry’s deteriorating spelling. ‘Tell me all about it.’
Harry filled him in on the details – it turned out that he was swimming in a gala the very next day. ‘I’ll make sure I don’t miss that,’ said Cahal.
‘When you come home, will you come and watch my basketball matches?’ said Jed.
‘Of course, son.’ Cahal bent his head and picked the discarded wrapping paper off the floor, rolling it into a ball as tight as his chest. His boys needed him so much. Their desire for his attention and approval was almost desperate.
Reality hit him square in the face. Even if things between him and Sarah worked out, how could they be together with families living on continents half a world apart? He looked at his children, his heart bursting with love for them, and knew he could never leave them. And how could he ask Sarah to come to Australia when it would mean taking her children away from everything they knew, and the father they adored? He tried to put himself in Ian’s shoes – he tried to imagine how he would feel if Adele announced that she’d met some guy and wanted to take the boys to live thousands of miles away. He’d never allow it.
Adele came back with a small bottle of beer. She handed it to Brady, he tossed half of it down his neck and said, with a keen eye on the iPad in Jed’s hands, ‘You can watch all the rugby league games on that, Jed. You can watch sport all day.’ He chuckled happily, like a big contented bear.
Tom came and sat on Cahal’s knee, his tanned, bony knees sticking out from grey shorts. Cahal put a hand on his back and felt the heat of him through the thin cotton shirt. This wasn’t how he’d wanted his life to turn out. It wasn’t what he wanted for his children. And inside him, something broke.
‘This feels very indulgent,’ said Becky, staring at the opulent, faintly decadent surroundings of the champagne lounge in the Merchant Hotel, located in Belfast’s Cathedral Quarter. Damask curtains framed the windows and light from the crystal chandelier bounced off the gilded mirrors onto the creamy-yellow walls. The carpet was black with a swirling gold pattern; the black velvet seats were low and wide.
Sarah sat opposite her sister in her best day dress. The square table between them was laid for afternoon tea with white china, a silver teapot, and napkins as stiff as the atmosphere between the two women.
‘It’s been a while since you and I spent time together. Properly. I’ve missed that,’ said Sarah.
‘Me too,’ said Becky, with a small smile. ‘I don’t like it when things between you and me aren’t right.’
‘Me neither.’
Becky stared at the three-tiered tea stand between them on the table, groaning with dainty sandwiches, fat scones, and bright pink Parisian macaroons. In honour of the occasion, she’d donned a black mini skirt and a purple silk shirt that clashed marvellously with her red hair. ‘You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere quite so grand.’
‘Well you deserve it!’ Sarah, determined to lighten the mood and restore harmony between them, lifted a glass of champagne and smiled. ‘Happy Birthday!’ she said, and felt their mother’s absence as sharply as a physical pain. She glanced at the ceiling, certain that she was watching over them like a kindly angel.
‘Thank you!’ Becky took a sip of the champagne, picked up one of the finger sandwiches and examined it. ‘So how are you and Cahal getting on?’
‘Slowly. I miss him.’
‘He’ll be back soon,’ said Becky, taking a bite of the sandwich. ‘Isn’t it nice that he and Tony know each other? We’ll have to organise a night out together.’
Sarah selected a white egg-and-cress sandwich from the display and set it on the dainty gold-rimmed plate in front of her. Changing the subject she said, ‘I just don’t know what to make of these letters. He says he sent them but I don’t know if I can believe him. What happened to them?’
‘Can’t you just forget about them,’ shrugged Becky, ‘and start with a clean slate?’
‘No, I can’t. I have to know what happened to them. And I have to know if he made that phone call.’ Sarah folded her hands on her lap. Becky lowered her eyes and mumbled, ‘So what will you do?’
‘I’ll ask Dad and Aunt Vi when the moment’s right. But I’m dreading it. What if they deny everything? Where does that leave me and Cahal?’
‘I really don’t know,’ said Becky.
There was a long glum silence broken at last by Becky. She pointed at the untouched sandwich on Sarah’s plate. ‘Are you going to eat that, or admire it?’
Sarah laughed, picked up the sandwich and took a bite.
‘I feel quite sorry for Ian,’ said Becky, selecting a fruit scone and cutting it in half with a knife. ‘He must’ve thought he was in with a chance and then along comes Cahal and blows all his hopes out of the water. Have you seen him since the night he told you Raquel had walked out?’
Sarah swallowed. ‘Just to drop the kids off. But last night I saw Paula Dobbin in the supermarket and she heard, from her sister who works out at Carnfunock Golf Club, that Raquel’s shacked up with Jim Proudfoot, the secretary there.’
‘Oh my God!’
Sarah nodded grimly. ‘Apparently they’d been having an affair for six months and, according to Paula, Ian didn’t know a thing about it.’
‘That’s awful,’ said Becky and she put a hand to her heart and said again, ‘Poor Ian.’
‘I know.’ Sarah took a sip of champagne. ‘Despite what Ian thinks, I never would’ve have got back with him. But I do feel sorry for him. He’s having a crap time of it. His marriage is in tatters and his Mum’s in a bad way.’ Sarah set the cup down on the saucer and shook her head.
Becky frowned. ‘How is she?’
‘She’s … she’s dying, Becky.’ Tears pricked her eyes. ‘Her body’s just slowly giving up. The doctors have done everything they can to make her comfortable but the children can’t visit her anymore. It’d be too upsetting for them. And for her. She doesn’t want them to see her like that.’
‘Oh, Sarah. I’m sorry. Poor Evelyn.’ Becky had known her as a kind family friend long before Sarah had married Ian.
‘And poor Ian,’ said Sarah. ‘When she goes, he’s going to be very much alone.’
Sarah finished off the sandwich, and they talked of happier subjects. ‘Talking of birthdays, when’s Tony’s?’
‘December. He’ll be forty-three.’
Sarah dabbed the corners of her mouth with the napkin. ‘There’s quite an age difference between you then.’
Becky shrugged. ‘So?’
‘Well, it’s just if you wanted to have a family, I mean, if you were thinking of having a baby in the next few years, he’d be quite an old dad.’
Becky looked in astonishment at her sister and laughed out loud. ‘We’re a long way from thinking about making babies, Sarah. Anyway, he’s not old. And if I did have his child it wouldn’t matter to me what age he was.’
Sarah smiled thinly and resolved to give it one last go with the most damning piece of evidence at her disposal. She leaned forward, rested her elbows on the table, and clasped her hands under her chin. ‘I haven’t wanted to say anything against him before, Becky, but Cahal told me he was a bit of a ladies’ man at uni.’
Becky lifted her chin. Her eyelids flickered. ‘What does that mean?’
‘He’s a womaniser. He hasn’t exactly got a good track record when it comes to relationships, does he?’
Becky’s eyes filled up and Sarah had to look away, feeling smaller than she’d ever felt in her entire life. She could have kept that nasty little piece of gossip to herself but she would do whatever she had to in order to protect Becky. Even if it meant hurting her.
Becky looked away and said thickly, ‘That’s a bit rich coming from a divorcee.’
‘All I’m saying is tread carefully.’
Becky tossed her head and said defiantly, ‘Tony’s not going to hurt me. I trust him.’
Sarah smiled thinly. She was glad Becky had fallen in love. But why, oh why, did it have to be with Tony McLoughlin? ‘I’m sorry I told you that.’
‘Why did you then?’ said Becky, touching the corner of her eye.
‘I thought you should know, that’s all. Look, let’s not spoil our day together.’
‘Let’s not,’ said Becky.
Sarah glanced at her watch. ‘Why don’t we finish off these goodies and then we’ll hit the shops?’
‘If you like,’ said Becky without much enthusiasm. The day was tarnished and they both knew it.