Page 112 of The Last Love Song
‘No, but we hope one day we will have.’
‘Ah, you simply must have some. They’re the lifeblood of a marriage. Sometimes, if I’m feeling a bit low in the evenings, I go into their bedroom to see their angelic faces and it somehow makes things worthwhile.’
The two girls sat in silence for a few seconds.
‘And what of Katherine? And Mairead?’
‘Mairead married that awful John Donohue. You remember, the one who smelt of manure and had the terrible acne?’
Sorcha giggled. ‘I remember. How could Mairead fall forhim?’
‘Because he started taking a bath once in a while and the spots disappeared almost overnight. He’s grand and handsomenow so, Sorcha. They live on his parents’ farm outside the town. We meet up from time to time but she has two under three and no car of her own so it’s hard. And as for the beauteous Katherine...’ Maureen lowered her voice. ‘Well now, there is an interesting one.’
‘What happened?’
‘Well, Katherine got into Trinity College, as everyone expected she would. She was all set to go up there in the autumn when she turned round and announced she was marrying Angus Hurley.’
‘Angus Hurley? We once went to the cinema together. I never knew Katherine liked him!’
‘Well now, nor did my brother. She was walking out with him at the same time she announced her engagement to Angus.’
‘Oh dear. What did your brother say?’
‘He was in a desperate state. Mammy packed him off to stay with my auntie and uncle in Dublin. He never came back. Got himself a job as a salesman and has his own flat in Ballsbridge alongside a brand-new car. He’s a partner in the company now. It’s an ill wind, as they say. He’s never married, mind. I think Katherine broke his heart.’
‘And you’ve never asked her why she married Angus?’
‘I only see her at mass. You know what the Hurleys are like – above themselves, thinking they’re grand because Daddy Hurley owns the factory and they’re rolling in it. Katherine’s become one of them. They live in the old rectory overlooking the sea.’ Maureen tutted. ‘She always looks like a fashion plate but her face is as long as Father Moynihan’s sermon. So, that’s the three of us up to date for you. How long are you staying in Ballymore, Sorcha?’
Sorcha had begun to daydream about the past. ‘What was that?’
‘I asked how long you were staying.’
‘Oh, I really don’t know. I have to be back in London for the weekend. Con and I fly off to New York on Tuesday.’
‘All that jet setting. And I suppose you live in a wonderful big house?’
‘Yes, our house is big.’
‘And have money to buy anything you want?’
‘I suppose.’
‘Then why aren’t you radiant with happiness, Sorcha?’ Maureen studied her.
‘I—’
‘’Tis your daddy’s death, I suppose,’ she mused. ‘Ah well, it comes to us all. Listen, if you’re free tomorrow, why don’t you come for tea with us? You can meet the babies, and Tommy, if I can drag him out of the shop.’
‘I’d love to, Maureen, really, as long as my mother will be all right on her own. I was thinking I’d stay at least tomorrow.’
‘Of course. Well, I have to be off now to see to the babies. I promised Deirdre I’d only be a few minutes but I didsowant to see you. If there’s a problem, drop into the shop. If not, I’ll see you at half past six tomorrow.’ Maureen stood up. ‘I really am sorry altogether about your daddy, but at least it means I got to see you again, Sorcha. Goodbye.’
‘Bye, Maureen.’
Sorcha watched as her former schoolfriend hurried across the square in the direction of the high street. From behind, she looked the image of her mother.
Sorcha sat for a few minutes longer, listening to the poignant strains of a mourner singing an old Irish ballad. Standing up, she walked back to the house and opened the front door.
