Page 17 of The Last Love Song
Two hours later, the bowl of stew was untouched and congealed beside her.
It had taken her a while to work out what the columns meant and what needed to be added together to produce the grand total.
Helen whistled. If she’d got it right, then ‘grand’ was the right word.
‘A fortune,’ she breathed. Certainly enough, she thought, to see her comfortably through the rest of her life.
Helen stared into space. Where was that life to be? Here? Where she was so unhappy? Or should she take her money and start afresh somewhere else?
Helen shook her head. She was a coward. She could see herself staying here for the rest of her days. If she had someone to go with her, a friend maybe, then it might be an option.
She yawned. It was almost midnight. Tomorrow, thanks be to God, was Sunday, which meant no school.
Helen folded her papers away in the envelope and made her way upstairs to her attic bedroom.
She woke to a beautiful sunny morning. Knowing how quickly the weather could change and not wanting to waste a minute of it, she threw on some clothes, said a quick good morning to her aunt as she passed through the kitchen and saddled up Davy. She loved riding on summery Sunday mornings: the beaches were deserted as the rest of the town was at mass.
A good canter along the shore left Helen feeling exhilarated and ready for breakfast. As she trotted homeward, she saw a distant figure running away from the beach. She watched as the figure retrieved a bicycle from a hollow in the dune and dragged it onto the road.
‘Sorcha O’Donovan,’ she breathed, wondering what she was doing out here when every other God-fearing Ballymore citizen was in church.
Sorcha waved at someone behind Helen, then pedalled off at high speed towards the village.
Helen turned and saw Con Daly perched on top of a sand dune. He was only a few feet away from her.
‘Morning to you, Helen. And isn’t it a beauty?’ he smiled at her.
A sob choking her throat, she could only nod in his direction.
With a click of her heels, she rode off along the beach.
The following Wednesday, Helen sat in Seamus O’Donovan’s office.
‘There.’ She passed him the envelope full of papers.
‘Thank you. Did you manage to grasp the situation?’
‘Yes, I think I did. At least I know now how much money I have and how the investments work.’
‘And do you wish to keep them going as they are?’
‘For the present, yes.’
‘Good. I suggest you open a bank account and then I can pay in a monthly amount. Do you have plans for the future, Helen?’
‘I...not at the moment.’
‘Well now, you have enough money to take your time and decide.’ Seamus looked at his watch. ‘Time we were going upstairs. Mary will have our supper ready.’
After supper, rather than wanting to delay the moment the two of them would adjourn to her bedroom, Sorcha could hardly wait to get Helen alone.
‘You saw me on the beach last Sunday, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, I did. Meeting Con Daly.’ Helen studied her bitten fingernails.
‘No! Whatever gave you that idea? I had a terrible headache. I wanted some fresh air, Helen, that’s all.’
‘Oh. I thought I saw you waving to him?’
