Page 27 of The Last Love Song
‘No decent human being should have to get used to living like this,’ she snapped, then immediately regretted it. ‘I’m sorry. I’m worried, that’s all. And I don’t feel very well.’ Sorcha staggered suddenly as the world spun around her. Con caught her and put a hand to her forehead.
‘Jesus, you’re burning up, Sorcha! Get back into bed. I’ll make you some milky tea.’
‘There isn’t any milk, Con. We finished it last night.’
‘Then I’ll go out to get some. Come on, into bed with you. There’ll be no busking for me today. We have to get you well.’
Sorcha let Con lead her back to bed and tuck her in. She watched as he pulled on his worn jeans and sweater.
‘I’ll be off to get some milk and some medicine for that temperature. You stay put now.’
She nodded limply. ‘Sorry, Con.’
‘Don’t you apologise, Sorcha. ’Tis this hell-hole of a life I’m treating you to that’s to blame.’
After he’d left, Sorcha lay with tears of self-pity trickling out of her closed eyes. She dozed off and began to have nightmarish dreams...She was stuck up on a roof in the pouring rain. Con was trying to reach her before she slipped down into infinite blackness...but he was only reaching out with one hand because he held his guitar with the other and wouldn’t let it go...She slipped. As she fell she called out his name...
‘Con! Con!Con!’
‘I’m here, Sorcha, I’m here beside you. It was a dream, a bad dream, that’s all.’
She opened her eyes and looked up at him. He was pale, his face concerned. She looked around and realised the room was almost in darkness, with just one candle shining a light.
‘There now.’ He gently smoothed her sweat-matted hair. ‘Thanks be to God, I think the fever has finally broken.’
‘I...how long have I been sleeping?’
‘Well, it’s about three in the morning. I couldn’t wake you when I got back from the shops so I called the doctor. He told me to sponge you down and to send for him again if your temperature hadn’t lowered in a few hours. You have influenza, Sorcha. Would you like some water?’
Her throat felt parched. She nodded.
Gently, Con put the glass to her lips.
‘What have I brought you to?’ he sighed. ‘London, the big city, and we live no better than peasants during the Famine.’
Sorcha stretched out her hand and rested it on Con’s.
‘We mustn’t lose sight of our dream. You are talented, youwillbe discovered. We just don’t know the right people, that’s all.’
‘And how do you get to know the right people, Sorcha? No.’ Con shook his head. ‘I’m only an itinerant from Ireland. I was above myself to think things would be different.’
Sorcha gave a weak sigh. ‘Please don’t say that.’
‘While you were lying there looking as though you might be after taking your last breath, I made a decision. We can’t go on living like this. I’m going to give it to the end of this week and then on Monday I’ll start looking for work as a labourer, along with all the other Paddies. We can’t live on what I earn as a busker. You know we can’t.’
‘ButImust be able to find a job, Con. There has to be somewhere in London that wants a willing pair of honest hands.’
‘It’smyjob to provide foryou, especially after I took you away from your home.’
‘I’ll not see us starve because of your male pride. If I can find work, then I’ll take it.’ Sorcha coughed violently.
‘Well, now is not the time or place to have such a discussion. Let me do the worrying and you concentrate on getting better. Close your eyes, my love. I’ll sit here until you’re asleep.’
Too exhausted to argue further, Sorcha did as she was told.
9
It was a beautiful, bright October day. Music was blaring from the West End boutiques and bars, with the customers and staff dressed in carnival colours. The atmosphere was electric.
