Better Together (41 page)

Joe liked his apartment in Dublin. It was in a block that had been built in the early seventies and looked dull from the outside, but the apartment itself was much bigger and brighter than many modern ones. It had a large living room, small kitchen, two generously sized bedrooms and a more than adequate bathroom. It was located on the Rock Road, convenient for the city centre but also close to the chi-chi towns of Blackrock and Dun Laoghaire. Although Joe had grown up in land-locked Ardbawn, he loved being near the sea in Dublin. It meant that he didn’t feel as claustrophobic as he sometimes did in other cities, because being near the water allowed him a sense of space.

The only thing he’d change about the apartment, he thought, as he sat in the living room a few days after his evening in the Riverside Inn with Ritz Boland, was the fact that the Rock Road was always busy and the steady drone of traffic sometimes irritated him. He was more used to the stillness of Ardbawn, although it was fair to say that the silence of the countryside could just as easily be broken by the roar of a tractor as the sound of a songbird. And these days, of course, there was always traffic on
the road past March Manor, because it led directly to the M9 motorway.

Everything about Ardbawn had changed hugely since his teenage years, not just the fact that he could get from March Manor to the apartment in less than an hour and a half. Ardbawn itself had evolved from a sleepy town where everyone knew each other to a thriving community with an influx of new residents, thanks to the new housing that had been built in the last ten years. Not everybody liked the housing estates, but most of the people who’d moved into them had settled well into the area and had brought new skills and a new outlook to the town. Some people mourned the passing of a place where nobody was a stranger, but it didn’t bother Joe. He’d never entirely been comfortable with the fact that most of the people in the town knew as much about his family as he did.

Or at least they thought they did. Ardbawn had been a gossipy place sixteen years ago. It was still a gossipy place, but the conversations about people were far more superficial now than they’d been when he was younger. He remembered going into the local newsagent’s with his mother as a child and the woman behind the counter wishing him a happy birthday even though he hadn’t been wearing the ‘I am 10’ badge that had been attached to the card his parents had given him. He remembered too that the woman (Mrs Clancy, Mrs Clooney?) had looked outside and remarked that it was a great day for a wedding, and his mother nodding, while Mrs Clancy or Clooney had said that she never would have thought that Bernadine Doherty would’ve managed to nab Sean Fallon, God help her. He’d heard the sharp intake of breath from his mother before she’d replied that it took
all sorts, and the woman behind the counter had nodded and said yes, and that Bernadine was a nice girl and she hoped she’d be happy with Sean. It was about time he settled down, she’d said; sure, hadn’t he broken the hearts of half the town . . . and then she’d looked at his mother, narrowed her eyes and said, ‘Sorry.’ Elva had said that there was nothing for the woman to be sorry about, that it was a long, long time since she’d gone out with Sean Fallon. She’d been a foolish kid back then, she’d told her, and then laughed a brittle laugh that Joe had never heard before.

She’d bought him an ice cream in the newsagent’s, even though before they’d gone in she’d said that he wasn’t getting anything at all because he was having a party tea afterwards and she didn’t want him to spoil his appetite. They’d walked back to March Manor, the ice cream melting over his hand in the warmth of the sun.

He hadn’t thought about that in years. But now he remembered the party, where he’d had a fight with Peter, Sinead had taken his Biggles book to read and Cushla had nearly choked on a tube of Smarties. He shook his head. Normally when he remembered scenes from his childhood they were softened by the passage of time and he recalled them as happy and contented. But his memories of that day included Elva slapping him across the leg for punching Peter in the face (a provoked attack; Peter had broken the toy robot he’d been given), and yelling that being chained to four spoiled brats wasn’t what she’d expected when she’d married his father. Marriage was a trap, she’d cried, designed to enslave women who were seduced by one day of looking like a princess and thinking that they’d be happy.

He’d been shocked at her words, and at the raw anger
and pain in her voice. He’d been frightened, too, frightened that she didn’t love him any more, didn’t love any of them. He’d wanted to fling his arms around her and tell her that he was sorry, but he’d been too scared to do anything other than sit down in the big armchair in the corner of the room.

She’d come up to him a moment later, her eyes bright, her voice soft.

‘I’m sorry, love,’ she’d said. ‘I lost my temper. That was very wrong of me.’

‘I shouldn’t have been fighting.’ It had been all he could do not to cry. He was the eldest, a big boy. Big boys didn’t cry, everyone knew that.

‘I’m sure your brother was driving you mad.’

‘Like we drive you mad?’

She’d smiled then, although he couldn’t help thinking it was a sad smile.

‘Sooner or later everyone drives everyone else a bit mad,’ she’d said. ‘But we get over it.’

‘Are you over it?’

‘Of course I am.’

She’d put her arms around him and hugged him, and he’d stayed longer than was absolutely necessary in the comfort of her embrace. And then she’d told him that she’d better get on with things before his dad came home and she’d headed off to the kitchen, her high heels clicking on the tiled floor.

How had all this stayed stuck in his mind, unremembered for so long? he asked himself. Where had it been buried? Why hadn’t he remembered before now?

He stared unseeingly out of the window as the images of his beautiful mother flickered through his mind. He hadn’t
remembered because it wasn’t important any more, he decided. The past wasn’t important. The only thing that mattered was the future.

Paudie said that. And his father was always right.

It was like old times, thought Sheridan, as she and Talia inspected themselves in the mirror before heading off for the nightclub. Both of them had glammed up for the night, and the pretty brooch that Talia had lent her for the lapel of her jacket was glittering beneath the ceiling light. It was ages since she’d looked as good as this. Clearly she missed Talia’s influence. She vowed to take a bit more care over her appearance when she went back to Ardbawn. Just because she was living in the heart of the country didn’t mean she had to let every single fashion trick she’d ever learned pass her by.

The party that Talia had invited her to was being sponsored by a new restaurant and nightclub in the city, and the owners wanted to get as much publicity as possible. The venue was being marketed as funky yet sophisticated, ideal for the modern, independent woman. Talia had told Sheridan that the magazine was using it as the backdrop to a piece about fashion in the city, and that the club was taking a chunk of advertising in an arrangement that suited everybody.

‘The mag is very commercially focused,’ she said. ‘A bit of an eye-opener really, I thought it would be more laid-back. But I guess the current environment has made everyone up their game.’

‘They won’t go the route of the
City Scope
, will they?’

‘Hopefully not.’ Talia sounded relaxed. ‘It’s a good team. I’m sorry that we’re a fashion and beauty magazine and there isn’t room for sports. You’d like working on it.’

‘I’m sure I’ll get something permanent soon.’ Sheridan didn’t want to talk about her precarious job situation at the start of a night out. ‘Tell me about the club.’

‘It’s a converted courthouse,’ said Talia. ‘So the theme is very much legal-eagle sort of stuff. I think it’s lovely, though.’

‘Hey, I don’t care what it is, I’m just glad to be out and about and away from Ardbawn.’

‘Poor Sheridan.’ Talia made a face at her. ‘A city girl stuck in the sticks. Is it absolutely awful?’

‘It’s OK in small doses,’ admitted Sheridan. ‘There’s parts of it that I like. But I don’t think it’s for me, to be honest.’

‘You haven’t fallen in love with village life and decided that the city is a horrible place and that everything is so much nicer when you know your neighbours?’

Sheridan laughed. ‘I’m not a stressed-out executive who needs to embrace a slower pace to find the meaning of life,’ she said. ‘I like cities. And I like not knowing everything about everybody. Not that I do in Ardbawn – at least not yet – but you know what I mean.’

‘Aunt Hayley said that you went to see her,’ Talia remarked as she adjusted the brooch and then rearranged some loose strands of Sheridan’s hair (which she’d put up for the night). ‘She told me you were a nice girl who was fitting in well. She liked you.’

‘Everyone in Ardbawn likes everyone else,’ Sheridan said. ‘It’s all one big love-fest.’

‘Not a hotbed of intrigue and mystery?’ asked Talia.

‘Apparently they all lead lives that are nearly as boring as mine,’ said Sheridan drily.

‘What about your complicated love life? Any more developments?’

Sheridan had rung Talia after the dinner with Joe had gone horribly wrong, and had called her too to tell her about seeing him with Ritz in the pub. Talia had been taken aback to hear that Sheridan herself had been there with Peter, and hadn’t entirely believed her when she’d insisted that they were just friends, even though Sheridan had reminded her that she had more ‘just friends’ who were male than any woman she knew.

Now she shuddered. ‘I’m staying away from anyone with the surname O’Malley.’

‘Maybe you just have to pick the right O’Malley brother.’

‘There
is
no right O’Malley brother.’

‘All the same . . . I thought you and this Joe guy . . . When you talked about him, you sounded different.’

‘How?’

‘Excited.’

‘Truth? I was excited about him when I didn’t know who he was. Now that I do . . . let’s face it, I’m never going to be a fan of the family, and they’re certainly not fans of mine.’

‘He could still be, though.’

‘No. He couldn’t. As far as he’s concerned, I’m just a nosy journalist who’ll print anything about his father and his family.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘What if I suddenly found out that there was something dark and sinister about Elva’s death, d’you think I’d be obliged to write it?’

‘But you said there wasn’t.’

‘That’s not the point. If there was, as a journalist, I think I would have to.’

‘However since there isn’t – you won’t!’

‘He doesn’t know that.’

‘Tell him.’

Sheridan shook her head.

‘You’re crazy,’ said Talia. ‘Can I remind you again that you went out and bought a dress for this guy.’

‘I bought the dress for me.’

‘You’re impossible,’ said Talia.

‘I’m being realistic,’ Sheridan told her. ‘So can we drop it now? Please?’

‘Fair enough.’ Talia stood back and looked at her friend’s appearance critically. ‘Perfect, Cinders, you shall go to the ball. Although – given that you bought it for yourself – you should have worn the green dress tonight, it was stunning on you.’

‘I didn’t bring it with me. I was afraid I’d be overdressed.’

‘We’re going to a nightclub,’ Talia reminded her. ‘Overdressing is impossible.’

‘Perhaps I’ve been embracing the countryside too much.’

‘Hmm. Well, it might have affected your dress sense, but I have to say, Mizz Gray, there’s a certain glow about you.’

‘God knows why,’ said Sheridan.

‘Nothing like fresh air,’ teased Talia. ‘And maybe you’re still in love with the country man.’

‘Give it a rest,’ said Sheridan.

‘Whatever you say.’ But Talia winked as she picked up the VIP passes and ushered her friend out of the door.

The nightclub was fun. They drank cocktails, chatted to a variety of people and then danced until Talia confessed that her stylish skyscraper shoes weren’t built for anything other than sitting on a bar stool looking fabulous, and that her
feet were killing her. It was exactly like old times, thought Sheridan, even if the times in the clubs had been few and far between. But it was good to be out with her friend, and good to feel that she was still part of something bigger and brighter than Ardbawn town and the
Central News
.

Her head was throbbing the next morning, although she thought it was more from the noise of the club than alcohol – she’d only had three glasses of champagne, after all. Her eyes were gritty, too, as she made enough tea and toast for her and her friend. She stood at the window of the apartment with its view across the city while she waited for the tea to brew. She’d enjoyed herself the previous night and she knew that no matter what happened with her career, she wouldn’t be staying in Ardbawn longer than was strictly necessary. A place where the only decent social outlets were the Riverside Inn and the Riverview Hotel just didn’t have enough long-term appeal for her.

Not, of course, that she’d have the opportunity to stay longer. Although she hadn’t given an exact date for her return, Myra was very definitely coming back to the
Central News
before the summer.

Which means, Sheridan told herself as she switched her gaze to the mountains that ringed the city, I need to get my act together on the job front again. She was wondering if there was any newspaper in the country that she hadn’t already contacted about work when Talia padded sleepily into the room.

‘Ooh, buttery toast. Lovely.’ She yawned as she picked up a slice. ‘I miss having you around, Sher. Enya’s great, but it’s not the same.’

Enya was Talia’s new flatmate. She was originally from Mayo, and went home most weekends.

‘I miss Kilmainham,’ said Sheridan. ‘We had such good times there. And I miss the
City Scope
too.’

‘I believe things aren’t going great there at the moment,’ said Talia as she poured herself some tea from the big red pot. ‘There’s talk of letting more people go.’