A Dozen Second Chances. Field Kate

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СКАЧАТЬ speaker. I shot upright, not before seeing a familiar flash of dark curl. Tina gave me a nudge and a smile, but I stared at the ruddy, bald neck of the man in front of me and refused to look. I couldn’t block my ears though. The first sound of that Irish lilt set my thoughts racing through the years, dredging up memories I had hoped never to revisit: the good memories, the tender memories of love, that made the bad memories so much more painful.

      He was good, my objective self was forced to admit it. His enthusiasm covered the room like a silken net, gathering us all in, captive to the power of the story he was telling. Even I, who knew too well what a sham this was, what a false show concealing his true nature, felt the tug of excitement as he described the experience of working on an archaeological dig, of making a discovery that contributed to our knowledge of ancient times. But then he mentioned working at Vindolanda, a famous Roman site in Northumberland, and I couldn’t listen any more. We had volunteered there together during the first summer we had been a couple, and the archaeological discoveries during the day took second place in my memories to the nights spent tangled together in a sleeping bag in a tiny tent for two.

      ‘Wasn’t he amazing?’ Tina said, rousing me from the mental repetition of my shopping list – a surprisingly effective distraction, as it had reminded me that I was now shopping for one, and turned my thoughts to how much I was missing Caitlyn. ‘He’ll have inspired a few new archaeologists tonight. Inspired a few sweet dreams too for some of this audience. Phew! I think I’m having a hot flush. Can you hang on while I find a glass of water? There’s sure to be a water fountain along the corridor somewhere. Back in a mo …’

      She scuttled off down the corridor, and I lurked at the back of the hall, safe in the knowledge that everyone else was leaving by the doors at the front, presumably in search of refreshment – a cup of tea with an extra splash of artificial Irish sweetener. I checked my phone for messages as the footsteps faded, the chatter died away, and the room fell silent. And then one voice carried the length of the hall, a voice I had heard more than enough of tonight.

      ‘Eve?’

       Chapter 3

      Impossible not to turn, though my first instinct was to run out of the door. There he was, Paddy Friel, striding down the aisle formed between rows of chairs like a joyous bride dashing towards the groom; smiling in a way he had no business to, as if he was delighted to see me – as if it hadn’t been his choice, oh so many years ago, to stop seeing me.

      He paused, looked me up and down, and shook his head in apparent amazement. Curls bounced around his face, and he swept them back with a gesture that was so familiar it was as if he had swept the last seventeen years away too.

      ‘I thought it was you. Eve Roberts. I can’t believe it. How are you?’

      He stepped forward, arms outstretched, as if to offer a kiss to my cheeks, the traditional greeting for long-lost acquaintances, I supposed. I folded my arms and moved away, wanting no contact with him. He could have stayed lost for all I cared.

      ‘Hello, Paddy.’

      His smile wavered. He could hardly misinterpret the coolness in my tone and action. Surely he couldn’t have expected anything else?

      ‘You’re looking fantastic!’ he carried on valiantly. ‘Hardly changed at all. What are you doing here? Do you have a child at the school?’

      ‘No.’ I hadn’t planned to say more, but when he continued to look at me, a growing question on his face, I was spurred into further speech. What if he thought I was there to see him? I couldn’t allow that.

      ‘I came with a friend.’ Soon to be an ex-friend, I decided, glancing over my shoulder and seeing no sign of Tina. Where had she gone to find the water, the North Sea?

      ‘I wish I’d known there was an expert in the audience.’ He smiled. ‘How did it sound? No glaring clangers?’

      ‘It seemed okay.’ He couldn’t hold back a grimace at that faint praise; no doubt he was accustomed to gross adulation wherever he went as part of his celebrity lifestyle. I aimed a vague nod in his direction and edged towards the door, determined to wait in the car for Tina rather than endure this torture for a moment longer.

      ‘Hey, wait. Don’t rush off. What have you been up to? Did you carry on with the archaeology?’

      ‘No. How would it have worked? It was impossible, wasn’t it?’ It was the word he had used in his parting note to me, seventeen years ago, but he didn’t appear to make the connection.

      ‘And how is everyone? Wendy? Douglas?’

      ‘My dad’s dead.’

      The expression of shock and sadness on Paddy’s face might have fooled anyone else. My dad had never for a second made me think he was disappointed with a second daughter – we were two of a kind, like Faye and Mum had been – but he had loved Paddy like a son, and the feeling had seemed mutual. But then I’d thought Paddy had loved me too, so what did I know?

      ‘I’m sorry.’ He reached out a hand, but I drew further back. ‘When? How?’

      ‘Another heart attack. Three months after Faye died.’

      Briefly, his face crumpled with something like grief. My resolve to be indifferent shattered.

      ‘You must know this! I wrote to you … gave you all the details … told you when the funeral was.’

      He hadn’t come. I had waited at the door of the crematorium, certain that despite everything, despite what he had already done, he wouldn’t let me down on this; wouldn’t let my dad down. He wouldn’t leave me to face this on my own, when I had lost two of the people I loved most in the world within a few short months. Three, if I counted him. But I had learnt beyond doubt that day that Paddy Friel didn’t think about anyone but himself; didn’t care about anyone but himself, whatever lies he told to the contrary. I took a deep, juddering breath, and managed to control my emotions. I had wasted enough tears on this man.

      ‘Ah, jeez, I wasn’t at home. I didn’t get the letter …’

      I shrugged; a convenient excuse if ever I’d heard one.

      ‘It doesn’t matter now. It’s old news.’

      I ignored his surprised expression at my apparent callousness. He had no right to judge me for being hard-hearted.

      ‘And your mam?’

      ‘Alive and well, and living in Spain. One of the advantages of my dad working in insurance. He left her a very comfortable widow.’

      Paddy’s puzzled gaze roamed over my face. Was he trying to work out where this bitter woman had come from, how she had grown out of the girl he had known? He didn’t need to look far. I could hold up a mirror, let him see the answer for himself, but he would probably be too distracted by the view.

      ‘And …’ He hesitated, scratched his cheek, pushed the curls back although they were hardly out of place. ‘Caitlyn. How is she?’

      ‘Fine.’

      ‘How old is she now? Twenty?’

      ‘Yes.’ I was surprised he remembered.

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