Page 27 of A Very Irish Christmas
‘Yep, it was. We lived together, did everything together. And we were getting married. In fact we almost did get married, but he called it off at the last minute.’
‘How last minute?’
‘As last minute as it comes,’ I say. ‘Right at the altar. In front of our family, all our friends. I stood there in my wedding dress, looking into his eyes, and he told me he couldn’t go through with it.’
‘Jaysus wept! What a terrible thing to do someone – especially someone you claim to love. Why would a man do such a thing?’
He looks shocked, sympathetic and a bit angry all at the same time. He shakes his head, and adds: ‘Ted was clearly a fecking eejit!’
I laugh and reply: ‘That’s exactly what my Nanna Nora said! As to why, I guess now, a few years later, I kind of understand. Even though we were in our thirties, we’d only ever known each other. We’d met too early, maybe, and dived in too deep when we weren’t quite ready for it. I don’t think he planned it, I don’t think there was any intention to jilt me so brutally – he just realised, as he stood there, that it was wrong. That he wasn’t ready. And maybe, by that stage he had his eye on somebody else… maybe, in his own way, he was trying to do the decent thing.’
‘Well, you have a different idea of decency than me, Cassie. So was that it? The end?’
‘Apart from a lot of weeping, wailing and downright begging on my part, yes. He moved out. He moved on. He got married this year, actually. And I… I guess I stalled. I put my whole life on pause, because I was so ashamed, so shocked.’
‘Of course you were! This was the man you were expecting to spend the rest of your life with. The man you thought loved you and cherished you, who you trusted – and he abandoned you. Splitting up would have been tough enough at any time, but the way he did it? I’m surprised you’re still standing!’
‘Ha! Well, I wasn’t, for a long time, Ryan. Then my Nanna Nora – the Murphy – passed away, and left me a little money in her will, and this is what I decided to do with it. Make my great escape. June told me it would be good for me, and she’s never wrong.’
As I speak, I feel tears stinging the back of my eyes, and try to shake it off. It’s not even that I’m sad about Ted anymore – I’m sad about myself, and how badly I let myself down. Ryan, clearly a man well-attuned to such things, immediately scoots across to my side of the wall. He puts a beefy arm around my shoulder, and roughly tugs me close until I’m nestled into his chest. He smells of paint and wood and hard-working man, and I feel like I could stay there forever.
‘Come on, now, let it all out – it’ll be good for you!’ he says, dropping a gentle and entirely non-predatory kiss on top of my head.
I do as he instructs, and have a good old cry. He rubs my arms, and holds me close, and murmurs comforting words that make me feel safe. It feels good to have talked about it all, and to be consoled without judgement.
It also feels, I realise, as I start to compose myself, a little too intimate. My hands have crept around his torso, and I feel thehard, flat outline of his abs beneath my fingers, and his breath on my skin. I haven’t been this close to man since Ted, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. My body says yes, but my mind says no.
I know I need to extricate myself and put some distance between us, but I like it here, in his arms. The fire is warm, the lighting is low, and the music is mellow.
Just as I think that, the song changes – and we leap from the end of Bruno Mars singing ‘Just The Way You Are’ to the brain-crunching opening to ‘Firestarter’ by The Prodigy.
I laugh into his now-soggy chest, and he says: ‘Well now. That was a mood-changer, wasn’t it? Serves me right for my mixed-up play-lists. I’ll get us another Guinness from the fridge.’
We both have plenty left, and I suspect he is simply giving me the time to gather myself. He walks back in, passes me the can, and takes his earlier position on the opposite side of the room. I am grateful for the simple courtesy, and for the fact that despite his self-confessed playboy tendencies, he didn’t take advantage of the situation. Grateful, and possibly a tiny bit disappointed.
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘For listening, and for being so… nice. You need to be careful, that kind of thing might ruin your image.’
‘You may be right. But I have six sisters – three older than me, three younger – so I’ve wiped away many a tear in my time. You okay?’
‘Yes,’ I say firmly. ‘I am. I feel much better. So, my turn – I can ask anything?’
He nods, but does look a little wary.
‘What’s the story with you and Charles? Both of you seem like great guys, but it’s clear that you don’t get on. Why is that?’
He tenses slightly, and says: ‘Ah, well, that’s simple enough, Cassie. Another story as old as time. He thinks I slept with his wife.’
I do a double take, and splutter out: ‘What?’
‘His ex-wife, these days. Leonora. Quite the one, is Leonora.’
‘And did you?’ I ask. ‘Sleep with his wife?’
‘Absolutely no, I did not. I may be a feckless playboy, but I have rules – and I don’t mess with married women.’
‘So why does he think that?’
He takes a quick drink, and his expression is hard to read.
