Page 13 of The Last Love Song
She thought about what he had said. Despite his reputation as an unwashed layabout, Con was a clever man. The conversations they’d had over the years were infrequent but memorable. He was the one person she knew who did not treat her as if she had no brain in her head.
Plus, he seemed to become more handsome every time she saw him.
For want of any other man to think of, she thought about Con. She supposed she was a little in love with him, but aware that her feelings would never be reciprocated.
What man could ever love her?
She pulled her scarf up around her ears. The wind was starting to bite. Con had just voiced an idea that had been dancing around Helen’s head more and more insistently in recent times. Seamus O’Donovan had assured her she’d be a very wealthy young lady. Helen wasn’t quite sure exactly how rich she’d be, but it was a simple matter of asking. She knew her lawyer thought her dense, that she’d never be able to grasp her financial situation or cope with the responsibility of running the estate. Maybe he was right. She certainly struggled at school, unable for some reason to make sense of words written on the page, even though she understood the meaning in her mind. But numbers were no problem. She had always been excellent at maths.
And this large amount of money that would soon be hers...as Con had said, it could buy her an escape. She could go anywhere she wanted – somewhere where she could start again. But where? She’d hardly been out of Ballymore. Did she have the courage to leave a life that might be difficult, but was at least safe and familiar?
Helen looked out over the darkening skyline. There was no more time for thinking. She had to ride home before the light was lost completely.
She mounted Davy. As she trotted along the beach, she saw a glow emanating from Con’s hut.
Drawing closer, Helen heard the sound of laughter coming from within. She called her horse to a halt and watched for a moment. Con’s silhouette appeared in the small grimy window. He was joined by a second silhouette. Their mouths met and they shared a kiss.
Helen blushed bright red, hating herself for spying, but unable to avert her gaze. Eventually, the door of the hut opened and a slim figure emerged. It wasted no time in scampering off across the dunes before Helen had a chance to see who it was.
She continued to watch as Con came out and stood in the doorway. A match flickered and Helen saw the red glow of a cigarette. It was almost completely dark now. Davy huffed in impatience.
Helen cantered away along the beach.
4
May 1964
‘So, will you come with me, Sorcha?’
She looked at Con, lying full-length on the battered couch he ate and slept on. She shivered and moved nearer to the small fire that was burning in the stove. Even though it was the beginning of May, the nights could still be sharp.
‘Con Daly, where would we go? What would we live on? I have no money, and neither do you.’
‘I have my guitar, Sorcha. We wouldn’t starve, even if I have to sing on street corners with my hat placed on the pavement for silver. And I know it won’t be long before I’m getting gigs, and after that, a record deal.’ Con pointed away from the ocean. ‘London’s where the music scene is happening. That’s where I have to be.’ He reached in his pocket and drew out a battered cigarette. Then he moved over to the stove and lit it on the hot coals. He took a drag. ‘Want some?’
Sorcha shook her head.
Con put an arm around her and pulled her towards him. He kissed her, his lips tasting of the tar he’d just inhaled. He stroked her hair lovingly.
‘Ah, Sorcha-porcha, I’m a man whose passion is inflamed. You won’t let me make love to you, you won’t say if you’ll come with me to England...I’m beginning to wonder if you love me at all.’
Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Con, you know I love you. It’sfierce. I think of nothing else. Even Sister Benedict has asked me if I’ve any trouble at home because my marks are slipping at school. It’s just that...I...I’m scared, Con.’
‘What of, Sorcha? My love? Me?’
He tipped her face up to look at him, his eyes gentle.
‘No. I...well, I’ve always thought I’d leave school, attend a secretarial college in Cork and take a job in my daddy’s office. Then I’d...’
‘Wait until a suitable man wants to marry you. Don’t you know that there’s a world out there waiting to be explored? This tiny corner of the earth will be the same for the next fifty years. I thought you’d be after excitement, Sorcha. Don’t you want tolive? Don’t you wantme?’
‘I...’ Sorcha looked at him helplessly.
‘Atch!’ Con stood up, threw his cigarette onto the stove and banged its door closed. He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Sorcha, it’s been three months now that we’ve been together. I understand that you’re young and are protected by that mammy and daddy of yours. I want you to come with me, be part of my future. I’ve sworn to take care of you, marry you if you wish, but I can’t be sitting here wasting time trying to convince you. I’m going to London, Sorcha, with or without you, in a month’s time. I have enough money to pay for your passage too, if you want to come. There, that’s how it is,’ he sniffed. ‘Now I suppose you’d better be leaving. Otherwise Mammy and Daddy might call the guards and I’d be accused of kidnapping you.’
Con moved towards the door and opened it.
Fighting back tears, Sorcha looked around for her jacket.
