Page 136 of The Last Love Song
He gazed up the ceiling. ‘You’re right. Perhaps I’ve forgotten who the old Con was.’
Sorcha took a deep breath. ‘And is the new Con still in love with his wife?’
Con shifted his gaze and looked into his wife’s eyes. ‘Sorcha. I love you more than anything. I’m just so sorry that it’s taken me this long to get out of my own head. I promise that I’m coming back to the real world.’
Sorcha was momentarily overcome with happiness. She wanted to kiss him, but she needed to understand the mysterious phone call.
‘Con,’ she said after a pause, ‘is there anything about our past that I don’t know?’ She studied his face carefully.
It took him a while to reply. ‘What exactly do you mean?’
Sorcha immediately knew that he was hiding something. ‘When we left Ballymore.’ She recalled the mystery caller’s ominous words. ‘Was Helen McCarthy the real reason my daddy found out about us?’
The colour drained from Con’s face. ‘I...’ There was nothing more he could say.
Sorcha steeled herself. ‘Tell me everything. Now.’
Con sat up straight. ‘Did Helen say something? That bitch. She really can’t be trusted.’
‘As a matter of fact, I don’t know what I’d have done without her last week. She was kindness itself.’ Sorcha stood up, her legs feeling shaky, her mouth dry. ‘So, out with it.’
Con sunk his head into his hands and told his wife the truth.
Sorcha’s face hardly moved, but tears streamed from her eyes and down her cheeks. When she went to leave the room, Con tried to follow her.
‘No! No.’ She held up her hand, which was physically trembling. Con slunk guiltily back onto the bed, like an admonished dog.
It was more than an hour before Sorcha returned. When she opened the bedroom door, Con had not moved a muscle, but wore a harrowed, drained expression. He had clearly been crying.
‘I think it’s best if I go away for a while. I can’t bear to stay here any longer.’ Sorcha stood for a few seconds looking down at him. ‘I’m going to pack my things.’
As she filled a suitcase with clothes, Con lay on the bed silently, his eyes closed. When she was confident she had enough to last her a good week, Sorcha shut the case and picked it up, swallowing back tears. She walked to the bedroom door.
‘Goodbye, Con.’
He didn’t reply. Or couldn’t.
Sorcha shut the bedroom door, walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. In the drawer of the dresser was a chequebook. She’d need it to pay for a hotel, or maybe she should fly straight home to Ballymore...
All she knew for now was that she needed to get out of the house and away from Con. She could hardly believe their parting had been so calm, so cold.
Sorcha closed the front door behind her, threw her case into the back of her car and drove out of the gates.
A groupie stood up as she drove by. Braking hard, Sorcha wound down the window and stared into the dope-filled eyes of the young woman.
‘I’m going. He’s all yours.’
She wound up the window as the girl looked at her in confusion. Tooting her horn, she zoomed off down Heath Road.
42
On Thursday afternoon, the band was scheduled to have a think-tank session regarding the album in one of the new recording studios at Metropolitan. Later, Freddy was joining them and they were all going out to supper.
Derek arrived to find Con already in situ, strumming away at his guitar.
‘Hi, Con.’ Con did not acknowledge him. ‘I hoped I might find you here. I want a word.’
‘Fire away.’ Con did not stop softly strumming his guitar.
