Page 119 of The Last Love Song
Helen looked at Con. ‘Maybe you should be more worried abouthavingsomethingtorecord. How many tracks have you got?’
‘Three, maybe four.’ Con shrugged.
‘There’s another six at least to go then. What about Todd?’
‘I’d say he has a few as well. Look, Helen, I’ve told you, it’ll all be grand.’
‘Good. I’d hate to see The Fishermen start to disintegrate. So many groups do and I want it nipped in the bud before things deteriorate any further. I really think you and Todd should sort out your differences, come to some musical compromise and get on with it. For what amounts to some petty squabbling, there’s too much to lose.’ Helen glanced at her watch. ‘Look, I’d better go.’ She stood up. ‘Oh yes, I nearly forgot. We’re sending you to New York two days ahead of schedule, just to be on the safe side. Your ticket’s booked under the name of Dylan Moore, but British Airways know all about it. Your new minders will accompany you.’
‘You mean, I fly out Sunday?’
‘Yes.’
Con shrugged. ‘If it keeps you happy, Helen.’
‘If it keeps you alive, Con.’ Helen sucked her teeth. ‘Do you own a gun by any chance?’
‘No, I’m hoping I never have to either.’
She nodded slowly. ‘Hmm. I have one. Just a small handgun that I keep in the locked drawer in my office. You can never be too careful these days.’
‘Jesus, Helen.’
‘It’s just I had a...friend who was murdered. Seemingly out of nowhere. One has to protect oneself. Why don’t you think about getting one, just in case?’
‘Ah, Helen, I’ll let the police worry about any shootings.’
‘As you wish.’ She composed herself. ‘I really want you to pull your socks up, Con. I need The Fishermen to stay together. I think you owe me that.’
‘Oh, do I now?’
‘Frankly speaking, yes.’ She winced a little. ‘In truth, I feel absolutely awful about what I did for you all those years ago.’Helen’s gaze wandered to the window. ‘I was a different woman back then.’
Con nodded. ‘I’d probably agree with you on that front.’
‘So we have an understanding then? You’ll sort everything out with the band?’
Con narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re so sure that I owe you a favour, Helen.’
Helen crossed her arms. ‘Do I really need to remind you?’
37
West Cork, Ireland, July 1964
Helen woke to a beautiful sunny morning. Knowing how quickly the weather could change and not wanting to waste a minute of it, she threw on some clothes, said a quick good morning to her aunt as she passed through the kitchen and went to saddle Davy. She loved riding on summery Sunday mornings: the beaches were deserted as the rest of the town was at mass.
A good canter along the shore left Helen feeling exhilarated and ready for breakfast. As she trotted homeward, she saw a distant figure running away from the beach. She watched as the figure retrieved a bicycle from a hollow in the dune and dragged it onto the road.
‘Sorcha O’Donovan,’ she breathed, wondering what she was doing out here when every other God-fearing Ballymore citizen was in church.
Sorcha waved at someone behind Helen, then pedalled off at high speed towards the village.
Helen turned and saw Con Daly perched on top of a sand dune. He was only a few feet away from her.
‘Morning to you, Helen. And isn’t it a beauty?’ He smiled at her.
A sob choking her throat, she could only nod in his direction.
