Page 124 of The Last Love Song
‘Is the funeral over?’
‘Yes.’
‘And is your mother all right?’
‘All things considered, she’s doing exceptionally well. And you? Are you okay?’
‘I’m grand, Sorcha, just grand. Are you flying home tomorrow?’
‘I was planning to fly home on Sunday, but when I called the airline they said the plane was full. So I’m on the Monday flight, which means I’ll be home in time to travel to New York with you on Tuesday.’
‘Ah, now, that’s why I’m calling. There’s been a change of plan. I’m flying out on Sunday.’
Sorcha bit her lip. ‘Why?’
‘I promise there’s a very good reason, Sorcha. But there’s no problem. You come home and fly over as you would have done on Tuesday and I’ll see you in New York. Is that okay?’
‘Fine.’
‘Grand. Well, see you next week in the Big Apple then.’
‘Yes. Goodbye, Con.’
Sorcha put the telephone down. She was on the verge of tears. Con had been civil, but there’d been no warmth in his voice, no hint of the closeness they’d once shared.
Had he stopped loving her? She just didn’t know.
Sorcha sighed, left the office and walked across the hall. As she opened the front door she heard the rumble of thunder. She shivered, wondering whether to go back upstairs and retrieve her raincoat, but she was late already. She could always borrow something from Maureen to get her home.
Sorcha decided to put all thoughts of Con out of her head, desperate to enjoy the evening with her oldest friend. She headed across the square and down the high street towards Maureen and Tommy’s shop. After the ten-minute walk, her arms were covered in goose pimples. Sorcha pushed the door open. Tommy stood behind the counter grinning at her, his face still a childish mass of ginger freckles.
‘Ah, Sorcha! ’Tis grand to see you. You’re looking so well.’
‘You do too, Tommy.’
‘Maureen’s upstairs. She’s been slaving in the kitchen as if the Blessed Virgin herself was coming to tea. Here, I’ll show you up.’
Tommy beckoned her round the counter and pushed open the door at the back of the shop. In the narrow corridor, all manner of boxes were stacked haphazardly. Sorcha edged past them and followed Tommy up the wooden stairs.
‘We had a delivery this afternoon. I’ll maybe join you later but I’ll have to sort it all out. Anyway, I think Maureen wants you to herself for a while. In here.’ Tommy pushed open a door which led to a small, steamy kitchen. ‘Your guest has arrived, sweetheart.’
Maureen, red-faced from her exertions, wiped her hands on her apron and came to kiss Sorcha.
‘How are you?’
‘I’m well, very well.’
Before Sorcha had time to move, three small heads with ginger hair appeared from the room next door and clung on to the back of Maureen’s legs, their impish eyes peeping at Sorcha from behind their mother’s skirt.
‘Is this her, Mammy? The one who’s married to the famous singer?’ asked the tallest boy.
‘Aye, she is,’ smiled Maureen.
‘I’ll be downstairs a while, sweetheart. Call me when it’s ready.’
Maureen nodded as Tommy closed the door.
‘Come on now, you three, let your mammy go so I can show Sorcha into the sitting room.’ Maureen rolled her eyes as she turned and headed across the kitchen, three little pairs of hands still clinging to her legs. ‘Come in here and sit down, if you can find the space.’
