Page 143 of The Last Love Song
Helen shrugged. ‘Who knows? Depends what else happens in the next few days. The minute something more interesting comes along, they’ll be off your back. Let’s both pray that happens,’ she said gently. ‘I’ll be able to report back to you tomorrow. I’ve got a meeting with Freddy in the morning to establish if there’s a way forward for The Fishermen after allthis. Whether we can get Todd and Con in the same room, let aloneleavethem together to write this album that’s looming ever closer is another matter.’
‘I’d imagine you might struggle at the moment.’
‘Well, it’s not just Todd that hates Con. Your dear husband has managed to completely alienate Derek by telling him his precious song is a pile of rubbish. Very subtle of him. Derek called Freddy and told him he refused to work with Con again and was leaving the band. It’s probably hot air, but who knows with Derek? He’s an unusual character to say the least.’
Sorcha drained her wine glass and stared into space.
‘It’s all so sad.’
‘What is?’ asked Helen.
‘Well, they were all such good friends and now...well...It’s just a desperate mess.’
‘It is. And unfortunately, I have to try to sort it out. The Fishermen are an industry, Sorcha. And whatever their personal problems, they have a contract with Metropolitan.’ Helen looked up as a streak of lightning illuminated the darkening sky. She wiped her forehead. ‘There is going to be a storm, thank God. I despise the humidity. Shall we clear up?’
Later, Sorcha went upstairs to take a shower. The thunder rumbled directly overhead and while she dried herself she heard the first drops of rain on the windowpane. By the time she was back downstairs there was a torrential downpour outside. Helen was sitting at the dining table, a pile of papers in front of her, but her attention was focused on the storm outside too.
‘Isn’t it magnificent?’ she murmured. ‘Puts everything into perspective. I loved watching them come in from the sea in Ballymore.’
‘So did I,’ smiled Sorcha.
‘Anyway, I think it’s time to hit the sack. I’ll probably begone by the time you wake up. I like to get to the office by eight.’
‘No problem.’
Helen packed her papers into her briefcase, locked it and stood up.
‘Okay. I’m going up. Turn the lights off when you follow, will you?’
‘Yes, goodnight, Helen.’
‘Night.’
Sorcha sat down in Helen’s place and watched the storm raging outside.
Twenty minutes later, she made her way up the stairs to bed, musing how much she’d once disliked Helen McCarthy and how, after the past few days, she’d come to respect her more than anyone else.
44
Helen was up at a quarter to six. She hung out her suit, used the bathroom and was just crossing the landing when Sorcha bolted out of the bedroom and headed for the loo, slamming the door hastily behind her. Helen listened as Sorcha retched violently, then continued on her journey to her bedroom.
Once ready to face the day, Helen came out of her room and knocked on Sorcha’s closed door.
‘Come in.’
Helen entered. Sorcha was lying on her bed, her eyes closed.
‘Are you okay? You look awfully pale.’
‘Yes, I’ll be fine in a minute. I think I must have had too much wine last night.’
‘You only drank a couple of glasses, Sorcha.’
‘Then maybe it’s tension. It’s happened a couple of times since I left Con.’
‘Always in the morning?’
‘Yes.’
