Page 33 of The Last Love Song
Con stopped.
‘You’ve been so quiet since we left. Are you not a little happy for me?’
‘Of course I am, Con. It’s just that when you stepped forward and sang, the stage came alive. I know I’m biased, but the audience felt it too. As Todd’s girlfriend said, you’ll only be playing bass and singing backing. Todd Bradley is the star and...well, I just know he won’t give you a look-in.’
Con stopped and took Sorcha’s hands. ‘Don’t you think I know that? But, Sorcha, so what if I have to play second fiddle to Todd for a while? It’s a start. If I’m good, I’ll be noticed whether I’m singing lead or backing. It’s better than nothing, that’s the way I see it.’
‘Of course.’
‘Ah, Sorcha.’ Con took her in his arms and hugged her tightly. ‘Always looking out for me, aren’t you now?’ He kissed her on the forehead. ‘You know it won’t pay very much. Todd was saying that the fee split between four doesn’t go far. He’s said I can borrow his bass guitar for now but I’ll have to buy my own eventually.’
‘Then it’s grand that I have a job. I’m happy to support you until things start to take off, as long as you can stand me stinking of six different types of perfume when I come home.’
‘I wouldn’t want to be living off you for long, but let’s give it a couple of months and see how it goes.’
‘Grand.’
Con looked down at her. ‘No matter what we go through, we’ll always be together.’
‘Always,’ she repeated as his lips came down to meet hers.
10
Helen yawned and gazed out over the London skyline. The room was stuffy, the number of bodies crammed into it and the old gas heater making the air unpleasant to breathe.
What had she been thinking, signing up to do a business course? It had all been a terrible mistake. She was finding the coursework impossible and was aware she was falling behind. The sums were okay, but then they always had been. She’d already decided she’d leave at the end of this term and rethink her future.
‘Miss McCarthy, could I ask that you give me the answer to the question sometime today? The class is hanging on your every word. Miss McCarthy?’
Helen suddenly became aware the tutor was addressing her. Blushing, she glanced down at the figure, neatly written at the bottom of the page.
‘Yes, I’m sorry. The company would be left with approximately thirty-five thousand, having paid seven thousand, five hundred pounds and fifteen shillings to the Revenue.’
‘Well done. Okay, class, for your home assignments this weekend, I want you to answer the questions on page forty-seven of theBookkeeping Practices for Beginnerstextbook. I’ll see you on Monday at nine thirty sharp. Have a nice weekend.’
There was an audible sigh of relief as the fifteen studentspacked away their pens, notepads and textbooks and began chatting about their plans for the following two days.
Helen put away her things, stood up and moved towards the door.
‘Miss McCarthy, can I have a word?’
She nodded resignedly and walked towards the tutor. He waited until the last student had left the room, shut the door behind him, then perched on the table he used as a desk.
‘Sit down a minute, would you, Miss McCarthy.’
Helen sat, her mind slipping back to the days when the nuns had held her back and castigated her for her dreadful work.
‘I wanted to talk to you about the work you’ve been handing in.’
‘I...I know it’s sometimes not up to scratch. I’ll try harder in future, Mr Bryant. I...’
A well-rehearsed litany of excuses and promises to do better poured out of her. Mr Bryant held up his hands.
‘Helen, please – may I call you Helen?’
‘I...’ She looked up at him. His eyes were kind. She realised for the first time that he didn’t look at all cross. ‘Yes.’
‘First of all, I think you should remember that you are no longer at school. Myself and the other tutors here are paid by the students. How much or how little work you actually do while you’re here is really up to you. We are salaried to teach, advise and assist you. Therefore, any comments I make are only meant as constructive criticism, to help you attain the qualification you are paying the school to receive. Do you understand?’
