no sign of Tina. Where had she gone to find the water, the North Sea?
‘I wish I’d known there was an expert in the audience.’ He smiled. ‘How did it sound? No glaring clangers?’
‘It seemed okay.’ He couldn’t hold back a grimace at that faint praise; no doubt he was accustomed to gross adulation wherever he went as part of his celebrity lifestyle. I aimed a vague nod in his direction and edged towards the door, determined to wait in the car for Tina rather than endure this torture for a moment longer.
‘Hey, wait. Don’t rush off. What have you been up to? Did you carry on with the archaeology?’
‘No. How would it have worked? It was impossible, wasn’t it?’ It was the word he had used in his parting note to me, seventeen years ago, but he didn’t appear to make the connection.
‘And how is everyone? Wendy? Douglas?’
‘My dad’s dead.’
The expression of shock and sadness on Paddy’s face might have fooled anyone else. My dad had never for a second made me think he was disappointed with a second daughter – we were two of a kind, like Faye and Mum had been – but he had loved Paddy like a son, and the feeling had seemed mutual. But then I’d thought Paddy had loved me too, so what did I know?
‘I’m sorry.’ He reached out a hand, but I drew further back. ‘When? How?’
‘Another heart attack. Three months after Faye died.’
Briefly, his face crumpled with something like grief. My resolve to be indifferent shattered.
‘You must know this! I wrote to you … gave you all the details … told you when the funeral was.’
He hadn’t come. I had waited at the door of the crematorium, certain that despite everything, despite what he had already done, he wouldn’t let me down on this; wouldn’t let my dad down. He wouldn’t leave me to face this on my own, when I had lost two of the people I loved most in the world within a few short months. Three, if I counted him. But I had learnt beyond doubt that day that Paddy Friel didn’t think about anyone but himself; didn’t care about anyone but himself, whatever lies he told to the contrary. I took a deep, juddering breath, and managed to control my emotions. I had wasted enough tears on this man.
‘Ah, jeez, I wasn’t at home. I didn’t get the letter …’
I shrugged; a convenient excuse if ever I’d heard one.
‘It doesn’t matter now. It’s old news.’
I ignored his surprised expression at my apparent callousness. He had no right to judge me for being hard-hearted.
‘And your mam?’
‘Alive and well, and living in Spain. One of the advantages of my dad working in insurance. He left her a very comfortable widow.’
Paddy’s puzzled gaze roamed over my face. Was he trying to work out where this bitter woman had come from, how she had grown out of the girl he had known? He didn’t need to look far. I could hold up a mirror, let him see the answer for himself, but he would probably be too distracted by the view.
‘And …’ He hesitated, scratched his cheek, pushed the curls back although they were hardly out of place. ‘Caitlyn. How is she?’
‘Fine.’
‘How old is she now? Twenty?’
‘Yes.’ I was surprised he remembered.
‘Is she here?’ He started looking round. ‘Is that who you’re waiting for?’
‘No, she’s …’ I stopped short. Why was I wasting my breath? He’d made it plain enough when he left that he wasn’t interested; that she was my niece, my problem. ‘She’s not with me.’
‘Eve …’
His hand landed on my arm and for a moment I was too stunned to shake it off.
‘Hello! Sorry to be so long.’ Tina returned at last, no sign of water, but a glass of wine in her hand. ‘But I see you’ve managed perfectly well without me …’
‘And I see you’ve managed to turn water into wine,’ I said, jerking my arm away from Paddy’s hand.
‘Sorry! I was looking for a water fountain, but then I ran into the teacher from my Facebook group and she dragged me away for something better.’ She smiled and stepped around me, her eye on more interesting company. ‘Hello. Pleased to meet you. What a fascinating talk! I could have listened for hours.’
‘You should have been on the front row. I might have gone on longer if I hadn’t faced a bored kid who seemed more interested in what he could excavate from his nose …’
The sound of Paddy’s laugh grated on my nerves. I didn’t look, didn’t want to see how that cleft in his chin deepened when he laughed, see how many more laughter lines he had earned around his eyes during our time apart. I studied a black and white school photograph that was hung on the wall, rows of young faces, of students who would probably now be grandparents; the prime of life behind them, whereas mine sometimes felt as if it had never started. Unlike the man I could sense was watching me. What a lot of living he had squeezed into the last seventeen years.
‘Are you ready to go?’ I asked Tina.
‘There’s no hurry …’ She crumbled under the look I sent her and swiftly downed her wine. ‘Of course, I can’t miss my taxi.’ She turned to Paddy. ‘Do you do many school talks? I’d love it if you could come to ours.’
‘There’s no money in the budget for that,’ I said. What on earth was Tina thinking?
‘I don’t charge for school talks. I’d be happy to come. Where is it?’
Before I could instruct Tina not to tell him – although I hadn’t worked out how I could do that – she gave him what he wanted.
‘Inglebridge High in north Lancashire. Would you travel so far?’
‘Sure. I’d be happy to.’ Paddy pulled out his wallet and took out a business card. ‘Here. Get in touch when you’ve worked out some dates.’ He held out another card to me. ‘What do you teach?’
‘I don’t.’
The card dangled between us. I put my hands in my pockets, indicating as clearly as I could that I had no intention of taking it.
‘Eve, can’t we catch up sometime? There are things …’
‘No.’ I cut him off. ‘I have nothing to say, and there’s nothing I want to hear. Not every bit of the past deserves raking up, does it? You should know that better than most.’
*
Tina was unusually quiet as we returned to the car and set off home, and I was too busy concentrating on negotiating the country roads in the dark to break the silence. I was glad to have something to focus on other than the past few hours. The sight of Paddy had knocked me more than I had anticipated, stirring up all the old feelings for him. Feelings of hate, not love – that had died long ago.
‘Pull over here,’ Tina called, banging on the dashboard like an overenthusiastic driving instructor. ‘This pub’s nice. A bit gastropub with the menu, but fine for a couple of drinks.’
I turned into the car park obediently, and we wandered into the pub. It was an attractive place, tastefully decorated with a wooden floor, expensive wallpaper and cosy fabrics. A roaring fire and an abundance of lamps gave the place a romantic feeling – the sort of place where lovers might curl up in a corner, oblivious to the rest of the world. Or so I imagined. Romance played no part in my life. But that’s what I’d chosen, so how could I complain?
I found a table within range of the fire, and Tina brought over a glass of wine, and a cranberry and lemonade for me. For the first time in many years I longed for a shot of alcohol to numb my feelings.