A Change of Heart (The Heartfelt Series) (10 page)

“Me? Great, totally fine, completely okay, on the teeniest bit of medication, maintenance, a precaution really and hey, who isn’t on something?” she gave the room an all-encompassing wave, “But no, I’m absolutely great, totally
cool
.”

“Well, isn’t that good news?” said Miss MacReady placing the replenished coffee pot on the table. “It must have been a very good hospital you were at. Which was it now?”

“A private clinic.” Angelique’s face closed up. “You wouldn’t know it.” She glanced at Sinead, “Well, you seem to have things under control here, a lot of help for one small child.”

“Two actually,” Marianne replied. “There’s our godchild Bridget. We share childcare with her father, Padar, he’s a widower,” Angelique had barely acknowledged the other child. She watched her now on Sinead’s knees, baby talking to Joey.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Ryan said, smiling down at them.

“They both are,” Marianne hugged the little boy to her.

Miss MacReady was divesting herself of the nanny outfit in the hallway, exchanging it for a full-length wax, matching hat and wellingtons studded with diamante.

“Well, it’s about time for their walk, shall we take charge today, Marianne?” she asked, as Sinead fetched the double buggy. “Or perhaps Angelique would like to do the honours?” Angelique looked bemused. Marianne wondered if she had ever seen one before.

“Would you rather take a nap and catch up with us later?” Marianne suggested.

“I would like to freshen up,” Angelique said, looking suddenly exhausted. Ryan fetched her coat, pleased to assist her removal from the cottage.

Marianne took charge of the buggy as Ryan took charge of Angelique. He gave Marianne one of his
I can’t believe this is happening
looks. She responded with a
Wallace and Gromit
grimace, as she watched the movie stars heading back to the pub.

Outside the cottage, Sinead gave hurried kisses goodbye. She was long overdue at the pharmacy and Phileas did not like his routine disrupted. Marianne caught her by the sleeve.

“Brilliant work Sinead, what would I do without you?”

“My pleasure sure, I love those two little ones. Sure I’d rather be with them than anyone, they light up my life.” Sinead looked adoringly at the babies before striding purposefully towards the main street. Marianne and Miss MacReady watched her go.

“Talk about ‘Call in the Cavalry’. What a relief when I saw you both, I was dreading what we would come back to. Padar’s great but he’s far from organised, and here everywhere calm and gleaming.” She gave Miss MacReady a hug.

“Joyce tipped me the wink,” Miss MacReady explained, “I don’t believe any of that ‘desperate to see my son’ rubbish. I wonder why she’s here really, don’t you?”

Marianne pushed the buggy towards the coast road. Monty trotted at the wheels, head cocked to one side. They were all keen to know the answer to that one.

“To try and take him back with her? I can’t see how that fits, she’s not settled as far as I know, not really based anywhere beyond an apartment in New York and staying with various people wherever she goes, so Ryan says. She’s been on tour with the boyfriend, I believe, so I’m not sure what the plan is at all. She’s a tricky one I know that.” Marianne stopped to pull up the hood.

“And the custody issue, has that been agreed?” Miss MacReady asked, “I can’t imagine it would be straightforward.”

“Not yet. Ryan hadn’t really thought the whole thing through. You know, the divorce, custody of his son, his contract with the studio,” Marianne inhaled some salty sea air.

“That’s so like him, the grand romantic gesture, hasn’t a practical bone in his body.” Miss MacReady took the buggy. “You better get on the phone to the lawyers and see what’s to be done. I’ll take these for a good walk, tire them out, so you, Ryan and Angelique can do some serious talking while she’s here. How long is she staying?”

Marianne shrugged.

“Try not to worry, love. She won’t stay long, this place won’t suit her one bit, nor will motherhood. It doesn’t come naturally to everyone you know,” she reassured, turning towards the beach. “And remember, we don’t even have a GP on the island, she seems to need quite a bit of medical support, if you take my meaning?”

“Well, let’s hope what she said is true, and she is on the road to recovery. Any sort of substance dependency is a terrible thing,” Marianne said seriously.

“Well, she may have landed in Knock, but there’s no miracle cure for what’s wrong with that one. She’s far from
tootally coooall,
you mark my words,” Miss MacReady replied.

Marianne was just about to agree
,
when a familiar figure appeared, waving from the far end of the beach.

“Larry?” she asked.

Miss MacReady waved back enthusiastically.

“Yes, I said I’d see him here, fill him in on things.”

Marianne watched Miss MacReady’s face light up.

“Well, here’s another question. I wonder how long Larry’s staying? He seems to quite like it here at the moment, don’t you think?” Marianne bent to kiss the babies farewell.

“Oh, I don’t know about that, I wouldn’t know about that at all,” Miss MacReady laughed, gathering speed as she trundled off towards him.

Marianne was thoughtful, as she and Monty strode back against the wind, to a now thankfully empty Weathervane.

Sinead did not go straight home, where she knew her husband would be impatiently awaiting her return, wittering about how long she had been away, how busy he was and what time would his lunch be ready. Phileas could always find something to complain about, something small and niggly. He never saw the bigger picture, spent his whole life measuring and mixing tiny quantities of this and that, never looking over the top of his reading glasses to see what else was going on in the world. Sometimes Sinead wondered why they moved to Innishmahon. She could not remember the last time she and Phileas had been on the beach, let alone scaled the cliffs or taken a boat out.

 Marching up the main street in her sensible shoes, she turned down a lane just before the pharmacy, through a small gate at the back of the churchyard and in the side door. She knew it was open because it was a Friday and Father Gregory would be hearing Confession. She genuflected and took a seat in a pew. A few elderly villagers were mumbling penance. Sinead hoped no-one would come in after her; she wanted to be the last. She checked her watch. She was last, only one person ahead of her.
Hurry up,
she thought,
Phileas will be pacing the floor at this rate.
Finally, the old woman came out and Sinead went in.

 “Bless me Father, for I have sinned, and it’s been a very long time since my last Confession.” Sinead’s voice broke. Father Gregory blinked through the grille, flew out of the tiny room and opened the door, where he found her kneeling in floods of tears. The priest took her hand and led her into the now empty church.

 “Sinead what is it? What on earth is wrong?” his voice as soft as velvet. She stood, shoulders hunched, head bent. A strand of hair came loose from her clip, it trembled as she sobbed. He pushed the hair back, lightly smoothing her crown with the palm of his hand. She crumbled at his touch and fell into his chest, clutching his cassock, weeping as if her heart would break. The priest was shocked. He had known Sinead ever since the Porters had moved to the island. She came to church occasionally, attended weddings and funerals but she had never come to Confession, and now this. He put his arms around her and led her to a pew. She found a hanky and blew her nose.

 “I’m sorry, so sorry,” she said between sobs, “I don’t know where else to turn.”

 Father Gregory sat back in the pew, took her hand.

 “Take a deep breath, that’s right, nice and slow. Now, tell me what the problem is, it can’t be that bad, surely?”

 Sinead turned huge, cornflower-blue eyes on the priest. “It’s bad Gregory, very bad. You see, the thing is, I don’t think I can stand it anymore, I’m right on the edge, and if he doesn’t stop pushing me, one of two things will happen: I’ll either go over the edge or he will.”

 “What do you mean, Sinead, is it Phileas you’re talking about?” Father Gregory asked gently.

 She nodded as the tears came again, dripping off her chin onto the large, solid hands holding hers.

 “Yes, it’s terrible, Father, I used to love him but now I hate him, hate what he’s doing to me, to us. And more and more lately I find myself wishing I was free, wishing he was dead and gone out of my life forever.”

 Father Gregory squeezed her hands briefly.

 “I’m at my wits end,” she went on. “I even imagine how I could kill him, planning it in my head and there’s the truth of it, Gregory. I’m actually planning to murder my husband.”

 The priest smiled, he wanted to say, “Is that all? Sure, most women want to kill their
husbands at one time or another,”
but he stopped himself and looked deep into those big, baby-blue eyes. Sinead was deadly serious.

Chapter Eleven
A Means To An End

Relieved to have deposited his estranged wife in her suite, barking instructions at her already stressed-out
maid, Ryan was sitting outside the pub smoking one of his favourite, French cigarettes, the pint untouched beside him. He was staring blankly at the shop front opposite. It had been the butcher’s, doing little business since the supermarket opened not five minutes away and was now just a shell, the building behind the facade washed away in the storm, the remainder crumbling.

 “Needs demolishing, that place,” Sean Grogan said, taking off his bicycle clips as he wheeled his bike into the entrance of the pub. “Bloody death trap.”

 “What happened to the Redmonds?” Ryan asked. Paul Redmond was the butcher, he and his wife Joan ran the shop. They had five children and a menagerie of cats, dogs, ponies. Paul had been a stalwart of the makeshift rescue team Ryan had joined at the height of the storm, working together to save lives and homes as the islanders battled against the worst weather in living memory.

 “Moved away, back on the mainland. No home, no business, no insurance, sure what had they to stay for?” Sean grunted, eyeing Ryan’s cigarette. Taking the hint, Ryan handed him the pack.

 “Keep them, I’ve given up,” Ryan said, as he extinguished his. Sean took one, lit it, taking a deep drag. He pulled a face at the taste of the unfamiliar tobacco.

 “Shame, nice family, the island needs a bit of young blood.” Ryan said. “That was a good property once too.”

 Sean shook his head. “Not at all. Sure the whole row needs pulling down, barely standing as it is. Isn’t a fecking bridge we should be building, it’s a new village centre, with a bigger supermarket, an amusement arcade - I love them - and another pub. Sure this place has gone to the dogs since Oonagh threw herself off that boat.”

 Ryan’s head snapped round, “Hey, enough of that talk.”

 “What talk?” Padar appeared with a bucket and started cleaning windows.

 “Sean was just saying,” Ryan said, as Sean glared at him in disbelief, “how the butcher’s across the road needs pulling down.”

 “I agree, something needs doing with it, but there’s a lot going on at the moment, what with the bridge and now the lifeboat station.” Padar carried on cleaning the glass, “I suppose he wants to knock it down and build another pub.”

 “Well, he thinks that would be more useful than the bridge,” Ryan smiled, watching Sean squirm.

 “Ah Sean, you haven’t a clue. There’s barely enough business here to keep one pub open. Without the new bridge there’ll be no trade at all, sure ‘tis only the building lads keeping us going at all at the moment.” Padar threw the chamois into the bucket and stormed back inside. A yelp and loud clatter meant he had met Sean’s bike shin-first. “And get this fecking bike out of here. How many times have I told you? This is a disabled entrance. It has to be kept clear.”

 “Sure who disabled comes into this pub?” Sean huffed.

 “You’ll be disabled if you don’t move this fecking bike!” Padar called back, slamming the door.

 Sean sighed and turned to Ryan. “He didn’t mention all the extra business your trouble has brought him, I notice.” He gave Ryan a sly look.

 “What do you mean?” Ryan asked sharply.

 “Well, there’s the Larry-fella above renting the holiday cottage, and now your wife, isn’t she the actress from Hollywood? She’s taken over three rooms because one’s not enough and she’s paying Pat to stay on as her driver and he’s booked into the pub as well, and then there’s Mary from the supermarket, taken on as her maid. She must be staying a good while, all the luggage and servants she has around her.”

Ryan moved swiftly to face the man. He stood a good head taller than Sean.

“Listen,” he said, eyes burning into Sean’s face, “She’s my
ex-wife
and she’s not staying ‘a good while’ as you put it, and if I were you I’d keep that,” he tweaked Sean’s nose between his thumb and forefinger, “out of my business!” He took the butt from between Sean’s lips, crushed it underfoot and headed off in the direction of Weathervane.

Taking the cigarettes from his pocket, Sean lit another one. As soon as Ryan was out of sight he lifted the untouched pint to his lips.
More money than sense,
Sean thought, as he downed the smooth, cool stout.

Ryan’s mood was black, as he entered Weathervane’s little hallway. Marianne was playing
Love Cats,
one of their favourite songs, very loudly in the sitting room.

She was in jogging bottoms, pink fluffy top and matching socks, playing the plonk, plonky, plonk piano on top of the desk. He could just make out Snelgrove & Marshall’s logo on the computer screen. She was singing and swinging her ponytail from side to side. The happy sound filled the house. Ryan thought his heart would explode with love.

He took his cue from a line to charge into the room, singing at the top of his voice, as she leapt off the chair in fright, laughing as he waltzed her into his arms. Monty joined in, circling their feet and wagging his tail. He loved it when they were silly. But his mistress’ ‘silliness’ often had a deeper purpose. Loud music, mad singing, punishing walks or too much wine usually meant she was thinking something through, giving her brain space to work things out, Monty knew her well enough to know that.

The dancers were developing the technique of waltzing whilst rubbing noses in time with the music, when they heard voices.

 “Not sure that’ll catch on,” Larry said as the music ended, “especially if your partner has a cold.”

 “Trust you to think of that,” Ryan threw back at him, finishing by twirling Marianne and securing her under his arm, “You’d pass a law so everyone wiped their mouths with antiseptic before kissing.” Larry nodded, seemed fair enough.

 “Anything to report?” Miss MacReady asked, stomping sand off her glamorous wellies.

 “I’ve checked the paperwork and it seems Ryan
does
have a special custody order for Joey if Angelique is incapacitated - for instance in hospital - it’s reviewed once she’s been discharged and given a clean bill of health by her physician,” Marianne told them.

 “Anything about being on tour with her boyfriend, abandoning her son and reneging on her responsibilities?” Miss MacReady asked.

 “That might count as a
special
special order, it seems that ‘incapacitated’ covers a multitude, we could be in the clear,” Marianne said.

 “Okay, let’s say she’s no longer incapacitated and everything’s grand and she’s not going to sue Ryan for abduction because he’ll countersue for negligence, so then what happens?” Miss MacReady unbuckled Joey and Bridget from the buggy. Larry was frowning over Marianne’s shoulder at the screen.

 “The legal process to award full custody will commence,” Larry said, taking the chair vacated by Marianne, now on the sofa with Ryan and the little ones.

 “That shouldn’t prove too problematic surely?” Ryan said. “We don’t want to prevent Angelique from seeing Joey, far from it, but he needs to grow up in as stable an environment as possible. Angelique with her track record...”

 “Health problems,” Marianne interjected.

 “Okay, health problems,” Ryan went on, “is not in a position to provide that.”

 Larry was scrolling down, reading the document. He turned to face them.

 “All well and good, all perfectly logical and reasonable,
but
we are not dealing with perfectly logical and reasonable, we’re dealing with Angelique. I’d have been far happier if you’d had the paperwork before you abducted Joey.” He smiled at the little boy, softening the impact of his words.

 “I didn’t abduct...” Ryan exploded.

 “Technically you did, no getting round it, and in so doing made the prenuptial agreement invalid. The carefully crafted document you both signed before you married is voided by your action. You didn’t apply for this ‘special custody order’ until after you brought Joey here. Angelique
could
insist on Joey going back to the US and beginning the whole process again, properly,” Larry said sternly.

 Ryan wrapped his arms around Joey. Bridget lay her head on his lap.

 “But that would put us in a very weak position surely, back in the States, with the black mark of abduction against Ryan?” Miss MacReady said in a concerned voice.

 “Precisely,” Larry agreed, “which is why we need to get to the bottom of why Angelique is really here, see if we can’t get things agreed in principle face-to-face. It would save an awful lot of time, money and heartache in my opinion. Marianne?”

 Marianne was sitting quietly in the corner of the sofa, twirling one of Bridget’s auburn ringlets in her fingers.

 “If we can get her to agree, great, but does she want to take him back with her? Is she hopeful for a reconciliation with Ryan?” Marianne shrugged.

 “No way,” Ryan interjected.

“I’m just talking things through, Ryan. To be frank, I don’t think Angelique wants a reconciliation anymore than you do but what her game plan is, I’m still trying to figure out. What is she hoping to achieve?” Marianne said.

 Larry scratched his chin.

 “A settlement, it has to be!” Miss MacReady exclaimed, “She doesn’t want Ryan, or Joey but she does want money. She wants a big fat divorce settlement and a further lump sum for custody. She doesn’t want the full-time responsibility of her son. He’s a commodity, a means to an end. Ryan’s release from the marriage has a price tag and Joey is for sale, part of the package.” Her eyes went brittle. The women exchanged a look. Children traded for cash touched a raw nerve in both of them.

 Sensing the tension in the room, Joey started to grizzle. Marianne released him from Ryan’s grip, smoothing his hair, finding a toy to distract him.

 “Shall I make us all a nice cup of tea?” Miss MacReady offered. Ryan looked at Marianne. She knew that look.

 “Come on Larry, let’s go and visit the viper in its nest.” Ryan pulled on his leather jacket. Larry re-tied his scarf.

 “Ryan, stay calm, listen to what she has to say, we can sort this out, it’ll be fine,” Marianne said. As he bent to kiss her, she flashed a look at Larry over his head. Larry nodded, pulling on his gloves.

 “I’ll see to it, Marianne, but we ain’t pulling no punches. Ryan and me have saved her ass on more occasions than I care to remember. Angelique made a pile of money out of the wedding, she ain’t due anything in reality. If anything she owes us,” Larry growled.

 “No tea then?” asked Miss MacReady as they left. “Good, because I’m about ready for a whiskey, what about you Marianne?”

 “I think I’m about ready for a fight,” Marianne replied, more or less to herself.

Saturday lunchtime mid-October was not usually busy in Maguire’s. No more than a couple of tourists and a handful of locals having a sandwich and a couple of drinks. Padar tried to keep the live music sessions going throughout the winter, harking back to when punters came from near and far to enjoy some off-season entertainment, but with no bridge and Oonagh gone, hoolies in Maguire’s were scant few. Neighbours on the mainland stayed put. The short trip across the water, a pleasure on a warm summer’s evening, was no fun on a black, winter’s night.

 So the noise and bustle greeting Ryan as he opened the door to the main bar was a surprise. Half a dozen men were at the bar, and by a blazing fire, a cluster of people were chatting and laughing, someone was seated in the midst of them, a woman; Angelique.

Ryan craned his neck.
Oh no,
he thought,
the Hollywood celebrity in a little Irish pub, signing autographs, regaling her fans with anecdotes.

 “Uh-oh,” he said, under his breath, as people started to notice they had arrived. The bar grew quiet. Angelique’s fans turned to look at Ryan, her estranged husband. He could see their scorn, how could he have abandoned this warm and beautiful person, and so publicly, live on TV, in front of millions of viewers,
the callous bastard
.

 “Ryan, darrrling,” Angelique, now resplendent in cream silk, suede jeans and cowboy boots, arose, tossing her glossy hair over her shoulder. She extended beautifully manicured hands towards him, cutting through the crowd to take his arm, leaning her head briefly on his shoulder. “You never said how kindly and welcoming these lurvely people are. I mean, we’re the oldest friends already. No wonder you love it here. I must confess, I feel right at home, I honestly do.” She beamed at him, then back at her fan club. Ryan smiled too, not full-on Hollywood but a good enough effort.

 “I’m delighted Angelique, thrilled you’ve met some of my neighbours and can see how beautiful this place is. You’ll come and see us again, next time you need a break from all the razzmatazz of Tinsel Town.” He scanned her perfectly made-up face. She pulled her shades down. The pub hushed to silence, waiting for her response to the man who had abandoned her and taken her child.

 “Well, I don’t know about that, Ryan darlin’, coz how I feel at the moment, I could hardly bear to leave, and that’s the God’s honest truth.” She gave his arm an affectionate squeeze, as her fans heaved a sigh of relief and the hubbub resumed.

 “What are you playing at?” Ryan hissed. “You’re not welcome here, Angelique, so let’s organise some time with Joey and you get back on your side of the pond PDQ.”