It Was Only Ever You (12 page)

My darling Rosie, it will be so hard to not see you again for a while. And oh! How I have been longing, this long time we’ve been apart, to wrap my arms around you and feel you breathing into my neck and the joy of knowing your kisses, time and time again, all over my face, and when I am thinking like that, of what I am missing, even though I’m a man, I could surely cry. But I won’t cry, because it will seem a short time coming, with all the work I have to do, before we see each other again. You will have your school to finish and your drawings to do, maybe for art school in New York this time. Although there will be no need for you to work when you’re married to a rock and roll star!

Write back to me as soon as you can to let me know you’re not mad with me (and if you are take it up with your father ha, ha!)

All my love,

For ever and ever.

Only Ever Yours

P
ATRICK

P.S. I wrote a song for you. It’s the first song I ever wrote, but that day and you drawing me I thought how you inspire me too. It’s not very good, I’m thinking, but I am sending it anyway. I hope you don’t think it’s silly. The air I had in mind was ‘Treasure of My Heart’ as I know you love the air. You made me sing it for you often enough as we sat in the field in front of your house. I’ll be closing my eyes and singing this out when I want to bring you to mind. You are never far away in my dreams, aghrá.

On a separate piece of paper, with several crossings out he had written:

I
T
W
AS
O
NLY
E
VER
Y
OU

I ask myself are you the one I dream of night and day

Are you the reason why this yearning never goes away

I ask myself are you the one whose face I can’t forget

Your name hangs gently on each breeze I still can hear it yet

I ask myself are you the one whose gentle fingertips

Caressed my skin and kissed me like an angel on the lips

I ask myself are you the one who filled me with desire

Are those the eyes that once searched mine and set my soul on fire...

Could it be true... could it really be you... the one I search for in a song and waited for so long... was it only ever you?

I tell myself that you’re the one who fills my every day

Your name your face your touch your smile... you take my breath away

I tell myself you are the very reason I exist

And when you look into my eyes your love I can’t resist

I tell myself that on each breeze I’ll call your name aloud

And wrap you in my arms each night through every stormy cloud

I tell myself that without you my life would fall apart

Each season will roll round again each memory break my heart

And now I know that you’re the only one who makes my life complete

And when you whisper in my ear... how my heart skips a beat

There’s nothing in this world that makes me feel the way I feel

When I’m with you because I know this love I have is real...

Because it’s true... it was only ever you... the one I love with all my heart... and have done from the start... It was only ever you... my love... yes... It was only ever you

Rose stood in her father’s study, clutching the letter, her head swirling with conflicting thoughts and emotions. Frantically, she tore open the next letter in the pile. It was dated less than a week later, ‘The place where I’m working isn’t in the city at all but in the countryside – like at home...’ She skimmed it and grabbed the next one dated less than a week later. ‘The lads in the kitchen are great craic...’ then the next, ‘I sang at a wedding last night. I bowled them over. It put me in mind of our own wedding darling girl...’ then on until she reached the last one. Dated early in November it read, ‘Why won’t you write me back my Rose. I am so lonely over here without you. Have you forgotten me entirely?’

Rose let out a sob, then a terrible rage ran through her as she realized her parents had tricked her, lied to her, and banished her beloved to the other side of the world. But despite the fury at her mother, who she knew, somehow, was behind this, and the hard slap of hurt she felt at being betrayed by her father, Rose could feel her heart pumping with happiness. This letter meant that Patrick had not abandoned her after all! He still loved her! He had written a song for her! ‘It Was Only Ever You’. He had written, ‘Only Ever Yours’ on each of her letters. It was right here in her hand. She kissed the paper and tears of joyful relief poured down her face. Then she remembered that the date of his last letter was November. Three months since he had written to her. Surely he had not given up? Surely he could not think that she didn’t love him?

There was only one thought in her mind now. Rose had to find Patrick and be with him. There was no time for consideration, no time even for anger or regret. She had to get to Patrick and let him know that she still loved him. Rose reached into the back of the desk where she knew her father kept cash and found two fat lumps of bank notes. She had no idea how much was there, but she was certain it was enough to get her to wherever she wanted to go. In any case, she couldn’t think about that now. Then she rummaged across to the top shelf of the bureau where she knew he kept family documents and found her passport.

She rammed the cash, passport and the bunch of Patrick’s letters into her deep cardigan pockets and ran up the stairs. Taking down the small suitcase she used for school, she stuffed whatever came to hand in there: a few random items of clothing, her sketch pad and pencils. The case being only half full, she had a small revelation realizing that she didn’t need very many things after all. But she did need Patrick.

Before she ran out of the house, Rose realized that her father might be home soon and would try and follow her. So to put him off the scent, she ran into his office, found the key to his bureau drawer, and locked it. She then wrote a short note saying that she had gone for a walk and not to wait about for her. As she left it on the kitchen table she had a jolt of conscience, then reminded herself angrily that her parents had been lying to her in the filthiest way possible for the past month. She had every right to lie right back at them.

As she quickly pulled on her boots, cursing at the laces taking ten precious seconds from her escape time, she checked her watch. If she cycled like the clappers she would make the lunchtime train from Castlebar in just over an hour. It was too risky going from Foxford or even Ballina. If she was seen getting on the train, her father could get word of it then be ahead of her in the car and waiting to meet her when she got off the train in Dublin. This way she could abandon the bike and slide on to the train without ever getting caught.

Only after she was in New York and reunited with her true love would she get in touch with her parents and tell them she was alive.

Then they would be sorry for what they had done.

As her bare legs pumped the bicycle pedals as hard as they could, pebbles and mud dashing up from the dirt lane that led her on to the Swinford road, Rose astonished herself with her own strength. This was what love was: this speed, this strength, this certain, unfailing, single-minded knowing that she was on the way to Patrick. He was her match, her prize, her everything and she determined to find him, and keep him – and never let him go again.

A
VA
AND
Dermot began dating. Their first date was, as Dermot had planned, lunch at the Law Society Club. They had a nice time, talking easily and laughing loudly into the dark, dusty dining room. However, Ava was considerably less thrilled than her mother at his choice of location and worried that he was trying to impress her parents more than her. He dropped her back to the house just before five in the afternoon, and there was an awkward moment when they stood on the doorstep before he leaned in to kiss her. This was Ava’s first kiss. Breathless with excitement, she closed her eyes and puckered up, only to be rewarded with a perfunctory peck on the cheek, followed by Dermot whispering in her ear, ‘Sorry, this isn’t a sweet nothing but I think your mother is watching us through the window.’

While her heart sank with disappointment, Ava couldn’t help but laugh and said, ‘Well why don’t you kiss me anyway and give her something to tell her friends about.’ He swooped her down and kissed her on the mouth. Although Dermot’s arms felt strong and sturdy, Ava was still nervous that he might drop her on to the wooden porch. In any case, the performance being entirely for her mother’s benefit, it did not feel as a proper kiss should and Ava felt somewhat cheated after he left.

The following weekend he took her out for dinner. They went to a very nice Italian restaurant in the city. Ava would have liked to have gone dancing as well, but given Dermot’s lack of grace in that department she did not suggest it. Throughout dinner, despite his efforts to talk about her, she insisted on grilling him more thoroughly about his work, which she found fascinating. As far as she could gather, he defended criminals, which she thought was terribly glamorous and exciting, although once he got going, much of his talk was about the intricacies of the law and court procedure and she could barely make head or tail of it.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m an awful bore when I get going.’

‘Not at all,’ Ava said. Although, truthfully, she had been a little bored. For the first time in her life, she had the feeling that she had met a man who liked her a great deal, and although she liked him too, an awful lot, she was not quite so sure how she felt about him romantically. Was there something missing that should be there?

If Dermot had been able to see inside Ava’s heart, he would have been dreadfully upset, although not entirely surprised. He knew what he was good at, and that was The Law. When he was in court he could be clever and charming. With his law friends and negotiating almost every area of life, he was a titan of a man. But when it came to girls, he fell down. He was able to make them laugh and generally enough girls liked him and enjoyed his company. They just never seemed to fall in love with him. Dermot, with his keen, lawyer’s detachment, knew he wasn’t good-looking like his brother and he certainly wasn’t a good dancer. Also, he wasn’t ‘dangerous’. Dermot was the sensible option, considerably more popular with girls’ mothers than he was with the girls themselves. There was never any shortage of young women interested in him. Nice girls who were keen to do as their mothers told them and try to win over the unremarkable-looking, pragmatic but very successful lawyer who could offer them a good life in exchange for warming his slippers and cooking his suppers, and hanging off his arm at the occasional law-society dress dance. But Dermot wanted to choose for himself. And he chose Ava Brogan.

The fact that Ava was Tom Brogan’s daughter had only registered the first time he had seen her, six months previously, at a Connaughtman fundraiser. His attention had been caught first by her laughter. The delightful sound of a woman letting out a broad, raucous guffaw had arrested him from across the room. When he looked across, he saw this fine woman, with her head thrown back, standing head and shoulders above a group of small, delicate, rather silly-looking creatures. He thought she looked magnificent and immediately had a feeling that this was the woman that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. It was as simple and as complicated as that. He had fallen in love, and he had not the first clue what to do about it. So, lawyer that he was, Dermot thought it through. She was relatively unadorned – no fancy hairdo or jewellery – wearing a dress that seemed nondescript next to the fluff and froth of puffy skirts and the jewellery of her friends. She looked like his sort of girl. The sort of girl who wasn’t embarrassed to throw her head back and laugh. Perhaps, as she didn’t seem to set great store by glamour, she might not mind a man being somewhat stout and ordinary-looking.

‘Who is that tall girl with the loud laugh?’ he asked Bridie Flaherty, a rather annoying friend of his mother’s who was always trying to pass herself off as Rose Kennedy.

Bridie grimaced. ‘Ava Brogan, Tom Brogan’s daughter.’ Then, assuming he was more offended than interested, added, ‘They only had the one, thank God!’

Dermot didn’t even hear her. Already he was marching over to Tom, his hand out in that convivial Irishman-about-to-do-business pose, asking for an introduction to ‘your charming daughter’.

Ava had held her hand out politely, and said, ‘How do you do.’ But her voice was flat and uninterested. Of course, asking to be introduced by one of her parents had been a stupid thing to do. So unadventurous. So mundane. The act simply complemented his ordinary appearance. How, Dermot thought, could the cleverest lawyer in New York have done such a pedestrian, obvious thing? Before he even had time to register her total lack of interest, the wretched band struck up. There was a second when Dermot could have grabbed her hand and whisked her on to the floor and shown her what a fun-loving, exciting, downright hilarious, good-time guy he was. He wanted to do it so badly, that he could almost see the action unfolding in front of him. Except – it did not. Dermot could not dance. He had no sense of rhythm and was, in fact, so clumsy and self-conscious that he knew he was not just an uncomfortable partner, but downright off-putting. So Ava rushed on to the dance floor in a frenzy of excitement without him. She was immediately grabbed into a wild, skilful jive by his brother Niall.

When Dermot saw what a great dancer she was, his spirits fell. She was laughing, and thrashing and bursting with joy. His own heart was bursting watching her, but after a few moments of despair, he resolved that he would find a way of getting through to her. He would just have to bide his time and be smart.

So when his parents were making plans for his sister’s wedding, Dermot made sure that the Brogans were on the guestlist, and that their daughter was sitting next to him. He had to agree to Niall sitting on the other side of her because he did not want to alert his parents to his plan. He also paid the band to make sure the first three dances were waltzes.