In the end, it had all worked out as she’d hoped because Ger had married Pat. That wasn’t something Mary had fixed, of course, because how could she? But she’d known Ger would propose to Pat as soon as she herself had accepted Tom. He’d figure he might as well, since there was nothing left to hope for. It was a good thing for all of them, really, she assured herself, because it had meant the foursome remained together. It had crossed her mind that Pat might decide to stay in Resolve, where she was so great with Josie, and not come home at all. She’d even wondered if something might have happened to keep her over there. There’d been a queer look about Pat when she came back, and she’d hardly talked at all about who she’d met there. But she’d settled down quick enough once she and Ger were married and, from Mary’s point of view, it was another case of killing two birds with one stone. You wouldn’t want poor Pat left on the shelf when her best friend married, and if Ger had a wife and a home to go to, there was less chance he’d be hanging around demanding attention from Tom.
Chapter Six
Cassie woke up in the attic room above the butcher’s shop. Once it had been her uncle Frankie’s bedroom, but now it was officially called Pat’s guest room. There was a roof light in the sloping ceiling, and a comfortable bed with a patchwork cover Pat had made at Lissbeg Library’s sewing circle. As Cassie sat up it occurred to her that the sewing circle had been a great source of entertainment for Pat. It was now in abeyance, though Hanna had told her it might be revived later in the year. It was a matter of keeping an ear to the ground and responding to what was required.
Checking her phone, Cassie opened an email attachment from Erin. They’d been Snapchatting late last night, and Erin had promised to send more photos of the party in Resolve. Several shots featured Pat and her cousin Josie, Erin’s gran, deep in conversation. There was one of Erin herself, dancing with a dreamy smile on her face and wearing a feather boa. Rolling out of bed, Cassie crossed the corridor to the little bathroom underneath the eaves. Then, having showered and dressed, she clattered down the attic stairs to the kitchen, where Pat was having breakfast. Cassie kissed her on the head. ‘Morning. What’s the weather forecast?’
‘Mixed, by the sound of it.’ Pat smiled as Cassie sat down with a coffee. ‘At least you’ve only to pop across the road to get to the library.’
Cassie glanced out the window. ‘It’s sunny now, anyway. Do you have plans for the day?’
‘Well, I ought to get on with sorting Ger’s clothes.’
‘Oh, Pat! On a lovely morning like this?’
‘It’s got to be done sometime, love.’
‘But couldn’t you leave it till later? I can help. You go out for a walk or something this morning, and we’ll do the sorting together when I get home.’
‘Well, I suppose we could.’ Pat looked doubtful. ‘Let’s see how I go. I might get a bit done before lunch.’
Finishing her coffee with a gulp, Cassie buttered toast with one eye on the clock. ‘I’d better go – I don’t want to be late on my first day.’
She ate the toast hastily and ran back upstairs to brush her teeth. Coming down, she found her uncle Frankie climbing the stairs from the shop.
Pat’s eyes brightened. ‘Now so! Here’s Frankie and he’ll give me a hand, won’t you, son?’
Cassie had spent very little time in her eldest uncle’s company. When she’d been to his home with Ger and Pat shortly before Ger was hospitalised, she’d gathered it stood on a site on the family farm. Pat had explained that a full-time manager lived in the old farmhouse. To begin with, as they’d driven west through rich farmland, Cassie had just been enchanted by the beauty of her surroundings. Then she’d begun to realise that what was involved was a serious amount of real estate. Uncle Frankie’s house had been a revelation too. It was built on a height set back from the road and surrounded by a concrete plinth and green lawns. Ger had swung the car between gateposts topped with pineapples, and up a curved gravel drive to double doors surmounted by a portico. The contrast between this and Pat and Ger’s flat couldn’t have been more extreme.
Uncle Frankie and his wife, Fran, had been on the step to meet them. He was a short guy, older than Cassie’s dad and Uncle Jim, but easily recognisable as their brother. Over tea, she’d realised that the Fitzgeralds’ empire-building wasn’t confined to her family in Canada. The farm didn’t just supply Ger’s little butcher’s shop: stock was bought and sold constantly, and meat provided to retail outlets right across the county. And Ger seemed to be into commercial property-dealing as well. Later, Cassie had asked Pat why she and Ger had never moved out of the flat above the shop. ‘Ger never wanted to, love,’ was all she’d got for an answer.
This morning Frankie seemed surprised to see her. Then he smiled and said he’d thought she’d be at work.
‘I am. Well, I’m just going. It’s my first day at the library.’
‘So I heard.’
It was odd that he didn’t wish her luck, but he’d never struck Cassie as friendly. His smile didn’t seem to reach his eyes. Still, they hadn’t met on particularly smiley occasions: at the tea party he might have known that Ger was concealing an illness from Pat, and the next time Cassie had encountered him had been at the funeral Mass.
Grabbing her bag, she gave Pat a hug. ‘Don’t spend the whole day cooped up in here, will you? See you this evening – I’ll get us dessert from the deli.’ She edged past Frankie, whose bulk nearly filled the doorway, and descended the dark stairwell to the shop.
Pat began to clear the breakfast table. It was good of Frankie to drop by, she thought, and quite a relief not to have to cope with Ger’s clothes on her own. Perhaps Frankie might even like to take a jumper or a scarf. Ger was tight-fisted in many ways but, when he’d spent money, he’d always bought the best. And, though he’d never been much to look at, he’d always dressed smartly, cutting a good figure among his business cronies in Carrick and clapping the backs of the boyos at the mart. Frankie might well like the scarf she’d bought to go with Ger’s tweed overcoat, or the blue pullover she’d got for him on their holiday in Toronto. It was cashmere with a lovely casual V-neck. Not Ger’s usual sort of thing, but she’d bought it to surprise him.
Pat’s eyes filled with tears and she shook herself crossly. It was silly to get sentimental about a pullover, but Ger had worn it on Christmas Eve when he’d first told her he was ill, and, only a week or so later, they’d taken him out of the place on a stretcher and, after that, he’d never come home again. They’d had a dreadful job getting the stretcher down the stairs from the flat and through the shop to the waiting ambulance with herself and Cassie coming down behind.
Blinking away her tears, she offered Frankie a cup of coffee. ‘I made it for Cassie’s breakfast and it’s still hot.’
‘No – well, yes. Thanks, Ma, I’ll have a drop.’
He sat down at the table, shrugging off his Burberry trench coat to hang on the back of the chair. He was a good lad really, Frankie, even though he’d been a bit spoilt. Pat supposed that an eldest son was always the apple of his father’s eye. She poured the coffee, thinking it was nice to see him sitting in Ger’s place at the table. When she’d married she’d thought the flat a poky place to be rearing children, so it was strange how big and empty it felt now.