She had never shared how she felt – how she really felt – about her loss since she’d talked to Keegan in those early hours after. Not even with her mum, or father or Jess. She hadn’t been able to find the words to express how she felt. The emptiness, the raw and gaping wound. Some people told her she could try again, they meant it kindly and they were right.
Patrick’s arms tightened around her. His silence was more encouraging than any words.
‘I was thirteen weeks pregnant and working in the pub. It was Christmas evening and we were just quietening down after serving the lunches when I felt unwell and went to the loo. I knew exactly what was happening and they called me an ambulance and contacted Keegan. He was at his parents, spending the day with them. They owned the brewery and pub chain, you see, and Keegan worked in the business. He was a director and I met him on one of his visits to the pub. I suppose you could say he was my boss although he worked at the head office, acquiring and getting rid of failing pubs.’ She hesitated, knowing she was coming to the worst part.
Patrick stroked her hair and kissed her neck. He whispered: ‘Go on.’
‘The medics tried to help me but it was too late. I’d lost the baby. Nothing to be done, not my fault. The consultant said all those things but I have a condition that makes it hard for me to fall pregnant in the first place so it was a double blow. Everything was going right for me. In a great relationship, or so I thought, job I loved, baby on the way. I was going to take time off and maybe go back part-time after the baby arrived. I had it all planned out, but just like that, everything ended.’
‘I’m sorry. Why did he leave?’
‘He couldn’t handle it. Not the loss or the baby. He made sympathetic noises and was kind, but a few weeks later, he told me it was over. Blamed himself for not being able to handle the responsibility: said he obviously wasn’t ready for a “grown-up” relationship yet, not with a woman who wanted a family … then he confessed he didn’t actually want children after all.’
‘Jesus.’
‘I was devastated at the time … I hated him for a while. For leaving me when I needed him most and for being a coward, or so I thought. But it was for the best. Better that I found out then than years later when we’d got married. I don’t blame him now. Mum and Jess, friends from the pub, all said I was better off without him and now I agree.’
She twisted round. Patrick bit his lip. For the first time since she’d known him, he looked angry. He’d been so laid back until now but there was a fire in his expression: anger and hurt.
She didn’t want Patrick to think she was asking for sympathy or wanted anything more from him than for him to simply listen.
‘Why did you split up with your girlfriend?’ she asked.
He blew out a breath. ‘Similar sort of thing. She ran out on me when I needed her … but nothing compared to your loss. Like you I don’t blame her any more, though I admit I was cut up at the time. Tania and I wanted different things from life too.’
‘Like what?’
‘She wanted me to aim for more than being a humble bar bum. She said she wouldn’t have minded if I’d even decided to run my own place, but I seemed content to drift along as the bar manager. I wasn’t the high-flier she’d hoped. I think when we got together she thought I’d amount to more and discover some deep-rooted ambition and when it became clear I was happy to remain in the same place, she rightly told me she was off.’
‘Rightly? You don’t sound as if you thought she was right at the time.’
‘No. Well, I wasn’t thinking straight. I’d just heard that Greg’s illness was terminal and Tania hit me with the news she was leaving all on the same day, not that she knew about his diagnosis at the time.’
‘Ouch. That’s awful. What happened after she told you?’
‘I fell off the wagon big style. Went on a three-day bender and woke up on the floor of an empty flat. She’d shifted most of our stuff while I’d been hitting the bars or passed out in the flat.’
‘I’m so sorry, Patrick, for your loss and Tania walking out. That must have been a bloody awful time in your life.’
‘Who could blame her? I was a loser and a drunk.’
‘You were an alcoholic. I doubt you were ever the loser you think you were. You’re way too hard on yourself.’ Maisie’s heart went out to him. What a double loss to suffer.
‘I haven’t touched a drop since I woke up with the mother of all headaches and an empty flat. Not even after Greg died. I was on Kool-Aid at the wake, probably the only sober one in the whole place. I served behind the bar of the Fingle while everyone raised a glass to Greg.’
‘You said you lost your father and mother. Was Greg a substitute?’
‘Of course. He and Judy were.’
‘It must be hard to be so far from her.’
‘She has a wicked sense of humour but doesn’t suffer fools … a bit like someone else I could mention.’ His eyes twinkled and Maisie felt herself reddening. ‘But she’s solid gold under the no-nonsense exterior. I do miss her, but I’ll be home in the spring and maybe I’ll bring her back one day.’
‘To see where Greg’s ancestors lived?’
I’ll be home in the spring. It was a throwaway line that seemed to have no impact on Patrick but delivered a sharp pang of disappointment to Maisie. He was going, then. Keeping to his word that this was a fling. She told herself not to be so surprised and to grow up. That was what she wanted too, wasn’t it?
‘Yeah. Something like that.’ His voice trailed off.
She lightened the atmosphere. ‘I’ve plenty here for you to do in the meantime.’
‘I hope so.’ His smile was crooked. She sensed a change in his mood. Perhaps she’d shared too much too soon. Perhaps they both had, but this had seemed the right moment, and anyway, they didn’t have time. His awkwardness was momentary or could have been imagined because now he was kissing her and folding her against him, into him. Despite the size difference, she felt as if she fitted perfectly. As if his body had been made to be alongside hers. Even while he was kissing her, a soft, slow kiss that seemed to pull out her soul, she was telling herself not to get in any deeper than she had. To hold back as much of herself as she could still cling on to. As he made love to her on the sand, Patrick didn’t seem to be holding back. Maybe because he didn’t want to or didn’t need to.
Perhaps being with her was merely a physical fling to him, though Maisie didn’t think so. She thought that Patrick genuinely liked her and liked spending time with her. He must fancy her and perhaps he found solace in her arms while he worked out whatever demons and grief he was harbouring since his surrogate father had died in such cruel circumstances. Grief that had followed on from an early loss and a troubled, tough boyhood.
Maisie knew that grief didn’t last forever. Although it never left you completely, and you always bore the scars, you learned to live with it eventually and you moved on.
Which was what Patrick would do, one day. One day soon.
The sex was tender and glorious, even though they were both covered in sand and their exposed flesh was chilled by the wind. After it was over, and with the greatest reluctance, Maisie started to get dressed.
‘We’d better get back. Mum and Dad can’t still be asleep,’ said Maisie, zipping up her jeans before scrambling to her feet. Patrick stayed where he was, looking at her intently. She brushed sand off her top and then caught sight of the man watching them.
Ray must have popped out for some fresh air and was standing on the shoreline parallel with them but directly in front of the Driftwood. He was looking straight at them. Maisie didn’t know how long he’d been there and even though it was dark, with the moonlight and the fire, he’d have had to be blind not to see them and to put two and two together. He might even have seen them making love. Maisie’s stomach did a double back flip.
‘Oh God, no. Dad’s seen us.’
Patrick followed her line of sight.
‘He knows,’ said Maisie. ‘And now Mum will too.’ She tried to get up off the sand but Patrick pulled her back.
‘They had guessed already,’ he said softly. ‘And there’s no point pretending otherwise now. No point locking the stable door after the horse has bolted.’
Ray had turned away and was hurrying back to the pub. ‘I know but … oh, no, I didn’t want them to find out about us like this.’
‘Is it so bad that they know? We’re all grown-ups.’
‘You think so? That’s not what my mum and dad feel, I’m sure. I’ll get the third degree from Mum the first chance she gets.’ Maisie threw up her hands in frustration. ‘Shit and double shit.’
‘Do you honestly think they’ll disapprove that much?’ he said, keeping hold of her hand.
‘You know they will. You’re right. I’m being very naïve to think they hadn’t already guessed about us and I had thought about going public, but on our terms, when we decide, not like this.’ She pulled away from him. ‘I think we should go back.’
‘OK. If that’s what you really want, but there’s no point rushing off now.’
‘I know. Are you coming?’
‘It might be best if you and your parents had some time on your own? You probably need to talk about this – us.’
Maisie bit her lip, then nodded, not looking forward to the conversation with her mum and dad. Why did life have to be so complicated? Why did people have to make it so complex? Or perhaps it was simple: just tell them about her and Patrick.
Wrapping her arms around herself for comfort, Maisie strode back to the pub but glanced behind as she clambered up from the sand to the road. Patrick was crouched down scooping sand over the last embers of the fire. In seconds the beach was dark and he was nothing but a half-imagined ghost somewhere on the sand.