Maisie, I have something to tell you …
Maisie, I don’t know how to say this but …
Maisie, I’ve not been totally honest with you …
Maisie, I’ve lied to you and deceived you but I want to put things right because I love you and I want to stay with you.
After they’d gone inside, Patrick re-took his place behind the bar while Maisie laughed and chatted with her mates. He’d never felt so happy or so terrified in his life. There had been two things he’d been certain about before he’d walked into this pub on that October day. One was how much he was devastated when Greg died; two was that he was going back to Melbourne as soon as he possibly could.
Now there was a third. He loved Maisie Samson. And she felt the same way too, or at least she didn’t want him to go. And that realisation had turned the second certainty upside-down. But now he had no choice; he had to finally face up to his responsibilities – whatever they were – and face up to Maisie’s reaction.
Damn you, Paddy boy. Just tell her.
But not now, with dozens of people around. When the music’s stopped and the fiddler’s gone, then he would. Within the hour, the moment they were alone, on the first day of a new year. A new start for him, a new life for them both.
‘Oi! Crocodile Dundee. Where’s my pint?’ Patrick snapped out of his euphoric, terrified trance to see Archie glaring at him, holding up his empty glass.
‘Coming.’
Maisie was across the pub, chatting to Jess and roaring with laughter. Her skin glowed, her eyes shone, he’d never seen her so happy or light-hearted. Would she be the same when he told her his confession? He hadn’t done anything so very terrible yet, far from it. She surely wouldn’t mind?
A few people drifted off. The fiddle player played the Irish Rover and announced their final tune would be the ‘Black Velvet Band’, old folk songs. He’d heard them in the Irish pubs in Melbourne a few times so Patrick joined in with everyone else.
‘Her eyes they shone like diamonds. I thought her the queen of the land. And her hair it hung over her shoulder tied up with a black velvet band . . .’
Maisie pulled a face at him and mimed fingers in her ears at his awful singing, so Patrick sang even louder. She couldn’t actually hear him, he knew, above the drunken carousing of the rest of the revellers. Archie was in full voice, even at his age his deep baritone was strong, not to mention Will with his beer-fuelled tenor and the rugby guys giving it all they’d got. Even Hugo Scorrier was singing along, smiling and waving his glass in time to the music. Patrick suspected he was pissed before he’d even arrived at the pub and wondered how he was going to pilot his boat home in the dark. At least it was a calm night.
The band reached the finale of the song. Patrick gave it all he had.
‘They’ll feed you with strong drink, me lads, ’Til you are unable to stand, And the very first thing that you’ll know is you’ve landed in Van Diemens Land . . .’
The chorus raised the rafters and the band stopped with a flourish. The room erupted with applause and whistles. Plonking glasses on the bar, Maisie joined Patrick. ‘Better call last orders,’ she said. ‘We’ve pushed it enough and, to be honest, I’m dying to get you to myself.’
‘Me too,’ said Patrick. ‘You have no idea how much.’
Twenty minutes later, Maisie rang the bell. Otherwise the party would have gone all night and she wanted to be with Patrick. ‘Time, gentlemen, ladies and pets, please. Finish your drinks. I’m sorry but the party’s over …’
‘Spoilsport!’
Groans from the bar, but there were also a few bleary-eyed resigned nods. People got to their feet while a few ignored Maisie’s pleas.
‘Come on, people,’ said Patrick. ‘It’s been a great night but some of us want to get to bed.’
‘Whose? Yours or Maisie’s?’ a bloke piped up.
Patrick shot him a friendly glare. ‘Yours if you don’t behave.’
Patrick saw Hugo put down his pint on the table. Basil had hidden under the table during the singing but stirred. Hugo stood up.
‘I have an announcement to make. Or should I say,’ he said, stepping into the space that had now cleared in the middle of the bar. ‘Patrick has an announcement to make.’
Patrick’s hackles rose. What the hell was this? It couldn’t be about him and Maisie getting together, could it? Was the guy that crass? Shit, it had to be, well no matter. They knew they’d have to put up with a bit of banter.
Hoping to stall Hugo, Patrick laughed. ‘What’s this now, Hugo?’
Maisie frowned and glanced at Patrick. She shrugged, smiling, but he felt her underlying anxiety. No matter how many folk knew about them, Hugo was seriously out of order.
‘What announcement’s this, then, Patrick?’ Will piped up. He might be a friend but for once, Patrick wished he’d stay quiet.
‘I’ve no idea. Hugo’s winding us up,’ Patrick said.
‘Winding you up?’ He laughed in a nasty way that made Patrick’s skin crawl.
Maisie approached Hugo’s table. ‘I think you’ve had enough, Hugo.’
Hugo stopped her with a sneer. ‘I haven’t had anything. Patrick’s had plenty though, judging from the way you two were down each other’s throats during the fireworks.’
A ripple of disapproval went through the drinkers.
Hot anger flared in Patrick. ‘Right. That’s it. You’ve crossed the line. You’re leaving, mate.’ He made a grab for Hugo’s arm but Hugo backed away into the corner, rocking the table. Beer sloshed onto the tiles.
With a whimper, Basil darted from under the table. Archie grabbed his collar and patted him. ‘It’s all right, boy. Just a bit of argy bargy.’
‘Calm down, boys,’ Hazel called but Patrick’s touch paper had been lit and his anger blazed.
Maisie stepped between them like a referee. ‘I’ll deal with this,’ she said. ‘Hugo, I don’t like seeing you in this state and you’ll regret it in the morning. Would you please let someone take you home?’
Hugo glared at her but didn’t move. Patrick braced himself, ready to haul the bastard off her if he made the slightest attempt to touch her. ‘I will go home but I won’t be the one regretting tonight. And seeing as my cousin is clearly too shy to make his important announcement himself, I’ll tell you.’
‘Cousin?’
Patrick wasn’t sure who repeated the word amid the cat-calls and snorts of disbelief. ‘What the hell are you on about, Scorrier?’ Will asked.
‘You’ve had too much of the Rat and Ferret, Hugo. Go home.’
‘What did he say?’ Fen demanded in a loud voice.
Hugo steadied himself on the table. ‘Well, Cousin Patrick?’
Patrick darted a look at Maisie. She was staring, open-mouthed, not at Hugo, but at him. His stomach turned over and over.
‘Hugo …’ he began.
‘Hadn’t he mentioned it? No, I didn’t think so,’ said Hugo, swaying slightly.
Maisie turned back to Hugo. ‘You’re tired and emotional, Hugo,’ she said. ‘I’ll get someone to take you home.’
Panic, sheer molten panic flowed through Patrick’s veins.
‘Don’t you want to hear the full story?’ Hugo asked.
He lurched towards Maisie.
Maisie reached for Hugo’s arm to steady him but Hugo flung her arm off him. She flinched and made to grab him before he fell over. Jess gasped and stared at Hugo in horror. She seemed about to jump into the fray herself but Patrick thrust himself between them.
‘You’re out of order, mate,’ he said.
‘I’ll take the silly bugger home,’ said one of the boatmen from Petroc.
‘No. No one will take me anywhere until I’ve said what I have to say.’
Hugo’s voice rose as he backed into the corner, his eyes darting about as if the people in the bar were a pack of hounds waiting to pounce on him.
‘Or should you tell them, Patrick? Should I call you by your real name – Henry Patrick Aldous Scorrier McKinnon, my cousin, the heir to Petroc Island and the real owner of Scorrier Holdings.’