They sat on the low wall dividing the terrace from the beach. On one side of them all was colour and drunken laughter and noise. On the other, there was nothing but a black sea sighing gently against the shore and the stars.
Amy gave an enormous and slightly tearful sigh. ‘Oh Patrick. I’m sorry.’
‘Darlin’ girl, what have you to be sorry about?’
‘I’m an idiot.’
He took her hands in his. Laughing slightly, he said, ‘Of anyone I’ve ever known, you’re the least idiotic.’
‘I shouldn’t have run off earlier, like I did.’
‘Ah sure, you had a lot to think through. ’Tis a sorry tale, that one of mine.’
‘You’ve had to go through so much and all I could think about was how to live up to Sinead.’
Patrick was silent for a moment. ‘Amy, I loved Sinead with all my heart. With all my soul. When she died I never thought I’d live through it, let alone love someone else.’ He cleared his throat. ‘But, you know, no matter how hard the thing is, you get past it. You get through it. Somehow.’ His hands on hers tightened. ‘I’ll grieve for Sinead until the day I die. I can’t lie about that. But the past is what it is. I can’t and won’t change it.’ He took her face in his hands and forced her to meet his gaze. ‘It’s you I love now. Sure, the heart is a wonderful thing. It has an unending capacity to love and keep loving. And I promise you, that’s what I’ll do with you.’
They kissed. Sweetly. Wonderingly. The sea shifted and sighed with them and a soft breeze whispered at their skin.
When they broke apart, Amy said, ‘You’ve been such a mystery.’ She blushed. ‘I’ve got to admit to googling you to find something, anything about you.’
Patrick smiled and put his arm around her, hugging her tight to him. ‘Well, I keep my private life private. It helps that Patrick Carroll isn’t my real name.’ He kissed the top of her head.
‘Blimey.’
‘Oh I’m a Patrick alright. But I was born Patrick Byrne. Took my grandmother’s maiden name when I started writing. I’m a man who likes his privacy.’
‘You can say that again,’ Amy said, warmly. ‘I even read and reread your books to hunt for clues about you. You’ve never put any of what you told me into your books. Why?’
Patrick winced. ‘There’s some of it in there.’ He shook his head. ‘But I was too close, it was too painful to write about. I might be able to now, though. After we’ve written that children’s book. Are you up for it?’
Amy had clean forgotten about the children’s book. ‘I might be.’
‘Oh, and don’t I owe you an expensive date at the Henville? You’ll be after a cocktail. I hear rumours the ladies like them.’
‘I hear they do,’ Amy replied, giggling a little. ‘Well, I might be up for writing a book with you and a cocktail or two, but only if you answer this one question.’
‘Just the one?’ He shifted away from her and looked into her eyes with love. Arching a brow with humour, he said, ‘Sure. Fire away.’
‘Patrick,’ Amy paused and took a breath. ‘Who is Dymphna?’
‘Dymphna? She’s Sinead’s mother. Did I not mention her this morning?’
Relief surged through Amy. ‘Your mother-in-law!’
‘Yes. We’re still close. In fact, that was the main reason I went back to Portmarnock just. I had to see her to explain I was in love with a beautiful, wonderful English woman.’ He grimaced. ‘It was hard enough for me to move on, might be nigh on impossible for a grieving mother to see her son-in-law with someone else.’ He frowned. ‘Why, who did you think she was?’
‘It doesn’t matter now.’ Amy shook her head vigorously and smiled.
‘She gave us her blessing, by the way. Lovely woman is Dymphna. Wants to meet you, you know. If you’d like to.’
‘Yes, I’d like that. I’d like that very much.’ Amy was filled with a sudden, glowing, golden joy. She lifted one of his hands and kissed it and then laughed. ‘And Patrick, dressing up as a leprechaun?’
He shrugged and took off his green hat, completely unrepentant. ‘It’s a form of fairy, did you not know? So we make a good pair.’
‘I look awful.’
‘Ah, will you hush your mouth, woman. You’re stunning. Look at the waist on you and,’ he waggled his brows and nodded to her breasts, tightly encased and pushed upwards in the laced bodice, ‘you know.’
Amy looked down. ‘I suppose it does give me a bit of a cleavage.’ She regarded the white and silver tulle dress with more affection.
‘A bit she says! And here I am, struggling to keep my hands off you.’
‘Then why are you?’ Amy said, coquettishly.
‘Because there’s the wee matter of not knowing how you feel about me.’ He sobered. ‘Ah Amy, I realize I’m not the catch of the century. I’m older, with baggage. And what’s more, I’m a terrible moody eejit sometimes. I’d understand if you want to walk away.’
Amy stopped his mouth with her finger. ‘Ah, hush your mouth, man,’ she said. ‘Wouldn’t I be the terrible eejit if I let you go?’
‘That’s the most awful attempt at an Irish accent I’ve ever heard. Promise me you will never ever do that again.’
‘Only if you kiss me.’
So he did.
A long time later, they sat, hands entwined, watching the night sky and the shimmering stars. Amy let her head rest on Patrick’s shoulder and thought she had never been happier.
‘Happy Samhain. Happy Hallowe’en,’ Patrick said, lazily. ‘Did you know it’s the night when the spirits pass more easily into the world? That the souls of the dead return to have a candle lit for them.’
‘Then we must light a candle for Sinead. What would she say about me?’ Amy’s voice trembled a little.
‘She’d say, be happy Patrick. Be happy with your English angel.’ He put his arm around her, holding her close. He went suddenly rigid, gazing into the sky. ‘Did you see that?’
‘What?’ Amy followed where his finger pointed but could only see the sky, velvet and studded with diamonds.
‘A shooting star!’
‘Maybe it was Sinead coming back? Giving us her blessing.’
‘Ah, that would be it. Stardust and magic are here tonight.’ He sighed. ‘I love you, my angel, my darlin’ girl.’
‘And I love you, Patrick,’ Amy said, finally having the courage to tell him. She kissed him. ‘I love you so very much.’
And the air rippled and shifted around them. ‘Be happy,’ came a loving whisper, as caressing as the breeze and as soft as the night. ‘Be happy.’