Patrick in his role of tutor, was of course, spellbinding. After the first rush of disappointment, the students soon became enthralled in his session on women writers. His twinkly demeanour and soft Irish accent helped.
‘Amy, that was fab,’ Emma said, at the break. ‘Do you know I hadn’t realized until Patrick began this evening that Joel had completely ignored all the great female writers. I mean, come on, how could he have not mentioned Jane Austen? She even set Persuasion in Lyme and that’s just along the coast. I’ve often jumped off the Granny’s Teeth steps hoping a Captain Wentworth would rescue me.’ She sipped her wine. ‘It’s been really good tonight and a fantastic end to the course. I haven’t missed Joel one bit.’
‘Good, I’m so relieved,’ Amy said, gratified. ‘Do I take it you weren’t a huge fan of Joel’s?’
Emma drank some more wine. She flushed. ‘Maybe at the beginning. But I saw through him at the end. Creep,’ she muttered.
‘Do you think you’ll go on to do some more studying?’
‘I might. Seeing how things pan out at work. Tash has got me a place on a management course so I’ll see how demanding that is first before I take on anything else.’
‘Well, there’s always going to be standalone talks and seminars here. I’m hoping to launch the new programme of events during the literary festival in January.’
‘Thanks Amy. That might be a good compromise. And we can still have booky talks in the pub, can’t we?’
‘Yes, I’m looking forward to those.’ Amy thought about how she struggled with the pressures of chairing the book group meetings. ‘Might be more fun.’
‘You betcha.’
‘How’re things at home?’
Emma blew out a breath. ‘Interesting,’ she said, her mood dulling. ‘Mum’s decided to take a leap of faith and leave Suki’s. She’s setting up on her own as a mobile hairdresser. She’s wigging like mad but she just couldn’t take any more of Suki’s demands. Do you know,’ she added hotly, ‘she wanted her to work Sundays? It was the final straw.’
‘That’s a great idea. A mobile hairdresser will go down a storm in Berecombe. There are loads of folk who can’t get out and about easily. I’m sure they’d welcome it.’
Emma nodded vigorously. ‘That’s my thinking too. Mum’s done a short foot care course too. She’s going to offer toenail cutting and foot massages as well. Nothing medical, just a bit of pampering.’ She grimaced. ‘Can’t think of anything worse but Mum’s dead excited about it all. Haven’t seen her this animated for years. Think she’s finally doing something for herself instead of looking after us lot. She’s calling it Tops and Toes.’
Amy smiled. ‘Spelled with an ‘s’ I hope?’
‘Yeah. I insisted.’ Emma grinned and finished her wine in one.
‘Wish her all the luck in the world. And I hope your father’s situation gets easier too.’
‘Thanks Amy, I appreciate it.’ Emma waggled her empty glass. ‘Going to get a top up.’ She passed Patrick on the way and gave him a huge kiss on the cheek. ‘Cheers Patrick. It’s been ace tonight. You even coped with Biddy. Wasn’t looking forward to it one bit but I’m really glad I came.’
Patrick came up to Amy. He grinned and clinked his glass with hers. ‘Another happy customer.’
‘Thanks to you. You’ve been magnificent.’
‘Ah well, it’s easy to be enthusiastic about a subject you love. And women’s writing is close to my heart. My mother, God love her, was a great reader and loved the nineteenth century women writers.’
‘And she inspired you?’
‘She did.’
Amy was curious. Patrick took great care to reveal very little about himself. She didn’t even know where he lived in Berecombe and had assumed, as he always offered to walk her home, it was somewhere on the way out from the old town where she had her flat. She’d even googled him. It had made her feel a little dirty and she’d found out nothing more than she already knew. Born and brought up in Portmarnock as he’d said, University College Dublin, nine novels published and had lived in England since 2010. She waited for him to expand his answer but, inevitably, he didn’t. ‘You’ve got some of Emma’s lipstick on your cheek,’ she said, to fill the silence. Fishing out a clean tissue, she dabbed at the pink stain. Some of the tissue caught on his stubble and she picked it off. The feel of his skin under her nails was tantalising. They were very close and she could smell his heat. It was almost too much.
‘Thanks.’ His voice came out gruff.
‘You’re welcome,’ she replied lightly. ‘That’s what friends are for.’
He seemed to be on the brink of saying something but Biddy, freshly ebullient on her triumphant return from London, loomed towards them.
‘Now Patrick, my man,’ she boomed. ‘Come and settle an argument. Young Emma thinks Austen is the better writer but I’m all for Emily Brontë. And Millie, well Millie can’t decide between Mrs Gaskell and Virginia Woolf. Now, they’d make peculiar bedfellows!’ She grabbed his arm and route-marched him over to where Emma stood at the buffet table, wine glass in one hand, crab canapé in the other. As it was the end of, admittedly a very short term, Millie had pulled out all the stops and laid on a feast.
Amy watched as the women gathered around him, chatting animatedly. Patrick had always been a popular member of the book group and now his star had risen even further. He’d revealed himself to be a consummate teacher as well as a quietly spoken and informed book lover. She looked on jealously. The other women were so much more at ease with him. Laughing and joking and teasing. She couldn’t be like that. Whenever he was near, her senses geared up into turbo-charge and she faltered over every word she uttered. She tried not to talk much at all, to avoid the embarrassment. She was certain it made her appear shy and lacking in confidence. She’d never have the relaxed confidence the others had around him. Sighing, she realized their friendship would never be easy. She loved him too much and it was unreturned.
Sipping her wine to camouflage feeling self-consciously alone, she pondered his remark about his background. So he had a mother who read and who had shared her love of books with him? He’d spoken in the past tense. Had she died? Sticking her nose in her wine again, she reconciled herself to not knowing. It wasn’t that she was nosy, she just wanted to soak up everything that had made him the man he was. She’d just finished his latest book; Patrick had given her an advance copy as it wasn’t due to be published for another week. Staying up late into the night, she’d gobbled it down. This one was set in the boom of the mid-nineties when the Celtic Tiger economy had exploded. At its heart was a crisis of faith and a troubled relationship between mother and the son who had decided to leave the Catholic church. The mother had retreated into the church community, leaving the family splintered and the son estranged. It had been funny and tragic and masterful. Looking up and gazing over to Patrick, she wondered how much had been written from experience. Patrick caught her staring. Once again, Amy felt heat rising in her face and she looked away. She let her eyes light on the spiral staircase leading up to the mezzanine reading area and fixed her mind back on work. She really ought to decide how she was going to decorate the shop for Hallowe’en, she thought and steadfastly ignored the yearning in her heart.