Amy had lied. She’d told him nothing he could say would alter how she felt. But it had. She felt herself chill despite the October sunshine. She was numb. Besieged by what he’d told her. Full of too much information to process.
‘I have to go, Patrick.’ She frowned, blinking in the bright light. ‘It’s a lot to take in, to think about. And there’s the shop to look after and the party to organise,’ she added in a monotone. She wrestled her hand out of his and one of Millie’s blackberry muffins fell onto the floor. The seagulls would have a field day. With a glance at Patrick, not wanting to note his sagging shoulders and defeated expression, she left.
Walking furiously back along the harbour, past Old Davey and his mackerel fishing boat, past the RNLI station and the Old Harbour pub, there was only one place she wanted to be. Ignoring Katrina’s anxious questions, she went into the little back office, shut the door and slid down onto the floor. Too stunned to cry, she put her head in her hands. Nothing she had imagined bore any resemblance to what Patrick had just told her. The poor man. So much tragedy in such a short life. A crisis of faith, estranged from his family until recently and never able to reconcile with his mother.
And then there was Sinead.
Amy was older now than Sinead had been when she died. Just. It was almost impossible to get her head around. Amy thought she had problems – her father leaving, Lee, her mother but it was nothing in comparison to what Patrick had gone through. To what Sinead had faced. Sinead. Who Patrick had loved so much. Who he’d named the finest, bravest woman. Amy gulped. How could she ever live up to Sinead’s ghost? How could she compete? The perfect woman. One who would stay perfect and never grow old, get lined and wrinkled, put on weight. She’d stay exactly the same, enshrined in Patrick’s memory. The love of his life. Every time they argued or he found her lacking, and she was sure both would happen – she knew this from observing her parents’ failed marriage – the spectre of the perfect wife would loom over them. Could she love Patrick enough to overcome that? Could he? Frustrated with her selfish preoccupations, she slammed her fists onto the cold hard floor.
And he still hadn’t told her who Dymphna was!
She waded through the rest of the day on automatic. Batting off her mother’s concern, she concentrated on the here and now. And that meant the party. Eventually, she was able to shut the bookshop door and lock it against the world. Making her way wearily to the office, she stared at the dress bag hung on the door. Her fancy dress costume. It had been delivered earlier. Unzipping the protective blue plastic cover, she slid the dress out and pulled it on. She couldn’t believe it. Of all the things for someone of her build to wear. Peering into the smeared mirror, she saw her reflection gazing back. The too-tight bodice gave emphasis to her waist and pushed her breasts up to form an impressive cleavage. The silvery fabric made her skin glow and her new hair cut looked slippery and glossy. Too numb to care, she put on the matching satin ballet slippers and sparkly tiara and went out to face the world dressed as a fairy.
Despite her preoccupations, Amy had to admit the party was a roaring success. The gentle weather meant guests could spill out onto the terrace, popping back for more food or drink. She’d sourced a red carpet to make a dramatic entrance and Arthur, Biddy’s husband, had found some braziers to run along either side.
‘Used them for our beach wedding,’ he’d explained, as he lit them. ‘Kept the chill at bay.’
Extra heat wasn’t needed tonight. It was balmy and warm. The flames shot up into the black sky, the smoke curling up to the dancing stars. The thirty-first of October. Hallowe’en. Witching night. Pagan and elemental. Amy felt her skin prickle as she looked up into the diamond-filled sky. There was something other in the air this evening.
But she didn’t have time to dwell on things paranormal. She had a party to host. As usual, Millie had done a wonderful job with the catering. Waiters in black tie shimmied through the crowds distributing champagne, there was a sumptuous buffet including Millie’s famous honeyed sausages, tiny nutmeg-spiced custard tarts and bite-sized apple muffins. Amy had made sure orange buckets, overflowing with sweets, had been put out for any Trick or Treaters. Now, with any children long put to bed, the evening became strictly adult. The mixologist from the Henville Hotel had been persuaded by Jed to strut his stuff at the cocktail bar, with a potent cider punch and Bloody Marys in demand.
Guests had taken the fancy dress request to heart. Lots were dressed as ghosts or devils or witches. Others had made far more effort. Amy had to giggle at Biddy dressed as Elizabeth I, with Arthur at her side as Raleigh. Even Elvis joined in, with a tiny Elizabethan ruff around his neck. Emma had come as Demelza, of course, and was accompanied by an uncomfortable-looking Ollie as Poldark. Tash wore a sexy skin-tight black cat outfit, complete with tail and ears and Kit towered over everyone as Harlequin. And Millie was dressed as the Queen of Hearts, her bodice made entirely of a red heart and her full skirts not quite concealing her burgeoning baby bump. Jed, channelling Edward Cullen, never left her side.
Amy watched it as if from far away. She perched on the edge of the children’s book table, dislodging her careful arrangement of witch-themed books. She was glad everyone was declaring it a roaring success but couldn’t, no matter how hard she tried, join in with the revelling. She’d done the rounds, had made sure everyone had their first glass of champagne in their hand and knew where the buffet was, had accepted the compliments coming her way and then had retreated. She tried to fight the complex emotions welling up and failed. She loved Patrick but didn’t know if she’d be enough for him. There was no sign of the man and she couldn’t decide if she was disappointed or relieved. Uppermost in the tumult of feelings was a deep conviction that she had failed him. And failed him when he was at his most vulnerable.
Her heart sank as her mother, dressed as Morticia from the Addams family, approached. She looked impossibly glamorous. And slightly drunk.
‘Darling, why aren’t you joining in? It’s the most marvellous party. You have done well. It’s a triumph.’ She pointed a cigarette, thankfully unlit, in a long, slender holder. ‘I think you could have a career in event planning, you know.’
Amy gave her a thin smile. ‘I’m quite happy running a bookshop, thanks, Mum.’
Katrina came closer. ‘Are you sure? Are you sure, darling? Because you don’t look happy to me. Is it Patrick?’
Amy started. ‘How did you guess?’
Katrina gave an enormous sigh. ‘You’d have to be blind not to see it. You’re besotted with each other. So what’s wrong?’
‘It’s complicated, Mum.’ Amy shuffled her feet, mutinously.
‘When isn’t it?’ Her mother gave a rueful laugh.
There was a commotion at the door as someone in a green suit and matching hat walked in. A small crowd gathered, laughing.
‘Look. He’s here, darling. Patrick’s just arrived.’ Katrina gave Amy a gentle shove. ‘Whatever the issue is, talk to him about it. He’s one man I can say might be worth the effort. So, go get him,’ she said. ‘Go get your lovely Irishman.’
Amy stared at her, still unwilling to move.
‘Go get him, Amy,’ her mother repeated. ‘Whatever it is have the courage to sort it out. Don’t live your life without love. For my sake, don’t be alone.’
Amy’s ballet slippers propelled her to Patrick and the crowd that was gathered around him.
‘Well,’ he was saying. ‘If you’re going to appropriate a culture, you might as well appropriate your own.’ He grinned and then saw Amy. Wordlessly, he took her hand and led her outside.