“We’re only engaged,” he pleaded.
“Sean, I don’t want to get married.”
“You feel that way now-”
“I might never want to get married.”
He stopped, grasping for the first time the enormity of the change in her. “Have you turned lesbian or something?”
Paddy looked at the man she might have spent her life with. He didn’t mean to be unkind. He was handsome and noble and decent, but, God help him, just not very bright.
“I want a career and I don’t think I can get married and have one, so I’m choosing the career.”
He shot her a warning look. “Why do you need to try and be a man? What’s wrong with just being a woman?”
“That’s stupid, Sean.”
“It’s good enough for every other girl in the family.”
“Shut up.”
“Your mum’s gonnae-”
“Don’t! Don’t bring my family into this, Seanie. This is about you and me and everything we’ve meant to each other.” Her eyes ran despite her, filling her nose and making her breathless. “I can’t talk to you without thousands of relatives invading the pitch. Never mind my mum and dad and the Pope and all our future children, we need to talk about you and me. Just you and me.”
“I only bring them in because we’re getting married, Paddy. I only do that because I’m serious about ye.”
She was crying openly now, her face wet, crying not just for the loss of Sean, but for the fright she’d had, and for Dr. Pete and Thomas Dempsie, crying for the loss of certainty. Sean fumbled for her hand, pulling it out of the sleeve of her duffel coat and holding it in both of his. Her fingers were cold, and as he rubbed them to warm her, he felt the smooth skin where her ring should have been and began to cry himself.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” he said.
“It’s not what I want.”
“I got punched at work because of you.”
“It’s not what I want.”
“But I love you.”
They held hands and wept, unaccustomed to sharp emotion, looking away from each other into the dark.
When the tears had stopped, her hand was swollen red with all the rubbing. Sean took out his cigarettes again and lit one without offering, dropping the packet back in his jacket pocket.
“Why did you agree to marry me, then, if you didn’t want to?” he said bitterly.
Paddy leaned over and took out the cigarette packet, helping herself to one, making him smile. She put it in her mouth and pointed it at him.
“Give us a light.”
Sean leaned into her, touching the red tip of his cigarette to hers. She inhaled, sucking in her cheeks, drawing fire from him.
“I want you to get me in to see Callum Ogilvy.” She exhaled and waited for him to shout at her.
“I can’t get you in,” he said softly.
“Yes you can. You’re his family. You could get to see him now he’s in hospital.”
Sean wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling them into his chest, touching a knee to his forehead. “I can’t believe you’re asking me for help with your career.”
“It will help my career.” She nodded guiltily. “It will, I can’t deny that. On the other hand, it’ll make a big difference to Callum. Eventually he’ll be interviewed, and if it’s by anyone else they’ll make him out to be an evil child and he’ll be stuck with it for the rest of his life. At least this way we can control how he’s portrayed.”
“And you get a big exclusive?”
“We could fight about it,” she said, taking the cigarette out of her mouth and blowing on the tip to encourage it, “or we can accept that’s how it is and stay pals.”
“You’re choosing your career over me?”
“Sean, I’m not what you want.” She felt energetic suddenly, excited that she was out of the yoke of her engagement. “I’d have been a rotten wife. I’d make your life a misery. I’d have been the worst Catholic wife in history.”
He nudged her with his elbow. “You’d be a good mum.”
“Not a Catholic mother, not me.”
He touched her ankle, stroking the back of his fingers down her tights, testing to see if it was okay to touch. “Aye, ye would.”
She rocked towards his ear. “I don’t even believe in Jesus.”
He looked incredulous. “Get tae hell.”
“Honestly.”
“But you were in the Sacred Heart prayer group for a year.”
“I only went because you were there.”
He slapped her arm, exaggerating his surprise to have an excuse to touch her. “But you always bless yourself when you go in or out of a house.”
“My mum likes it. I’ve never had a drop of faith. I knew I was lying when I made my first communion.” She grinned, relieved that someone finally knew. “I’ve never told a soul that. You’re the only one who knows. Now you know why I’m trying to get away from the family all the time.”
“Bloody hell.”
“I know.” She raised her hands skyward. “I’ve spent half my life on my knees thinking it was rubbish.”
They smiled at each other. The wind blew Sean’s hair the wrong way, and a train passed in the valley below. Paddy raised her shoulders and snuggled inside her coat. It felt different with Terry: she felt close to Sean, but there was no fire.
“One thing, though, and I know I don’t have any right to ask ye favors right now, but about the engagement: gonnae not tell my mum?”
He looked at her for a moment and his eyes softened. “That’s no bother, wee pal.”
She reached up and touched his cheek with her chilly fingertips. “Look at ye. You’re so handsome, Sean. I’m not even good-looking enough to go out with you.”
Sean took a draw on his cigarette. “You know what, Paddy. I always let you say things like that ’cause I liked it that you’re modest. But you’re a good-looking girl. You’ve got a small waist and big lips. People say it all the time.”
It felt like a warm bubble bursting in her head. She searched her memory for corroborating evidence that she was attractive but couldn’t find any. The boys at school weren’t mad for her. Men didn’t approach her on the street. She didn’t ever remember being complimented before.
She laughed awkwardly and hit his arm.
“Piss off.”
“You are.” He looked away, uncomfortable that she was making him elaborate. “You’re beautiful to me.”
“Only to you, though?”
“Eh?”
“Am I only beautiful to you?”
Sean nudged her gently.
“No. You’re beautiful, Paddy. Just beautiful.”
They sat together quietly, smoking cigarettes and looking out over the valley. Every time she thought about what he’d said, Paddy felt dizzy. It could change everything if it was true. She had always hated her face. She hated her looks so much she was embarrassed to leave the house some mornings. They sat, and during a couple of quiet pauses she felt a burst of gratitude so overwhelming that she almost asked him to marry her.
THIRTY-TWO . DON’T LIKE MONDAYS
I
She woke up more aware of the day ahead than the weekend that had passed. Terry was going in early to get out all the Dempsie clippings and stop anyone else’s using them. He was going to phone around the police stations and then try to speak to McVie and Billy, who was probably a less self-interested source of information, to find out if anything had happened overnight to Naismith. Then he was going to approach Farquarson and ask if they could write the story themselves. She hoped Terry would be enough of a draw. She certainly wasn’t on her own.
The family didn’t notice a difference in her as they ate breakfast. Trisha boiled her three eggs as an act of reconciliation, and Gerald passed her the milk for her coffee before she asked for it. She sat and ate among them, watching the toast rack pass from person to person and Trisha dishing out the porridge. She acted normally, her mind back in the weekend, thinking her way through Naismith’s van, the riot, and Terry Hewitt’s bed.