The Better Woman (3 page)

Sarah surveyed the meagre contents of her wardrobe. Money was tight, the profits from the shop providing only just enough to pay the bills, with little left over to spend on clothes. She slipped on her only pair of jeans. Standing in her bra, she tried to decide between a plain white T-shirt and a fluorescent pink one.

Which would John like
?

She startled at the thought.

Why would I dress to please John?

Confused, she put on the one she thought he would like the least: the bright pink. She surveyed herself in the mirror as she
brushed her long, unfashionably straight hair. Several of the girls in Kilnock Secondary School had perms. Her grandmother had nearly fainted when she'd said she'd like one too.

‘Are you gone mad? Your beautiful hair would be ruined with a perm.'

Sarah sighed and wished that Peggy wasn't so set in her ways. Wished that she had a mother closer to her age and able to understand things like fashion. Wished that she possessed a pair of big hoop earrings to make her outfit look a little more with it.

‘I'm off to see John,' she called out as she descended the narrow stairs.

‘Don't stay out too late,' her grandmother called back.

John was like family. Peggy wouldn't have been quite so casual if it had been another boy that Sarah was going to see.

Sarah crossed over the road towards the park. The freshly mowed grass stuck to her sandals. John was on the far side of the oak tree, sitting under a canopy of leaves and acorns. He wore faded jeans and a black T-shirt. His fair hair was tousled with gel and his navy-blue eyes were strangely unnerving as they smiled at her.

‘Do you think your mam and dad will notice?' she asked, eyeing the bottle of red wine in his hand.

‘Nah,' he replied. ‘Sure, they have tons of bottles in the cellar – and if they did notice one missing, they'd only think Granda was up to his usual tricks.'

John's grandfather lived in the room over the pub, whilst the rest of the family lived in the adjacent bungalow. Granda Delaney, very fond of the bottle, often couldn't resist having so much temptation so close at hand.

Sarah kneeled down on the grass and sat back on her heels.
She glanced surreptitiously in John's direction. It wasn't only the tan, or the gel in his hair, or his new clothes. He was different. What was the word? Sophisticated? Yes, he was more sophisticated. She felt as though he was someone she didn't know all that well. Which was ridiculous!

‘Do you want to uncork it?' he asked, totally unaware of her feelings.

She nodded. ‘You'll have to show me how.'

He handed her the corkscrew.

‘Okay, first peel off the covering . . . Now stick the screw in . . . Keep turning it . . . that's right . . . now pull.'

Sarah pulled but the cork remained stubbornly in place.

She felt his arms come around her, the heat of his body against her back, the flexing of his muscles as he pulled with all his might. The cork popped and the bottle jerked, spilling some of its contents on Sarah's jeans.

‘Sorry,' he said, mopping the angry splash of red with his handkerchief.

‘Did you bring glasses?' she asked, feeling very unsettled by the sensation of his hand on her thigh.

‘No – we'll have to swig from the bottle.'

The wine tasted heavy and sweet. They took turns with the bottle while John recounted the finer details of his stay in France.

‘There are four kids in the family – Pierre is the second oldest. They live in Brittany, in the countryside . . . a bigger village than this. Pierre's mum and dad are really cool. They play loud music . . . drive really fast . . . '

John didn't say that Pierre's parents were worlds away from his own: he didn't need to spell out the obvious. Joe and Mary Delaney were both nudging sixty. Their marriage, and John,
had come late in life. Their life revolved around the pub and Mary's aspirations for her son.

Sarah drank some more wine. She felt light-headed. But happy.

‘Summer holidays are boring without you around,' she told him.

‘Ditto,' he replied.

‘You've just been to France, you idiot. You
can't
have been bored.'

He shrugged. ‘I missed you.'

He stared down at the ground and Sarah sensed a change in his mood. She wished she could see his eyes.

They were mostly silent for the next half-hour as they passed the bottle to and fro. Dusk fell steadily and everything but John lost focus for Sarah. Her feelings puzzled her. This was her friend. She had played with him, grown up with him. Why was her heart thumping like this?

‘This feels different,' he said, reading her thoughts.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

His hand reached through the dusk and touched her cheek.

‘Can I kiss you?'

She scanned his shadowed face, the new chiselled lines to his cheekbones, the hair on his jaw that would eventually need to be shaved. Her childhood friend was gone. This was someone else: a grown-up stranger. And she wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

His lips were soft and tentative and warm. He tasted like red wine. Intoxicating. She clasped her arms around his neck and it seemed easier to lie back in the grass than to stay sitting. The heaviness of his body pressed her shoulder blades into the ground. She could feel his heart beat. She could smell the fresh grass and
the citrus scent of what must have been his aftershave.

‘
Sarah
!
Sarah
!'

The voice pushed them apart. It was Peggy, calling from the shop door.

‘I have to go,' Sarah whispered, straightening her T-shirt.

John nodded.

Unsteady, she got to her feet.

‘See you tomorrow,' he said.

She ran across the park and called ahead to her grand mother.

‘I'm here. I'll just lock up the yard before I come in.'

Thankfully, Peggy went back inside. Sarah darted around the back and made much ado about bolting the gate.

Then she stole in through the shop and up the stairs.

‘Goodnight, Nan,' she called down from the landing.

Once inside her room, she had a long look at herself in the mirror. Her hair was askew, her cheeks pink, and her jeans a mess of red wine and grass stains. Her lips were the biggest giveaway. They looked bigger than usual. Stung.

Thank God Nan didn't see me!

Sarah got ready for bed. She washed at the basin, brushed her teeth and imagined John doing the same across the road. When she finished brushing her hair, she picked up the picture frame that had pride of place on her dresser. The black and white photograph was of a bashful groom and a slip-of-a-thing bride.

‘Is this how you felt when you first kissed Dad?' she asked her mother's image.

As usual, an answer wasn't forthcoming and Sarah was left to work things out on her own. She set down the frame and climbed into bed. The mattress creaked as she leaned over to turn off the lamp. She lay wide-eyed in the pitch black. Her heart was still
thumping, her lips still tingling. Her first kiss. How perfectly right that it had been with John. She'd never ever forget this night. This happy confused feeling.

1986

‘Well, Sarah, today's the big day,' Mrs Fahey announced in a dramatic tone. ‘What time are you expecting the results to be out?'

‘We're to go to the school around eleven.'

Sarah felt sick at the thought. Five years of study would soon culminate in a single sheet of paper: her Leaving Certificate results.

‘Best keep busy till then,' was the older woman's recommendation. ‘Now, twelve pounds fifty, did you say? Would you mind putting it in the book for me?'

‘No, not at all.'

Sarah took out the red book from under the counter. Mrs Fahey's account already had eighty pounds owing. Her husband was out of work.

‘He's still drawing the dole,' Mrs Fahey looked embarrassed, ‘and it isn't enough to keep up with the bills. Please God, there'll be more work around after the holidays.'

She didn't sound at all convincing. Her husband, unskilled and on the wrong side of fifty, had slim chance of finding work with the record levels of unemployment in Ireland. She knew that, and so did everybody else.

After Mrs Fahey's departure, Sarah flicked through the book of debtors. The total amount owing was higher than it had ever been. Some of the balances were unrecoverable.

Peggy, using a newly acquired and much detested walking stick, hobbled in from the back.

‘Another one on the book?' she asked when she saw what Sarah was reading.

‘Yes.'

Peggy tutted. ‘I'll have to start refusing credit, else we'll be put out of business.'

It was an idle threat. Sarah knew that her grandmother would rather shut up shop than take a hard line with her long-standing customers.

We need to make our profits bigger
, Sarah thought,
so that the bad debts are easier to absorb
.

She glanced at Peggy. The old woman looked weary and irritable. It was clearly not the right time to have a discussion about profits.

Sarah arrived at the school at ten minutes to eleven. Most of her old class were already there, waiting. The confident girls looked nervous, the nonchalant girls tense. There was no getting away from the fact that this was one of the most important days of their lives.

‘Sarah! Over here!'

A short girl with bouncing dark curls waved furiously. Nuala Kelly was a relative newcomer to the school, having joined at
the start of sixth year. Her father worked for the Bank of Ireland and had relocated his family from Dublin to Cork as a result of a promotion. On her first day at Kilnock Secondary School, Nuala had promptly decided that Sarah Ryan was going to be her new best friend. Nuala hated physical exercise of any form and couldn't keep quiet for more than five seconds, but she wasn't at all fazed by the fact that her new friend's personality was so different to her own. For her part, Sarah was glad that Nuala had insisted on being her friend. She had other friends in her class, but they were superficial girls who were happy to talk only about themselves and didn't notice how little Sarah revealed. By contrast, Nuala demanded to know every detail of Sarah's life. She'd invited herself to see the shop. She'd chatted away to Peggy as if she'd known her all her life. And, when she'd met John on one of his school breaks, she'd immediately guessed he was something more than the boy-next-door.

‘He's your boyfriend, isn't he?'

‘Well . . .' Sarah had hedged.

‘Oh, come on. I'm not a fool. The kitchen crackled with chemistry the minute he came in!'

Sarah was alarmed. ‘Oh my God! I hope it's not that obvious. My grandmother . . .'

Nuala smiled slyly. ‘Don't worry. I'm saying it was obvious to
me
, that's all. Anyway, what's with all the secrecy?'

‘For a start, his mother wouldn't approve,' Sarah replied with a grimace. ‘She wouldn't like to think of her son being distracted from his music studies. Least of all by me! She sees herself as a cut above everyone else in the village.'

‘But you don't need to keep it from your grandmother, do you?'

‘It makes things easier,' Sarah shrugged. ‘Being friends means
more freedom. We can go to the park and Nan doesn't watch the clock . . . doesn't worry.'

‘Does she have reason to worry?' Nuala asked astutely. ‘What do you get up to at the park?'

Sarah blushed. ‘Kissing, that's all.'

‘You've gone all red.'

‘Thanks for pointing out the obvious.'

‘So you only see John during school holidays?'

‘Yes. And we write to each other while he's away. Every week.'

Sarah smiled at the thought of John's letters. They were almost as good as having him next to her, talking. In some ways, even better. With letters there were no silences. No inhibitions. John told her everything, about the antics of the boys at the school, how much he loved the master classes at the academy, and how much he missed holding her.

‘God, you have it bad for him, don't you?' Nuala remarked.

It was true, Sarah did have it bad. She thought about him all the time, and when he was home it was as if her body was on tenterhooks, aching for his next touch. She was glad that Nuala knew: her feelings for John were too big to keep to herself any longer.

‘Oh God, I'm sick with nerves!' Nuala exclaimed when Sarah came to stand next to her in the school hall. ‘Would they ever put us out of our misery?'

Sarah couldn't understand Nuala's nervousness. She had categorically decided, much to her father's disappointment, that she'd had enough of studying and wouldn't be continuing on to university. Nuala planned to join the work force, earn a decent wage and enjoy herself spending it. Her Leaving Certificate results didn't have any bearing whatsoever on her plans.

The principal's secretary, a painfully thin woman with oversized spectacles, entered the hall and a hush fell over the girls.

‘Good morning.' She bestowed them with a brisk smile. ‘Sister Stella has now compiled all of the results. When your name is called, please make your way
quietly
to her office. When you are finished, wait outside the school for your friends. Do not return to the hall. Your names will be called in alphabetical order. Angela Buckley is first . . .'

The longest half-hour of Sarah's life followed. Sometimes it was of benefit to have your surname towards the end of the alphabet, like when you had to read out loud in class. The bell would ring before the teacher reached you. Inevitably, they would start at
A
again the next day. Sarah dreaded reading out loud and was thankful that her surname began with
R
. Not now, though. The longer she had to wait, the more she doubted herself. There was the question in Irish that she didn't get to finish. And the trick multiple choice answers in Physics . . .