My Life in Shambles(42)

“Colin,” my nan admonishes him. “Please, let us eat before ye start mentioning hell.”

“Yer the one talking about the bloody devil all the time,” he grumbles back to her.

“Only because I like to have him on my side,” she says, pointing her fork at him in a hostile manner. “And what’s done is done. No point making the poor boy feel bad, he’s been through enough.”

“We only got engaged over Christmas,” Val speaks up, trying to change the subject. “So we haven’t really planned anything yet. It’s all so new,” she adds brightly.

“Where is your ring?” Gail asks, staring at Val’s hands but glancing expectantly at me. “You’ve all the money in the world, I would have thought should ye ever get married, your miss would be rolling in diamonds.”

“It’s not the time to be cheap, Padraig,” my dad adds.

I exchange a glance with Val and my nan and then clear my throat. “Well, Dad, I meant to ask ye this earlier. But the reason she doesn’t have a ring was I was hoping I could use Mam’s engagement ring.”

The room goes silent.

Everyone stops eating and looks at my father.

Except for Major, who goes, “What’s that you say?”

My father frowns and then takes his glasses off and puts them back on, as if that will reset the question. “You want to use the ring I gave yer mother?”

“It would mean a lot to us. I would like that ring to live on,” I say.

From one glance at her I know that Val is dying a little inside, but I push through. “I understand if ye don’t and there’s no hard feelings there. I just thought it would be special.”

My father grumbles something but I think it’s just nonsense. He’s staring down at his uneaten salad, frowning, lips moving. Then he looks up at me. “I think yer mother would like that very much.” He swallows thickly, and I’m realizing that for the first time in a long time, my father is actually showing some emotion.

Shite. I think this actually means something to him.

Relief and guilt tumble inside me and I’m not sure which feeling will win out, but all I know is this is what I wanted.

Isn’t it?

He looks at Val. “I loved Padraig’s mother very much, and she was … she was taken too soon,” he says, an undercurrent of grief in his voice. “They both were.”

“Both?” Val asks, and I realize I should have explained to her just how my mother died.

“He didn’t tell ye?” he asks, surprised. I guess this would be the kind of thing she should know if we’ve been together for a year.

“I didn’t have the heart,” I say feebly, as if that explains it.

“The heart to honor your sister?” he says.

“Sister?” Val asks. She looks at me. “I thought you were an only child.”

“No,” my father says gruffly. “No. He had a sister. For five days. For five days in the hospital room, in that wee incubator, there was Clara. My wife died giving birth to her. Clara died five days later.”

This time the silence is oppressive, pressing down on us in all directions. Even the Major seems to have heard what was said.

I would have told Valerie everything about my mother and Clara, in time. But we’ve only known each other a few days and it slipped my mind. There’s so bloody much going on right now.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Valerie says to him emphatically, her hand at her heart, and I know she’s probably mortified for asking. “Padraig had told me how she died, but he was so emotional every time he brought it up that I didn’t press for details.”

God, she’s a good liar.

“That’s completely understandable,” my nan says. “Now, Colin, tell Padraig he can have the ring so everyone can eat their stew before it gets colder than a nun’s teat.”

My father clears his throat, used to my nan’s language. “Of course you can have the ring, Padraig.” He looks to Val. “Valerie,” he says to her, “you seem like a lovely young lady. I’m happy I get to know ye better over the next few weeks or months or however long you’re staying here.”

Ah, fuck.

In the car we’d come up with the plan that Valerie was flying back home next week to see her family and then we’d play it by ear after that. Come up with some believable reason why she couldn’t come back.

“I’m staying as long as you’ll have me,” Valerie says.

My brows shoot to the ceiling.

Does she actually mean that?

And when she meets my eyes, she gives me an impish smile, and I know she does.

She’s staying.

I’m not sure how but I know that suddenly, this whole charade is about to get even more complicated.





12





Valerie





For the third time in a row, I’m waking up with a bit of a hangover.

Last night after dinner, we all retired to the sitting area by the fire, and the Major brought out the whisky. There were cookies that Padraig’s grandmother—who keeps insisting I call her Agnes—whipped up on a whim. Padraig was forced to talk about rugby and all the different teams with the Major, and occasionally his father would throw in his two cents about what team was “faffin about” and so on.