Regrets Read online

  Regrets

  Part Two of the Follow Your Heart Trilogy

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names,characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons,living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Published 2018

  by Poolbeg Press Ltd.

  123 Grange Hill, Baldoyle,

  Dublin 13, Ireland

  Email: [email protected]

  © CARAGH BELL 2018

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  1

  Copyright for editing, typesetting, layout, design, ebook

  © Poolbeg Press Ltd.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978178199-275-3

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  www.poolbeg.com

  About the author

  Caragh Bell lives in West Cork with her husband and five children. When she isn’t writing romance novels, she teaches English and French to teenagers.

  Regrets is the second book in her Follow Your Heart trilogy, the first being Indecision.

  You can connect with Caragh on Facebook (Caragh Bell-Writer), on Twitter (@BellCaragh) or on LinkedIn (Caragh Bell).

  Acknowledgements

  To my husband John for putting up with my unpredictable hours.

  Thanks to Fódhla and Aoibhe for looking after the baby while I worked.

  To Netflix! You kept Lughan and Oscar busy when I had a deadline.

  To Feidhlim, my baby boy. Thank you for settling down and giving me at least three consecutive hours’ sleep at night.

  To Sinéad Connolly for looking after the baby in the mornings. Without you, there would be no novel!

  To my crew at school for all your messages of support and for tirelessly sharing my posts. Love you all.

  To Gráinne Collins for insisting that I go public with my novels and for hosting the book launches in the early days. You are still my ‘favourite’.

  To Jackie Keogh for writing such lovely pieces in The Southern Star. You followed my story from the beginning and you were so kind to publicise it.

  To Daniel O Driscoll, my confidant and advisor. Your constant belief in me is so encouraging.

  To Sue Leonard. Thanks for your kind review.

  To Gaye, thank you for editing and improving everything. I’d be lost without you.

  To Paula, Kieran, David and all the crew at Poolbeg. Thank you for everything.

  Finally, to Dan McCarthy. I can never thank you enough.

  For Louise, Ian and Freyja … my best friends

  Chapter 1

  ‘Lydia! I’m over here!’

  Lydia’s eyes scanned the multitude of people crowded around the Arrivals gate of Cork Airport. Pushing through, decked out in a brown faux-fur coat, was Colin. As promised, he had driven out to the airport to pick her up.

  Oh, Colin, how I’ve missed you!

  ‘Lyd! You look great! I’m so delighted you’re back!’

  The next thing she knew, she was being smothered in Hugo Boss. The familiar smell was comforting and she pulled him close.

  ‘I love your jacket, Col. Have we Arctic conditions here, or what?’ She fingered the fur, which was damp from melting snowflakes.

  ‘It’s bloody freezing, hon. Remember the awful snow of 2010, or was it 2009? Anyway, it’s worse. The roads are like ice rinks and we’ve run out of salt and grit.’ He took her duty-free bags and the pulley handle of her bulging suitcase.

  ‘No, I can manage,’ she protested, tugging his sleeve.

  ‘I insist. I’ve started working out, you know.’ He flexed his arm and giggled. ‘Val had to bulk up for a role so I started going to the gym with him.’

  ‘You? In a gym?’ Lydia looked incredulous.

  ‘There was a hunky personal trainer called Skye and, well, here I am. Buff, as.’

  They walked out into the freezing air. The surrounding fields were covered in a thick blanket of snow. Car crawled past at a lethargic speed, the drivers fearful of skidding all over the road.

  ‘It’s a miracle the plane landed at all,’ she observed, staring at the treacherous roads. ‘Is that black ice over there?’ She pointed to a spot glistening in the winter sun.

  ‘Probably.’ Colin walked briskly. ‘I risked life and limb driving out here.’ He paused dramatically. ‘At one stage I thought “This is it – you’re going to crash”.’

  ‘Looks like it, Col. Gosh, thanks a million.’ She squeezed his arm affectionately.

  He leaned over and kissed her red nose. ‘Anything for my favourite cuz.’

  He pulled out his parking ticket and paid the tariff.

  Lydia jumped from one leg to the other in an effort to keep warm. Sure, it had been cold when she’d left Paris this morning, but nothing like this.

  Hard to believe that this was her third year away from home. Time had surely flown. What had started as a flight from reality had now become her true reality. She was still a waitress in Bistrot Boursan.She was still living in the tiny apartment that Claudine had sourced for her. Her home was now on the sixth floor of an ancient building, two streets from the Sorbonne. Every morning she would open her window and stare out over the rooftops of Paris. It never got old. Then she would amble down to Guéric in his boulangerie and purchase a baguette. It was there that she would meet her neighbours and gossip would be exchanged. Sipping a café in her tiny kitchen while doing the crossword was one of her favourite pastimes. Yes, it was all delightful … nevertheless it was beginning to feel like a bit of a rut and she had been toying with the idea of moving back to Cork.

  Every Christmas, she flew home for a week. It was nice to reconnect with her family. Colin always picked her up. He missed her dreadfully and had flown out to Paris a lot at the start. As time went on, his visits got less and less. She understood – there were only so many times you could climb the Eiffel Tower. He had a life, he was busy – he was working as the fashion editor for Papped! magazine now.

  She smiled. Darling Colin. She never thought that she would miss him so much.

  ‘Ready?’ His curls danced in the wintry breeze. ‘I upgraded my car. Wait till you see it!’

  Just over an hour later they pulled up outside Lydia’s house. She had grown up near the small fishing village of Baltimore in West Cork. It was a bustling tourist spot during the summer months, but in winter it was almost deserted.

  Colin drove at his usual breakneck speed and screeched to a halt outside the front door, almost knocking over a giant flowerpot in the process.

  ‘Oops!’ he giggled, jamming into reverse.

  Lydia rolled her eyes. ‘I sometimes wonder how you retain your licence, Col. You’re a maniac.’

  ‘I’m a brilliant driver,’ he said haughtily. ‘Now, let’s go in. I’m freezing.’

  He opened the boot of his new Audi which was filled with his own bags. Her suitcase and bags had been crammed into the back seat so she pulled the lever of the passenger chair and hoisted it forward.

  ‘What is it with you and teeny-tiny cars?’ she grumbled, yanking her suitcase out of the car. ‘We had the same problem with space when you had that Mini.”

  ‘This is
a fabulous car, darling,’ he argued. ‘How great do I look driving it, huh?’

  ‘Lyd!’ Her mother appeared at the door way, wiping her hands on a tea towel. ‘Is that you? Oh, come here to me! You look frozen!’

  Lydia ran over and catapulted herself into her mother’s arms. She breathed in her familiar smell and luxuriated in her softness, just like she used to do when she was a child.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ her mother murmured, holding her close. ‘Come on in, everyone’s inside.’

  Lydia felt choked up but pulled herself together.

  What was the deal with Christmas anyway? It really pulled the heartstrings. It was that time of year that was filled with promise. The end of an old year, the beginning of a new one. Goodwill to all men or something like that. The same decorations hung in the hall, the same baubles on the tree. The sameness and tradition of it all was comforting.

  ‘Lydia, welcome.’ Her father’s tall frame filled the door of the sitting room.

  She paused. Things were ever so slightly awkward between her and her dad ever since her dramatic drop out from college and her subsequent flight to Paris. He had been angry at the start and he still didn’t approve of her situation. Her mother had visited her a lot more than he had. With him, there was always some excuse, some reason. Still and all, she knew that he was worried about her and she didn’t blame him

  ‘Hi, Daddy.’ She hesitated. ‘It’s really good to see you.’

  He walked forward and pulled her into his arms. ‘Happy Christmas,’ he murmured into her hair.

  She relaxed against his chest, her eyes filling with tears. She let him hold her and savoured the moment.

  Colin, who was hanging his fur coat on the stand in the hall, gasped when he saw their embrace.

  ‘Things are looking up between those two!’ he said loudly, his voice resonating down the hall to Helen in the kitchen.

  Lydia smiled though her tears. ‘Subtle as a brick,’ she sniffed, wiping her nose with her sleeve.

  Her father grinned. ‘Good to see you, Lyd.’

  She took off her coat and hung it next to Colin’s on the stand. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the familiar smell of home. There was nothing like it. She entered the kitchen to find Colin emptying the bags he had brought.

  ‘Now, Auntie Hel, where will I put these crackers?’ he asked, placing two gold boxes on the countertop. ‘They’re M&S luxury ones, you know!’

  Helen Kelly gestured towards the dining room. ‘Put them under the dresser. We’ll arrange them on the table tonight after I set it.’

  ‘Can I help you organise things later?’ he asked in excitement. ‘You know that’s my thing.’

  Helen smiled. ‘I’d be lost without you, Col.’

  ‘Come on, Lyd!” said Colin, sweeping past her at the entrance to the sitting room. ‘Let’s get ourselves an enormous drink.’

  Ollie was lying on the couch, a can of beer in his hand.

  ‘Ted! Where’s your beret? Your stripy top? Your twirly moustache?’

  Lydia rolled her eyes to heaven. He would call her that pet name until the day she died. All because he couldn’t pronounce her real name when they were children. ‘Sorry that I don’t live up to the stereotype.’

  Her brother jumped up and engulfed her in a huge bear hug. ‘Good to see you. That’ll probably all change later, but let’s go with it.’

  Lydia pushed him away playfully. ‘I’ve missed you so much, Ollie. So, so much.’

  He made a face. ‘I bet you did.’

  Lydia regarded him critically. He really hadn’t changed a bit. His brown hair still flopped over his eyes and his tall frame was still as lanky as ever. His green eyes, identical to her own, were habitually crinkled in amusement, as Ollie found almost everything amusing.

  ‘Wine, Lyd?’ asked Colin after he had stashed the crackers under the dresser. ‘I brought a lovely Pinot Grigio in a cool bag so it should be already chilled.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ she said, flopping down on the armchair and stretching out her legs in front of the roaring fire. She turned to Ollie. ‘So, any gossip or scandal?’

  ‘Nada,’ he answered, resuming his position on the couch. ‘Work is boring. Delighted to be back home with my ma.’

  ‘Bet she’s thrilled too.’

  ‘She’s pretty happy alright.’ He grinned. ‘It’s hard being the favourite, Lyd. So, so hard.’

  ‘I can see that,’ she said with a giggle.

  Ollie was known as ‘The Son of God’ in the Kelly household, adored unconditionally by his mother. Helen Kelly relished it when her only son made an appearance at home – her greatest pleasure in life was looking after him.

  ‘So, how’s living the dream suiting you?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m fine, never better.’ She smiled brightly. ‘I know it kills Dad to have a waitress as a daughter but …’

  ‘Hey now, that’s not it and you know it.’ He frowned. ‘He just wants you to have a proper career and stability.’

  ‘Well, I’m happy, Olls. That’s the main thing.’

  ‘It sure is.’

  There was a pause. Casino Royale was on the television. The snow fell softly outside. Ollie popped a Ferrero Rocher into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

  ‘He’s not a bad Bond, in fairness, Daniel Craig,’ he commented, reaching for another chocolate.

  Lydia nodded in agreement. ‘Especially in his little blue swimming trunks.’

  Ollie made a face.

  ‘How’s Alannah?’ she asked. ‘God, I can’t believe you two are still together. She must be hard up.’

  ‘Now, now, Ted. Let’s keep things civil.’ He wagged his finger at her. ‘To be honest, she’s great, almost perfect. If only she could cook like my ma.’ He crumpled up the chocolate wrapper in his hand, took aim and threw it expertly into the coal bucket.

  ‘What was that?’ Helen arrived into the room at that moment. She ruffled her only son’s hair and settled in an armchair near him. ‘She’s not a great cook? Ollie, darling, you know you’re welcome to eat here anytime.’

  Lydia laughed. ‘You two are sad, I swear to God.’

  Colin came in with the opened bottle of wine and three large wineglasses. “Shove over!’ he commanded and Ollie reluctantly moved his legs off the couch. Colin carefully put the glasses down on a side table and poured the wine. ‘Here, Lyd.’ He handed her a glass. ‘Auntie Hel.’ He handed her one and sat down. ‘Happy Christmas, everyone!’

  ‘So, where’s Molly?’ asked Lydia. Her little sister was normally superglued to the couch, controlling the television.

  ‘In the pub with Adele,’ answered her mother. ‘Christmas Eve is the night to go out, apparently.’

  ‘Sarah, Andy and the sprog are due tomorrow,’ added Ollie, draining his beer. ‘That kid never stops crying.’

  Lydia smiled. It was weird to think that her sister had a baby. She and Andy had tied the knot last year and Baby Seán had arrived soon after. He was now two months old and Sarah had taken to motherhood like a pro. Her nappy bag was always neatly stacked with all the essentials, Baby Seán was always dressed immaculately and his buggy was the Rolls Royce of baby transport. She sent Lydia daily pictures on WhatsApp so that she could keep up to date with his development.

  Colin groaned. ‘I know he’s related to me and everything, but really! All he does is cry and poo and eat and cry. I mean, babies are supposed to be cute and adorable, but he’s hard work.’

  ‘Now, now!’ admonished Helen. ‘That is my grandson you’re talking about.’

  ‘I’m dying for a cuddle with him,’ said Lydia reassuringly to her mother. ‘I’ve barely seen him.’

  When Baby Seán was born, she had flown home for a weekend. Small, red and wrinkly, she privately thought that he looked like a little old man. Sarah, who was breastfeeding of course, never let him out of her sight for a moment. So, instead of spending quality time with her new nephew, Lydia had gone out to the pub with her best friend Sam instead.

&nb
sp; Babies were hard work. Sure, they were cute, but talk about high maintenance! In a flash she remembered the pregnancy test she took all those years ago. The negative result … Luca …

  Hastily, she pushed his image from her mind. She couldn’t think about him. Not now. Not after so long.

  ‘Lyd, do you want a drink?’ called Seán Kelly from the kitchen. ‘Whiskey? Hot port?’

  ‘I’m grand, Dad!’ she called back. ‘Colin brought some wine.’

  Settling back into the armchair, she smiled. It was nice to be home.

  Chapter 2

  She woke the next morning to the sound of doors banging and cars hooting.

  ‘Colin! Move your bloody car, son!’ came a roar from the driveway.

  ‘Oh my God, I’m coming, sorry!’ Colin sounded panicked.

  Lydia giggled. Oscar McCarthy, Colin’s dad, had zero patience. She could imagine him in his silver Mercedes, his beautiful wife Diana at his side. There was another hoot and some loud revving of an engine.

  Colin’s parents were a model couple. Oscar was tall and distinguished, with tanned skin and hair greying at the temples. Diana was beautiful and elegant, with dark-brown eyes and honey-blonde hair. They were always dressed impeccably and had been coming to the Kellys’ house for Christmas for as long as Lydia could remember.