Erin Kaye - Always You

She looked at him blankly.

‘Claddagh rings are passed down from generation to generation. And one day I hope it will seal our marriage.’

She looked at her hand but she could not see the ring, only the blur of tears in her eyes.

He slid in beside her then and pulled her fiercely against his hard cold body. They wriggled down under the covers and both held their arms aloft, forming a tent-like space underneath the duvet where it was warm and dim like a cave.

‘This is our world, Cahal, under this duvet. Under here it’s just you and me, and the rest of the world doesn’t matter.’ She tried to forget about what would happen when Cahal graduated in the summer. ‘Just each other. In our wee world.’ In the dimness, his pupils were large and black. The space was filled with the smell of him and already his body was radiating heat like a furnace.

He inched forward but she placed a hand on his chest. ‘Promise me you’ll never leave me, Cahal.’

He smiled easily and, moving closer, teased, ‘Of course I’ll never leave you, you eijet.’

She pressed her palm against his flesh. ‘You have to say it. You have to say the words.’

‘Sarah Anne Walker. I’ll never leave you. Not so long as I have breath in my body.’

The next day, Sarah strolled down the corridor, clutching a folder to her chest and thinking of Cahal. Rain battered the glass walls of the building and the wind howled around it like a demented ghost. She felt guilty about the three lectures and tutorial she had missed yesterday, even more about spending an entire day in bed. But it had been the most wonderful day of her life. Cahal wanted to marry her.

‘What are you smiling about?’ said a male voice and she started.

It was Ian Aitken, one of her oldest friends from Ballyfergus. She clutched the folder even tighter across her breasts – tender from Cahal’s passionate, rough love-making – as if it might hide the guilty secrets of her heart.

‘Nothing.’

‘I missed you at the Physics Society talk last night,’ he said, staring down at her with pale blue eyes, his gaze as resolute as his character. His ginger hair was carefully combed in a side parting and his terribly unfashionable dark blue jeans had a crease ironed down the front of each leg. ‘I only went because I thought you’d be there.’

She chewed her lip and looked away. ‘Sorry. Had some work to catch up on.’ She glanced up into his face and gave him a quick smile. That bit at least was true. She’d left Cahal’s flat in the late afternoon and gone home and started an assignment.

After a moment’s hesitation his face relaxed into a forgiving smile. She felt as if he could see right through her and she blushed. She could not see him approving of a full day spent in bed. Ian was conventional, old-fashioned even, in his outlook.

‘Have you got time for a coffee, Sarah? I haven’t spoken to you properly in ages.’

‘Sure,’ she said brightly.

‘Come on then,’ he said and fell in beside her as she walked, his clean, white trainers squeaking on the floor. ‘You haven’t been avoiding me, have you?’ He sounded a little wounded.

‘Don’t be silly. Why would I do such a thing?’

They got coffees and sat facing each other, the rain pattering relentlessly against the window. She arranged her bag and folder on the floor, then crossed her hands primly on her lap, feeling like she was about to be interviewed. Conscious of Cahal’s ring on her finger, where she had never worn one before, she hid her right hand under her left.

They chatted about inconsequential things and then Ian leaned back in the low chair and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Is it true that you’re still seeing Cahal Mulvenna?’

She frowned crossly. It was impossible to keep anything private in the small uni community. ‘Yes. What about it?’

He looked at the floor and his features twisted into a grimace. ‘How long have we known each other, Sarah?’

‘All our lives?’

‘Almost. You were seven when we moved to Ballyfergus. I remember the first time I saw you.’ He unfolded his arms and leaned forward, his big hands dangling awkwardly between his long legs. ‘At first, I thought you were an angel.’

‘I’m no angel.’ She shifted uncomfortably in the chair, recalling Ian as a child – a bookish redhead with brown freckles splattered across the bridge of his nose. He’d annoyed her so much with his intense wide-eyed stare, that she’d stuck her tongue out at him.

He smiled. ‘I found that out later, didn’t I? The first time I saw you, you wore a pink dress and white ankle socks. I’d never met a girl with such blonde hair. Or such a stubborn character.’

‘Me? Stubborn?’

‘Oh yes. Don’t you remember how you refused to participate when Mrs Banks took Sunday school because you’d taken a dislike to her? You spent months sitting in the corner, staring at the wall.’

‘She was horrible. She told me I was vain and that vanity was a sin. She told me that, if I didn’t mend my ways, I’d burn in hell.’ Sarah pouted crossly. ‘I’ve never forgiven her for that.’

He laughed indulgently. ‘See what I mean?’

Sarah laughed too. In spite of getting off to a bad start, she and Ian had eventually become friends, more through circumstance than a natural affinity in character. Their fathers knew each other through their jobs in the police – as young men they’d served together in Ballymena – and the families often socialised together. She wondered what Cahal would’ve been like as a little boy. If they’d met, she was certain that they would’ve recognised kindred spirits in each other and become instant, inseparable friends, she thought with a smile.

When Ian’s laughter faded, she said carefully, ‘You know, Ian, that was a long time ago. I’ve grown up a lot since then.’

‘We’ve both grown up. But some things never change, Sarah.’ His eyes were bright and shining. ‘And some people never change.’

‘I have.’ It was a challenge and they both knew it. Their eyes locked.

He stared, unblinking. ‘I don’t know about that. I think that underneath you’re the same Sarah you always were. I know I’m the same.’

‘Yes,’ she said and it was simply an observation, meant as neither criticism nor praise. Ian had always seemed so certain of himself, even as a child. And now that he was an adult, he reminded her more and more of her father. Conservative. Steadfast. Staid.

He looked away. ‘About Cahal,’ he said, picking his words carefully. ‘Are you sure that he’s right for you?’

‘Really, Ian,’ she snapped, her patience worn thin, ‘I don’t mean to be unkind, but it’s none of your business.’

His face fell, and she felt mean for hurting him.

‘You know that I care for you, don’t you, Sarah?’

She swallowed and looked away. ‘Yes.’ She’d dated him the previous summer and it had been a mistake. She’d never seen a guy so happy, nor so heartbroken when, three months later, she’d finished the relationship. She’d given him hope and even now, when she was with someone else, he had not relinquished it.

‘Well, it’s just that since you started seeing him, you’ve become quite distant. I’m worried about you.’ He wasn’t worried; he was pissed because she was dating Cahal and not him.

She gave him a tolerant smile that belied the irritation she felt inside. ‘Well, you don’t need to be. I …’ She sought for the words that might accurately describe how being with Cahal made her feel – whole, complete, sated – and settled for, ‘I’ve never been happier in my entire life. I’m sorry that I haven’t had much time for our friendship lately.’

‘I feel like I’m losing you, Sarah,’ he said glumly.