Chapter Twenty-Nine

The joy of our heart is ceased; our dance is turned into mourning.

Lamentations 5:15

Sunday 28 October: Trish Hartnett was fixing the flowers Sean had brought her. She was singing a Carole King song. "You make me feel," she sang. To Sean's ear her voice sounded like that of an angel. "You make me feel," the words went, "You make me feel like a natural woman." She had a good voice. If she'd been listening Carole King would not have been offended.

Sean's mind drifted and soured. He interrupted and his careless words broke the precious spell like a ball through a window.

"It's not fucken' right Trish."

Sean Hartnett was nervous. He had always thought this woman too rich for his blood even when he'd first fallen for her. But now he knew what a colossal disadvantage her knowledge of his behavior had placed him in. He bit his lower lip and steeled his courage. "You can't go after him like this."

Trish narrowed her pretty green-gray eyes into cat-like slits, squinting at her husband. She was not going to make this easy for him. She felt abused as well as betrayed. It was a feeling that failed to dissipate. "Why can't I, Sean baby?" she purred maliciously. She picked up a glass of coke, and used a straw to stir the ice cubes absentmindedly as she looked at him.

"It's not fair Trish. He squared his shoulders to ease the tension in his muscles. He's not a bad fellow."

"Fair?" She glared at him and he flinched like he'd been hit. "It's not a question of being fair. It's a question of justice. He's wrecked our lives. Well now he can pay. Justice as in retribution, Sean baby. An eye for an eye. You understand that don't you?"

But Sean was shaking his head. "No Trish, it's not like that." And he looked at her. And looking at her he wanted to go to her, to stroke her auburn hair, to comfort her like he'd once have done. But he didn't. Instead he just said, "What we did was wrong. We've already paid, been paying. I pay each fucken' day when I look at you. Takin' it out on him ain't gonna make it any better."

And Trish realised then that he was right. But regardless she ached for vengeance. She needed her pound of flesh. If the bishop wasn't going to give her satisfaction, she'd find some other way. The image of her Sean with that man in her mind's eye repulsed her.

"You're right Sean baby," she purred. "Nothing sets the clock back."

But she could set the record straight. He had played away from home. Well what was good for the gander . . . Sure.