In the silence that followed, Paul didn’t move. He steeled himself and waited for the flood of memories—the altar of that little church in Dun Laoghaire, his friends and family gathered round, and coming down the aisle, dressed in white silk, Fiona more lovely than he’d ever seen her look.
But those vows are broken. Where he knelt before Ravenna, he knew his heart was losing strength. The voices inside him were whispering again even as he fought them off, This girl loves you. Give up. Tell her. Beating him down, wearing at his soul, the idea of it seemed too much—that he might need Ravenna more than he’d ever needed the woman. From the way she argued so passionately to the flush of her cheeks whenever Paul touched her, he saw what was coming. He’d defied it, ignored it, even tried to hurt her feelings just to live the lie a little longer, but under all his gruffness, in between his ardent pleas to reach Fiona and find Fiona and win back the love of his precious Fiona, beneath all this was the uncomfortable realization that he’d fallen again…and fallen hard.
Paul straightened, took his hand out of Ravenna’s. He muttered some excuse about being tired and, turning to leave, he stepped into the passageway just as he was, scowling, guilt-ridden. He didn’t care about James’s glare. Making his way to the great hall, he went out anyway, through the double doors and on toward the sea in a fit of despair. Fiona, he thought, but it was only a reflex. The name meant nothing.
For the first time in his life Paul was free.
Seeing the dull shimmer of the ocean stretched out before him, he walked for hours. The moon shone faintly behind the clouds. The air was bracing, but it only served to remind him of how awake he felt, how blind he’d been. You’ve lied to yourself about so many things. Had he ever recognized as much? Fiona did hate his sensitivity. She never would be happy with Paul, and when the girl had pointed this out in the bedroom earlier, her voice all scolding and tender at once, she’d only confirmed what Paul had fought so long to disprove.
The thing about it was, he’d known. He really had. Even back home when he’d met Fiona between classes, goaded her into telling him about her feelings, her troubles, in fact Paul had felt nothing—no sympathy for her problems, just this nagging idea that he should care about her. To admit he hadn’t would have meant conceding she’d been right all along, that Fiona was a stranger. He should let her go.
But then without the woman, what would he have? An empty house? A couple of friends who—apart from the fact they were sick to death of him—didn’t mind buying his pint after work?
Walking along the cliffs, going through his marriage year by year, he sorted out the truths. Fiona had changed. Trevor and Deirdre had grown tired of his antics while Eamonn rarely even phoned anymore. There were the kids, those many dirty teenage faces he knew on the Dublin streets whom he’d helped and counseled over the years, and there was Aidan’s mother, but few others would miss him. They’d say they did, but really they’d all be heaving a sigh of relief.
And then there was Ravenna.
What should I be telling her? That after all my fits and tantrums, I’ve since come t’realize she was right about us? That I’ve a mind now t’mess up her life as well? Because that’s what would happen. As much as she seemed to understand him, Ravenna had no idea what she was getting herself into. Fiona hadn’t left him for nothing. To straighten out whatever mess he was into and show him where he’d gone astray, to give out about his obsessiveness and irresponsibility, not to mention his sociable nature…was Ravenna really up for this?
Yer girl’s not stupid, Paul thought. She’ll figure it out soon enough, and until she does, until she sees the real cut of you in a Dublin pub when the barman’s calling time and she’s been phoned t’drag you home, you’ve no business rushing in with your typical selfishness.
Leave her be, he told himself. Give her enough t’keep her happy, but wait for the rest—for your own sake as well as hers.