Being the Lesser Person

By Elizabeth O'Brien

A CRIME THRILLER WITH A ROMANTIC TALE INTERTWINED It begins with Jack McClean’s life unraveling. Maybe sometimes things have to fall apart before they can be rebuilt, stronger.

His ambitions are realigned as toxic relationships, founded on enticement and coercion, begin to cross a line. He tries to regain control as he learns whom he can trust. In a world of sumptuous elegance and sheer luxury, he has no idea he is being targeted, until...

Join Jack and the most diverse selection of characters in this exciting, intriguing tale. You will adore the characters; the contrasts between them are quite absorbing and lead the reader to reflect on what is important in this world. You will laugh, cry, feel happiness, heartbreak, suspense, relief, and joy, as you accompany these wonderful characters on a journey that is full of twists and turns... Savor this book!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth O'Brien
• Release date: May 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9780993431937

Elizabeth O'Brien

Elizabeth lives in south Dublin. She has three children, a dog, and a cat. She is divorced. Her education included a brief year in Commerce in UCD; and five years studying Veterinary Medicine, also in UCD. Her career has included working in a pharmacy; working in the UK and in Donegal as a Veterinary Surgeon; being a Veterinary Inspector in the Department of Agriculture; running her own veterinary practice for about a decade, and running a post office.Writing started as a hobby and became a fixation! In starting up Flagstone Publishing, her aim was to promote reading as an expansion of the mind, to encourage people to broaden their thinking and to enjoy books in a world that is increasingly daunting and seems to be losing its grasp on simplicity. We strive always to only use sustainable forestry paper and eco-friendly materials, and packaging that is free of plastic. Flagstone Publishing will hopefully produce many of the best books! There is a unique sense of accomplishment in reading a book that one enjoyed: it stays with you like an ally, a friend, with an unspoken loyalty and a positive influence on your own creativity.

Book preview

Being the Lesser Person

By Elizabeth O’Brien

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. All characters, names, businesses, events, political movements, political figures and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

Copyright protected © 2020 Elizabeth O’Brien, Flagstone Publishing®™. First edition. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. This includes all rights of motion picture, theatre or other production options and merchandise, copyright protected worldwide.

First published in Ireland in 2020

Published by:

Flagstone Publishing,

1, Brighton Road,

Foxrock,

Dublin D18 K354

Ireland

Sincerest thanks to:

Print Bureau,

Goldenbridge Industrial Estate,

Inchicore,

Dublin D08NY57

For printing this copy and many more, using paper made from sustainable forests and with respect for our wonderful earth

ISBN NUMBER 978-0-9934319-3-7 (EBOOK)

Email the author, or order more copies for retail sale, at: [e-mail]

Dedicated to the memory of Pádraig Seosamh Ó Briain,

who enjoyed books

Prologue

Ireland, 1979

The boy walked towards the isolated dwelling house hoping to see his mother first. His feet were sore. He saw the cottage dwarfed by the trees, the plume of smoke rising shadow-like from the chimney. There was a coldness visible. His breath was a steamy pale cloud that dissipated as though it fled from the late evening crispness. He had spent the whole day directing cars, helping people to park in spaces: standing around, looking for his next client, running to their assistance in the city of car fumes and cool rain. Those who were having a good day, who liked his smile or his tousled fair hair, had given him money. He wanted to get in and relax now. His mother would help him to wash with hot water in front of the fire and take nearly all of the money from him. She might try to put some aside. His father would take what he could get. His mother was the one to placate his father, to explain that to feed and clothe them, she needed to buy things, whatever she could find that was cheap. As he neared the cottage, he heard his father’s voice bleating. He hadn’t seen him for some days, maybe even a week. Even though that usually meant he was inebriated and dangerous somewhere, there had been a peacefulness in the boy’s life that he relished. The absence of his father was great. The atmosphere in the small house had been harmonious. Now he could hear his mother pleading and he thought of the money he had earned. If he gave his father some money, he would leave, go to buy more drink. At least that would keep them safe for now. He was eleven and he understood the ways to handle his father’s uncontrollable desires, his ruthless quest to achieve his most immediate needs. The boy trembled as he neared the door. His exhaustion was replaced with shivering anxiety as he quietly entered the cottage. His father turned on hearing the latch of the door and glared at him. He left his wife and grasped the boy’s shoulder. ‘Money,’ he said, ‘give me the money.’ His father was used to his son having money, although he had no idea where it came from. He often swept or washed the outside terraces of a café in the city centre. He occasionally put cardboard into a skip at the brewery. There were chores to be done that he relished, knowing the money he earned bestowed upon him the power to create a more comfortable niche in the world. He knew who was likely to pay him for these chores and he always paid attention to the details. The child slid his hand into his pocket. He moved his hand around and terror swept his whole body. Where was the money? He found a large hole in the furthest corner of his pocket, his long shorts underneath damp from the rain that had seeped through the fabric. He paled. He felt the lurching sensation of sheer panic. Looking at his stricken face, the man slowly realised there was no money. He pushed him hard at the wall. He slumped when he fell on the floor, his lean frame unable to function with such a violent blow. His father bellowed incoherently at him as he removed his belt. The full ferocity as the belt whipped into his body, his head, face, arms marked, searing flesh. His mother hurled herself at this brutal mindless assailant. His father brawled with her as the belt intermittently whipped at his hands and feet, his head feeling light. His father turned suddenly on his mother. He dropped the belt. She had gotten up, to protect her youngest child, and he watched in terror. As the man pushed her down, he scraped her face, gashes appearing in her wrinkled cheek. The boy sat clutching his shins. He flinched. He wished someone would take his father away but there was no one. He mumbled about how useless the boy was as he continued the attack. Suddenly, with a surreal feeling that God was on his side, the boy took a hold of the belt, and climbed up on a wooden chair. The chair back was between them. He reached over and looped it around his father’s neck. His arms were strong from climbing and scurrying about, his daily struggle to get by in life. His father was drunk enough to be unsteady and he clutched the belt, trying to loosen it to let him breath. The boy pulled it upwards as hard as he could and watched his father gradually fall down onto the floor. Then he put his foot onto his back and pressed down, pulling harder and harder. With tears of joy and relief on his cheeks, he pulled and pulled, and his father stopped breathing. Then he noticed the taste of blood in his mouth: his lip was bleeding when he touched it and he didn’t know if his cheek was ruptured a little on the inside. He would never fear him again and his mother would never again have to face this volatile vicious man. He walked down the track away from the house to dig a deep grave among the huge trees. The darkness was everywhere now. His mother wept uncontrollably, her breathing laboured, her head quite bloody, but he would nurse her back to health now that they were safe. Later, his father gone forever, he realised how important it was to be strong. Deliverance had come in the form of his father being asphyxiated with his own belt. He said little about it, but the boy was liberated.

Chapter 1

Dublin 2013

Elissa was quiet as they walked back to Jack’s apartment. He recognised the look she had. Would he call it desperation? She wanted the whole bundle, the commitment package of being his fiancée, then his wife. She subtly alluded to new houses being launched. She looked straight at him, eyes bright, inquisitive, when weddings or engagements were mentioned. Her slender figure, blonde highlights and sparkling eyes made her an ideal candidate to be the wife of Jack McClean. She attended every sporting fixture he mentioned. Jack enjoyed being idolised and wanted. Her vulnerability was like something Victorian, but to him it was such a turn on. She loved him and toying with that felt like a thrilling game of cat and mouse.

She sat on the big black leather sofa of his salubrious apartment. There was a peaceful silence as she allowed her eyes to rest on the paintings and antique lamps, soft light touching the surfaces with a gentle magic. She kept thinking of them walking down Grafton Street one day, years ago. They had been laughing about something, his arm wrapped tightly around her and their laughter so physically close, his breath caressed her neck. Some friend of his had been on the far side of the street and Jack hadn’t even seen him. Instead of allowing his friend into their comfortable, hermetic conversation, she had chosen to ignore him. Jack had been mesmerised by her then and he had glowed. It seemed so long ago. She gazed at her shoes; her eyes felt lazy, maybe from tiredness coupled with red wine. The small reflective glass shapes adherent to the fabric, gleamed like tiny rainbows.

‘So, any plans for the weekend?’ he enquired, a caricature of indifference. The vague plans she had pieced together earlier while he had analysed a rugby match with his friends, seemed fairy tale-like now. Surely if they had a great weekend together, he would want to marry her? She found herself laughing at her own simple reckoning. Everyone else of their age seemed to be merging their lives recently, like some sort of conglomerate takeover of one another, forming blushing couples brimming with pride in their forthcoming wedding celebrations.

A silence hung in the air. Cold realisation took hold of her thoughts. This handsome, wealthy, eligible bachelor had no intention of marrying her. The surprise weekend away with a romantic twist and a gallant proposal, would not happen. She stood up, hardly breaking the silence, gathering her soft tan leather jacket. She felt strangely weary.

‘Are you going to stay?’ he asked alarmed by her rather dynamic change in mood.

‘Not tonight,’ she whispered. Then her seemingly diamond encrusted shoes elegantly walked out of Jack’s apartment, leaving a repentant and anxious Jack in a very empty space.

If Jack had noticed Elissa’s demeanour in recent weeks, he might have gleaned that she was anxious. She had hardly eaten, and she hadn’t laughed the way she used to, a throaty, exuberant laugh. She had tried so hard; she didn’t gripe and moan to Jack about her parents’ financial worries and her father’s failing health. They had only a week to vacate the small house she shared with them. And Jack’s family were all so horribly impressive. Really, the landlord was being reasonable, she had to admit. Three months of paying no rent, preceded by endless months of paying less than they had agreed, had left him with few options. Elissa’s charm was no longer working.

‘I want you out of here today.’

The words were like a thorn to a raw wound, but her immediate reaction had been concern for her father. Had he overheard this doorstep conversation? Eviction was surprisingly harsh. The financial stress wasn’t helping his emphysema. She hoped his breathing would improve once the move was over. It was this hope that soothed her every time she felt the rising panic, the weakness that swept her every time she thought of her parents and herself having to leave that little two bed rented house they had called home for five years now. She had found herself going into the bathroom and making herself retch, purge her stomach of food, recently at those moments. Back in 2009, the only thing to do had been to sell their old house, with its pretty garden and endless memories. The recession had wiped out her father’s business and between mounting debts, redundancies for his staff and a small mortgage, selling had been the only option. She had genuinely fallen in love with Jack McClean, and stress and anxiety had maintained her slender figure and minute waist which he often admired. If he had only chosen to do what all their friends seemed to be doing: get engaged, live together, and choose a date to wed sometime in the future. Financing the wedding would be another day’s work. Recently, she had even started picturing herself in a wedding dress, flowers falling around her in a strange, still mist, guests mingling behind them and Jack somewhere there in a groom’s attire. She hadn’t paid much attention to his costume, his special suit, in her dream. It was cold and humid, but he was mesmerised by her. He was so entranced he didn’t notice the cold. Her imaginary dress had elaborate crystals making the bodice sparkle. However, that night in the apartment, she felt Jack was being obdurate, that he knew she wanted to marry him. Was he mocking her? She just had to venture out into the world alone. Her gaze kept finding her shoes. The shimmering crystals she pictured on her imaginary wedding dress had shone in the lamplight from the smart black surface of her shoes. The tiny slabs of glass somehow empowered her. She might have no savings, she might be alone in the world but for her elderly parents, but she would manage. The splendour of the world of Jack J. McClean was something she would not know again. He had had his chance.

*

Jack sensed immediately that Elissa was gone forever. It was like she had slipped through a crack, disappeared. He thought that she was always the one to patch things over when there was a bad atmosphere. He’d sleep on it.

The cold emptiness of the apartment gripped him as he lay awake at 4am, his eyes fixed on a grey speck on the ceiling over the bed. The moonlight streamed in, the sombre grey light making little of his desperation. Something about the way Elissa had left silently, had left him feeling bereft, anxious, bruised. He could almost hear his mother’s reaction to the silent exit of Elissa Mae McArrigle from his life. She would be delighted.

‘Sure, they are nothing, thinking that Elissa is something to brag about.’

Elissa’s parents’ pride in their daughter was touching, one of the few things that Jack had ever respected utterly. Their absolute faith in her and love for her had moved Jack. It was so far removed from his own upbringing. He had always felt his parents should have hired someone more impressive to fill his shoes. They occasionally mentioned that his expensive education had been ‘a waste.’ Never having made an effort at anything, he felt they would have preferred someone else. His mother’s reaction to his misdemeanours usually involved her snarling: ‘Nobody is to find out about this!’ His father would nod and take her side.

Elissa’s mother and father, Monika and Terry McArrigle, had given their daughter an all-embracing welcome twenty-seven years ago, and that embrace was as pure and affectionate today as it had been then. Monika had arrived in Ireland with her own parents from Poland when she was eight years old. She had learned English from other children. Elissa had been immersed in the Irish culture in school, but at home her parents were determined that she would maintain her connection with Monika’s heritage. She had become exceptionally close to them. Her mother taught her to cook Polish food. A Christmas Eve with red borsht and dumplings, were just as special and festive to Elissa as turkey with cranberry sauce and mince pies on Christmas Day. Her parents were like a stabilising force around her, a scaffolding that moved with her. Whether she was cooking or taking state exams, they proudly admired the way she did everything. If she made a mistake or even did something wrong, they seemed to dissociate the misdemeanour completely from Elissa Mae, attributing it to illness, stress, pressure, whatever ungodly forces were acting upon her psyche at the time. Jack’s parents had quite a different method of parenting. The judgemental and patronising Maeve had always compared Jack to his older brother Michael, and unfortunately for Jack, the comparison was never in his favour. Terry and Monika loved Elissa unconditionally and were always on her side. Maeve and Sean saw Jack as a flawed and boisterous child who tarnished the immaculate reputation of their wonderful Michael. They often felt Michael would have been even more successful should he not have been distracted by Jack, the troublesome one who always let the family down. Jack had tried for the early years, but few could compare favourably with Michael McClean. Completely deflated by his parents’ relentless criticism, by the age of ten he had decided both consciously and subconsciously that it was easier just to accept failure.

*

Another dreary week at McClean & Bristow began on a wet Monday morning. Jack’s brother and father silently noted his harrowed appearance. He’d had a virtually sleepless weekend, the days spent listening to Elissa’s phone ringing out and drinking strong coffee. He went into his office and tried to focus on the files sent to him in recent weeks, which he’d more-or-less ignored or bluffed about in reply. A few minutes later, he found himself perusing ‘Sports and Psychology: How to Win in the Field.’ It absorbed him completely. It made him feel comfortable that someone had put it all in print and given it a value.

A sharp knock on the door jolted him. Sean McClean, CEO of M&B and owner of more than half of the company, appeared in the doorway.

‘Hi Dad,’ muttered Jack.

‘We’ll expect you at the conference this weekend in the Trewallen Hotel. The accommodation is booked. The opening speech is at 6 pm Thursday. I wondered would you give the speech this year? It should be one of the family. You’re the only one who hasn’t done it.’ He looked expectantly at him. Then he added: ‘Elissa Mae can come to all the social parts of it.’ Jack began to wonder how he could get out of this. He knew very well that his mother and brother and a few of the senior staff at M&B would have been involved in allocating him the task of making the speech. They probably all thought it was time he started to do something to justify his six-figure salary. He had yet to find a part of his work that appealed to him. When he heard people say they loved their job or they had an aptitude for it, he couldn’t relate to them at all. His parents employed him believing he would find it impossible to hold down another job. The Bristow part had been bought out long ago, and McClean ownership stood at 100% with his father holding 51%. Senior staff were paid mainly on commission and bonuses with all expenses paid. Jack was paid a fixed exorbitant salary. Buying and selling stocks and shares and currencies kept the eighty-eight staff members of M&B focussed, with the exception of Jack. If anyone outside of the family had shown so little interest or expertise they would have been laughed at and let go. But instead Sean and Maeve McClean kept Jack on his astronomical salary and hardly mentioned him. His mother had been the one to outline his job description. He had to show up. He had to keep the same hours as the entire staff, although he was adept at curtailing his hours with very imaginative excuses. He was to dress appropriately and be courteous and respectful to everyone. As though he would be rude to someone. This had amused him at the time; did his mother think he was going to come in and hurl abuse at some naïve and timid actuary in the Statistical Analysis Department? Or put one of the secretaries through her paces about her typos or her choice of lipstick?

Now however, he had been in the job for six years. It really did seem that as soon as he had started, the recession reared its ugly head, and he occasionally wondered if he was a contributing factor. He knew this was a bizarre thought, although his mother would probably entertain that idea with a very open mind. How would he explain Elissa Mae’s absence from the conference social calendar? For now, he was feeling numb. He waited as long as he could, clearing his throat. Then he mumbled: ‘You know making speeches isn’t my area. Would Michael not do it?’ His father seemed to get even taller as he straightened and glared at him. ‘So, what exactly is your area?’ he asked. ‘Living the high life with an unemployed blonde? Michael does more work than anyone here; he’s a stalwart entrepreneur. His wife works almost fulltime too and is invaluable to the company. Their baby is due this weekend. And you’re the one who is late.’ He eyeballed his son. ‘Okay, okay, I’ll do it,’ stuttered Jack. He had actually forgotten completely that his brother’s first child was due. His father turned to close the door and then looked back. ‘You’d better smarten up your act in here and get on with your work. After all your education, it’s very disappointing. Tune in and start working hard. Or else you can go and look elsewhere for employment.’ Jack paled at the thought.

*

Barney Taggart sat looking at the candidate who had looked the most impressive on paper. Ms. Clarke had a very imploring face, with brown eyes that certainly had depth. Her dark hair was cut into a fringe that tried to soften her eyes, but he felt her shrewdness was still visible, in spite of her hairdresser’s best efforts. Her occasional huge smile however was a redeeming feature. Her personality was not something he could figure out. Still, she had graduated top of her class twice, once in her basic law degree, and then in her master’s in European Law. She had a master’s degree in Finance. She was also a qualified solicitor and she had an impressive record of winning cases, or so it seemed from her CV. Barney himself was master of the written word, and of the spoken word, and he knew how easy it was to create an impressive CV. However, this lady could back it up with very real certificates and references. Her mentors and employers as referees, read like Ireland’s Top Fifty Rich List. He smiled to himself thinking he might ask them for their autographs if he contacted them for references. Really there was no question: the pleasant young barrister from Killinderry was not in with a chance, and the new Director of Legal Affairs at McClean & Bristow was Ms. Antoinette Clarke.

Barney told the two candidates he would personally let them know if they had the position within a day or two, and he thanked them for attending the interview. He escorted them to the main door. As he walked back up the stairs, he met Jack.

‘Well, Jack,’ he said affably, but nonetheless taken aback by his haggard look. His first thought was that Jack hopefully hadn’t tried cocaine or some other such disastrous dalliance. ‘How’s things?’ he enquired gently. Barney had an amazing ability to be kind and popular with everyone who worked in M&B, but outside of this phalanx of financial wizards he kept his counsel and came across as being quite abrupt. Someone who was not in the family but who was one of the most senior people in the firm, was like a breath of fresh air to Jack. The fact that Barney treated him with the same respect as he showed everyone else in M&B flattered him. Barney loved the fact that Jack wasn’t mind-blowingly successful nor academic, and that he struggled. This made him an amazing find in the McClean family.

‘I’m okay thanks, Barney. And how are you?’ replied Jack.

‘You look a bit rough, if you don’t mind my saying,’ said Barney looking directly at him.

At a loss for words, Jack said: ‘Women trouble. You know yourself.’

Barney was relieved; he sounded genuine. ‘Really? I’m amazed. With a fine woman like Elissa Mae McArrigle I can tell you I wouldn’t be playing off-side.’ Both men became immediately uncomfortable and Jack’s heart lurched at the mention of Elissa’s name. He wasn’t aware that Elissa had made any impression on Barney until now, and it amazed him that he knew her full name. Barney clearly assumed he’d been having some sort of an affair. Jack couldn’t even begin to explain. In a bid to change the subject, he said: ‘You know they’ve landed me with the opening speech at this conference shindig.’ He rolled his eyes and grimaced. Barney smiled to himself at the M&B Conference in The Trewallan being referred to as a ‘Shindig.’

‘So I heard,’ he said, confirming that this had all been discussed at length. ‘You know I might be able to help you with that. We’re just hiring a new legal eagle who is apparently good with words. Will I ask her to help you formulate a whole new M&B Mission Statement for the speech?’ Jack felt a bit better. ‘Yeah, maybe,’ he said. ‘Okay,’ said Barney, ‘not a word to the Crew of the Mothership,’ and he winked at the code name he and Jack used for the McClean family members at the helm of M&B.

*

Elissa Mae McArrigle held her leather satchel as she battled against the cold sharp wind. She was crossing the tarmacadam of St. Clement’s Catholic Preparatory School in very inclement weather. Another teacher, Evelyn Costello, fell into step with Elissa. Both breathless, she said: ‘I hate to be late.’ Elissa glanced at her, a black bob framing a pretty face with bright grey eyes. Elissa wondered just how draconian the principal must be.

She quickened her pace further. It was her first day as a substitute teacher, covering a maternity leave. There was after all, a limit to how much time she could spend at home grieving the end of her most significant relationship to date. Right now, moving to a new house without over-exerting her father, and finding an affordable home in Dublin for herself, topped her list of priorities. She had made the embarrassing phone call to her aunt Lucy, who lived on the west coast, to ask if her parents could go and stay with her. Lucy had been saying for years that she was alone in her rambling house, with only the tourists for company, and would enjoy having them to visit. Also, Elissa had had to ask could she borrow Lucy’s minibus that she used to transport tourists from her B&B to the bus and train stations. She wished she could afford a removal company, but the minibus would work. She offered to travel to Galway and drive it up, then drive her parents to Galway, and catch a bus back to Dublin. Her aunt, sensing how bad things were for them, and the slightly hysterical desperation in Elissa’s voice, said it was high time she visited Dublin, and that nobody but herself could manage the clutch in the minibus. Lucy would come to their beautiful cosy two bed on Thursday evening and then she would bring her brother and sister-in-law home with her on Friday. ‘Rural Galway air and the spray from the Atlantic Ocean, work wonders for all respiratory illness,’ she had told Elissa. Sounding alarmingly like a quotation from Bórd Fáilte, it just made Elissa even more uneasy. Textbook style reassurances were quite unnerving. She knew then that Lucy understood that things were very bleak. She asked would Jack be there. Elissa answered, no, that she and her parents would see Lucy on Thursday. Then she knew she had made Lucy feel awkward, ashamed of her seeming intrusion. Coming off the phone, she made her way to the bathroom. She felt the need to be bone-thin and gently reached into her throat. The violent retching was awful, and it really didn’t have the intended effect of making her feel better. Maybe it calmed her nerves. Once her parents were gone on Friday morning, Elissa would have to meet the landlord and hand back the keys. This meant she had to find somewhere in Dublin to live, between this and then. She had managed to convince her parents she was thrilled to be house hunting. She had surprised herself by just how gushing and positive she could be about a dingy bedsit with a meter for gas and another one for electricity. Still, stressing her parents out about this was not an option, and her heart really was in their old home, sold long ago, which she hadn’t even seen for years. Eviction was harsh, however.

Evelyn Costello, a permanent and pensionable teacher at St. Clements, had a zest for life that carried her students through the learning process. She tried to introduce the children to all the things that would give them some social standing in life. She felt their parents, no matter how clever, were mostly uneducated and had never been taught anything that would instil self-respect. In telling the children all about the Renaissance, the history of Europe, the American Presidents, and countless civil wars, she hoped to bestow upon them enough pride and knowledge to rise above the social problems and chronic unemployment that ravaged the homes of her impressionable and eager young students.

She pulled open the heavy door. Having no idea where to go, Elissa was delighted to be in the company of another teacher, and she warmed completely to Evelyn. ‘I’m Elissa,’ she said, ‘I’m covering a maternity leave.’ ‘Oh, that’ll be Sandra! The baby is due any day now. I’m Evelyn by the way. You’ll have fourth class then. Some real characters in that class. I had them last year.’

Elissa replied: ‘Real characters might be a very welcome distraction for me right now. I’d rather that than overly pushy parents with high altitude ambitions for us all.’ Evelyn nodded. They walked towards a door marked ‘Staff’, and Evelyn paused, smoothed her hair, straightened her collar, said ‘I wish I could put on lipstick,’ and giggled. A slightly bewildered Elissa Mae followed her new colleague in. There, beside a surprisingly impressive coffee machine, stood the principal. Tall, broad, with bright blue eyes, sandy blonde hair, lightly tanned glowing skin and a lopsided smile, Elissa wondered could this man be her boss. She was immediately charmed by his seeming shyness and warmth. In one hand he had a mug and in the other a blue capsule of coffee. Now it was his turn to be bewildered. His smile became more intense then and he blushed slightly. ‘You must be one of the subs starting today.’ He seemed to be at a loss as to her name. ‘I’m Elissa Mae McArrigle,’ she said. ‘That’s right!’ he said, ‘you’re covering for Sandra Traynor. We have another sub starting today too.’ He seemed to proffer this as an apology for not knowing her name. ‘Coffee?’ he asked the two young teachers. ‘Yes, please,’ they replied. His mug had written on it: ‘If I can’t find True Love, I’ll settle for Lots of Money.’

‘This is my mug,’ he said. ‘Although Evelyn borrows it on Mondays. So, it’s Evelyn’s today. Unless the situation has changed?’ and he looked at Evelyn with a raised eyebrow.

‘I think I need to go back to the drawing board,’ she replied ruefully shaking her head. He made coffee for them, paying attention to sugar and milk, noting Elissa’s preferences. ‘What’s your name?’ asked Elissa, prompting a blushing reply. ‘Sorry, of course. I am Ben Clafferty, and you’ve met Evelyn, our esteemed colleague,’ and he winked. The door opened then, and other teachers wandered in. Everyone was in startlingly good form, considering it was a Monday morning. Elissa felt the first flush of happiness for months. It was most welcome. These people made her feel welcome. And Ben Clafferty was also just what she needed: a very attractive and unassuming man who would take her mind off Jack McClean, if nothing else. He was quite distracting, which was another plus. Whenever she felt nervous or shy, he just seemed to laugh and catch her eye and make some disarming comment. He lightened the mood.

A bell sounded and they stood up. ‘Is the other sub not here yet?’ he asked. Elissa pictured someone wandering lost in a maze of corridors. ‘Would they be about somewhere in the building?’ she asked. ‘I wouldn’t be here if Evelyn hadn’t intercepted me just inside the perimeter fence.’ Ben grinned. ‘Okay. We’ll search.’ Everyone walked out with purpose. Within thirty seconds, a Mrs. McLaren had located the missing teacher, Clara Hamill. She would apparently be tutoring those with learning difficulties or who were easily distracted, or who had no actual interest in learning. Ben apologised to her as they walked out, with Elissa in tow, claiming being new to the job gave him every excuse, and that he should have organised to meet her at the front door. Then Ben stood before the crowd. He held everyone’s attention with ease as he paused and there was no sound from the mass of children.

‘Today we welcome two new teachers to our school,’ he began. ‘Miss McArrigle and Miss Hamill. You should extend a great welcome to them both. We are lucky to have two such great additions to the school team.’ He paused. ‘If both Miss McArrigle and Miss Hamill inform me tomorrow morning that they were greeted with excellent behaviour and a keen interest in learning by everyone they encounter here today, I will give you all a free homework pass for tomorrow.’ The students cheered. When the noise died down, he continued: ‘If however, either of these teachers reports misdemeanours or bad behaviour of any sort, everyone gets an extra essay along with the usual homework. The essay will be called "Life Without Wi-Fi.’’ Some children gasped. He raised a hand to silence them. ‘The choice is yours,’ he said. ‘Let the verdict be a positive one for St. Clements. Now let’s start with silence as we go to our classrooms. I want everyone learning, listening and becoming better people, today. We will accept with gratitude the wonderful guidance of our teachers.’ He walked up to Elissa and asked her to wait. The children stood still. Then he went to Clara and asked another teacher to show her to her classroom, as they would be working in close quarters. He nodded to the children that they were to go to class. Silent lines went in various directions. He turned back to Elissa and walked with her, and a remarkably well-behaved class, to a bright airy classroom. A dream job for at least six months, with some 'real characters' was much more than she had thought was possible now, the stresses of recent weeks dissipating as she suddenly felt a touch of Spring in the air.

Chapter 2

Thursday seemed to loom in front of Jack, like a creature he feared but knew he would have to face. He slept as badly on Wednesday night as he had at the weekend. He kept trying to stop himself from remembering his best moments with Elissa. He wished he had held her hand more. She had seemed frail in recent times, like holding her hand would have somehow strengthened her. Her hands had been cold. This bothered him. He knew that if she was at the conference, Maeve would ignore her or be subtly offensive to her, depending on the company. It would certainly have been a tough weekend for her; she’d had little encouragement from the extended McClean family. When he thought about it, the focus had been so much more on his life and career, with little said about