Cross the Line
Part Thirteen

Naomi felt as though the rug had been pulled from under her as she watched the two people smooching and hugging in a bordering on obscene way. And they looked almost perfect together. Orla was one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen, and Conor complimented her perfectly. A pain lanced at her chest, and that only worsened as she noticed the look of pity aimed in her direction from those who spotted her stood momentarily in the doorway. Taking a few deep breaths she staved off the tears of humiliation that threatened to fall, and she hated him with every ounce of her being. She may have only been there as a front, as a fake girlfriend, but that didn’t mean she deserved the piteous looks from his family and friends, or to be the subject of the awkward tension that had descended over the ballroom.

Nodding in an enigmatic way, she walked back out of the door. The air had cooled suddenly, almost as though nature had picked up on the awkwardness of everything and she shivered slightly as she made her way down from the terrace to the path that led around the castle to the reception, it was a longer route, and it was a cold evening, but she couldn’t face going back in the ballroom. Sighing her angry march dropped to a defeated slower walk, she wanted to cry, she should have left earlier, it was late now, she knew she couldn’t get away, not this evening, but she’d leave the castle as soon as she feasibly could.

Like a naughty schoolgirl, she skulked back to her room trying to be as invisible as she could. But a few pitiful eyes did cast a glance at her. In the room she slumped onto the bed. She had two options, to try and leave now, or book a separate room and then get out as soon as she could in the morning. Changing rapidly into jeans and a t-shirt, she packed a small bag with her essentials, that bastard could deal with the rest, then headed for reception.

But it was back to the drawing board as she stood at the desk being told by the receptionist that the castle was full, there were no spare rooms, in a rather unhelpful manner. Suddenly it was all too much and she felt exhaustion and tears take over her.

                “Can I help at all?” Turning she found Patrick, looking charming and smiling beside her.

Naomi shrugged, “I need to get to the airport.”

He sighed, “Now?” She nodded, “I shouldn’t...”

She looked at him pleadingly, “I can’t get a room for myself, and this lovely lady,” she nodded in the direction of the decidedly jobs-worth receptionist, “has informed me I won’t get a taxi before tomorrow morning.”

                “What are you running from?” his gaze was intense and there was a certain innocence in his question.

Naomi shrugged, “Are you seriously the only person didn’t witness me walking in to the ballroom just now? Conor draped all around his ex-wife. What am I running from? Take your pick, being ritualistically humiliated? A disastrous date? Maybe committing murder. I hate him but I don’t want to serve twenty years in prison for that!”

He shook his head, hiding his surprise at the level of her anger, “you both look good together, happy, natural. I’ve never seen Con so relaxed.”

                “You obviously weren’t just in that room? Cos he made a damn god job of looking relaxed with the woman he perpetually insists he hates.” She shook her head in amazement. “Look! Can you drive me to the airport or am I walking?” She was angry now, he wasn’t listening to anything she was saying, he wasn’t thinking of the embarrassment she’d suffered, how Conor was draped around his ex-wife. It was all so ugly, and painful.

He shrugged, “if that’s where you want to go. If you’re sure?”

Naomi nodded with enthusiasm, “I’ve never been more sure. I need to leave now.”

Ignoring the signs of the tears that had earlier ravaged her face threatening to return, he led her out to the car park. Opening the door to his car, he waited until she was sat before crossing to the driver door and sliding in next to her; he turned to Naomi and said, “Conor asked me to take you wherever you wanted to go. He doesn’t want to see you stranded.”

She froze for a moment, then taking a deep breath she turned to him slowly, “You kid yourself that he’s THAT considerate! If he hadn’t been such a bastard I wouldn’t have to leave, I’d be with him! The man is a huge ego and to be totally honest, at this moment I hate him!”

Patrick’s smile oozed sarcasm, “It didn’t look like that from where I was standing.”

She shrugged, “looks can be deceiving. And forgive me for falling for his schmooze! I’m not alone it that, it seems. I liked him, a lot, but to be honest things change. He’s like Jekyll and Hyde, one minute a gentleman, the next a monster. I’m here to help him out, and when he fucks up, he can’t even be bothered to organise what happens to me himself, he sends his lackey to spirit me away!”

Sighing he offered a wry grin, “Conor is one of the most genuine and decent people I know, if you want to slate him then you’ll have to have evidence to back it up I’m afraid.”

Her glare at him was incredulous, “I don’t care Patrick! What does it matter? I’ll never see you again! I just want to go home.” All the fight had gone from her, she couldn’t be bothered to even question his loyalty to a man who’d behave the way he had.  

“Last night, and today you two looked besotted, I haven’t seen him so happy in years.” He made a final attempt at making things right.

 “He’s only besotted with himself Patrick. He used me, took advantage, just as he always has.” She closed her eyes in anger then, this was useless.

                 “Do you honestly think he’d dance with her by choice? He’s paranoid about her, she’s a drama queen. This is Michael’s day; he doesn’t want her to ruin that. You have to understand that. A marriage cynic, he bankrolled this wedding, he's wishing Michael all the happiness that he didn't have. That takes a special sort of man!”

Naomi was starting to get angry, she didn't need to hear what a commendable man he was, she wasn't interested, there were cold hard facts. "HE WAS DRAPED AROUND HER,” she sighed calming her anger, “and she was draped around him, it bordered on obscene. You can defend him all you like, but I’m out Patrick, and I want to go home.”

Patrick turned in the seat to look at her, “there’s something you should know. For all he may have told you, he has never brought another woman home here since his divorce, he’s endured the family’s sympathy, matchmaking, everything. If he was just interested in using someone, he’d have done this before. Brought someone else home. Why don’t you just talk to him?”

She shrugged, “Talk? Well he’d have to get out of that bubble of denial he lives in first...oh and disengage his body from that of his model-esque ex-wife! Have you any idea how hard it is to see them like that? She’s beautiful!”

                “She’s a bitch!” He snapped almost angrily, “he’s not very good with emotions and relationships, he’d put so much into his marriage. How he survived I’ll never know.” The other man sounded wistful and it peaked her interest slightly.

                “Survived what?” Despite herself she had to ask. Had to get to the bottom of all this.

Patrick grinned as Naomi fell for his deliberately laid bait, “Hasn’t he told you about Orla? About all that happened?”

Naomi shrugged, “he only tells me what he feels I need to know, so I know he was married, it ended. That’s about it.”

                “God he’s in a worse state than I imagined!” He raked his fingers through his hair in a distressed manner. “Naomi, he threw Orla out four years ago, she’d just had a baby, he never said that the baby was why he married her, but she was never his type and she was pregnant before they’d finished their honeymoon. He barely courted her, which isn’t him either.” He sighed, “Their baby Tom, was born with heart problems, poor Con, he spent days just sat beside his incubator, it was almost Christmas and the weather was bad. Little Tom needed a blood transfusion, but the roads were blocked and they had no local supplies. Orla was still home ‘recovering’, so Conor offered his own blood. Any father would.”

Naomi was immediately hooked, feeling devastation for Conor that he had to see a child suffer, but as she reeled at these revelations, she also sensed there was not a great ending to this story and she gulped rather awkwardly, “of course.”

Patrick agreed, “Only he wasn’t the father.”

                “What?!” She sat bolt upright and stared at him.

Sighing he turned to look at her, “He wasn’t a match, and that meant he couldn’t be the biological dad. I’m no doctor, but they said it was a biological impossibility that he was the father.” Patrick looked up to the rood of the car for a moment. “But three days later he was still by the baby’s bedside and he held him as he took his last breath.”

Her heart stopped, “oh my god!” her hand covered her mouth. “Poor Conor!”

Patrick touched her arm, “Orla,” he spat the word out, “she spent the whole time at home, she never set eyes on the baby once she knew he was ill, imperfect. He’s not been keen on commitment since, which is why everyone has been so happy to see you here with him.”

 Naomi could feel the tears rolling down her face as she felt physical pain on his behalf. How had he ever survived such a horrendous time? “But he was dancing with her...”

                 “Do you think a man like him would still love a woman like her? He feels guilty and obligated as he introduced her to his family, and he always goes the extra mile when it comes to his family.”

                 “But he didn’t tell me, didn’t warn me, putting his family first hurt me. How can I put up with that? He doesn’t trust me.”

                 “He only trusts a few.”

 She sighed, “after Orla...” 

The look in Patrick’s eyes was enough, she knew Conor, she’d grown to know him over the last few months, he wasn’t a cad. This must’ve killed him, he’d never like or trust Orla again. Patrick then explained that Conor disappeared for over a year, people barely heard from him, and he threw his career away. It was only really Simon’s injury that had dragged him away from his retreat, the denial he lived in. 

 “Oh Conor!” her voice was a hoarse whisper. She couldn’t even begin to imagine the trauma he’d suffered.  

Patrick half smiled, telling her this had been a huge risk, and he knew that Conor wouldn’t be exactly ecstatic with him. But this was a desperate time and it had called for desperate measures. Sometimes his friend didn’t know what was good for him. And he’d hardly disown him after thirty years. “If you hated him you wouldn’t be this upset. Can’t you just understand, give him a chance? Please go and talk to him, don’t throw this away. If he still acts like a tool then I’ll drive you wherever you want to go, after I kill him, of course!”

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