Free It Was Only Ever You by Kate Kerrigan Page A

course. Their love was too strong. Nothing would stop them. But nonetheless it would taint the beauty of what they had. If they ran away and got married her parents would have no choice. They would have to continue as normal and, in time, they would come around to loving Patrick too. Rose knew it would all work out. It had to all work out, it was just a delicate situation and she knew she had to be clever about how she would make it all happen.
    ‘It sounds a lot simpler to me to just tell our families that we are doing a serious line...’ he said. ‘Besides, I hate all this creeping around, putting charcoal stains on your dress so your mother thinks you are drawing flowers – we’re not doing anything wrong.’
    Rose began to panic.
    ‘My father would be really upset,’ she blurted out, ‘because you are so much older than me. I am still his little girl and—’
    ‘—he’s afraid I’m not going to be a gentleman and that I’ll defile you.’
    Then he leant across and grabbed her by the waist. ‘Maybe he’s right about that too, aghrá!’ And he tickled her so hard that she dropped her pad, clutching at her skirt with her charcoal-covered hands and squealing with delight.
    Patrick settled his body in behind hers, putting his arms around her neck so that they hung, temptingly, in front of her breasts. ‘So that’s why I should go and talk to him,’ he said, kissing her neck and adding, ‘I can reassure him, tell him we’re serious. Tell him that we’re to be...’
    Patrick frightened himself, coming so close to saying the word ‘married’ out loud.
    Rose was happy that he had left the word hanging in the air. She turned around and sat, with crossed legs, facing him, patting down her skirt between her legs so that her pants weren’t visible, the light cotton tucked into the curve of her thighs.
    She said, ‘Let’s just keep it the way it is for now. I’ll be nineteen in a few months and, if they don’t push me into the convent in the meantime, we can talk about it then.’
    Patrick smiled and nodded. ‘Sure,’ he said.
    In truth, Patrick wasn’t ready to get married. To Rose or anyone. He was still waiting to see if his father could get him a job in the Foxford Woollen Mills so that he would have a steady enough income to help him pursue his singing career. Not that he had any idea how he might go about that. All he knew was that he could sing as well as John McCormack and everyone said he was as much of a fine thing as Elvis Presley. He had his regular gig in Ballina town hall playing the Saturday-night dances, which made him a big deal locally. But although his skiffle-playing friends were happy with that, Patrick dreamed of bigger things. The world was changing – Bill Haley and Jerry Lee Lewis had seen to that. In the past year, rock and roll had started to creep into the dance halls around Ireland. Even the priests had been powerless to stop the jiving, jitterbugging revolution. Everyone Patrick met told him that he was so good it was only a matter of time before he was ‘discovered’ and became a famous singer. Patrick always laughed off the accolades but, deep in his heart, it was what he wanted. At twenty-five he had finally come to realize that it wasn’t going to happen for him in Mayo. He had to get himself somewhere – London, Manchester, America, anywhere that he might be discovered. In reality, he had never travelled any further than Galway. His father said he didn’t have it in him and Patrick was starting to wonder if perhaps his father was right.
    Maybe it was the time just to bite the bullet and move away. Perhaps Rose was right and the move to Dublin wasn’t such a bad idea. He could pick up some casual building work, he was a decent enough carpenter when he wanted to be. Although where would they live? How would they live? A lot of lads went to London but he had never managed to scrabble together the fare. The Hopkins family had money. Perhaps her father could loan them