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“Not only that,” he said, arching a wry eyebrow. “I was left standing at the altar.”
I gasped, my eyes widening. “No!”
“Unfortunately, yes,” he said, frowning down at the menu and clearing his throat.
“When was this?”
“Almost ten years ago. Another lifetime. She, ah, she’d been seeing someone else. Not my best friend, but still, that didn’t make it hurt any less. I hadn’t a clue until she didn’t show up on our wedding day.”
My mind conjured an image of Jonathan, ten years younger than he was now, handsome and tall in a tux as he stood waiting at the altar for a bride who never came. My heart squeezed for him. “That must’ve been awful.”
“It was, but it also taught me not to be so naive in my relationships going forward.”
“So, a small silver lining, then?”
“Indeed,” Jonathan replied just as the waiter returned to take our order. I’d barely had a chance to study the menu. Back before I’d started taking my literacy classes, that situation might’ve had me breaking out in a cold sweat, but now I took it in my stride. I took my time reading the options while Jonathan ordered the smoked mackerel. It was a little stressful that most of the items had French names, but then I remembered a Croque-Monsieur was basically a fancy cheese and ham toastie.
I only recognised it because Marco made one for my lunch at the Connollys a few Fridays ago. Like all his food, it had been mouth-wateringly delicious. I confidently ordered one and closed the menu.
“So,” I said once the waiter left. “Tell me about our father.”
Jonathan pressed his lips together. “Similar to you, he wasn’t really a part of my life, though I do remember him being around a few times when I was very young.”
“You said his name was Gerard Murphy?”
“That’s right. He was seventy-four when he died, so he had a good innings.” He glanced out the window, lifting his glass for a sip as he muttered under his breath, “Probably didn’t deserve it.”
I couldn’t focus on the muttered statement because I was too busy fixating on the first part of what he said. I mentally calculated the age difference between Gerard and my mam. She was seventeen when she got pregnant with me. That meant my father was in his forties at the time. Suddenly, I felt ill.
“Maggie, are you okay?” Jonathan asked.
“My mother was a teenager when I was born. Gerard would’ve been in his forties.”
“Christ,” Jonathan said, dragging his hand down his face as his expression sobered. “I knew he was a bastard, but I didn’t know he was that much of a bastard.”
My thoughts raced as I struggled to imagine the situation that might’ve brought them together. It certainly wasn’t a conventional relationship, if it even was any kind of relationship at all and not just sex. My stomach twisted thinking I might be the result of something rather dark and sordid. Was that why Mam turned out the way she did? No, Gerard’s name was on my birth certificate, so it couldn’t have been rape. But there were certainly other scenarios that weren’t much better.
“Did your mother speak of him much?”
Jonathan’s expression darkened. “Yes. According to Mam, Gerard was incredibly charming and handsome. He was also a profligate gambler, but she didn’t find that out until much later. Mam came from a respectable middle-class family, and her parents didn’t approve of Gerard, but that only made her want him more, of course. Before long, she was pregnant, and they were due to be married, but then Gerard’s gambling debts had dangerous people coming looking for him, so he fled the country. Mam was heavily pregnant, and all on her own. She had to return to her family, but luckily, they were good people and took her back in. She didn’t see Gerard again for a few years. He’d turn up every once in a while, claiming to have changed, that he wanted to be a part of our lives, but it only ever lasted for a few weeks before he disappeared again.”
I sent him a sympathetic look. “It sounds like I was better off never knowing him.”
Jonathan sighed. “Maybe you were.”
“And your mam,” I said, remembering what Therese mentioned about Jonathan falling out with her. “Do you see her much?”
A shadow passed behind his eyes. “No, unfortunately, she married someone else a number of years ago, and I couldn’t bring myself to give her my blessing.”
I frowned. “Why not?”
He sighed. “Some people just choose the same kind of wrong partner every time, and this bloke was just another Gerard Murphy in my opinion. She disagreed, and I was uninvited from the wedding.” He gave a shrug. “I’ve made my peace with it.”
Had he, though? There was a note of grief in Jonathan’s voice that told me he might not be as at peace with it as he claimed. I thought of him, with a mother who chose the man in her life over her own son and having been left at the altar by a cheating fiancée. I didn’t have experience with the latter, but I certainly had experience of the former.
