Love & The Goddess Read Online Free

pet food aisle, looking at food for a pet I
didn’t own. Instead of kitchen paper, I mistakenly pulled down a bag of disposable nappies. My heart sank as I registered this mocking reminder of my passing years. I suppressed an urge to
scream and hurl them down the aisle before a cheeky thought intervened to cheer me up. Maybe I should bring them to the checkout counter. That would really give the locals something to talk
about.
     

     
    It was clearly well known that Trevor had moved out, yet it didn’t stop some of his patients calling to my door “looking for the doctor” after hours. That was
the problem with being married to the only doctor in a small village, especially one held in such high esteem. Later that evening an old man arrived, puffing pipe smoke into my face as he spoke.
“As you know yourself, this house has been in Doctor Canavan’s family for three generations. I’m not taking no sides but I have to tell you the doctor’s family
wouldn’t be too pleased to have you staying on here.”
    His words rattled me. I closed the door as politely as I could without slamming it shut and collapsed against it, my back to the cool wood. I felt the tears pricking. I knew it would be foolish
of me to uproot my life in response to an old man’s ramblings, yet it felt like he was right. The house belonged to Trevor and I’d always felt it was only on loan to me. His family
might descend on me at any time, like praying mantises. He had offered me the Galway apartment, an investment property he had purchased in the Celtic Tiger years. Clearly he didn’t think he
had any chance of selling it for a profit now. And so why shouldn’t I live in it? I was beginning to think that it might be in my best interests to make a clean break from the small world of
the village and start my new life elsewhere.
     
     
     

Chapter Three
    T en days later, after a morning spent shopping for household essentials, I drove out along the coast road to Salthill, taking a right up
Taylor’s Hill. My apartment was in a restored former convent, elegant and stone-faced; set back off the road, it overlooked the promenade like an elderly aunt.
    Pulling into the hidden car park behind the building, I found James, my friend and colleague, had got there before me. He was leaning against his ancient blue Aston Martin, the back window of
which was piled high with last year’s lecture notes and tattered cookery books. As I got out, he came towards me, put his arms around me and hugged me close. I reached up on my tip toes into
his reassuring embrace. At least I still had one man in my life. Gulls squawked overhead and the westerly breeze carried the scent of seaweed from the beach.
    “How are you?” He relieved me of my shopping bag.
    “So-so.” I balanced my right hand like a weighing scales. “It’s still a bit of a muddle.”
    “Of course it is, but I have every faith in you building a wonderful new life for yourself.” He sounded very British. His eyes scanned the house with its tiered terraces and domed
Mansard roof. “I have to hand it to you, this is some building.”
    “It was an old convent, developed during the boom.” I squeezed his arm. “Thanks for coming over.”
    “Delighted, my dear. But you do realise now you’re living so close, you may never get rid of me?” He paused to exclaim over the fanlight and ornate stonework, as I turned the
key in the double glass doors. On the far side of the hexagonal atrium, floored in mosaic tiles, was another door of heavy mahogany which led into the entrance hall. James opened it for me, with a
flourish. His nose twitched as the scent of cooking greeted us. “Cloves. Someone’s baking apple tart. How delightful – you live in a communal kitchen.”
    I laughed. “That’s apartment living for you. Somebody on the first floor cooked a powerful curry last night.” I glanced up at the ornate glass roof, shielding my eyes from the
sunshine flooding down. Rows of