How would her husband feel about having another child? How would Melissa feel? She might be highly miffed to have a new arrival. And they’d have to move. The penthouse was big, but for four of them? Aimee frowned. Her guest room would have to go.
What was she thinking? Making plans as if she was going to keep it. It was very early days yet. She had options. No one would know if she decided to have a termination. Why should she have to have a baby she didn’t want? Having a baby now would be a seismic shift in her life, a shift she didn’t want. Men were so bloody lucky. They never had to deal with consequences like this; it was always the woman left holding the baby, literally. Aimee was pretty sure Barry would be horrified if he knew what she was thinking. A jagged stab of guilt assailed her. This child was his as well as hers. By rights he should have some say. But by whose rights? What about her rights? She wanted to yell, frustration, rage and despair welling up. So many women wanted to have children and couldn’t and, now, here she was, saddled with one she didn’t have any desire for. She wasn’t maternal. She was the first to admit it. When she’d had Melissa she’d blithely assumed she would cope fine. She’d never forget the terror of those first few months, every time Melissa cried – and cried she had. She’d been a colicky baby, and Aimee had been convinced she was poisoning her. Fear had been her constant companion. Was she feeding her enough or too much? Had she a temperature and was she ailing, or was she just hot? Were yellow poos normal? Was the rash on her scalp normal? It had been totally nerve-wracking and she had been on edge until Melissa was well into toddlerhood. She’d tried not to compare herself to other mothers who seemed to cope so efficiently and without worrying. All Aimee had wanted to do was to get back to work, keep her head down and let the crèche deal with all the problems.
For the first time in her life, Aimee realized how good it would be to have someone she could talk with about her dilemma. Now was the time when a friend would be someone to lean on and confide in. And the one person she knew she could have done that with and not been judged or criticized would have been Gwen Larkin, one of her oldest friends. Unfortunately, they’d had a fairly nasty falling-out the day of Debbie’s wedding.
Aimee chewed the inside of her lip. Gwen was right to be annoyed with her, she admitted grudgingly. Aimee had treated her badly, pretending she hardly knew her so she wouldn’t have to introduce her to Roger O’Leary, but she had looked a sight, with her hair falling out of the comb at the back of her head and her wearing a wrinkled jacket and shabby jeans. And her two kids squabbling. Aimee had been in full career-woman mode that day, dressed to the nines and in killer heels, for the wedding. Her affluent and well-connected client would have had good cause to wonder what sort of set Aimee mixed with had she introduced him to Gwen. Aimee had said hello, and said she’d ring some time. Gwen wasn’t a fool, she must have known Roger was a client and that Aimee was talking business with him.
Her friend really had taken the hump. There was no need for her to have turned on her the way she did, and in front of Connie and Debbie, even if she did feel hard done by. Aimee’s cheeks burned at the memory. It had been mortifying. Gwen had been like a little fishwife, practically screeching with temper and accusing her of all kinds of things.
Aimee straightened her shoulders and strode down to the lounge. She didn’t need Gwen, or Barry, or anyone. She could deal with her problem herself. And deal with it she would, once this meeting with Roger and his colleagues was over.
MELISSA
‘Oh crap! Quick, it’s Nerdy Nolan. Go into the bookshop,’ Melissa Adams urged her friend Sarah as they dawdled along, taking a short cut through the shopping centre on their way to McDonald’s.
They hastened through the entrance of Dubray bookshop, hoping against hope that their classmate hadn’t seen them. They couldn’t stand Evanna Nolan, one of the class swots, who looked down her pointy, pimply nose at them. She was a gangly beanpole with straight, greasy black hair who liked to think of herself as an intellectual, and Melissa and Sarah had been the victim of several of her acerbic put-downs in the past but, since she’d had a row with her best friend and fellow swot, Niamh Sampson, in a school debate discussing the literary merit of Jane Austen, she wasn’t quite so superior and had, in fact, on the few occasions they’d bumped into her around Dun Laoghaire, been cloyingly saccharine, which was most disconcerting.
‘Do you think that she thinks we’re nerdy enough to be friends with her now that she and Turdy Sampson have had a row and she’s got no one to hang with?’ Sarah agonized as they hastened behind a book stack, hoping against hope that Evanna would keep going.
‘Bloody hell, how majorly gross is that? You can’t be serious!’ Melissa exclaimed, aghast. It would be social suicide to be associated with Nerdy Nolan and her set. Keeping in with the cool crowd in their class was of the utmost importance if their school days were not to become a worse nightmare than they already were.
Melissa sighed deeply. It was so hard having to put on a bright, bubbly, confident façade when all the time she was petrified she and Sarah would be edged out and become social outcasts. They were barely on the periphery as it was. She wished mightily that her school days were over. The only small comfort she had was that she’d survived her first year in secondary school, and her first year as a teenager. When she went back to school in September, she’d be in second year and fourteen to boot. Fourteen seemed a hell of a lot older than thirteen.
It would be a lot different going back to school in the autumn. She wouldn’t be a new girl, plus she’d be thinner, because she was already losing weight, having heard herself described as a little fat tart at her half-sister Debbie’s wedding. Pink scorched her cheeks at the memory. That had ruined what had been the very best day of her life. Until that moment she’d actually felt completely happy. It was the first time she could ever remember having such an amazing feeling, and then that horrible drunk girl had ruined everything with her vicious remark. Who is that little fat tart? It haunted her. It took the good out of her life. It made Melissa painfully aware of every fat flaw.
‘Oh no! She’s heading our way,’ Sarah groaned as Evanna pushed open the door and walked purposefully in their direction.
‘Hi, guys. How are things? Melissa, what a seriously cool top.’ She beamed at them as though they were her very best friends. Insincerity was Evanna’s stock in trade.
What a brown-noser, Melissa thought in disgust, privately vowing never to wear her top again. If Evanna Nolan thought it was cool, it was seriously flawed.
‘Hi, Evanna,’ she murmured. Sarah ignored Evanna and kept flicking through a book she’d picked up.
‘What are you reading, Sarah?’ Evanna inquired, keeping her smile pasted to her face.
‘A book,’ Sarah said coolly. She wasn’t willing to forget being called a philistine because she’d got mixed up during a school quiz and lost valuable points because she’d answered Keats instead of Wordsworth when asked who had written ‘Ode to Daffodils’.
‘I can see that.’ The smile was starting to slip, but Evanna persevered. ‘What book?’
‘It’s called The Power of Now, by Eckhart Tolle,’ Sarah said airily.
‘Totally never heard of him,’ Evanna declared dismissively.
‘Really? He’s like a world-renowned sage and mystic. He writes about how authentic human power is found by surrendering to the Now.’ Sarah eyeballed Evanna, while Melissa tried to hide a smirk.
Evanna was gobsmacked. ‘Didn’t know you were interested in stuff like that, it sounds totally like gobbledy-gook to me,’ she rallied.
‘It takes a certain questioning mindset to appreciate it,’ Sarah sniffed.
‘Oh, I’m sure. I just didn’t think that would be your kind of thing.’ Evanna smiled sweetly.
‘There’s more to life than Ross O’Carroll-Kelly, Evanna,’ Sarah remarked pointedly, seeing the popular read poking out of her classmate’s tote bag.
Evanna blushed to her roots. Ross O’Carroll-Kelly was fa
r from literary, and to be caught reading him was totally mortifying. ‘Oh, isn’t it a hoot?’ she twittered. ‘Have you read it?’ She turned to Melissa.
‘No,’ fibbed Melissa. ‘Not my type of book.’ Evanna blushed again, raging at having been caught reading a tome that was even worse than chick lit.
‘So, what are you guys doing for the rest of the day?’ asked Evanna brightly, changing the subject.
‘Chilling on my balcony after we have lunch,’ Melissa retorted.
‘Savage, I’ve never seen the view from your balcony, I’d say it’s awesome,’ Evanna gushed.
‘Yep it is,’ Melissa agreed.
‘So where are you going for lunch?’
Sarah flashed a warning glance at Melissa.
‘Oh . . . umm, haven’t quite decided. We might just pick up a take-out and eat al fresco at mine.’
‘Sounds perfect for a day like today. Why don’t I join you?’ Evanna suggested.
Melissa was shocked at how blatantly pushy she was. ‘Oh—’
‘We’re not quite sure exactly what we’re doing yet,’ Sarah interjected. ‘I’ve to buy some bits and pieces for my mum first. See you around, Evanna.’ She put Eckhart Tolle back on his shelf, grabbed Melissa by the arm and edged away as though the other girl was suffering from a particularly virulent form of plague. ‘Is she for real?’ she muttered as they hurried out of the bookshop. ‘If she was still friends with Turdy Sampson she wouldn’t even bother to say hello to us. Did you hear her inviting herself up to your place?’
‘I know.’ Melissa shook her head. ‘You handled it really well. How did you know all that stuff about that book by that Ekkey fella?’
‘I read it on the back of it.’ Sarah giggled.
‘I loved the “questioning mindset” bit. Did you see the look she gave you? Good buzz, you big spoofer.’ Melissa chortled.
‘Yeah, it was good, wasn’t it?’ grinned Sarah. ‘Let’s go and have a Big Mac and go and flop on the balcony for the afternoon. We’ve had a lucky escape. If she starts hanging around us in school, we’ve like totally had it.’
‘I know,’ Melissa agreed glumly as they made their way out on to the street. ‘We’ll just have to do our best to ignore her.’
An hour later, Melissa stood in the bathroom of the penthouse she lived in. Sarah was draped on a lounger outside reading OK. Melissa’s heart pounded. This was her first time, and she knew she was crossing a line that could lead to trouble if she was not very careful.
‘I’ll only do it when I eat junk,’ she promised herself, kneeling down in front of the toilet and opening her mouth. She felt sick just thinking about making herself sick. How could girls do it five and six times a day? She hated getting sick. But she’d just stuffed herself with a large portion of fries, burger, ice cream and Coke, enough to pile on the precious pounds she’d lost since the wedding.
She dithered, and then thought of those horrid words that were seared in her brain: ‘Who is that little fat tart?’ The words that had ruined the best day of her life.
It was enough. She shoved her fingers down her throat and puked.
When it was over she stood up and wiped her mouth. She caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her eyes were unnaturally bright, her cheeks were red. Melissa felt strangely exhilarated. She’d done it. She’d taken that first step. She knew two girls who were anorexic. She’d watched them fade to nothing before they were hospitalized. One was even being force fed through a tube up her nose. She wasn’t going to end up waxy as a candle, emaciated, hollow-eyed and gaunt. She just wanted to lose a stone and a half, and then she’d stop.
She wouldn’t be like the lollipop heads. She’d stay in control. She would be in charge of IT. IT would never control her, she vowed as she flushed the toilet and made her way out to join her best friend.
JUDITH
Judith Baxter lay drowsing against her pillows as the sun emerged in a shaft of piercing light from behind a drift of clouds. It shone in through the hospital windows, bathing her in unwelcome brightness. Its intensity woke her, and she sighed deeply.
She was tired and sore, the effect of the painkillers having worn off earlier, and she wasn’t due any more medication for another hour. Judith struggled out of the rumpled iron-framed bed and padded over to the window to pull down the blind. She stared out the window, glad that she had a room with a view. She was several floors up, and the panorama across the suburbs to Howth and the sea was remarkable.
She paused for a moment to study the SeaCat gliding across the glassy sea, many miles away. And it seemed, as it glided along the horizon, to sail into the sky. Usually, this optical illusion fascinated her, but today she had a headache and was restless and agitated. She was itchy all over, and she knew, because the nurses had told her, that she was having morphine withdrawal.
She was hot, bothered and irritable. She did not need a scorching sun mocking her. It was bad enough that her body was crocked, her car was a write-off, and she’d had to endure a week of sharing a ward with other patients, half of them elderly, who snored, groaned and rang their bells for nurses throughout the night so that she’d hardly had a wink of sleep.
‘Stop giving out,’ she muttered as she pulled down the blind with her uninjured hand and grimaced as a pain shot through her neck and shoulders. Her right arm was encased in a plaster cast, her neck in a brace, and her skin itched inside them. But at least she’d finally got a private room, and it was a huge relief to close the door on the madness and noise and controlled chaos of the busy teaching hospital she was in.
It was bliss to be alone and silent. Her previous ward had rarely had moments of silence. Patients came and went. Technicians came to collect blood; there was always some doctor or other trailing a bunch of students, doing rounds. Visitors seemed to come all hours; visiting times were not strictly enforced. Did hospital managements not realize how wearing it was on patients to have people in and out, even during meal times? There were patients who’d been woken at 6 a.m. You could never rest or sleep without some disturbance or other.
Her mother, Lily, had been meticulous about leaving at the designated times, and Judith was very grateful for it. Lily had shown a kindness and thoughtfulness that Judith had never thought her capable of. Her mother’s behaviour was a revelation.
She settled back into bed, trying to regain her previous state of lethargy. Sleep was so precious and gave her such relief from her pain and all her worries. She took the sleeping tablets they offered her each night and would fall asleep relatively quickly, only to wake a couple of hours later twisting and turning, trying to find a comfortable position and longing for her next dose of painkillers.
At least when she was in the coma she hadn’t been in pain, and she’d had no worries. All she could remember of her days then was a fleeting memory of peacefulness.
Sometimes she wished she hadn’t come out of it.
Judith sighed. That was an ungrateful thing to say. Her life had been spared. She could have been killed in the accident that had mangled her car beyond recognition.
Her gaze alighted on the mass bouquet Lily had brought her, and she rummaged under her pillow for the small, round, glass-encased angel that fitted in her palm. Lily had bought it for her and pressed it into her hand, saying earnestly that the angels were minding her. Judith wasn’t sure she believed in God or religion any more and, these days, she certainly didn’t believe in the mercy of God, but the little angel her mother had given her gave her some small comfort.
It was strange, she reflected: the old saying that every cloud has a silver lining was certainly true for her mother. Who would believe that Lily, the nervy, dependent, fearful woman of yore, was now staying in the house on her own, doing her own shopping, hopping on buses to visit Judith in hospital and rediscovering what it was like to live a normal life again? Until the accident, Lily would go nowhere without Judith. She wouldn’t go to mass, she wouldn’t go to the shops, she wouldn’t visit her sister unless Judith drove her. She would
n’t dream of spending a night alone in the house, petrified she’d be burgled. It had been so binding for Judith. She’d felt like a carer, despite the fact that her mother was perfectly healthy, apart from her ‘nerves’.
If only Lily had found her courage years ago, life would have been so different for her and Judith. Judith tried to swallow the bitterness that engulfed her. It was too late for her now to have a family of her own. And what man would be interested in a fifty-year-old crock? She was stuck on the shelf, still living at home with her elderly mother, with not much to look forward to except trying to take an early retirement from work in ten years’ time.
What had she done in her life that was so awful that she was now being so horribly punished? Judith pondered, taking a sip of lukewarm 7UP. She’d looked after her sick father and, then, when he died, gone back to live with her mother. Surely she deserved some sort of reward from on high and not another massive kick in the solar plexus.
‘Thank God you survived,’ her mother had said fervently several times since she’d come out of the coma.
‘Thank God nothing,’ she’d wanted to retort. ‘Why did He let me crash in the first place?’
She rolled the little angel in her palm. Lily had told her she’d discovered an angel shop in Finglas, just across from her optician’s, when she’d gone to get a new pair of glasses after accidentally standing on her other pair. ‘Oh Judith, it’s a lovely little shop. I’d love you to see it some time,’ she’d enthused as she’d sat beside Judith’s bed, knitting blankets for children in Africa.
Happy Ever After Page 3