Happy Ever After

by Patricia Scanlan

  Ken cursed viciously as spits of oil spattered his expensive grey suit after he’d cracked two eggs into the pan. This was indefensible. Juliet was behaving totally out of character and in a most spiteful and disgusting way. What had got into her? Her menopause was over. She couldn’t blame that. She looked healthy; he didn’t think she was sickening for anything. Was this all because he hadn’t come to her silly art exhibition? If that was all she had to worry about in life, wasn’t she damn lucky, he thought angrily, as he buttered a couple of slices of bread. How did he deal with this . . . this defiance . . . he wondered? It was something new to him. He wasn’t used to being defied and dismissed. No one had ever treated him with such disrespect before. Juliet was the last person he would have expected to behave so unspeakably. He was at a loss.

  Ken cursed again as he broke the yoke of the first egg when he flipped it over. The sooner his wife came back to her senses the better. And he would have to make it abundantly clear that, in future, throwing tantrums was just not acceptable.

  God, he felt dog rough, and he smelt pretty iffy too. Bryan shifted on the sofa and winced as a beam of light sliced through the blinds, causing him serious difficulties. He should have just stuck to the coke – he’d been up, ready for anything, the life and soul of the party; coming down with pot had been a mistake, big time. He glanced at his watch and groaned when he saw the time. Twelve fifteen, Debbie would have a fit. It was a wonder she hadn’t been calling him on his mobile. Maybe she had and he hadn’t heard it.

  He slid it out of his jacket pocket and was surprised to see that he hadn’t had any missed calls, and neither were there any messages. She must really be in a snit and rightly so, he thought guiltily. He’d behaved like a total prat. Spent a fortune on drugs, crashed out on a mate’s sofa, like he was some idiot twenty-year-old.

  He strained to see the keys on his BlackBerry and tapped out a text message to her. He needed to cop on to himself. He wasn’t being very fair to Debbs. They were married now, and this wasn’t the way to treat her, he chastised himself silently. That was it; he wasn’t going on a bender again for the next six months at least. He must have spent at least 500 euro last night, trying to keep up with Kev and the others, he remembered, utterly dismayed. Five hundred smackers out of his salary, and a maxed-out Visa card and a multitude of bills unpaid. Debbie probably wouldn’t talk to him for a week.

  Bleary-eyed, he gazed around the lounge. There were bottles everywhere, and the remnants of an Indian takeaway lay strewn on the low glass coffee table. The stale smell of pot hung stagnant, wreathed around him in a taunting reminder of his folly.

  There was no sound other than the muted clamour of the traffic on the quays below and a rumbling snore from somewhere across the room. Bryan peered around and saw that some guy was asleep in one of the recliner chairs by the window.

  He moved his tongue around his mouth. He was parched. He heaved himself off the sofa and made his way out to the kitchen, which was in an even worse state than the lounge. Half-empty takeaway cartons littered the island and countertops. Beer bottles, champagne bottles, cans, soggy green garlic bread and dried-up olives. He opened the massive double-door fridge, took out a litre of Tropicana and drank it straight from the carton. The chilled liquid revived him somewhat, and he took a couple of slices of smoked salmon from a plate and ate them hungrily. He took another slug of orange juice, wiped his hands on some kitchen roll and walked out into the hall.

  The door to the master bedroom was ajar, and he could see Kev and a naked blonde sprawled across the massive bed, asleep. His house would fit in the shagger’s bedroom, he thought enviously, as he walked further down the hall to the bathroom. It was only after he’d had a slash and was washing his hands that he realized that a pale-faced redhead was asleep in the bath, wrapped in a duvet. She opened her eyes and tried to focus. ‘No worries,’ he said hastily, closing the door behind him. He heard her begin to puke noisily and was mightily relieved she hadn’t done it while he was there. He let himself out and took the lift to the foyer, feeling grubby and grotty. Maybe the smoked salmon hadn’t been a great idea, he thought, as the air hit him and nausea swept over him. He swallowed hard. But it was no use. He knew he was going to barf. He managed to make his way down a small lane and was wretchedly sick. Definitely the last time, he swore as he straightened up. It wasn’t worth it. A rat scarpered out from behind a pile of rubbish sacks, and he shuddered. He took a few deep breaths and emerged back on to the quays, feeling decidedly ropey. He needed to cross the river and go and collect his car from the car park at work. Then he’d better get home and face the music. Debbie hadn’t answered his text. He was in the doghouse for sure.

  ‘I used to think you were real stuck up,’ Melissa confided as she and Debbie walked from Sandymount Dart station to the small cul-de-sac of townhouses where Debbie and Bryan lived.

  ‘I used to think you were a spoilt brat.’ Debbie grinned. ‘And now look at us, getting on like a house on fire. Much to the relief of our dad and my mum. I’m sorry it took so long, but better late than never.’

  ‘It’s nice having a sister,’ Melissa remarked, following Debbie down the small path to her front door. ‘Although my friend Sarah is like a sister to me too.’

  ‘Yeah. My cousin Jenna is like my sister, that’s why I asked her to be my bridesmaid—’

  ‘Jenna’s my cousin too,’ Melissa reminded her.

  ‘Oh yeah, she’s Dad’s niece. I forgot. It’s a bit weird, all these relationships.’ Debbie led the way in, just as her phone buzzed.

  ‘Got a text, it’s probably from Bryan. Let’s have a cup of coffee while we’re looking at the photos,’ she suggested. ‘I’ll switch on the computer and bring them up and I’ll put the kettle on while you’re looking at them.’

  ‘Cool,’ agreed Melissa. ‘Nice house, Debbie.’

  ‘It will be nice when we do it up. It needs redecorating.’ Debbie grimaced as she brought the younger girl into the dining room cum study. She switched on the computer and clicked on to the photos icon. ‘There you go. I’ll be back in a sec.’

  She went back into the kitchen and took her phone out of her bag. The message was from her mother to say how much she’d enjoyed their coffee earlier and to say how happy she was that she’d invited Melissa home. Debbie smiled. Connie was great. A really loving and supportive mother. She saw that there was another message in her inbox from earlier. She mustn’t have heard it come through while she was on the Dart. It was from Bryan and had been sent in the last twenty minutes.

  Sorry Debbs. I’m a prat. Going 2 collect the car and will b home then. B x

  ‘I won’t argue with that,’ she muttered, but she was glad to know he was up and about. She always worried when he was taking drugs. She’d seen friends end up in A&E, and she always had a fear that it would happen to Bryan some time, although he pooh-poohed her fears.

  And at least he knew he was a prat, so maybe, now, having got it out of his system, he might knuckle down and start getting their finances back on track. She’d just play it cool when he came home, no recriminations, no nagging, but if he pulled a stunt like this again, he was in for the ear-bashing of his life.

  She filled the kettle and spilled some chocolate biscuits on to a plate. She hadn’t had a proper breakfast; she was peckish. ‘Like a ham and tomato sandwich?’ she called in to Melissa.

  ‘Yes, please, I’m starving,’ her half-sister called back.

  ‘That makes two of us,’ Debbie said light-heartedly and began to butter the bread. She made their sandwiches and carried them out to the small mosaic table on the deck. ‘Just going up to get your prezzie.’ She poked her head in through the door.

  ‘These are great. Will you send them to me?’ Melissa asked. ‘I’ll write down my email address for you.’

  ‘Sure. Why don’t you go and sit outside when you’re ready? It’s a nice day. But don’t mind the state of the garden. We haven’t cut the grass in three weeks – it’s like a jungle,’ Debbie ap
ologized.

  ‘Where’s Bryan?’ Melissa asked.

  ‘He had to collect the car from work. We went out to dinner last night and had a few drinks, so we didn’t drive.’

  ‘That’s very responsible. Dad doesn’t drink and drive any more since the points thing came in.’

  ‘Pour out two mugs of coffee, and I’ll be out in a minute. I might as well stick in a wash while I’m at it.’ Debbie ran upstairs, took anything white of her own she could see in her case and the linen basket, bundled them up in a flowing white skirt, grabbed Melissa’s T-shirts and hurried back down. She shoved the whites into the machine, added two tabs of washing powder and some Comfort and set the dial. At least she’d made a start.

  ‘Hey, these are gorgeous. Thanks so much, Debbie,’ Melissa exclaimed when Debbie handed her half-sister the T-shirts she’d bought her. The younger girl jumped up and threw her arms around her. And as Debbie hugged her back tightly, she knew that all the old bitterness and hurts of the past had finally drifted away, and that she and Melissa and Barry and Connie were a real family at last.

  MOVING ON

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Juliet checked that she had her passport, e ticket, keys to the villa, sunglasses, reading glasses and her mobile phone. It was 4.15 a.m. and she was getting the 7 a.m. flight from Dublin to Malaga. Her check-in was 5 a.m. She’d tried to book a seat on the afternoon flight, but she hadn’t a hope. She’d been lucky to get a seat at all. It was the height of the season, and both Ryanair and Aer Lingus were almost fully booked. It didn’t matter what time of year you flew to Malaga, she reflected, as she sprayed Chanel No. 5 on her wrists and neck, the flights were always full, and they rarely came up as special offers.

  Juliet caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her hazel eyes were bright, and a faint flush of excitement shone through her sprayed-on tan. Her navy cotton jacket, white sleeveless top and white trousers looked smart and summery. Her ash-blond hair hung in a soft bob, and her make-up, subtly applied, emphasized her high cheekbones. She looked what she was, an affluent, well-groomed, classy wife whom no one would give a second glance. They were ten a penny on Malaga flights. It was a flight she had taken many times, but today was different. Today, she was going away without telling her husband.

  It was so liberating, she thought gleefully, switching off the light. The house was still, with just the odd familiar creak and groan of tired timbers and ageing water pipes, the moonlight fashioning a painting of willowy silhouettes of leaves and branches on the wall opposite the landing window. In the guest room across the landing, Ken’s snores rumbled thunderously and, slingbacks in hand, Juliet padded silently past his room and downstairs. Her husband’s snores didn’t cease, and she turned off the alarm and let herself out of the house, confident that he wouldn’t wake. She hadn’t bothered with breakfast; she’d have coffee and croissants at the airport.

  Her taxi was waiting at the wrought-iron gates. She’d instructed the firm they had an account with to flash the lights when the driver got to the house. She opened the boot of her Volvo and hoisted out her Samsonite. To make her departure as secret as possible, she’d packed her case the day before and stowed it in her car so that Ken wouldn’t see it. The first he’d know that she’d gone was when he got up at 6 a.m. and saw her bedroom door wide open and the bed made. For the first time ever, there was no freezer well stocked with home-cooked dinners, no extra shopping done for all the basics. His dirty linen basket was full. This time, Ken was well and truly on his own – well, apart from Gina’s assistance.

  That would give him a good shock. Juliet smiled at the taxi driver as he took her case, and settled into the back seat for the journey to the airport. The pearly light to the east, dawn’s kiss, lifted her spirits even more. The start of a new day and a new life.

  From now on, it would be all about her. Ken’s rude awakening was just beginning.

  Karen nearly gave herself lockjaw, sitting in the crowded airport restaurant sawing at a pale, un-appetizing slice of rubbery, curled-up bacon accompanied by leathery, overcooked scrambled eggs. ‘They have some nerve charging those prices for this rubbish,’ she complained bitterly, ‘and it’s always cold by the time you get to the table.’

  ‘Sausages aren’t bad,’ Connie said cheerfully, starving after the rush to get up in the middle of the night and the long drive to the airport.

  ‘They call this toast? It’s as white as my legs were before I fake-tanned,’ Karen snorted, holding up a piece of grey-white bread, which had seen a toaster for about eight seconds. ‘They get away with it because people don’t complain. The French would never stand for this.’

  ‘There there, you’ll be fine,’ soothed Connie. Karen was not a morning person. This middle-of-the-night stuff was a complete trauma to her.

  Her sister-in-law grinned. ‘Sorry. The older I get, the grumpier I get. Honestly, I could grump for Ireland.’

  ‘I’d noticed. I think it’s called the menopause. I wouldn’t know yet, of course. I’m younger than you. I’m only peri!’ Connie buttered a croissant and slathered it with jam.

  ‘Ha ha, smug bitch!’ Karen made a face at her. ‘Now, madam, we’re officially on holidays – what’s the piece of news you’ve been holding on to since last Saturday? You promised you’d tell me on holidays.’

  ‘We’re not in Spain yet,’ Connie teased.

  ‘And you won’t be getting there in one piece if you don’t enlighten me. Now come on . . . spill!’

  ‘OK,’ Connie relented. ‘You’ll never guess.’

  ‘What!’ Karen couldn’t hide her exasperation.

  ‘Aimee’s up the duff!’

  ‘I don’t believe it.’ Karen’s eyes widened. ‘Oh! My! God!’

  ‘So don’t tell me I never give you any good gossip,’ Connie said smugly, sitting back sipping her coffee and enjoying Karen’s reaction to the news.

  ‘Who told you?’

  ‘Melissa let it slip . . .’ Connie regaled Karen with a rundown of the previous Saturday morning’s events.

  ‘I wouldn’t be in her shoes for anything.’ Karen found it in her heart to be sympathetic to her detested sister-in-law. As a woman who juggled career and family life, she understood all the difficulties Aimee’s pregnancy and a new baby would entail. ‘I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy, not at her age, with a career and a teenage daughter.’

  ‘I know. Even I found it easy to be sorry for the woman, despite our history. Barry’s totally stressed, but, interestingly though, happy enough to have another child.’

  ‘How things have changed,’ Karen murmured, remembering her brother’s dismay when Connie had become pregnant with Debbie.

  ‘I know,’ Connie agreed ruefully.

  ‘When’s it due?’

  ‘Early next year, I think.’

  ‘I better save up for an outfit for the christening,’ Karen drawled. ‘Designer labels only. The Holdens’ daughter is getting married in September. And it’s black tie. John will have to get a monkey suit. What a pain in the ass.’

  ‘You might get something nice in Marbella,’ Connie suggested.

  ‘You mean in one of those boutiques where they don’t even have price tags? Ha! I don’t think so,’ scoffed Karen. ‘Come on, let’s go treat ourselves in the duty free.’

  Connie finished her coffee and picked up her bag. ‘This is my favourite bit of travelling,’ she remarked ten minutes later, as she selected several glossy magazines and then meandered over to the books.

  ‘You buy two, and I’ll buy two, and I have a couple of good thrillers in my bag, so we’ll have plenty to read,’ Karen advised. As she browsed the bookshelves, Connie could feel herself beginning to relax. The prospect of ten days doing nothing other than reading, sleeping and eating was so appealing, and Karen was the perfect holiday companion. How lucky was she? Connie thought gratefully as she picked up a book called Party Animal, a collection of stories about pets by all her favourite authors, the royalties of which went to animal charitie
s.

  Oh, lovely, she thought, dipping into it, and feeling a pang of loneliness for Miss Hope. Her little cat had rubbed against her leg when she was leaving, and Connie had lifted her up and burrowed her nose in her silky black fur, wishing she could take her with her.

  That loving little pet had got her through the loneliness of Debbie’s leaving, and yet so many people just didn’t like cats. She’d be lost without hers, she thought, as she added Party Animal to her selection of purchases.

  ‘Oh, this is the life I was born for, Karen,’ she said happily, three-quarters of an hour later, as they made their way along the jetway to the massive green and white Aer Lingus airbus.

  ‘Wish we were turning left – that’s what I was born for,’ Karen murmured, as she stepped through the doorway of the plane and turned right for economy.

  ‘Dream on,’ grinned Connie, following her down the aisle to a side row with just two seats. As she reached up to put her duty-free bags into the overhead cabin, a woman passing to the seat behind jolted her.

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ the woman said, and did a double take. ‘Oh . . . Connie, isn’t it? Karen, hello. Are you off to the Costa too?’

  Good Lord, it’s Aimee’s mother, Connie thought, dismayed. She’d met her at a few of her ex’s family gatherings over the years, when she and Aimee had been on speaking terms.

  ‘Juliet! Isn’t it a small world!’ Karen exclaimed. ‘Is Ken with you or are you travelling on your own?’

  ‘I certainly am,’ Juliet said briskly, settling herself into the seat behind. ‘All I have to worry about is me, thankfully.’

  ‘Well, enjoy your flight,’ Connie said politely. She wasn’t sure if the older woman knew about the dust-up between her and Aimee on the steps of the church at Debbie’s wedding.

  ‘I will indeed.’ Juliet smiled, and there was no animosity apparent, Connie noted with a sigh of relief. It would be horrible to have an ‘atmosphere’ to ruin the start of her much-needed holiday.