Happy Ever After

by Patricia Scanlan

  She had made no reference to his extravagant purchase of several bottles of champagne the night of the party, nor had she asked him how much he’d spent on coke and whatever else he’d taken that night. She hadn’t even made any reference to his overnighter at Kev’s or the fact that he’d looked very much the worse for wear when he’d finally got home the Saturday afternoon. She’d been relieved that Melissa had already left. He smelt of drink and stale pot and cigarettes, his eyes were bloodshot, and his face was rough with stubble. Not a pretty sight.

  No, she’d said not a word; she’d been a perfectly behaved wife and pretended nothing was amiss. But enough was enough, she decided grimly as she made her way into the Dart station and fumbled for her weekly ticket. No more Mrs Nice Girl. Their problems had to be addressed.

  If Connie knew how skint they were she’d go mad. She’d been so annoyed the time they’d gone to Amsterdam before their wedding. That had been Debbie’s solution to de-stressing Bryan when he’d got uptight about the wedding and had been tempted to call it off. Debbie sighed. That had cost them almost 1,500 euro. That would have paid off a few household bills, she conceded reluctantly, realizing she had to accept her part in their fiscal impoverishment.

  Debbie was freaking him out, Bryan had to admit as he tied a knot in his tie and pulled on the jacket of his suit. Not a word about Saturday night, no angst about the bills. It just wasn’t like her. Usually, the arrival of a couple of unexpected bills would send her into spasms of anxiety, and she’d fret and worry until they were paid off.

  Today, not a word. It was seriously weird. Bryan sighed. They had a month to pay the car tax, and then they could just pay it for three months. If he was the only named driver, he’d risk not paying at all; loads of his mates drove their cars untaxed for months at a time. But Debbie’d go loopers if he suggested it. She wouldn’t risk driving in an untaxed or uninsured car. She was just like his mother-in-law in that regard. Dull, boring and playing it safe, being law-abiding citizens. It was only a tax, after all, not a matter of life or death.

  Connie was always on at Debbie, too, about overborrowing, when really it was none of her business. Maybe she might meet a gigolo in Spain, who’d ride the arse off her and give her something else to think about other than interfering in their business, he thought spitefully, smoothing moisturizer on to his face.

  Debbie hadn’t sounded too enthusiastic about the invite to Sandra Holden’s wedding. Black tie was a complete pain in the ass. He hated hiring a suit that had been worn by someone else. He was particular about his clothes. He had some perfectly fine Armani suits of his own that looked the biz. What was wrong with wearing one of them? At least they hadn’t dictated a dress code for their guests. Theirs had been a classy but informal wedding, and had been all the more fun because of it. No speeches, no seating plans, no formality. It had been a great wedding, small but perfectly formed, Bryan decided, smiling at the memory. It would be interesting to see how Sexy Sandra’s compared.

  He grabbed his car keys off his bedside locker. He had to drive out to Lucan to inspect a fit-out because the clients were unhappy about the space allocated to a filing system, even though they’d signed off on the plans. He wouldn’t mind doing a line of good coke – that would dispel his bad humour, he thought longingly, and then realized what he was thinking.

  ‘Slippery slope, mate, slippery slope,’ he muttered as he ran down the stairs. Taking coke was OK socially every now and then, but he’d seen people start taking it at work and, before they knew it, they were depending on it. One guy had even ended up owing thousands and had been beaten up by his dealer. He’d ended up in rehab and out of a job.

  That would never be him, he vowed as he got behind the wheel of the convertible, slid his shades down over his eyes, let the roof slide back and drove out of their little cul-de-sac looking like a Hollywood star.

  Melissa stood on the weighing scales and frowned. She’d put on a pound, and she was disgusted with herself. She and Sarah had spent Saturday night and all day Sunday at Briony Caulfield’s house and had eaten Chinese takeaways and drunk copious amounts of Bacardi Breezers and Smirnoff Ices, which were loaded with calories. There was only one thing for it. She knelt in front of the loo and, with practised ease, made herself sick. She would starve herself for the rest of the day to get back on track.

  Briony had shown them photos of a really hot boy she’d dated on holidays. She’d confided in the girls that she’d gone all the way, including bj’s. Although they’d pretended to be impressed, she and Sarah were secretly horrified.

  ‘Is it just us? Are we freaky nerds?’ Sarah fretted on the way home the following evening.

  ‘I don’t know. Everyone seems to be doing it. Briony is only six months older than us.’

  ‘I’d be sooo scared that it would hurt.’

  ‘Me, too – remember I told you about that time that horrible boy put his fingers up me? That hurt,’ Melissa responded glumly, remembering the horrific experience at a New Year’s party at friends of her parents when their son had grabbed her, pressed himself against her and thrust his fingers up her privates.

  ‘Eewwwww! Poor you.’ Sarah draped an arm around her shoulder and gave her a comforting hug.

  ‘Oh shit, look, there’s Rosanna Troy looking over at us. Crap, she’ll tell the rest of the class we’re lezzers,’ Melissa wailed. They separated quickly and gave an embarrassed wave to their schoolmate.

  ‘Don’t say that! We’re in enough trouble as it is, with Nerdy Nolan trying to latch on to us,’ Sarah moaned.

  ‘I wish we were finished school. I hate it. At least we have our first year over. I was totally scared going in my first day last year.’

  ‘Me too,’ sighed Sarah. ‘I bet Briony can’t wait to get back to tell everyone she’s done it with a real hot boy. Everyone will think she’s dead cool.’

  ‘Well, she’d want to be careful,’ Melissa said darkly. ‘Look at my mom, preggers, and she’s been having sex for years. Just one of those horrible little spermy things is all it takes.’

  ‘Yeah, look at Kelly Wright, having to be pregnant all of sixth year and giving birth during her mocks. I saw her wheeling her baby in the People’s Park. And if her mother doesn’t agree to babysit, she can’t get out at all! How horrible is that?

  ‘You’ll probably be babysitting your brother or sister,’ Sarah added.

  ‘No way, no way ever!’ Melissa declared emphatically.

  ‘Don’t forget we have our wedding photos to show off. Remember our gorgeous waiter?’ Sarah reminded her.

  ‘Yeah, we can at least let on we scored him, so we’re not, like, totally uncool.’ Melissa cheered up at the prospect as they said their goodbyes, without their customary hug, as they were conscious of Rosanna paralleling them across the street, and went their separate ways.

  At least she and Sarah thought about things the same way, Melissa comforted herself as she sat on the edge of the bath, taking a few moments after making herself sick, enjoying the rush the feeling of being in control gave her. It was such a comfort having a best friend. She hoped fervently that nothing would spoil their friendship. She’d seen girls who’d been the closest ever end up bitter enemies, in rival camps, with not a good word to say about each other, writing horrible things on Bebo.

  It was best to keep a low profile at school so as not to become a target. Briony would want to be careful. She could end up being called a slapper and worse, if some of the others turned on her through jealousy. Briony had assured herself and Sarah that sex had been deadly. But Melissa was not convinced. How could it be deadly, all that gross stuff? She hated when boys stuck their tongues down her neck at discos, and when they pressed their hard thing against her, thrusting and grinding and trying to get her to touch them or, even worse . . . give them bj’s. That had to be the most gross thing ever! She’d puke if she had to do it, she was sure of it.

  Maybe she was frigid, she thought dolefully as she went downstairs to make herself a cup of coffee.
She definitely didn’t think she was gay; she really and truly wouldn’t fancy snogging Sarah. She must be frigid, she decided. Everyone else seemed to like sex. Those fab girls in Sex and the City were always having mind-blowing orgasms . . . and with loads of different men. Melissa would be mortified to appear nude in front of a man the way Samantha did. She’d even allowed a man to shave her bush on film!! Had her dad ever done that to her mom?

  ‘Eeewwwwwwwwwww!’ She banished the thought as quickly as it had come. It had to be her; they couldn’t all be wrong. Definitely frigid, Melissa decided. One more thing to have to worry about.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ‘Roger, I won’t waste your time or mine,’ Aimee said crisply as she buttered a slice of toast and lightly covered it with marmalade. ‘Something’s come up that could affect your job offer.’

  ‘Oh! What’s that?’ Roger paused from shovelling Clonakilty pudding and sausage, doused in ketchup, into his mouth. ‘Do you want more money? Gave in too easily, did ya? Ian’s made you a better offer, has he?’

  ‘I’m pregnant,’ she said baldly.

  ‘Hell’s bells,’ he said, taken aback, his little beady blue eyes registering dismay.

  ‘Exactly,’ she said coolly. ‘I felt it was only fair to tell you. I just confirmed it at the weekend.’

  ‘Well, that’s decent of you, Aimee. A lot of women wouldn’t say,’ he said, putting his knife and fork down. ‘Er, was it planned?’ he queried delicately.

  ‘No. Not at all.’ She sighed. ‘It couldn’t have come at a worse time, to be honest.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be taking a long maternity leave or anything like it. And I can work from home. I’ll also employ a nanny, but I do understand if you wish to withdraw the job offer, Roger. Having a pregnant MD at the start-up of a new company is far from ideal.’

  ‘No, it’s not, Aimee, I have to agree with you there. But if anyone can pull it off, I feel you could,’ he said slowly, as he resumed eating, this time dipping his forkful of food into a runny egg, which then proceeded to dribble down the side of his mouth.

  Aimee felt her stomach heave and swallowed frantically as perspiration beaded her upper lip.

  ‘Excuse me, Roger, back in a sec,’ she murmured, before walking swiftly out of the crowded dining room. She made it to the ladies and retched miserably. I hate you, for making me endure this, Barry Adams, she thought viciously. If you had to go through it, we’d see how keen you were to keep a baby.

  She took some deep breaths, flushed the loo and went out to wash her hands. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed. She felt completely rattled. She retouched her lipstick and smoothed down her hair.

  ‘Come on, you can do it,’ she said to herself, trying to get herself back on form as she walked back along the carpeted corridor.

  ‘Sorry about that. Morning sickness,’ she said calmly, sitting back on her chair and spreading her napkin on her knees. He might as well see her at her worst, Aimee decided.

  ‘Bugger of a thing,’ Roger said cheerfully. ‘My wife was murdered with it. Upchucked everywhere at the drop of a hat. I don’t think she ever forgave me, even though it was over twenty-eight years ago with our youngest.’

  ‘I’m sure she’s long forgotten it,’ Aimee said diplomatically.

  ‘Who knows? We’ve drifted apart over the years. We stay together because it suits us, but we do our own thing, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘If it works for you both, why not?’ Aimee did not really wish to hear the intimate details of Roger’s marriage.

  ‘I suppose I lost the run of myself when I was younger and began to get a taste of the good life – and it was a very good life – but I lost my wife in the process because I neglected her.’

  ‘That’s a shame.’ She risked a piece of croissant.

  ‘It’s very interesting to see how women treat you when you’re wealthy,’ Roger expounded, taking a slug of coffee. ‘I know I’m no oil painting. If I was my age now and still on the farm I grew up on, women wouldn’t give me a second look. A little fat man trying to hide his bald patch – no, indeed, Aimee, I wouldn’t even rate a first look, let alone a second, but having money changes all that. And you know something?’ He put his knife and fork back down and looked at her earnestly, ‘I’d love to meet a woman who likes me for who I am and not for my wallet. Because now I never know.’ He shook his head. ‘When you have money, people think you have it all, but money doesn’t put its arms around you, and the older you get, the less you want to be out socializing with all that crowd who secretly look down their nose at you but wish they had your lolly. And what’s worse . . . lick up to you because you have it.’

  ‘You’re highly respected out there, Roger,’ Aimee assured him.

  ‘Maybe I am, maybe I’m not, but my point to you, Aimee, is, on your climb up the ladder, and you are climbing fast, don’t lose sight of what’s important.’ He pointed towards her stomach. ‘Family is all that matters, Aimee, and take that from one who knows. Now, what I propose is to have a chat with Myles and let him know the score, and then we’ll take it from there. Obviously, he may have his own views on the matter. But, from my point of view, your pregnancy is not an insurmountable problem, and you have my respect for being upfront about it. As I say, a lot of women wouldn’t have said anything until after the contract was signed. And, as someone who climbed a hard ladder once, I understand that too.’

  ‘Thanks, Roger,’ Aimee said sincerely, seeing a whole new side to the stocky, red-faced man opposite her. She had been one who had looked down her nose at him, although happy to grasp the opportunity he’d given her. His brash, hail-fellow-well-met façade hid a surprisingly sensitive and self-aware man who was also, it seemed, rather lonely, despite constant appearances in the social diaries.

  ‘Now, Aimee, I’ll let Ian treat us to breakfast. He made enough out of me, God knows, and I bet I’m right in thinking you haven’t even been given a bonus yet.’

  Aimee laughed. ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘If he was treating you properly, as an asset to his company deserves to be treated, you wouldn’t have said yes straight away to our proposal, because he would have made sure to keep you sweet. We would have had to woo you. That’s how I know. I’ve been in business a long time. Don’t forget that. I’ll be in touch.’ He stood up and shook her hand firmly. ‘Peppermint tea and plain biscuits.’ He winked and barrelled out of the dining room like a mini tornado, greeting various other diners with a handshake, a wave or a quick word.

  Aimee exhaled a deep breath and felt much of the tension seep out of her body. That had gone much better than she’d expected. Yes, she’d seen the dismay on her prospective employer’s face when she’d told him her news, but he hadn’t felt it was an insuperable barrier. Maybe she should start thinking like that too, she reflected, as she sipped the last of her tea. A more positive attitude might help her get through the months ahead and, at least, if Roger was able to persuade Myles to stay on board, she’d have her new career move to keep her occupied.

  More satisfying than anything else that had occurred, though, was the fact that a hugely successful, multi-millionaire businessman felt she was an ‘asset’, whom he would have ‘wooed’ if she’d played hard to get.

  Roger O’Leary certainly respected her, that was more than obvious, and that, after her row with Barry and her father’s presumptions, was balm to Aimee’s weary soul.

  ‘It was bumpy coming down, wasn’t it?’ Juliet remarked as she walked briskly alongside Karen and Connie, down the pink-speckled, marbled floor of Arrivals, to Passport Control.

  ‘I hate that steep descent over the mountains, it always makes my ears pop.’ Karen wriggled her jaw, not the better for the rough approach, when crosswinds from the sierras had buffeted the plane. ‘I suppose we were lucky we weren’t flying Ryanair; you know the way they throw the plane on to the runway. I’ve never once had a smooth landing with that lot.’

  ‘Still, we’re here,
and I for one am looking forward to a stiff gin and tonic with lunch,’ Connie remarked, holding her passport up for inspection.

  ‘That sounds lovely,’ Juliet sighed. ‘I think I’ll do the same.’

  ‘Do you rent a car when you’re here?’ Karen asked as they clattered down the stairs to the baggage hall.

  ‘Actually, we bought one here; it’s cheaper in the long run. Manolo, who takes care of our villa, was supposed to be meeting me off the flight, but he ended up in hospital yesterday with a broken wrist, so I’ll take a taxi. Would you like to share, or are you renting a car yourselves?’

  ‘I’m going downstairs to car rentals now to queue up to get the keys while Connie collects the luggage. Sure, we could drop you off, if you like. It’s in Cabopino, isn’t it? And we’re between Riviera and Calahonda. It’s only a few miles, five minutes in the car.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t dream of putting you out,’ Juliet exclaimed.

  ‘You’re not putting us out at all, we’re practically neighbours,’ Karen said hospitably as they reached their luggage carousel.

  ‘Well, thank you so much, it’s very kind of you,’ the older woman said appreciatively.

  ‘Let me go get a trolley before you go down to the car place,’ Connie suggested. She weaved her way through swarms of passengers, to two lines of trolleys, which were disappearing rapidly. The queues at the car-rental agencies would probably be long, and they could be here for a while, and she’d have to make small talk with Juliet Davenport, she supposed. She extracted a trolley and tried to steer it through the throngs without inflicting damage on anyone’s ankles. Her heart sank at the prospect of prolonged polite chitchat. While the woman seemed pleasant enough, Connie was very conscious that she was Aimee’s mother and wondered had the other woman ever discussed her with Juliet.

  ‘God, it’s mad trying to get a trolley,’ she remarked a few minutes later as she joined the other two women at the carousel, which had started to move creakily, indicating that the luggage wouldn’t be long coming.