‘This would be a nice place to bring up children.’ She spoke her thoughts aloud.
‘Hmm, we’re going to have to sort out our living arrangements.’ Luke cocked an eye at her.
Devlin’s heart gave a little flutter. Suppose Luke felt that they should live in London? Deep down she dreaded the idea of moving back to England but if it was what he wanted, it wouldn’t be for selfish reasons. Devlin knew that. There and then she decided if he opted for London he’d get no arguments from her. She wasn’t wimping out. She’d known Luke’s business was in London when she’d married him. She’d known a time would come when they’d have to make a permanent home in Dublin or London. It would be much easier for her to operate from London and commute once or twice a week than it would be for him.
And don’t ever act the martyr about it either, she warned herself silently.
‘We should decide one way or another what we’re going to do. I suppose London is the most practical option.’
There! She’d said it. She could almost feel herself holding her breath as she waited for him to agree with her.
‘Do you think so?’ He looked at her in surprise.
‘Well, isn’t it? Your business is there?’ She was taken aback at his reaction.
‘City Girl is here. That’s as important.’
‘I know that, I’m not saying that my business isn’t as important to me as yours is to you. I just think it would be easier for me to commute on a permanent basis than it would be for you.’
‘I wouldn’t want you commuting, Devlin,’ Luke said slowly.
‘Why? Do you want me to give up City Girl and be a stay-at-home mother?’ Devlin couldn’t conceal her shock. This was one scenario she hadn’t considered.
‘Good God, Devlin, I’d never expect you to give up City Girl,’ Luke exclaimed. ‘I just don’t want you commuting because it’s exhausting as well as being a mega pain in the ass.’
‘Oh!’ she murmured. ‘Well, I don’t want you to be commuting either.’
‘Tell you what, let’s go on part two of our date and decide one way or another at the end of it,’ Luke suggested.
‘Where are we going now?’ Devlin was mystified.
‘You’ll see. Come on let’s go back to the car for the next leg of Reilly’s Mystery Tour.’
‘I give up. You’re mad.’ Devlin followed her husband as he strode across the field at speed.
Twenty-five minutes later he drove into Clontarf DART station and parked the car.
‘Where are we going now?’ she demanded.
‘On the DART,’ he said innocently.
‘Where on the DART?’
‘Here . . . there. Wherever we want.’
‘But why?’
‘There doesn’t have to be a why. Be spontaneous, Devlin.’ Luke grinned. ‘Come on, if a DART goes by while we’re down here I’m not waiting on another one. Day out’s cancelled.’
‘Is that right?’ Devlin said tartly. ‘Luke has spoken.’
‘Correct. Get your ass out of the car, woman, and stop delaying.’
Devlin laughed as she got out of the car. ‘One thing about being married to you, Reilly. I’m never bored.’
‘One thing about being married to you, Delaney, neither am I.’
He paid for two return tickets to Dalkey and they hurried up the iron staircase onto the platform. The monitor indicated that a train would be along in three minutes and Devlin felt a thrill of excitement. She’d always loved trains ever since her childhood holidays in Rosslare Harbour, when she’d stood at her aunt’s great picture windows and watched the boat-trains clickity clack along the viaduct. She never used the DART because it didn’t run near Stephen’s Green, but often, stuck in traffic on the quays, she’d watched the green trains glide over Butt Bridge with effortless ease and envied the passengers who’d be home long before she would.
From where they stood high up on the platform, Clontarf and Dublin Bay spread out in a grand panorama to the east. The sun sparkled on the glittering water and the twin red and white ESB chimneys stood stark against the deep blue sky, the spirals of smoke drifting in great white plumes into the blueness. There was a tremendous sense of colour and space. So different from London. After their conversation earlier, Devlin felt that they were going to live in Dublin. The thought made her happy.
‘Here’s the train,’ Luke said, looking northwards. Seconds later the lime-green train pulled into the station and the doors hissed open.
‘Let’s sit on the left-hand side. It’s got the sea view,’ Devlin suggested. She led the way to an empty seat in the middle of the carriage and they sat smiling at each other like two little kids on a day out.
‘The reason we’re on the DART is that I want you to look at the areas we pass through and think about where you might like to buy a house.’
‘Are we going to live in Dublin?’ Her heart lifted.
‘I think so, Dev. I’d much prefer to rear children here.’ Luke looked at her questioningly.
‘Me too,’ she agreed. ‘Are you sure about this, Luke, because you know you wouldn’t get any argument from me if you wanted to stay in London.’
‘I know that, love. But I’d like our children to grow up close to the sea and the countryside, and that wouldn’t be the case in London.’ Luke put his arm around her shoulder as the train moved off slowly and before long they were heading towards the Docklands.
‘Where do you think you’d like to live? Do you want to join U2, Enya, and the rest of the celebs out in Dalkey and Killiney?’ Luke enquired as they clattered along the tracks through the North Strand towards Amiens Street.
Devlin wrinkled her nose. ‘Even though I grew up on the Southside, I like living on the Northside. I like Clontarf. I like Howth. And it’s very handy for the airport. That’s got to be an important consideration. You don’t want to be sitting in gridlock every time you’re coming or going to and from there.’
‘You might change your mind when we get out to Dalkey and you see the views.’ Luke smiled.
‘Views aren’t everything.’ Devlin snuggled close. ‘But I do love this one.’ They peered out the window as the train left Amiens Street behind and slowly crossed Butt Bridge. The Liffey glittered in the morning sun, snaking its way up under O’Connell Bridge and east past the Customs House to the sea. ‘This is the life isn’t it? A whole day to ourselves, seeing the sights of Dublin on the DART. Are we wild or what?’ She laughed heartily. ‘I’d love Jean Mallen to see us. She’d be horrified. Imagine being caught on the DART. Just think what she’d write in that tacky ‘social column’, as she calls it.’
‘That one! She’s just a jumped-up little consequence with a chip on her shoulder. I saw her on a late-night chat programme the other night. All simpering and giggling. Someone should tell her TV’s not her forte,’ Luke scoffed.
‘Neither’s writing a social column,’ Devlin said dryly and Luke laughed.
‘Bitchy! Bitchy!’
‘I know, but she is a bitch. She said awful things about Caroline in her column when she and Richard separated. She’ll probably go to town on her this time as well. It’s really unfair the way the press intrude on people’s private traumas,’ Devlin argued.
‘I’m glad Caroline’s going for the divorce. It’s time she started afresh. She deserves so much better,’ Luke remarked.
‘I wish she could find someone special and settle down and have a family. That’s all she’s ever wanted.’
‘Maybe it will happen. She’s a lovely woman.’ Luke smiled down at her. ‘She’s doing a great job in City Girl.’
‘Yeah, she is,’ Devlin agreed, suddenly remembering with a sinking heart the problems with Ciara Hanlon. She’d planned to tell Luke about it today, before he’d come up with his day-off brainwave.
She couldn’t tell him about it now and ruin his fun. Today was their special day. Resolutely she pushed the problem to the back of her mind once more, as the train thundered past the Merrion Gates and the sea came int
o view. Luke pointed out a massive car boat heading for port and a cargo ship steaming towards the horizon.
They had a beautiful day, climbing to the top of Killiney Hill where the full panorama of Dublin spread out before them, and Wicklow to the south seemed just a length away. They had lunch in a little Italian bistro in Dalkey and afterwards strolled around the bookshops and a small art gallery, where Luke bought her a miniature painting of a delicate pink rose.
They got the DART back to Clontarf around four, before the rush hour. As the familiar weariness swept over her, Devlin tried to hide her yawns.
‘You go to bed for a snooze when we get home, and we could go to Wong’s for dinner if you like. Save us having to cook,’ Luke suggested.
‘That would be nice,’ Devlin approved. She hadn’t had Chinese in ages. Wong’s roast-duck starter was especially tasty.
That night, as she sat in the dimly lit restaurant enjoying her meal, she reached out and took Luke’s hand.
‘It was the most perfect day,’ she said simply. And meant it. Tomorrow and its troubles could wait.
Twenty-three
‘We are so looking forward to seeing you, Maggie.’ Alma Al Shariff’s husky tones, still with a trace of a Cork lilt, floated across the air waves from Saudi as clear as a bell.
Maggie was swamped with guilt. Alma sounded so genuinely pleased to be visiting them. Maybe things wouldn’t be too bad after all. If only she could get a few more chapters written she wouldn’t feel so harassed.
‘We’ll take you to dinner and the theatre and we’ll go shopping in Brown Thomas. We’re going to have a wonderful time, Maggie. Thanks so much for putting us up. Suly is like a little boy at the thought of it. Honestly, Maggie, he’s driving me crazy these days. There’s a new guy in Oncology who’s got it all. Talent, looks, money, women throwing themselves at him, and it’s driving Sulaiman bananas. And you know why? Because this new guy’s young. Sulaiman will be forty-five this year and he can’t cope with it. I caught him using my moisturizer the other day. Can you believe it? Crazy! Crazy! Is Terry like that?’
Maggie laughed. ‘Yep! He’s taken to going to the gym now. And he’s off the drink until you come. And he’s taking some sort of ginseng supplement that someone at work told him about. Don’t ask me what it’s supposed to do.’
‘Maggie, guess what? Suly can’t get it up any more. It’s driving me nuts. I’ve gone past the sympathy stage. I mean is it me or what? Do you think he’s lost interest? Or do you think he’s having an affair and using it all up on someone else? I don’t know what to think. What do you think?’ Alma asked glumly.
Maggie threw her eyes up to heaven. Alma was always in the throes of a drama. No matter how personal her problem she’d share it with all and sundry. Maggie wouldn’t dream of discussing her sex life . . . or lack of sex life with Alma. With Devlin and Caroline, yes. They were her dearest friends, but Alma came under the heading of friendly acquaintance. And indiscreet friendly acquaintance at that. If Maggie said that she and Terry were having problems, it would be all over the compound in Saudi. Still, it wouldn’t be Alma if there wasn’t a crisis in her life. How typical of her to think that Sulaiman was having an affair just because he was temporarily impotent.
‘Look, Alma, maybe he’s just tired and stressed out at the moment. I’m sure it’s just temporary,’ she soothed.
‘Was Terry ever impotent?’ Alma asked artlessly.
I couldn’t care less any more, Maggie thought sourly. ‘Not really, but then his job wouldn’t be half as stressful as Sulaiman’s. After all, he does have to make life and death decisions,’ she said diplomatically.
‘Yes well that’s his problem and it’s causing me problems,’ Alma said tartly, as self-centred as ever, Maggie noted with amusement.
‘Maybe the holiday will do you all the good in the world.’ She twirled the phone cord impatiently. The day was running away with her and she was getting nothing done. She hadn’t even started to write yet, but Alma was flowing. Their phone bill must cost a fortune. No wonder Sulaiman was stressed.
‘Yes, Maggie, honestly, the thought of this holiday’s keeping me going. Believe me. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to Ireland and the States. It will be such a delightful change from here. Listen, I’ve loads of scandal for you. Mina Farooq is pregnant, but Rameez isn’t the father.’
‘Really?’ Maggie was taken aback at this news. Mina Farooq was a mutual acquaintance who’d been a theatre sister when Maggie worked in the hospital. She’d been a quiet, reserved Filipino girl, married to a Pakistani who worked in computers. ‘Who’s the father?’
‘She fell head over heels in love with a Scottish engineer who was working in the desert and they had an affair. He was a hunk, Maggie. He fancied me too,’ she added hastily. ‘Imagine little Mrs Demure dropping her drawers for an engineer? Remember how straight-laced she was?’
‘And what about Rameez? Does he know?’ Maggie was astonished. Mina Farooq was the last person she’d have figured to have an affair.
‘He’s too busy having an affair with himself to notice what poor Mina’s up to,’ Alma retorted caustically. ‘Of course he doesn’t know. He doesn’t think anyone else would even notice Mina, let alone find her attractive. You know the way he puts her down all the time. He’s in for a hell of a shock when the baby’s born. It’s good enough for him. He’s the pits. If I was married to him, I’d drown myself. She should leave him.’
‘Why doesn’t she?’
‘The kids. Rameez would get custody. Even if he didn’t he’d take off with them to Pakistan and she’d never see them again.’
‘Poor Mina,’ Maggie said sympathetically.
‘That’s not all,’ Alma said dramatically. ‘Remember Kenneth Fenlon, that sanctimonious little weasel from Accounts who never touched a drink and always looked down his nose at the rest of us who did?’
‘I remember him,’ Maggie made a face. ‘Horrible little man. What’s he done?’
‘Someone planted a bottle of Scotch in his sports bag while he was playing tennis and tipped off the Muttawaah. He nearly had hysterics and you know what?’ Alma let out a hearty chuckle.
‘What?’ Maggie laughed herself. This conversation was bringing back so many memories.
‘He was deported!’ giggled Alma.
‘Never,’ Maggie shrieked. ‘I don’t believe it. Oh I’d love to have been there for that.’ Kenneth Fenlon had been universally disliked and with good reason. He was a sly, devious little man who distrusted everyone he worked with.
‘And guess what else?’ Alma was enjoying herself hugely, Maggie could tell.
‘What?’
‘He was on the fiddle. Mr Holier-Than-Thou had a neat little scam going in hospital supplies.’
‘I knew it!’ Maggie exclaimed. ‘Didn’t I always say that? That little wart was as shifty as they come. What’s he doing now?’
‘Well, here’s the icing on the cake, Maggie,’ Alma declared dramatically. ‘I hear he’s taken to the bottle. He lives near Beaumont hospital and Andy McLoughlin, an electrician over here, comes from around there too. The last time he was home he saw Kenneth in the local, pissed as a newt.’
Maggie guffawed. ‘Well, well, well. How the mighty have fallen.’
‘I thought you’d enjoy that, Maggie. You had a few run-ins with him, didn’t you?’
‘Didn’t everyone in the hospital?’ Maggie grinned.
Alma stayed on the phone for another half an hour, filling her in on all the news and gossip. The compound was a hotbed of intrigue and infidelities and always had been. Maggie was reminded of how claustrophobic she’d found it all. It had been horrible when Terry had started his affair with Ria Kirby, when she’d been pregnant with the twins. Everyone on the compound had known about it except her. She’d found out afterwards when she’d come back home to live and caught Terry and Ria making love in the shower one awful day soon after Ria had come back to Ireland.
Alma loved that kind of go
ssip and carry-on. She could never get enough of it. It was because her life was empty, Maggie had sometimes thought, when the other woman was delighting in some new scandal that rocked the unreal little expat world in the dry, dusty, arid country that would never be called home.
Alma seemed to be the woman who had everything. A tall, dark, handsome husband, who was wealthy and successful. Two children. Staff to take care of her every need. A very cosmopolitan lifestyle. Yet she wasn’t happy. There was a restlessness about her that never left her. She was a real flirt too and had indulged in a few flings herself, Maggie remembered wryly.
It was all Sulaiman’s fault for not paying her enough attention, she’d told Maggie crossly. She was a woman who needed tender loving care.
She was a very selfish and demanding woman would have been another way of putting it. Maggie refrained from saying so. She often wondered how Sulaiman put up with her attention-seeking ways. When Maggie looked at Alma she saw a woman who had never grown up emotionally.
Her own life might not be a bed of roses right now, but at least she accepted responsibility for it with some degree of maturity. Alma never faced her problems. She ran away from them and filled her life with superficialities in an attempt to deny their existence.
Maggie sighed as she glanced at the clock. It was too late to attempt any writing for now. It was almost time to do the school run and give the children their dinner.
The phone rang again. Maggie scowled. Sometimes that damn instrument was the bane of her life.
‘Hello?’ She tried to keep the impatience out of her voice.
‘Maggie, howya, it’s Orla. Thank God I got you, I’ve been trying for ages. Would you mind picking the kids up from school, I’ve got delayed in town but I’ll be home as quick as I can.’
Maggie’s heart sank. Orla Noonan, one of her neighbours, was a flaming great nuisance. She was always planting her kids on Maggie while she went off gadding about, enjoying herself. ‘As quick as I can’ could mean four hours later.
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