City Lives

by Patricia Scanlan

  Michael couldn’t make up his mind until he saw the Venga Boys and then he was happy. They sat in MacDonald’s munching their burgers, all thoughts of the earlier upset forgotten as they discussed the film, their new CDs and what they were going to get for Christmas.

  ‘You’re very late. Where were you? I thought you were going shopping for shoes,’ Terry growled when they walked into the sitting-room at nine thirty.

  ‘We went late-night shopping, Daddy, an’ Mammy took us to the pictures. An’ then we went to HMV an’ got CDs an’ then we went to MacDonald’s an’ had a Big Mac an’ now here we are,’ Shona kindly explained.

  ‘What’s all this in aid of?’ He glanced at Maggie.

  She shrugged. ‘Shona needed new shoes. Michael needed new jeans and Mimi needed a new sweatshirt so we went shopping and decided to treat ourselves as well.’

  ‘I hope all the homework is done,’ Terry said sternly.

  Maggie felt fury rise. The nerve of him to say that. Who was it that did homework with the kids day in day out? Her. He was never there for homework. He was just saying that for spite, to get back at her for slamming the phone down earlier. With difficulty she kept her temper.

  ‘The homework was done as soon as everyone came in from school, as usual,’ she said pointedly.

  ‘Yeah an’ Michael could do sums that Sean Noonan couldn’t an’ they’re in the same class, Daddy,’ Shona piped up proudly.

  ‘Were the Noonans here this afternoon? Billy Noonan called over. He wanted a word with you. I said you were out,’ Terry remarked casually as he flicked channels from the settee where he was sprawled.

  ‘Oh!’ Maggie was surprised. What on earth did Billy Noonan want with her? she thought, puzzled. Then she remembered. Her heart sank. Surely Orla hadn’t sent him up because of the row. Wasn’t she well able to fight her own battles? The pair of them could get lost. She had enough on her plate, Maggie thought irritably.

  ‘Come on, gang. It’s late and there’s school tomorrow. Go up and get ready for bed. Michael, you go into our en suite and let Mimi and Shona have the bathroom,’ she instructed. ‘Say good night to Daddy.’

  They launched themselves on Terry with hugs and kisses.

  ‘Tell you what? When lucky old Mam goes away on her girls’ weekend we’ll go to Fort Lucan for the day. How about it?’ he suggested.

  Howls of delight greeted this pronouncement and Maggie felt a stab of resentment. Typical Terry. His rare treats were always so spectacular they eclipsed her more mundane efforts, and were always much more appreciated by the children.

  Don’t be such a childish bitch, she chided herself silently, annoyed at her response.

  ‘Dad, Fort Lucan’s MEGA.’ Michael was chuffed. ‘When are you going away, Mam?’ He turned to her eagerly.

  ‘Soon.’ Maggie smiled in spite of herself.

  ‘Great,’ he enthused. ‘Night, Dad. I can’t wait.’

  ‘Or me,’ echoed his siblings as they smothered their father with more kisses.

  ‘Come on. Up to bed.’ Maggie interrupted the love-in. She’d planned on cooking and freezing dinners for her weekend away but he was such a wonderful father he could do a bit of real parenting and cook himself, she decided there and then. And to really prove himself, he could do the supermarket shopping that weekend as well.

  About twenty minutes later, as she was kneeling at the sock drawer getting clean socks and tights for everyone, the doorbell rang. Who’s that at this hour of the night? she wondered absently as she took out two pairs of navy woollen tights for the girls and a pair of grey socks for Michael. If someone was selling charity scratch cards at this late hour they should be shot. If there was an old person living alone they might get a fright being disturbed at this time of night.

  She heard Terry answer the door. Heard a man’s deep voice. Her heart lurched as she recognized it. Billy Noonan.

  She slipped quietly out of the girls’ room and closed the door. Michael’s light was already off. He was exhausted. Good! She didn’t want her children to know anything of the row with Orla. That was between adults. As far as she was concerned her children could play with the Noonans for ever and a day.

  Terry was just about to call her as she appeared at the top of the stairs.

  ‘Billy wants a word with you. Come in, Billy. Stop standing there, man. Would you like a drink?’

  ‘No thanks, Terry. This isn’t a social visit,’ Billy said frostily. He stared coldly at Maggie from behind heavy black glasses.

  ‘Oh! Sounds serious. What’s up?’ Terry said jocularly.

  ‘Billy come in out of the hall, please,’ Maggie said coolly and marched into the sitting-room. Her neighbour had no option but to follow. Terry brought up the rear.

  ‘Close the door please, Terry,’ Maggie said politely.

  ‘Oh! Right.’ Terry was mystified. ‘Do you want me to go?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Maggie felt icy calm. How dare Billy Noonan come calling at this hour, obviously intending to have a go at her. He’d picked the wrong woman to tangle with. She’d seen off a drug-crazed mugger in New York, in her youth. Billy Noonan stood no chance, she thought dismissively, as a spark of the old Maggie returned.

  ‘What’s your problem, Billy?’

  ‘You called my wife a liar today,’ Billy said truculently, his hands on his hips.

  ‘Oh now, Billy, I’m sure there’s some explanation,’ Terry interjected hastily. ‘It must be a misunderstanding, Maggie would never call Orla a liar.’

  ‘Yes I would. And yes I did,’ Maggie said coldly, ignoring her husband as she eyeballed Billy.

  ‘So you did? You don’t deny it,’ Billy growled.

  ‘What the bloody hell did you do that for?’ Terry exclaimed in dismay.

  ‘Because it’s true.’ Maggie rounded on him, furious at his lack of support.

  ‘That wasn’t a very nice thing to do,’ Terry accused. Maggie gave him a withering look.

  She turned back to her neighbour, who stood red-faced and hostile, staring at her.

  ‘You’d better apologize for that, Maggie. I won’t stand here and let you call Orla a liar.’

  ‘Why? What are you going to do, Billy?’ she demanded aggressively. ‘Now you listen to me, and listen well. I called Orla Noonan a liar because she is one. And you know that as well as I do. I did her a favour today as I’ve done many times over the years. I picked your kids up from school and she told me she’d be here to collect them in twenty minutes. Over an hour and a half later, Billy . . . do you hear me? An hour and a half later, she arrived with some cock-and-bull story about getting stuck behind a broken-down car in the ILAC. It was one of her better lies, I’ll grant you that. But she’d already told it to Judy next door, a couple of months back. And if you care to, we can ring the ILAC first thing in the morning and check the veracity of Orla’s story. I’m sure they keep logs of any such occurrences.’ Her eyes sparked with anger as she glared at Billy.

  ‘Orla’s very upset and I won’t have you upsetting my wife,’ Billy mumbled, taken aback at Maggie’s fury.

  ‘Well fuck Orla! And fuck you! What about me? What about my feelings?’ she demanded. ‘What am I? Good old Maggie-Doormat Ryan, here for everyone to walk all over? Is that what you and Orla think, Billy? Let me tell you one thing. I’ve given your children more dinners and done more homework with them than you ever have. You’re so busy out working all day. So how dare you come into my house with a fucking attitude!’

  Billy swallowed hard, his eyes blinking rapidly behind his glasses, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. ‘There’s no need for such crude language,’ he ventured weakly.

  ‘Is that right?’ snapped Maggie sarcastically. ‘Says who? Let me tell you, Billy Noonan. There is need. My need. So fuck you and your sensitive ears. I’ve heard you curse a lot worse when your team is losing a match on TV. Don’t give me that crap. And furthermore how dare you have the effrontery to knock on my door at this hour of the night and come into my house and
have a go at me? You tell Orla Noonan to fight her own battles from now on, if she has the guts to. Now get out of my house. I’m a busy woman. I don’t have time for this nonsense.’

  Maggie marched over to the door and held it open. She had an immense urge to kick Billy in his plump well-padded ass, as he slunk out the door followed by Terry.

  She stood, pumped full of adrenaline, as Terry opened the front door for the other man. PMT was a great thing to have when you were letting fly and giving someone a piece of your mind, she thought with satisfaction as she heard Terry mutter something about it all blowing over.

  In your dreams, you faithless bastard, she thought viciously. It was his turn next.

  Twenty-six

  ‘God almighty, Maggie, that was no way to speak to a neighbour! Your language is atrocious,’ Terry fumed as he came back into the room.

  ‘Well thank you! You gutless bastard. Thanks a million for standing up for me and taking my side. It does my heart good to know what a wonderful supportive husband I have.’ Maggie turned on him savagely. ‘How dare you tell me in front of Billy Noonan that I shouldn’t have called that sly cow a liar? How dare you, Terry! You had no business undermining me in front of him—’

  ‘For God’s sake, Maggie, what the bloody hell has got into you these days? You’re like a bloody demon,’ Terry accused heatedly. Maggie marched up to him and eyeballed him.

  ‘I’m sick of you. That’s what’s wrong with me. I don’t want to be married to you. I wish I could leave you. But I can’t because of the kids. You leave all the rearing of the children to me. You don’t pull your weight in the house. You do fuck-all housework. You don’t give me a chance to work at my career. You don’t even take it seriously. You invited the Al Shariffs to stay for a week without even asking me. You—’

  ‘Oh shut the fuck up, Maggie,’ Terry snarled. ‘I’ve had enough of this shit. If you’re so fed up of it all why don’t you walk? Why don’t you go and get a place of your own on your fabulous royalties and see what it’s like then, having to pay a mortgage. I’ll get someone in to look after the kids. Do you think it’s a joyride for me, living with you? Well believe me, it’s as much an ordeal for me as it is for you.’ He jabbed a finger in her face. ‘Look what you’ve turned into. Your mother. A whinging, whining, moaning nag! You don’t even turn me on any more. Having sex with you is like trying to ride a sack of potatoes. That’s about as exciting as it gets nowadays.’

  ‘Ha! Do you hear who’s talking,’ Maggie raged, incensed. ‘Having sex with you is like having a withered old walrus on top of me. You’re not man enough to satisfy me any more. You haven’t in years. Go and treat yourself to some Viagra before you talk to me about sex.’

  Terry flushed a dull deep red. Maggie knew she’d hit him where it hurt. But she didn’t care. It had been deliberate. And a low shot. He’d always prided himself on his sexual prowess and his abilities as a lover. She wanted to hurt him as much as he had hurt her. And that was exactly the way to do it.

  ‘And you know something else . . . dear . . .’ she added sarcastically. ‘I’m not going anywhere. Those children upstairs are going to live an untroubled life in this house until they’ve left school and have got jobs for themselves. But in the meantime, don’t you ever come near me again. You can go and sleep with the potatoes out in the shed for all I care.’

  She stalked out of the room, head high.

  Terry glared after her. Right now he felt as though he hated her. What a bitch! There was nothing wrong with him or his performance. Give him the right woman and he’d show her. Someone like . . . he cast around wildly for someone who’d turn him on. Alma . . . yes . . . Alma Al Shariff was a real woman. Not like Maggie.

  What did she expect him to do? Stay at home and be a Mrs Mops? Someone had to earn a crust to pay the bills. Why could she never understand that? Why did she expect him to turn around and do housework and the like when he came home from work? He’d spent all day slogging his guts out to provide her and the children with a standard of living that was the envy of many of her friends and neighbours.

  Housework and kids were primarily a woman’s responsibility but Maggie had never understood that, Terry thought furiously. Well, she’d better understand it. It was her problem. Because from now on he was going to spend a lot less time at home. Who’d want to spend time with a menopausal old shrew? He was going to put himself out and about once more. A nice little mistress would do him all the good in the world. She’d appreciate him. De-stress him. Give him a few hours of R&R. He’d make it very clear from the start that she couldn’t expect marriage. He’d tell her that he couldn’t break up the home. There was no way he was going through the Ria Kirby experience again. Terry scowled as he thought of his ex-lover. She’d practically demanded that he marry her. Once her bloom had worn off she’d been as much a shrew as Maggie was.

  One marriage in a lifetime was enough. In fact once was too bloody much, Terry thought glumly as he poured himself a stiff whiskey. Keep his exits free and clear but take what was offered. That was his motto. Maggie’d had her chance. Now she’d blown it. That was her tough luck.

  Maggie felt exhilarated as she stood under the shower a little while later. The pretence was over. She didn’t have to put on a front any more. She’d told Terry what she thought of him and he’d returned the compliment. It was over.

  The relief of it was indescribable. She could move forward now with some degree of certainty. She no longer had to be a ‘wife’ to Terry. She didn’t have to make the effort any more. She didn’t have to have sex with him ever again out of a sense of duty or routine. She knew to expect nothing of him from now on. That was a liberation in its own way.

  She wrapped a towel around herself and wiped the steam from the mirror. She looked tired. The lines around her eyes and mouth seemed much more pronounced. And she was carrying a half-stone too much weight. She did look about as sexy as a sack of potatoes, she conceded wryly, and she felt about as sexy as them as well.

  She’d start cutting down, she promised herself. It was just that when she was under stress, she ate. Comfort eating. She could write a book about it and it would be a damn sight easier than writing her novel. She really should spend a bit more time at City Girl, she thought regretfully, as she felt the thickening of her waist and dried the soft swelling of her untoned tummy. She’d been so fit and healthy once upon a time. She’d like to get back to that. The gym regime was certainly starting to work on Terry. And he was watching what he ate. How long would this fad last. He’d never stick it over Christmas.

  Maggie got into bed and switched out the light. She lay in the dark, her mind racing. The sooner she finished her book the sooner she’d get a portion of her advance on delivery. She could use that to get the attic converted. That’s what she’d do, she decided. She’d get the attic converted into a lovely little studio for herself. She’d have her space to write in. And she’d put a bed up there. As far as the children were concerned she and Terry would still share a bedroom but once the three of them were in bed, she’d go up to her little haven and they’d be none the wiser. She’d even get a portable TV up there. Terry could have their big double bed all to himself, she thought nastily. The sooner the better.

  She was going to finish that damn book come hell or high water. Forget about putting it on the back burner. Once it was done, she could collapse in a heap and take a break. And for the next one she’d have her attic room and space from Terry. It was definitely time to take some control back in her life. Maggie was asleep in minutes. She had the best sleep she’d had in months.

  The following week she drove out to Enterprise Publishing for her first meeting with her new editor. She had another fifty pages written. She was delighted with herself. She’d got up at six every morning and had an hour and a half of uninterrupted writing. It was exhausting, but she kept pushing herself. The more she got done before the Al Shariffs came, the better. The sooner she got her advance payment, the sooner she could get the builders in
.

  It was strange not to be meeting Marcy. Maggie felt a pang as she entered the small car park. Marcy had been such a support. Somehow she couldn’t imagine herself having the same rapport with the youthful Miranda.

  She noticed Jeremy’s Merc and Claudette’s sporty coupé parked near the entrance. The odd couple were in residence, she thought with a grin, as she hurried across the tarmacadam in the teeth of a howling gale and lashing rain.

  Joan the receptionist had the door open for her.

  ‘Don’t want one of our precious authors getting wet,’ she laughed.

  ‘Thanks, Joan. I’ve a meeting with Miranda Quigley.’ Maggie ran her fingers through her windswept hair. ‘There’s been a few changes, I hear.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ the middle-aged woman said dryly. ‘And not for the better either. I’ve never known such penny-pinching. Madame has taken over the reins with gusto. Here she comes,’ Joan murmured.

  ‘Aah, Maggie. How lovely to see you,’ Claudette gushed as she sashayed down the stairs, followed by Jeremy. She was wearing a cream pure wool suit with black accessories and a black pashmina scarf thrown casually over her shoulders. She looked stunning, the epitome of French chic. ‘How is the book coming along?’

  ‘Fine,’ Maggie said politely, surprised at the other woman’s apparent warmth. On the few occasions that Maggie had encountered Claudette previously, Claudette had greeted her in a bored and offhand way. This seemed completely out of character.

  ‘We must take you to lunch someday, mustn’t we Jeremy?’ she said in her attractive accented English.