City Lives

by Patricia Scanlan

  This had been a brainwave, she thought with satisfaction. The three of them hadn’t been as relaxed in years. She could see the difference in Maggie already. What was the point of being successful if you didn’t splash out on yourself now and again?

  They really should do this more often. Although once she had the baby she’d be tied. The thought gave her a little pang. Even though she longed to have this much wanted child she knew her life would change completely. It would no longer be hers. She and Luke would not have the luxury of spontaneous living, she thought, smiling, remembering their day ‘on the mitch’. They should make the most of the next few months together and she should make the most of every second of this weekend, she thought drowsily, as the therapist smoothed cool cream onto her skin with a feather-light touch. Her rhythmic circular movements were almost hypnotic.

  Caroline felt the heat of the green thermal mud seep deep into the lower curve of her spine. Warm towels kept the rest of her body snug. The nagging ache that sometimes plagued her receded gently, soothed by the deep-heat treatment.

  Once, when she had gone for acupuncture for her back, the acupuncturist, a wise and spiritual woman, had asked her gently, ‘What burdens are you carrying that are too heavy for your back?’ The question had made her cry as she finally acknowledged that yes, she had burdens, and it wasn’t giving into weakness to admit it, instead of putting on a façade and pretending that everything was all right.

  Richard was a heavy burden, she thought sadly. One she shouldn’t be carrying. Her back had only started to trouble her again recently, since the row over Mrs Yates.

  I have to let him go, she told herself for the thousandth time.

  Oh Lord, let me do it gently and with kindness. Guide my path. Show me Your Divine Plan. She prayed with heartfelt emotion in that peaceful little room, knowing that every prayer was always heard and an answer always given.

  Thirty-four

  Hannah Gleeson put on her best pure wool coat – a present from her daughter, before the bowsie husband had deserted her – her red felt hat and her black gloves. She dabbed powder on her cheeks, reddened her lips with Max Factor lipstick, squirted Lily of the Valley perfume on her neck and wrists and stood back to admire herself in the mirror.

  She was pleased with what she saw. She looked every inch a lady, she thought approvingly as she stepped into her good Sunday shoes. The black patent ones, all shiny and bright.

  Today was an important day. She wanted to look her best. And she did look her best. She’d come back from a winter week in Spain where the sun had shone on her, even though it had rained cats and dogs here at home, she’d been told. Winning five thousand pounds on a Prize Bond she’d held for over twenty years had been the greatest occasion of her life. She still had four thousand left, even after giving her daughter and herself the week away.

  But something almost as good had happened to her two days before she won the money. Something as unexpected as it was welcome. The answer to prayer. A cross taken from her.

  Hannah smiled at herself, pleased that her perm had taken so well. She was going visiting and she looked every inch a lady, she told herself, reassuringly, once again.

  ‘Yeu won’t look down yer high and mighty nose on me, madam,’ she declared aloud. ‘The time has come for me to give yeu a piece of my mind, yeu little ould nettle. Yeu bould ould rip! And if it gives yeu another heart attack it will be good enough for yeu. And I won’t be savin’ yer life either.’

  Raising her chin, Hannah picked up her new shiny patent bag that she’d bought in Spain to match her shoes and marched out of her bedroom, the light of battle in her bright blue eyes.

  Sarah sipped her cup of tea and nibbled daintily at a biscuit. She was feeling stronger today. The hairdresser had come yesterday and set her hair and Richard had bought her a new bedjacket that looked most fetching. It was soft pink angora wool and she was very pleased with it. He’d told her that he’d picked it himself. She knew that wife of his hadn’t. She was off down at a health farm, spending all his hard-earned money. Richard had told her that she had gone with friends.

  Boozing friends, no doubt. Sarah sniffed. They were most likely up to their tonsils in drink. Once an alcoholic always an alcoholic, in Sarah’s eyes. She’d never believed that Caroline was on the dry. She was glad to know that her despised daughter-in-law was away. She was going to ask Richard to take her out for the day tomorrow. She’d go to Mass in the nuns’ chapel downstairs and then have her lunch. Sunday lunch was the best lunch of the week here. Then Richard could collect her.

  He could bring her home so that she could check that Mrs Gleeson was cleaning the house properly. And then he could give her tea in his apartment, seeing as that hussy wouldn’t be there. Sarah liked the view from Richard’s penthouse. She liked looking down on the world.

  The maid came to take the tray away. ‘A very nice elevenses, dear,’ Sarah said graciously. ‘But the spoon was stained. Please make sure that I get clean cutlery, in future. I’ve had a very serious heart attack, you know. An infection could kill me.’

  Pity it doesn’t, the young girl thought glumly as she removed the tray. Matron would be told about the spoon and she’d get a telling-off . . . yet again. And it was all that crabby old bat’s fault. She had a good mind to mix Epsom salts in with the sugar and give the old witch a right dose of the scutters.

  Sarah, ignorant of planned revenge attacks, flicked on the TV and settled back to enjoy a gardening programme. If only her garden looked as well. Nolan would want to have pruned the roses and put down the polyanthus by now, but he was probably taking it easy while she was away.

  She’d be able to check up on that tomorrow. And she’d have stern words with him if everything wasn’t up to standard. Gardeners weren’t indispensable, she’d warn him. It was good to keep staff on their toes.

  The nurse came in and plumped up her pillows and straightened up the bedspread.

  ‘Everything all right, Mrs Yates?’ she queried.

  ‘Everything’s very nice. Perhaps you might get me the Irish Times. I do enjoy the Weekend section.’ Sarah smiled sweetly.

  ‘Did you not order one last night?’ the nurse asked.

  ‘I wasn’t in the humour last night. I didn’t think I’d be able for it. But I do feel a little stronger today. I’m not putting you out, dear, am I? Matron has told me to ask for whatever I need.’

  ‘I’ll get someone to get one for you.’ The nurse’s lips tightened. That Yates bitch was the bane of her life.

  ‘Thank you, dear.’ Sarah settled back comfortably on her freshly plumped pillows. Being in a nursing home was rather like being in a hotel, she mused. It wasn’t at all frightening, like the hospital had been. She was going to make the most of her last few days.

  A smart rap on the door startled her.

  ‘Come in,’ she quavered. It could be her consultant. It didn’t do to sound too hale and hearty.

  Hannah Gleeson marched through the door, all dressed up.

  Sarah felt a little self-conscious. This was rather unexpected. She would have preferred to have known about her housekeeper’s visit in advance.

  ‘Mrs Gleeson, how kind of you to come and visit. I’m afraid I can’t talk very long. I’m still quite ill you see. Sit down for a few moments though, seeing as you’ve taken the trouble to come.’ Sarah waved royally at the chair beside the bed.

  ‘I won’t sit if yeu don’t mind. This isn’t a social visit.’

  Sarah’s head snapped around at her housekeeper’s tone. ‘I beg your pardon, Mrs Gleeson,’ she said sharply.

  ‘Well I don’t grant yeu me pardon, yer ladyship. Yer high and mightiness.’ Hannah’s broad Dublin tones held nothing but contempt.

  Sarah couldn’t believe her ears at her housekeeper’s impertinence. Before she could say anything, Hannah advanced towards her, a finger wagging.

  ‘I’m here ta tender me resignation. I’m finished working for yeu, thank God and His Holy Mother, because yeu’ve been a cro
wn of thorns around me head. I’ve hated every minute I’ve been stuck in that mausoleum of yours. And yeu,’ she advanced at Sarah, who shrank back against the pillows, ‘yeu are nuttin’ but an ignorant mean ould bitch who wouldn’t give yeu the steam of yer piss. Bad scran to yer mother for bringing yeu into the world ta torment the likes a me an’ mine. Yeu think yer a lady! Yeu don’t know the meaning of the word. Yeu weren’t brought up, yeu were dragged up.

  ‘But I’m going ta work for a lady. A real lady and she only lives four doors down the road from yeu. The one yer always giving out about. Mrs O’Donnell.

  ‘I met her on the street one day and we got chattin’ and in the heel of the hunt she offered me a job and the wages are much better than what I ever got from yeu. So yeu can stick yer job up yer snooty tight little arse, Sarah Yates, and yer airs and graces with it. Airs and disgraces would be more like it. Because that’s what yeu are. A disgrace. And God help the poor craythur who comes ta take me place.’

  With that she threw her set of keys to Sarah’s house on the bed, turned on her heel and marched out the door, leaving Sarah grasping her throat in shock. Perhaps she was imagining all of this. Maybe the drugs were causing her to hallucinate. The slam of the door told her she was not imagining anything. Hannah Gleeson had abused and insulted her up to her eyebrows and she on her sickbed. Sarah felt a dizziness overcome her. She picked up her bell and kept her finger pressed firmly on the buzzer.

  Hannah Gleeson felt as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. And what was even more . . . she had reclaimed her pride. Her dignity.

  For years she had suffered Sarah Yates’s insults. But she’d finally had the last word. It was the best day of her life. Even better than winning the Prize Bond, Hannah thought in elation, as she walked down the drive of the nursing home without a backward glance.

  Thirty-five

  ‘But I thought she was much better. She was in very good form yesterday evening.’ Richard was irritated and perplexed as he spoke down the phone to the staff nurse from the nursing home.

  ‘It’s just a slight temperature and we’ve given her a mild sedative. It’s nothing to worry about. She’d just be better off not having any visitors this afternoon. I’m not talking about you, of course,’ she added comfortingly.

  ‘I’ll be in after lunch,’ Richard said flatly and hung up.

  This was a bloody nuisance. He was fed up to the back teeth visiting Sarah in the nursing home. It took up the whole afternoon or evening, week in, week out.

  He’d seen her improving. He’d half expected her to be discharged at the weekend. Once Mrs Gleeson took up full-time work he could scale down his visits to his mother. Where was that woman? he wondered in irritation. He’d spent the whole morning phoning her but there was no answer. He wanted to sort out her new working arrangements. The sooner the better.

  He tried again. No luck.

  It was raining, a steady downpour that did nothing to improve his humour. The dull greyness of the day oozed into the penthouse like a miasma. He snapped on a lamp in an effort to dispel the gloom. There was nothing that whetted his appetite in the fridge or freezer. He supposed he should go shopping. Lunchtime on Saturday was not the ideal time to go shopping in Superquinn in Sutton. Richard sighed. He couldn’t be bothered.

  No doubt Caroline was tucking into gourmet light-cal food in Powerscourt Springs, with not a care in the world, he thought resentfully. He paced up and down restlessly. He could work on his briefs, he supposed. The courts had ruled against him in his last three cases. He was losing his touch. He glanced at his briefcase. Sod that, he thought. He couldn’t care less if he lost every case from here to kingdom come.

  He’d buy the paper, have a sandwich and cup of coffee in the Yacht, go and visit his mother and if the weather improved he might go into town for an hour or so and have dinner somewhere later on.

  ‘Mega exciting life, Yates,’ he muttered. When Charles had been alive they’d gone to the theatre, films, art exhibitions, all the city’s cultural activities. Caroline had been with them, of course. ‘The decoy’, she always called herself. He’d had a busy life. He’d been involved in politics. He’d networked actively. These days he couldn’t be bothered. The spark and the hunger had gone out of him once Charles had died. Now it didn’t matter any more.

  Two hours later he stood at his mother’s bedside. She was wearing the new pink bedjacket his secretary had chosen for her. He’d lied and told her that he’d picked it himself. She’d been pleased at that.

  Her eyes were closed. She looked a little pale. Maybe she was going to snuff it. A treacherous hope flared for a second. It would solve everything for him. He’d leave the damn country and never set foot in it again. And Caroline could go fuck herself, he’d never speak to her again. Deserting him when he needed her most.

  Sarah suddenly opened her eyes and impaled him with a laser-like stare. ‘Richard you’re going to have to find me a new housekeeper. Hannah Gleeson will not be setting foot in my house again.’

  ‘What?’ he exclaimed, astonished.

  Sarah sat straight up in bed, her eyes bright beads of temper. She didn’t look at all like someone who was going to snuff it.

  ‘That woman had the cheek to come in here to me in my sickbed, and give me the greatest mouthful of impudence. I have been treated with such disrespect.’ Sarah was still livid, despite her sedative.

  ‘But what did she say?’ Richard was mystified.

  ‘She told me she was leaving. That O’Donnell woman four doors down from me has offered her a job. And then . . .’ Sarah inhaled deeply. ‘Then she called me such dreadful names. She said I was a crown of thorns around her head. Can you credit that? I was a crown of thorns? After all I’ve done for that woman. I gave her ten pounds extra every Christmas as a bonus.’ Sarah was pink with indignation. ‘I wouldn’t repeat her other vulgarities. I’m well rid of her, Richard. Kindly place an ad in the Irish Times and specify highest references only.’

  ‘And what will you do until you get someone new?’ Richard couldn’t hide his dismay. What on earth had possessed Mrs Gleeson?

  ‘You’ll just have to come and stay with me for a week or two. I can get the mini-maids to come twice a week and you can collect something for us from the delicatessen some evenings. You can get some of those nice chicken dishes out of Marks & Spencers and some of those baby potatoes.’ Sarah had it all planned.

  Richard said nothing. This was a nightmare. His mother was never going to get someone to keep house for her. Who in their right mind would want to work for such a virago? He was up the creek without a paddle.

  ‘Maybe you should sell the house and think of finding a good-quality nursing home to stay in,’ he ventured. ‘You like this place? And the care is very good.’

  ‘Indeed and it’s not,’ Sarah snapped. ‘I got dirty cutlery today and I was waiting an hour and a half for an Irish Times. And I’ll thank you not to suggest selling your father’s house again. Of course you’d like to wash your hands of me and incarcerate me in a home, wouldn’t you? I’m just a nuisance to you now,’ Sarah said self-pityingly. ‘You never like to be put out.’

  ‘I’m just thinking of you, Mother,’ Richard gritted.

  ‘You mean you’re just thinking of yourself. Go on. Get out of here. I’d be better off dead.’

  ‘Mother I—’

  ‘Get out,’ she screeched.

  Her face was contorted with anger, her finger shaking as she pointed to the door. It was very rarely that Sarah lost control. But when she did it was not a pretty sight.

  Silently Richard picked up his overcoat. He left the room and didn’t look back.

  There was nothing he could do or say to salvage the situation. He didn’t care any more. Hannah Gleeson had been his one faint hope that there was a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. Now that light had been well and truly extinguished.

  Sarah wouldn’t go into a nursing home. No-one would ever stick working for her. There were no options
. No alternatives. Nothing. It was all going to be left to him.

  He walked out of the nursing home like a man in a daze. There was one thing he could do, he thought despondently, as he switched on the ignition and reversed out of the parking space.

  It would be a solution of sorts, he acknowledged grimly. He straightened up the wheels and drove off, noticing as he did so that a glorious vivid rainbow arched across the sky. Richard smiled at the irony of it as he eased into the flow of traffic.

  Thirty-six

  The cottage had a rustic charm that appealed to Luke. The wood and stonework lent a warm homely air. They’d have to extend up and out but that wouldn’t be a problem. He hoped Devlin liked it. He felt that she would. He stepped out into the garden, neglected, overgrown, but nearly a half an acre with massive potential. And the view, even when wreathed in mist and rain, was stunning. On a clear day they’d be able to see as far as Wicklow. It hadn’t been raining when he’d driven up here. There’d been a huge rainbow over to the east when he’d set out to view the house but within five minutes of reaching The Summit the mist had closed in again and the rain began to pelt down.

  Misty views or not, it was a hot property. Sites like this on Howth Head were few and far between. If Devlin liked it, he’d match any bid.

  ‘I’d like to bring my wife to see it, she’s away at the moment,’ he told the estate agent who’d shown him the property.

  ‘That’s no problem. Just phone me when it suits you and we’ll fix a time,’ the young man said affably as he locked the door after them.

  ‘I’ll do that, so,’ Luke agreed.

  It was getting dark as he drove down the narrow winding road. Lights twinkled in windows, casting warm shadows. Below him, Dublin glittered through the mist.

  He was tempted to leave a message on her mobile. Now that he’d discovered this little gem he wanted her to see it so they could put in an offer as quickly as possible.