City Lives

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘Suly’s getting very flabby,’ Alma said tartly, giving her husband an elbow in the stomach. ‘You hear that, darling. Terry works out. You haven’t worked out in years.’

  ‘I don’t have time to. I’m working myself to the bone to try and keep up with your spending,’ Sulaiman retorted.

  Terry guffawed. ‘I know exactly what you mean,’ he said chummily, much to Maggie’s annoyance.

  ‘Give over, I pay my own way. I’m a best-selling author, you know.’

  ‘I’m never allowed to forget it.’ Terry raised his eyebrows to heaven.

  ‘Huh!’ Alma glared at her husband. ‘You’d think that we were paupers the way you go on,’ she snapped.

  ‘We will be, the way you go on,’ Sulaiman snapped back. Alma bristled.

  ‘Let’s get the children to bed and go into the sitting-room and have a brandy,’ Maggie suggested diplomatically. ‘I forgot to tell you, Devlin’s throwing a party in your honour on Saturday night.’

  ‘Oh how wonderful! I adore parties,’ Alma exclaimed. ‘I’m so looking forward to seeing her. It’s great news about her baby. And so sad about poor Caroline. How is she?’

  ‘She’s putting one foot in front of the other and getting on with it. It’s very difficult for her but she’s transferred to Galway City Girl. It’s becoming residential, so she’s overseeing that,’ Maggie explained.

  ‘Such a tragedy though. Did he leave a note? Do they know why?’ Alma was dying to hear the gory details.

  “No. Richard was depressed. It’s one of those things. Let’s get the children to bed.’ She changed the subject. She had no intention of discussing Caroline or the tragedy with Alma.

  ‘Will she be at the party? I’d like to see her,’ Alma asked.

  ‘No. It’s a bit soon for her to be going to parties. She’s just been bereaved in the most tragic circumstances, after all. Besides she’d have to travel up from Galway and it’s a long drive,’ Maggie pointed out. Alma could be so obtuse at times. Imagine thinking that Caroline would even want to party at such a time.

  ‘I’ll have to get something to wear!’ Alma declared.

  Sulaiman looked sceptical but said nothing. Alma ignored him. ‘Can we go to Brown Thomas? I adore BT’s,’ she begged.

  ‘Sure. Maybe we could do that on Friday morning and bring the kids to the pictures Friday afternoon, and the guys can go and play golf.’ Maggie drained her glass. ‘Let’s put the kids to bed. Terry, will you put the dishes in the dishwasher and we’ll go and settle down for a natter,’ she said easily. Terry needn’t think that he was getting off scot-free. She was determined that he was going to pull his weight.

  Fortunately, after the wine and the brandies, the other couple began to yawn prodigiously and by eleven, when Maggie suggested that they retire, they agreed tiredly. Maggie couldn’t believe her luck to be in bed by eleven forty-five. The first day over, only six more to go, she thought drowsily as she drifted into sleep.

  Forty-three

  By the time Saturday arrived, Maggie was exhausted. She chickened out of Fort Lucan, much to Terry’s annoyance.

  ‘You have to come,’ he hissed as he tied a knot in a refuse sack. They were on their own in the kitchen. Sulaiman and Alma were getting dressed and Noori and Ali rampaged up and down the stairs playing hide and go seek with Shona.

  ‘Look, I’ve a load of washing to do. I’ve to collect your shirts and the rest of the ironing from the cleaners. I’ve to do a supermarket shop. I want to get tomorrow’s lunch prepared, because I’ll be drinking at Devlin’s party tonight and I’ll most likely have a hangover. It won’t kill you to go without me. You’ve been getting off lightly as regards the kids. We took them to the pictures yesterday and to McDonald’s. And if that young one asks me once more is it going to snow, I’ll freak.’ Maggie was at the end of her tether.

  ‘Let Mrs Ling do it!’ Terry growled.

  ‘Terry Ryan, I will not! That poor woman has enough to do with those children.’ Maggie was scandalized that he’d even consider asking the poor woman to do her housework.

  ‘Oh! OK then!’ Terry said with bad grace and stomped out to the shed with the refuse sack. Maggie heard a crash and rushed out into the hall. Pot-pourri lay scattered all over the carpet and the china bowl was smashed into smithereens.

  ‘It was her fault,’ Ali said shrilly, pointing to Shona.

  ‘It was not, Ali Al Shariff,’ Shona protested indignantly. ‘You knocked against the table.’

  ‘But you were chasing me, I was trying to get away from you.’

  ‘Just go and get ready to go out, the pair of you.’ Maggie gritted her teeth as she got down on her hands and knees and started picking up the fragments. Mrs Ling hurried to her assistance.

  ‘Let me help, ma’am,’ she offered.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Ling,’ Maggie said gratefully, wondering how the woman remained so placid and even-tempered. If she had to take care of Alma and those two wild kids, day in day out, she’d crack up.

  ‘Did you do this, Ali?’ Sulaiman appeared at the top of the stairs. He at least chastised the children now and again.

  ‘It was an accident,’ sulked Ali. ‘It was her fault,’ he added spitefully, pointing to Shona, who promptly burst into tears and ran up to her room.

  ‘It’s OK, Sulaiman. It’s just excitement. Fort Lucan will be the perfect place to get rid of excess energy,’ Maggie said lightly.

  ‘It’s a pity you can’t come. Alma and I would like to take you to lunch.’

  ‘I really need to catch up,’ she explained. ‘I need to do a shop and collect stuff from the cleaners.’

  ‘How about we take you out to dinner tomorrow night?’ Sulaiman got down on his hands and knees to help.

  Maggie smiled at him. ‘That would be lovely, Sulaiman. Thank you.’ She was very fond of Sulaiman. He was a most generous man, and, to give her her due, Alma shared that trait. It was a shame their marriage seemed as rocky as hers and Terry’s. They’d been sniping at each other since they’d arrived. It was uncomfortable.

  She and Terry were making an effort and an unspoken truce was in effect.

  It was with a huge sigh of relief that she waved them all off eventually. The silence was balm to her soul. She went into the kitchen, made herself a cup of coffee, took a chocolate-covered Kimberly out of the big Christmas biscuit tin, and sat down at the kitchen table and wilted.

  Four days gone, only three to go, she comforted herself. And after that, never again. Not that Terry would be asking them to stay for a week again, she grinned. He was beginning to wilt too.

  The phone rang. It was Devlin calling for her daily update, wondering how things were going.

  ‘They’re driving me nuts, Devlin,’ she wailed. ‘I hardly have time to pee. I went shopping with Alma yesterday and she must have tried on fifty dresses before finally deciding on the first one she saw. That was after we’d traipsed through every shop in Grafton Street. Then we took the kids to the pictures and Ali thought the film was too childish and moaned his way through it. Noori made herself sick eating M&Ms. They’re fighting like cats and dogs with my lot. Alma is prancing around the house in her negligee and Terry is watering at the mouth. I’m telling you, I’d nearly get a novel out of it.’ She laughed. If it wasn’t for Devlin she’d be lost.

  ‘Look, tonight you won’t have to worry about a thing except enjoying yourself, and at least you’re having a break from them today. I know you’re up to your eyes. But you’ve passed the halfway mark. It’s all downhill from now,’ Devlin consoled.

  ‘I know. And I enjoy Alma and Sulaiman’s company. It’s just a bad time to visit. Miranda Quigley phoned me looking for a delivery date for the manuscript, and it’s just driving me crazy that I can’t have a good run at it and finish the damned thing.’ Maggie sighed.

  ‘It will get done, stop panicking. You might even get a few pages written today.’

  ‘Yeah, if I get myself in gear I just might.’ Maggie felt a spurt of adrenaline. ‘I’l
l go and get myself organized. See you around eight.’

  ‘You’re taking a taxi, aren’t you?’ Devlin said.

  ‘I sure am, honey, I intend to get poleaxed,’ Maggie informed her hostess.

  ‘Lucky you, I’d love to get tiddly,’ Devlin confessed.

  ‘Just think, you’re halfway there too,’ Maggie soothed. That hadn’t been the most tactful thing to say to a pregnant woman on the dry.

  ‘At least the tiredness is gone. That was a killer. Anyway, I’ll let you go, Maggs, I’ve to clear up the kitchen before the caterers come. See you tonight.’

  Maggie finished her coffee, tidied up the house and put her washing in the machine. She was at the supermarket an hour later. She raced up and down the aisles and was lucky that the queues weren’t as bad as she’d expected.

  By one thirty Maggie was sitting at her computer, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she made the most of her precious little nugget of time. She was on the closing chapters of her novel, tying up loose ends. She knew where she was going and it was a joy to write, unlike at the beginning of the book when she was much slower, and unsure of what was happening.

  She wrote fifteen pages with exhilaration, delighted with herself that she could go to Devlin’s party with a clear conscience, knowing that she had worked well. The peace and quiet was a rare treat.

  Her family and guests arrived home from Fort Lucan around four, the children bubbling to tell her of all they had done. After a quick cup of coffee she whisked Alma off to Nikki’s, where they both had their hair done, and a sense of light-heartedness began to envelop her as she dressed for the party later that evening.

  ‘I’m looking forward to this,’ she confided to Terry as she applied her foundation.

  ‘Me too. Devlin and Luke always throw a good bash. It will be nice to get out of the house. The kids are a bit wearing.’ Terry poured aftershave onto his hands and smoothed it in to his cheeks. It was Fabergé. Alma had told him she liked the smell of it. He liked the smell of her Chanel No 5. She was a dead sexy woman. And the way she wriggled that ass of hers was an occasion of sin, he thought longingly.

  ‘I just hope Alma doesn’t get into a discussion about politics,’ Maggie lowered her voice ‘She’s got very trenchant views, hasn’t she? I got such an ear-bashing on the way home for some off-the-cuff remark I made. I was sorry I opened my mouth, I can tell you.’

  ‘She argues her point in a very feisty manner.’ Terry defended his new heroine.

  ‘Come on, Terry, she rams her opinions down your neck,’ Maggie retorted, unimpressed with ‘feisty’.

  I wished she’d ram her tongue down my neck, he thought, but he just muttered a non-committal ‘umm’, and carried on with his ablutions.

  Maggie applied her eye-shadow with care. She wanted to look her best. Alma was wearing a stunning black off-the-shoulder cocktail dress, the one she’d bought in BT’s, so Maggie had decided against wearing a dress, knowing that she couldn’t compete in the figure stakes. She was wearing a pair of black trousers that were extremely flattering to her long legs and a royal blue silk top with a deep plunging V at the back. It was understated but very sexy. She intended to wear her highest heels.

  ‘You look nice,’ Terry said when she was ready, but she knew that he said it automatically. It meant nothing.

  She didn’t really care one way or the other whether he thought she looked nice or not. Nor did she care that he was constantly ogling Alma. She merely found his behaviour irritating.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said politely. At least the tenuous harmony between them at the moment was better than the bickering they’d been going on with.

  Alma lay back into the frothy bubbles of her scented bath. She was looking forward to Devlin’s party with great anticipation. Devlin had style and class – her party was sure to be a buzz. Alma enjoyed parties. She loved being the centre of attention and having men dancing attendance on her. It was nice to feel wanted and desired. It made her feel sexy and womanly. She gave a deep sigh and blew a dusting of foam off her nose.

  She might as well be a nun for all the sex she’d had this past year, she reflected glumly. Sulaiman was a disaster in bed and he just wouldn’t talk about it or go and see a doctor or even take Viagra. When she’d suggested that, he’d freaked.

  ‘You expect me to take drugs. Men have died taking Viagra,’ he’d raged. She should have known better. He wouldn’t even take an aspirin for a headache. He was a doctor, for God’s sake. He prescribed drugs day in, day out. What was his problem?

  Alma soaped herself lazily. She was enjoying the break in Ireland. Terry and Maggie had gone to a lot of trouble to make sure their visit was a success. They couldn’t do enough for them. Terry was being so attentive. He fancied her rotten. He couldn’t take his eyes off her and he was always making sexy suggestive remarks, when Sulaiman and Maggie weren’t around, of course. It was very gratifying. It was a pity he wasn’t living in Saudi any more. She was enjoying their flirtation.

  Later, downstairs, Terry poured some drinks while they waited for the taxi. Sulaiman was already sitting on the sofa, all dressed in a lovely grey suit.

  He stood up when Maggie entered. ‘You look stunning, Maggie,’ he complimented her and gallantly kissed her hand.

  ‘Thank you Suly, you look very dashing yourself,’ she said gaily, and accepted a gin and tonic from Terry. Moments later, Alma made her entrance. Terry’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as he took in the apparition in front of him.

  The black cocktail dress moulded every curve like a second skin. The off-the-shoulder neckline emphasized the creamy curve of breasts, the slit in the chiffony skirt showed tantalizing glimpses of black-stockinged thigh when she moved. Her blonde hair curled alluringly over her shoulders. A diamond necklace sparkled at her throat. Alma looked like a Hollywood star.

  ‘Wow!’ breathed Terry.

  ‘You look fabulous,’ Maggie said as Alma did a twirl.

  ‘Nice dress,’ Sulaiman approved.

  ‘Have a drink.’ Terry was practically slobbering.

  ‘Thank you, Terry, you look very handsome,’ Alma purred, accepting her drink. She sat on the arm of the sofa and crossed her legs provocatively. Maggie felt like slapping her. How could she behave so tartily in front of her husband? Poor Sulaiman, she’d done nothing but complain about him since she’d arrived.

  That’s their problem, not yours. Forget it, she told herself sternly.

  ‘I just want to make sure Mrs Ling knows where to contact us if she needs us.’ Maggie got up and headed towards the door.

  ‘Don’t fuss, Maggie, she won’t need us,’ Alma said airily.

  ‘Just in case,’ Maggie said firmly.

  ‘Make yourself at home, Mrs Ling. When the children are in bed relax and have whatever you want, won’t you,’ Maggie told the maid after she’d written down Devlin’s phone number and her own mobile number.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am. I will. Have a nice time.’

  ‘We will,’ Maggie said cheerfully as the doorbell rang. ‘Here’s the taxi. Good night, everyone,’ she called. The children were playing a new Playstation game that Terry had treated them to. They galloped downstairs to say good night.

  ‘You look lovely, Mammy,’ Shona said.

  ‘Are they real diamonds?’ Mimi asked Alma, round-eyed.

  ‘Yes they are, darling. Do you like them?’

  ‘They’re gorgeous,’ breathed Mimi. ‘You must be very, very rich.’

  Sulaiman laughed. ‘I wish,’ he said.

  ‘Come on, rich man, let’s go.’ Terry patted his friend on the back and they trooped out laughing and looking forward to the revelries of the night ahead.

  Forty-four

  ‘Devlin, you look radiant. Congratulations on your wonderful news. Both of you.’ Alma embraced Devlin warmly and then kissed Luke. ‘Thank you so much for having this party for us. We are having the best time. I’m so glad we’re home for Christmas. I’d forgotten how evocative it is. I love hearing al
l the Christmas carols and songs everywhere I go.’

  ‘Let me take your shawl, Alma. Sulaiman, how are you?’ Luke held out his hand and shook the other man’s firmly.

  The party was in full swing. A hum of gaiety and a buzz of conversation floated out from the lounge. A waitress in a black dress and a little white apron took Sulaiman’s coat and Alma’s pashmina from Luke, and held out her hand for Maggie’s and Terry’s coats. Another waitress carrying a tray of champagne glasses came over to them. The golden liquid sparkled and bubbled under the light of the chandelier.

  ‘Oooh, champagne. I adore it.’ Alma took a glass and sipped eagerly.

  ‘Maggie?’ Devlin urged.

  ‘I will, thank you.’ Maggie grinned and took one of the slender flutes.

  ‘No need to ask us,’ chuckled Terry as he handed a glass to Sulaiman and took one for himself.

  ‘Come into the lounge,’ Devlin invited. ‘You know some of the people here. They’ve been at our summer barbecues.’

  ‘Are the Madigans here?’ Sulaiman asked. Andy Madigan was, like him, a kidney specialist. They had a lot in common. Sulaiman was always trying to persuade his Irish colleague to come out to Saudi.

  ‘They are.’ Devlin smiled, leading the way. ‘And so is Walter Whelan. You beat him at Scrabble at that wild party in Maggie’s house a couple of years back.’

  ‘Remember that party! We were all smashed.’ Alma giggled.

  ‘Excellent!’ Sulaiman’s eyes brightened. This was going to be a good night.

  They walked into Devlin’s sitting-room and Alma gasped. ‘Oh Devlin, what a magnificent tree. And what beautiful decorations.’

  ‘The tree was Luke’s doing! You should have seen him trying to get it up in the lift. My husband doesn’t do things by halves,’ she said fondly. ‘He brings home half a forest.’

  ‘It’s only a twig, girl,’ Luke declared with a boyish grin.

  ‘It’s a mighty twig!’ Maggie murmured in awe.

  ‘Well, you know me, Maggie. I have to outdo the neighbours,’ Luke said straight-faced and Maggie burst out laughing. The six-foot tree, adorned with tiny gold lights and dozens of little red and gold bows, was reflected in the big patio doors and massive bevelled mirror over the mantelpiece. The effect was stunning.