by Cathy Kelly
‘But nothing!’ said Birdie, forcing the fear out of her head. The wedding: she would concentrate on that. ‘We’d love it. Your father will be delirious. He’ll probably build a special wing!’
Birdie and her daughter laughed, both of them picturing Howard rushing around with assistants trailing in his wake, struggling to note his every command on their tablets or notebooks.
Beside a towel-clad Katy in their bathroom, Michael smiled but didn’t laugh. He suspected that in Howard Desmond’s eyes, not even the Elysée Palace would be grand enough for Katy’s wedding. He had also long suspected that he, a humble college lecturer, was not grand enough for Katy either.
‘We’re only just back home,’ he said. ‘We thought we’d bring you, Howard and my mum out to dinner to celebrate on Friday night. I’m going to phone my father, but I don’t know if he’ll be able to make it at such short notice.’
‘He’ll be there in spirit,’ said Birdie kindly. ‘I can’t wait. Is your mother happy, Michael?’
‘You’re the first to hear, Mum,’ said Katy. ‘Grace won’t mind, you know she won’t. We’re going to phone her now and then I’ll phone Dad.’
‘You told me first?’ Birdie held tightly on to Thumper’s solid body for support. ‘That was so lovely of you both, thank you.’
‘Love you, Mum,’ whispered Katy into the phone.
Grace’s cell phone buzzed discreetly on her desk. She ignored it, even though she could see from the picture on the front that it was her son.
She felt a frisson of pleasure all the same.
He and Katy had to have got engaged, because it was so rare for Michael to phone during school time: he knew better.
Even lunchtime was dodgy for receiving phone calls; left unwatched, the naughty contingent of the sixth class would probably take it into their heads to escape en masse down to the forbidden park just off the schoolyard and play among the empty beer cans of an older generation.
None of these thoughts showed on Grace’s fine-boned face as she faced the couple across the desk from her.
‘Awful pity you don’t play poker, Grace,’ Nora had sighed many a time. ‘With a face like that, you’d wipe the floor with everyone else.’
‘I tried strip snap once,’ teased Grace, and Nora threw back her head and laughed till she shook.
‘Really?’
‘Do school principals generally admit to playing strip snap?’ Grace demanded.
‘I’ve heard a hell of a lot worse,’ Nora said back. ‘A bit of strip snap is nothing, honey. I bet you kept your clothes on, too.’
‘Wouldn’t you like to know,’ said Grace with a grin, tapping the side of her nose.
‘Ciaran’s such a sweet boy at home,’ continued the mother in front of her now, desperate to convince Grace that this whole bullying allegation must be a mistake. ‘I can’t see him hurting anyone really, can you, Kev?’
Kev sat with his big muscled arms folded and glowered at Grace, who decided that the time had come to end this going-nowhere interview with two parents who weren’t hearing what she was saying.
‘Ciaran has hurt five children this term in incidents ranging from pushing to kicking, culminating in yesterday’s biting incident in the playground. It is highly unusual for children to bite when they’re eight years old. Biting occurs among the smaller children, yes, but not in second class. This is very serious, very serious indeed. The child Ciaran hurt was badly injured and is very upset. There were five witnesses, including his teacher, Miss Lennon, and the parents’ garden committee, who were walking round the yard discussing the planned flower beds.’
Kev’s arms unfolded and he sat up straight. Witnesses: this changed the whole thing.
‘Ciaran clearly hasn’t learned that it is wrong to hit or bite other people, particularly ones smaller than he is. The child he hurt yesterday is both much smaller and from a younger class,’ Grace added gravely.
She didn’t know if any of this would penetrate Ciaran’s father’s head, but she had to try. It wasn’t the child’s fault that nobody had taught him to behave; he undoubtedly only practised what he saw at home.
‘I’ve talked this over with the board and we’ve agreed that we must suspend Ciaran for a week,’ Grace went on. ‘Now, if you could leave, and take Ciaran with you, that would be good. Here’s a copy of the school bullying policy – which I have given you on four other occasions.’
She paused. Was it worth telling them that the board had discussed expelling the child, something that had never happened before in her time? Probably not. She could only hope that the family realised exactly how serious this was.
Without another word she got to her feet, opened the door to the corridor and ushered them out. It was a relief to close the door behind them. She’d had such a busy start to the day that she hadn’t had a moment to herself to either wonder about Michael and Katy in Paris or give any more thought to what she could do about Ruby Morrison.
She’d slept badly, dreams about her son and daughter and little Ruby overlapping until she woke at half four knowing more sleep wouldn’t come. To counteract this, she’d been drinking coffee all morning, which would stop her sleeping all over again tonight.
She quickly emailed the board members with detailed notes of the meeting with Ciaran’s parents, then phoned the school secretary.
‘Mary, can you hold all calls for ten minutes, please?’ she asked.
‘Course,’ said Mary. ‘Will I put a note on your door saying you’re not to be disturbed?’
Grace’s office was easily accessible to all, which was how she liked it. The children knew they could come to see her if they had a problem, any problem. But she knew that Mary would stand at the door like a sentry if required. Mary was wasted in a school, Grace thought fondly. She’d have been far better employed in a military facility, taking no backchat from rookie soldiers and four-star generals alike.
‘No, Mary, it’s business as usual. I just want to make a phone call in peace.’
‘Righto.’
Mary never asked anything personal. Another of the things Grace loved about her.
Michael answered on the first ring. ‘Ma! Can you talk?’
‘No, love, I’ve got a few of the fifth class in here right now and I’m doing fingernail extraction for homework offences. You know, the usual Tuesday morning carry-on in a busy school …’
‘Funny, Mum,’ he said, and she could picture his smile. Michael’s face was an open book, revealing everything he was thinking. She loved his smile so much: it took over his whole face, from the crinkles around eyes that were just like Stephen’s to the broad grin that reminded Grace of her own father, who’d also been a gentle giant.
‘We’ve got news for you – I’m putting you on speaker.’
‘Yes,’ breathed Grace.
‘No, you should say it to her yourself, not on speaker,’ Grace could hear Katy whispering. ‘She’ll want to hear it from you.’
‘Just tell me,’ Grace said evenly. ‘I’ve several possibilities in my mind, from lovely ones like weddings and babies, to terrible disasters like you’re both stuck in a French jail and a gendarme’s holding your phone in through the cell bars and the bail has been set too high and—’
‘Mum, you’re totally mad, you do know that, don’t you?’ Michael said.
‘You told me often enough when you were a teenager,’ she retorted. ‘I prayed we were past that stage …’
‘Oh, stop teasing your mother, Michael,’ said an exasperated Katy. ‘We’re engaged, Grace!’
‘I asked her on the Eiffel Tower and she said yes,’ Michael chimed in.
‘The Eiffel Tower,’ whispered Grace. She breathed in and out slowly. ‘That’s wonderful news,’ she said quickly. ‘Darling Katy, you’re already part of the family. I’m thrilled you’re getting married. You were made for each other – and I don’t say that lightly.’
‘Do you think Fiona will be a bridesmaid?’ Michael asked. ‘You know she hates girlie stu
ff.’ There was a note of alarm in his voice as he added: ‘She can’t wear jeans to our wedding, I mean, really she can’t.’
‘I’ll get her into a bridesmaid’s dress,’ promised his mother. ‘It might have to be made of denim, though, or some indigo wash.’
They all laughed at the thought of Michael’s sister clad in a denim dress, with her biker boots peeking out from underneath. Fiona hadn’t been separated from her jeans since she was about six and first discovered the lure of denim.
And then the three of them were talking fast, discussing the date and the venue, and Grace had to reach into her desk for her tissues to wipe her eyes.
‘It’s truly wonderful news,’ she said finally. ‘I love you both, you know.’
Through the opaque glass of her office door she could see several small shapes in the school’s grey uniform: children being sent up either for being in trouble or on an exciting errand to show Ms Rhattigan how well they’d done in their spellings or essays or maths.
‘I have to fly. Little people at my door and they’ll burst in any moment. Delayed gratification is not a child thing. You’re home now?’
‘Yes,’ said her son hurriedly. ‘Just got back. We’d like to take you, Birdie and Howard to dinner to celebrate on Friday.’
Grace heard the subtle change in her son’s voice when he said Howard’s name. She understood it. For all his bonhomie, Howard was not always easy company. His need to be in charge of everything was at the core of his personality, and he could barely last five minutes without interrupting someone.
Getting married wasn’t just marrying one person: marriage meant moving into a whole new family, as Grace knew from her own experience. Even now, Stephen’s mother still phoned her for a chat. Lesley Rhattigan had never quite recovered from her son’s separation and subsequent divorce.
‘You married for life, in a church, in God’s eyes!’ she’d cried after Stephen had told her about the separation, and then she’d phoned Grace to beg them to reconsider.
‘Whatever he’s done, can’t you take him back?’ she’d begged.
‘He hasn’t done anything, Lesley,’ Grace had said quietly. ‘Neither of us have. Our marriage is simply over, that’s all. We want different things. I can’t hold Stephen back any more than he can hold me back from what I want.’
It had taken years for Lesley to recover from the blow. It was only thanks to Grace and Stephen’s combined efforts at bringing up their children, ensuring that she was still very much a part of their lives, that she eventually reconciled herself to the fact that the marriage was over.
‘It was all down to you, Grace,’ she acknowledged now. ‘You were always a lady, always the sensible one. You kept it civilised.’
‘Stephen was responsible for that too,’ Grace would say. As he had been.
In her large office outside Mr Desmond’s much bigger, oak-panelled office at Bridgeport Woollen Mills, Roberta could hear Howard whooping and hollering on the phone. Good news for sure. Either he’d won the lottery – and Roberta knew he didn’t believe in gambling, calling it dumb luck – or he’d something very special lined up. Whatever it was, she hadn’t heard him that happy since he’d won the enormous deal with the Canadian department store chain to supply them with Bridgeport products.
‘I love you!’ he roared, and Roberta stared down at her computer, wondering how to play this one.
Acting was useful when it came to being an executive assistant. Acting deaf and sometimes acting blind and dumb too. She was like those three wise monkeys rolled into one: she saw no evil, heard no evil and spoke no evil.
‘Roberta!’ roared Howard’s voice over the phone intercom. ‘Come in and bring your big pad.’
A big deal needed a big pad in her boss’s mind. Roberta often felt like telling him that you could write big ideas in tiny letters and they’d still be big ideas, but she needed this job and if she could stick it out for another eight years, she’d have put enough into her pension to find something where the stress levels were better.
The moment she woke that Tuesday, Leila had dialled the hospital, even though it was still only six in the morning.
Her mother had had a good night and was dozing.
‘She’s on a morphine drip, so she’ll sleep a lot, plus she needs to rest,’ the nurse said. ‘She’ll probably be taken off that today, though. If you come in now, she’ll still be out of it.’
‘How about twelve?’ said Leila.
‘Whatever suits,’ said the nurse.
An hour before she was due to leave for the hospital, her mobile rang. Her first thought was that it would be the nurse, ringing to say her mother’s condition had suddenly deteriorated. To her relief, it was Katy, bubbling over with excitement as she announced her engagement.
‘I’m so glad you’re not in a meeting, Leila. You’re only the sixth person we’ve told, after our parents and Fiona,’ Katy had said, and Leila decided that this was not the time to explain how things were in her world, that she was not at work in Dublin but in her mother’s messy kitchen in Bridgeport.
‘I’m so happy,’ she said, the rattle of tears in her voice, and it was all Katy could do not to cry too.
‘Why are we crying?’ she asked.
‘Happiness does strange things to you,’ muttered Leila, sitting on a kitchen chair. She was wearing a pair of elderly running shoes and leggings she’d found in her old room, along with a sweater that might have been Susie’s. The floor looked too unclean to walk on in bare feet and she had no slippers with her. She had been working out some nervous energy by cleaning the kitchen before heading into the hospital, but she was leaving the floor till last.
‘Now, details – when, where, how?’
‘Bridgeport, reception in our house, early June, and you as a bridesmaid. I was thinking orange floral sofa fabric with lots of gathers around the waist and giant puffball sleeves,’ Katy teased.
‘OK, it’s in my mental diary and I am honoured. But I am not looking like a sofa-cum-pumpkin. I want to be a goddess,’ Leila declared.
‘You already are,’ said Katy. ‘Thank you, Leila. It wouldn’t feel like being married if you weren’t there.’
‘Try and keep me away,’ said Leila. ‘I am so happy, darling. Michael is just right for you. He’s a beautiful person, inside and out.’
‘I know. I’m really lucky. If only he could come up with some hunky cousin we’ve never met to be best man, then we’d sort you out too.’
Leila snorted with laughter. ‘I have sworn off men for ever, Katy. I spend my life shuttling gorgeous movie stars around, guys that women all over the world dream about. Only I get to see them throwing tantrums because the pine nuts in their salad weren’t toasted correctly or the make-up artist didn’t have the right shade of base to make their nose look smaller for the press conference photos. They may be the hottest men you’ve ever seen, but at heart they’re wildly insecure, self-centred idiots, who are always shorter than they look on screen.’
‘That’s work,’ Katy pointed out. ‘You need a hot civilian.’
‘There are no hot civilian men. It’s either hot dysfunctional actors or not-quite-so-hot but equally dysfunctional ordinary guys. It’s a no-win situation.’
‘The right guy will appear one day,’ Katy said, and they both fell silent. Katy knew that Leila considered the departed Tynan to be the right guy.
‘Sorry,’ said Katy.
‘It’s fine,’ Leila said. ‘I still …’ She paused. This was something she could only say to Katy. Not to Mum and certainly not to her sister. ‘I still think about him every day.’
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you about meeting someone new,’ Katy said, contrite. ‘He’s a bastard, Leila. If I ever meet him again, I’ll kick him where it hurts.’
‘No chance of that now he’s in London with her. But thank you for offering.’
‘You can talk to me about it,’ Katy said. ‘Just because I’m Ms Happily in Love, that doesn’t mean you can’t tell m
e stuff. I’m your best friend.’
‘I know.’
‘One thing before I go,’ Katy said. ‘Susie – should I ask her to be a bridesmaid too? I don’t want her to be offended if I don’t, and you know she might be.’
There was silence as they both considered this.
Three friends never worked, Leila thought. Three was a crowd. She and Katy had been in the same class, and her older sister’s innate shyness meant she’d hung out more often with them than with people her own age.
But their lives had gone in entirely different directions. While Katy and Leila had been having fun, going to concerts, having exotic holidays, Susie had become a mother.
Katy had staunchly said things like ‘It won’t make a difference to the three musketeers,’ but it had.
And they all knew it.
‘It’s up to you,’ Leila said. ‘It’s your wedding – you don’t have to be responsible for everyone else’s feelings.’ Even as she said it, she felt disloyal. With their blissful relationships and challenging jobs, they’d both abandoned Susie. But she was Susie’s sister, and that changed everything.
‘You’re no help at all, Ms Bridesmaid, with your therapy-speak,’ groaned Katy. ‘Blast it, I’ll tell her and see how she reacts.’
‘Your mum must be thrilled.’
‘Delighted,’ Katy said happily. ‘I can see I’m going to have to rein Dad in, though. Once he heard we wanted the wedding at the house, he got thoroughly overexcited. We’ll have him as a wedding planner if we’re not careful.’
‘I expect him to behave like Franck from Father of the Bride,’ Leila said, trying to rally but feeling her own misery rising. ‘Talking of parents,’ she said, not wanting to rain on her friend’s parade but desperate to share her own news and be comforted, ‘I wasn’t going to tell you, but I’m actually in Bridgeport right now.’
‘What?’
‘Yeah, Mum was in a car accident yesterday.’
She heard Katy gasp. ‘I’m so sorry – I’ve been wittering on about the wedding … why didn’t you tell me straight off?’