by Cathy Kelly
In the front, the driver kept his eyes on the road, but he couldn’t wait to tell his mates. Howard Desmond, scourge of all who served under him, a hard man if ever there was one, reduced to tears at the news of a grandchild.
Maybe he wasn’t such a tartar after all.
Julia knew she’d always remember the moment Stephen told her he was going to be a grandfather. They’d arrived home from work at the same time and she had opened the front door of their apartment feeling as she always did that it was such a lovely haven away from the hustle and bustle of their working lives. With no children’s footprints to worry about any more, she had carpeted the whole place in a soft cream which was highly impractical but felt wonderful when she took off her ballet flats and let her feet sink into the soft pile.
‘I’ll just put this lot in the kitchen,’ Stephen said, slipping past her, his arms full of shopping bags.
She was surprised, as she was sure they had cold chicken in the fridge and she’d planned to make a speedy salad to go with it.
The blond wood table sat to one side of the huge window that looked out over Dún Laoghaire harbour, so they could sip a glass of wine, talk about their days and relax with the exquisite view in the background.
‘What did you buy?’ she called as she went into the bedroom, dropped her jacket and handbag on the bed, and ran a brush through her short blonde hair before spiking it up in front of the mirror with her fingers. There was a fine line between artfully tousled and wind-blown. A lipstick was lying on the Gustavian dressing table, and she slicked it over her lips, turning her face to examine the effect. She still looked good, she thought, although it took longer to achieve the effect these days. Careful make-up and good hair helped.
‘Champagne!’ Stephen yelled from the kitchen. ‘And a fabulous dinner.’
Put the chicken in the freezer, Julia reminded herself.
‘Did you get another client?’ She was on her way out of the bedroom and met Stephen coming in, two champagne flutes in his hands.
He wore a smile from ear to ear. Before Julia had time to wonder what was making him so happy, he handed her a glass and announced, ‘Katy’s pregnant! I’m going to be a grandfather!’
Julia’s mouth formed a perfect O.
‘I know – I can barely believe it myself,’ he went on, beaming and clinking his glass with hers. ‘They weren’t planning on this, but it’s wonderful all the same. I think Michael is shell-shocked, but as I told him, it will settle him down and he’ll love it. Isn’t it wonderful?’
Gosh,’ said Julia, which sounded very stupid but was all she could come up with. ‘That’s – incredible.’
‘Yes, isn’t it!’ he said delightedly.
Putting down his champagne flute, he slid his arms around her and gave her a hug. ‘It really is incredible. I never thought of what it would be like to be a grandfather – and I know it’s early days and everything – but just imagine, me, a grandad! Oh, Julia, I hope we get to mind the baby. You’d be up for that, wouldn’t you?’
Somehow, Julia managed to nod. ‘Of course,’ she said, ‘of course I’d be up for it.’
‘You’ll be a step-granny!’ he said, grinning at her before draining the rest of his champagne. ‘We could get a car seat for my car and have a travel cot here, just in case. I want to be involved. That’s something Grace used to say years ago and it drove me mad – that I wasn’t involved enough with the kids. But things were different then. I was out at work. I didn’t have the same hours she had. It was difficult. This time round, though, it’s all going to be different. Drink up, it’s good champagne, I thought we needed to splash out.’
Julia drank deeply, but the champagne tasted like bitter lemons in her mouth. Despite not being their mother, she’d been great with Michael and Fiona when they were younger, without trying to be their mother. That was Grace’s job.
When it came to having children of their own, it had all been decided in the early days, when they wanted to be truthful with each other, with no gaps in their understanding.
‘I couldn’t do it again – have children,’ Stephen had said, being upfront with her. ‘I want to say this to you so you know, so you have the chance to walk away now, because I know it’s important to women, and you’re eight years younger than me, and I’m not going to stop you. I’m just saying that I don’t want to go down that road.’
‘I don’t have the time,’ Julia had said, because she honestly hadn’t wanted to go down that road either. Then.
She’d rarely spoken about it because people seemed to find it strange – a woman who didn’t want children? She’d have to be an unnatural being.
She’d always been annoyed by the assumption that there must be something wrong with a woman who didn’t want children, but right now she felt as if maybe she did have something wrong with her. Why hadn’t she and Stephen had children? When they’d first met, she’d come out of a horrendous relationship in which she’d decided that bringing children into the world was wrong.
But now she could see that this had been her previous partner’s view more than her own. Now, with hideous pain, she realised that she’d fooled herself about not wanting to be a mother. Katy’s pregnancy had ripped her heart open.
Worse by far, though, was Stephen’s sheer joy at the news. It struck her that she’d never seen him that happy before, not even when they’d met first and been lost in those glorious days of courtship when the rest of the world hadn’t mattered. Not even when they went on marvellous holidays and woke up in luxurious beds in foreign countries on the first day of their trip, lounging in sumptuous sheets with nothing to do but enjoy themselves, enjoy each other.
His son was going to be a father. His son. No matter what Julia gave him she could never give him that.
Things had been tricky between them lately. She wasn’t sure why, but she could date it to precisely one thing – Michael’s engagement. The link to his family, which Julia had expected to stretch with each passing year until it was so fine as to be almost invisible, had proved to be as strong as ever, pulling him back into the fold the moment he heard the news. He’d been so excited. And suddenly distant. She could tell he didn’t want her to go with him to the big engagement dinner: she’d been hurt by that, but had said nothing. Over the years she’d learned that sometimes she came second and there was nothing she could do but adapt to it.
She had done her best, really she had. But now this …
This excitement over the baby seemed to herald a new phase. What would happen when Stephen had his precious grandchild? Perhaps he’d want her involved, but then again, perhaps he wouldn’t.
Perhaps it would be like the engagement dinner in Bridgeport; the grandchild would be deemed something that she, as a non-mother, wouldn’t want any part of. She’d be back to coming second, or even third.
Julia sipped her champagne and felt as if her heart would break.
Twelve
The course of true love never did run smooth. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
In the car on the way to the Golden Vanilla Cake Shop, Katy was fretting.
‘I don’t know if you can get a wedding cake made that fast,’ she said anxiously. ‘It’s like getting a wedding dress made quickly. You have to pay a fortune extra. Of course I know Dad can pay a fortune extra, but what if she says no? Because the whole plan was that we wanted a really special cake and they mightn’t be able to organise one at such short notice …’
Sitting calmly beside her in the driver’s seat, Michael reached over and put a comforting hand on hers. There was no doubt that the pregnancy hormones were having a strange effect on Katy. She had never been highly strung, but lately she seemed to go from totally exhausted to wildly excited and full of energy with a bit of anxiety thrown in for good measure.
‘We shouldn’t have told people I was pregnant so early,’ she fretted. ‘I must have been mad, completely mad. Most people don’t tell until three months and I told everyone immediately.’
Michael had
tried pointing out that because her pregnancy was going to have a big effect on the wedding, they’d had no alternative.
‘But what if not everyone can come to the wedding, all the people we want to come?’ was Katy’s tearful response.
‘All the people who are important to us will be there,’ Michael had said.
He managed to get a parking space outside the cake shop. Katy had passed the premises many times as she walked around the town, but they’d chosen it chiefly because they’d tasted the chocolate biscuit cake at their friends’ wedding and it had been simply magnificent. Beautifully decorated, utterly original and delicious.
The exterior of the shop was just as magnificent: two bow windows painted cream, with a cream and old gold sign shaped like a five-tier bridal cake hanging over the door.
The window displays were straight out of a fairy tale: cakes sitting in gold and white domed cake stands, an old birdcage painted antique gold with little white doves hanging off it, peering down at a curlicued cake with crimson flowers trailing down like a bride’s bouquet. A modern cake made like an A-frame handbag and decorated with red lips, along with displays of scores of tiny, perfectly decorated cupcakes, showed the other side of the company’s design scope.
A tinkling bell announced their arrival, and Katy clutched her fiancé’s arm in delight. ‘I love it,’ she whispered. ‘It’s so romantic.’
Vonnie was at her desk, staring at the recent messages on her phone.
Ryan had texted telling her that he loved her so much and everything would be fine.
He clearly felt as shattered as Vonnie did about the three phone calls he’d had yesterday from Jennifer. He’d spoken to her the first time, but after that, he’d let the phone go to the answering service.
‘There’s no talking to her when she’s like this,’ he’d said wearily. ‘She doesn’t listen: she just rants.’
Maura, who clearly had some psychic ability when it came to Vonnie being stressed, had texted hello and added that she’d be in Bridgeport the next day and could they meet for a quick coffee?
Love you too. It will all be OK, she then texted to Ryan.
But would it?
She just didn’t understand Jennifer. Was this refusal to accept that her husband had left her a religious thing? she wondered in exasperation. Was Jennifer one of those conservative people who viewed divorce and separation as wild, ungodly insanity?
But why stay with someone if it was over? Whom precisely did that serve, because it didn’t help the poor children of the shrieking, arguing parents, and it didn’t help the parents.
Quick coffee at two tomorrow? she texted to Maura.
She knew what Maura would say, because she’d said it before: ‘Joe’s great-aunt Lizzie is divorced – and she’s eighty-five and a regular Mass-goer. It’s nothing to do with devoutness.’
Vonnie wished she could send Jennifer to Great-Aunt Lizzie’s for a month and let her work her magic. But then Vonnie was so fed up with it all that she had her own brand of magic she’d quite like to try on Jennifer: Grow up and get a life. Yeah, that would do.
The shop bell made her click her phone to silent, and she got up.
A tall, blonde lady came forward to meet Katy and Michael.
‘Hello,’ she said, with the softest US accent. ‘I’m Vonnie. You must be Katy Desmond and Michael Rhattigan.’
‘I love this place,’ Katy burst out. ‘It’s magical. The cakes in the window … And that chocolate and ruby-red flower one in the old gold birdcage – I just love it. They look like real flowers.’
‘I love flowers,’ Vonnie said, face lighting up so that Katy could see that she was truly beautiful: like a flower that needed sunlight or kindness to show it off. ‘Baking saved my life. Crafting flowers, making delicate petals … it’s such a joy. Those flowers on the chocolate cake in the window are peonies, and I think of their scents as I make them and find the right colours.’
‘I knew we were right to come here,’ Katy said, pleased. ‘I didn’t want any old cake from a production line. I wanted special, and this is special. You’re an artist.’
Vonnie beamed at them. ‘Come this way and I hope I can show you even more special cakes.’
She led them through to another room, where there were comfortable seats arranged around a large desk already set with a cafetière of coffee and a teapot.
‘Please sit down,’ Vonnie said.
Katy began to explain, as she already had on the phone, that her pregnancy had pushed all their wedding plans forward.
‘I do hope you can help us,’ she said.
‘Of course we can,’ Vonnie said with a smile. ‘Pregnant ladies get what they want.’
‘Hopefully I’ll get a wedding dress to fit,’ Katy added wryly.
‘You’re a pixie,’ Vonnie said. ‘Pixies R Us should sort you out.’
Katy giggled.
‘That’s what I’ve told her,’ Michael said. ‘She’s afraid she’ll go up the aisle like a cruise liner decked out in white silk.’
‘You’ll go up the aisle with the start of your family nestled inside you,’ said Vonnie. ‘Much more precious. And I doubt if you’ll need the cruise liner look. So, we’ll have a cup of coffee or herbal tea, and I’ll show you samples of our work to give a sense of what we can do.’
She rang through to the kitchen, and one of the girls came in bearing the platters of miniature wedding cakes.
Katy gasped out loud at the selection. ‘Oh my goodness!’ she said, looking at the various chocolate and fruit and sponge cakes with interesting designs somehow in them, some covered with beautiful white icing and delicate flowers of every variety.
‘Wow,’ said Michael in admiration, ‘this is pretty amazing.’
Katy chose fruit tea, so Vonnie poured hot water into a minuscule china teapot for Katy, and coffee for herself and Michael, and then she went through her usual explanation as to what sort of cakes could be made and showed them various designs on the computer.
‘You’re very good,’ Katy said at one point, ‘taking us on with so little time to spare. I know it’s—’
Vonnie stopped her: ‘It’s fine, really, this happens every once in a while. Sometimes we can’t accommodate people at short notice simply because we’re so busy – our cakes take a lot of hand-crafting – but this isn’t our busiest time of the year, so we’re delighted to be able to help.’
Katy and Michael looked at each other and beamed. Their hands found each other and Vonnie smiled with them. Such happiness was infectious.
When they left the cinema in Waterford, Grace and Nora were still laughing over the movie. They’d failed to find anything with Bruce Willis or anyone else taking their top off, and had gone instead to a chick flick that had made them laugh, chat and generally enjoy themselves.
‘I guess they don’t ask Bruce Willis to take his top off much any more,’ Nora said wistfully as they got out of Grace’s car and walked towards Pedro’s wine bar.
‘No,’ said Grace. ‘Like ourselves, he’s probably considered a bit old for that sort of carry-on. The people who take their tops off now are all in their twenties – thirties max – with washboard stomachs. I bet they never eat bread.’
‘Wow,’ said Nora, horrified. ‘Imagine never eating bread.’
‘That’s what you have to do,’ Grace revealed. ‘Katy’s friend Leila, who works in the movie industry, says it’s tough out there. She was taking care of some fabulous young actor in Paris recently and he told her that if he has to do a big scene or a photo shoot, he won’t eat bread for two days. Carbs, that’s what they call them. That’s not even taking into account that he works out two hours a day.’
‘Wow,’ said Nora again, then a twinkle came into her eye and she added, ‘Let’s have some carbs, shall we?’
Pedro’s, situated on a small side street in Bridgeport, was no longer a wine bar, but that was what Grace and Nora still called it. In the past two decades it had been transformed from a gloriously darkened
establishment with fat wine bottles holding dripping candles atop clichéd red-chequered tablecloths into a fabulously modern steel-and-glass place that Grace and Nora hadn’t liked. Its current incarnation, which they did like, was a much cosier affair, with nice squashy seats and low tables where you could have coffee and buns in the morning and beautiful meals in the evening, all with the fire roaring in one corner and music low enough so you could talk and actually hear each other.
They were led to a corner table, and as they sat, Grace could see Nora craning her head, listening in to the people all around her. Nora always did that – she was an inveterate eavesdropper. Grace looked at her friend and grinned. The couple beside them were actually quite easy to overhear; the woman, who looked to be in her thirties, was talking heatedly. ‘I am not having your mother to stay,’ she huffed, ‘and that’s final. It’s not even our child’s eighteenth birthday. She didn’t stay with your brother when Sean made his first Holy Communion last year; oh no, she stayed in a hotel on that occasion. So she can stay in a hotel now. You know all she’ll do is criticise me, so forget it. I have enough stress in my life as it is.’
The man looked gloomily down at his plate.
‘I’ll be the mother-in-law soon,’ said Grace, wincing.
‘Oh hush,’ said Nora. ‘You’re never going to be that sort of mother-in-law. Katy and Michael are both blessed in the mother-in-law department: Katy’s got you, and you’re fabulous, and Michael’s got Birdie, who seems such a sweet woman, the sort of person who wouldn’t say boo to a mouse.’
‘I think that’s the problem,’ Grace said with a sigh. ‘Howard walks all over the poor woman – now more than ever. You can see the tension in her. The night we all went out to dinner, he almost totally ignored her, while gushing to me about how wonderful I looked. Then he started in on the same old spiel with Fiona, who looked at him as if she’d never heard anything like it in her life. All wildly inappropriate. I felt sorry for Birdie.’ Grace shook her head. ‘I suppose marriages can look strange on the outside and work perfectly well on the inside.’