Mirror, Mirror

by Patricia Scanlan

  Oh Lord! Emma gave an inward sigh. Julie Ann was constantly comparing and contrasting. It was as though she needed to know that she was superior to her cousins.

  ‘Do you want a ponytail or a plait?’ Emma changed the subject hurriedly.

  ‘A plait. Mummy, when we’re having our dinner in the playroom today, aren’t I in charge, ’cos it’s my house?’

  ‘Yes, yes, just don’t fight!’ Emma quelled her impatience as she laced Julie Ann’s fine blonde hair into a plait. ‘Now, go and get your fur muff and bonnet.’

  ‘I think Daddy should buy me a fur coat too,’ Julie Ann fixed her mother with a determined stare.

  ‘When you’re a little bit older.’

  ‘Well, I want one now.’

  ‘Julie Ann, don’t start!’ Emma warned. ‘You’re to be on your best behaviour today. Nannie Pamela and Nannie Sheila and Grandad Edmund and Grandad Mick won’t want to see a naughty little girl.’

  ‘I’m not a naughty little girl,’ Julie Ann pouted.

  ‘Just be good today for your brother’s christening.’

  ‘Huh!’ snorted Julie Ann, totally unimpressed. ‘Actually I think I’d prefer a ponytail,’ she announced calmly, untying her hair ribbon and shaking free her plait.

  Emma felt her blood pressure rise. There were times when she could strangle her daughter . . . and this was one of them. Breathing heavily, she brushed out Julie Ann’s hair and tied it up in the required ponytail. She had a sinking feeling that her daughter was just beginning her shenanigans for the day.

  Ellen felt a sense of trepidation as she walked into the church holding Stephanie by the hand. Doug walked beside her and she was glad of his reassuring presence. She wondered if Chris would be at the service. He and Emma were close. She might have wanted him there and, even though Ellen was sure Vincent would object, Emma had a way of twisting him around her little finger when she wanted something.

  She hoped against hope that he hadn’t been invited. Seeing him in the flesh always brought back memories she preferred left buried. Memories of good times always softened her towards him. He only had to look at her with those intense blue eyes and say something to make her laugh and she’d find herself thinking, Maybe he’s not that bad.

  Besides, if he was invited, it would be awkward for her parents. Surely Emma would have more tact than that. She glanced around at the gathered guests as she took her seat beside Miriam and Ben and their children.

  She could see Pamela and the Judge, and a very elegant, slim woman seated beside them. The woman’s eyes were the colour of cornflowers and Ellen instantly recognised her as Chris’s mother. She was looking intently in her direction. There was no sign of Chris.

  Infuriatingly she felt a stab of disappointment. Sometimes she drove herself mad! She didn’t want to see him, she wanted him out of her life, and yet she had just felt disappointment because he wasn’t here. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t over him. There were times she feared she never would be. It seemed such an impossible obstacle and yet, intuitively, Ellen knew if she could make that final leap and leave him behind, she’d find a lifetime of happiness with Doug.

  Chris’s mother kept up her scrutiny. It was unsettling. Why did she keep staring? As far as she knew, Chris had never told her about their relationship. He certainly hadn’t told her about Stephanie.

  Ellen looked down at Stephanie, who was whispering to her cousin Rebecca. She looked so pretty in her new red coat. The colour brought out the vivid blue of her eyes and highlighted the rich bronze glints in her wavy chestnut hair. She was a beautiful little girl. The greatest blessing in Ellen’s life. How ironic that the rich, refined socialite just across the aisle should be deprived of the joy that was Stephanie – her grandchild.

  Julie Ann pranced over to them and edged past Doug.

  ‘Hello, Auntie Ellen, can Stephanie come up and sit with me? Mummy said I could ask.’

  ‘Well, there’s to be no giggling! And what about Rebecca? You can’t leave her out.’

  ‘She’s with Daniel and Connie an’ anyway Auntie Miriam wouldn’t let her move ’cos she has to stay with her family.’

  ‘Well, maybe Stephanie should stay here with her family,’ Ellen said firmly.

  Julie Ann fixed her with a Don’t-be-Silly look. ‘But she doesn’t have a proper family, Auntie Ellen. She hasn’t got a daddy. She’s only got you.’

  Ellen was momentarily speechless at this dismissive put-down. But Julie Ann wasn’t being cheeky, she was just presenting the facts as she saw them. It pierced her heart.

  She hasn’t got a daddy. She’s only got you.

  Children could be so cruelly honest.

  Doug frowned. ‘Go back to your own seat, Julie Ann. You shouldn’t be talking in church.’ He was livid. His eyes were like flints. Julie Ann ignored him. Ellen had to admire her niece’s nerve. Doug wasn’t easily ignored, especially when he looked the way he looked right now.

  ‘Please, please, Auntie Ellen. She’ll be in the most important seat, ’cos it’s my brother that’s being christened,’ Julie Ann wheedled.

  ‘Do you want to go up and sit in the front with Julie Ann or do you want to stay here with Doug and me and Rebecca?’ Ellen murmured to Stephanie.

  ‘Oh, can I go up to the front, Mammy? Can I see the water being poured all over Andrew?’ Stephanie asked eagerly.

  ‘But you won’t be able to hold him. Only I can hold him. I might give you a go later,’ Julie Ann interjected, laying down the ground rules.

  ‘OK,’ Stephanie agreed.

  Ellen felt like telling Julie Ann to get lost. She was such a little consequence. Dishing out orders and making conditions.

  ‘Well, if there’s any messing that’ll be the end of it. Stephanie’ll have to come back here,’ Ellen decreed.

  ‘There won’t be.’ Julie Ann gave a toss of her ponytail as she shoved her way past Doug, followed by her excited cousin.

  ‘I want to go too, Mammy,’ Rebecca demanded.

  ‘No, Rebecca. Stay where you are like a good girl.’ Miriam threw her eyes up to heaven.

  Rebecca’s lower lip trembled. ‘It’s not fair. I always get left out.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Rebecca. If you go, Daniel will want to go. Stay here with us now.’

  Two big tears plopped down Rebecca’s cheeks. Ellen put her arm around her. She understood her niece’s misery perfectly. Typical Julie Ann, causing consternation as usual.

  ‘You can come and stay the night with Stephanie tonight if you want to,’ she whispered.

  ‘Can I?’ Rebecca brightened. ‘Can we have cocoa for supper?’

  ‘Of course. And maybe beans on toast.’

  ‘Oh yum! Thanks, Auntie Ellen.’ Ellen gave her a squeeze. Poor Rebecca was a real little softie, just like her mother. Julie Ann made mincemeat of her.

  ‘That young one should be seen and not heard,’ Doug hissed.

  ‘She’s only a child, Doug, she knows no better,’ Ellen murmured.

  ‘She’d know better if she was mine, the little brat.’

  Ellen giggled. She couldn’t help it. Doug was really put out. And Julie Ann had ignored him so magnificently.

  Doug caught her eye, scowled and then, in spite of himself, had to smile. ‘This is going to be an interesting day all round, I’d say. We still have the meal to get through. Maybe the priest might do us all a favour and drown the little she-devil in the font.’

  ‘Stop it, Doug!’

  ‘Well, I’m just telling you one thing. If Stephanie ever wants a daddy, tell her I’m applying for the job.’

  ‘Oh Doug, that’s not fair,’ Ellen said miserably.

  Doug sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Ellen. I didn’t mean to say that. I just felt for Stephanie. She’s a great kid. Forget it.’

  Ellen slipped her hand into his. He gave it a squeeze. She felt like crying. His loyalty to Stephanie really touched her. He’d make a hell of a better father than Chris ever would, she thought dolefully.

  This was supposed
to be a happy event. She’d better cop on to herself and stop behaving as though she were at a funeral. She really was a pain in the ass. How Doug put up with her, she didn’t know. She wasn’t going to give Chris Wallace one more thought today. She was going to enjoy the christening and the party afterwards. And that was all there was to it.

  The priest came out on the altar and silence descended on the congregation as they stood to begin the service.

  Katherine Wallace felt a pang as she watched the two little girls in the front seat of the church. One dark and one blonde head, close together giggling and whispering. Stephanie had such a look of Chris around the eyes. She was a little beauty. How could her son have turned his back on his own child?

  She wasn’t maternal herself. She admitted that. She’d always considered the rearing of her children as an obligation. A duty and responsibility to be endured rather than enjoyed. When she saw Stephanie she felt somehow that she had failed as a mother. Perhaps Chris had turned his back on his child precisely because she had communicated too strongly this sense of encumbrance. Accepting responsibility had never been her youngest son’s strong point.

  If theirs had been a warm, compassionate, affectionate type of relationship would things have turned out differently? Was it her fault because she’d been too austere and reserved? Was it a case of the sins of the mothers . . . ? Katherine sighed deeply. She was what she was. She’d always found it difficult to show affection and let her barriers down. Maybe that was why Jeffrey had turned to other women. She’d never refused him but sex had always been a duty, not this great pleasurable event that young people of today seemed to think it was. Was it because she was frigid? If Jeffrey had been kinder to her, more understanding of her fears, her inhibitions, would their sex life have improved? He hadn’t given it a chance.

  His rejection of her had been the most devastating trauma of her life. When she’d found out that he’d been having an affair during her first pregnancy, she’d gone into a depression that had lasted for years. He’d ended the affair but things had never been the same between them. She hated it when he touched her. They’d struggled along for a year. She got pregnant again with Chris. After that she never had sex with her husband again. In fact, she’d never had sex again.

  Katherine frowned. What on earth was the matter with her? She’d repressed that side of herself so thoroughly, why was she thinking about it now at sixty-five years of age? In a church, at a christening, she was thinking about her sex life. It was absurd.

  Why couldn’t it have been good for her? she thought, wrathfully. Why couldn’t she have been normal? She wondered why Jeffrey couldn’t have given her pleasure, as he’d undoubtedly given to the women whose lives he’d drifted in and out of until he’d died suddenly at the age of sixty-three, leaving her a very angry, troubled but rich widow.

  Outwardly she’d always presented a serene, controlled façade. What was happening to her now? Where was this sudden turbulent emotion coming from? Why did she feel that she’d failed dreadfully as a woman and as a mother? She was the one who’d suffered. She was the one betrayed. She was the one who’d borne the burden of responsibility while Jeffrey was off enjoying his flings. She didn’t like this one bit. Katherine bit her lip. She would not take the blame. She had nothing to reproach herself for. Her behaviour had been honourable and dignified.

  Katherine Wallace took a deep breath and stood ramrod straight as the priest began to pray.

  Sheila cast a sideways glance at Pamela Connolly. The woman was amazing. Today she was wearing a royal blue cape and matching blue beret. Black gloves, black patent shoes and a black patent handbag. She looked the height of elegance. And half her age.

  Sheila had been quite confident in her heather tweed suit and smart little purple hat and shoes. She just didn’t have Pamela’s élan. She hadn’t realised Pamela would be accompanied by her sister Katherine. Katherine was Chris Wallace’s mother. Stephanie’s other grandmother. How would she feel if she knew that Stephanie was her grandchild?

  Sheila felt a flush mottle her face. Even after all these years it was still mortifying. Her daughter had been defiled before marriage and Stephanie would always be a reminder of that. If Ellen had married, people might have, in time, forgotten her shame. Well, not everyone, she conceded tightly. Bonnie Daly would never forget. She never lost an opportunity at their guild meetings to make sly digs about young people’s loose behaviour.

  Bonnie was a thorn in her side that would have to be borne until one or the other of them passed away. If only Ellen had behaved herself, she’d be able to enjoy a gathering such as this with pride. The Judge and Pamela might be well off, but they didn’t own land like the Munroes. It was the Munroes who had provided the site for their daughter’s magnificent home. A magnificent home built for her by Vincent.

  Yes, thought Sheila sourly, this would have been an exceptionally proud moment if it hadn’t been for Ellen. It was difficult to endure sometimes. She didn’t have her husband Mick’s forbearance. Stephanie’s illegitimacy was a cross and she had to bear it. But Ellen could at least try and get a husband for herself. This chap that she was friends with seemed like a nice steady sort. Maybe with the grace of God something might work out there. Sheila dropped her head into her hands and began to pray to Saint Jude, the patron saint of hopeless cases, that he might intercede to the Almighty and get a husband for Ellen to make a respectable woman of her.

  ‘A harpist, Frank! Who does she think she is? The queen of Bunratty Castle, for God’s sake!’ Gillian hissed through clenched teeth as she and her husband sat sipping champagne and forking morsels of delicious poached salmon into their mouths. The christening had passed without a hitch and the assembled guests were tucking into a feast fit for a king.

  ‘There’s not half as many people here as there was at ours, though,’ Frank said smugly. ‘We had everyone.’

  ‘Precisely,’ Gillian said dryly. ‘Don’t you see the point Emma is making? Quality not quantity. It makes our party seem so tacky.’

  ‘Oh, stop taking it so seriously! It’s not a competition. Just enjoy yourself. The grub is scrumptious.’

  ‘Do you hear who’s talking? You nearly had a fit when Vincent bought that new BMW. And you promised you’d get me a fur coat when Emma got one. I’m still waiting,’ Gillian retorted sulkily.

  ‘You will get one.’ Frank scowled. ‘Hell, Gillian, Vincent’s making a bomb. If I had his dosh I’d be grinning from ear to ear. Give me a break.’

  ‘It’s just, looking at Emma swanning around thinking that she’s absolutely it would drive anyone nuts. She always lands on her feet.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Frank snapped huffily. ‘That makes me feel really good. Maybe you should have married Vincent Munroe!’

  ‘Oh, be quiet, Frank! Here’s Diana. Put a smile on your face, for God’s sake.’ Gillian composed her features and beamed at her friend. ‘Darling, you look stunning. I love the trouser suit. Lilac is your colour.’

  ‘I bought it in this fabulous boutique off Carnaby Street, when I was in London last month. I’ll give you the name if you’re thinking of popping over,’ Diana boasted.

  ‘Thanks,’ Gillian said tightly. She was furious with herself. She’d really walked into that. Diana never lost an opportunity to go on about her shopping trips to London. She knew Gillian had as much chance of popping over to London on a shopping trip as the man in the moon.

  ‘What do you think of the harpist?’ Diana murmured.

  ‘A bit de trop, if you ask me,’ Gillian bitched. She liked to throw in a bit of French here and there. It sounded ever so sophisticated. ‘Entre nous, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ agreed Diana, who hadn’t the foggiest notion what de trop meant. But Gillian’s tart tone made it clear it was something rather OTT.

  ‘I like the colours in her new dining-room.’

  ‘A wooden floor’s very noisy with kids.’ Gillian was dismissive.

  ‘True, but then her kids would never be allowed in here.
Where’s the little Princess?’

  ‘Having her lunch with her cousins, thank heavens. Such a show-off! Did you hear her singing Edelweiss? Talk about confidence. Shirley Temple’s got nothing on her.’

  ‘Emma’s sending her to speech and drama classes, I believe,’ Diana remarked.

  ‘She would.’ Gillian sighed. If her kids heard about Julie Ann going to speech and drama – as they would, because Julie Ann would certainly rub their noses in it – they’d want to go. And Frank would have a fit. Another expense he wouldn’t want.

  ‘I was thinking of sending mine, actually. It would be good for them. Give them confidence,’ Diana said.

  That was it, Gillian decided firmly. Her two were definitely going to speech and drama no matter what Frank said.

  ‘Do let me know when and where, I’ll send mine along to keep them company. Who knows, we might have a budding Olivier in our midst.’ Gillian gave a little trill of laughter.

  ‘Well, Julie Andrews would want to look to her laurels, for sure,’ Diana drawled as Emma made her way over to them.

  Gillian laughed.

  ‘Girls, good to see you enjoying yourselves. Do help yourselves to more food. There’s oodles. Frank, have some of the lobster. I know you love it and it’s fresh. The chef collected all the seafood from Howth this morning, straight off the trawlers. The scallops are out of this world and so are the prawns.’

  ‘Right, Emma, I will,’ Frank agreed with alacrity.

  I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him. You’d think he never had lobster and scallops before. You’d think he was never fed at home, Gillian fumed as she watched her husband stride up to the buffet.

  ‘Could Chris and Suzy not make it?’ Diana asked.

  ‘No, unfortunately,’ Emma said lightly. ‘And neither could Tom and Margaret. They’ve gone to Paris.’

  ‘Have they?’ Gillian was astonished. ‘I thought his business was in trouble.’

  ‘It was. Did you not hear? They sold most of their back garden to a developer who’s building two mews and six luxury apartments on it. They got a fortune for it because it’s in Ballsbridge.’