‘I see. Well, I’ll just pop up and see Mam for a minute. Where’s Julie Ann?’
Mrs Murdock threw her eyes up to heaven. ‘She’s gone to a birthday party with some friends of Mrs Munroe’s.’
‘Oh yes . . . the one the magician was going to be at.’ Ellen nodded. Stephanie and Rebecca had been listening to their cousin’s boasts all week.
‘The very one.’ Mrs Murdock reached out for Andrew. ‘So it’s a peaceful house today.’ There was a ghost of a smile on her lips. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Ellen?’
‘Not at all, Mrs Murdock. You carry on. I’ll just run upstairs to Mam.’
Her mother was saying her Rosary when Ellen went into the bedroom.
‘I’m nearly finished,’ she said querulously. Sheila hated to be interrupted in the middle of her Rosary.
Ellen nodded silently and went over and sat in the window seat. The view was very beautiful. She could see Glenree, down in the valley, between the winter treetops. Dusk was deepening and the sky, deep blue, almost indigo, was tinged with pinks and mauves. The smoke, curling up from the chimneys, shimmered into the sky giving a dim foggy effect. Lamps shone invitingly in house windows.
A horse whinnied. She could hear the faint clop-clop of hooves. It was a nice day for riding, the breeze bracing and invigorating. So many of the families who lived in the area owned horses. North County Dublin was horse-riding country and the sound of galloping hooves across the fields was as familiar to Ellen as the sound of car horns in the city. Some day she would buy Stephanie a pony, she vowed. It was her daughter’s dearest wish.
The church steeple peeping from behind the trees was comfortingly familiar, silhouetted against the darkening sky, as it had for fifty years and would for another fifty and more to come. A little to the right, between the bare branches of a majestic oak, she could see the tip of Stephanie’s window and a glimmer of the new red-tiled roof that Doug had put in when he’d renovated the flat. It made her feel so safe to have her own place. That awful insecurity that had haunted her for so long after Stephanie was born had ebbed away. Her father had sided with her when Sheila objected to her moving out with Stephanie. It was time they had a home of their own.
This was her place, her roots were here. She’d been through the best of times and the worst of times and now she felt content. It was a peaceful moment.
‘I wasn’t expecting to see you,’ Sheila’s voice intruded. She sounded petulant. ‘You being such a busy woman these days.’
Rise above it. Ellen ignored the dig and the acerbic tone.
‘How are you feeling, Mam?’
Sheila put on her weak-as-a-kitten voice. ‘I’m getting along, I suppose. But I’m not sleeping at all. The pain gets to me. And it always seems to be worse at night.’
‘I came over to see was there any Christmas shopping you’d like me to do for you?’ Ellen decided against offering sympathy. Otherwise the litany would go on and on.
‘Oh!’ Sheila hadn’t expected this. ‘Well, now that you mention it, I’ve been here worrying about how I was going to get presents for everyone and you know this year I think everyone will have to make do with money in their Christmas card. I won’t be doing any Christmas shopping.’
‘An excellent idea, Mam. Everyone will understand.’ Ellen couldn’t believe that she was getting off so lightly.
‘Of course I couldn’t very well give money to Emma and Vincent, after them being so kind to me. I’ll have to get something for them. Besides they have so much money, the little token I’d give them wouldn’t mean anything,’ Sheila declared.
Ellen swallowed her irritation. Typical.
‘And of course I’d have to get something for your father. And a little gift for Tilly Doyle, she’s been very good to me too. Keeping me up to date on what’s going on in the guild. I’ll be wanting a couple of boxes of Christmas cards. Get me the holy ones. And I’ll be needing stamps. Here, get me a pen and I’ll give you a list.’ Sheila sat up, all businesslike. She was looking much better, Ellen observed as she handed her mother a pen and a page from her note pad.
Sheila wrote furiously. ‘There!’ she said, five minutes later, as she handed Ellen a list as long as her arm. ‘And I’ll be wanting some wrapping-paper, now that I remember. Put that down.’
‘Yes, Mother,’ Ellen said dryly. For someone who wasn’t going to do any Christmas shopping, it was a long list. Now that they were on the subject of Christmas, she might as well mention her plans for Christmas Day.
‘Mam, I was hoping you and Dad would come and stay with me for Christmas. I think it would be the best plan. I’d be able to look after you. It would give you a break and you wouldn’t have to be worrying about cooking for Christmas,’ she said firmly.
Sheila looked at her in surprise. ‘But now, Ellen, you know how your father likes his own fireside. And I’ve neglected him long enough. I think it would be much better if you and Stephanie came to us. You could cook dinner, certainly. That would be most kind of you. Now would you do me another favour if you wouldn’t mind. I have some nightdresses and underwear that need washing and I don’t want to be a trouble to Emma—’
A knock on the door interrupted the conversation. It was Tilly Doyle from the guild. Sheila’s demeanour changed immediately.
‘Tilly, come in. How are you? How did the bring-and-buy go last night? Ellen, on your way out would you ask Mrs Murdock to bring Tilly a cup of tea? My washing’s in the bag at the bottom of the wardrobe.’ Ellen was briskly dismissed.
‘Hello, Ellen,’ Tilly smiled. ‘How’s the café going?’
‘Very well, thanks, Mrs Doyle,’ Ellen said politely.
‘Do you know what we were saying at the meeting the other night? Some of us think the guild should have their Christmas lunch in your new café to give you a bit of support.’
‘Thanks very much indeed, Mrs Doyle.’ Ellen smiled. She wasn’t sure if having the guild for lunch was worth all the hassle she’d get from Sheila or the snide remarks from Bonnie Daly and her cronies. That ‘some of us’ wasn’t lost on her.
‘You never told me that, Tilly.’ Sheila sat up straight.
‘It went right out of my head, Sheila, when I popped in the other day. I was so intent on telling you about Nora Kelly.’
Nora Kelly, in her fifties and a widow of just two months, had scandalised the guild by going to a dinner dance with Johnny Sheridan,aseparated man and a notorious rake. Nora had also had her hair dyed ash-blonde. It was the talk of Glenree.
‘I take it then that those not in favour of a lunch in Ellen’s deli included Bonnie and her minions?’ Sheila was all business.
‘Well, of course Bonnie is making the most of your absence,’ Tilly remarked discreetly. She was firmly in Sheila’s camp but it didn’t do to be seen to take sides.
‘I’d say she is!’ Sheila’s lips thinned. ‘I’m sure it’s a sad day for her that I’m not in my coffin. But she’d better make the most of it. I’ll be at the next meeting, Tilly, and let me tell you . . .’
Ellen slipped away, grinning. Nothing was guaranteed more to get Sheila out of her sick bed than the thought of Bonnie getting away with murder in the guild.
Sheila was herself, for sure. Emma and Vincent were ready for canonisation, just as she and Miriam had predicted. And how typical of her to put the blame on Mick, because she didn’t want to come and stay at Ellen’s for Christmas. Mick was the most easy going soul. He’d eat his Christmas dinner in a tent if he had to. Ellen made a face. Despite her best efforts it looked as though she was going to spend Christmas at her mother’s.
Emma lay rigid with suppressed fury. She could hear the murmur of voices in the adjoining guest room. Her house was like a hotel with people trotting up and down the stairs in a steady stream to her mother-in-law’s bedroom. She felt like a prisoner in her own home. She’d heard Ellen’s voice earlier and now she could hear that nosy old trout, Tilly Doyle. She’d been in and out to visit Sheila like a yo-yo. Prying and poking. She’d actual
ly followed Mrs Murdock into the lounge, once, so that she could have a good look around. It was sheer impertinence. If Sheila didn’t go back home soon, Emma was going to insist that Vincent tell her to leave. Enough was enough. She’d done her duty.
A chortle of laughter from next door set Emma’s teeth on edge. Sheila knew very well that Emma was resting. You’d think she’d at least have the consideration not to make such a racket. An answering cackle sent her diving under the pillows as she did her best to drown out the sounds of her unwelcome guests.
Alexandra lit a cigarette and stared moodily out of the window. Time hung heavy on her hands. Once Chris had gone to work, she’d turned over and tried to go back asleep but, infuriatingly, sleep would not oblige. Her thoughts kept rampaging through her mind. She’d never been in a situation like this before. She’d always been in control. The apartment block seemed so dead and empty once the clatter of doors and the starting of car engines died away after the early-morning rush to work. They all had jobs to go to. She faced a day that stretched out endlessly with nothing to focus on.
She could imagine the gossip running riot in the canteen today. They’d all know by now that there’d been a mighty row and that she was gone. At least they’d all have heard by now that Ron Evans had no balls. Alexandra smiled vindictively as she remembered her parting shot to the devious accountant.
She got dressed and went out to buy the papers and then had croissants and coffee in a café in Ballsbridge while she eagerly scanned the job advertisements. Nothing jumped out at her. No positions that suited her skills. Friday was the best day, she comforted herself. Friday’s papers always had pages of job adverts. She decided to go into town and get her hair done in Peter Mark’s and came home feeling a bit more optimistic.
She made herself a cup of coffee and sat down to revamp her CV. That kept her going for most of the afternoon and she was feeling reasonably confident and cheerful until she started listing the names of her clients. Her pen hovered over the page as she went to write down Marcus Lynn’s.
He’d really done the dirty on her. Why didn’t he have the guts to tell her he was going to another PR? Instead he’d gone scuttling to Malachy behind her back. What did he think she was going to do the next time she saw him . . . ravish him! What a major letdown he’d been. Men! Who’d be bothered with them? Alexandra flung down her pen. She was really mad with Marcus. They’d always got on so well. She glanced at her watch. Four-thirty. On impulse she picked up the phone and dialled a number.
‘Marcus Lynn, please,’ she said to the secretary. ‘It’s Alexandra Johnston.’ Maybe he wouldn’t take the call. Maybe he was a coward.
‘Alexandra?’ Marcus’s baritone came down the line.
Alexandra took a deep breath. ‘Marcus, I would very much have appreciated it if you’d apprised me of the fact that you intended replacing me as your PR instead of going to Malachy behind my back. I worked hard for you. You owed me that much.’
There was silence for a moment. It was obvious he was taken aback.
‘I made a mistake, Marcus. I misread the situation. But I think the punishment was severe.’
‘Alexandra, whether you believe it or not, I was thinking of you as well as myself when I made the decision to replace you. I thought it might be embarrassing and uncomfortable for you to have to deal with me again. I thought it was the easiest thing to deal directly with Malachy. I didn’t discuss the situation with him. I just said we’d had a difference of opinion about marketing strategy. It happens all the time,’ Marcus said firmly. ‘I’m sorry if you’re upset.’
‘Not only am I upset, Marcus. I’m unemployed. Thanks to you.’
‘What! I don’t believe it!’ Marcus sounded genuinely shocked. ‘That’s ridiculous. I didn’t make a big deal of it. I’ll speak to Malachy straight away. That’s far too drastic. Nothing could have been further from my intentions. You must believe me, Alexandra.’
‘Well, I’ve burned my bridges there. Whether you phone Malachy or not, I won’t be going back after what I said to that egotistical old coot. So don’t bother. I expected better of you, Marcus, and that’s the truth.’
Alexandra put the phone down abruptly. She felt much better for getting that off her chest. Since she was burning bridges left, right and centre, she might as well burn one more. She rubbed her eyes tiredly. She’d had enough of writing her CV. She’d continue tomorrow. After all, what else had she to do?
The phone rang. Alexandra picked it up, expecting it to be Marcus with more abject apologies.
‘Yes?’ she said curtly.
Silence. But someone was at the other end. She could hear breathing.
‘Yes?’ she repeated.
The line went dead. A silent phone call. She’d been getting them ever since Chris had given Suzy the telephone number.
It had to be her. It was the type of neurotic, unpredictable behaviour she’d come to expect from her former friend.
‘You’re a fucking idiot, Suzy,’ she snarled as she slammed down the receiver. She felt like getting into her car and racing over to Suzy’s and really letting her have it. It was bad enough getting the sack from work without having to put up with cowardly malicious phone calls as well.
She marched into the bathroom and ran a bath. Although he didn’t know it yet, Chris was going to take her out somewhere posh for dinner. And he was paying. She was saving her pennies for a rainy day. And somehow she felt that day was coming sooner than she’d ever expected.
Chapter Twenty
‘And they didn’t look happy? Good. Were they arguing?’ Suzy quizzed her informant keenly. This was music to her ears. A friend of hers, Lindsey Keating, had seen Chris and Alexandra having dinner together in a smart Italian restaurant the previous evening and had phoned Suzy first thing, to divulge the news.
‘I couldn’t hear, unfortunately.’ Lindsey was sorry that she couldn’t be a bit more detailed in her reporting. ‘Alexandra hardly ate her food, she just kept pushing it around her plate.’
‘Hell! Maybe she’s pregnant.’ Suzy felt sick with fear.
‘Could you imagine Alexandra Johnston pregnant? Now that would be something. Imagine her two stone overweight and looking like a beached whale. Imagine her having to clean poohy botties and wash dirty nappies. Oh joy!’ Lindsey was missing the point completely.
‘I don’t want her to be pregnant, Lindsey. That would mean they’d have a lifelong bond no matter what. I don’t want that. I want them to split. I want them to detest each other again.’ She burst into tears.
‘Oh dear,’ Lindsey murmured. She’d just put her size sevens right into it. ‘Well, if it’s any comfort, Chris had a face like a funeral director. And they weren’t lovey-dovey or anything,’ she added hastily.
‘Were they holding hands?’
‘Absolutely not. I was a bit surprised actually. I mean it’s still early days for them as a couple. I would have thought they’d have been more affectionate.’
‘Lindsey, who’s to say it’s early days? They’ve known each other since before we were married. Alexandra was like a third partner in our marriage. Always interfering. Always trying to stir up trouble between me and Chris. Maybe she had her eye on him then. Maybe she’s always had her eye on him. I don’t know how long they’ve been messing about together.’
‘True. True. They’re well suited, Suzy. Rotten liars, the pair of them. She was no friend to you and you deserve much better than Chris,’ Lindsey consoled. It was hard to know what was the right thing to say. Eggshell-walking was always difficult. Still, a bit of abuse directed at the errant partner and his mistress always went down well in these situations.
‘What was she wearing?’ Suzy sniffed, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.
‘Oh it was—’ Lindsey had been just about to describe Alexandra’s black maxi-skirt and jade mandarin blouse in glowing terms – but it might not be what Suzy wanted to hear in the circumstances, so she toned down her description to suit the occasion – ‘it wasn’t anything
spectacular. Just a black maxi and a blouse.’
‘A maxi would look brilliant on her, she’s so tall. I suppose it clung to every inch, knowing Alexandra. Has she put on weight or anything?’
‘Nah, she’s still the same.’
‘Did they see you?’
‘Yep. Chris gave a half-hearted wave. He didn’t come over. He’d know better, I’d say. He wouldn’t get a friendly reception from me. I didn’t wave back.’
‘Thanks, Lindsey.’ Her friend’s support lifted Suzy’s forlorn spirits.
‘Well, I think he’s a rat! If you’re going to have an affair, at least don’t have one with your wife’s best friend. That’s the lowest of the low. That’s real sly.’ Lindsey couldn’t hide her distaste.
‘And you say he didn’t look happy?’
‘He definitely wasn’t his usual effervescent self. He had his hangdog look. You know, The-Weight-of-the-World-is-on-my-Shoulders expression. I don’t think she’s good for him. When we were leaving, they were in the little bar at the front and I heard her telling him that his hair was too long and that he was to get it cut. She’s very bossy, isn’t she? You’d think she was his mother.’
‘Chris would enjoy that. He likes women telling him what to do. It means all their attention is focused on him. I used to have to do it all the time. He’s like a child. And of course Alexandra adores telling people what to do.’
‘If I spoke to Michael like that, I’d be told where to get off pretty quickly, I can tell you. In fact, if I told my husband to get his hair cut, he’d freak,’ Lindsey observed.
‘Yeah, well you’re married to a real man, Lindsey, someone who can think for himself. Not a wimpy little Peter Pan who’s never grown up.’ Suzy was bitter.
Lindsey burst out laughing.
‘It’s not funny, Lindsey.’
‘Sorry. Sorry, Suzy. It’s just I have this vision of Chris, dressed in green tights and a little hat, prancing around the place. Peter Pan Wallace. I could imagine him in panto.’
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