Mirror, Mirror

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘I hate pretending. And I hate pretending that I like Daddy. And if he ever pokes you with his finger again I’ll stab him with a knife.’

  ‘Stop, pet. Don’t say things like that. He won’t do it again. He just lost his temper, that’s all,’ Denise lied.

  Tears spilled down her cheeks as she held her elder daughter tightly. Tonight they’d lost their childhood. From now on they’d worry every time they heard Jimmy’s voice raised in anger. Christmas Eve should have been a night of carefree anticipation and innocent delight, instead it had turned into a night of fear. Denise would never forgive Jimmy for that.

  Julie Ann knelt on her window seat peering out into the darkness. She wished her mummy and daddy were at home. They’d gone to a party and she had a new babysitter. It wasn’t even Mrs Murdock. Some girl from the village that she didn’t know was downstairs eating loads of her chocolates and drinking loads of her lemonade. When Julie Ann had told her she wasn’t going to bed until her mummy came home, that girl had said, ‘Get up those stairs or I’ll give you a clip in the ear.’ No one had ever spoken to her like that before. Julie Ann stuck her tongue out and the girl chased her upstairs and told her that she’d wallop her. Andrew had cried for ages and she just left him in his cot crying. She wasn’t at all like Mrs Murdock and Julie Ann didn’t like her one little bit.

  She climbed down off the window seat and picked up the big red sock that was lying across the bottom of her bed. She was the only one who had a big red sock. Stephanie and Rebecca always had grey socks that men wore and they weren’t as big as hers, she comforted herself. Santa would have to give her loads of presents to fill her sock.

  She’d asked for a new bike with stabilisers. And a new Barbie and a cash register and shop set. She’d have the best toys in the school. She heard a noise outside and her heart leaped to her mouth. She flew over to the window. Maybe it was Santa coming. She wanted to see everything. She peered eagerly into the starry sky. But it was still the same as before. Just stars and the moon. She listened intently. Was that the sound of tinkling bells?

  Just say her mummy and daddy came home just as Santa was landing on the roof. They might frighten the reindeers away. Everyone knew reindeers didn’t like to be seen. It was very upsetting indeed, Julie Ann fretted. No other mummies and daddies that she knew went out on Christmas Eve. Auntie Miriam and Auntie Ellen were getting their food ready for Christmas. Uncle Ben was helping Auntie Miriam. They were all staying in because Santa was coming. Even Mrs Murdock was staying in her own house with Mr Murdock.

  Why couldn’t her mummy and daddy stay at home on such an important night? Julie Ann thought crossly. Why did they always have to be going to parties?

  ‘Nice little vinegar,’ Emma murmured to Gillian as she sipped a glass of white wine at Diana Mackenzie’s supper party.

  Gillian spluttered. ‘Bitch!’ She grinned.

  ‘Well, I ask you, Gillian. How cheap can you get? It’s pure plonk. You and I serve the best wine and champagne when we’re having a bash. Diana’s always the same. She guzzles it down and then serves us rubbish. Has she no shame? Or that cheapskate husband of hers?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Emma,’ Gillian derided. ‘Nick would drink methylated spirits and think it tasted good.’

  ‘True,’ Emma agreed.

  ‘Look, there’s Anna McManus. She looks a bit miserable. I wonder is Gerard Butler dressing up in his frills tonight?’ Gillian bit into a smoked salmon vol au vent.

  ‘It’s just as well she found out before the wedding. Think of the disaster it would have been if she’d found out afterwards.’ Emma stared at the object of their pity, curiously. Gillian was right, poor Anna looked drawn and haggard. Just when she thought she’d been set for life this awful thing had happened to her and she was back to square one, looking for a man.

  ‘She’s no spring chicken either.’ Gillian followed her friend’s gaze. ‘Poor thing!’

  ‘Oh no, here’s that crashing bore, Philippa Devine.’ Emma fixed a false smile in place. ‘Philippa, nice to see you,’ she fibbed.

  ‘And you, darlings.’ Philippa air-kissed Emma’s and Gillian’s cheeks. ‘So how’s life in the sticks, Emma? As my father would say.’ Philippa gave a hearty guffaw. She was known as Philippa ‘As-My-Father-Would-Say’ Devine, because of her irritating habit of constantly quoting her equally annoying father, a less than scintillating so-called ‘personality’. Philippa hero-worshipped him.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Philippa. If you’d any sense of geography you’d hardly call North County Dublin the sticks. They don’t build airports in the sticks, you know. And we live only ten minutes from the airport.’ Irritation got the better of Emma.

  ‘Oh, my father maintains that a mile north of Trinity is the sticks,’ Philippa volunteered. She took a slug of her red wine. She had a fondness for the grape.

  ‘And how is Daddy?’ Gillian asked sweetly.

  ‘Marvellous! Marvellous! He’s starting a new series on RTÉ soon. Very intellectual, very thought-provoking. He’s researching it at the moment.’ Philippa’s grey eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. She’d gained entry to many a party on her father’s coat-tails.

  ‘How’s Dennis?’ Emma inquired.

  Dennis was Philippa’s long-suffering husband. He too was ‘an intellectual’, as Philippa was prone to point out. He was a sub-editor on an evening paper and if Philippa was fond of the grape, Dennis was even fonder of it. Emma could see him, pissed as a newt in the corner.

  ‘Couldn’t be better,’ Philippa said stoutly. ‘I say, Emma, is it true that Suzy and Chris have split up?’

  ‘Unfortunately yes.’ Emma sighed. She was heartily sick of being asked about Chris, Suzy and Alexandra Johnston.

  ‘But it’s Alexandra Johnston he’s involved with? Isn’t it?’ Philippa asked. Her grey eyes bulged earnestly behind her bottle-top glasses.

  ‘I believe so,’ Emma said tightly.

  ‘How extremely peculiar, as my father would say. I saw him in a restaurant with Jilly Fleming and they looked most . . . er . . . rather intimate. That’s why I thought I was mistaken when I heard it was Alexandra Johnston he’d left Suzy for.’

  ‘I really don’t know, Philippa. You’d have to speak to Chris about it,’ Emma said through gritted teeth.

  ‘Oh gosh . . . no. Couldn’t do that. None of your ruddy business, my father would say. I was just curious, that’s all.’ Philippa drained her glass and raised it aloft. ‘Must top up.’ She beamed. ‘’Scuse me.’

  ‘She’ll be four sheets to the wind before the evening’s out. I saw her taking a slug out of that little bottle of vodka she carries in her bag,’ Gillian observed. She eyed Emma cautiously. ‘I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if she did see Chris with Jilly Fleming. She’s man-mad. She told me Louis’s a real dead duck in bed.’

  ‘I wouldn’t believe a word out of Philippa Devine’s mouth, Gillian. She’s permanently pissed,’ Emma retorted crossly.

  ‘Hmm,’ Gillian murmured non-committally.

  Emma frowned. She was highly annoyed with Chris. What the hell was he playing at? Privately she was quite sure Philippa hadn’t been mistaken about Chris and Jilly. He was getting a real name for himself. And she was absolutely fed up having to answer questions about his private life. If this party was any indication of what the season was going to be like she was going to rusticate in the goddamn sticks. Emma scowled as she sought Vincent in the high-spirited throng.

  ‘Cheer up!’ Vincent reached out an arm and drew her close. ‘Guess what?’ he whispered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did you see me talking to Ray McLean?’

  Emma nodded.

  ‘He’s selling a property in the city centre and he wants me to look after it for him. It’s going to be a very lucrative deal. I think I feel a skiing-trip coming on.’

  ‘Oh Vincent,’ Emma squealed. ‘When?’

  ‘The end of January. Early February. We’ll see what Mrs Murdock says. What do you think?’

&n
bsp; ‘Oh darling, a whole week of you all to myself. Bliss!’ Emma sighed, cuddling in close.

  ‘Let’s see if there’s any mistletoe at this party.’ Vincent led her out of the crowded room. They slipped into a small drawing-room off the hall. It was empty. Vincent closed the door and drew her close.

  ‘Mrs Munroe, did I tell you that you look stunning tonight?’ he murmured against her ear.

  ‘Yes, you did, but you can tell me again.’ Emma sighed happily, all thoughts of Chris and his menage à trois banished as she kissed her husband passionately without a piece of mistletoe in sight.

  Suzy sat sipping brandy in the firelight while her friend Niamh put the children to bed. David, Niamh’s husband, had taken his father for a drink and the two girls were just going to flop after the frenzy of the day. Niamh was extremely organised. All the preparations were made for the Christmas dinner. The big oval table in the dining-room was set. The rest of the night was theirs. She had insisted that Suzy relax while she bathed her own two daughters and the twins. She’d been too exhausted to argue. It must be the country air, she thought wearily. She was yawning her head off.

  It was such a cosy room, Suzy reflected as she snuggled into a corner of the old plump sofa, which stood at a right angle to the huge log fire. Niamh hadn’t pulled the curtains and Suzy could see the lights of houses in the distance, scattered over the hillsides, like fireflies against black velvet. Now and then the lights of a car travelling along the mountainy winding roads would flicker and shimmer before disappearing into inky darkness. The stars sparkled far, far brighter than she’d ever seen them in the city. A golden wedge of moon hung low between the hilltops.

  It was a peaceful scene but it made Suzy feel immensely sad. Tears brimmed in her eyes. How had Chris spent Christmas Eve? Had Alexandra left him alone and gone to London? She hoped she had. That would have to mean they weren’t as crazy about each other as they seemed. After all, she reasoned, if you were nuts about someone, wouldn’t you want to be with them morning, noon and night? Especially at Christmas.

  That hadn’t really occurred to her when Chris had asked her to allow him to come home for Christmas. She’d been too mad to think straight. But as she thought about it now, a forlorn hope glimmered on the horizon. Maybe the love affair wasn’t running too smoothly. Why hadn’t Chris gone to London with Alexandra? Had she not asked him to go? Or had she asked him and he’d said no? Surely she would have wanted to stay with him. Surely they’d want to spend their first Christmas together.

  If Alexandra had got the sack, perhaps she wouldn’t have been able to go to London. Maybe she and Chris were cuddling in front of the fire right this minute.

  It was the not knowing that got to Suzy. She’d dialled Alexandra’s number earlier but there’d been no answer. Were her husband and best friend together or apart?

  ‘Please let them split up, please,’ she prayed. How she willed that affair to break up. It was the one thing she wanted most in the world. She wouldn’t care if he shacked up with another woman. Anyone as long as it wasn’t Alexandra. The hatred she felt for her former friend could not be described. Its malevolence increased with each passing day. There was no respite. She was riven with misery picturing them together, going to cocktail parties as a couple while she was banished from her rightful place at Chris’s side. The humiliation and shame of having people know that he preferred to be with Alexandra than with her was unbearable. What had Alexandra ever given him that she hadn’t? Was it the sex? Was it because Chris thought she wasn’t good in bed? She’d never tied him up and played erotic games with him. And yet, she’d always felt she’d satisfied him.

  Suzy swallowed hard. She wouldn’t cry any more. But it was difficult, very, very difficult. She hadn’t imagined how painful Christmas would be. Hard as she tried she couldn’t stop thinking about them, such was her obsession.

  It had been particularly bad the past few days. Mrs Wallace’s support seemed to have brought her anger bubbling to the surface. She was a woman alone, with two young children to think of, and her selfish slug of a husband was having a wonderful time living like a bachelor. Life was so damned unfair. She’d never have thought her life would end up in tatters the way it had. She’d been riding high. When Chris had proposed to her, seven years ago, just after Christmas, there was no happier woman. And Alexandra had pretended to be delighted for her. Her so-called best friend.

  Well at least that bitch had got the sack. And her name was mud in their set. Suzy was making sure of that. And she was keeping tabs on just who entertained them as a couple. Anyone who did was dead in her book. She’d cut them. Just like that. Katherine had given her backbone. Her mother-in-law had told her to hold her head high. By God she would. She wouldn’t lie down and die under this disaster. This was a war she was determined to win.

  Suzy took another sip of brandy. It burned her throat. She heard the high jinks upstairs and gave a tight smile. Alexandra and Chris would have their hands full in another few days and she wished them the joy of it. See how long they’d last together when Alexandra found out that she was going to have two lively children staying every second weekend.

  ‘So, are you looking forward to Christmas?’ Chris leaned forward and gave the blonde beauty beside him the full benefit of his most intimate stare.

  ‘No! I loathe it,’ she said frankly.

  ‘Why?’ Chris pretended to be shocked.

  ‘It’s so boring. Mummy and Pops will have friends in for drinks and then it’s time for lunch. And after that there’s nothing to do.’

  ‘So you live at home?’ Chris was disappointed.

  ‘Yaw. I’m a secretary in RTÉ. I live in Blackrock. It suits me for the time being until I find a place of my own.’ The blonde took a sip of her drink.

  ‘Let me get you another,’ Chris offered. ‘Dubonnet and white, wasn’t it?’

  ‘You’ve a good memory.’ The blonde smiled.

  ‘And you have a beautiful smile,’ Chris said huskily, giving her his best come-hither look.

  He made his way through the multitudes swarming the bar. Kiely’s on Christmas Eve was jam-packed. The smell of sweat and alcohol and cigarette and cigar smoke mingled with the delicate scents of women’s perfume. The festive air of gaiety and good humour lifted his spirits. Sod Alexandra and Suzy, he hadn’t lost his touch. That blonde bird, Alison, that he’d just pulled was a cracker. He was in with a chance. He wasn’t going to end up sleeping alone, tonight of all nights. His wedding-ring was in his breast pocket. It was time he took it off for good anyway, he decided defiantly as he ordered another round of drinks.

  ‘So, Chris, you’re in insurance?’ Alison turned limpid brown eyes on him as he sat down beside her again and poured the white lemonade into her Dubonnet.

  ‘I have my own insurance company. Business is good,’ he confided.

  ‘And where do you live?’

  ‘Myself and a friend share one of those new apartments near Herbert Park.’ He kept his answer deliberately evasive.

  ‘Wow!’ Alison was clearly impressed. ‘They’re fabulous.’

  ‘Come back for coffee, and you can see for yourself,’ Chris invited casually. ‘Or have you another party to go to?’

  ‘Well, some of the girls,’ she indicated a group of giggly young women, ‘felt like going for a meal. I haven’t eaten anything much today, I thought I’d go with them.’

  ‘As a matter of fact I haven’t eaten much either. Look, I know this superb little Italian place that does magnificent pasta dishes, how about coming for a meal with me? I can drop you home later,’ Chris suggested.

  ‘Have you nothing else on?’ she asked in surprise. ‘I thought you business types would have lots of cocktail parties to go to.’

  Chris gave her his best world-weary gaze. ‘Alison, I could spend all night dropping into cocktail parties and suppers but they get so boring. Let’s be mad and do something different. Let’s have a meal and then go and drink champagne on the top of Killiney Hill.’ He brought
his light-hearted boyishness into play.

  ‘Won’t it be cold on top of Killiney Hill?’

  ‘I can keep you warm.’ He darkened his eyes seductively.

  Alison met his gaze squarely. ‘Sounds good to me.’ She stroked his hand. ‘Then we can go home to your place for coffee.’

  Yes! Chris silently acknowledged his expertise with birds. Alison would certainly be a very happy woman by the time he was finished with her. He could always see her again if he wanted to. Or not. The choice was his.

  Alexandra was living it up in London. Suzy was with another man. Ellen was with that hairy ape. He’d feared being on his own tonight. But it wasn’t going to happen. So stuff them all, he thought triumphantly as he let his hand slide seductively along Alison’s thigh.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ‘Come in, dear. Make yourself at home. You found the address all right?’ Katherine opened the door wide to admit Ellen and Stephanie. It was the Sunday after Christmas. The day they’d decided upon as the most convenient for tea.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Wallace. We got here fine. Your directions were spot on.’ Ellen smiled as she handed the other woman a gift tin of shortbread.

  ‘Ellen, there was no need,’ Katherine reproved.

  ‘It’s just a small token, Mrs Wallace,’ Ellen assured her. ‘The shortbread is home-made. One of my partners has a very rich recipe that’s five hundred years old. Her Scottish grandmother gave it to her and she makes it for The Deli. I hope you like it.’

  ‘What a lovely thought. I’m sure I shall.’ Katherine was charmed. ‘Hello, Stephanie.’ She smiled down at her granddaughter.

  ‘Hello.’ Stephanie smiled back and thrust a box of chocolates at her. ‘This is for you too.’

  ‘Dear, dear, two presents. I’m very lucky today. Thank you very much.’

  ‘Your hair is nice.’ Stephanie studied her grandmother with approval. She didn’t look at all like a grandmother.