by Cathy Kelly
She rearranged her pillow until she’d squashed it into the desired shape, then she wriggled down the bed until her body was lying skin-to-skin with Finn’s. In his sleep, he groaned and moved, edging closer to her, with one arm snaking around her. Tara arched herself closer and closed her eyes. There was only one option: they had to try. Now that she’d made her decision, she knew she’d sleep like a baby.
Rose stood in the garden beside the musk roses and shaded her eyes against the evening sun. From inside the house, she could hear the last few bars of the music at the start of the six o’clock news. Outside, the only sound was of the final lazy droning of bees exhausted after a day spent working amid the blossoms in Rose’s rambling garden. Rose felt tired too, but it was that pleasurable tiredness from an enjoyable day. She’d spent the morning with Minnie Wilson and it had been worth spilling her heart out to see Minnie’s dawning comprehension that she wasn’t the only person who’d ever battled depression before. Minnie had been so touchingly grateful for Rose’s help that Rose felt hideously guilty for not doing more sooner. She’d hidden behind the facade of her perfect life instead of being honest and trying to help Minnie. That would never happen again, she vowed. The golden Miller facade had been demolished. Rose wanted to live a real life, warts and all.
In the afternoon, she and Hugh had gone grocery shopping to buy food for the family dinner that was to be Tara and Finn’s going-away party.
Hugh had decided that it would be extra special if he cooked the meal and Rose had said why ever not? The old Rose would have had her doubts and hovered around to help, waiting for the moment when her expertise was required. The new Rose was happy to let other people take their turn and she’d come into the garden to cut flowers for the table.
Consequently, Hugh was labouring away inside, muttering every few moments about how the vegetable peeler must have something wrong with it because it wasn’t working properly.
Rose picked up her secateurs and had soon filled the old gardening trug with her favourite off-white old roses. She picked some sprigs of lavender too to add to the scent of her bouquet and was collecting a few more stalks of rosemary for Hugh’s ambitious leg of lamb when he walked out into the garden, wearing her old apron over his clothes. He still hadn’t put on the weight he’d lost after the heart attack. It made him look older and more vulnerable. He wasn’t the golden boy any more, Rose knew. He was her husband and, though he tried to hide it, he was still affected by the brush with his own mortality.
‘Was I moaning?’ he asked as he sank onto the old wooden seat beside Rose’s prized rockery.
Rose pretended to think about it. ‘Just a teeny bit,’ she said. ‘It is a useless vegetable peeler, though.’
‘But you’ve managed with it for ages.’
‘I’m an expert,’ she reminded him, sitting beside him. ‘I picked some more rosemary for you.’
He took the wiry stalks and inhaled the scent. ‘It’s years since I cooked,’ he said. ‘I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed it. Despite moaning about the equipment,’ he added wryly.
‘What was that dish you used to make when we were first married? Something with baked beans and…’
‘Mushrooms with an egg in the middle. It wasn’t very successful, was it?’
Rose closed her eyes against the sun. It was lovely sitting there, relaxing, not rushing. Just being. It had taken her time in Nettle Cottage to appreciate that.
‘The calm before the storm,’ mused Hugh.
‘I’m looking forward to meeting Tom,’ remarked Rose. ‘I did say to Holly that we’d understand if he was a bit put off by meeting the whole Miller clan in one go, but she said he’d take it in his stride.’
‘As long as Adele doesn’t get the thumbscrews out and interrogate him,’ Hugh said.
They both groaned at the thought of Adele’s unsubtle probing of boyfriends she considered unsuitable. Adele had certainly softened up in the past weeks, but a person could only change so much. Hugh’s heart attack had instantly healed the rift between Adele and her darling brother. She’d been quietly thrilled that he and Rose were back together, although she’d never say as much.
‘Tom’s an architect, so Adele will love him,’ Rose decided. ‘I only hope she says nothing to poor Finn about the evils of drink. Will you have a word with her?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Hugh paused. ‘I am worried about Tara and Finn. It’s not going to be easy for them.’
Rose smiled. ‘Nothing is simple, Hugh. I worry about her too. I worry about all of them. And you. But we’ve got to let them take care of themselves. Tara and Finn love each other very deeply, that’s the best start. They’ve been honest with each other.’
Hugh’s fingers found their way into hers and Rose squeezed back tightly.
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t always honest with you,’ Hugh said.
‘Hush,’ she replied. ‘That’s the past. We’re living in the future, remember?’
‘Rose,’ said a querulous voice from the kitchen door. ‘Something’s burning. The smell’s terrible and it’s giving me a headache.’
Husband and wife exchanged amused grins. ‘Just a minute, Adele,’ called Rose. ‘How about you see to Adele and I see to the fatted calf,’ she suggested.
Hugh’s lips brushed her cheek tenderly and his fingers touched the soft curve of her jaw. ‘Whatever you say, Rose.’
In the kitchen, Adele muttered to herself as she opened the oven door and peered in at whatever it was that Hugh had been cooking. Something smelled singed, that was for sure. She couldn’t see what, so she hoisted the roasting dish out. On the shelf underneath was a dish of blackened vegetables. Broccoli. Clearly, Hugh had cooked it then put it in the oven to keep it warm. Idiot. But she smiled. They’d nearly lost the idiot and Adele couldn’t have borne that.
Adele removed the offending vegetables and threw them in the bin. Really, she didn’t know what Rose was doing by letting Hugh get involved in the kitchen. With a big family dinner, you’d think Rose would do it herself. Hugh couldn’t boil an egg. Just as well she was here to help.
She washed some more broccoli and thought about the impending dinner. It would be interesting to meet Holly’s young man. An architect, no less. Adele was impressed. Holly had done well for herself. And Stella had too. Adele approved of that nice Nick, even though he was divorced. Still, you couldn’t have everything. But as for Tara…That was another story. Adele would say nothing, of course. Nobody would accuse her of putting her oar in where it wasn’t wanted, that was for sure. But, it was as plain as the nose on her face that Tara was heading for trouble with that young Finn. Lovely lad he might have been, but he was trouble. She’d seen it herself from the start.
Still, she supposed that it would all work out in the end. Luck, that’s what it was. Wasn’t it better to be born lucky than rich, Adele reflected
.
Acknowledgements
During the writing of this book, there were times when I seriously thought I wouldn’t be able to finish it and toyed with the idea of an abrupt ending that involved everything suddenly working out in the space of two pages, with a classic Scooby Doo explanation of how it had all happened, and a final, speedy line such as ‘and they all lived happily ever afterwards’.
Anyhow, thanks to lots of love and support from the people in my life, I clambered over the ‘I-can’t-finish-it/ Scooby Doo’ hump and finished Just Between Us. I think that’s what acknowledgements are for: to say a profound thanks to the people who give encouragement, support and who listen patiently to the writer moaning about how awful the whole book is turning out. To other people, acknowledgements probably sound as corny as the acceptance speech at my TV soap awards ceremony, but they’re from the heart.
So, from the heart:
Thanks to John, for the sort of love and support that just can’t be put into words. To Mum, as always, lot of love from me and Tamsin for everything you do; to Francis and Lucy, the best big brother and little sister in the world; much lo
ve to Anne and Dave, and special mentions for my dear nieces and nephew, Laura, Naomi, Emer and Robert. And of course, dear Tamsin.
Thanks to Lisa and Annmarie, whose grown-up namesake appears in this book – with a degree in shopping! Thanks to Stella O’Connell for giving me the name for one of my heroines, thanks to Kate Thompson for advice and kindness, thanks to Margaret, Sarah Hamilton, Marian Keyes and Susan Zaidan for friendship, thanks to Patricia Scanlan for lighting candles, thanks to Srs Vincent and Breeda for prayers, to Sheila O’Flanagan for giving me the notion of Hula Girl. How do you get that off your computer, again? Thanks to Lola Simpson and Siobhan O’Reilly. Thanks to Christine and Simon Calver: for teaching me roulette and getting Bunny in return!
Huge thanks to Ali Gunn at Curtis Brown for endless support and cheering phone calls, also thanks to Carol Jackson and all at CB.
Special thanks and flowers have to go to Rachel Hore, Jennifer Parr and Lynne Drew at HarperCollins, without whom this book would be a pamphlet (although probably easier to read in bed). Thank you all for doing so much for me and for making it such fun. Thanks to the entire team at HarperCollins, who are friends as well as colleagues, starting with dear Moira Reilly and Tony Purdue, the Irish A-team. Thanks to Nick Sayers, Amanda Ridout, Fiona McIntosh, Maxine Hitchcock, Martin Palmer, Jane Harris, John Bond, Victoria Barnsley, Esther Taylor, Venetia Butterfield, Sara Wikner, Anne O’Brien, Lee Motley, Phyllis Acolatse, Mike McQueen, Steve Newell and all the HC team.
Thanks to everyone at HarperCollins Australia for being so wonderful (and letting me in on the yoga class). Thanks to lovely Karen-Maree Griffiths and Louisa Dear for taking care of me, thanks to Christine Farmer, Jim Demetriou, David Lange, Arthur Cavalliotis, John Wilkinson, Michael Mousallem and every one of the team who made me so utterly welcome.
In New York, thanks to Deborah Schneider, also big thanks to my Dutton and Plume family in the US: Carole Baron, Laurie Chittenden, Stephanie Bowe, Lisa Johnson, Brant Janeway and Sarah Melnyk.
Thanks to Joanne, Esther, Larissa, Yvonne, Moria and all my dear ex-colleagues who can never remember any decent gossip when I phone up. Thanks to the wonderful writing sisterhood that includes Martina Devlin, Jane Moore, Colette Caddle, Susan Lewis, Jenny Colgan, and all my writer friends, especially the girls at the RNA who write such wonderful books.
Last but certainly not least, there are two important groups of people to thank: all the lovely booksellers who sell my books and all the marvellous people all over the world who buy them. Thank you.
Finally, Ireland has lots of glorious places with gloriously Irish names, names that probably sound mad to other people but absolutely normal to us. Due to my constant fear of creating characters who coincidentally happen to have the same names as real people who live in the same place as in my book, I like to make up place names. I wrongly thought I’d made up the name Kinvara (don’t ask me how) until I was in the supermarket and saw smoked salmon from a real place called Kinvara. Eeek.
And just in case, I asked people did they know of any other Kinvaras.
‘Ah, sure there’s loads of them,’ I was told.
Double eek. Anyway, my Kinvara is my own invention and to make it different, I called it Kinvarra. And ditto Castletown, which is made up and is not one of the scores of Castletowns dotted around the place. Place names aside, I hope you enjoy Just Between Us.
About the Author
Just Between Us
Cathy Kelly is a number one bestselling author. She worked as a journalist before becoming a novelist, and has published ten novels. She is an Ambassador for Unicef in Ireland, helping to raise awareness of the plight of 12 million children orphaned across Africa through AIDS. She lives in Wicklow with her family.
For more information on Cathy Kelly, visit her website at www.cathykelly.com
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Praise for Cathy Kelly:
‘A must for Kelly’s many fans; a warm, moving read.’
Daily Mail
‘Totally believable.’
Rosamunde Pilcher
‘An upbeat and diverting tale skilfully told…Kelly knows what her readers want and consistently delivers.’
Sunday Independent
‘An absorbing, heart-warming tale.’
Company
‘Her skill at dealing with the complexities of modern life, marriage and families is put to good effect as she teases out the secrets of her characters.’
Choice
‘Kelly dramatises her story with plenty of sparky humour.’
The Times
‘Kelly has an admirable capacity to make the readers identify, in turn, with each of her female characters…’
Irish Independent
By the same author:
Woman to Woman
She’s the One
Never Too Late
Someone Like You
What She Wants
Best of Friends
Always and Forever
Past Secrets
Lessons in Heartbreak
Copyright
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This paperback edition 2008
FIRST EDITION
Copyright © Cathy Kelly 2002
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EPub Edition © MAY 2010 ISBN: 978-0-007-38932-2
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