by Cathy Kelly
‘I didn’t expect to see you here,’ Grey said. ‘I didn’t think you were coming back to Galway.’
‘And how was I going to move the rest of my stuff out of the apartment then?’ Maggie asked calmly.
‘I thought maybe Shona would do it.’
‘You mean you thought I couldn’t face coming back,’ she said.
‘That too,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, Maggie,’ he began.
‘Let’s stop all this “I’m sorry”, Grey. We’ve gone through it so often it’s becoming boring. It’s over between us, it was over the first time you lied to me, except I don’t know exactly when that was.’
‘The only thing Shona wasn’t able to find out,’ he said, bitterly. ‘That woman should work for Interpol, she’s so good at ferreting around for information.’
‘It’s called keeping an eye out for your friends,’ Maggie said evenly. ‘Shona understands that I wouldn’t want to be married to a man who could cheat on me, and lie about it. We might have had some chance if you’d been honest but…’ She thought about it. ‘Actually, no,’ she said. ‘Strike that. We wouldn’t have had a chance whether you’d told me about the other women or not, Grey. I’d never trust you again. And I couldn’t respect a man who’d make love to me, and still manage to screw other women without feeling in the slightest bit guilty. So no, it wouldn’t have worked out. But I’d have appreciated the honesty, I’d have respected you more.’
‘There’s no going back, then?’
She shook her head.
‘Are you coming back to Galway to live?’
‘I don’t think so, I’ve made a new life for myself, I’m busy.’
‘I noticed. I saw you in the paper, you and your mother, the heroines of Summer Street.’
Maggie grinned, where once she would have been embarrassed at the thought of such publicity.
‘They used that picture of us on the steps of the pavilion because you’re gorgeous and I’m not too bad for an old bird!’ her mother had said proudly at the time and Maggie had stared at her in astonishment. Her mother was saying she was gorgeous. Maggie didn’t remember anyone saying that when she was growing up, but maybe they had and she just hadn’t noticed. Her own insecurities and the emotional pain of the bullying had stopped her hearing the words. She’d been loved and adored; of course they would have told her she was beautiful.
‘There was a stunning photo of the pair of you on the steps of that old building,’ Grey went on.
‘My mother loves that picture—she says we’re gorgeous in it,’ Maggie said proudly. She was able to say such a thing without wincing and was almost beginning to believe it. Men didn’t look at her in the street because she had her jeans on backwards or her hair was stuck to her head, they looked at her because they thought she was attractive.
‘Beauty sells,’ agreed Grey morosely, staring at her. ‘Are you going out with anybody?’ he asked. ‘It’s just you seem happier, happier than you were with me.’
‘I am, as a matter of fact,’ Maggie said, unable to hide the broad smile that lit up her face at the thought of Ivan. ‘He’s a good man. Kind, handsome, very sexy.’ She couldn’t resist adding that, just to show Grey that he wasn’t the only one who could hook up with members of the opposite sex. ‘And he’s older than me, by a few years,’ she added.
‘Not a twenty-year-old student, you mean,’ Grey snapped.
‘Exactly.’
‘He makes you happy?’ He looked as if he would prefer to hear that this man didn’t make Maggie happy.
‘He makes me very happy,’ she said softly. ‘I can be myself with him.’
‘You were yourself with me,’ Grey insisted.
‘No, I wasn’t,’ Maggie said, determined to say what had to be said. ‘I was what I thought you wanted me to be. We did things you wanted to do, because I wanted you to be happy. Not things I wanted to do. Not that it was all your fault, I had my own issues,’ she said, ‘but you didn’t help. You wanted a certain type of person as your girlfriend and I was pliable enough to fit perfectly into the role.’
‘I loved you,’ Grey said defensively.
‘Loved me enough to have four affairs while we were together?’ Maggie asked sharply. ‘That’s not love, Grey. That’s selfishness masquerading as love. If you’d really loved me, you wouldn’t have needed anyone else.’
‘What a cliché,’ he said in irritation. ‘I don’t know why women buy into all that romantic bullshit. All the same, all wanting fairytale marriages and white dresses and happy-ever-after. Life isn’t like that.’
‘It can be,’ Maggie stated. ‘It can be if you want it to be, and I want it to be. And if the man I’m with is unfaithful to me, then I’ll leave him too. Do you understand?’ she said. ‘I don’t want happy-ever-after romance. I want real love and respect and I’d prefer to be on my own than be with someone and without it.’
Grey wasn’t listening. He was staring, like a goldfish, at someone approaching from behind her.
Maggie turned to see a slender young blonde girl, mid-twenties at the most, standing awkwardly a few metres away from their table.
‘Er…well…’ stammered Grey, no doubt anticipating seeing the remains of his coffee landing on his clothes.
‘Relax,’ Maggie said. ‘You’re a free agent, Grey. See who you like.’
She got to her feet, handed him the sheaf of papers and held out her hand for him to shake it. ‘Let’s sort this out as soon as possible,’ she said.
He took her hand and shook it.
Then she turned to face the blonde woman.
‘Hi,’ Maggie said. ‘I’m just leaving. He’s all yours.’
Then she walked down the bookshop stairs, head held high.
For old times’ sake, she took the bus out to Salthill and walked along the beach. The vastness of the Altantic always awed her. She’d loved walking here when she’d first come to Galway, loved the knowledge that centuries of women had walked along here, thinking about their lives and loves when there were no amusement arcades in the background, just the stretch of the bay encircling them.
She’d like to share this place with Ivan. But perhaps not just yet.
As she walked, Maggie realised that she didn’t want to make any big decisions yet about her and Ivan. She’d tried to get other people to fix what was wrong with her. And it hadn’t worked; it couldn’t. Only she had been able to fix herself. She didn’t want to make that mistake with Ivan.
If they ended up together, it would be for all the right reasons, she promised herself that. Smiling, she turned and headed back along the beach.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The office looked exactly the same as when Faye had left it. The ‘Flipper Does Dallas’ painting still dominating the reception area, the arrangements of flowers on the tables in reception looking unchanged, and Grace’s stilettos still crackling as she ran across the reception floor.
In a stunning cream suit with a nipped-in waist and buttons like golden golfballs, she was the epitome of the corporate madam.
‘Welcome back!’ Grace said delightedly. ‘I love your hair!’
Faye laughed and kissed Grace on the cheek.
‘I’ve been away for a month, I’ve gone through all sorts of torments and the first thing you mention to me is my hair?’ she demanded in mock disgust.
It was very different. The brown ponytail was gone, to be replaced by a jaw-length feathery bob which really suited her.
‘It’s only a haircut, Grace,’ she added, although she knew it was more than that. Asking for a new look hadn’t just been chopping off a lot of hair. It was making an effort, albeit a small effort, to step back into the world.
‘It’s fabulous though,’ said Grace, giving Faye’s hair a professional once-over. ‘All you need is for Ellen to come in and maybe do something about your clothes.’
‘Grace!’ warned Faye as they stepped into the lift. ‘I like my clothes and it’s only because you’re an old friend that I allow you even to ment
ion them and my lack of interest in them without killing you.’
‘Sorry,’ said Grace unsubdued. ‘It’s just, you have had that suit quite a long time and there is a sale on in Debenhams.’
‘Point taken.’
‘Fine.’ Grace put up her hands in resignation. ‘It’s lovely to have you back, even if…’ She stopped herself.
‘Even if Amber isn’t with me?’ Faye said.
‘Sorry, I don’t know what to say. I wish I knew how to console you but I suppose there is no making it better. At least you found her and talked to her.’ Grace wasn’t entirely sure if Amber had any plans to come back because she hadn’t wanted to ask Faye such a tough question, but whatever had gone on in California between the two of them, Faye was actually looking better than she had for years. It wasn’t just the hair. That was only a surface thing, Grace knew.
But Faye genuinely looked different—not content exactly, because Grace knew that Faye could never be content when Amber was away from her—but strangely more comfortable, less uptight, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
‘The whole office has missed you.’ Grace changed the subject. ‘Personally and professionally. Little Island can’t cope when you’re gone. You better not have any holidays again,’ she said, teasing.
‘No, not ever again,’ agreed Faye. ‘Although I’m thinking of taking a month in September to visit Amber.’
She hadn’t discussed this with Amber, not sure how her daughter would react to the news that her mother was going to fly out to LA to spend a month there. Faye realised that if Mohammed wouldn’t go to the mountain, then the mountain would have to go to Mohammed.
‘The month of September, that’s fine,’ Grace said evenly. ‘Are you free for lunch? We’ve a lot to talk about. Neil has been driving me mad, driving Philippa mad too. You know what he’s like when he gets involved in the business.’
Faye did know. Grace’s husband, Neil, was not one of life’s instinctive people managers. He could start an argument in an empty room.
‘Of course I’m free for lunch,’ she said.
When Grace had gone, Faye had sat down and glanced around at her office, thinking it was odd to find it looking the same as ever when so much had changed within herself. Her desk looked exactly as she always left it, with the phone and the stapler precisely at right angles to the top of the desk; even the cleaners knew to leave it that way, because Mrs Reid insisted upon everything just so.
God, she was anal, Faye realised ruefully. She reached over and moved the phone, the stapler and the lamp. There, just a little bit of chaos, a smidgen of unpredictability. It was probably better that way. She didn’t know what she was going to do next with her life—that was unpredictable, too, but as she mulled this over she decided it could be rather exciting. She’d muted herself for so long in order to be the perfect mother and, instead, had turned into a controlling person who’d lost sight of the real Faye.
Now it was time to work out who the real Faye was and to enjoy life again. She’d punished herself enough for the past.
Amber looked around her new home, a tiny studio apartment in west Hollywood, and grimaced. Compared to the hotel—where she’d been staying in one of the cheapest rooms after moving out of Karl’s suite—it was nothing much to look at and definitely needed some serious cleaning products. Her mother’s weak bleach solution might do the trick. Still, it was furnished, in a reasonably safe building with security doors, an intercom system and she was on the second floor rather than the ground.
Number 2F contained a kitchenette, a tray-sized balcony overlooking the apartment block next door’s pool and a minute shower room. It hadn’t taken her long to move in. All she had were a lot of clothes, some nice hotel toiletries and that was it. She made a list of all the stuff she needed, like groceries, cleaning products, washing powder, some plants to brighten the place up, and headed off to find a shop.
It was Syd who had helped her find her new home when she’d told him she was leaving Karl.
‘You can’t—’
‘—Leave?’ said Amber. ‘Syd, you know I have to. I can’t hang on to Karl’s coat-tails for ever, not when he doesn’t want me. I have some pride, you know.’
‘I know,’ he’d replied.
So Syd had talked to Michael Levin about Amber and asked for his help in getting her a job and a place to live.
Karl, on the other hand, had done nothing.
He’d barely spoken to her since the day after her mum left.
He’d come home in the morning as usual to find Amber packing up her stuff.
‘You’re going,’ he said flatly.
‘There’s nothing for me to stay for.’ Amber shrugged, still packing.
‘What will you do?’
‘There’s a street corner on Sunset Boulevard for me,’ she replied sarcastically. ‘Since you’ve been treating me like little more than a prostitute, I might as well go the whole hog and make money from it. Hopefully, Richard Gere will see this Pretty Woman and rescue her, although I forgot—you already rescued me from my boring life. Nobody would be so lucky to have it happen to them twice.’
‘Amber, don’t talk that way,’ Karl said. ‘It wasn’t meant to happen like this, but it sorta did. I’ve got to think of the band…’
‘You’re thinking of Karl,’ Amber shot back, ‘as usual. Number one. Nobody else gets in the way. I was useful when I was your muse but as soon as another muse came along, I was history. I hope somebody tells Venetia that you run through girlfriends pretty quickly. Although she’ll probably last longer than me. She’s more useful.’
‘It’s not like that,’ he said. ‘Don’t be bitter, Amber. You had a blast. Nobody forced you to come.’
She glared at him. ‘You did.’
‘Did I hold a gun to your head and make you get on the plane at Dublin airport? No. So don’t go all “you made me, Karl”! Right?’
There was no point talking to him.
‘You’re right, Karl. It was all my fault. I should have known better. I will in future,’ she said.
She was quickly running through the money her mother had given her, and for the past few days had been working as a receptionist in a hairdressing salon close to the Beverly Center, although she guessed that her entire wages were less than the tips some of the stylists got from their wealthy clients. Because she was working illegally, she’d been lucky to find such a job. Most illegals ended up chambermaiding and cleaning but Amber’s Irish accent had touched a chord with the salon owner and he’d hired her on the spot.
The salon staff were friendly and Syd seemed determined to keep in touch every day, inviting her to parties and gigs so that she felt as if she had some social life in LA. He’d also given her some more money.
‘I can’t take this!’ she said. ‘It’s the band’s money.’
‘You were a part of the band, Amber,’ Syd said sadly. ‘I feel bad about the way Karl’s treated you. I’ve known him a long time, I should have warned you. I thought it was different with you because you’re not his usual type, you’re smart.’
‘That’s something.’ She grinned.
‘I told him not to make you leave Ireland in such a hurry, but you know Karl, once he sets his mind on something, he does it.’
‘You said that to him?’ she asked.
‘It’s important to think things through,’ Syd muttered.
‘I wish you’d said it to me,’ Amber replied. ‘But I wouldn’t have listened, would I?’
She thought about home a lot: her mother, Ella, Gran, the life she’d left behind. The longer she was away from home, the more she wanted to go back.
But after the way she’d run off, nobody would want her there, would they?
And then Saul came back into her life.
He’d simply turned up at the salon one day as they were closing, and said, ‘Hello, Amber.’
She stared at him in shock, remembering that it was at his beautiful house, at his party, that she’d fin
ally realised Karl didn’t love her after all.
‘We’re closing, sorry,’ she said. ‘Do you want to make an appointment?’ Pen poised like the professional she was, she smiled at him.
‘I don’t want an appointment. I wanted to talk to you, Amber. Syd told me you were here,’ Saul said. ‘I’ve a proposition for you.’
It took ten minutes before Saul managed to convince Amber that he wasn’t a sleazy guy trying to take advantage of her now that she was penniless and alone. They sat in a health food café nursing smoothies while Saul explained.
‘You know I’m an art collector and I think you have great talent,’ he said. ‘I’d like to invest in your talent. No strings attached,’ he’d added for what had to be the tenth time. ‘You know I’m a collector: you saw the paintings in my house. I’m interested in your talent as an artist. If you spent a year out here or in New Mexico, just think of the work you’d produce. I’ve still got the picture you drew in my house. You left it behind that night. It’s only a sketch but it’s more vital and alive than a lot of the work that’s going for thousands of dollars in local galleries. So, what do you think?’
Amber was speechless.
‘You still want to paint, right?’ Saul asked. ‘You don’t have to go to art college to do that. You could make a damn good living right now.’
Still, she said nothing.
‘You could go home and do the art college thing too, and then come back,’ Saul went on. ‘We’d have to hire a lawyer to sort out your immigration status first, though. There’s nothing stopping you from making it. You’ve certainly got the talent.’
In her head, Amber repeated his words ‘there’s nothing stopping you’.
There was nothing stopping her—except her pride and fear of facing the people she’d hurt. What she really wanted to do was go home, be with the people she loved and go to art college. And she could do that. All she needed was her plane ticket.