The words that were used to describe Jenny Marshall in her school reports were usually ‘daydreamer’ and ‘flighty’. According to her teachers, she could be a really good student if she put her mind to it. Unfortunately, most of them said, she preferred doodling in the margins of her copybooks to dealing with the assignments she’d been given. The one class in which she excelled was art, where her paintings were energetic and colourful. Her other skill was calligraphy. Whenever posters were being done for the classroom, it was Jenny who would be entrusted with whatever script went with them, and she always did a great job. It was a pity, her form mistress said, that she didn’t apply herself with as much enthusiasm to subjects like maths and history. Her parents weren’t too perturbed about her reports. After all, they reckoned, Jenny was a pretty girl and they were certain she’d get married and have a family of her own. Education, Kay said, was important. But only up to a point.
In her third year in secondary school, Jenny had to do a project on a European capital city. Back then, without the internet and Google, gathering information meant a hard slog of trawling through the library, buying magazines and – because she’d chosen Rome as her city – writing to the Italian embassy and the tourist board for information. At first she’d been less than enthusiastic, but by the time she’d completed her project, she’d fallen in love with Rome and its history, and had stuck a poster of the Colosseum that had been sent as part of the tourist board’s information pack on her bedroom wall. She loved looking at the vibrant blue sky and the ancient stone construction as she pictured herself walking around it. The tourist board had also included a picture of a crowded square with attractive women and handsome men drinking coffee at tables beneath parasols. Every time she looked at it, Jenny wanted to be with them. In fact, she wanted to be them. Life in Italy looked a damn sight more colourful and exciting than life in Ireland, which from Jenny’s perspective seemed unbearably drab by comparison.
Shortly afterwards, to celebrate Ireland’s accession to the European Economic Community, her school organised a trip to Rome. It was a sign, she told herself. A sign that she would go there and meet Italian people and make new friends and live a different life, even if it was only for a few days. She brought the information sheet home to show her parents and told them that she’d love to go. That she’d get a Saturday job and pay them back. After all, she reminded them, the trip was educational, and she’d received her first ever A grade for her project. She stood in front of them with her fingers crossed as they read through it, but when they got to the end and saw that the five-day stay cost a whopping £75, Jenny knew there was no chance.
‘We can’t afford it,’ Kay said as she folded the information sheet in half. ‘We can’t spend that much money on you and not your sisters and you’ll never get a job that will pay us back.’
‘I might,’ protested Jenny. ‘Mrs Murtagh in the newsagent’s is looking for part-time staff.’
‘We can’t afford it and that’s that.’ Terry picked up the newspaper he’d put down to glance at the information sheet.
Jenny had known all along that they’d say no, although she’d longed for them to surprise her by saying yes. She’d hoped that telling them she’d try to find a job would swing it. But Terry and Kay weren’t going to change their minds. They didn’t care how educational the trip might be, although they didn’t see any educational value in it at all. There was no reason for her to go to Rome, Kay said. There was nothing there for her.
‘When you’re working and earning your own money you can go wherever you like,’ Terry told her over the top of the paper when she said there were plenty of reasons to go to Rome, that it was a major cultural city. ‘Although why anyone would want to go to a foreign place like that where you can’t drink the water or eat the food, I don’t know.’
‘The Italians drink the water and eat the food,’ Jenny murmured, but Terry had already turned his attention back to the paper. And Jenny made up her mind that as soon as she was in a position to travel abroad, Rome would be the first place she visited.
When she left school and got a job in the Civil Service, she began to put a little money away every week for her travel fund, although it grew so slowly she couldn’t help wondering if she’d be a pensioner before she ever left the country. Kay insisted that she hand over a large chunk of her wages to help with household expenses every week, which put a big dent in her ability to save. Jenny didn’t begrudge her parents the money, but she sometimes wondered if it would be cheaper to live in a flat with one of the other girls in the office. People would think she was weird, though. It was the country girls who lived in flats. No Dubliner wasted money on rent when they could be at home, even if they were contributing to living expenses. But those country girls always seemed to have more money than her!
Then she met Pascal Sheehan. He also worked in the Department of Agriculture and she’d seen him walking around the office before, but their paths didn’t cross until they got into conversation at a booze-up to celebrate a raft of internal promotions and transfers. It’s mad, she said later that evening when she’d blown that week’s travel fund on an unaccustomed amount of cheap white wine, that the first time I get to talk to you is when you’re moving to Revenue.
‘Maybe that’s a good thing,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘After all, it’s hard to go out with someone who works in the same office as you.’
‘Are you asking me out?’
‘Would you like me to?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
He was easy to get on with. She liked being with him. She didn’t mind that he was more organised and methodical than her. He didn’t mind that she was impulsive and untidy, or that from time to time she retreated into her own world. Although they approached life differently, they both liked the same things. But getting married hadn’t been part of the plan. Not when she was still putting money aside for her travel fund.
Now, sitting in her bedroom and fixing her diamond earrings in place, Jenny wondered how it was that the events of forty-odd years ago should be so clear in her mind when there were times she couldn’t even remember what had happened yesterday. Gazing into the mirror, she looked for the person she had been in the reflection of the person she had become.
Leaving aside the older face, drier skin and fine lines (as well as some more obvious wrinkles that not even the most expensive serums had been able to shift), the biggest difference was how groomed she appeared. Of course everyone looked groomed now, thanks to hair-smoothing treatments and skin-perfecting creams and a plethora of products that nobody had heard of in the 1970s. She smiled as she remembered wrestling with her unruly hair before going out with Pascal, desperately trying to tame the wayward curls into something more stylish but inevitably, without a GHD or dry oil to help, failing every time.
She looked at her hair now. Somehow, over the years, it had seemed to tame itself. Maybe it was the result of her regular colouring sessions at the hair salon, supplemented by her weekly blow-dry. Maybe it was the expensive keratin-enriched shampoo she used. For whatever reason, her blond bob was easy to maintain and appropriate for her age. Still, she thought, she’d had an extravagant mane of untamed curls in her youth. Sometimes she missed them.
She picked up her mobile phone. She’d made a late appointment for a blow-dry at Marie’s Klip Joint in the village before going to the restaurant this evening, so she had to text to cancel. Something Roisin hadn’t thought of, mused Jenny as she sent the message. She really wished her daughter had asked her about this party. She knew Roisin had wanted to surprise her, but she didn’t like being surprised. And certainly not like this. Not for this.
The black dress was carefully laid out on the bed. Jenny put it back in the wardrobe. A little black dress was fine for eating out in the poshest restaurant for miles, but totally wrong for a garden party. She looked through her options, finally selecting a white summer dress with a red rose design. It had a fifties retro look with its narrow bodice and wide skirt, and when
Jenny had first seen it, she’d been reminded of a day when her own mother, wearing a similar dress, had taken her to the park.
‘You look lovely.’ Pascal walked into the room and kissed her on the nape of the neck.
‘Thanks,’ said Jenny. ‘How are they all downstairs?’
‘Having a great time,’ said Pascal. ‘The girls have managed to get a big crowd together.’
Jenny nodded.
‘You OK?’ he asked.
‘I wish they hadn’t done it.’ Jenny stood up. In her bare feet she reached Pascal’s shoulder, and now she leaned her head against his chest. ‘Perhaps we should have guessed when Roisin asked about the babysitting.’
‘How could we?’
‘I should’ve listened to you before now,’ Jenny said. ‘I should’ve told her we wanted them to come here because we had important stuff to tell them and—’
‘They’d clearly planned this for ages.’ Pascal interrupted her. ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference. Besides, it’s right to celebrate.’
Jenny said nothing.
‘They’re all here to have fun,’ murmured Pascal. ‘And we have to have fun with them.’
‘It’s just …’ Jenny sighed. ‘I suppose I feel like a fraud.’
‘Forty years,’ said Pascal. ‘Nothing fraudulent about that.’
She laughed softly.
‘I always loved you, you know,’ Pascal said. ‘From the moment you walked into the department in that skin-tight tartan dress.’
‘And my red platform boots,’ she remembered. ‘I thought I looked so cool.’
‘You didn’t get the red boots till later,’ he said. ‘I’m remembering your very first day. You were wearing black boots then. I saw you but I was afraid to speak to you.’
She lifted her head. ‘No way.’
‘Yes way.’ He smiled. ‘I thought you were the prettiest girl in the office by a country mile.’
‘But you didn’t speak to me until the day you were being transferred!’ she exclaimed.
‘Shy,’ he said.
This time her laugh was louder. ‘Never.’
‘Absolutely,’ he assured her. ‘I wanted to ask you out but I was afraid you’d turn me down. So the longer I went without asking, the more I could hope that you’d say yes.’
‘You never told me that before.’
‘I like to keep a touch of mystery.’ He smiled.
‘You’re mad, you know that, don’t you?’
‘Everyone has to be a little mad,’ he said.
She rested her head on his chest again.
‘Come on, Jen,’ he said. ‘It’s a day to celebrate.’
‘I …’
‘Everybody’s waiting for us,’ he said.
Jenny sniffed and nodded. She wiped her eyes, thankful that she hadn’t yet applied mascara. Then she touched up her make-up, slid her feet into her favourite high heels and followed Pascal downstairs.
Most of the guests were either on the veranda or wandering around the garden. Jenny watched them for a moment, puzzling over the only person she didn’t recognise, the girl in the canary-yellow dress who was standing close to Carl. Then Steffie came over to her.
‘Oh Mum, you look fantastic!’ she exclaimed. ‘I haven’t seen you wear that before.’
‘Don’t get much opportunity,’ said Jenny. ‘And the black dress would’ve been too heavy for today. If I was forty years younger, I could’ve rocked bright yellow too. Who on earth is that girl? And where’s Bernice?’
As Steffie explained the situation, Jenny continued to observe Carl’s date. Charlie had come up to the group she was in and was trying to position himself beside her, but Summer moved adroitly so that Carl was between them again. Jenny smiled.
‘She’s well able to handle Charlie,’ Steffie remarked. ‘Well able to handle Carl too, I reckon. I don’t know what’s got into him, though. He and Bernice were perfect for each other.’
‘Things go wrong, even in perfect relationships,’ said Jenny.
‘But not for you and Dad.’
‘It wasn’t always perfect. Nothing is.’
‘Well of course not. But you’re the most rock-solid couple I know. Plus you’re my parents. Which is pretty damn perfect from where I’m standing.’ Steffie beamed at her.
Jenny’s smile in return was slightly strained.
‘Are you OK with all this?’ Steffie had noticed the reservation in Jenny’s eyes and understood it. She’d been right about surprises not being Jenny’s thing, and despite the fact that her mother was making the best of it, and was undoubtedly enjoying it to a certain extent, she still believed that Jenny would have preferred a quieter celebration.
‘It’s a very thoughtful gesture,’ her mother replied. ‘Thank you for organising it.’
‘It was Roisin mostly.’
This time Jenny’s smile was broader. ‘I’m sure it was.’
‘Mum! There you are at last.’ Davey waved at her and came over, pulling Camilla by the hand. He embraced Jenny and congratulated her on sticking with his dad for so long, and then, before she had a chance to say anything else, he introduced Camilla.
‘Lovely to meet you,’ said Jenny. She thought about hugging the tall Danish girl, but Camilla didn’t seem to want to be hugged; she simply extended her hand, which Jenny shook.
‘It’s good to meet you too,’ said Camilla. ‘I didn’t realise Davey had such a big family.’
‘Not everyone here is family,’ Jenny said. ‘There are plenty of friends too.’
‘But lots of them are your relations,’ said Camilla. ‘It’s nice.’
‘Yes, it is. Is this your first time in Ireland?’
Camilla nodded. ‘I like it.’
‘Because we’re having such a scorcher,’ said Davey. ‘It makes everything look so green and so gorgeous. The garden has never looked better, Mum.’
‘Thanks to your dad,’ said Jenny. ‘I’m afraid I’m still hopeless at practical things.’
‘Are you busy with your painting?’ asked Camilla. ‘Davey told me you are an artist. I would love to see some of your work.’
‘He can show you,’ said Jenny. ‘It’s scattered around the house. But it’s not that good.’
‘He said you had an exhibition.’
Jenny looked startled. ‘Not really. I had a spot around Merrion Square for a while.’
‘Artists hang their paintings on the railings around the park on Sundays,’ Davey explained. ‘They sell them.’
‘Yes, but when he was younger, yes?’ said Camilla. ‘He told me you had an exhibition overseas.’
‘Oh my goodness, I can’t believe you remembered that, Davey.’ Jenny looked at him in surprise. ‘It wasn’t an exhibition. I went on a painting course.’ She glanced across the lawn. ‘Can you excuse me for a moment, Camilla. My sister is waving at me. I’ll talk to you again later, possibly after you’ve seen my daubs. And Davey, I’m so very glad you came.’
She left them standing together and walked into the garden. The high heels of her shoes kept sinking into the grass, and so, after a few steps, she removed them and swung them from the tips of her fingers.
‘Congratulations,’ said Sarah. ‘Terrific party. Sorry Lucinda and I didn’t manage to co-ordinate our looks.’ She made a face as she caught sight of the youngest of the three sisters, who was talking to Summer and Roisin.
‘These things happen,’ said Jenny. ‘You both look lovely anyway.’
‘Hmm. I would’ve preferred us to look different. Who wears it better? No, don’t answer that. Unfair question. And none of us can hold a candle to the younger generation.’
‘That’s true.’
‘What’s she like?’ Sarah was staring at Summer. ‘And what was he thinking?’
‘God knows,’ said Jenny.
‘It’s a massive mistake.’
‘We all make them.’
‘But Carl, for heaven’s sake! I was a little disappointed when he and Bernice moved in together without get
ting married, despite the fact that lots of couples do that now. I just expected that one day … And she talked about it occasionally. So I thought they were going to do it eventually. I never imagined … and this girl. Look at her!’
Summer had moved from the group and was now sitting on one of the garden benches, her long golden limbs stretched out in front of her.
‘She’s very pretty,’ said Jenny.
‘Oh come on, Jen! She’s cheap and tarty.’
‘Sarah! That’s an awful thing to say. She’s a bit brash, maybe, but …’
‘OK, OK.’ Sarah grimaced. ‘It’s not her fault she chose to wear a few strips of material and hooker shoes today.’
Jenny shook her head. ‘You’re pissed off with Carl and taking it out on her.’
‘You could be right,’ conceded Sarah. ‘Thing is, I thought I only had one child left to worry about.’
‘Is Colette here?’asked Jenny.
‘At least you know who I mean.’
‘You’re always worrying about Colette,’ Jenny reminded her.
‘Wouldn’t you?’ demanded Sarah. ‘Three fiancés! Three! And not a sniff of her actually ever getting near the altar.’
‘Better she doesn’t get there than it all goes wrong afterwards.’
‘I’d say that if I thought she broke up with them for valid reasons,’ said Sarah. ‘But she can never say why. Only that it didn’t feel right.’
‘It’s a good enough reason.’
‘She has a feckin’ collection of engagement rings but no damn husband.’
‘Maybe she’s better off without one,’ suggested Jenny.
‘That’s hardly a line you can take. Not after forty years of perfection.’ Sarah couldn’t quite keep a smidgeon of envy from her voice.
‘Nothing’s perfect,’ Jenny said for the second time that afternoon. ‘Pascal and I have had to work at things, the same as everyone else.’
‘You must be very proud all the same,’ said Sarah. ‘Of your kids. Of your marriage. Of your forty years.’
‘It’s worked out for me.’
‘Last woman standing,’ said Sarah.
‘Huh?’
‘You. Here am I, divorced. And poor Lucinda never managed to find someone who’d take her and Alivia on. Was it luck or judgement that got you this far, Jenny?’
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