Between You and Me

by Margaret Scott

  “Hi?” was the best answer I could muster before Mark came into the room behind me.

  “Ah Holly, you know Tara, don’t you?”

  “I do?”

  “Tara Harper, Fenton’s daughter – you would have met her at the clinic that day?”

  Tara Harper. Oh shit – the girl that had opened the door, with the giant black man-eating dog.

  “With the dog?”

  “Yes, that was me.” Tara smiled a perfect smile at Mark. “Nero was doing his usual.”

  “Ah.” Mark smiled back.

  Obviously Nero’s “usual” was a private joke. I was surprised at the dart of jealousy that was starting to niggle at me.

  “Sit down, Holly, I’ll make you a cuppa.” Tara had jumped to her feet and was over at the kettle before I could say what-the-hell-are-you-doing-in-my-kitchen-bitch?

  “I’m fine, thanks.” I shocked myself with my iciness.

  “Oh come on, sit down – we’re finished with all the shop talk.” Even Mark was being unusually pleasant.

  “God, yes, we promise no vet-discussions.” Tara smiled again. “Mum says there’s nothing worse than a couple of vets around the table.”

  And then the two of them were laughing again.

  Mark Fielding. Laughing. Like he hadn’t a care in the world.

  What was her secret, I wondered.

  I had no choice but to sit down with them.

  “So you’ve settled in okay?” asked Tara.

  “Fine, thanks.”

  “Well, the kids are such dotes.”

  “Angels.” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm from my voice and to my delight I could hear Mark snort beside me.

  “But then, you’d be so used to the little ones – nothing you haven’t seen before I bet.”

  “Nothing.” God, I had to stop these monosyllabic answers. She was going to think I’d no command of the English language at this rate. I struggled to come up with something intelligent. “So you’re a vet too then?” was the best I could do.

  “Well, I’m still at college, but that’s the plan, yes.” Tara flashed another beaming smile at Mark.

  “It’ll be no bother to you.” He smiled back.

  Christ, I had to get out of here – at this rate I was starting to miss Dawn’s pungent candle.

  I stood up, taking my tea with me.

  “I’ll leave ye to it, I’ve an early start in the morning.”

  “Oh, us too!” Tara smiled, “Best be off myself, or I’ll be falling asleep on Mark’s shoulder tomorrow.”

  She gave him a playful poke in the arm and with that I was gone.

  I’d had enough of other people’s happiness for one day. It was only when I got to my room and felt the first pangs of hunger that I remembered I’d left my portion of Dawn’s curry on the kitchen table downstairs.

  Well, it could stay there. I hoped they choked on it.

  Chapter 25

  The bus shuddered to a stop yet again and I remembered all too well why I’d shunned Irish public transport for most of my adult life. We were only five minutes outside the village and I was already feeling ill.

  The only positive thought I could cling to was the fact that with every lurch and shudder, we were leaving Duncane village further and further behind.

  Because, frankly, I’d had enough.

  I’d had enough of three-bedroomed semi-d’s, of tiny village stores that never stocked anything I wanted, and of cooking, cleaning and spending my days constantly listening for something to go wrong.

  I’d especially had enough of small-minded village women whose only thoughts seemed to revolve around what colour vomit their child had spewed up and how it was still a better colour than anyone else’s.

  So what had brought on this particular bout of self-pity?Oh, only another session at the Mother and ToddlerGroup . . .

  I hadn’t wanted to go to start with. I’d woken up feeling surprisingly low after I’d been in Dawn’s. It didn’t help that I’d stayed awake for an hour the night before listening for the noise of Tara Harper’s car starting up. I mean, what was that all about? It was stupid really but, given the circumstances in which I found myself, I suppose I was entitled to one bad day. Plus, the last person I needed to see was Smug Ellen, who, I was quite sure, hadn’t forgotten my supermarket disaster.

  “Oh come on, it’ll be good for Amber!” Dawn insisted. “What else had you planned for today? Meal plans? Artwork for a new timetable?”

  “Eh, like you can talk Miss-I’d-Give-Gena-Ford-a-Run-for-Her-Money Kinahan.”

  I’dnervously shared some of my plans for the Fieldings with Dawn who, despite her constant teasing, was actually quite receptive. Being a new mother, presumably she was still at that fresh-faced stage where she’d every intention of doing everything right and of course, with only one, idealism was probably that much easier. And, boy, was Dawn idealistic! I reckoned not only had she read the controversial Contented Little Baby but she’d followed its routines to the button since Daniel was born. Which was fine – I was all for a bit of order in the house – but seriously? I was doing it as a job – it was Dawn’s life!

  “Maybe.” I smiled.

  “Oh come on, we’ll have a laugh! Anyhow, I need back-up. Maureen Costello is probably back from her holidays and she’s a woeful pain in the backside.”

  Great, that was all I needed. Another pain-in-the-backside mum.

  “And that will make us laugh how?”

  “Oh come on,” she cajoled.

  I gave in. Dawn was one of life’s nice people, and it just wasn’t possible to stay grumpy for long in her presence.

  “We’d better laugh!” I warned her.

  Off we’d set. And it had been okay at first. Only three of the girls I’d met before were there – and none of them was Ellen. There was, however, one new mother, who I quickly established, without any help whatsoever, to be Maureen Costello.

  Dawn had not been kidding.

  She was one massive pain in the arse.

  A pain in the arse whose favourite thing in life was the sound of her own voice.

  My least favourite type.

  So she’d been on holiday. And not just any holiday. A holiday that we definitely all had to do next year. There was simply no other way of going on holiday to any other location on the planet. It had to be where she went. It had to be how she did it. We had to pack the way she packed, and eat exactly where she ate.

  Then Sarah happened to mention that her Julie had asthma. Off Maureen went again. The only doctor in the country they should bring her to was in Tipperary. Absolutely no substitutes should be accepted. Everyone else was a quack, especially the one that poor Sarah was currently attending.

  Like seriously.

  To be honest, after five minutes I zoned out. I’d come up against women like her before. In Dublin, in New York, practically everywhere. This breed of bitch was universal. They were the best at everything; their children were the best at everything. They might have been bad at something once, but boy did they get better at it and now, you guessed it, they were the best.

  So there I was, doing fine, sitting there minding my own business, until she turned her attention to Dawn.

  “I see Daniel is getting bigger.”

  It was obviously a statement, not a question, so Dawn just nodded.

  “That would be the formula.”

  Dawn visibly paled as if she knew where this was going.

  “I’m sorry?” I asked.

  Maureen turned to look at me as if seeing me for the first time, her eyes narrowing slightly, clearly viewing me as a second-class citizen.

  “Formula,” she said slowly and carefully as if she was speaking to some sort of uneducated slave, “makes babies fat. Obese. Fact.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Absolutely. There is just no substitute for breast milk.”

  “Well, it’s not like I didn’t try,” Dawn said chirpily though she was clearly embarrassed.

  I knew with
out ever even discussing it with Dawn, that had she been able to breastfeed, she would have. God knows, she’d handed over every other aspect of her life to that child.

  “Oh piffle! It’s the most natural thing in the world. You don’t see cows giving up, do you?”

  “Well, now, hang on.” I wasn’t finished. “It’s not like she liquidises McDonald’s and tubes it into him and, anyhow, surely it should be the mother’s choice?”

  “Well, I just fail to see who would choose what wasn’t best for their baby? I mean, you call yourself a childcare professional – surely you know the health benefits?”

  “Of course I do, I’m not saying –”

  “I mean, apart from the bonding issues,” she had the cheek to say this while looking directly at little Daniel snuggling into his mother’s neck, “breast-fed babies are so much more intelligent.”

  “I see,” I said, the calmness in my voice totally belying the fact that I’d just lost all patience with this bullshit. “In that case you won’t mind me asking – were you breastfed yourself?”

  Maureen’s mouth opened, then closed.

  “I didn’t think so,” I said sweetly, ignoring the gasps of shock from the group. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think it’s time for Amber’s Mensa class.”

  I stood up to leave but then heard a voice shriek behind me.

  “Oh, Holleeee!”

  Fuck.

  It was Ellen. I couldn’t believe my luck. Just when I thought I had the upper hand on this motley crew of fanatics.

  I pretended I didn’t hear her and kept packing, but she wasn’t for swaying.

  “Holleeee! Just the girl I wanted to see!”

  I could ignore her no longer.

  “Ah, Ellen, what can I do for you?”

  “Oh Holly, it worked! It really worked!”

  Oh, so she was going down the sarcastic route? Well, good for her, I’d had enough.

  “Great, Ellen, thanks.”

  “Wait!” she shrieked. “Do you not want to hear all about it?”

  Eh, I was there, remember?

  “All about it?”

  “The Controlled Crying! I mean, I really didn’t believe you, to be perfectly honest – I thought it was a bit, well, you know, extreme, and I mean I did nearly give up, on night one, but then just as I was about to cave – there was silence!”

  I looked at her blankly, then the penny dropped.

  “Really?” I asked, before quickly reining in my incredulity. “I mean, of course it worked, it’s a method I’ve been using for years.”

  By now the other mothers were firing questions at Ellen, who was only too pleased to tell all about her Controlled Crying. Well, all except Maureen who was just sitting there with a face like thunder.

  “Well, bye all! We must dash!” I decided to quit while the going was good.

  Dawn was on her feet in an instant.

  “I’d better go too – I’vegot to show you that thing.”

  “Thing?” I asked, puzzled, before registering the furiously nodding and face-making Dawn. “Oh yes, that thing. Right, we’d better head off quickly then!”

  When we got outside Dawn grabbed my arm.

  “You – were – amazing!” she hissed, practically jumping up and down on the spot.

  “Oh please, someone had to shut her up – she is an awful woman.”

  “Come on, let me buy you a proper coffee – it’s the least I can do!”

  “You know what? I think I need one.”

  Thirty-six hours later, here I was. Sitting on a bumpy bus, the smell of stale vomit making me feel queasier and queasier . . . But neither that, nor the fact the journey that had taken Harry’s Golf forty-five minutes exactly a week ago seemed ten times as long aboard this rumbling dinosaur, could keep me in a bad mood for long.

  I was on my way to see Oliver. No ifs or buts this week. It was a definite arrangement: eight thirty at the Axis Hotel at Newlands Cross.

  A hotel. The bloody cheek of him! Okay, it was a meeting place, with a bar, but I’d almost choked when he’d suggested it, imagining he was planning all sorts. After pacing up and down the room ranting to myself about his text, I eventually calmed down. We obviously couldn’t meet at his apartment, and I didn’t have one any more, so what choice did he have? Any of the pubs in the centre of town were out. So, while it may have looked presumptuous on his part, I had to give him credit for finding somewhere relatively out of the way and, conveniently, on my bus route. But, if he thought for one second that we would be availing of any of services other than the bar, he was well mistaken.

  Life with the Fieldings was so busy that this rendezvous had kind of snuck up on me. In a way I was almost glad that I had the bumpy duration of the bus journey to try and sort my head out.

  Because I had actually no idea of what I was going to say when I saw him. All my planning and scheming had been to get me to this point.

  So what now?

  I had no idea. I’d have to play it by ear when I got there.

  Squinting out the now rain-spattered window, I tried to figure out how much more of this torture I hadyet to endure. But it was hard to tell – one view of the Naas dual carriageway looked just as bleak as the next.

  I sighed and looked around me. There weren’t too many more on the bus. No surprise there – I mean, who took buses anymore? Two hairy students down the back, one drunken auld lad up the front, and me the out-of-work-faux-nanny-and-dater-of-married-men.

  This whole positive-mental-attitude thing wasn’t going so well. I took my compact out of my bag for one last check. I couldn’t help wishing I had Harry with me to tell me how utterly divine I looked. But no, he was down the country with friendsthough, bless him, he’d texted me twice to wish me good luck. The second time to reassure me that although he was far too drunk to come and collect me himself, I was still to ring him if I had any trouble and he would get a taxi up to “put that plonker in his place”.

  I smiled. While he was definitely one of the few good things to come out of this whole mess, I was really hoping that phoning him wasn’t going to be necessary.

  “Newlands Cross!” the bus driver roared.

  Feck! I bundled my stuff back into my bag but, as I tried to stand up, the bus lurched to a stop and I fell back again.

  I couldn’t believe it had just stopped. Without even pulling in, it had literally stopped on the side of the dual carriageway. I looked around in disbelief but there was no one to consult. Then with another lurch he started to pull off again.

  “Wait!” I squealed.

  I could hear him curse under his breath as it lurched to a stop again. Luckily I’d flung out an arm to save myself this time and managed to sway down the aisle.

  I opened my mouth to complain as I drew level with him but he just looked stonily ahead so I knew there was no point.

  It was also pretty apparent that if I didn’t get out soon he was going to pull off again.

  I made my way gingerly down the steps.

  And just as I stepped off the bus, the heavens opened.

  For Christ’s sake.

  So there I was. On the side of the Naas dual carriageway, the rain running in rivulets down my face. I turned to get back on the bus. I don’t know where I was planning on going – into town or back home or, well, anywhere to avoid running the five hundred yards to the huge hotel.

  But it had groaned into action again, and was gone. With an anxious look at the headlights of streams of oncoming cars bearing down on me, I stepped off the road. Straight into a rather large puddle, ensuring any part of me that wasn’t rained on was now soaked in an oily, gritty mess.

  “For the love of God, Holly, this is the final straw!” I actually shouted as I stood there.

  What in hell was I at? Travelling on a stinking bus, getting dumped on the side of the road in the pissing rain, and all to meet a two-timing git in a seedy hotel on the outskirts of town!

  I thought of Dawn and her honey-coloured house and her bloody nausea
-inducing photographs and I knew she’d never had to go through anything as humiliating as this.

  That did it.

  I’d had enough.

  Suddenly I wasn’t winging it any more. I knew exactly what I was going to say to Oliver Conlon when I saw him.

  I was going to tell him to stuff it. Whether he was single or not.

  I’d had the worst goddamn week of my life and looking forward to this fiasco was what had got me through it?

  Was I insane?

  Resolutely I started to march towards the hotel.

  You are going to walk in there and tell him that you don’t care what he has to say. It’s over. Then you are going to go back to that godforsaken village and tell Mark Fielding that you are leaving. You are going to pack and then get yourself back to New York and forget this whole sorry mess ever happened.

  I was mad as hell.

  I strode into the lobby of the hotel.

  And there he was. The first person I saw. And the cheeky low-down fucker was at reception, clearly checking in.

  To a bedroom.

  But, goddamnit, it felt good to see a familiar face.

  He took one look at my dripping form and said, “Come on, let’sget those wet clothes off you.”

  And I should have said it. I should have told him to go to hell.

  But I didn’t.

  Instead I followed him into the lift.

  Chapter 26

  “So what are you going to tell Harry about this?”

  “Exactly the same thing you’re going to tell Catherine, I guess.”

  “That would be nothing so!”

  He laughed and I had to stop myself from slapping his smug face.

  What was I after doing? Lying in his arms, clothes strewn all over the room – how had I forgotten everything about the last nightmarish two weeks so easily? It was unbelievable really, yet I couldn’t help feeling that what was even more unbelievable was that I’d been so near to telling him to go to hell. Everything was so familiar – his smile, his smell – that for a while I could hardly remember why we’d broken up.

  “She’s still around so?” I asked, not able to help myself.

  “Don’t ruin it, Holly,” he answered, stroking my hair, but I could detect a warning tone in his voice.