Between The Sheets

by Caddle, Colette

  Sylvie stared. 'Celebrate what?'

  'Your new career, of course! Whatever it may be.'

  'You look nice, love.' Maureen smiled as her daughter came into the room, putting on her earrings. 'Going anywhere special?'

  Sylvie shook her head. 'Just out with Ian.'

  'He's a nice lad. You could do worse.'

  'Now, Mum, don't start. And don't say anything to him or I'll murder you.'

  'Wouldn't dream of it, love.'

  The doorbell went. 'That will be him. Not a word,' Sylvie warned her mother.

  'Take him in to see your da before you go, love. It will cheer him up.'

  And it did. Sylvie sat quietly on the end of the bed while Ian and her dad discussed Liverpool's performance the previous night. Her father was almost animated and looked younger and more vital than she'd seen him in years.

  'We should go over to a game sometime,' Ian said.

  'Are you mad, son? Sure it would cost an arm and a leg.'

  'Ah, but I have contacts.' Ian tapped the side of his nose.

  'No, son. It's good of you to offer, but getting me there and back would be too much like hard work. It's not worth the hassle.'

  'Everywhere is wheelchair-friendly now, Dad,' Sylvie pointed out.

  Her father shook his head. 'Leave it, Sylvie. You two go off and enjoy yourselves, I'm tired now.'

  'Would you like to be a copy editor?' Ian asked. They were sitting in a Chinese restaurant, drinking coffee and talking about the future.

  'Are you crazy?' Sylvie laughed. 'I barely scraped through school.'

  'Okay, then. But you like organizing people; you enjoy socializing; you deal with people sensitively and respectfully—'

  Sylvie's eyes widened. 'I do?'

  'Yeah, you're great with your dad.'

  'But that's because he's my dad,' she protested.

  'And you've been great with Dana,' he continued. 'You never knew from one day to the next what mood you would find her in, and yet you coped with that and managed to be her friend when she needed it, too. I know, you could be a social worker!'

  She shot him a dirty look. 'I could be out of a job in a matter of hours, and you're making jokes.'

  'You are not going to be out of work for long. If all else fails, you can always work with me.'

  'What?'

  'We make a good team, don't we? What?' he added, when she looked away.

  'I don't know, Ian. You've been very good to me and I appreciate it, but...'

  'You're afraid that I'll want you to do more than answer the phone.'

  She raised her eyes to meet his. 'And won't you?'

  He smiled. 'I wouldn't mind. Is it such a scary thought?'

  'It's too quick, we hardly know each other.'

  'I think we know each other very well. What's wrong, Sylvie? Aren't I rich enough for you?' he challenged.

  'That's part of it,' she said, looking him straight in the eye. 'Don't blame me for wanting more. And stop trying to rush me. It's our first date! I'm trying to get my head around the fact that I could be unemployed shortly and you're talking about commitment on almost every level. It's too much.'

  He looked sheepish. 'Okay, sorry, message received and understood. It's not going to be all awkward in the office now, is it?'

  'Not as long as you keep buying the coffee and cakes.'

  'I don't know about that. Times are hard; we may have to share.'

  She smiled. 'I can live with that.'

  Dana sat in the darkened conservatory, a glass of champagne in her hand.

  Ryan touched her hand. 'Maybe I should go.'

  She looked up at him, realizing that her mind had wandered, again. She didn't seem to be able to concentrate on anything at the moment — anything other than the past, that is. 'I'm sorry, Ryan. I've been terrible company this evening, haven't I?'

  'That's okay. But now that you've finally finished your book, I thought you'd be happy.'

  'How can I be happy? It's rubbish.'

  He raised his glass of champagne. 'At least you drown your sorrows in style.'

  She smiled. 'Ed thinks I'm a lush.'

  'Where is big brother tonight?'

  'Off photographing some moonlight shots for the calendar he's working on.'

  'You're such a creative family.'

  She looked surprised. 'It's strange you should say that. My father had no time for Ed because he showed no interest in art or literature.'

  'Your dad sounds like a hard man.'

  'He was,' Dana said. 'He humiliated my mother and bullied my brother. He'd shout and scream at them and took his belt to Ed on a regular basis.'

  'And what about you?' Ryan asked.

  'Oh, he never touched me. I was his little princess.' Her eyes filled with pain. 'Have you any idea how awful it is to be loved so much by someone who's hurting the people you care about? When I was young, I adored my father. He was my hero. It wasn't until I got older that I realized what a tyrant he was and understood how he used me to exclude my mother and punish my brother.'

  'Don't blame yourself, Dana. You were just a child.'

  'Yes. I suppose I was.' She yawned.

  He smiled and stood up. 'I can take a hint.'

  She allowed him to help her to her feet and kiss her. 'I'm sorry. I've been so miserable.'

  'I'm flattered you feel you can talk to me.' He kissed her again, this time harder and longer. 'I am so looking forward to you getting that cast off,' he said with a groan when he finally pulled away.

  She smiled. 'Not long now.'

  When he'd gone, Dana went into her office and continued to tap out her story with one hand.

  As I parked the car and got out I looked around nervously. I hadn't gone to the house — couldn't bear the thought. Instead I headed straight to the funeral home. I was early, deliberately, so that I could have time on my own with my mother. I had never seen a dead body before but then this wasn't a body, this was my mum. Hurrying across to the entrance, my face buried deep in the collar of my coat, I prayed Father wasn't here. I knew I was probably safe, though. He'd be receiving mourners in a suitably solemn manner, and playing the part of the grieving widower.

  When I went inside, a young man came from behind a desk to greet me with a gentle smile.

  'Can I help you?'

  His voice was soft and pleasant, but solemn; perfect for the job.

  'I've come to see my mother, Rosemary O'Carroll.'

  'Of course, come this way.'

  I followed him down a corridor and he stopped by a set of double doors.

  'Would you like me to stay with you?' he asked kindly.

  I tried to smile but my face felt frozen. 'No, I'll be fine.'

  'The other guests are expected at five.'

  'I'm sorry, is it a problem me being early?' I asked.

  'No, of course not! I'm sure your mother would appreciate the time alone with her daughter.' He smiled again, opened the door and stood back.

  Straightening my shoulders, I walked in. As I approached the coffin in the centre of the room I realized I was holding my breath. Maybe it was all a mistake; maybe it wouldn't be my mother at all. But, sadly, it was. Her tiny figure looked even smaller than I remembered but other than that she looked just the same as she did when she was asleep. I half expected her to open her eyes and smile. She was dressed in the customary habit — she would have much preferred one of her pretty lace blouses — and someone had joined her hands and wrapped rosary beads around them; Father no doubt. I felt like snatching them away, they would have meant nothing to her. My mother had not been a religious woman. Father had turned us all off religion. The fact that he could be such a monster at home, and then attend the sacraments regularly, had been hard for us all to bear.

  I felt guilty for not having come straight home when my father phoned. I should have been here to make sure he didn't abuse her in death as he had in life. I only realized I was crying when a tear fell on my mother's face. Horrified, I wiped it away with my finger. He
r skin was cold and felt like paper and it hit me like a slap in the face that my mother was gone forever. I would never hear her voice again or see her smile. I would never feel her kiss on my cheek, or know the comfort of those thin arms around me. She was gone. I was crying noisily now, my shoulders heaving as deep waves of sadness engulfed me, and I clung on to the side of the coffin for support.

  It took me a moment before I realized there was a hand on my arm. I turned to see it was the young man who had let me in.

  'Come and have a cup of tea,' he said.

  'But I can't leave her,' I protested.

  'You can come back in,' he promised. 'Just take a little break.'

  This unleashed more tears and he had to almost carry me from the room. He led me to a small sitting room further down the corridor. A table was already set with a pot of tea, a plate of biscuits and two cups and saucers.

  'Would you like some company, or would you prefer to be alone?' he asked.

  'No, please stay.' I struggled to get my tears under control. 'I'm sorry about this.'

  He shook his head as he poured the tea. 'Don't apologize, it's your mother.'

  'Whose decision was it to put her in a habit?' I added milk to my tea and raised the cup to my lips using both hands for fear that I'd drop it.

  'Your father and brother made all the arrangements together.'

  I stared at him. 'Ed's here?'

  He nodded.

  'But how did he know she was dead?'

  'I don't understand—'

  I shook my head. 'Sorry, it's just my brother left five years ago and hasn't been in touch since.'

  'He must have kept in touch with someone. Many people do, you know. And it's quite common for reunions to take place in a funeral home.'

  'Don't you find that rather pathetic?' I said bitterly. 'What's the point in coming, once they're dead?'

  He shrugged. 'At least you and your father get to see him again, and, hopefully, stay in touch this time.'

  The phone rang outside — a hushed muted tone — and he excused himself. I sat there for a moment and then realized I couldn't face my father. I didn't trust myself not to strike him or scream and shout. And I couldn't do that to my mother. There had been enough of that during her lifetime. She deserved to at least be buried in peace.

  I stood up and went back down to the room where my mother was laid out. Going to her side, I dropped a gentle kiss on her cold lips. Then I hurried out of the room and back out into the reception.

  'Thank you for your kindness,' I whispered to the funeral director.

  He looked up, surprised. 'Aren't you going to wait for your family?'

  'I'll see them tomorrow. That's time enough.'

  I went back to my car, moved it to the other end of the car park and waited. It wasn't long before a black stretch limo drove in, and the driver walked around to open the door. I slid down in my seat and held my breath as I watched my brother step out, looking handsome in a dark suit. He leaned into the car and offered his arm, and I gasped in surprise when I saw my father emerge. They paused on the step for a moment before going in. Father looked hunched and thinner than I remembered. He pulled a snow-white handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. Ed put an arm around his shoulders and squeezed them in a comforting manner. Father nodded as Ed said something and, taking his son's arm, Father went with him inside.

  I pushed frantically at the car door, swung my body around, and bent over just in time to vomit on the grass verge. When I'd finished I cleaned my face and hands with some tissues and then, dazed and shaken, drove the short distance to my friend's house.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  'You're working very late.'

  Dana whirled around to see her brother in the door-way. 'For God's sake, Ed, don't creep up on me like that.'

  'Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. What are you so engrossed in anyway? I thought the book was finished.'

  'Just playing around with an idea,' she said vaguely, saving the file and closing down her machine.

  'Drink?'

  She nodded. 'There's a bottle open in the conservatory.'

  'Oh, right. So how is lover boy?'

  'Stop calling him that,' she snapped, cradling her arm as she stood up and followed him outside.

  Ed raised an eyebrow. 'You're touchy tonight. What's up?'

  'I'm tired and sore.'

  'Poor you.' He poured the wine and handed her a glass. 'You shouldn't be working so much. The doctor said you were to rest.'

  That was Ed; whenever he was being really annoying or irritating, he'd turn around and say something nice.

  'So did you get any good shots?'

  He nodded enthusiastically. 'Yeah, I went down to the canal and got some great mirror images.'

  'You've been gone hours, you must be freezing.'

  'I don't notice the cold when I'm working. Anyway, I went prepared.' He peeled off two jumpers and sat down.

  'You really love your work, don't you?' Dana remarked.

  'I do,' he said, taking his glass and stretching out in the armchair beside her. 'Just like you.'

  'I'm not so sure any more,' she murmured. 'Some-times I think I'd like to do something completely different.'

  'Like?'

  'No idea,' Dana admitted. 'I've never really done anything else.'

  'You're one of the lucky ones. Many people chop and change jobs and never actually find anything they love to do.'

  'Strange. I don't feel very lucky at the moment.'

  'Look around you,' he snapped. 'You don't have it so bad.'

  She glared back at him. 'How dare you judge me? You're the last person who's entitled to do that.'

  He sighed. 'Have another drink and cool down, will you? Maybe you should go into acting/ he added under his breath.

  'You think I'm acting?' she said, growing angrier.

  'I think that you're too quick to pick a fight/ he retorted. 'It was supposed to be a joke, Dana.'

  'Well, you're not funny. Stick to the day job.'

  'I intend to. You know,' Ed added thoughtfully, 'we should do a book together.'

  Dana shot him a curious look. 'What kind of book?'

  He shrugged. 'I don't know. Maybe a history of Wexford. Or a look at the nature in our home county. Or,' he winked, 'the old man's biography.'

  'Write about that old bastard? Are you mad?'

  'It would be the ultimate revenge,' he pointed out. 'We could say what we want, and everybody would believe us because we're his kids. And we could put in all the worst photos we could find. Now that would really piss him off. He was always so vain.'

  They sat in silence for a moment and then Dana sat forward, her face curious. 'Can I ask you something?'

  'Sure.'

  'When did you lose your stammer?'

  He smiled.

  'What?'

  'Nothing, it just wasn't the question I was expecting.'

  'Well?' she prompted.

  'I worked for a very nice man in a pizzeria for a while. I started off washing up and preparing vegetables, that sort of thing, but he wanted me to work out front. He said I was a good-looking lad and would draw in the girls. I told him I wouldn't be able to handle it — my stammer was always worse when I was with strangers. I said that with my stutter it would take half the night for me to tell them the specials, and he'd end up losing customers. But he wouldn't take no for an answer. At first he just put me on the till. Then, as I got more confident, he let me serve and take orders. The stammer got better and better, and after about a year it disappeared altogether.'

  'What a good person,' Dana murmured, wondering if she would ever take the time or have the patience to help another human being. 'How old were you then?'

  He frowned. 'About nineteen.'

  'I never noticed at the funeral.'

  He raised an eyebrow. 'I'm not surprised; you hardly talked to me at the funeral.'

  'Sorry, but—'

  He held up a hand. 'It's okay. We've been through all that. Anywa
y it was stupid of me not to realize how you would feel at the time. I suppose I wasn't exactly thinking straight.'

  'Neither of us were.'

  He reached over to pat her good hand. 'I'm glad we've had this time together, aren't you? It's great that we can finally lay these ghosts to rest.'

  She forced a smile. 'Yeah. It's great.'

  'Dana? Are you okay?'

  She nodded. 'Sure. I'm just tired. I think it's time I went to bed.'

  'Let me help you.' He stood up and held out his hand.

  'No, that's okay. I can manage.'

  'Goodnight, then.'

  'Goodnight, Ed.'

  Ed watched her slow progress up the stairs, and when she was safely in her room he went into her office and quietly closed the door behind him.

  Walter didn't read The Mile High Club immediately. First, he cancelled his last appointment, then he slid the bulky manuscript into his briefcase and went home. After pouring himself a very large G & T, he put on the answering machine and settled down to read. He wanted to be sure that there was no hope for this book before he talked to Dana. He also needed to think long and hard about what to do next.

  As he read he got more and more upset. He felt he was witnessing the premature demise of an author who had so much more to give — much more than she had produced so far, and yet even that had brought her huge success. On a personal level he felt that Dana was lost. She'd tried to tell him, of course, but he hadn't listened. He'd been convinced that it was just a rough patch that he would be able to jolly or bully her out of. But he'd been wrong, he conceded. As he read and drank, he felt like phoning Gus Johnson and giving him an earful. In fact that's exactly what he was going to do. Walter hurled the pages across the room and picked up the phone.

  Gus and Terry were back on track. They had just had a lovely dinner in a romantic Italian restaurant around the corner from his rented flat, and when Gus asked her back for a drink, she'd agreed.

  He had just fetched their drinks and sat down beside her on the sofa, when the phone rang.

  Terry kissed the side of his mouth. 'Don't answer it,' she murmured.

  He groaned. 'I have to. There are a couple of guys at the office working late. It could be them and with Tom on leave—'

  'Okay, okay, go on.' She sat back on the sofa and started to slowly open the buttons of her shirt.