‘Never. She gets panic attacks. It would be a small way for me to repay her for all her kindnesses to me. And I’d pay you, of course, for your time.’
‘The fact that she’s doing something nice for you is enough payment for me. I worry about you.’
‘There’s no need,’ Stella replied.
‘Oh, I think there is. You might only have been coming here a year or so, but we’ve become friends, haven’t we?’
Stella nodded. She had become very fond of Charlie and one of the few pleasures she had now was coming to see him to get her hair done.
‘I’m off tomorrow, why don’t I call around 12-ish?’ he asked.
‘Oh that would be fantastic. I’ll be able to join you then too. Matt will never even know.’
Charlie looked at her sharply. ‘What do you mean by that? Why mustn’t Matt know you are over there?’
Stella sighed and didn’t know how to answer him. It was so complicated and she felt drained from it all.
‘It’s okay, little one. You hold onto your secrets for now. But know this, I’m a good listener, if you need one. Now, my lovely, look at you, just perfection.’
Stella flinched at the word.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I just don’t like that word. Nobody’s perfect, least of all me,’ Stella said.
Charlie leaned in and ruffled her hair slightly. ‘There, much better. Perfection is overrated anyhow.’
Stella hugged him close as she was leaving, whispering her thanks, just as Matt walked into the salon.
He walked over to them, his eyes narrowed as he took in the embrace.
‘What’s this? Turn my back for a moment and you’re in another man’s arms?’ His tone might have been light, but Stella knew that he was angry. She pulled away from Charlie and said, ‘I was just thanking him for taking such good care of me. He gave me the most wonderful head massage. You should try it, it’s so relaxing.’
Charlie’s eyes never left Matt’s, and then he went into full performance mode, over- the-top gay man. ‘Oh darling, the things I could do to unleash the tension in that neck of yours, oh my!’
Matt’s face relaxed and his smile returned. He walked over to the receptionist and handed her a box filled with macaroons.
‘A little something to say thank you for taking such good care of my wife.’
‘He’s quite something, your husband,’ Charlie said quietly to Stella.
She looked at him, then answered, using Rea’s phrase, ‘He’s a dickhead … of the highest order.’
When Charlie spluttered with laughter, Matt turned around sharply to see what was so funny. Stella walked serenely towards him, her face impassive. She reached into the box of confectionary that was sitting on the reception desk and said, ‘Don’t mind if I do. You are a treasure, Matt.’
And although Stella knew that he’d make her pay for her little display of defiance, she didn’t care. This was a small victory and she was going to enjoy it.
Chapter 21
STELLA
Stella whisked the egg yolks into the whites, getting as much air into them as she could. She seasoned them with some salt, then threw some butter into her skillet pan, turning the heat down to low.
She’d perfected her scrambled eggs over the past year, uniformly golden and soft. Leave them on the heat too long and they would solidify into one rubbery mess, too short and they were runny. The trick was to take them off the pan before they were cooked. The residual heat would finish them on the warmed plates.
Matt liked his eggs just right and, this morning, she didn’t want to give him any excuse for a lecture. She didn’t give a shit what he thought about her or her eggs, but she knew that if he thought she was unrepentant about her disobedience yesterday he might return home today, unexpectedly, to check up on her. He did things like that a lot.
And today, she had plans. She wanted to join Charlie when he arrived and spend the afternoon with him at Rea’s. She wanted to watch Rea’s face when Charlie did his magic. Photographs all over her neighbour’s house showed a woman who, up to a few years ago, had pride in her appearance. Her hair was always beautifully groomed, not like the current state of affairs, with grey roots and split ends.
Stella didn’t know what had happened to Rea to change her from the smiling woman in the photos, but she recognised that behind her feistiness there was a deep sadness in her eyes. She was in pain. Took one to know one.
It was a puzzle to Stella, because when Rea spoke about her family, she did so with great love. It didn’t make any sense that George had left her. But, there again, one thing that Stella had learnt was that appearances can be deceptive. What lies beneath the surface is the interesting part. She had dozens of questions she would like to ask her new friend, but she knew that she didn’t have the right to pry.
‘That smells good,’ Matt said, walking into the kitchen.
Stella poured him a cup of coffee and placed it on the breakfast bar. Waiting for him there was a croissant, with butter and homemade apple and blackberry jam, alongside freshly cut brown seed bread she made yesterday. A glass of water, with a slice of lemon, completed his breakfast of choice.
‘Cooked to perfection, just as you like it,’ Stella said, smiling sweetly.
He looked at her sharply, but she carried on, spooning the custardy mixture onto his plate. ‘Black pepper?’ she asked and when he nodded, she grated some onto the eggs.
‘Are you not eating anything?’ he asked her.
‘Oh, I’ve had some hot water and lemon and an apple. I need to watch myself today because of that macaroon.’ She tapped her flat tummy and forced herself to look him in the eye.
Matt nodded his approval, whilst stuffing half a croissant into his mouth. Funny how he could afford the odd treat. ‘That’s my girl,’ he said, and then asked, ‘what are your plans for today?’
‘Nothing special. I thought I’d do an hour in the gym, then I want to prepare something nice for your dinner. I’ve a few bits to do around the house too.’
His face relaxed and she could almost hear the cogs in his brain working as he congratulated himself that his ‘good wife’ was back. ‘I might be a bit late tonight.’
Stella pretended to pout, as she knew he liked it when she did. She felt ridiculous doing so, but if it made him happy … ‘You work too hard.’
‘All for us,’ Matt replied.
When he left, she stood at the doorway waving him goodbye and she fantasised for a moment about a large boulder falling from the clouds, hitting him square on his head. The thought cheered her up and allowed her to keep smiling at him until his car turned the corner at the end of Derry Lane.
Once he’d left, she began to make her picnic basket of lunch treats. The thing was, she loved to cook. She enjoyed preparing food, taking the time to create new recipes, or tweak the classics. Stella had taught herself to use fresh, quality ingredients, cooking them as simply as possible to enhance their natural intrinsic flavours. Her travels had taught her about different cuisines and how spices and herbs can change food.
Her mam would be so proud. She’d never even boiled an egg as a teenager. Now she could hold her own with any gourmet chef. Today, she was just happy that she could make some treats for her friends. It had been a long time since she spent time with anyone other than Matt or his network of friends and their wives, who had little or no interest in her.
While Charlie cut Rea’s hair, she could prepare lunch for them all. Nothing too fancy, but even so she wanted it to be special. She started her olive salad: diced olives with celery, cauliflower and carrot, seasoned with oregano and garlic, drizzled with olive oil. Then she reached to the back of the larder press and pulled out the muffuletta loaf she’d picked up yesterday in Fortnum’s. A risk, she knew. If Matt had found it, he’d have been livid. The loaf was large and round, crispy on the outside, but soft, doughy bread on the inside. She split it horizontally and then started to layer up her marinated olive salad, mortadella, salam
i, mozzarella, ham and provolone. She then quartered the loaf and wrapped it in baking parchment paper. She’d heat it in Rea’s oven before serving so that the provolone cheese melted over the meat and olive salad. The combination was simply delicious.
Next she began preparations for her homemade pink lemonade. It was one of her specialities, made for guests when they threw summer lunches to impress Matt’s friends. She realised that in the years they’d been in this house – the one that Matt had bought, without having the courtesy to tell her, she’d never had any friends over.
They’d all gotten fed up with her constant lame excuses as to why she couldn’t socialise with them any more. Matt did a good job in alienating her from them all. Now, with the hindsight of time, she realised that she had been played.
Well, today, damn it, she was going to make some of the lovely things she’d learnt from entertaining for Matt. This time for Rea, her new friend and Charlie, who had showed her such kindness the day before. She felt tearful when she thought about both of them.
She squeezed the juice from her oranges and lemons, then placed it in a saucepan with the fresh raspberries she’d bought yesterday. She held some back, to use with the dessert. Then she added cold water and sugar. She laughed as she did this, throwing in an extra spoon. That one’s for you, Dickhead! Rea’s influence was bad. When this came to the boil, she reduced the heat and let it simmer for a few moments.
While it cooled, she moved onto her superfood homemade slaw. Using her food processor, she finely sliced her red cabbage and coarsely grated her carrots. She then sliced her apple and red onion. She added to these ingredients some dried cranberries and pea shoots, then made the dressing. Crème fraíche, apple cider vinegar, honey, rapeseed oil whisked together quickly and tossed over the colourful slaw. She placed this in a large Tupperware tin.
A simple green salad with a honey-and-mustard dressing would complete the fayre. The sweetness of the honey worked well with the earthy muffeletta sandwich.
Her raspberry juice was cool now, so she passed it through a sieve, then poured it into her large John Rocha crystal water jug, topping it up with sparkling water and some mint leaves. She’d add ice when she got to Rea’s.
And for dessert she had a lemon drizzle cake. She’d made it yesterday and it was now wrapped in parchment paper. It was one of those cakes that tasted better twentyfour hours after it was made. She yearned for those days, when she was free from Matt’s oppressive nature and she could just eat whatever she fancied. A flashback to her plugging in two fans into their kitchen to disperse the smell of the cake struck her as ridiculous now. And that familiar feeling of shame, that she was somehow at fault for allowing herself to end up in this situation, returned. Damn it, not now. She’d not allow her mind to go to those places today. So instead, she imagined plating up dessert later on and how she’d scatter some fresh raspberries and a dollop of crème fraíche to finish it off.
Stella realised, as she placed all her items into a large picnic basket, that for the first time in a long time she was looking forward to something. She hoped Rea liked her surprise, that she didn’t feel ambushed, or marginalised in any way. Before she had time to fret and worry about this further, Charlie arrived.
He was wearing a figure-hugging tube dress, in bright red, with layers of beads hung around his neck and wrist. He wore a black wig and, of course, his usual high heels.
‘You look like an African queen.’
‘I know.’ He kissed her warmly and she hugged him back. ‘A woman across the street nearly fell over when I passed her by!’
Stella giggled. ‘You must get that a lot, Charlie.’
‘Sometimes, but I think most know me around Clontarf. This is who I am and you either accept that or you jog on.’
His words crept into her head and ran around in circles until she felt dizzy. This is who I am. Accept it or jog on. This is who I am. But it isn’t. This doesn’t feel like me. I don’t know who I am.
‘Your house is divine,’ Charlie said, bringing her back to her kitchen, as he tottered around, running his hand across her granite worktops. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more swanky pants room in my life. Look at these chandeliers!’
‘I can’t take credit for any of it. It was all here, courtesy of the previous owners.’
‘Well, they sure did good.’
‘Wait till you see Rea’s kitchen next door. It’s been in her family for generations and I much prefer it. This doesn’t really suit me. It’s too formal, too perfect. Too white.’
‘Are you kidding me? You and this kitchen go together like Ant and Dec or chips and ketchup!’
Stella laughed at this, then replied. ‘The thing about appearances is that they can be deceptive, Charlie.’
He sat down on one of the cream bar stools at her large granite island and leaned in, his face suddenly serious. ‘Many a time I’ve said to myself that there’s much more to Stella Greene than meets the eye. You’re like a swan. Gracefully moving on a lake, a picture of elegance in motion. But what I’m really intrigued about is what is hidden from the eye, the activity that’s going on down below.’
Stella patted his hand, then said, ‘You are a perceptive soul, you know that? One of these days, I might just tell you what’s really going on beneath the water’s surface. I’m just not sure you want to really know.’
Chapter 22
SKYE
Patong Beach, Thailand, 2004
I tumbled, upside down, over and over, and my chest felt like it was about to explode. Water invaded my mouth, my eyes, my nose, my ears and I felt panic threaten to overtake me. I could see legs, arms, faces around me in the dark water and, for a moment, I saw Eli’s face. And then, I saw light above me and I fought my way back to the surface. As the air freed my tight lungs, I gasped in long, ragged breaths. The tide swept me along with it. I was powerless to do anything but just go with it and take gulps of air when I could.
The torrents of water were so powerful, relentlessly pushing me backwards and then downwards. Claiming victims by the second, with no mercy. With each breath I took, I thought, this will be my last. A car rushed by me and my eyes locked with a passenger inside one. Trapped. Mattresses, chairs, doors and pieces of wood and concrete chased each other in a frenzy and, like me, they were at the mercy of the sea. Where it took me, I had no choice. Ahead I saw a branch of a tree, hanging low. Confusion as to why a tree was in the ocean was quickly replaced by the knowledge that I needed to grab it and try to regain some control.
I’ve never been very co-ordinated, but I took the deepest breath I’ve ever taken and raised my arm up high, grabbing the branch as I sped backwards beneath it. And when I felt the wet leaves and bark beneath my fingertips I clung on tight. I felt the wood splinter me. But I didn’t let go.
I clung on and breathed in air in large gulps, trying to understand what had happened, trying to stem the panic that made me want to just close my eyes and pretend this nightmare wasn’t true. Seconds, minutes, hours passed, I have no idea how long, as time stood still for me. Then I heard my name being called and it snapped me back to the horror.
‘Skye, oh my God, Skye over here, pet, over here!’
I turned and I saw them behind me. Mam and Dad, both clinging onto another tree, ten feet from me. I flinched when I saw their faces, both with blood spilling from cuts and gashes. But they were smiling in relief that I was in their sightline.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ I cried and, all at once, any bravery I felt disappeared and I retreated back to being a child. My parents always took care of me. They would know what to do.
‘You hold on tight to that tree and you don’t let go, you hear me, young lady,’ Mam said firmly and I nodded. ‘Is Eli with you?’
And when I shook my head, I saw fear on their faces. It was like when Aunty Paula got sick, but exaggerated, almost cartoon-like. But then Dad said something to Mam that I couldn’t hear and turned to me, shouting, ‘We’ll figure this out. We’ll find Eli.
Then we are getting the first flight out of here.’ He said it with such authority, I believed him. It was going to be okay.
I looked around me and couldn’t figure out where we were. We’d been swept away from our part of the beach. The ocean had joined the landscape in a confused jigsaw and it was impossible to work out our location. I realised that rather than the tree floating out into the ocean, the ocean had floated out to it.
‘I’m going to swim to you,’ I said. Even this few feet away was too far.
‘No!’ they both screamed at once.
Dad continued, ‘Stay there. The current will take us to you.’
And then they looked at each other and let go of the tree. They were so brave, they must have been terrified, but they did it, for me. Unconditional love, I suppose.
But the monstrosities of the day were just warming up. A fridge, large, white and tall, smacked Dad from the side, knocking him under the water. Mam was powerless to stop and help because the current was relentless as it pushed her forward. I held my arm out as she got close and she grabbed it. We held the tree and each other, all the time searching for Dad.
‘Oh sweet divine, John, where are you?’ Mam whispered and shock began to make way for despair. Then, suddenly, he was beside us. ‘You don’t get rid of me that easily.’ His smile looked like a Halloween grimace, with blood trickling down his chin.
We clung to each other and the tree.
‘Are we going to die?’ I whispered to them.
They didn’t answer for the longest time, but then Mam said, ‘if we do, we’ll do it together. Always together, no matter what. But you know what? I don’t think the world is done with us yet. We’re going to make it.’
‘We need to get to high ground, get out of the water, like Eli said,’ Dad said. We all scanned the area once more, hoping that by mentioning his name, he would somehow appear and our family would be whole once more.
‘Will there be more waves, do you think?’ Mam asked, looking back to the horizon.
‘I think so.’ I tried to remember what I had learnt about tsunamis in geography. ‘The earthquake that caused this will have aftershocks, so more waves will come. I think. I was never that good at geography.’
The Woman at 72 Derry Lane Page 14