The Other Side of Wonderful

by Caroline Grace-Cassidy

  She blew her fringe high into the air. Where was Neil? Her heart began to race as she dug deep into her coat pocket and pulled out her mobile. She threw her scarf onto the tall silver stool and it slid to the floor. She clicked into favourites and clicked on ‘Darling Hunny’. The line connected. It rang out. She hung up. She dialled again. It rang out and she hung up. She wouldn’t ring again. She needed to step away from the mania that was about to take over her life again, the web of lies and deceit.

  Her phone buzzed and she pounced on it.

  “Yes?” It was Neil and it sounded like he was in a breeze.

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  “I’m on a beach in Lanzarote sippin’ a fuckin’ Piña Colada – what do you mean where am I? I’m on the bike. I had to pull over to answer you. I’m just pulling into the driveway.” He hung up.

  Minutes later he slammed the front door behind him, went straight up the stairs and then banged the bedroom door behind him. She stood still as her ears worked overtime. Then she could hear the awful surround sound from the HD television blasting through the walls upstairs. So loud. She tentatively made her way up, pulling her weary body by the long banister as she went.

  There he lay in the dark room watching the opening credits of Reservoir Dogs. Again.

  She blocked her ears and stood in front of the TV. “Will you lower that down, Neil?” she shouted at him. “What are you doing? Why didn’t you put the dinner on? Where have you been?” She could feel the vibrations from the noise through the bedroom floor.

  He pressed pause and she flicked on the light. He lifted his right hand and with his thumb bashing against his four closed fingers he mimicked her nagging: “Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah! Give it a rest, would you, please?” His eyes were dark.

  “What are you doing, Neil?” she asked again.

  “What?” he responded. “Turn out the light, will you!” His voice was raised now.

  She stared at him in disbelief. “Come down. We need to talk. It’s only six o’clock in the evening.”

  “No, I’m watching this, Sandra. I want to relax. I want to be left alone.” He un-paused the TV and the sound of John Travolta’s husky voice filled the room.

  She stood for a moment at a loss for words, then bashed the light off and closed the bedroom door hard behind her. She hated confrontation. She would heat up the lasagne and throw a few microwave chips on, then call him to come down when it was ready. This was worrying the life out of her. She laid out cutlery for two and mixed him up a bowl of his favourite sauce – a mixture of mayo and tomato ketchup with a splash of balsamic vinegar. ‘Maychupic’ they called it. Then she sat down with a strong cup of coffee while she waited for the dinner to heat through. She no longer drank decaf. She wanted alcohol but it was only six o’clock. She opened the fridge and fished out a mint Kit Kat as she waited. She unwrapped it slowly, snapped it in half and dipped one cold finger into her hot coffee. She watched the chocolate melt and carefully timed her retrieval before it was melted too far.

  What was going on? Her life had gone so quickly from being happy and carefree to this horrible existence. Did Neil want out? Should she ring his brother Tom in Dublin and see if he would talk to him? As much as she disliked Tom, he was married too and maybe he could help? Talk some sense into Neil? Her husband looked like he hated her, like she was an annoying insect he just couldn’t swat away and suddenly she felt incredibly angry with him. She felt like shaking him and shouting, “What the hell is going on? Look what I have gone through for us already!” but what good would that do? He’d only deny everything and tell her she was paranoid and maybe she was. She’d been through so much physically and mentally with the IVF that her head wasn’t in the best place and she knew that.

  She had been on her feet all day and she was exhausted. She’d had a couple of difficult guests and had skipped lunch to sort out an overflowing tray of reservations and cancellations. The credit-card machine had been acting up and she was worried that some transactions might have gone through twice. The photocopier had jammed for the third time this week and she’d had a row with the company who had supposedly fixed it.

  She sipped the strong coffee and dipped her second stick in and again watched the chocolate melt. Her marriage was in an awful place but she didn’t have the first clue how to try and fix it. They hadn’t had sex in months now and the communication was almost at a standstill. She was tired all the time and when her head hit the pillow every night she was gone. Sex would never be the same again anyway, she thought as she licked her chocolaty fingers. It had become a chore to them both and she honestly couldn’t remember the last time they’d had sex for fun. Sex was practical. Sex was the means to an end. The thought of donning some sexy Gossard gear and going into that room to seduce her husband just wasn’t on the cards. He would throw this fact in her face soon enough and she knew that.

  Neil had a high sex drive and when Neil wanted sex he usually got it. It was another reason she was so suspicious: he had shown no interest over the last sixteen weeks. He always asked, she never did – that was the way they had sex. He was always the instigator. The way he looked at her these days was hardly through the eyes of a man filled with desire for his wife. Sure isn’t he getting it somewhere else, she hissed in her head. Also, if she was really honest she just wasn’t physically attracted to Neil in any way lately either. She wasn’t the most highly sexed woman in the world, she admitted to herself a little guiltily as she swirled her coffee cup. But she did her best. She had fancied him madly in the beginning, she really had. In the early days, after that six-week wait, they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other. The chemistry had been incredible and she knew deep down it was the reason Neil had proposed so fast. He thought it would be like that forever. He wished. She wished.

  The microwave pinged her back to reality. She stood up wearily as she dumped her coffee cup in the stainless-steel sink. She opened the oven and the smell of the lasagne hit her. She stood in front of it, letting the hot air heat her legs. She was starving but had no appetite. She had no idea how it had all come to this. She was still a young woman, only thirty-five, and she hadn’t envisioned this as her life. How had it all gone so wrong? It seemed to have happened in the blink of an eye. She rinsed the cup and as she dried it she glanced out her window at the empty shell of a house across the road with concrete slabs strewn all over the garden and building tools deserted in the big empty windows. Graffiti adorned every grey wall.

  When she left Aer Lingus eventually she had taken a part-time job on reception at the Moritz Hotel in the village. She had done summer work in the hotel growing up so she was very familiar with all the sides to hotel work. Jonathan Redmond was back in the village and he had taken over as the manager. The job was more so she had something to do while she timed sex to the day every month and waited to become a stay-at-home mammy. Although she had really enjoyed the air-stewarding she’d always known it was a short-term career, so when her body had started to grumble she knew her flying time was up. It was always in her mind that at this stage of her life she would be a stay-at-home mother anyhow. It was the way it was supposed to be. It was what she wanted. Then the need to become pregnant had taken over her life. She was on the internet every day researching it. She read every magazine article on becoming pregnant and obeyed every law. She stopped drinking alcohol, stopped the occasional ciggy, took her folic acid, cut out caffeine, cut out sugar, cut out dairy, tried relaxation therapy, squeezed fresh lemon juice in her water every day, stopped wearing tight jeans and leggings, cut out anything that wasn’t one-hundred-per-cent healthy and she walked loads. Neil was fed up with her asking him to cut out the pints, eat better, wear looser boxer shorts and so on, but he tried his best. She was constantly on pregnancy websites like EU MOM and Rollercoaster and had even made some virtual friends in the Trying-To-Conceive clubs. She was a wannabe-mammy.

  Now, however, her job was full-time and it was keeping them out of the
courts.

  She went back upstairs and pulled on her tracksuit and runners, carefully putting her work uniform onto its silver steel hanger and leaving it hanging under the open bathroom window as she did every night to freshen it up. Michael Madsen was shouting out of the bedroom now. Neil should be thanking her for working so hard for them but he never had. She went back to the kitchen and ladled the lasagne onto two white Paul Costello plates and put Neil’s into the microwave. She hadn’t the energy for him.

  “Dinner’s in the micro!” she called up the stairs to him. Then she stamped her foot down on the pedal of the bin and dumped her plate straight in. Right now Sandra Darragh really hated her life.

  Chapter 4

  Cara sipped on her chilled white wine, popped a vitamin supplement into her mouth and threw her head back to swallow. She had stopped taking Valium – she didn’t want to depend on them any more. She stretched out her long lean legs under the goose-feather duvet and reflected on the day. It had been a whirlwind of an introduction. She had been whisked around every room in the hotel, introduced to every member of staff and had taken notes until she could no longer physically hold the pen. She smiled and rubbed the dent that was still in her finger.

  She took a longer drink and glanced around the cosy bedroom. At least the heating had been re-plumbed recently and it worked really well, heating the small house in under an hour and giving piping hot water. The bare brick bedroom walls really needed a bit of work. She would buy some paints and a dressing table and some shelves. Bits and pieces. The bedroom door was wide open and she could see right into the single living room, the small kitchenette and the bathroom. Spacious wasn’t a word to describe the cottage. It had been the main reason she had taken it. No hidden nooks or crannies. There was one long window across the living room that looked out onto Mr Peter’s big open field that was home to a dozen or so cows. She would name them all some evening. They were putting her right off a good steak, she knew that much. In the distance she could actually see the twinkling lights of the hotel over the bridge. The cottage seemed really remote yet it was still near so many people.

  Suddenly her heart started to race, she felt incredibly dizzy and her palms began to sweat. She immediately sat up in the bed, leaned over and put her head between her legs. Not again, she thought, please no! She knew what to do. “It’s only a panic attack, it’s only a panic attack,” she repeated over and over again. She grabbed for her bag on the floor and pulled out the brown-paper bag which she placed over her mouth. She got out of the bed, slumping to the floor until her breathing came back to normal.

  “On the floor again, Cara.” She felt the cold stone of the bedroom wall on the back of her head as she dropped the bag. “When will you ever get off the floor?” She lay back on the rough old green carpet, closed her eyes and waited for playback.

  ***

  “Hey, you look like you need a drink? Take one for yourself and could you please pop it on our bill?”

  The pristine black-and-white pilot’s uniform was too much for Cara to stop staring at. She closed her mouth. Shit! She must have been staring in an open-mouthed trance. “No, thank you, honestly, I’m fine. I can’t drink while I’m working. I’m so sorry – what did you say again? Will you be having bar food or from the A La Carte menu, sir?” She picked up the worn Guinness beer mats and replaced them with fresh ones she kept in the pocket of her apron. He was too gorgeous to be true. And he was in uniform. Hat in hand. And he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Esther would have her draped over his shoulder if she could see him. Cara wished she hadn’t devoured the entire box of Celebrations with Esther last night while watching reruns of Holby City. She sucked in.

  “Can I have a look at the bar menu, please, and order two still Ballygowans from you when you’re ready?” He twirled his hat in his hands and then laid it on the empty chair beside him.

  She thought she had seen him in here before but she’d never served him. Cara pushed a strand of loose red hair back into its ponytail and smiled at him. “Coming right up and I will drop the menus down to you in a second.” She headed for the kitchen, pushed the swinging doors with her back and wiped her hands on her red chequered apron.

  “Wow! Wow! Wubbzy!” She leaned on the stainless-steel kitchen countertop and grinned at Maeve the chef. “Maeve, there’s a pilot on table seven. He is TDF!”

  “What’s this?” Maeve shouted at Hanja. “Is this two crab cakes for table one or one crab cake for table two?”

  “Is one crab cake for table two!” Hanja the Hungarian waitress daggered right back at Maeve. “Can’t you no read Enegalish, Chef?” She tied her chequered apron tighter around her back now and stuck her chin out in defiance.

  “Oh ho, Missy, I can read English all right!”

  Cara smiled and stuck a hand up to stop Maeve mid-rant. “Did you hear me, Maeve?”

  The older woman adjusted her black-and-white bandana and waved a silver carving knife in Cara’s direction.

  “He’s what? Deaf? Get him to point out his order on the menu then – I haven’t the bleedin’ time for this!” Maeve licked her lips. “Aoife, table four to go! What are ya’ standin’ there for like a goon? Go! It’s gettin’ cold!”

  Aoife grabbed her tray and backed out of the kitchen.

  “No, Maeve, he’s TDF – To Die For!” Cara pretended to swoon and Maeve whooshed her out of the hot kitchen with a dish cloth.

  Cara poured two still Ballygowans and added lemon and crushed ice from behind the bar. The pilot had been joined by a man in a dark suit now and the two looked very deep in conversation, with papers scattered all over the table.

  As she placed the drinks down, the pilot quickly looked up and smiled at her.

  “So your new court date will be the twenty-fifth,” she heard his companion say as she sashayed away.

  Court date, hey? For being too damn sexy to the human race, she imagined. She couldn’t get the image of Debra Winger and Richard Gere out of her mind now with her and the pilot in their shoes walking out of the bar. She whistled the theme tune to An Officer and a Gentleman quietly to herself. It was one of her and Esther’s favourite movies of all time.

  The Law Top bar area began to fill up as hungry workers made their way in – some regulars, some new faces. That was the best thing about working near the Four Courts on the Quays in Dublin: the mixture of people she got to meet each day. It really was a world within a world.

  “Pinta Carlsberg there when yer ready, Cara, love!” Young Seán Hackett stood before her.

  “Ah Seán, you’re not up again, are you? What on earth have you done now?” She hurried in behind the bar to help Steve.

  “Ah now, g’wan, don’t be like that! I done nothin’. I was atta weddin’ in Wexford and wanted to leg it early cos it was totally shite, like.”

  He pulled himself up onto the bar stool as Cara drew his pint.

  “So?” she glanced up at him.

  “So? How was I meanta ger home at ten o’clock for the Celtic highlights on RTÉ when the minibus wasn’t leavin’ till three in the bleedin’ mornin’?” He twisted his little finger into the fist of his left hand, a habit of his.

  Cara shook her head as she dragged the brown bar-tap down low to top up the head on the pint. She deposited the pint in front of him on a beer mat.

  He lifted it to his lips and took the largest drink that almost left the pint half empty. “I had ta borrow a motor, didn’t I?” He twisted his gold stud in his right ear now.

  She shook her head. “Whose car, Seán?”

  “How’d I know whose car? It didn’t have a bleedin’ name tag on it, Cara, now did it?” He grinned at her and despite herself she gave a little laugh.

  “That’s awful, Seán. You stole some guest’s car to drive home to Dublin? You can’t do that.”

  “I borried it, Cara. I only borried it. I was gonna leave it outside Store Street Station except the bleedin’ thing had no back light and I got pulled over by the scum. That’s the last time I borr
y a car from Wexford – bleedin’ kip! Plus I’d just got a lovely delivery of Columbia grass and I was happily spliffin’ away on the drive so I’m bin’ done for dat too. Harassment.” He drained the pint now. “Better go. I’ve no one representing’ me, free legal aid me hole.” He hopped off the stool.

  “I’ll see you in six months so, Seán.” Cara wiped down the bar and threw the dirty cloth into the sink under the bar.

  “Yeah, looks like it – and, Cara, try an’ clean dem taps in the six months I’m gone down, will ya? Dem pints are rotten to the core.”

  The son of two heroin addicts, Seán Hackett really had little chance in life. He swaggered out of the bar, grey hoody pulled firmly up over his shaven head now.

  She made her way back over to the pilot’s table and removed her notebook and pen from her belt pouch. “Gentlemen, are you ready to order now?”

  “What do you recommend today?” Mr Pilot asked her, his blue eyes absolutely piercing. It was the deepest colour blue she’d ever seen. She was locked into them.

  His eyes were totally mesmerising. It was as though he was looking deep into her very soul. She pointed to the specials on the blackboard with her pen as she tried to find her voice. “Maeve the chef does a mean beef stew and, on a day like this, it’s what I will be having later with a pile of crusty home-baked bread,” she managed.

  “Stew for me so – and how about you, Tristan?” He looked at the other man who nodded his approval and also ordered the stew.

  Cara liked her job. She enjoyed being a waitress and tending the bar although most of the time she was also a cleaner and stocktaker. She had worked at The Law Top for eight months now and had worked in other bars and in Rosie’s restaurant before that. She hadn’t gone to college like she had wanted as her dad had died suddenly and that had left her and Esther alone. And totally broke. They needed money to live. She was happy in her work. She wanted to work with people and she was doing just that. A desk job wasn’t her thing really. Just as well, she thought as she slapped the order docket on the wall and left the stifling heat of the kitchen. Problem was she worked such long hours she never got to socialise and therefore was as single as the Number One bus. She had a nice group of friends in work and they’d often sit down and open a bottle or two after the last customer had been pushed out and the door bolted. But it was usually feet up, smelly tights and swollen ankles on chairs and the male members of staff were privy to all the moans and groans – not exactly sexy. She was still only thirty-three and a half – she smiled at the adding on of the all-important half.