The Other Side of Wonderful

by Caroline Grace-Cassidy

  “Of course,” Cara said.

  As Sandra returned to the garden table and picked up her wineglass she also checked her sleeping baby, tilting the umbrella slightly to the left.

  “Dermot has it all in hand, he says,” she said, beaming at Cara.

  “Does he now?” Cara gave her friend a big wide smile.

  “It’s like I said, Cara, he’s so great, really great, but we are taking it so slowly. I don’t want to ruin it, it’s too good.”

  Sandra thought back now to Dermot’s reaction when she told him she was pregnant with Jamie Keenan’s baby. He was genuinely thrilled for her. Then she saw the look on his face change when she told him she had no intention of starting a relationship with Jamie but that she wanted him in the baby’s life forever. He had bent his head and then looked up, his eyes dancing.

  “Sandra Loughnane, I am truly mad about you, madly in love with you. I always have been and I always will be. I’m bloody ecstatic you are having a baby but I want to be with you too. I know this probably isn’t the right time and I have no idea if you feel the same way about me but, as Jonathan says, if I keep these feelings for you bottled up any longer I will blow up!”

  Sandra had moved in close to him and taken his face in her hands. “I thought you’d never ask, Dermot Murray,” she’d whispered as she kissed him tenderly on the lips.

  Sandra spoke to Cara again now. “You know, when I called Neil and told him that I was pregnant and that I would be living with Dermot, he burst out laughing and said it was hilarious that John Wayne got what he had always wanted in the end, just like in the movies. I asked him to explain this John Wayne thing and he said ‘It’s Dermot – he’s John Wayne – he’s like a cowboy. He’s fancied you for years, Sandra.’ I felt a little giddy when he told me that. He said that Dermot used to warn him not to hurt me. Imagine that! I feel so blessed right now, Cara. I have everything I want. I even met my parents for dinner last night. Since Ava has come along they want to spend more time with me. It’s all good.”

  Cara knew exactly what Sandra meant. Cara wanted Jonathan so badly it hurt sometimes but she thought if she pushed for that last chapter of happiness it might be just too much. She knew the ball was in her court but, now that she had this house and her dream job and Esther living with her, she was afraid to ask for anything else. Jonathan wasn’t pushing her. He hadn’t asked her out again since that day after the auction but she just knew in her heart he was happily waiting for her.

  “I am so happy for you and Esther,” said Sandra. “She is so delighted to be here with you. I hope myself and Ava will always have the kind of relationship you guys have.”

  “Oh, you will – you are an incredible mother, Sandra. I love how I have Ava in my life now too. I adore that little girl and can’t believe I am going to be her godmother – it really means so much to me.”

  “There is no one else in the world I’d rather have,” Sandra answered simply.

  “More steaks, Dermot!” Jonathan called as he appeared through the picket fence carrying two bottles of wine and a white parcel of fresh steaks. He was casually dressed in a navy T-shirt and jeans.

  “Are they the ones I marinated this morning, J?” Jamie called out and Jonathan nodded as he took over at the barbecue.

  Dermot handed him the tongs and wiped his hands clean. Then he went straight to Ava’s buggy, leaned in and picked the tiny baby up. “Hello, my baby sweetness. I missed you today. Yes, I did! Oh yes I did! Kissies?” He smooched the baby’s lips over and over again. “How are my other girls?” He exchanged smiles with Sandra and Cara before he took Ava into the shade to sit with Jamie and Esther.

  “Dermot is incredibly sexy, though, isn’t he?” Sandra asked Cara.

  “Yeah, he is . . . but not as sexy as Jonathan,” Cara returned distractedly.

  Sandra stared at her friend, wondering if she realised what she had just said.

  “What?” Cara made a face.

  Sandra smiled. “It’s about time you let yourself admit that one.” She wouldn’t push her friend. Baby steps.

  “I’m really glad you’re not sworn off men for life,” Sandra admitted. “Not when you have someone as wonderful as Jonathan just waiting for you.”

  “I know,” Cara answered her honestly. “Moving here, Sandra, has changed me so much. I just feel anything can happen. Life is so spontaneous. It’s not planned any more – I mean nothing, absolutely nothing is predictable any more.”

  The wonderful smells from the barbeque rose into the warm summer breeze. Jamie Keenan had returned from Paris a magnificent chef. He just understood food.

  Sandra had told him the night they had won the auction that she was pregnant with his child. He had nodded and asked her if she wanted to get married. She had laughed and said absolutely not and he had said “Thank God”. He had been happy though and said he absolutely wanted to be a part of the baby’s life.

  “You know, I heard Jamie’s seeing Tara from The Haven.” Sandra leaned over and popped an olive in her mouth. “My God, I can’t keep up with him.”

  “Listen, Sandra, why do you think the Moritz is packed out every single night. Apart from the reputation Jamie is gaining as a wonderfully talented chef, women want to gawp at him. He is gorgeous and single. They should put his picture on the Bord Fáilte billboards. And good on him, I say. He’s doing what he always wanted to do and not hurting anyone.” Cara flicked her red hair over her shoulder.

  “You know, when I was wracked with guilt over being drunk that night here when I was unknowingly pregnant with Ava, Jamie sat me in front of the computer and showed me testimonials from alcoholics who drank serious amounts of alcohol through their pregnancy and had perfectly healthy babies. As distressing as it was to read, it helped me relax when I realised I hadn’t harmed Ava. He’s kind like that.”

  Cara laughed now.

  “What?” Sandra said.

  “I’m just remembering that night – as though the drama wasn’t enough with Alex turning up here and Jonathan and Dermot ready to kill him, you shout out in the middle of it all ‘I’m going to be sick!’”

  They both laughed now like two schoolgirls. “When you told me you were expecting a few days later after the auction it was the first thing that popped into my head. But I was so happy for you. I wish I could have taken a photo of your face. You were glowing. It was wonderful to be a part of that. To hear those words coming out of your mouth at last.”

  Sandra stared over at Dermot who was now walking around the garden with Ava tight in his arms, showing her the flowers along the back fence.

  “It’s still so unreal, Cara. I still can’t believe I have her. I am just so in love with her. Motherhood is everything I thought it would be. It was so unexpected when it happened, I honestly think it took that first scan for me to believe it. She is truly my little miracle.”

  “We are both perfectly content. I know people think it’s really odd that I want to live my life with Esther. I just don’t care any more and in fact I’m proud of me and of the values I hold dear in my life. I know what I want now. I know what makes me happy.”

  They fell silent as they watched the activities of each person in this garden, all of whom they both now considered family. It was a tranquil moment.

  “Like I said, it’s so wonderful that nothing, absolutely nothing is predictable any more. Cara refilled their wineglasses and replaced the bottle in the icy cooler.

  Both women shut their eyes and breathed easy in the soft comfy deckchairs. Suddenly there was a loud rustling noise and they sat up and opened their eyes in unison. Esther stood in front of them, bag of sweets in hand.

  “Anyone fancy an éclair?”

  THE END

  If you enjoyed The Other Side of Wonderful

  by Caroline Grace-Cassidy

  why not try When Love Takes Over

  also published by Poolbeg?

  Here’s a sneak preview of Chapter One

  When Love Takes Over Chapter 1

&n
bsp; Dublin, October 2010

  I’d known that the supermarket wine had been open in the fridge for over a week, that it was dirt-cheap and didn’t smell great, but I sank it anyhow. Now my head was splitting in two. It felt like a woodpecker was drilling and scraping his claws on the inside of my brain to get out. I tried to lift my head off the pillow but the pain pierced me between my heavy sticky eyes and I flopped back down. I reached for the comfort of my much-loved Debenham’s goose-feathered duvet but instead found a rather smelly hairy brown throw. Where the hell was I? I tried to move again and now realised I was naked. Stark naked. White breasts flopping from side to side as I tried in vain to catch them. Turning as fast as was humanly possible with the head I was nursing, I saw the bed was empty apart from my awful nakedness. The room was still out of focus as I squinted against the alcoholic poison swirling through my brain. Then I spotted my Trinny & Susannah wonder knickers, my Olympic champion of hold-in knickers, the one and only no-flesh-is-escaping-from-these-babies – on the floor. In all their shabbiness – once jet-black, now after a million washes merely dirty-carpet grey. Oh, the humiliation I felt that I’d actually worn them! What was wrong with me?Think, woman, think! No need – the lucky man was entering the bedroom. The light flicked on and hurt my eyes.

  The shock was audible, I’m afraid, as I said rather too loudly: “Oh fuck! Christ! What?”

  Paul smiled at me, though if it had been the other way round I’d have been mortally offended. “So was it as good for you as it was for me then, Mia?” asked the builder who had been putting an extension on Carla’s house for the last two weeks.

  Carla. I knew there was something else nagging me – we were going breast-shopping today! I was due to meet her in town at ten o’clock to help her try on the new boobs.

  “Shit!” I sat up, my old boobs fell out, not the best look with the rolls of flesh on my white stomach clambering up to meet them. I threw myself back down. “PPPaul – I mean Paul –” (we called him PP Paul as he was never out of the bloody toilet) “please can I have a moment to get myself together?”

  “Sure, Mee-Mee Mia!” He grabbed his white T-shirt off the edge of the chair and left the room.

  I noticed he had a small tattoo on his left shoulder that looked like Gargamel from The Smurfs, but surely not? He was in good enough shape, if fairly hairy all over. Oh man, I sighed again, why do I do these things? I couldn’t remember a damn thing but I knew as the day progressed every last little embarrassing detail would come flooding into my mind. Playing on widescreen HD. Voice-over by that man who voices all the big cinema movies, with the too-slow, booming voice. I found my bra and jeans under the bed but where was my top? Just as I was about to wear a Liverpool jersey I spotted in his very messy, overcrowded wardrobe, he knocked gently on the doorand then called, “Just found this in the van, Mia!” I opened the door a smidgen and slid my hand out as he dropped my priceless, loved-and-treated-with-kid-gloves, black silk Karen Millen hides-a-multitudetop.

  In his van. It was in his van. Oh, Mia.

  I looked at myself in the mirror. I was a fright. An absolute fright. I mean, I wouldn’t answer the door to a blind postman looking like this. I was so pale, yet had red blotches all over my face. Brown hair like an eagle’s nest. Bloodshot panda eyes. Beard-rash. Chapped lips – the severe dehydration I was suffering from certainly didn’t help. I bashed down my hair with the back of my hand. Licked my fingers to try and rub away most of the black eyeliner and mascara from under my glazed green eyes. I pulled myself up straight, my five-foot-eight-inches straight. Apparently I carried my weight well (I often got told this like it was a great compliment). The silk top slid over my bulging stomach. I was in need of a trip to the gym, if only I had a membership somewhere. No skinnyjeans for me, I’m afraid – my Next ‘boyfriend’jeans were my ‘It’ jeans. Okay, okay,so they were from the men’s department, but who could tell? And they fitted so much better. I rummaged around again for my high-heel Office FMB’s. Under the bed I found a dog-eared copy of Catcher in the Rye and an old shoebox, but no boots. A yellow Doc Martens shoebox. I slowly pulled it out and my boots were revealed behind it.

  “Cuppa?” He was holding out a chipped, yellow, stained Liverpool FC mug as I shoved the box back under.

  “Emm, no thanks, I actually have to run – I have to meet Carla in town.”

  I stood up slowly and finished dressing as he stood there slurping his tea and staring at me. Perfect, white, straight teeth – funny I’d never noticed him this way before.

  Should I thank him? Apologise? Shake his hand? It was embarrassing as we said our goodbyes and I breathed a sigh of relief as I made my way out onto the busy streets of Rathmines.

  My whole being told everyone who passed me: ‘I didn’t go home last night – I’m a dirty stop-out whore!’ (Well, maybe the whore bit was a bit strong but you know the feeling?) I felt dirty, not because I’d had sex with a stranger (well, he wasn’t exactly a stranger) – oh no, I’d done that plenty of times before – but dirty and hung-over and slightly used. Call me a snob but the filthy student-type flat didn’t help matters. It made me itchy. I stopped at Insomnia and ordered a latte and a double-choc-chip muffin and took my mobile from my bag as I wriggled onto a ridiculously high stool.

  “Carla,” I muttered through a mouthful of cake, some falling out of my mouth as I tried to stuff in as much as was humanly possible at once. Iam on my way.”

  Two Skinnies, obviously just finished their morning Pilates, stood sipping their green teas and staring at me. Why didn’t they sit? Did you burn more calories by standing? I made eye contact with one of them and they both looked away.

  “Where the hell were you last night? I left the plastic on the latch all night!” Carla’s breath was raspy as she walked briskly, no doubt holding her mobile well away from her precious ear. Carla was a walker. Yes, you know the type before I even tell you. She actually liked to walk. Preferred it to a car or bus, she said. She was a stunner too, of course (goes with the actually-enjoying-walking bit, I think).

  Carla O’Leary had joined our small auctioneer’s office, Clovers Auctioneers, two years ago, and had become the top seller straight away. Boy, could she sell a house! She was all blonde hair, black Armani suits with blinding white shirts. Owned a red Mini Cooper that never left the driveway. I couldn’t have met her at a better time. Things in Number 31, Coolpak Parkhad been getting very tetchy between my mam and Samantha and me. Samantha was my much prettier, much thinner, much more successful, mother’s Number One, younger sister – yeah, blah,blah,blah! She always was and always would be the smarter and the prettier one. She worked in IT (whatever that meant – I had no idea and, to be brutally honest, little or no interest to ask) but it seemed to earn plenty of money so I couldn’t understand why she still lived at home. Dad left home years ago. In fact, I couldn’t remember him ever living with us really. He shacked up with an Aer Lingus air stewardess in Dun Laoghaire – Angela. She was once the Face of Dublin Airport – I think that bothered Mam more than her stealing her husband and our father. Dad met her at a funeral and that was that. He was gone the next week. So, to get back to Carla, when I heard she was looking for a flatmate for her newly owned first home – a massive renovation project in Ranelagh – I jumped at the chance and moved in.

  “So meet me in the Collins Banks Clinic as soon as you get into town.” Carlarang off.

  Oh, did I mention she was also the nicest, kindest, most generous person I had ever met? I’d been waiting for a friend like her literally all my life.

  I polished off the muffin and drained the latte, and was still wiping the froth from my mouth as I hailed a cab. These FMB’s were not walking boots by any means and I wished I was as organised as Carla and had a squashed-up pair of flats in my bag – the type of shoes I saw on Off the Rails, a ‘musthave’ item for every woman’s bag, except I didn’t have any. I didn’t really have any ‘musthave’ items to be honest. I wasn’t a ‘musthave’ kind of girl.I gave the taximan my destin
ation and sat back and closed my eyes.

  I remembered drinking wine in the house in Ranelagh(I couldn’t call Ranelagh home, as home was still Coolpak Park – except that it wasn’t homeeither), watching MTV, singing aloud to Girls Aloud live at Wembley. This involved screeching into the mirror above the TV, pouting and pointing my finger seductively.With Carla at an engagement dinner at the Unicorn Restaurant, I was all alone. There was something about a Girls Aloud concert on the telly with a few drinks on me that made me feel sexy. As though I was Cheryl Cole (she really should have gone back to Tweedy, though), up there grinding my perfect body to my perfect pop song. I ground my hips and swigged from my wine bottle as I roared the cheesy lyrics. Oh, I loved the clothes and the body – and the hair-envy I felt with a few drinks on me was depressing.

  I was thoroughly enjoying having the place to myself and then I heard the doorbell – well, the plastic sheet with a bell attached by a piece of string that covered a gaping hole where a back door should be. It was PP Paul. He looked good and smelled great.

  “I left my mobile here today,” he explained to me, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his blue jeans.

  He was about sixfootone, I supposed, and was wearing a brown sweater and brown boots. He had black sort of messy, spiky hair, and was good-looking in an if-you-like-that-kind-of-look way. I didn’t. I went for guys who were not so attractive. Less competition out there.

  “Yes, yes, a drink in town sounds great!” I enthused when he suggested it.

  Yes, it was all coming back now.Into his messy whitevan. Getting halfway up the road and then diving on him. Pulling my top over my head and him upping the never-used fifth gear to reach his flat in Rathmines in record time.

  “Here ya are, love!” The taximan grinned cheekily at me in the rear-view mirror and pulled up outside the shiny medical centre.

  I paid as he laughed quietly and hummed Dolly Parton’s “Jolene” (smart arse) as I slowly counted out my change and got out – it was obviously a popular destination these days. I ran up the steps into the immaculate foyer and saw Carla at the reception.