Orange Blossom Days

by Patricia Scanlan

‘OMG!’ laughed Anna.

  ‘And then the parrot told De La Fuente to “fuck off hijo de puta—” ’

  ‘The bird said fuck off you son of a bitch?’

  ‘He certainly did. Our beloved El Presidente went purple in the face and looked as if he was going to have a heart attack. It was hilarious. Everyone was trying to pretend they hadn’t heard but they were all snorting into their drinks. I wish you’d been there.’

  ‘I wish I’d been there too, Austen, I’d have enjoyed that,’ she smiled. ‘But it won’t be long until October—’

  ‘October?’ Austen’s voice rose an octave. ‘What about September?’

  ‘Michael’s starting play school don’t forget. He might have to be dropped off some mornings if Tara is on the early shift,’ Anna said lightly and heard her husband’s sharp intake of breath.

  ‘I thought they were getting another au pair,’ he said sharply.

  ‘They are, Austen, she’s just coming later than planned. Now don’t get in a bad humour about it, and don’t harass them about it when they come over—’

  ‘I’m not going to harass anybody,’ he snapped. ‘And stop telling me what to do and what not to do as if I were a seven-year-old.’

  ‘Right, back at ya! Goodnight,’ she retorted and hung up.

  Anna glared at the phone and marched irately into the kitchen. There they were, bickering again, and always about the same thing, minding the grandchildren. The contentment of their romantic anniversary get-away seemed like a dream.

  Anna opened the fridge and poured herself a glass of chilled chardonnay. To hell with her dodgy gall bladder. If he could sit on the balcony guzzling beer she could sit on the deck and knock back at least one glass of vino, she thought crossly, shaking a few green olives out of a jar into a dish, and adding a few slices of chorizo, Serrano ham, and a slice of melon. ‘I can have my own tapas evening, matey, without having to listen to you grousing,’ she muttered, walking through the open French doors to sit at her patio table.

  In the distance she could hear the church bell ringing for six o’clock, but the sun was still high in the sky and she raised her face to its munificent rays, far less harsh and intense than the Spanish sun.

  She’d holidayed in La Joya in August the first year they’d bought the apartment and that had been enough for her. She’d spent most of her days inside in the air conditioning, seeking respite from the oppressive, sweltering heat, only emerging in the evening when the sun was slipping away to the west, and sitting in a shaded spot on the balcony, still baked in 35 degrees. Austen tolerated heat far better than she did, and he’d flown over for the two weeks in August that she was working, to attend the AGM, and to play some golf. Tara and James were flying out for a couple of days and she would be minding her grandson for one night.

  Anna took a sip of her wine and closed her eyes, trying to regain her earlier equilibrium. The birds were chirruping in the apple trees and a bee droned lazily in the cushiony pink blooms of the hydrangeas. The aromatic scents of her herb garden – mint, rosemary, thyme, sage, marjoram, dill and fennel – wafted around on the light breeze and she tried to concentrate on the sights, sounds and scents of nature to counteract the tension and irritation her conversation with Austen had induced.

  As long as their daughters were financially constrained, and having problems with their childcare, there was always going to be friction between herself and her husband, she thought glumly. She yawned. She was tired. While she still enjoyed dipping her toe back into the workforce, having to get up at a certain time, and having to be in a certain place and having to commute was more tiring than she remembered . . . or else she was getting old. She grimaced, taking a slug of wine. And Austen needn’t think she’d be sending a make-up text either; he’d been bloody rude, taking the nose off her. He could go and stick a hot poker up his ass for all she cared because she was sick of his attitude.

  Anna finished her wine, stripped down to her underwear and lay down on the lounger. The garden was completely private, her haven, and she slid the straps of her bra down and settled herself comfortably and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her body, before falling asleep, snoring lightly, so that not even the Enterprise from Belfast to Connolly, thundering past in the distance, whistle blowing in a long low howl, could wake her.

  Bloody women, Austen thought grumpily draining his San Miguel. His stomach rumbled; it was almost half seven and he was hungry. He went in to the kitchen and foraged in the fridge for a steak and a couple of eggs. He poured some oil into the pan, seasoned it and when it was sizzling, slapped the steak onto it, turning it over after a minute or two, to seal in the juices. He buttered a ciabatta roll and when his steak was almost cooked he cracked the eggs into the pan, fried them and placed them on the bread, sliced his steak thinly and added them to the bread and eggs, cracked open another beer and meandered back out to the balcony with his feast.

  Anna could stay in her snit. She’d hung up on him. She could make the first move in this row, he scowled, biting into his dinner.

  ‘When you’re coming home on Sunday don’t forget to get some Nexium and Elocon Cream in the chemist, and get a couple of Seretide inhalers for Chloe,’ Anna reminded her husband. They were being polite to each other, but not overly lovey-dovey.

  ‘OK. Anything else? I’m bringing Tara and James to La Canada this evening if you think of anything.’

  ‘Not that I can think of. If anything comes to mind, I’ll text you. Don’t go mad in Leroy Merlin’s. Remember your excess baggage charge the last time.’

  ‘OK, I’ll give you a buzz tomorrow night; I’m bringing James for a game of golf in the afternoon while Tara goes to have a facial and massage. Enjoy your lunch with the girls tomorrow.’

  ‘I will. I’m looking forward to it.’

  ‘And you can give out about me,’ he teased, and she smiled and relaxed.

  ‘We discuss important topics, when we get together,’ she retorted and laughed.

  ‘Bye, Anna, talk tomorrow. Take care of yourself.’

  ‘You too. See you, Austen, enjoy your game with James.’

  ‘I will. Be good,’ he said as he always did.

  ‘You too.’

  ‘Sure I’m a saint,’ her husband joked and hung up.

  Anna exhaled and put her phone back on the shelf beside the bath. She was luxuriating in an Epsom salts bath in Tara and James’s house, with half an ear open in case her grandson stirred. She was having an early night because she knew Michael would be climbing into her bed for a story at seven a.m., if not earlier.

  At least there was a thaw between her and Austen. She knew that once she saw him at the airport and he hugged her and kissed her, their latest coolness would slide away and their reunion would be warm and loving and they would stay on an even keel for another while.

  Her grandson was staying with his other grandparents for the weekend, giving Anna a chance to go back home and shop and tidy for her husband’s return. She, Mary, Breda and Yvonne had decided to have a much-needed catch-up lunch. She was looking forward to it. They hadn’t got together for a while. It would be good to laugh and chat and have a vent.

  They more than anyone would understand her difficult position trying to balance the needs of her husband and the needs of her daughters.

  ‘Don’t think about it,’ Anna muttered, feeling tension flare up as it always did now when she contemplated her current dilemma.

  She yawned again and topped up the hot water and picked up Hello!, flicking through the pages to see how the other half lived.

  ‘I’m coeliac now!’

  ‘Celia?’

  ‘COELIAC!’

  ‘Did you change your name? I thought your name was Amy!’

  ‘Turn on your hearing aid!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Turn on your HEARING AID!’

  ‘That will be us, in a few years time,’ Yvonne murmured sotto voce, as Anna, Mary and Breda snorted into their napkins, overhearing the co
nversation of four elderly ladies at a table opposite.

  They’d finished their mains and were sharing a Pavlova and a Banoffee slice, Anna just taking a small taste of each. ‘Pity we weren’t in the restaurant beside La Joya, they’d be coming over to us with the double Baileys, on the house,’ Breda remarked.

  ‘We’ll have to try and get there again, sooner rather than later.’ Mary licked cream off her spoon.

  ‘You can see how stuck I am though.’ Anna made a face. ‘Girls, make the most of your freedom, because when the grandchildren arrive, forget it. I swear to God, Austen and I have never argued as much in all our marriage as we have about the time spent looking after them. I’m pulled one way, I’m pulled another. If they’re not all careful I’ll do a runner.’

  ‘Ah yeah, with that dodgy knee of yours you’d get far,’ kidded Mary affectionately.

  ‘Will we get a double shot of Baileys anyway, just for old times’ sake?’ Yvonne suggested with a glint in her eye.

  ‘We came in a taxi, we might as well be poured out of one going home,’ Breda grinned, trying to catch a waiter’s attention.

  ‘Yeah, to hell with housework. I’ll change the bed in the morning; I don’t have to pick Austen up from the airport until the afternoon. I deserve a double Baileys,’ Anna giggled, feeling light hearted and giddy after her girls’ lunch and looking forward, despite their niggling problems, to seeing her darling husband.

  ‘I think it’s going to be a birdy, James.’ Austen couldn’t hide his delight as he shaded his eyes from the sun having followed the glorious arc of his golf ball over the wide emerald sward below him, with the iridescent sea in the background. A superb swing. A rare and perfect moment. ‘Wait until I tell Anna, tonight,’ he said proudly, knowing she would be delighted for him.

  The light was so strong and it seemed to be getting brighter, but strangely, it stopped hurting his eyes, and there was no need to shade them from the glare any longer.

  ‘Oh!’ gasped Austen, surprised at the sudden sharp jolt of pain, before he crumpled in a heap at the younger man’s feet.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  ANNA

  ‘It’s amazing how practised waiters are at the art of looking over your head without seeing you when you try and catch their attention.’ Mary frowned, swivelling her head to try and nail the young man who was doing a superb job ignoring her as he looked into the far distance with his head in the air.

  In the din of chat and laughter and the sound of silverware against crockery, Yvonne heard her text message notification and looked down at her phone and saw with surprise that it was from Tara. Why would Anna’s daughter be texting her? Something made her keep her mouth shut as she scrolled down to read it.

  Yv can you ring me without Mum knowing. It’s URGENT. Tara

  ‘Excuse me a sec, girls, I need to make a quick call,’ she said lightly, standing up from the table. Her heart was thumping but she kept her expression neutral. Something was clearly wrong if Tara was sending urgent texts.

  She made her way through the tables to the foyer and pressed the call number. ‘What’s wrong, Tara love?’ she asked anxiously, when the younger woman answered.

  ‘Yvonne, Dad’s had a massive heart attack, well they think that’s what it was. He’s dead.’ Tara’s voice wobbled and then she was sobbing her heart out.

  ‘Oh good Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!’ Yvonne felt faint with shock.

  ‘I don’t want Mum to be on her own when she hears the news. I know she was having lunch with you. Are you still in the restaurant?’

  ‘Yes we are, but I’ll make some excuse to get us home, and I’ll text you when we arrive if you want to ring then, OK?’ she managed, her throat constricted so that it was painful to talk.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say, Tara. What happened?’

  ‘Dad and James were playing golf and he’d hit a great shot and was so pleased with himself, and then James said he just said, “Oh,” sort of in surprise and then he collapsed.’

  ‘That’s terrible, Tara. At least you and James are there and he wasn’t on his own.’ Yvonne’s lip trembled and tears filled her eyes. She couldn’t believe that Austen, always so vibrant and full of life was dead. ‘Look I better get your mother home. I’ll text you a.s.a.p.,’ she said, struggling to compose herself.

  Oh God help me do this right, she prayed, swallowing hard, and wiping her tears on her sleeve. She took a deep breath and went back into the restaurant hoping the waiter hadn’t taken the order for the Baileys. Fortunately he hadn’t and she said in as normal a tone as she could muster, ‘Girls I’m really sorry, I’ve got to go, Dad’s locked himself out—’

  ‘Aw no,’ groaned Anna.

  ‘And Anna, I’ve got to call in to your house because I left my tote in the kitchen and brought my wallet and phone in my jacket pocket. I’m really sorry,’ she fibbed.

  ‘Ah no bother, we were meant not to have that Baileys,’ Anna said cheerfully. ‘I just need to go for a pee, before we go. Get the bill and be stingy with the tip for that little scut who kept ignoring us.’

  ‘I’ll give him a tip, not to go out in the rain without his umbrella,’ Yvonne quipped, and her heart ached when Anna laughed.

  ‘I need to go too.’ Breda pushed away her chair. ‘My excuse not to have to do the sums,’ she winked following Anna to the Ladies.

  ‘Mary, my dad’s not locked out. We need to get Anna home. I got a text from Tara to call her urgently,’ Yvonne said breathlessly, sitting down beside her friend. ‘Austen’s had a massive heart attack. He’s dead.’

  ‘Oh good God!’ Mary’s hand flew to her mouth and she stared at Yvonne in horror. ‘Lord Almighty, it can’t . . . I . . . I . . .’ her face crumpled and she started to cry.

  ‘It’s true, Tara wants to phone Anna and she doesn’t want her to be on her own when she hears, naturally.’

  ‘Thank God we’re with her. Oh Yvonne, this is horrendous,’ Mary exclaimed, trying to control her tears.

  ‘Stop, don’t cry anymore or I’ll start. We have to pretend everything’s normal until we get her home,’ Yvonne urged. ‘Call that bloody waiter, pay the bill and tell him to order us a taxi quick, and let’s get out of here.’

  ‘OK,’ sniffled Mary, rummaging for a tissue to blow her nose.

  They’d paid the bill and ordered a taxi by the time Breda and Anna arrived back at the table. ‘The deaf old lady was in the loo and she couldn’t open the lock, I thought Breda was going to have to give me a leg up and I was going to have to shimmy over the cubicle to get in and open it,’ Anna grinned. ‘Could you not hear us screeching to PULL IT THE OTHER WAY!’

  ‘Thankfully no,’ Yvonne said with admirable sang froid. ‘That could have been taken to have a rather different meaning than intended.’

  ‘Yvonne!’ exclaimed Breda, and Anna chuckled.

  ‘You are incorrigible—’

  ‘Glad I don’t have to spell that,’ Yvonne riposted, scanning to see if there was any sign of the taxi. ‘Here we go,’ she said with relief seeing a cab pull up outside, her heart breaking for her dear and much-loved friend, knowing that these light-hearted moments were the last ones Anna would have for a long time to come. It was unbelievably surreal to think that she was now a widow.

  Because Breda was unaware of the tragedy she was able to converse with Anna with ease, and the taxi ride home was, for the two of them at least, perfectly normal.

  ‘Go in and put the kettle on, Anna and you get your bag, Yvonne,’ Mary ordered briskly. ‘I’ll sort the taxi driver and tell him to wait for you.’ She gave Yvonne the tiniest wink.

  ‘OK, bossy boots,’ Anna retorted, scrabbling in her bag for her house keys.

  ‘You should have looked for them when we left the restaurant.’ Breda stood with her arms folded, used to her friend’s scattered ways as she explored the depths of her handbag.

  We are at the house. Would you like me to tell Anna or is it something you’d rather do yourself? Yvo
nne texted Tara discreetly.

  Oh WOULD you Yvonne? I can’t bear to say those words to Mum.

  Of course pet. She’ll be ringing you shortly then. XXX

  Sick to her stomach, Yvonne murmured to Mary, ‘Tara wants me to tell her,’ as they walked up the path behind Anna and Breda.

  ‘I think that’s a better idea than hearing it on the phone out of the blue.’ Mary patted her friend on the back. ‘At least we’re all here and you don’t have to do it on your own.’

  ‘Don’t keep that taxi waiting too long, Yvonne, if it’s on the clock. There’s your bag under the table,’ Anna said when they walked into the kitchen.

  ‘Erm, actually Anna, my dad didn’t lock himself out. I just needed to get you home. Sit down, love, I . . . I’ve something to tell you.’

  ‘You’re not pregnant are you?’ Anna kidded, but seeing the expression on her friend’s face she felt a sudden uneasy fear. Breda stared at Yvonne, concerned.

  ‘No, not likely,’ Yvonne managed a smile, sitting down on the chair beside Anna and taking her hand.

  ‘What is it? What’s going on? Is it the baby?’ Panic rose in Anna and her voice shook.

  ‘Anna, Anna.’ Yvonne swallowed. ‘Tara rang me—’

  ‘Tara! Is it Austen?’ Anna asked fearfully, her hand going to her mouth.

  ‘Yes, lovie, I’m afraid it is. They think it was a heart attack—’

  ‘Oh thank God, that can be sorted. I’ll fly out immediately.’ Anna jumped up.

  ‘No, Anna, it was a massive one. I’m sorry love, he’s . . . he’s gone,’ Yvonne gulped, unable to say the word ‘dead’, white-faced with shock and grief. Breda gasped and looked at Mary, who nodded.

  ‘Gone? Gone where?’ Anna asked, uncomprehending.

  ‘He’s, he’s . . .’ Yvonne hesitated.

  ‘Anna, Austen’s dead,’ Mary said gently but firmly so that there was no mistake.

  ‘He couldn’t be. Austen couldn’t be dead!’ Anna shook her head, bemused. ‘He’s coming home tomorrow. I’m cooking his favourite Sunday lunch, roast lamb and mushy peas,’ she said almost to herself.