‘He’d like “Higgledy Piggledy Hilda” too, wouldn’t you, Michael?’ Mimi butted in.
‘Now Mimi, let Michael make up his own mind,’ Maggie instructed.
Michael shot his twin a look of triumph. ‘I think I’d like . . . mmmm . . . maybe “Ivor the Engine” . . .’ Maggie gave a smug smile. Thank you, my son, she thought fondly. ‘Or maybe I’d like “Postman Pat”.’ He looked up at Maggie, his wide hazel eyes with their long sweep of black lashes gazing trustingly at her. ‘Achurly, Mammy, I’d really like, really really, really like “Pinocchio” if you don’t mind,’ he added politely. Oh crikey! thought Maggie in dismay. ‘Pinocchio’ was even longer than ‘Higgledy Piggledy Hilda’.
‘Oh yes, “Pinocchio”.’ Mimi brightened up. ‘Please, Mammy, please,’ she wheedled.
‘Come on, the pair of you then,’ Maggie said, smiling. You just couldn’t win.
By the time she had read them their story, given them their last drink of water, got herself dressed and dried her hair, it was almost eight-thirty. Terry would probably think she was delaying on purpose after their row but there was nothing she could do about it. With a heavy heart she bade goodbye to Caroline. She really was not looking forward to going into that hospital and spending another night there. She was certainly not looking forward to another hostile encounter with her husband. Was this how a marriage broke up? Did every couple go through stormy patches like these? Looking back she couldn’t remember her parents ever arguing that much but they were different times. Her mother’s expectations in no way compared with Maggie’s. Nelsie had been quite prepared to rear her children and help her husband on the farm. Having a career other than that of mother and wife was something that had never crossed her mother’s mind. Or that of Terry’s mother either.
But these were different times. Maggie was lucky that having a career was a choice rather than a necessity. She knew many friends and ex-colleagues who had to work outside the home to pay the bills, whether they liked it or not. Mind you, Terry hadn’t turned up his nose at the prospect of a bit of extra cash. As long as her writing didn’t put him out in any way, he didn’t care, but if she started expecting him to take over household chores and look after the kids every so often, that was a different matter. It was the unfairness of his attitude that annoyed Maggie so much, but nothing would make him change his mind. She knew her husband of old and she wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to spend the rest of her life living with his selfishness. The shrill tone of the phone brought her back to earth and she answered it, half-expecting it to be Terry. The voice that greeted her at the other end of the phone made Maggie’s heart skip a beat and involuntarily her hands tightened on the receiver as upstairs she could hear Caroline trying to mediate in an argument about ownership of a colouring book.
Twenty-Two
‘Can you talk?’ Adam asked, and Maggie longed to be able to say yes, longed with all her heart to tell him about City Woman. But it was too awkward, what with the children misbehaving, Caroline upstairs and the realization that she was late for the hospital.
‘Not really. When did you get home?’ She tried to keep her voice steady.
‘Ten minutes ago,’ Adam laughed down the phone and her spirits rose effervescently. ‘I missed you, Maggie,’ he said softly.
‘Me too.’ She couldn’t keep the smile off her face.
‘When can I see you?’ He sounded so eager that Maggie was touched.
‘Can I call you? Is it still the same phone number?’ She tried to keep her voice calm and even.
‘Yes, Maggie, everything’s the same,’ Adam assured her, and she knew it wasn’t just his phone number he was referring to. ‘I’ll be at home all day tomorrow. I’ve taken a few days’ leave; maybe you could meet me in the afternoon or something.’
‘I don’t think so. My little girl is in hospital,’ Maggie said regretfully. ‘I’m just heading off there at the moment. I’ll call you when I can.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Maggie. I shouldn’t have phoned. I was just dying to hear your voice and hear how things were going. If you get a chance and you feel like it, get in touch.’
‘Oh I will, I will!’ Maggie assured him hastily. ‘I’ve some news for you.’
‘What kind of news? Are you getting a foreign divorce or something?’ She could sense that he was smiling down the other end of the phone.
‘I’ll tell you when I see you. I’ll be in touch. OK?’
‘Soon?’
‘Soon,’ she promised. ‘Bye and thanks for calling.’
Maggie hung up and took a deep breath. Her heart was racing and her palms were sweating and she couldn’t think straight. ‘See you, Caroline,’ she called and raced out the front door. Terry would be going bananas. She was in such a tizzy she dropped her keys, and then, when she finally turned on the ignition, forgot that the car was still in gear. It jerked forward and cut out with a shudder. Take a grip on yourself, you daft woman, she admonished herself as she started up again. And she was being daft, wasn’t she? Adam Dunne was a gorgeous, sensitive, good-humoured six-footer. Adam Dunne was also single, almost a decade younger than her, and what he saw in her she could not imagine. Maggie, you’re a married woman with three children. You’ve got responsibilities and commitments and you’re treading very dangerous waters, she argued with herself as she stopped at traffic lights in the village.
She saw a man in the car opposite her giving her a rather strange look. Well, you’d talk to yourself if you were considering having an affair with a man ten years younger than you, she thought, and was quite relieved when the lights turned green and she sped off. She knew her face was the colour of a tomato. Imagine! Ringing her only ten minutes after he got home. He must have been thinking of her all the time he was away. Wait until he heard about City Woman. He’d be delighted for her. She was dying to see him again, dying to see that lovely way his mouth curved into a smile and his hazel eyes crinkled up at the side. That time he had kissed her before he had gone over to England to work he had made her feel like a young girl again. He had been so gentle and loving and passionate. Just thinking about it made her feel sexy. What would it be like when she met him again? Would they stare into each other’s eyes? Would he take her in his arms and kiss her passionately, hungrily – wanting her there and then? No, that would be more Terry’s style. Adam would seduce her, kissing every inch of her, sliding her clothes off her eager body, kissing her with long slow hot kisses.
Her mouth parted, her eyes glazed and her hands tightened on the steering wheel. She would take his shirt off, running her fingers over every inch of his tanned muscled torso, and then she would follow the line of hair that snaked down from his chest to his navel. Slowly, teasingly she would unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans and . . . The driver behind beeped impatiently and Maggie came to with a start to realize that the lane of traffic had moved on and she had not moved with it. He beeped again. ‘Oh keep your hair on, buster,’ she muttered, sorry to have been jerked out of her gorgeous fantasy. She’d better keep her mind on her driving or she might end up as a patient in hospital and not a visitor. It was amazing, though, she reflected, as she drove on towards Phibsborough, she hadn’t felt like sex for ages. Even when she and Terry had made love, it had done nothing for her lately. But just knowing Adam was home, even listening to his voice made her feel as randy as hell. It was true: sex really was all in the head. Right now she was sorely tempted to turn left off the North Circular Road, and drive up to Adam’s house in Drumcondra and . . . and jump on him.
‘Oooh,’ she groaned in frustration. She wouldn’t say no even to Terry right at this minute. Regretfully she carried on straight through Phibsborough and turned right at Berkeley Road where she intended parking the car. She had a big lock and chain and hoped that would prevent any attempt to steal it. The walk down to Temple Street was never-ending in the deepening dusk and the clip-clopping of her heels seemed to say Adam, Adam, Adam, Adam! Stop it, right now! she ordered crossly. Grow up!
You’re not a teenager; you are a married woman. Married. Married. Married. You made vows. You can’t break them just because your hormones are jumping around.
That’s what Terry and Ria did, she reflected; you’re not going to sink to their level. But I want to, she thought longingly. I don’t care any more. Adam appreciates me: he understands what my writing means to me. He’s tender, loving, sensitive and kind. So was Terry when you met him first, her conscience argued. Maybe if you were married to Adam you’d be going through exactly what you are going through with Terry. No you wouldn’t be; I know you wouldn’t be: Adam’s totally different to Terry. He’s not that different, the voice would not be silenced. He knows you’re married and he’s pursuing you. Where are his ethics? Men are all the same, you know, especially where sex is concerned. Oh shut up! She gave a mental growl, and a priest who was passing the Mater Private and about to salute her with a good evening, deemed it prudent to step smartly out of her way and keep his salutation to himself, when he saw the fierce expression on her face.
Her high had evaporated as she struggled with her over-active conscience. Why could she just not go off and have an affair and enjoy it without complicating things? Thousands of people, millions of people had affairs every minute of the day. Look at Ria Kirby: it hadn’t cost her a thought to get involved with Terry, right under his wife’s nose. Ria had flirted brazenly with Terry in front of her, when they had been living in Saudi. Look at Marcy Elliot. Sandra Nolan had more or less insinuated that Marcy and Jeremy were having a rip-roaring affair, despite the fact that Marcy was living with someone and Jeremy was married. Of course, Jeremy’s wife, Claudette, was having a fling with Finian MacMahon, who was twenty years her junior and Sandra’s PA to boot! Claudette, a tall, slim, ash-blonde sophisticate, was showing all the signs of satisfaction with the affair. It was definitely working for her, much to Sandra’s chagrin. She didn’t like the idea of her PA sleeping his way to the top and possibly into her job.
The internal intrigues and politics of Enterprise Publishing were enough to write a novel about, Maggie thought to herself as she ran grinning up the steps into Temple Street Hospital. But all these people were having affairs, doing themselves the world of good and obviously not suffering from any guilts or complexes about it. Couldn’t she just do the same? Couldn’t she just have a nice loving affair with Adam? And then they could go their separate ways and she could stay married to Terry and rear her children and write her novels.
Don’t be such an idiot, she chided herself as she queued up to buy a can of Coke. What happens if you fall in love with Adam and he falls in love with you? How are you going to cope with that? What happens if Terry finds out? You know then he’ll feel he’ll have carte blanche to have an affair every time he fancies someone. What about the children? How would it affect them? Children sense things. It could undermine their security. What if anyone saw you with Adam? She sighed. What if? What if? Who? How? Why? Where? You can keep on like this until you’re blue in the face!
Maggie handed the girl at the cash desk a fiver and took her change. She walked slowly up the first flight of stairs towards ICU, still in turmoil. She continued silently to harangue herself: the question is which will you regret more: having an affair and all it entails or not having one and regretting it for the rest of your life? Only you can make the choice; so make it one way or another.
Twenty-Three
Three weeks later, Maggie and her children were ensconced in a mobile home in Wicklow. The Erythromycin had proved almost miraculous and Shona was out of hospital within forty-eight hours of going on it. Maggie had not phoned Adam. She had lost her nerve. When she went into the ward that night, Terry had been waiting for her with a big bunch of flowers, a box of chocolates, a bottle of champagne, and a sheepish grin. ‘Sorry, Mags! I didn’t mean to upset you. Here.’ He thrust the flowers and champagne at her. ‘Congratulations on your book!’ She felt such a heel and when he had put his arms around her and given her a hug she had hugged him back warmly. From that moment, she had tried to put Adam out of her head – as a matter of self-preservation. Any sneaky thought of him was swiftly banished because she could not allow herself to think about him or fantasize about him – that would be fatal. Nevertheless there were times her heart ached and she had to resist a powerful urge to phone him, if only to let him know about City Woman.
In any case, she had her hands full. As soon as Shona’s temperature returned to normal the specialist had told Maggie to take her home. She had been a bit taken aback because the child was still very sick but the professor assured her she was much better off in her home and far less prone to infection than in the hothouse environment of the hospital. They’d had a few sleepless nights with her and it was a while before her wheeze lessened. A fortnight after her discharge, she had a check-up and X-ray and it was found that the pneumonia was gone. The doctor had given Maggie the all-clear to go off to Wicklow.
Maggie looked out the window of the mobile at her three offspring, all in shorts and T-shirts. She heard Shona chuckling at Michael doing handstands to entertain her and marvelled again at the resilience of children. Apart from a pallor that a few days in the sun and fresh air would clear, Shona was almost herself again, and for that Maggie was deeply grateful. This was their second day here and Maggie was not too enamoured of the site. She had wanted to rent a mobile in Digby Johnson’s in Redcross, but he had no vacancies. She was not really surprised as it was a superb site, very clean and well kept. It even had a swimming pool.
Here the grounds weren’t very well kept. The grass between many of the mobiles was uncut, the shower rooms and laundry were so dirty that Maggie decided to hand-wash her clothes in her own mobile. At least it had hot and cold running water and a shower. She lasted three days on the site. Barking dogs, noisy kids out until all hours at night and a gang in the mobile next to her who used to come in singing every night from the pub proved too much for her. In desperation, she drove around every other mobile-home site in the area. She tried Johnson’s again and Digby promised that if he had a cancellation he would let her know. In the meantime she took a mobile in a site along the coast which would cost an arm and a leg but was worth it until she could go to the one in Redcross. At least when she was settled into the new luxury mobile she was able to sit down and start working on her novel.
Marcy had been quite displeased at their second meeting to discover that Maggie had got little or nothing done. However, they had finished editing the rest of the manuscript so now she was able to settle down to some serious work. It was such a beautiful day that she decided to bring her typewriter out on the veranda in front of the mobile. The children were playing happily with a few new friends so Maggie slipped into her bikini, got her notes and very soon was immersed in her characters.
She worked away happily until she came to the chapter introducing Ira Kingston, the bitch who stole her heroine’s husband. Marcy had insisted that Maggie make her a more rounded figure. I can do that all right, Maggie had thought viciously, visualizing Ria Kirby, as she always did when she thought about the character. Ria was a fat tarty little slut, as was Ira. There’d be no problem rounding her off: just add another couple of inches to her waistline. ‘She’d the look of one who’d seen too many ceilings,’ Maggie typed; then reflected on it, and crossed it out. ‘She had been an early bloomer but she was fading fast.’ Maggie smiled to herself; that was much better.
She worked diligently, pausing only occasionally to look up and see if the children were all right or to feast her eyes on the sparkling blue sea that she could see just across the sand dunes. Later on she’d bring the children to the beach. They’d love that. She might even go for a swim herself. Tomorrow was Friday; she’d have to go shopping. Terry was coming down for the weekend so she might have more time to herself to get really going on the revisions. She wondered what Adam was doing. She cupped her chin in her hands and stared into space. She should have phoned him, she thought sadly. She knew he would be very hurt that
she had not called him back. But it was a risk she dared not take. What was the point in getting involved with him if they weren’t going to have an affair? Maggie was enough of a realist to know that they could never be just friends. The attraction was too strong between them. They would only end up putting themselves through torment and undoubtedly at some stage would end up in each other’s arms, and that would be her undoing. Let sleeping dogs lie, she decided, with a vague ache somewhere under her ribcage. Bending her head to her work again, she carried on with her task of making Ira Kingston a more rounded character.
‘Hey! It’s a nice pad, isn’t it?’ Terry poked his head into the double bedroom which had built-in wardrobes, bedside lockers and wall lamps. ‘Look at the kitchen. Fitted, all mod cons. I think we should sell up and buy one of these to live in. I could always commute.’ He smiled at his wife as he enveloped her in a bear-hug. ‘You look good, Mags. The tan’s coming up a treat.’
‘Daddy, Daddy, look look what I can do!’ Michael was dancing up and down on the lawn with excitement, thrilled that his daddy was here.
‘I’m looking, I’m looking,’ Terry assured his son as he scooped Shona up in one arm and Mimi up in the other and kissed them both. Michael did a handstand that he’d been practising for hours, in preparation for this moment. ‘Brilliant! You’re going to be an Olympic champion,’ he promised his little boy, who was very chuffed. Maggie smiled. Whatever the ups and downs of their relationship, Terry really was good with the kids and they adored him.
City Woman Page 21