City Woman

by Patricia Scanlan

  By the time Caroline got home she had a thumping headache. She was also feeling a bit queasy and she couldn’t decide if this was as a result of her run-in with Filomena or the spare ribs she had eaten at lunchtime. She was due to go to her silk-painting class and normally it was one of the highlights of her week: she really loved her new hobby and she enjoyed having a coffee afterwards with Pat Jawhary, who was a classmate. But at the moment she just wasn’t in the humour so she dialled Pat’s number with the intention of telling her that she wasn’t going. The line was engaged so she went into the bathroom and ran a bath. Maybe it would perk her up.

  Now that she was on her own, self-doubts began to set in and she brooded about the situation with Filomena. Would she be able to maintain her authority? What would she do if the other girl openly defied her? How was it that she had never behaved like that with Nell? Caroline remembered her schooldays so long ago, when Ruth Saunders, the class show-off, had bullied her mercilessly. Not physical bullying but the tormenting and needling that gave a whole new meaning to the term mental cruelty. Filomena reminded her of Ruth: she had that same sly malicious quality. She had got the better of Ruth, though, at a class reunion. Caroline gave a wry smile as she stepped into the bath. She hoped she could do the same with Miss Filomena.

  She had dozed off in front of the television set when the persistent burr of the phone jerked her back to consciousness. ‘Hello,’ she murmured drowsily.

  ‘Hello, Caroline. It’s me,’ she heard her husband say and, with a sense of shock that jerked her back to instant wakefulness, she realized he was crying.

  ‘What’s wrong? What’s wrong?’ she said frantically.

  ‘It’s Charles.’

  ‘Oh no! Oh God no.’ Caroline’s stomach gave a sickening lurch. Although she had known it was inevitable, now that it had happened it seemed unbelievable. At the lowest point in her life, Charles had been like a father to her. He had been a strong shoulder to cry on when she had needed one and was always ready with an encouraging word and sound advice. Now she would never see him again, would never experience the familiar tweedy pipe-smoking smell of him when he enveloped her in a bear-hug. Bereft, Caroline cried with her husband.

  When he hung up, she felt terribly alone. How she wished she were at home. Then at least she could have gone to stay with Devlin or Maggie. She didn’t really know anyone here well enough to share her grief with. How could she explain about the unusual relationship she had had with her husband’s lover. If Féile had been there she would have knocked on her door, but she had gone home to Ireland for a couple of weeks’ holiday. Caroline knew Mike wouldn’t mind her calling him. They had seen a lot of each other at various functions, since that first meeting at the Irish society, and Mike would have liked their relationship to develop further. But Caroline was happy just to be friendly with him: she had no desire to get involved with a man so soon after her disastrous experience with Richard. If she rang Mike, he might get the wrong idea. He would see it as a deepening of their relationship and right now she didn’t feel she could cope with that.

  Agitatedly, she paced up and down the lounge as all the old horrible feelings of panic came surging back. It had been so long since she had experienced a panic attack that, when it hit her, it seemed all the more terrifying. Her heart started to pound, she felt dizzy and sick and her breathing quickened.

  ‘Oh God, please don’t do this to me, please don’t let me lose it after all this time.’ She didn’t even have a tranquillizer to calm her down. A powerful desire for a drink engulfed her: just a brandy to knock her out, send her to sleep and stop this awful shaking fear. Nell had brandy in her drinks cabinet. Surely one drink couldn’t harm her.

  Slowly she walked over to the sideboard where Nell kept her drinks. Hands shaking, she took out a tumbler, opened the brandy and poured herself a generous measure. The rich never-to-be-forgotten smell of expensive cognac made her palms sweat and her mouth dried in anticipation of that first sip. The phone rang and she was so sorely tempted to let it ring, but she was afraid it might be Richard again. She lifted the receiver and heard Pat’s warm tones at the other end of the line.

  ‘Caroline, you weren’t at class. Is everything OK? Are you sick?’ came the kind Kerry voice that was so much a part of Pat’s personality.

  ‘Oh Pat,’ Caroline blurted. ‘I’m an alcoholic and I’m standing here with a glass of brandy in my hand and I’m so scared. Help me, please, help me!’

  Thirty-Four

  ‘Put the glass down, Caroline,’ Pat said very calmly and firmly. ‘I want you to pack an overnight case. I’m on my way over to collect you this minute.’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t put you out like that,’ Caroline said. ‘I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine,’ she added shakily.

  ‘Caroline, I’m not leaving you alone in this state,’ Pat declared. ‘I know Féile’s at home on holidays, so you have no-one in the building. I’ll be over in less than ten minutes and you’re not putting me out at all. Go and empty that brandy down the sink and put the bottle away. Come back to the phone and tell me when you’ve done it.’

  Caroline’s hand shook as she carried the glass out to the kitchen. She was strongly tempted to take a slug of the sweet-scented amber liquid. Even one small sip. For long seconds she held the glass in her hand and then, with the greatest reluctance, she turned the tumbler upside down and watched the brandy drain down the sink. Slowly, she walked back to the phone.

  ‘Did you do it?’ She could hear the note of anxiety in the other woman’s voice.

  ‘It’s gone. I poured it down the sink,’ Caroline said heavily.

  ‘Good girl. I’m on my way now,’ Pat said, and hung up.

  Caroline stood as though in a daze. Why was she not exhilarated that she had thrown out the brandy? All she could think of was that lovely golden cognac draining down the plughole and what a waste it was. She could have drunk that brandy. One glass wouldn’t have sent her over the edge.

  ‘It would, it would, look at you, you’re craving it. And you haven’t touched a drop for months. Just look at you: the first time you have to face up to something you go running to the bottle. You’re pathetic!’ Caroline sank to her knees and bawled like a baby. Surprisingly, after a couple of minutes of uninhibited weeping, she felt a little better. At least the heavy weight on her chest seemed to have dissipated with the release of her emotions. The knowledge that Pat, who lived less than a mile away, was on her way to collect her, galvanized her. Wiping her tear-streaked face with the back of her hand, she rushed into the bedroom to get dressed. She had just slipped into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt when the doorbell rang. Hastily she ran a comb through her hair and went out to open it.

  Pat stood there, concern etched on her face. ‘Are you OK? Did you take a drink?’ she asked, putting a comforting arm around Caroline. At the sympathy in the other woman’s voice, Caroline dissolved into tears again. Pat closed the door and led her in to the sofa. ‘You’re going to be fine; don’t worry about a thing.’ Pat Jawhary had the most reassuring voice in the world. No doubt she had said exactly those words to desperate mothers-to-be as they suffered the woeful pains of labour.

  ‘I’m really sorry for dragging you over here. I feel such an idiot,’ Caroline confessed, as she struggled to regain her composure.

  ‘Don’t be a bit sorry,’ Pat said crisply. ‘That’s what the president of the St Patrick’s Society is for.’ Her eyes twinkled and in spite of everything, Caroline couldn’t but feel at ease with her. With Pat, there was no bullshit; what you saw was what you got. What Caroline saw was a very caring person who was genuinely concerned about her predicament.

  ‘Now, have you packed an overnight bag? You’re staying the night with me,’ Pat announced, picking the bottle of brandy up and putting it away in the sideboard.

  ‘I couldn’t put you out like that,’ Caroline protested again. ‘I’ll be fine, honestly.’

  ‘You’re not putting me out in the slightest. Come on.’

&
nbsp; Caroline was mortified. ‘But . . . but I can’t go waltzing in on top of you . . . I’m sure a distraught female is the last thing your husband wants in the house after a hard day in the office.’

  ‘Akram’s in Bahrain on business, but if he wasn’t, he would have been here with me to collect you,’ Pat said firmly, and Caroline could see that there was no point in arguing with the determined Kerrywoman. To tell the truth, she was glad not to have to spend the night on her own. She wasn’t sure if she would have the willpower to leave that brandy bottle in the sideboard.

  She sat in silence as Pat drove through the darkened streets, and then they were passing the Open Mosque. After they had passed the Indian school, Pat turned left and drove up to her enclosed villa.

  The scent of the huge frangipani tree in the centre of the lawn never failed to delight Caroline, and even tonight, in her stressed state, she was able to appreciate the great tree’s unique beauty.

  ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ Pat smiled as she locked the big gates after them. ‘I’ll always associate the scent of frangipani with Abu Dhabi.’

  ‘Pat, are you sure I’m not putting you out?’

  ‘Caroline, believe me, you’re not. Now, come on in and I’ll show you to your room. Then you and I are going to sit down and you can tell me what’s upsetting you so much that you feel you need a drink. If you want to, of course, that is,’ Pat finished with a smile.

  ‘Thanks, Pat, I’d appreciate that very much,’ Caroline answered quietly.

  She led the way through the hall and up a wide, plushly carpeted stairs. On the wall facing her Caroline saw a big, framed silk painting. It was a beautiful study of a woman kneeling at a stream, looking very pensive. Slender reeds grew along the river-bank, leading the eye up to the delicately coloured sky. It was one of the most exquisite silk paintings that Caroline had ever seen.

  ‘Pat! Did you do this?’ she exclaimed. ‘It is absolutely gorgeous. You’re really talented. I’ll never be that good.’

  ‘Yes, you will, if you keep going to your classes,’ the other woman said encouragingly, as they carried on up the stairs. ‘This is your bedroom.’ Her hostess led her into a luxurious pink-and-white en suite bedroom. A huge bed dominated the room, complete with a white wicker headboard and matching bedside lockers. It was elegant, yet restful, and the stamp of Pat’s tasteful style was unmistakable.

  ‘Just settle in. I’m going down to put on the kettle,’ Pat said, and closed the door gently behind her. When Caroline was alone, she sat on the huge bed and tried to compose herself. It shocked and unnerved her that she had fallen so disastrously to pieces on hearing about Charles’s death.

  ‘But, my dear, it’s only natural!’ Pat exclaimed after she had heard the long, sorry saga which had burst out of Caroline like water from behind a dam. They were sitting in Pat’s kitchen drinking cups of hot, sweet coffee. ‘Why should you be surprised at your reaction? My God, Caroline, if I’d been through what you’d been through that brandy would have got short shrift. Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ Pat said gently. ‘Look, I’ve checked the times, and there’s an AA meeting at St Andrew’s tomorrow night. Why don’t I go with you?’

  ‘Thanks, Pat. I’d appreciate that very much.’

  Somehow she got through work the next day. Pat had not wanted her to go, offering to phone in and say that she was sick. But after the carry-on with Filomena the previous day, Caroline did not want the younger woman to think that she was chickening out. Going to work was the best thing to keep her mind off her problems and especially off the thought of going to the AA meeting. It was always the same: she hated going to the meetings, but once she got there she was always very glad she’d gone. Pat was being very supportive and Caroline knew she was lucky to have made a friend like her in Abu Dhabi. It had been such a relief to talk about everything and they’d had some good laughs as Pat told hilarious tales about her time as a midwife in Dublin. She had insisted that Caroline spend another night at her house.

  As the time approached for her to leave for the AA meeting, Caroline got more and more tense. ‘Come on,’ said Pat briskly, seeing her agitation. ‘Let’s get it over with.’

  Half an hour later, in the midst of a group of people, some of whose faces were surprisingly familiar, Caroline stood up and cleared her throat.

  ‘My name is Caroline,’ she murmured, and caught Pat’s encouraging gaze. ‘My name is Caroline,’ she repeated clearly for all to hear. ‘And I am an alcoholic.’

  Thirty-Five

  ‘Are you enjoying the Eid?’ Mike raised his voice above the din of the crowd.

  ‘It’s fabulous,’ Caroline declared. ‘I’ve never seen such food.’ They had gone to a party in the Hilton for the celebration that marked the end of Ramadan. It was over two and a half months since her dark night of the soul, and with Pat’s, Féile’s, Mike’s and AA’s help, she was back on track again and enjoying life in Abu Dhabi to the utmost. Sometimes she felt a bit guilty about enjoying herself, but as a kind of defence mechanism she had pushed Charles’s death to the back of her mind. Richard was back in Dublin and she spoke to him once a week, but, on her counsellor’s advice, would not let him burden her with his woes.

  ‘You’re too far from home to be able to do anything about it and it’s futile for you to be worrying out here. Besides, you must stop that pattern of taking on everyone else’s troubles and brushing your own under the carpet. Your troubles are just as important as anyone’s, so worry about yourself for a change.’ Thus went the firm but sympathetic advice she had been given.

  Not that she had too much time to worry, these days. The weather, which had been very rainy, overcast and surprisingly cold until nearly the end of Ramadan, had picked up, and there were loads of activities to take part in. Caroline had gone for a weekend’s camping with Mike and some of his friends to the Liwa, the largest oasis in the area, which was about a six-hour drive from Abu Dhabi. The scenery had been breathtaking after they left the Al Ain Road and turned right on to the Ruwais Road to follow the coast to Tarif. The oasis, its villages surrounded by magnificent sand dunes that turned to a deep red-gold in the sunset, was the most exotic place Caroline had ever been. At night the stars seemed so near in the pitch-blackness that she felt she could almost reach up and pluck one out of the sky. The peacefulness of the desert, particularly at sunrise and sunset, was really special among the many wonderful memories of her stay in the Emirates.

  She was aware that her time in Abu Dhabi was slipping away quickly and so she crammed in as many experiences as she could: trips to Dubai and Sharjah and, nearer home, to Al Ain, the university city and birthplace of Sheikh Zayed. Caroline was also looking forward immensely to Devlin’s impending visit and was going to do her utmost to give her friend the holiday of her life.

  After that, she was going to Nepal for ten days with Féile and some other girls. When they had asked her to go, she had said yes immediately. It was so easy to travel from Abu Dhabi to the other countries of the Middle East, to India and to Africa, and Caroline knew she would never have such an excellent chance again.

  She realized that she would have to make lots of decisions when she got home – like where she was going to live, now that the penthouse had been sold and the proceeds divided between her and Richard. She also knew that she would have to get a job. But Caroline pushed all these thoughts to the deepest recesses of her mind. She wanted very much to enjoy her last few weeks in Abu Dhabi and she made a conscious decision that for once in her life she would not worry about the future, that she would try to forget the past and instead enjoy the hour and the minute and the day.

  It was a strategy that was proving successful. She relished every day, every new experience she had, knowing that in six months it would all seem like a wonderful, fading dream. It saddened her to think that her time in the Emirate was coming to an end, but in another way she was very much looking forward to going home and starting anew.

  ‘Come on. Stop daydreaming!’ Mike interrupted
her musings, grinning at her. ‘We’ve got a lot of dancing to do if you’re going to exercise away that feed you’ve just had.’

  Caroline grinned back at him. She had grown extremely fond of the bearded engineer to whom she had been introduced on that Tuesday night so long ago – her first Irish night. When she explained to him that she was recovering from a very damaged relationship and was interested only in friendship, Mike took it on the chin and declared that if that was what she wanted, that was what she would have. He had been true to his word and never once overstepped the boundaries she had drawn. Their friendship had developed into a warm bond of affection. Mike dated other women, and Caroline was glad of that because it took away the pressure. Right now she was happy just to be single and free with no-one depending on her. Her self-confidence was growing all the time. She had discovered that being on her own was not a disaster and could actually be quite pleasant. All in all, she was a far more stable woman than the fragile, apprehensive person who had arrived out in the Emirate almost six months before.

  Maggie had forecast that she would be a changed woman when she came back, and she was right. She had taken hold of life, just like Nell and Féile and Pat and all the other wonderful Irish women she had met. She no longer felt a failure. She had met the challenge presented to her by fate, and met it well. She would go home to Dublin renewed and invigorated, and ready to face all the necessary decisions. It would be a triumphant homecoming. Like the proverbial phoenix rising from the ashes, her new self would emerge and never again would she be the timid, self-effacing, appeasing creature of before. Caroline had at last discovered a sense of worth, which was immensely liberating.

  Richard had suggested that they buy another place together. He was handling being on his own very badly, but although she felt sorry for him and could empathize with what he was going through, Caroline told him gently but firmly that her answer was no. It was almost a year and a half since she had seen her husband. The time and distance had loosened their bonds of habit and dependency. There was no going back; she didn’t want that. She was her own woman now and nothing or no-one would change that. She would proceed with the annulment and divorce no matter what. Not that she needed the bits of paper to tell her what she already knew. Caroline Yates was a free woman for the first time in her entire life. No-one would ever take that freedom from her again.