City Woman

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘Are you going to dance?’ Mike exclaimed in exasperation.

  ‘Lead on, Fred Astaire. If you want dancing, then dancing you shall have.’ Caroline laughed as her partner swung her out on to the dance-floor. She felt young and carefree and happy. She felt like dancing all night.

  Maggie’s Story – II

  Thirty-Six

  ‘Excuse me. Sorry.’ Maggie edged her way into the crowded lift in the ILAC Centre, her arms aching from the bulky parcels she was carrying. She was doing her Christmas shopping and she had been in town since the shops had opened at nine. When the lift disgorged some equally burdened shoppers at the first floor, she was grateful for the extra space. Down below, she could see just how crowded the centre was. Maggie sighed, knowing that as soon as she had dumped her parcels in the boot of the car, she was going to have to go down herself and battle her way into Dunnes. She still had to get all the children’s new outfits for Christmas Day, plus presents for her own and Terry’s nieces and nephews, not to mention his mother and her parents and brothers and sisters.

  Maggie had put her foot down when Terry asked her if she would get the presents for the girls in the office as well. He was so cool, her husband, and he had not been a bit pleased when she told him he was lucky she was doing all the rest of the Christmas shopping. Right this minute, she was sorely tempted to go and buy gift vouchers for everybody. Still, she comforted herself, at least she had got all the Santa toys, although she had to remember to get batteries for Shona’s Lights Alive, or there’d be tears on Christmas morning.

  Maggie left the lift at the next floor. Even at nine that morning there had been a queue to get into the car-park. She didn’t like multi-storey car-parks, finding them terribly claustrophobic, but today it was the handiest option. She had already filled the boot once before this morning.

  Ten minutes later she was taking the lift down again, but rather than face the throngs in Dunnes straight away, she decided to have a cup of coffee and a croissant at La Croissanterie, go through her list and focus on what exactly she needed. She decided, as she munched the hot snack, that she was going to stick rigidly to her list and not be side-tracked by anything else. No browsing; just get what she needed and out. On a Saturday like today it was the only thing to do.

  An hour later, as Maggie emerged through the portals of Dunnes, she felt as though she had gone ten rounds in a prize-fight but she had succeeded in her quest and once again she found herself in the lift making the journey up to her car.

  Next on her agenda was Evans, a shop that sold clothes for the larger woman. She was going to buy some nice long-sleeved cotton nightdresses for her Gran and Terry’s mum, who were both on the stout side. A box of chocolate-covered Brazils and a cheque for twenty pounds each would complete those two presents.

  She rang home to remind Terry to collect his suit from the cleaners; he’d need it that night for the office party.

  ‘How are the kids?’ She could hear squeals in the background.

  ‘Cut that out, the pair of you,’ Terry roared.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asked wearily.

  ‘They’re arguing about one Christmas stocking being longer than the other.’

  Maggie grinned. Now he knew what it was like being stuck with children who were up to ninety with excitement at the impending visit from Santa. ‘What’s Shona doing?’

  ‘She’s spent the entire morning kneeling in front of the fire staring up the chimney. Here she is now to say hello. She’s her daddy’s good little girl.’

  ‘Hello, Mammy.’ Maggie’s heart lifted at the sound of her toddler. ‘I saw Santa Plause’s fairy.’

  ‘Did you?’ Maggie feigned amazement. ‘I’ll be home soon and I’ve got something nice for you.’

  ‘For mine own self?’ Maggie could imagine Shona’s huge blue eyes getting wider. She loved getting any little treat and she’d look adorable in the little pinafore and blouse Maggie’d bought for her.

  ‘For your own self,’ Maggie assured her.

  ‘I’d better go and separate these two before murder is committed. Whoever invented Christmas should be shot!’ Terry cut in, as the rumpus in the background got louder.

  ‘Don’t forget your suit,’ she reminded him again before hanging up.

  Outside in the crisp, biting air, the cacophony nearly deafened her. The traders, the buskers, the carol singers all added to the unique atmospheric chaos that was Henry Street at Christmas time.

  It was a very weary Maggie who greeted Adam in the subdued elegance of Clerys Tea Rooms. They had arranged to meet there and it was such a joy to sit down and take the weight off her aching feet.

  ‘You look bushed!’ Adam said sympathetically, reaching across to give her hand a squeeze.

  ‘I am,’ she sighed. ‘All I want to do is to go home and get into a hot bath and crawl into bed afterwards. But Terry’s office do is on tonight so I’ll just have to glam myself up and try to get into a party mood.’

  ‘Poor Maggie,’ Adam said with a smile. ‘If you moved in with me that would be one less problem you’d have to worry about.’

  ‘How could I move in with you, Adam?’ Maggie asked irritably. ‘I’ve three children. I can’t split up our home. I can’t walk out on them. You know that.’

  ‘Bring them with you,’ Adam said, so cheerfully that Maggie just had to laugh.

  ‘And where would we all fit in your little house?’

  ‘We’ll buy a bigger one. Now that you’re going to be a bestselling author, between the two of us we could manage a mansion in Howth or Killiney.’

  ‘I won’t be a bestselling author until this time next year – that’s if they don’t change their minds again,’ Maggie said glumly.

  ‘They won’t,’ he said reassuringly. ‘And anyway they did it only in your best interest.’

  ‘I know that, Adam. It would just have been nice to see my book on the shelves this Christmas.’

  ‘At least you’re being published, which is more than you can say for me,’ he said lightly.

  Maggie was immediately contrite. ‘Oh Adam, I’m sorry for being such a moaning Minnie. Have you had any luck at all? You were going to phone the publishers. Did you call them?’

  Adam nodded. ‘Yep, I did.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘They’re having something called an acquisitions meeting the week before Christmas. I’ll know early in the new year.’

  ‘I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed for you,’ Maggie declared, ‘but at least you’ve got this far; at least your book hasn’t been returned out of hand.’

  ‘Two bestselling authors: we’ll be able to afford to move to the southside,’ he teased.

  Their closeness, and the tea and muffins, revived her and she was much more cheerful as they walked out the North Earl Street entrance together.

  ‘So, are you going to be able to come over to me at all this week?’ Adam asked, not very hopefully.

  ‘Well, Terry’s looking after the children all day today; knowing him, he’ll think that should let him off the hook for the rest of the week. Look, I’ll phone you on Monday. I might say I’m having a meeting with Marcy or Sandra some afternoon next week. I’ll try to arrange for Josie to look after the children if she’ll do the extra afternoon.’ Usually Josie was very obliging, but coming up to Christmas was always a busy time.

  ‘Do your best, Maggie,’ Adam urged. ‘I’ll take a half-day’s leave.’

  ‘You know I will,’ she promised. An afternoon all to herself with Adam, sitting in front of the fire in his bedroom and then making love in the big, old-fashioned double bed with its gleaming brass bedstead was like the promise of paradise in her hectic life.

  Adam bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips. And Maggie kissed him back, quite unaware that Marian Montclare, who was on her way into Clerys to buy her mother-in-law a Windsmoor suit, was staring at them from the other side of the street, and in grave danger of getting lockjaw.

  Thirty-Seven

 
‘I’m sorry Dev,’ Maggie apologized. ‘I’m a bit disorganized. We got back from Wicklow only half an hour ago.’ She was unloading a pile of dirty clothes from a black plastic sack and stuffing it into the washing-machine.

  ‘Stop fussing, Maggie! I’m perfectly capable of filling a kettle and making us a cup of tea. Don’t start treating me like a guest, for God’s sake. And don’t mention Belfast to me!’ As Devlin spoke, she stepped over two biscuit-tins that were on the floor and began to fill the kettle.

  ‘Oh, I must put these out of the way,’ Maggie murmured distractedly, picking up the two tins. ‘Ma filled these up with mince-pies for me.’

  ‘Oh yum,’ Devlin said. ‘I have a real weakness for mince-pies.’

  ‘You can have them all,’ Maggie announced. ‘I’m heartily sick of turkey, ham, pudding and all the rest of it. In fact Christmas just gives me the pip!’

  ‘And tidings of comfort and joy to you too,’ Devlin murmured.

  ‘Sorry. I’ve had a sorely trying time, Dev, and I feel like exploding.’

  Devlin reflected a moment. ‘Let’s see: you’ve just come home from Wicklow and you’re like a demon. Hazarding a guess, I’d say it was not all happy families on Walton’s Mountain.’

  ‘You can bloody well say that again,’ growled Maggie. ‘How that girl isn’t half-way to the North Pole with the toe of my boot up her arse I don’t know.’

  ‘Aha!’ said Devlin, ‘that could only be Sourpuss Susy. What’s your dearly beloved sister-in-law been up to this time?’ Devlin loved hearing about the antics of Susy, Maggie’s most recently acquired sister-in-law.

  ‘Dearly beloved, my hat! I just can’t stand that ignorant little bitch. Christ above, I don’t know how I restrained myself. I swear I developed an ulcer in the space of a couple of hours from trying to keep my mouth shut.’

  ‘Look, go in and sit down. I’ll bring you a cup of coffee and we’ll relax in the sitting-room until Terry brings the kids back from McDonald’s. You can tell me all about what’s bugging you.’

  ‘But I invited you to stay: I should be making the tea,’ Maggie protested.

  ‘Oh, give over and go and sit down. I’ll be with you in a minute. Put the Christmas tree lights on and start the fire. We’ll enjoy a bit of peace and quiet. What time is Caroline coming?’

  ‘Some time this evening; she’s gone visiting her aunt.’ Maggie couldn’t help grinning.

  Devlin threw her eyes up to heaven. ‘God! Poor Caro! Imagine having to put up with that for the afternoon. She has her aunt, you have the dreaded Susy and I have Grandpa Delaney. You see, we all have our little Christmas crosses to bear!’

  ‘Ha, ha,’ retorted Maggie dryly, but in spite of herself her mood started to lighten.

  ‘Here, get that inside you,’ Devlin ordered ten minutes later, handing her an Irish coffee.

  Maggie’s eyes brightened. ‘What a brainwave, Devlin Delaney! Why didn’t I think of that?’

  ‘Oh well, you had other things on your mind; obviously Sweet Sue has surpassed herself this time. Tell us all.’ Devlin curled up on the sofa and took a sip of her drink. She loved hearing the gossip from Wicklow.

  ‘Sweet Sue is right,’ Maggie snorted. ‘Although to look at her with those limpid blue eyes, you’d think butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.’

  ‘What colour is the hair these days?’ Devlin enquired, dipping her little finger into the cream on her coffee and licking it.

  ‘Oh, it’s kind of straw-blonde highlights with a perm. I don’t know where she gets her hair done but she looks like a right little old granny.’

  Devlin guffawed. ‘Sorry, Mags. It’s just that when you get going about Susy I have to laugh!’

  ‘I can tell you that you wouldn’t be laughing if you had her in your family, the ungracious little cow,’ Maggie retorted. ‘Honest to God, Devlin, but she had a puss on her all over Christmas. And the rudeness of her! All I can say is, thank God I was brought up, not dragged up. Who does she think she is, going on like Lady La La with her airs and graces? What is she but a jumped-up barmaid? Not that I’ve anything against barmaids,’ she added hastily. ‘I was one myself during my school holidays . . .’

  ‘Her parents bought the Wicklow Hills Lounge and Restaurant on the main road, didn’t they?’ Devlin interjected.

  ‘Oh they did,’ Maggie sighed. ‘You’d think it was the Horseshoe Bar in the Shelbourne the way she goes on about it. And it’s only a dirty old kip, you know. I wouldn’t drink in it if I was paid. But sure, what other way would it be? You know her father plays poker? They haven’t a penny: whatever they make in the pub he loses at cards.

  ‘Her mother’s a nice woman. I feel sorry for her and Susy is no help to her at all. What Patrick saw in her I’ll never know, but she got her little claws into him good and deep. By God, if ever there was a henpecked husband, it’s my brother Patrick. Terry overheard her about an hour after they arrived for tea at Gran’s, telling Patrick she was going straight home whether he liked it or not. And it’s a pity she didn’t, because she ruined the evening for everyone.’

  ‘Why? What did she do?’ Devlin grinned.

  Maggie took a slug of her Irish coffee before continuing the saga. ‘Of course, they were having a row before they arrived. I copped that immediately when I was on the phone to them earlier in the day. I mean, OK, if you’re having a row, fine! Let’s face it: Terry and I haven’t been getting on great recently. But you don’t make other people uncomfortable by inflicting your domestic disagreements on them. You put on the best face and you keep it between the two of you – well, that’s if you’ve any manners. But of course she hasn’t,’ Maggie declared, much to Devlin’s amusement. ‘Well, by the time Terry and I arrived with the kids, she was sitting there with a face on her that would curdle milk, looking daggers at everyone.’

  ‘Little madam,’ Devlin murmured. She had met Susy on a few occasions and thoroughly agreed with Maggie’s assessment of her: rude, spoilt and thoroughly selfish. It wasn’t like Maggie to make those kinds of comments, but Devlin had to admit they were perfectly justified.

  ‘Remember the time just after they got engaged when I was staying down at the farm with you for a few days? She came to visit and I asked her if she’d like a cup of tea.’ Devlin laughed at the memory. ‘You’d think I’d asked her did she want Paraquat. She’s a bit peculiar, isn’t she?’

  ‘Peculiar isn’t the word: she’s spiteful, that’s what she is! Do you know what the fucking little wagon said to me?’ Maggie fumed. ‘ “When’s the famous novel coming out? I thought you were supposed to be published months ago? Mam was dying to read it. She thinks it’s great that I’m married to someone who’s related to an author. You are going to be published, aren’t you? Or was it all an April fool?” ’

  Devlin’s eyes widened. ‘The catty little so-and-so.’

  ‘She’s lucky she’s not sporting a new set of false teeth, I can tell you,’ Maggie retorted. ‘And, you know, the sickening thing is that when I first mentioned about being published, she was all around the town telling people. No doubt when City Woman comes out it will be “my sister-in-law the famous author”. Oh woe is me!’ Then Maggie laughed as she began to relax and enjoy her chat with Devlin. ‘That’s if she’s still talking to me. Although, to be perfectly honest, I couldn’t care less if she never spoke to me again. In fact, after her carry-on at Gran’s I hope she won’t, the little hypocrite!

  ‘It’s just, Dev, that poor Gran had gone to such trouble, and she’s not really able for it. She’s very rheumaticky but she loves to have the family around her, especially for that one day at Christmas. She couldn’t even enjoy the couple of hours with the lads and myself because of that Susy and her shenanigans, sitting there like Lady Muck with a face on her that would trip a duck. I don’t know why Patrick lets her get away with it, because I’ll tell you one thing, Dev, if he treated her family the way she treats mine, she wouldn’t stand for it. Honestly I wouldn’t dream of treating Terry’s mother other than
with respect. Terry and I were disgusted, and so were Lillian and Anthony. Susy actually had the bad manners to start a row with Patrick out in the scullery and she could be heard all over the house. Poor Gran was getting upset. So I went out and told them to have some manners and cut it out and stop making a spectacle of themselves.’

  Devlin was amazed that anyone could be so rude. ‘What did she say to you?’

  ‘She told me to fuck off back up to Dublin and mind my own business. I said, “You’re upsetting my grandmother and that is my business. You should be ashamed of yourself.” ’

  ‘And what did she say then?’ Devlin laughed.

  ‘What could she say? I was right and she knew it. Oh, she knows what I think of her all right. But I did feel sorry for Gran. She’s coming up to me with Ma and Da for New Year’s Day and I’m going to make such a fuss over them.’

  ‘You do that, Maggie,’ Devlin said, getting up and giving her friend a hug. ‘And don’t let that other one get you down. She isn’t worth the worry. Imagine going on like that, the spoilt little brat. That’s total immaturity.’

  ‘She’s thirty-five years of age, for God’s sake! She’s four years older than Patrick.’

  ‘Exactly!’ said Devlin. ‘Imagine a woman in her thirties behaving like that! It’s pathetic! Just think: some day she’ll be a grandmother and a mother-in-law and what goes around comes around. May she get the sons and daughters-in-law she deserves, just as bad as herself. And, no doubt, she’ll look like a great-granny then. Now, what do you say to another Irish coffee?’