Forgive and Forget

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘It’s a pity she couldn’t be a bridesmaid,’ he sighed.

  ‘Don’t even go there, Barry,’ she retorted, determined not to let him get on to one of his favourite band-wagons about how the two sisters should be closer.

  ‘OK,’ he’d agreed reluctantly. ‘But I think Debbie’s damn rude and ungrateful not to have come here tonight to make the arrangements with us like we’d planned.’

  ‘I know and I said it to her,’ Connie’d said, hoping he’d say no more. She wasn’t in the humour for making excuses for their daughter. He’d said nothing else about the matter, for which she was grateful, and they’d ended up talking about the rip-off prices at the wedding fair.

  Connie blew a deep breath of air up to her forehead and stared out at the sprinkling of stars that had emerged from behind the drifting banks of clouds as the rain stopped as suddenly as it had started. Barry could be such an ostrich sometimes. He couldn’t see what was in front of his nose.

  He’d want to start taking an interest in Melissa’s nutrition, for starters, instead of worrying about her being a bridesmaid. From remarks both of them had made about the dinner it was clear that home cooking was not high on the list of priorities in the Davenport-Adams household. She supposed that Aimee, with her high-powered job, just didn’t have the time to prepare home-cooked meals.

  Well, thank God it wasn’t her responsibility, and Barry wasn’t her worry any more, and the great thing was she didn’t care. One daughter reared and flown the nest. Once Debbie was married she was a free woman; she might even stop cooking herself and eat out more. Her life was going to change for the better, she was going to cut down on her hours and do things that she really wanted to do.

  She’d look on her fiftieth as a birthday of liberation. Going into a new decade didn’t have to be a great big negative, even if it was a bit nerve-racking and daunting. The important thing was her attitude to what was happening in her life, the dreaded M-word included, she decided drowsily as she spread herself across the double bed and fell asleep.

  Barry lay beside his wife and listened to her deep, even breathing. She’d been asleep when they got home and he hadn’t even had a chance to tell her about Connie’s kind invitation.

  He’d very much enjoyed the evening with his ex-wife, and the dinner had been extremely tasty. He and Aimee should make more of an effort to eat ‘proper’ food rather than all the frozen processed stuff or ready-cooked meals that took only a few minutes to microwave.

  Aimee turned in her sleep, her breast, erotically curved in her flimsy nightdress, nudging his arm. He felt suddenly horny. It had been a while since they’d had sex but he dared not wake her. She’d had a gruelling week and she needed to catch up on her sleep. His hand slid down between his thighs and, as he drifted off into fantasy, a thought struck him. Maybe when the wedding was over he’d ask Connie would she invite Melissa to stay for a long weekend so that he could take Aimee away for a mini-break.

  It would be good for Connie and Melissa’s relationship to improve and deepen. His daughter had confided to him as they’d driven into their apartment complex that she liked Connie, even if it was a pity that she didn’t have satellite TV. And she loved Miss Hope and begged him yet again for a pet. He’d had to say no of course. Aimee was dead set against the idea, but he might suggest Melissa coming visiting with him again so she could see the cat.

  That might work very well, he thought: he and Aimee could have the odd long weekend away, knowing that Connie would be the most responsible child-sitter they could ever have.

  He tried to visualize Aimee astride him but, for some reason, it was Connie’s face that he saw. A flashback of one of their most lusty nights of passion came back to him. A young Connie in her nurse’s uniform, open to the waist, her gorgeous firm breasts thrusting towards him. She’d been a dream in that white starched dress, every man’s fantasy with the cinched in waist and her full ass undulating as she walked. The new uniforms with the navy trousers that she wore now weren’t a patch on those dresses, he thought as the memory became more vivid and his breathing quickened.

  Aimee stretched against him and he realized what he was doing. He was having a sexual fantasy about his ex-wife while his current wife slept beside him.

  Barry groaned and tried to summon up an image of Aimee in a floating negligee falling open to reveal her beautifully toned body. He held it for a moment but Connie in her uniform was tempting him. He tried Aimee again and nearly gave himself lockjaw yawning. His desire subsided and he turned on his side. What the hell was wrong with him? he thought tiredly. He had enough complications in his life without having sexual fantasies about his ex-wife.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Judith grimaced in pain as she sat up and tried to figure out where she was. The room swam before her eyes, a jumble of red and orange that made her wince and close them rapidly again. She heard a groan and a snore beside her and her eyes flew open again as she gazed down in dismay at the bearded stranger in the bed beside her.

  Oh God! Who was he? she thought in horror. She couldn’t remember anything of the night before. Her mouth tasted like an ashtray and she smelled like a brewery. She had to get out of there before he woke up, but by the look of him and the smell of him he was in as bad a state as she was.

  She slid gingerly out of the bed and shivered in the watery early morning sunshine that penetrated the garish purple gauze curtains. She was naked. Frantically her eyes raked the room looking for her clothes, and she found her panties and her black skirt in a heap on the floor and pulled them on as quickly as she could, moaning in pain as a sledgehammer pounded inside her head. She couldn’t find her bra, but she found her maroon blouse draped over a chair in the even more garishly decorated sitting room. She unearthed her shoes under the coffee table and her suit jacket was crumpled in a ball on the sofa. With trembling fingers she fastened her blouse and wondered where in the hell she’d left her handbag.

  She edged her way into the bedroom again, nearly gagging at the stale smell of drink and BO. She needed a cigarette badly and she had the shakes. There was an open bottle of brandy on the bedside locker and she took a swig out of it, gasping as it burned the back of her throat before coursing down into her stomach, comforting her with warmth. She took another swig for good measure and went back to the sitting room, where she found her bag under a cushion, its contents spilling out in disarray.

  Bleary-eyed, Judith gazed around, wondering where the bathroom was. She desperately needed to pee. She found the bathroom just off the bedroom. Its chipped enamel bath and cracked dirty-white basin encrusted with a grey rim of shaving cream and toothpaste was an affront, even in her hungover state. Gingerly she squatted over the broken loo seat and tried to hold herself steady as she emptied her bladder. She couldn’t bear to wash her hands in the sink so she settled for rubbing them in some loo roll before turning her attention to her appearance.

  Two runny-mascaraed, swollen, red-rimmed eyes stared back at her from the mirror over the sink. Her blond-highlighted hair streeled over her face. Her skin was pasty from drink and caked in slept-in make-up. She’d better do some sort of a repair job. No cab driver would pick her up looking the way she looked right now. She wet some loo roll with spit and dabbed at the streaks of mascara that ringed her eyes. It was difficult to get it off.

  Judith rummaged in her handbag, found some foundation and smeared it on as evenly as she could. She brushed a dusting of Egyptian Wonder over her cheekbones and traced her lipstick across her bloodless lips. Her hands shook as she attempted to apply her eye shadow and, after a couple of attempts, she gave it up as a bad job.

  She looked at herself in the mirror and cringed as she saw the results of her endeavours. God, she looked dog-rough, she acknowledged.

  She dragged a brush through her tangled hair and that helped a little. A thought struck her. If only she had her sunglasses, that would hide a multitude. She delved into her bag again and rooted anxiously. ‘Yes!’ she muttered triumphantly as she too
k out the dark glasses and placed them on her nose. Perfect. No one would ever know she’d been on the tear. She slipped on her creased jacket and stared at her reflection in the stained, cracked mirror. Fine. No problems there. She looked like a lady.

  She let herself out of the front door and found herself at the top of beige-carpeted stairs. The house was very quiet. It was clearly let in flats. Two bicycles leaned against the curve of the stairway down in the hall. The paint on the landing and down the stairs was flaking, the carpet threadbare in patches, and a faintly musty smell permeated the air. There was no one else about. Judith couldn’t remember what day it was, but it was obviously early in the morning. She glanced down at her watch: seven forty-five. She’d be in plenty of time for work. She hurried down the stairs and fumbled at the latch on the green front door. She stepped out on to the uneven steps and gazed around. Traffic trundled past. Judith winced as she turned her head sideways and stared up the road, but it was too painful trying to focus long distance so she directed her glance across the road again. She didn’t recognize the street. Vague memories of the previous night fluttered tantalizingly close, only to slip away again.

  She was on a wide, tree-lined road of tall red-bricked Victorian houses, but where she had no idea. She remembered meeting the bearded guy at the cocktail bar the previous evening. Images slowly drifted back. He was an artist, he claimed, which might have explained the décor of the flat, she thought wryly as she walked down the steps and hailed a passing taxi. She gave the address of the office and slumped into the black leather seat and closed her eyes.

  They’d travelled less than a mile when her stomach suddenly turned and she puked all over the floor.

  ‘Ya stupid slag,’ the taxi driver roared as he pulled over to the kerb and flung open the door. ‘Get out, ya bleedin’ tosser.’ He pulled Judith out of the car, ranting and raving as he did so. She threw up again, barely missing him. ‘Get the fuck out of here, ya alco. I should have known better than to take ya with the stink of ya,’ he raged as she tottered off down the street, oblivious to the curious looks she was attracting from drivers. All she wanted to do was to get home and sleep her brains out. She couldn’t face work today. She vaguely recognized an imposing grey-bricked church ahead of her. Was that St Peter’s? Was she in Phibsboro? Had she been in a flat on the North Circular Road?

  She walked on, breathing deeply, trying to calm her heaving stomach. A gush of semen soaked her briefs and she groaned. She’d had sex with that man and she couldn’t even remember it. They obviously hadn’t used a condom. Bloody hell, she could have caught a disease off him, she thought in panic. What had possessed her?

  She couldn’t think about it now, she needed to get home. She’d have to go to bed. She could ring work and tell them she was ill. That wasn’t a lie, she thought forlornly as a wave of nausea washed over her and tears smarted her eyes.

  She was walking past the Mater Hospital when the realization that it was Saturday dawned. Relief swept through her as the pieces began to slot into place. Her car was in Drury Street car park; it would be open by now, and she could collect it and drive home and stay in bed for the rest of the day.

  A thought struck her: she hadn’t phoned home, her mother would be frantic with worry. She’d better ring her. She rooted in her bag and found her mobile. There were five missed calls listed on the screen. Her eyes squinted in the sunlight as she dialled the number. Hammer blows of pain pounded her temples.

  ‘Hello, Judith, is that you?’ Her mother’s shrill voice made her hold the phone away from her ear. ‘Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you.’

  ‘Don’t be worrying, Ma, I stayed with a friend,’ Judith lied. ‘My phone battery went dead. I’ll be home in a while,’ she hedged.

  ‘But why didn’t you ring on a real phone, has your friend no phone?’ her mother demanded stridently.

  ‘It was too late to ring. I’ll be home soon. Bye.’ She hung up and swallowed hard. The thought of going home to her mother’s piercing questions was more than she could bear; she needed to lie down in peace and quiet and sleep off her hangover. Where could she go? The Gresham Hotel wasn’t too far away.

  She might not get a room so early though, and it would be noisy on O’Connell Street. She could try the Skylon Hotel or one of the bed and breakfasts in Drumcondra. That wouldn’t be too far to travel and she’d be near home. All she knew was that she’d rather lie down on the pavement and sleep than go home to endure her mother’s cross-examination.

  She’d managed to sit in another taxi for the duration of the journey to the Skylon without retching by dint of sucking a Polo mint, although she’d broken out in cold sweats several times. She got a room at the back of the hotel without difficulty, and as she closed the door behind her she burst into tears. What a nightmare she was in, but she couldn’t think about it now, she had to sleep. Her mobile rang and her nerves were so frayed she jumped. Her mother’s number came up. She probably had some shopping for her to do or some tiresome chore. She switched off the phone with shaking hands and dropped it into her bag. She’d pay for all of this neglect later, she knew, but right now she didn’t care.

  She pulled the heavy drapes and eased herself on to the bed and closed her eyes. She felt dizzy. She opened her eyes but the room swam around her and she closed them hastily. Judith lay very still, willing herself not to barf. Slowly, her breathing deepened and she slept in a stupor of crazy dreams where taxi drivers hurled abuse at her as she ran naked and crying through winding, eerie streets where the buildings were painted in garish, horrible colours.

  Lily Baxter was very vexed. Judith had sounded most peculiar and had hardly talked to her at all when she’d finally phoned. It was bad enough that she hadn’t slept a wink worrying about her, waiting to hear the key in the lock last night, but when her daughter had phoned, she’d been short and abrupt and didn’t seem to care at all about the worry she’d put her mother through. And just now when Lily had rung to ask her to get a Mass card for poor Martha Collins, who was having her hip replaced, she hadn’t even answered her phone. It was all very trying indeed.

  Lily poured herself a cup of tea, sugared it, added milk and took a mini Twix from the jar of biscuits. She needed a little treat to keep her awake, she thought despondently as she walked into her front parlour and sat in her favourite high-backed, wing-tipped chair at the window, from where she could watch the comings and goings of the street. She peered out at the neat row of red-bricked houses similar to her own. Mr Reilly from two doors down was heading across to the nearby park for his walk, before going to the library at the end of the road. Polly Kavanagh was out cleaning her brasses, rubbing them with vigour, a big floral apron wrapped around her ample form. Otherwise the street was quiet. It was early enough on Saturday morning, most people were having lie-ins and a sense of peace prevailed rather than the usual to-ing and fro-ing the weekdays brought. The trees in the park looked fresh and verdant after the night’s rain and she could hear childish laughter in the distance as giddy children made their way to the playground. The morning sun streamed in, warming her cheek, reflecting prisms of light in the mirror over the fireplace.

  This was her room; Judith rarely ventured in here. Her daughter didn’t like the old-fashioned green and gold two-piece sofa or the two glass cabinets on either side of the fireplace that housed all Lily’s treasures. The mother-of-pearl fan that her husband had bought her for Christmas one year or the silver salver and the bits and pieces of Waterford Glass they’d got for wedding presents. There were some fine bone-china pieces her mother had given her but which she’d never used, as they were far too delicate.

  ‘Clutter,’ Judith called it, but Lily liked polishing and dusting her ornaments. They brought back happy memories, from before her husband had got sick and let her down. And then died on her. She knew it was wrong to resent her husband’s death, even after all these years, but if it wasn’t for Ted she wouldn’t be stuck, a recluse in her own home, living with a daughter wh
o considered her nothing but a burden.

  Ted had been a decent, kind husband and a good provider until he had been cruelly struck down with a stroke and she’d been left to fend for herself and take on all the household responsibilities. Then Judith had come back home to help her nurse her husband because it had got too much for her and she wasn’t able to manage on her own. Lily, who had always been taken care of, had had to become the carer. No more breakfasts in bed before Ted went to work in the mornings. No more spins in the car on Sunday afternoons and afternoon tea in a fine hotel on the way home. Ted had always paid the bills and done the shopping. She hated big supermarkets and got fluttery and panicky in them. All those responsibilities had become hers and she’d found them burdensome.

  Not knowing how to drive had left her very reliant on her children. The two married ones always had an excuse that they couldn’t do this or they couldn’t do that because they were bringing the children here and there, so she’d grown more and more dependent on Judith. She’d been hard on her daughter, Lily supposed, insisting that she come home to help her nurse Ted, but she hadn’t been able to cope on her own.

  Her nerves were shaky. None of them understood that. None of them knew what it was like to be the way she was. Edgy, twangy, jumping at her own shadow. Her stomach tied up in knots. It hadn’t been so bad when Ted was alive, he had minded her and understood her, unlike any of her three children, who had no patience with her.

  When he’d passed away Judith had announced that she was off to live in a flat again. It had all proved too overwhelming for her nerves and Lily had had to take to the bed for months. She felt safe in bed, burrowed down under the bedclothes. She didn’t have to talk to anyone, she didn’t have to make any effort, she could just lie snug and out of harm’s way and take the tranquillizers her doctor had given her.