Forgive and Forget

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘Oh, I didn’t know she was home. No one told me,’ Aimee said in dismay.

  ‘Oh! Right! You see, we all met up and went for coffee after Kim’s mother’s funeral, and Kim told us she was coming home, so most of us have seen her, but you’ll see her if you can come to lunch. I know it’s short notice, but she went to stay with her sister in Kilkenny for a few days and we weren’t sure when she was coming back,’ Gwen informed her cheerfully.

  Aimee knew in her heart and soul that none of them expected her to go to the lunch and that phoning her had been an afterthought. ‘Where is it?’ she asked casually.

  ‘One p.m. in Bianconi’s on the Merrion Road, opposite Vincent’s Hospital. There’s a car park in the grounds of the church beside it. Parking in town is so horrific we decided against meeting up there.’

  ‘Just let me check my BlackBerry – I’ll call you back in five minutes,’ said Aimee briskly.

  ‘Talk to you then,’ the other woman agreed and hung up.

  Aimee hurried into her bedroom, which was also accessible from the balcony, and scrolled through her BlackBerry. She had meetings at ten and eleven thirty. She could make the lunch at a push if she really wanted to. She dithered. She hadn’t gone to Kim Lynch’s mother’s funeral. She hadn’t even sent the girl a Mass card. That was going to be awkward. She could always pretend that she hadn’t got the text about it. Aimee sighed, irritated. She had enough on her mind without having to worry about making excuses about a funeral she hadn’t had time to attend.

  But it would be a good opportunity to catch up with her college group. It would take the pressure off for a while about meeting them for coffee or drinks. A sop to friendship, she thought, realizing how cynical and detached Gwen would think her if her friend knew how her mind was working.

  Did none of them realize how busy she was? Did they think she had time to be sitting at her computer answering emails or texts? Some of them regularly met up to go to a film and have a meal afterwards. She’d gone once, but the film had bored her and she’d stopped concentrating on it and had spent the remainder of the film planning a Holy Communion brunch she’d been asked to organize. She hadn’t gone to any more film nights and eventually they stopped sending her the emails about them and she’d been relieved at not having to make any more excuses.

  Should she go to the lunch? Could she afford the time? It would be nice to see Ellie again though. She’d always got on well with her. Impulsively, she picked up the phone and dialled Gwen’s number.

  ‘Hi, I might be a few minutes late but count me in,’ she declared gaily.

  ‘Am I hearing right?’ Gwen teased. ‘I think I am going to faint.’

  ‘Stop,’ Aimee warned. ‘So what’s the news? What’s happening?’

  ‘Sorry, don’t have time to chat, I’m on my way out the door. Tony and I are meeting Kim and Richard in the Four Seasons and we’re late. I’ll see you at lunch and we’ll catch up then. Byeee,’ Gwen said cheerily and hung up.

  ‘Oh!’ Aimee stared at the phone; usually Gwen would have loads of gossip for her. She wasn’t used to being given the brush-off. So they were all off to the Ice Bar in the Four Seasons, and Gwen hadn’t even asked if she and Barry would like to come. They really were out of that loop, she thought, a tad miffed. Gwen had always been the one urging her to come and meet up with the others, and even she hadn’t bothered this evening. Maybe it was time to make a bit more of an effort. Gwen was a good friend. Aimee always enjoyed telling her about work. Her friend was a stay-at-home mother, one of the reasons she had so much time on her hands to be texting and emailing. Aimee knew her friend was impressed by her high-powered career. It always made Aimee feel good to tell her about her achievements, and Gwen was always encouraging and lavish in her praise. Aimee would have enjoyed telling her about the O’Leary/Weldon wedding.

  She went back out to the balcony feeling unaccountably grumpy and dissatisfied. It was dark now and Aimee noticed that Melissa’s curtains were drawn. Her daughter hadn’t even bothered to say goodnight.

  It was a pity Barry hadn’t witnessed her display of cheek earlier. It would be good to have more back-up from him sometimes. And she certainly hadn’t had much of that today, she thought sourly.

  He’d had to go to a function and, because she was annoyed with him, she hadn’t accompanied him. She’d phoned the babysitter and cancelled her, telling her husband that she was going to have an early night.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ he’d said coolly, but he’d been displeased. She knew by the jut of his jaw and the grim expression on his face. Well, let him be annoyed. Support worked both ways. It was quid pro quo. And she’d be telling him again in no uncertain terms before the weekend was out what she felt.

  Aimee stared out to sea. Her daughter wasn’t talking to her, her husband was off enjoying himself, her friends were out socializing and she was sitting alone on her lounger sipping lukewarm Chardonnay. A great way to spend a Saturday night, she thought morosely as she picked up her BlackBerry and began to fire off emails to her secretary concerning the forthcoming high-society wedding.

  Bryan stepped back from the heaving mass that erupted out of the Dart, as he stood on the platform in Tara Street waiting to board. He was slightly apprehensive about going home. He hadn’t heard from Debbie since she’d raced off in tears hours ago when he’d suggested calling off the wedding. He felt a bit of a heel. He should have phoned her at least, but he just couldn’t face the hassle of it. Weeping women made him uncomfortable.

  He’d felt mean after Debbie had gone but he didn’t want to go home himself so he’d hooked up with a few friends and they’d rambled around the galleries in Temple Bar before heading to the IFC for coffee and to see what films were showing.

  ‘Where’s Debbs? Is she coming in later?’ one of the girls had asked and he’d suddenly felt a spasm of guilt. His fiancée was probably at home crying her eyes out. She was such a softie really, and she’d been terribly hurt. He’d seen the pain and fear in her eyes when he’d landed his bombshell suggestion on her.

  ‘No, we’re going to work on the spare room tonight, decorating stuff,’ he’d heard himself saying. ‘I’m going to head off – enjoy the film, you guys.’

  They’d bid him goodbye and disappeared into the weaving throng of film-goers that flocked through the foyer and long narrow corridor and he’d made his way outside. He’d inhaled the cool breeze, which was a respite after the stuffy heat of the film centre. On impulse he’d phoned Debbie’s mobile to tell her that he was on his way home, but she hadn’t answered. He’d dialled their landline, but it had gone straight to the answering machine. Apprehensiveness enveloped him and, as he waited impatiently to get on to the Dart, he took out his phone and dialled her number again. Still no answer. Perhaps she’d gone home to Connie, or to see Jenna, her cousin, who was going to be her bridesmaid. She was probably crying on Jenna’s shoulder right now.

  Again he felt bad. Not because he’d suggested calling off the wedding – he still thought it was a good idea – but he should have gone after her when she grabbed the keys and hurried off. He should have told her that he loved her and always would. He could have been more sensitive to her feelings.

  Bryan sighed as he slumped down on to a seat and gazed unseeingly out the window as the apartments and houses became a blur as the train picked up speed. Dusk was falling. He hadn’t realized it was so late. He felt impatient each time the train came into a station. The journey seemed to be taking for ever, even though it was a relatively short one of a half a dozen stops or so. He walked fast from the Dart station, anxious to make amends. At least to reassure his fiancée that he loved her. He felt uneasy. It wasn’t like her not to answer her phone. He turned the corner into their small cul-de-sac and saw that the car wasn’t in their parking space. Where had she gone? he wondered as he put his key in the lock.

  His stomach lurched at the sight that met him. His big sports bag was packed at the bottom of the stairs and there was a note on the hall table,
folded over with his name scrawled on it.

  She was kicking him out! Bryan shook his head in disbelief. She had one bag packed for him and a note to tell him to go with no discussion whatsoever. That was a bit bloody high-handed. He couldn’t believe it. Now there was going to be a whole big thing about selling the house and each of them getting their share, and he was going to have to find somewhere else to live.

  He looked around the hall and saw the scuffmarks on the wallpaper, at buggy level, which had pissed her off; she’d planned on painting the hall cream and pale green, and he’d liked that colour scheme. It was elegant and tasteful. And now it wasn’t going to happen. He could see into the kitchen through the half-open door. Everything was tidied away. Even the fruit bowl on the middle of the table was empty, and he was generally the one who ate fruit. His eating habits were much healthier than hers. If she’d thrown out the fruit, she definitely wasn’t expecting him to be eating at home. He could see a bulging black sack ready for the bin by the back door. Was she getting ready for house buyers to come and view already? God, she didn’t waste much time! Was this what was meant by the old saying ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’? It looked like she was going to make him pay . . . big time.

  Bryan felt a deep sense of dread as he viewed his bag lying at the bottom of the stairs. His hand was shaking as he picked up the note and read what Debbie had written.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘Morning.’

  ‘Morning.’

  ‘What do you want to do today?’ Barry looked over at his wife, who was reading a report on the other side of their super-kingsize bed.

  ‘I’m not fussy. I’ve to work on this.’ She waved the papers at him.

  ‘You missed a good night last night.’ He yawned and rubbed his stubbly jaw.

  ‘Barry, I need to discuss something with you, and I’m not going to spend the day skirting around it. I know we spoke briefly about it, but I want it sorted.’ Aimee sat up, her hair tumbling over her shoulders.

  ‘Fair enough,’ Barry said warily. He knew what was coming. He knew that Aimee was not going to let yesterday’s lunch fiasco go without sorting it to her satisfaction. It was one of the things he admired about her. When she had something to say she said it straight out, no matter how unpalatable. And then, when it was sorted, she’d forget it and move on. No emotional dramas. No silent, bubbling resentments. It was much less wearing on the nerves, even if the going was rough for an hour or so. He sat up and leaned back against the pillows and waited for her to offload.

  ‘I told you that I felt you could have supported me at yesterday’s lunch,’ she said bluntly, ‘but I don’t think you really took it on board. You could have spoken to Melissa earlier than you did, and backed me up immediately she didn’t do as I asked. And you certainly shouldn’t have let Debbie speak to me the way she did. It was the height of rudeness, and you just sat there and let her insult me. Whether she likes it or not, I am your wife and I’m entitled to respect.’ She eyeballed him, her chin up, her shoulders squared.

  ‘Well, again I’m saying, I think you went over the top with Melissa, frankly, and I did tell her to do what you asked. And as regards Debbie . . . if you don’t mind my saying so, you started it by commenting on what she was eating. It was none of your business. I could see why she responded the way she did to what she considered rude. I didn’t like what she said. It was childish and silly, but I could see where she was coming from.’ He was equally blunt.

  His response took her aback. He could see the surprise in her eyes. She stared at him, her eyes cold. ‘You know something, Barry? That hurts. And you know something else? She doesn’t want me or Melissa at the wedding. Well, Melissa can make up her own mind, but I’ve decided I’m not going. You’ll be perfectly fine without me. I’m sure Connie will take care of you, no problem.’ She flung back the duvet and got out of bed.

  ‘Connie’s not my wife, you are, Aimee. And if you don’t want to be at my side at my daughter’s wedding, there’s not much I can do about it. But support works both ways and, if you expect it from me, I also expect it from you.’ He got out of bed and walked into the ensuite after her.

  ‘Fine, Barry, we both know where we stand.’ She kept her back to him.

  ‘So are you coming to the wedding?’ he demanded.

  ‘No!’ Aimee turned and shook her head. ‘What’s the point? The only person who wants me there is you.’

  ‘Well, that should be enough for you then,’ he retorted, turning on his heel and marching out, slamming the door behind him as he went.

  Aimee stared at herself in the mirror. Some very fine lines were beginning to cobweb around her eyes, and the lines around her mouth were deepening. Probably because she was scowling, she thought crossly as she smoothed some replenishing cream on to her face. She needed to book another Botox treatment. She should pencil it in before the O’Leary wedding so she’d look her best for the biggest event her firm had ever had on its books.

  This damn wedding of Debbie’s was causing nothing but trouble. Why Barry wanted her to go was beyond her comprehension. Well, she wasn’t some trophy wife to be trailed along and trotted out. She was her own woman, and he knew that. He needn’t go trying to get her to change her mind with emotional blackmail because it didn’t work on her. She’d made her decision. She wasn’t going to that bloody wedding and if he didn’t like it he could get over himself.

  Barry ran the electric razor over his jaw, furious with his wife. The one thing that he wanted – for her and Melissa to be at his side at Debbie’s wedding – was increasingly unlikely to happen. She’d turned him down yet again. It was happening more and more often these days. Last night had been an important social function for the company. All the other executives were there with their wives and he’d stuck out like a bloody sore thumb. Now it was going to be the same at Debbie’s wedding. Had she no loyalty? Why did she always have to put herself first? Just because he hadn’t let her get away with her behaviour yesterday, she was punishing him. As if he were some kind of child, not her husband, her equal partner.

  Aimee could be incredibly stubborn sometimes, and nothing that he could say or do would change her mind. It used to be a trait that he found attractive, once, but now it was becoming irritating and off-putting. He valued loyalty. It was a great quality to have in a relationship. Connie had never badmouthed him to Debbie and had always stood up for him as a father. How ironic that his ex-wife was showing him more loyalty right now than his current wife was. What did that say about the state of their marriage? he thought despondently as he walked down the hall to the main bathroom to take a shower, unwilling to use the ensuite while Aimee was in the bedroom.

  ‘Yikes! These cobbles are hard on the feet,’ Debbie moaned as she walked across Dam Square with her fiancé.

  ‘I can’t believe we’re in Amsterdam. I can’t believe that you organized this trip so fast. You’re some woman!’ Bryan exclaimed delightedly, lifting her up in the air and kissing her.

  ‘Let me down,’ she squealed. But she was beaming from ear to ear.

  ‘I swear to God I thought you were throwing me out.’ He laughed, putting her down and slipping an arm around her shoulder. ‘When I came home and saw that bag at the end of the stairs and saw the note on the hall table, I sure did think I was a goner.’

  ‘You nearly were.’ She grinned. ‘But what the hell? I’d never have as much fun with anyone else.’

  ‘When I read the note and found out that you’d booked us a cheapie flight to Amsterdam and that we had to be at the airport at four a.m., you could have knocked me down with a feather. I was gobsmacked. I can’t believe we’re here,’ he repeated.

  ‘Well, believe it,’ she said as they stopped to let a tram pass. ‘We’re young, free and in Amsterdam on a sunny Sunday morning, and I’m dying for a cup of coffee.’

  ‘And maybe something else,’ Bryan grinned, looking forward to a hash brownie. Two hours later, stoned and woozy, they fell into their hotel be
d for a nap, giggling and laughing as all the stresses and strains of the past few months slipped away and they fell asleep, arms entwined.

  They woke up late in the afternoon and made love, happy to be together with two more full days stretching out ahead of them like an oasis, cocooning them from real life and all its problems.

  ‘What made you book this? We can’t really afford it . . .’ Bryan raised himself on his elbow and looked down at his girlfriend.

  Debbie reached up an arm and stroked his cheek tenderly. ‘Well, first of all I was going to throw your ring back at you and tell you to get lost, and then, when I calmed down, I realized that what you said was true. There was no joy in it, it was all hassle, and we weren’t having fun any more. I’m sorry, Bryan, I didn’t mean to be such a drag. It all got to me.’

  He leaned over and kissed her. ‘And I’m sorry too. I know I could help more around the place. I know you only want the best for us. It’s our home, and I want it to be nice too. And I’m sorry about yesterday, about the way I suggested calling off the wedding. It was insensitive of me. You know I love you more than anything and I do want to marry you, I just want it to be a good time for us.’

  ‘I know that.’ She smiled happily, snuggling into him, mightily relieved that all was well between them and that they were back on an even keel as a couple. The wedding wasn’t the most important thing about their relationship, she acknowledged as she traced her fingers along his hip. This . . . togetherness . . . was what was important and if they never got married she didn’t care, as long as they didn’t lose what they had right now.

  Later, they showered and dressed and went strolling around the buzzing, vibrant square, exploring side streets until they found a little restaurant beside one of the canal bridges. They sat outside and ordered their meal and, watching Bryan, relaxed and smiling across the table, Debbie knew that her instincts had been right. Her fiancé didn’t respond well to arguments and hassle. He hated confrontation. She knew him so well. Bryan could bury his head in the sand better than anyone she knew, she thought fondly as she sipped her red wine and nibbled at the bread and olives on the table in front of her.