Forgive and Forget

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘Aw, Jilly! Stop. Don’t cry. He’s not worth it,’ Gwen exclaimed as they hastened to comfort their inebriated pal, without another thought for Aimee and her failings as a friend.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ‘Bryan, look! Look at the name of the bar!’ Debbie giggled, pointing down a narrow arcade where a red and green sign reading WYNANDFOCKINK flashed on and off. ‘Could you imagine that in Sandymount?’

  ‘It’s a pity we don’t have time to pay a visit. The few days went fast, didn’t they?’ Bryan said regretfully.

  ‘I know. I bet Batty Baxter will be giving me a few glares tomorrow. Oh, look, there’s some great shops down this street. Look at this one with the Buddha and the Chinese fans. Oh, let’s go in.’ Debbie didn’t wait for an answer but hurried into an Aladdin’s cave of carvings and ornaments and oriental treasures.

  They spent a happy half-hour browsing and emerged with a carved laughing Buddha and two rectangular candle-holders with an intricate dragon design that was most unusual.

  A small jewellery shop across the street caught Debbie’s eye, and with a whoop of delight she hurried over and spent twenty satisfying minutes admiring fabulous bling before buying a pair of fake diamond earrings for twenty euro.

  ‘I better get out of here,’ she exclaimed, looking longingly at a cross that was really dressy and would go with so many of her tops. Reluctantly, she left the shop, followed by Bryan, who pointed out a cheese shop on the same side as the oriental shop.

  ‘That looks interesting!’

  She glanced at her watch. ‘If we’re going to have something to eat before we head off to the airport, we better get a move on. You go into the cheese shop and I’ll go into the Leonidas one and get some chocs for Mum.’

  ‘OK,’ Bryan agreed, focusing on the inviting array of cheeses and olive oils on display in the window.

  Debbie inhaled deeply as she walked into the luxury handmade-chocolate shop. Bryan was far more of a gourmet than she was. He’d probably emerge with something smelly and weird-looking that would stink out the fridge for a week.

  She spent a while looking at the tempting array of chocolate delights, which left her mouth watering with anticipation. She might as well treat herself to a few as well. Now that she was well and truly maxed out on her credit card she’d be having very few treats in the foreseeable future.

  ‘I’ll have some of those white ones, and some of those light chocolate ones.’ Debbie pointed to the creamy-brown chocolate whirls that lay so temptingly beneath the glass counter. She left ten minutes later with two beautifully wrapped boxes of chocolates. Bryan was still studying his cheeses. A pang of hunger hit her as the aromatic smell from a shwarma and kebab takeaway wafted up the street.

  ‘Will we have a kebab in that place and have a cup of coffee in that big hotel with the funny name around the corner?’ she suggested.

  ‘Sure,’ he agreed. ‘Except we don’t even have to go around the corner, there’s a side entrance to the hotel where WYNANDFOCKINK is.’

  ‘You’re so observant,’ she teased him, linking her arm in his as they walked over to the takeaway. Half an hour later they were sitting in the red and cream lounge of the Grand Hotel Krasnapolsky sipping coffee and eating a selection of delicious cakes. They had a fine view of Dam Square. The Royal Palace opposite them was an imposing, impressive building that dominated its surroundings. She found it easy to imagine another era, when the elegant square was filled with horse-drawn carriages as the crowned heads of Europe gathered at the magnificent palace. Or young maids in their long white caps buying produce for their mistresses from the marketplace. The paintings of Vermeer, Rembrandt and Frans Hals came to mind and she was glad they’d been able to view some of the Dutch Masters at the Rijksmuseum.

  It was such a diverse city, Debbie mused, watching cyclists weaving their way across the cobblestones and the trams rumbling along the tracks that traversed the big square. The atmosphere was generally friendly, but, when they’d wandered off into some of the side streets, it had changed and become faintly sinister. Drug addicts, raddled and emaciated, and prostitutes, eyes glazed and empty, were numerous, and Debbie had been shocked by the bleak, sad, total emptiness in one young girl’s face. A girl not much older than Melissa. She looked like a walking corpse. It gave her the shivers and she’d told Bryan she wanted to go back to the square.

  They’d taken a cruise along the canal the previous night which had passed through the red-light district and, while it was fascinating to watch the ladies sitting and posing in the windows, many of which had red lamps, adding to the air of seedy decadence, she wasn’t sure if she’d like to come back to visit again. Underlying the gaiety and buzz of the city was an air of seedy sadness and hopelessness that didn’t appeal to her, and she found the blind-eye attitude to the very prevalent drug culture disheartening.

  She knew that easy accessibility to drugs was part of the attraction of the city and she and Bryan had enjoyed their brownies, knowing they weren’t breaking any laws, but, even so, the wretchedness and soullessness of the poor unfortunate addicts seemed to seep out of the cobblestones.

  That young girl had disturbed her; she couldn’t get her defeated expression out of her mind. She gave another little shiver. She must have PMT, she thought as she watched women in their finery and elegant men in their tuxes make their way through the foyer into the renowned Winter Garden restaurant for a glittering function.

  How lucky was she to be sitting here on a mini break with the man she loved, knowing she had a nice home to go back to, a job that paid her a good salary and a family that loved her? Easy to forget these things until you were brought up short, she thought with a jolt of shame.

  She was glad she’d bought the chocolates for Connie; she knew her mother would enjoy them immensely. They were one of her weaknesses. She was such a good mother, even though she could let rip sometimes, thought Debbie affectionately as a flood of love swept through her.

  ‘We’d need to be getting a move on, I suppose.’ Bryan interrupted her musings.

  ‘It was a great few days, wasn’t it?’ She caressed his hand.

  ‘The best time we’ve had in ages. This is the way it should be, babes.’

  ‘I know,’ she agreed.

  ‘Back on track?’ He grinned.

  ‘Back on track,’ she echoed, laughing.

  ‘Maybe we won’t postpone the wedding then,’ he said easily.

  ‘It’s up to you.’ Debbie stared at him.

  ‘It would be a pain in the ass telling everyone, wouldn’t it?’ Bryan ran his fingers through his hair.

  ‘I guess so,’ she agreed, heartily relieved at what she was hearing.

  ‘Let’s go then.’ He stood up and held out his hand. She took it, and he pulled her up and kissed her lightly. Arm in arm they strolled through the famous five-star hotel and out into the hustle and bustle of Dam Square.

  ‘Are you going to sort things with your dad?’ Bryan asked as they walked down the marble steps.

  ‘I suppose I better,’ she sighed.

  ‘I was just thinking that he might appreciate some cheese. They had a great selection in that shop and it’s just around the corner. Do you want to get him some? It would be a nice peace offering.’

  ‘Oh Bryan, that’s very thoughtful, he’d like that.’ Debbie hugged her fiancé, appreciating his good nature.

  ‘Come on then, I’ll help you pick something ripe and stinky,’ he teased, as they turned left on to the street that led off the square, to the cheese shop. The assistant was extremely helpful and made up a small selection in a presentation box for them and, to her surprise, Debbie found herself looking forward to giving the gift to her father, knowing that he’d be flabbergasted, at the very least. She was a bit flabbergasted herself. She’d never imagined this scenario.

  Later, as they sat on the shuttle bus taking them to Schiphol airport, her fingers hovered over the keys of her mobile. She had to take the first step in reconciliation. It was up to her. H
er father had tried his best to meet her more than halfway and, as her mother so bluntly put it, it was time for her to ‘grow up’.

  ‘We’re at the airport already – look at the landing lights,’ Bryan exclaimed in surprise. ‘That didn’t take long.’

  Debbie put her phone away. She’d send the text later, she thought, a little relieved to be able to postpone the moment. Once it was gone she was committed, and she felt nervous, knowing that the meeting with her father would not be easy for either of them if she was going to be completely honest with him about her feelings.

  An hour later, they sat in one of the small coffee bars watching their green Aer Lingus airbus move smoothly to the gate, the setting sun reflecting off its shiny fuselage. Bryan drank a glass of beer while she sipped a frothy cup of hot chocolate. She was tired but very happy. They’d had a wonderful, loving time and soon they’d be home, sleeping in their own bed with their trauma sorted. It was a pity she had to get up for work in the morning, but she’d taken two days casual sick leave. If she stayed out another day she’d need a cert, and her GP wasn’t great at handing them out. Still, it would be Wednesday and she’d only have three days to work until the weekend, she comforted herself.

  ‘Tired?’ Bryan put his arm around her.

  ‘Whacked!’ she admitted.

  ‘Me too, but it was worth it. It was great having the whole day to play around with. A night flight was perfect. We can have a snooze on the plane.’ Bryan stretched his legs out in front of him and closed his eyes. He was asleep in minutes. Typical, she thought fondly, he went asleep while she waited to hear their boarding call. It would be a while yet – the passengers were still disembarking from the incoming flight.

  She rooted in her bag for her phone and scrolled to the Create Message icon. She bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling. What would she say to her father?

  She took a deep breath and her fingers moved swiftly over the keypad. It didn’t take long, and when she was finished she switched the phone off. Whatever response he made, she’d get it tomorrow. For now, she’d taken that first hesitant step of letting go and moving on.

  ‘So how did the lunch go?’ Barry lay sprawled on the sofa surfing the channels. It was drizzling outside and he hadn’t felt like going for his usual walk along the pier.

  Aimee lifted her head from her BlackBerry. ‘Just let me finish this email and I’ll tell you,’ she said.

  Barry flicked again and saw that an episode of Frasier was on. He settled in to enjoy the banter between the two snobby social-climbing brothers.

  ‘That’s your phone. You’re getting a message.’ His wife cocked an ear towards the hall.

  ‘I’ll get it in a minute. I’m too lazy to budge.’ He yawned.

  ‘It could be important!’

  ‘Lissy’s in her room, you’re here. Whatever it is, it can wait.’ He shrugged.

  ‘Right.’ She continued keying in her email. Barry grinned. He knew he was annoying her by not taking the message. They were so different. If her phone went, she checked it. She might not answer the text, depending on who it was, but she’d check her messages immediately. He always put his mobile on the hall table the minute he came in the door and forgot about it. A mobile phone was for work, as far as he was concerned, and he did enough of that in the office without bringing it home.

  He laughed as Roz whacked Bulldog in the goolies after he’d swatted her ass. Aimee, seeing she had a window of opportunity, kept on with her emails. She was flying to Milan in the morning and she needed to be on top of her office work. Ten minutes later, seeing that he was still entertained watching Frasier, she slipped out of the room and went into their bedroom to pack her case. She packed with practised ease, her staple travel ensembles: sharp, tailored black trousers, smart tops that didn’t crease and her silk underwear.

  She was undressed and in her nightdress when Barry came into the room with a mug of steaming low-fat cocoa. He always made cocoa for her when she had an early start, to help her sleep.

  ‘Thanks, darling.’ She took it gratefully and sipped its chocolatey creaminess. She laid it on her bedside locker and slid between the sheets. She was tired. It had been a busy day and she had a hectic couple of days ahead of her.

  Barry sat on his side of the bed, kicked off his shoes and lay back against his pillows.

  ‘So how did the lunch go? How are the girls?’

  ‘They’re probably still there,’ she said a tad sarcastically.

  ‘Why not, if they’re having fun?’ Barry put his hands behind his head and looked at her.

  ‘I can only take so much of it. I left before dessert,’ she confessed.

  ‘What did you do that for?’

  ‘I was busy. I had a meeting.’ She turned to look at him.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Aimee – you meet them once in a blue moon, surely you could have stayed for dessert and coffee. That wouldn’t have killed you. You need to chill out a bit more.’

  ‘Barry, you know me, I’m not into girly lunches, I’m not into talking about kids and men and all the other daft stuff that some women love to twitter on about. I was bored, to be honest with you.’

  ‘But Gwen’s a very interesting woman, and so’s Jill. Sally’s a bit scattered, I suppose, but I wouldn’t call any of them boring by a long chalk,’ Barry remarked.

  ‘Well, half the lunch was spent discussing Jill’s emotional traumas because she’s kicked Bob out because he two-timed her—’

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me! I never really liked him,’ Barry interjected.

  ‘She’s in bits. In a complete heap! I’m telling you, Barry, I’d never let a man do that to me.’

  ‘Well, that’s good to know,’ he said caustically.

  ‘Sorry, darling, but not even you would reduce me to a whiney, whingey emotional wreck. I mean, she has everything going for her. She doesn’t need him. She’s got a successful career, a—’

  ‘A career doesn’t put its arms around you at night,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! I’m going to sleep. You’ll be reading romantic novels next if you’re not doing it already,’ she scoffed as she drained her cocoa.

  ‘You’re speaking from the safety net of a loving relationship.’ He ignored her jibes. ‘You might look at things differently if you were on your own. And don’t be too quick to diss your friends, you might need them sometime.’

  ‘You’ve been watching too much Dr Phil,’ she jeered. ‘Who was your message from?’

  ‘I never opened it.’ He got up off the bed. ‘I’ll go and lock up.’

  He went around the rooms switching off the lights and checked to see that the light was off under Melissa’s door. She’d spent most of the evening in her room. Aimee had docked her pocket money and she was in a snit with her mother. He’d slip her a few euros when his wife was in Milan. Aimee would freak if she knew he was doing that but he felt she could be too strict at times. Melissa was a good kid.

  He was walking down the hall towards their bedroom when he remembered his phone message. It would be an act of mercy if he told Aimee who it was from. He scrolled into his messages and saw that it was from Debbie. He certainly hadn’t been expecting a message from her, he thought grimly as he remembered their last fraught encounter.

  ‘Hi Dad, could we meet? It’s important. Thanks. Debbie,’ he read. What was all this about? It was an extremely polite message, not like the terse texts he was used to.

  ‘When and where? Dad,’ he texted back as he walked into the bedroom.

  ‘Who are you texting at this hour of the night?’ Aimee looked over at him, surprised.

  ‘A beautiful woman who wants to meet me,’ he teased.

  ‘Smarty,’ she riposted, but she was curious.

  ‘Actually, it’s Debbie. She wants to meet me.’

  ‘For what?’ Aimee couldn’t hide her surprise.

  ‘Haven’t a clue.’ Barry pulled his Lacoste jumper over his head and started to unbutton his shirt.


  ‘She probably wants more money for the wedding. Well, tell her in no uncertain terms that we’ve contributed enough. I’m not working my ass off for her to bleed us dry,’ Aimee grumbled, turning over and pulling the duvet up over her shoulder.

  Barry paused. That was a smart dig. Aimee had earned more than he had last year and it irked him, although he tried never to let on.

  ‘Whatever is spent on the wedding will come out of my salary, Aimee,’ he said coldly.

  ‘Oohhh, don’t get huffy! I didn’t mean it like that,’ she groaned, in no mood for a row.

  ‘I’m not getting huffy, I’m just telling you. That’s the way it is. Your hard-earned money is quite safe,’ he said stiffly.

  ‘Don’t be like that, Barry,’ she remonstrated.

  ‘Go to sleep, you’ve an early start,’ he growled, wrapping his dressing gown around him. He walked out of the bedroom, and she lay staring up at the ceiling, cursing Debbie Adams. Since she’d decided to get married there’d been nothing but rows and dissension. And she was damned if she was going to watch her p’s and q’s talking to Barry about it. She felt very resentful that their money was going to pay for a wedding for that spoilt, ungracious daughter of his. She tossed and turned, pummelling her pillows into shape, but still she couldn’t sleep.

  Barry sat in the kitchen drinking peppermint tea. He was exasperated and aggrieved with Aimee. There was no need for her to be so bloody rude about Debbie’s wedding. When it came time for Melissa to marry, he’d be spending as much if not more on her big day. For the first time in their marriage she’d made him feel their money was no longer jointly shared but his and hers. And that made him very uncomfortable. They both had their own personal accounts as well as a joint account but, since she’d begun to earn more than he did, he was conscious of matching every lodgement she made into the joint account.