She switched off the lights and trudged upstairs. She might as well go to bed, she thought miserably as Hope shot ahead of her and jumped up on the bed, green eyes glittering almost black in the moonlight.
Maybe a lavender bath would help relax her, she decided as she absentmindedly stroked her cat’s silky black fur. Her mind was whirring like a washing machine on spin; she’d never sleep in the frame of mind she was in. She ran the bath and poured in some rose oil and lavender drops. The scent filled the bathroom and she sank down into the bath and felt the hot water welcome her body and ease the aches in her joints. She lay back and felt some of the tension seep out of her.
Just when it seemed everything was finally going right all this had come up. Now she was the one flooded with guilt and sadness.
Connie poured some liquid soap on to her sponge and wished heartily that she hadn’t phoned her ex-husband.
‘But where is he gone?’ Aimee asked, perplexed. Barry hadn’t said anything about going out tonight when she’d spoken to him earlier in the evening.
‘He said he had to go and see a chap and he’ll be back in a couple of hours. It’s no big deal, Mom,’ Melissa assured her airily.
‘But he didn’t leave you on your own?’ Aimee said, horrified.
‘Don’t be silly, Mom. He insisted on getting a babysitter, as if I was six years old. Helen’s here. But I could stay here by myself anyway. I’m old enough now.’
‘Not at night, Melissa,’ Aimee retorted. ‘So what did you do for the day?’
‘Went to school. Boring. Came home, did homework. Boring. Then Sarah came over and Dad went to meet Debbie in Costa, and then they came back here and we drank champagne and did toasts to family, and then Debbie and I clinked glasses and said, “To sisters.” ’
‘You did what?’ Aimee said faintly, wondering if she’d heard right.
‘Dad brought Debbie back and he opened champagne and we did toasts,’ Melissa said patiently, as if explaining to a child.
‘He brought Debbie back to the penthouse and you had champagne?’ Aimee repeated.
‘Yep, it was great. Sarah and I had a glass, Dad said we could.’
‘A whole glass? Is Sarah allowed to drink alcohol?’ Aimee asked in dismay, wondering what the hell had been going on while she was away.
‘It was a half a glass and she’s allowed to have champagne; she had it at her gran’s birthday.’
‘And why did Dad bring Debbie back to visit?’ Aimee quizzed.
‘I dunno. They were talking about the wedding, I think. She was very nice actually. I liked when she said, “To sisters.” And she told Sarah and me we could sit where we liked at the barbecue. I didn’t know it was going to be a barbecue. I think it’s going to be totally cool – Sarah and I are really looking forward to the wedding now.’ Melissa bubbled down the line.
‘That’s good,’ Aimee said distractedly. ‘Don’t stay up too late; I’m going to ring Dad on his mobile. Goodnight, darling.’
‘Night, Mom, see ya,’ Melissa responded cheerfully and hung up.
Aimee gazed at the phone, stunned. Barry had brought Debbie up to the penthouse and opened a bottle of champagne. And Melissa and she had drunk to sisterhood. That was some turnaround. What on earth had gone on at their meeting? She felt extremely miffed that he hadn’t phoned to tell her about it.
She always phoned at night when she was away to say goodnight to Melissa. She hadn’t expected to be told that Barry was out meeting someone, or that her step-daughter had visited while she wasn’t there. It rankled! She hoped that the place was tidy and that Melissa and Sarah hadn’t got their bits and pieces strewn around. Barry must have agreed to give Debbie more money, she surmised – what else would account for the unexpected détente? Her lips thinned. Shallow little money-grabber, she thought nastily, remembering how cold and rude Debbie had been on occasions. Barry could be such a fool sometimes. She hung the phone back in its cradle. She always used hotel phones when she rang home, even though it was more expensive, but she used the mobile so constantly for work she hated ringing home on it, listening to the echo of her own voice when she was abroad.
Aimee lay back against the pillows of her double bed and wriggled her toes. Her feet were killing her. Milan’s cobblestone streets were far from kind and she’d been wearing high heels all day. The room was stuffy. The air-conditioning wasn’t working. It was humid and sultry out and, in the distance, she could hear low growls of thunder. Aimee yawned; she was exhausted. The very early start, the queues in Dublin airport and a long day’s work had her wrecked. People thought travelling to work in European cities was glamorous. There was nothing glamorous about this, she mused, as she sipped some Perrier from the mini bar and wiped the beads of perspiration from her forehead. She had a report to write and then she was going to have a quick bath and go asleep, but first she had to ring Barry and see what he had to say about what had gone on back home. She rooted in her bag for her BlackBerry and dialled his number.
‘Hello,’ he said briskly, and she knew he was driving by the background noise.
‘Where are you off to? I’ve just been on to Melissa,’ she said, deliberately keeping her tone light. She wasn’t going to indulge his wounded ego after their spat the previous evening.
‘Aw, there’s been a bit of a glitch with one of the magazines and it goes to print tomorrow, have to get it sorted.’
‘Oh . . . right.’ This wasn’t anything out of the ordinary even if it was rather late.
‘How are you?’ His tone was polite, businesslike.
‘Fine. Busy day. Same tomorrow. The air-conditioning isn’t working in the room, which is a real pain in the ass. It’s very humid here, there’s thunderstorms,’ she informed him, waiting for him to say something about his meeting with Debbie.
‘Get them to change you to another room.’
‘There’s no other room available. There’s a conference on so the place is booked out. I’m waiting for a fan. Housekeeping told me they’d send one up but everyone else is looking for one too, so I’ll be lucky,’ she said mournfully, feeling a little sorry for herself.
‘Have a tepid bath,’ he suggested.
‘How did the meeting with Debbie go?’ she asked, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.
‘Good,’ he said non-committally.
‘I believe you brought her back home. That’s a first.’
‘Yes, we sorted a few issues out and I thought it would be polite to bring her up. She made a nice effort with Melissa, and I appreciated that.’
‘I heard you all had champagne. Pity I wasn’t there,’ she said a little tartly.
‘There’ll be other times. Look, I’m just about to park. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Hope you get your fan,’ he said. ‘Night.’
‘Night,’ she echoed, then he hung up and, for the second time that night, she was left listening to the dial tone.
Her husband hadn’t been very forthcoming. What issues had been resolved? How much more money had Debbie wangled out of him? She’d never find that out now, she supposed. Whatever he was going to pay her would be from his own account and, unless she went snooping in his bank statements or chequebook stubs, she’d never know.
That bloody wedding had caused nothing but divisions between her and Barry. Debbie Adams was a cool, calculating customer, and how clever of her to get Melissa onside as well. Madam Connie was probably orchestrating it all. The nice façade couldn’t be real – she was probably as two-faced as they came.
Aimee sighed. She didn’t have time for all this. She had her own big wedding to concentrate on. It was the biggest, most prestigious event the company had ever catered for, and the success or failure of it was all down to her. She needed to be at the top of her game, and Connie and Debbie weren’t going to scupper that with their piddling little affair, she thought angrily, stalking into the bathroom to fill the bath.
‘Good film, isn’t it?’ Helen turned to Melissa, who was sprawled at the other end of the cre
am leather sofa yawning her head off. They were watching a DVD of Bridget Jones while drinking hot chocolate and eating Jaffa cakes.
‘Brill,’ agreed Melissa, who couldn’t decide who she preferred, Hugh Grant or Colin Firth. Johnny Depp was her absolute favourite of course, but she rather liked Colin Firth when he was being stern and manly. She yawned again. She was bushed. It must be the champagne that was making her sleepy, even though she hadn’t had that much. She knew she wasn’t going to last until the end of the film but she didn’t mind, she’d seen it before.
‘I think I’ll go to bed, Helen. Night.’ She hauled herself off the sofa, gave her babysitter a casual wave and padded off to her bedroom. She was too tired to brush her teeth; she’d do it in the morning when she was having her shower. She was in bed in five minutes, snuggling down into the middle with her arms tucked around her favourite teddy-bear.
Today had been a very good day on balance, she decided as she rewound the events of the last twelve hours in her mind. Miss Horan, her religion teacher, had been out sick and they’d had a free period in the library. She detested Miss Horan with her long, beaky nose and squinty-up beady eyes which viewed her pupils as though they’d crawled out from under a piece of particularly mouldy cheese. Witchy was her nickname and it really suited her.
Then Evanna Nolan and Niamh Samson, two of the nerdiest snobs in the class, had had a fight that had turned physical, as they prepared to debate ‘Pride and Prejudice, meretricious rubbish or literary novel?’
Evanna, a lanky beanpole with straight, greasy black hair who liked to think of herself as an intellectual, had had her glasses broken in the brawl and had been led weeping to the headmistress by her fawning coterie of like-minded snobs while the rest of 1B cheered and hollered until the arrival of their English teacher curtailed their revelry. They’d all thoroughly enjoyed the sight of Turdy Samson turning on Evanna, who was particularly obsequious and two-faced and loathed by the majority of the class.
Then, this evening, her dad had brought Debbie home and they’d all drunk champagne. Best of all, Debbie had said, ‘To sisters.’ Melissa repeated the words to herself as she lay in bed listening to the sound of the boats’ riggings clanking in the harbour.
‘To sisters.’ It sounded really cool. It made her feel not alone any more. She had an older sister just like her best friends Sarah and Clara. Maybe she and Debbie would become very close and she could stay over in her house. What would be very nice would be if Debbie had a baby. Then she’d be an auntie. How mega cool would that be? When Debbie had smiled at her it had given her a real good feeling. Today had definitely been one of the best days of this year, probably even her life, she thought drowsily as her eyes closed and she fell asleep.
Barry took the Greystones slip road off the N11 and yawned. He was tired. It had been a long day and, because he hadn’t slept well the night before, he’d found it hard to concentrate on his driving. Fortunately, the N11 was a great road to drive when there was no traffic and he’d made the journey from Dun Laoghaire to Greystones in twenty minutes.
He wished Aimee hadn’t phoned. He’d found it difficult to lie to her but how would she understand his motivation for going to comfort Connie? Lately she was extremely over-sensitive wherever Debbie and Connie were concerned. That was more than evident in her crack last night about how much the wedding was costing. He’d found himself unwilling to discuss his meeting with Debbie with her, partly for his daughter’s sake – he didn’t want to breach her privacy – and partly for his own sake. What Debbie had divulged to him didn’t show him in a very good light. He was sensitive as to how his wife would view the disclosures.
For the first time in their marriage he felt distanced from Aimee, and it was unsettling. Her work was definitely a factor in the chasm that seemed to be opening up between them. This big wedding she was working on was all-consuming. He’d never seen her so focused or worked up about an event before. She was on her BlackBerry permanently, and it was beginning to get irritating. If he did what she was doing he’d be given a real ear-bashing. Aimee was driven to succeed, but at what cost, he thought resentfully as he negotiated a tricky bend on a narrow part of the road. They didn’t have time to talk any more. They barely had time to make love. Work, sleep and the gym were her main priorities lately. He and Melissa were coming a poor fourth.
His thoughts turned to his ex-wife. She’d been distraught at his revelations about his conversation with Debbie. He should have kept his big bloody mouth shut, he thought guiltily. It had been unfair to dump it all on her shoulders. Only a cold-hearted rotter would have left her on her own tonight without trying to bring some ease to the situation. He hoped that she’d be comforted by his surprise visit. Barry turned down the small winding road that Connie lived on. He felt uncharacteristically nervous as he pulled up outside his ex-wife’s house, wondering what sort of a reception he’d get.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Who on earth was knocking on her door at this hour of the night? Connie wondered as she hurried into Debbie’s old room and peered out the window. The moonlight glinted on to a silver Merc and she recognized Barry’s car. She opened the window and stuck her head out. ‘Hold on, I’m just out of the bath, I’ll be down in a second,’ she called, and saw her ex-husband look up.
‘Oh Lord,’ she muttered, wiping her hands on her bath towel. She’d been rubbing body moisturizer on her arms and legs and her hands were greasy. His timing was crap! She hurried down the stairs and opened the front door.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Come in. You shouldn’t have bothered coming down. I just got upset when I heard what Debbie had said to you. It brought back sad memories, I suppose.’ Her voice trembled and she cursed her weakness as tears filled her eyes.
‘Aw, don’t, Connie.’ Barry closed the door and turned to take her in his arms.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ she sobbed against his shoulder. ‘I feel I’ve let her down terribly. I didn’t deal with it properly. I was too intent on being independent and standing on my own two feet. I wanted her to be the same, but it was far different for her and I didn’t make enough allowances for her. No wonder she was so angry. I used to give out to her and tell her to let go of it. Easy for me to say, the poor little muppet.’
‘Will you stop it? You’re being too hard on yourself. It was my fault,’ he protested, stroking her hair, which had escaped from the scrunchie she’d tied it up in.
‘It doesn’t matter whose fault it is – we mucked it up and she’s the one who’s suffering,’ Connie said angrily, drawing away from him.
‘Well, at least it’s all out in the open and she and I have some hopes of getting back on some sort of an even keel,’ Barry declared.
‘But we ruined her childhood.’
‘No we didn’t, Connie. You gave her very happy times. And I know she doesn’t rate it very much, but I wasn’t mean with money and she didn’t suffer financially, she had all the material things other kids had, so it wasn’t a complete disaster.’
‘I know that. I’m not saying or never have said you were mean, Barry.’ Connie wiped the tears away from her cheeks. ‘Go and put the kettle on until I put my dressing gown on, I feel a bit daft standing here in my bath towel.’
‘You look fine,’ he assured her. ‘Nice tan. Is it fake or real? You can never tell these days.’ He leaned down and sniffed the nape of her neck. ‘Real.’ He grinned. ‘Those fake ones always smell.’
‘Back garden.’ She smiled back, remembering how he always used to tease her for being a sun-worshipper.
‘Milk no sugar – see, I remember,’ he called up after her as she made her way up the stairs.
She pulled a short cotton nightdress over her head and wrapped a matching robe around her and rewound the scrunchie around her hair. She didn’t even bother to look in the mirror. He could take her as he found her at this hour of the night, she thought, yawning so widely her jaws ached. She hoped he wouldn’t stay too long, she was tired. Still, it was thoughtful of him to come and
see if she was OK. It was nice to know he cared enough about her to do that much.
He was munching on a chocolate Kimberly when she came into the kitchen. ‘I helped myself – I hope you don’t mind,’ he said, pouring the tea into two mugs. He stirred in a drop of milk and handed it to her. ‘Biscuit?’
‘Not for me, thanks, I’m trying to make sure I fit into something for the wedding.’ Connie shook her head. ‘Come on in and I’ll light the gas fire, it’s a bit nippy at night, isn’t it?’ she said, leading him into the sitting room off the kitchen. She turned on a side lamp and bent down to switch on the fire. Blue flames licked around the coal pieces, gradually turning to yellow as the fire took hold.
‘They’re so realistic now, aren’t they?’ Barry commented as he sat down on the squishy blue sofa that faced the fire. She sat beside him, tucking one of the big creamy cushions at her back.
‘Is your back at you?’ he asked, noticing what she was doing.
‘I was lifting an elderly patient the other day and I felt it give a twinge. I guess I’m just not as young as I used to be,’ she said wryly.
‘Join the club. At least you’re not fifty yet. I’m a geriatric compared to you.’ He threw his eyes up to heaven and sipped his tea. ‘Listen, I’m sorry about this evening, I should have kept my mouth shut. I never meant to upset you,’ he said earnestly.
‘I know that,’ she sighed. ‘I should have been more aware of Debbie’s feelings when she was younger. I just didn’t face it, I suppose.’
‘You had enough on your plate,’ he said gruffly, and she noticed the bags under his eyes and the deep lines grooved along his mouth. He looked tired, dispirited, and her heart softened.
‘Look, we can’t do anything to change the past. And we can’t keep beating ourselves up about it. We both made mistakes and we have to live with them and try and do the best we can from now on.’ She reached out and squeezed his hand.
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