Forgive and Forget

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘Roberto, would you mind if I stepped outside for a moment to ring my daughter? I always like to say goodnight to her,’ Aimee asked her dining companion, who waved expansively in the direction of the door.

  She keyed in Melissa’s number as she stepped through the big arched doorway and stood in the shade of the beige brick walls dappled gold in the light of the evening sun.

  ‘Hi Mom, Sarah and I are walking along the pier. We’re on our keep-fit mission – we want to be skinny for the wedding,’ Melissa confided breathlessly.

  Aimee smiled. ‘That’s excellent, darling, keep it up. Exercise is so important.’

  ‘And Mom, will you get me some MAC make-up in the duty-free? I really like their Barbie Loves MAC eye shadows. The Magic Dust and the Playful, if you can get them, and some kohl and Barbie Lipglass?’

  ‘If I can, darling.’

  ‘Thanks, Mom, that will be cool.’

  ‘And what’s Dad doing?’

  ‘He’s having a decaff in Costa and reading a book. He wanted to go and play golf but Helen couldn’t come and babysit. I told him, like, there was no need for her to come. Mom, I’m really old enough to be by myself now.’

  ‘Maybe next year,’ soothed Aimee, pleased that her daughter was exercising and seemed perky; she’d been so sullen lately. Stepping up her challenges to Aimee’s parental authority. It was a relief to have a conversation that wasn’t a battleground.

  ‘Enjoy your walk, darling. I’ll be home tomorrow and I’ll see you then.’

  ‘Bye Mom. Love you,’ Melissa declared before hanging up.

  Aimee smiled as she re-entered the restaurant. It was good to know all was well at home. Barry was probably pissed off that he couldn’t go and play golf. She’d ring him from the hotel later. If he was in a grumpy humour she didn’t want to know. Right now she was going to enjoy a well-earned glass of wine and real Italian food.

  She was pleasantly relaxed three hours later as she lay on the bed and dialled home.

  ‘Hello?’ Her husband sounded fed up.

  ‘Hi, how are things? Did you get your problems sorted out last night?’ she said airily, having drunk half a bottle of wine plus her pre-dinner G&T.

  ‘Oh . . . oh . . . yeah . . . it’s sorted. A computer glitch. How are you? How did your day go?’

  ‘Terrific. I’ve sourced some really classy stuff. I’m very pleased. It was a good trip all round,’ she assured him. ‘And I had a delicious Italian meal in my little restaurant, drank a half-bottle of wine and am ready for bed.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ he said sourly. ‘I was hoping to get a game of golf in but I couldn’t get Helen to babysit. So my evening was pretty dull.’ Self-pity oozed down the phone.

  ‘Well, I’ll be home tomorrow – perhaps we might go to dinner, my treat. We could try out the Saddle Room in the Shelbourne. I haven’t been in it since it’s been revamped,’ she suggested.

  ‘Oh, OK, that sounds good,’ he agreed with not much enthusiasm.

  ‘Will you ring for a reservation? And see if Helen can come tomorrow?’

  ‘Right. Sleep well. See you tomorrow,’ Barry agreed, before hanging up.

  Aimee stared at the phone. He wasn’t very chatty. Just because he couldn’t go for his bloody game of golf. It annoyed her that she’d felt she had to appease him in some way, hence the offer of dinner in the Shelbourne. It was hard trying to juggle everything and keep everyone happy. If he was away on business it was no big deal and she was expected to arrange her work schedule to mind Melissa. When she was away it was viewed as a jaunt and, if he had to miss his golf, Aimee was the baddie. She was travelling much more than she’d been when Melissa was young and she knew it grated on Barry.

  She picked up her BlackBerry and began to scroll through her emails. There was one from Gwen, a chainmail with jokes about marriage. Did her friend think she had nothing better to do than to be reading rubbish emails, she thought irritably, as she deleted it without reading it. The woman hadn’t a clue. Easy for her to be sitting at her computer forwarding daft emails when she had nothing to do all day except look after her children.

  Her fingers danced over the keys as she responded to an email from the wedding planner for the high-profile wedding she was working on. This was the biggest project she’d ever been entrusted with. Her brief: to showcase the best of everything Irish. Food, crystal, tableware, linen. Roger O’Leary wanted to impress big time. He’d been at several high-society weddings, and he had to make as much of an impact with his bash. To outdo his peers would be an even better scenario, he’d hinted. Aimee understood perfectly.

  She and the bride, Jasmine, had decided on fine bone Royal Tara tableware with a delicate blue floral motif. Aimee had told the florist she wanted the blue and white theme right through the marquee. Delicate arrangements of tiny white rosebuds, forget-me-nots, baby’s breath and trailing ivy would decorate the tables, and the cake, a five-tiered affair, would be decorated tastefully in the same colours. Everything was taking shape, but she was concerned that the florist was going over the top in some of his suggested table arrangements. ‘NB. Discreetly elegant!!! This is not Posh and Becks!!!!’ She typed swiftly. Engrossed, Aimee forgot Barry and his grumpy humour and Gwen and her silly email and focused her mind on the real priority in her life . . . her work.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  That shade worked a treat, Judith approved as she stood back to admire her handiwork. She’d chosen a Farrow and Ball pale-green paint called Arsenic which contrasted beautifully with the cream kitchen presses. It completely changed the kitchen. She hoped Lily liked it. She hadn’t shown her mother the paint colour, afraid she’d nix it and go for a yellow shade similar to what had been on it.

  It hadn’t taken that long to paint. The kitchen wasn’t very big, and she’d got up at the crack of dawn to start. It had been peaceful at that hour of the morning and as she swished up and down the walls with long, even brush strokes, she’d felt uncharacteristically tranquil. Wearing jeans and an old T-shirt added to her air of relaxation. It was such a relief not having to dress in one of her sharp work suits. And not having to wear make-up. Her mind had been totally focused on what she was doing, and all her anxieties and dissatisfactions faded away. She felt like she was in a little bubble of dipping and brushing and dipping again with the sounds of early morning and birdsong drifting in through the open back door.

  She’d phoned the hospital at eleven thirty to be told that her mother was back from the theatre and was asleep. Everything had gone very well and she’d be able for a visit later that evening. Her hours of freedom glittered like unclaimed treasure and she resumed her painting with vigour, anxious to have some time to herself to relax and make the most of her solitude.

  Later, when she had finished and was waiting for the paint to dry, she took a stroll down to the library to collect a book she’d put on reserve. She’d got a phone call about it, and she was looking forward to reading it. It was about the great Roman orator Cicero, and the reviews she’d seen of it led her to believe she was in for a gripping read.

  Judith loved Roman history. Her father had been an avid reader and one of his abiding interests was Greek and Roman civilizations. He’d given her Graves’ The Twelve Caesars to read as a thirteen-year-old, and from then she’d been hooked. They’d watched the magnificent Derek Jacobi bring the stuttering Emperor Claudius to life in the powerful series I Claudius, and the bond between father and daughter had grown even stronger as they sat together, gripped by the machinations of the promiscuous Messalina, his third wife, and the cold cunning of Agrippina, his fourth. Ancient civilizations had fascinated Ted, and from him she’d learned about the Minoan and Aztec worlds, and so much more. Reading had been his great escape from the tiresome demands of his wife, which he bore stoically.

  He would have thoroughly enjoyed this acclaimed Robert Harris book that she was about to borrow. He would have read it and they would have discussed it over cups of strong, sweet tea at the kitchen table. When he�
�d had his stroke she’d often read aloud to him, inwardly grieving at the state of him as he grew more helpless. Part of her had been glad when death had claimed him, glad that at last he was free of the cruel imprisonment of his body. Judith truly felt his spirit had soared away to a new realm where he was healthy and reading and enjoying learned discussions with all those Romans, Minoans and Aztecs who had gone before him. Often she wished too that she was free and, in the darkest recesses of her mind, when her life had been very difficult in the months after his death, she’d been very aware that her mother had a selection of prescription sedatives and other drugs that would have been easy to swallow down some night. The odd thing was that it was this very knowledge that there was a way out that kept her going. Even to this day that was still a little safety net for her. If things got really unbearably awful there was a solution.

  Today, though, she had no need for safety nets. It felt strange to be walking down past the verdant park on a Friday morning. It was like playing hooky. Judith took a deep breath. The trees looked so fresh and vibrant, the tracery of light and shadow dappling her face as she walked in their shade. She crossed Milmount Avenue to the red-brick and cream-painted library building, thinking that she could bring her lunch to the park if she wished and read a chapter as reward for her exertions earlier. She pushed open the big heavy wood and glass doors and was instantly transported back to her childhood by the smell of beeswax polish. Beams of light shone from the high rectangular windows down on to the old, round wooden tables, which gleamed from their polishing. The library had hardly changed since her childhood, apart from being computerized, and it was quiet that Friday morning, with only an elderly man and a young mother and toddler in the small children’s section to the right of the desk. The assistant scanned her books, and she gave him the name of the one they were holding for her. She was tempted to go in and start browsing, but if she did she wouldn’t have time to have her lunch in the park, and now that the idea had tempted her she was inclined to do it.

  She smiled at the young man, feeling decidedly carefree, and left the building and walked briskly past the health centre and small cottages to emerge on to the busy, fume-filled, traffic-jammed Drumcondra Road. It was amazing how a couple of yards could make such a difference, she mused as she waited for the lights to change. Moments ago she’d been in a small tranquil backwater; now she was in noisy madness. That was the nice thing about her area, she supposed – very close to the city centre, yet in the small streets and park it was quiet and peaceful with only the muted roar of the traffic beyond to give an indication of how close they were to town. The lights changed green and she hurried across to get herself a roll and coffee to take back to the park.

  Ten minutes later she was sitting under a spreading horse-chestnut tree, leaning against its thick, gnarled trunk, munching on a cheese, bacon, lettuce and mayo crispy roll and drinking hot, reviving black coffee.

  This is the life, Judith thought, relishing her lunch, far from the concerns of her life, far from the irritations of her workplace and far from the vice-like imprisonment of being her mother’s unwilling carer. The park was still, with a light breeze weaving and whispering through the trees making a shushing sound that reminded her of the sea. A mother with a toddler in a pushchair and an older child skipping beside her walked along the path opposite as they headed towards the brightly coloured play area. Some students from the nearby teaching college lay on the grass chatting and joshing. An old man nodded asleep on a park bench further down.

  Judith gave a sigh of contentment. Who would have thought this day would have turned out so pleasurable? It was one of the nicest days she’d had in a long, long time. She opened her book and was immediately drawn into the life of Tiro and his master Cicero, and everything else faded away. An hour later she stretched and shook the crumbs off her lap. Her little interlude was over; she still had plenty to do at home.

  Might make an onslaught on the garden, she decided ten minutes later, looking out at the jungle of lawn which badly needed cutting. It was a warm, sunny day; the fresh air would be good for her, she told herself, trying to psych herself up to cutting the grass, a job she loathed. It didn’t help that her back was beginning to niggle, a dull nagging ache from period pain.

  She’d have a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit first, she bargained with herself, filling the kettle. She always craved chocolate with her period. A Cadbury’s snack would assuage the longing. It was strange; she kept expecting her mother to appear in the kitchen with some request or other. The house was unusually silent. Lily was an avid radio listener, and Pat Kenny and Ronan Collins were her favourites. Judith hadn’t bothered turning on the radio as she worked, and it was taking her a while to get used to the silence in the house.

  She was just adding milk to her tea when the doorbell chimed. Judith went to open it, expecting it to be one of the neighbours checking on her mother’s condition and got the surprise of her life to see her brother standing at the door, his black BMW parked outside. She nearly asked, ‘What do you want?’ but restrained herself.

  ‘This is a surprise. A visit on a weekday!’ she remarked a trifle acidly as she walked back into the kitchen.

  ‘I took a few hours off. Ma said you were painting the kitchen and I came to give you a hand,’ Tom informed her magnanimously.

  In your pinstriped suit! I don’t think so, Judith thought nastily.

  ‘That was very kind of you. As you can see, I’ve just finished.’ She waved a hand around the kitchen.

  ‘Very nice job. Good colour. Is there tea in the pot?’ Tom enquired, studying her work with a judicious eye.

  ‘I’ll make you a cup,’ she said ungraciously. This was her precious day off, and she didn’t want to be wasting her time entertaining her brother. Tom hadn’t come out of the goodness of his heart, she knew that, and alarm bells were beginning to ring.

  ‘I’ll tell you what, seeing as I’ve finished the painting and as you were so kind as to come over and offer to help out, why don’t you go out and give the grass a cut? It was getting on Ma’s nerves, and I was too busy to do it,’ she suggested sweetly.

  ‘Oh . . . er . . . right.’ He frowned.

  ‘The lawn mower’s in the shed, and the clippers are hanging on a nail on the wall. I’ll have the tea made for you when you’re finished.’ She held the back door open for him and walked down the garden path to unlock the shed.

  ‘This isn’t a very convenient time for me.’ He glanced at his watch.

  ‘But I thought you were going to paint,’ she said innocently.

  ‘Why the bloody hell didn’t you get someone in to paint, Judith? And why don’t you get someone in to do the garden?’ he said irritably. ‘You don’t have to act the bloody martyr, you know.’

  ‘I’m not acting the martyr,’ she retorted, stung. ‘And why don’t you do a bit more around here if that’s the way you feel? Or else, you pay for a gardener.’

  ‘I have a business to run and a wife and family to look after,’ he snapped.

  ‘So therefore I have to do everything. I’m to be penalized because I’m not married with children. Well, I have news for you, Tom, I’m fed up of it, and you and Cecily can start pulling your weight a bit more. If you had done so years ago, I might have had a family of my own to look after and you’d be stuck with Ma on your hands a lot more,’ she exploded, marching into the kitchen in high dudgeon.

  Tom was thoroughly put out as he pulled the lawn mower out of the shed.

  ‘Good enough for you,’ muttered Judith. She knew him well enough to know that the purpose of his visit would be revealed eventually, as it wasn’t out of good-natured charity that he had come to offer his assistance. He was damn sorry now after her little outburst. He was so smug, self-righteous and self-centred that she’d felt like socking him one in the jaw.

  She watched him push the lawn mower through the long sward, his face reddening with the effort. He took his jacket off and hung it carefully on the shed door. Why Glenda l
et him out in pinstripes, Judith could not fathom. Did he think it gave him gravitas? He was too skinny for them, and they only emphasized his scrawny, skeletal frame. Just as well he wasn’t tall or he’d look like a pin-suited cadaver, she mused as she heard him curse as the blades got stuck in a clump of grass.

  ‘I need to have a slash,’ he told her when he’d cut the grass and put the lawn mower away.

  ‘Go ahead,’ she said edgily. She heard him hurry upstairs and the bathroom door close. The phone rang. It was Annie, her aunt, who wanted to know how Lily was getting on. Judith gave her the progress report.

  ‘I was hoping Nina would bring me in to see her but she can’t make it, she’s got to go to town for a pair of shoes to wear to a do. Would you be able to come over and collect me?’ Annie asked hopefully.

  ‘No I can’t, Annie. I’m painting the kitchen for Ma and I want to have it finished before she gets home,’ Judith said very firmly. Her aunt had a neck and a half, and she was damned if she was going to go running after her when she had family of her own to ferry her around.

  ‘Oh dear, I might not get in so. Hmmm. That’s a pity.’

  ‘Yes it is, Annie, but if you don’t get in to see her you can always call over for a visit when Nina is free,’ Judith suggested airily. ‘Now, I really must go. Byeee.’ She hung up the phone and glanced at her watch. Her aunt had kept her gabbing for ten minutes, and her precious free time was getting whittled away. A thought struck her. It couldn’t take that long to piddle. What was Tom up to? She walked quietly into the hall and heard him moving around in her mother’s bedroom. She raced up the stairs just in time to see him walk out on to the landing. He looked as guilty as hell.

  ‘What were you doing in there?’ she demanded aggressively.

  ‘Keep your hair on, Judith, I was looking to see did Ma’s room need painting.’ She knew he was lying. Anger ignited in her.

  ‘Is that right? What’s the interest in house-painting all of a sudden, Tom? And while we’re at it, what were you asking Ma if she’d made her will for last night?’