Forgive and Forget

by Patricia Scanlan

  As she’d got older and seen other families in circumstances similar to her own she’d been just as pleased that it was only the two of them. Two girls that she knew had step-parents, and their lives were far from happy. Their loyalties were pulled one way and another, they had to get used to new partners and, in one case, new step-brothers and step-sisters, and it all seemed very troublesome and complicated. Because she’d refused outright to go and stay with Aimee and Melissa for weekends, and because her parents hadn’t forced her, she’d avoided that kind of scenario.

  Connie was a brilliant mother, she thought gratefully. She’d always tried her best to shield her from the fall-out of the break-up. She hadn’t been at all pushy about the wedding either. Her colleague Denise had had a very frustrating experience. Denise’s mother had insisted on inviting many of her own friends to her daughter’s wedding. She’d interfered so much that Denise had spent her precious wedding day seething with resentment. Marianne Kenny had been so intent on impressing her friends and neighbours, she’d lost sight of her daughter’s needs and wishes and, because she was quite an overpowering and domineering woman, she’d steamrollered her way to having the wedding she wanted.

  The only tiff Connie and Debbie had had was the one they’d had about her not showing up to meet Barry when it had been arranged, and that had been all her fault, Debbie admitted. Otherwise, she and Bryan were having exactly what they wanted – a small, intimate but out-of-the-ordinary wedding, with just close family and their own friends. It was a very different type of wedding from the big, boring, expensive occasions they’d been invited to over the last couple of years, which had cost an arm and a leg and left their friends in debt up to their ears. They could have had a destination wedding, she supposed, but it was nice to get married at home.

  No one was going to call their wedding boring, Debbie thought confidently as her eyelids drooped and she fell asleep again.

  So it was here at last, the day of her daughter’s wedding. What a blessing that the sun was shining. Debbie would be able to have the barbecue she’d so set her heart on in the courtyard of the small hotel.

  She had to give credit to her daughter and Bryan for planning a wedding that was unique to them. Bryan had surprised her with his choice. She’d felt he’d be one for the big, flashy occasion, but both he and Debbie had been adamant that they wanted a change from the Keep Up With the Joneses type that they’d attended over the years.

  Soon after the engagement had been announced, she and Debbie had attended a wedding fair and left after an hour, horrified at the hype and pressure, and rip-off prices. To give him his due, Bryan had agreed that it was crazy stuff. Two weeks later Debbie informed her that they had decided to have a barbecue in a small hotel off Stephen’s Green. It had a huge courtyard that would be ideal for their needs. They were going to marry in University Church, have their photos taken in Stephen’s Green, stroll back to the hotel to a champagne reception and then have a real hooley with no speeches, fuss or bother.

  ‘A barbecue, no speeches, you walking her up the aisle. I suppose we should be lucky they’re getting married in a church!’ Connie’s mother sniffed when she heard the sort of wedding her granddaughter was having. ‘Have you no say in the matter?’

  ‘It’s their wedding and I want them to enjoy it.’

  ‘Let’s hope it works out better than yours did,’ Stella said tartly, unable to resist the sly dig.

  ‘That’s uncalled for, Mother. In fact it’s downright nasty,’ Connie flared.

  ‘Well, I don’t understand why the pair of you couldn’t have worked a bit harder to save your marriage. Your father and I had our ups and downs but we stuck it out because we made vows on our wedding day. Couples nowadays give up too easily,’ Stella said crossly. It still rankled that she had a divorced daughter. The only divorcée on her side of the family.

  ‘You know something? I’d far prefer to be with someone, and have him be with me because we wanted to be together, not because we had to be together. I couldn’t think of anything worse. You might as well be in a prison.’

  ‘You were always the great one with your smart answers,’ her mother retorted, reminding Connie of how glad she’d been to move to Greystones, far from the hazard of unwanted visits and constant lectures. In the early months of the break-up she had caught Stella telling Debbie that it was a bad thing for her parents to part and she should try and get them back together. She’d been furious, and there’d been a stand-up row. She’d vowed never to let Stella interfere like that again and had been vigilant in not allowing a repeat performance. It had strengthened her resolve to distance herself from her mother’s damaging influence on Debbie, and it had given her the impetus to move out of Dublin, a move she’d never regretted.

  She had brought Debbie to visit her grandparents every week when she was young. She’d felt it was important for her to have a sense of family and a relationship with them but, as Debbie got older, the visits had become monthly, with phone calls becoming more the norm.

  She was a dutiful daughter but not a particularly loving one to her mother, Connie admitted. But Stella’s lack of support and her anger at Connie’s failed marriage was toxic and had caused a rift that had only been papered over, but never really addressed, over the years. It was probably the underlying wounds of her experience with her own mother that had made Connie urge Debbie to try and resolve the differences with Barry.

  She was a bit of a hypocrite really, Connie supposed. She wanted everything rosy in the garden with Debbie and Barry and yet she had never got to grips with the problems that laced her own relationship with her mother. Well, at least today Stella would see that, marriage break-up or not, Connie, Barry and Debbie would be together and happy on this most important day.

  It would be one of the few times that Stella and Barry would have seen each other after all these years; she hoped her mother would behave herself and at least try to be civil. Aimee would probably get a few frosty stares, but there was nothing Connie could do about that. The other woman would just have to deal with it. Barry’s mother, Hilda, and her sister would be coming with Karen, as his father was dead. Connie liked her ex-mother-in-law, who, she knew, really appreciated the fact that Connie had always made sure that Debbie kept in contact with her. Many grandparents lost out on a relationship with their grandchildren because of marital strife, but Connie had not been mean and petty in that regard.

  It was certainly going to be a wedding with a few jagged edges, Connie reflected as she heard Debbie’s bed creak next door. She’d heard her moving around but then get into bed again, and silence descended. Debbie was right to go back to bed: it was early yet – there was no rush to get up. She yawned and threw back the duvet to go and sit in the small dormer window seat to look out over the garden. The old country saying that the sunrise was God’s statement and the sunset His signature had never seemed more appropriate, she thought as she gazed at the glorious blue sky which portended a splendid day to come.

  Thank you, Lord, for bringing Debbie and Barry together for this most special day. Let her and Bryan be happy together, put your loving arms around them and let their love last, she prayed earnestly, wishing that her niggles of doubt about her daughter’s imminent marriage would evaporate and leave her in peace. She’d done her best to try and advise Debbie. There was nothing more she could do. It was time to let go.

  She turned to look at one of her favourite photos of her precious daughter. Debbie was six, gap-toothed, grinning, freckled and pigtailed, her big blue eyes smiling into the camera, looking carefree and happy. In spite of what Barry had told her about what Debbie had said of her childhood, there had been many carefree, happy moments, and this had been one of them. She’d done her best to be a good mother; there was no point in tormenting herself now.

  Had her own mother had feelings like this on Connie’s wedding day? she wondered. Apprehensive because she wasn’t sure if she was marrying the right man, relieved that her responsibilities for her daughte
r were over. Hoping that the day would pass without incident. But then Stella had had the extra worry of knowing that Connie was pregnant as she walked up the aisle. That had been the elephant in the room at her wedding, and she knew for a fact that her mother hadn’t enjoyed any aspect of the day, she’d been so concerned about later having to tell family and friends that her daughter was expecting a baby and knowing that people would be counting backwards and not coming up with nine months.

  Connie sighed, wishing that she could be just an observer rather than a participant in today’s wedding. It would be interesting watching the interaction between the two grannies, the ex-son-in-law, the second wife. No doubt Aimee would be making comparisons between her high-end weddings and Debbie’s far more modest do. Connie wasn’t going to let it bother her. If she did, her day would be ruined. Debbie and Bryan had planned a small, tasteful wedding and it was what they wanted: that was the important thing. Madam Davenport could turn up her nose as much as she liked. Aimee hadn’t been too impressed when Debbie and Bryan had turned down her offer of assistance and a discount on catering if they went the marquee route, according to Barry, but it was ridiculous to take it as a snub. They had their own plans for their wedding. It was decent of her to offer assistance, Connie reflected, but far from desired. Aimee and Debbie had no relationship whatsoever. What had made Barry’s second wife think that such an offer would be welcome? She’d probably done it for Barry’s sake, Connie thought, trying to be fair-minded. That she could understand.

  Thank God for Karen – she was going to have Aimee, Barry and his mother and aunt at her table, so Connie wouldn’t have to worry about them. Connie would have her parents, two aunts and two cousins to entertain. Bryan’s parents and his grandmother and sisters would be at another table, while the bride and groom planned to table-hop and spend time with everyone.

  Melissa and Sarah were really taken with the free-seating idea for the other guests and had plans to sit beside the best-looking guys, so Barry had informed Connie on the phone when they’d discussed the driving arrangements. She might get lucky herself, she thought with a grin, imagining Barry’s reaction if he saw her flirting with a young man half her age. It would show him that she was still able to pull, in case he felt that their one-night stand was the best she could do.

  She’d have to face Aimee, she reminded herself. She wasn’t particularly looking forward to it, but she wasn’t going to make a big deal of it either. Barry could take responsibility for his own marriage. She hadn’t gone out of her way to seduce him. He could have stopped any time he wanted. He’d chosen not to, and it was up to him to question the reason why.

  Connie’s stomach rumbled. She was starving. She’d gone on a porridge and brown bread diet for the last week in an effort to drop a few pounds and it had worked. One thing she was sure of, she was going to tuck into the wedding feast, and no matter what dramas were going on around her she was going to enjoy it. She deserved it.

  Typical, she grimaced. She was such a comfort eater. Why couldn’t she reward herself in other ways? Why did it always have to be with food? If she had the answer to that she’d be a millionaire. Half the women she knew had the same disastrous impulse. She was going to have to deal with it some time, she acknowledged dolefully. The older she got the harder it was to lose weight. If she’d done the porridge and brown bread diet fifteen years ago or even ten, she’d have lost three quarters of a stone no problem. She’d been lucky to lose the six pounds she had lost. Once this wedding was over, her life was going to be all about her and she was going to start a brand-new keep fit and healthy regime. Middle age would not get its claws into her yet; she still had a lot of living to do.

  It was such a gift of a day she decided to go for a walk along the beach before breakfast. She could bring a banana to keep the hunger pangs at bay, as she wanted to have breakfast with her daughter. She dressed quickly in jeans and a sweater. The breeze would be cool coming off the sea; a brisk walk would set her up for the day and fortify her for when the madness began.

  Bryan Kinsella woke to the appetizing aroma of bacon and sausage wafting up the stairs. He yawned, stretched and glanced out the window. Sun was shining. Perfect! The whole tenor of the barbecue would have changed if it had been raining and they’d had to eat indoors, as they’d feared would be the case after the atrocious weather of the past few days.

  These were his last hours of freedom. It was a weird feeling. He loved Debbie, of course he did, but there was this unaccountable sense of loss as he reflected on all the things he’d wanted to do, and achieve, and hadn’t.

  He’d wanted to ride from the Atlantic to the Pacific coast on a Harley or any bike he could have afforded. He’d wanted to stay in college and study art and design and open an art gallery. He wouldn’t have minded being a film critic. What a great job to get paid to go to films and film festivals and write reviews of them. Office design, planning and fit-outs didn’t exactly set his creative side on fire.

  Instead he was bound by a house and a mortgage and a well-paying job that only half engaged him. How had he got himself in such a position? he wondered, idly studying his nails, which were badly in need of the manicure he’d booked for eleven. Once he and Debbie had got engaged everything had mushroomed. They had to get a house, they had to plan a wedding – it all seemed to snowball until he was enveloped in an avalanche of responsibilities that at times made him feel trapped and helpless.

  Then, other times, he was happy enough with his lot. He relished being in a relationship. Debbie understood him more than any other girl he had ever dated. She knew he was a free spirit and, until they’d hit their rocky patch coming up to the wedding, she’d always given him a lot of leeway.

  Once the stress of the wedding had worn away and they’d paid off the bills they’d get back into their own easy rhythm. They could get cheap flights all over Europe for weekends away like the one they’d had in Amsterdam. That had been a terrific break. His spirits rose to their usual levels of optimistic cheer just as his mother arrived with a breakfast tray laden with a hearty fry-up and toast dripping with melting butter. Not great for his cholesterol but, what the hell, it was his big day, he rationalized, hauling himself up against the pillows.

  ‘Now, son, get that into you to set you up for the day ahead. I’ll run a bath for you when you’re finished. Your shirt is ironed and there’s clean underwear and socks for you on the chest of drawers.’ She set the tray on his lap and kissed the top of his head.

  ‘What would I do without you, Ma?’ he said affectionately. ‘It’s like old times having you looking after me so well.’

  ‘Any time you need looking after, you come home to me,’ Brona Kinsella said as she picked up his dirty clothes and put them in the linen basket. She liked Debbie well enough but she felt she could do more about taking care of Bryan. She wasn’t one for putting herself out that much. Bryan had to do his own washing and ironing and he seemed to do much of the cooking, from what she gathered. Young women nowadays didn’t know what it was to be a good wife. They were far too interested in their careers and their lavish lifestyles and putting themselves first.

  Maybe it was the way Debbie had been brought up. Connie Adams had a broken marriage and had to work to support herself and Debbie; that had to have some sort of effect, she supposed. Connie was a very brisk, no-nonsense woman from what Brona had seen of her. Brona was about ten years older than Connie and their attitudes were very different. Bryan wasn’t overly enamoured of his new mother-in-law and Brona could see why, having met her on a couple of occasions. Still, as long as she didn’t interfere and put her spoke in, things would be all right. And if, and when, children came on the scene, Brona Kinsella was determined that she wasn’t going to be sidelined, as many mothers of sons were.

  ‘Mornin’, son. Enjoy your last hours as a free man.’ Phil Kinsella stuck his head around the door. ‘Just going to collect your grandparents, I’ll see you later.’ His father gave him a cheery wave and then clattered down the wo
oden stairs, glad to escape from the pre-wedding frenzy.

  ‘See you, Dad. We’ll have a pint at the wedding,’ Bryan called after him before tucking into his breakfast. He usually ate quite healthily, so a fry-up was a rare treat, and breakfast in bed even rarer, these days.

  He was looking forward immensely to the wedding reception, once the church bits were over. A registry-office wedding would have done him, but Debbie and Connie wanted the full church palaver despite the fact that his fiancée rarely attended church. A lot of his friends had done the same; they didn’t go to church but they’d been determined to marry there. He found it rather phoney and had said so when the matter had come up for discussion. Connie had said it was up to them to decide the issue, but he felt she’d put the pressure on Debbie to marry in church. It had been another mark of disapproval against him on her debit and credit sheet. He wasn’t under any illusions that his new mother-in-law had a high opinion of him; he got on better with his father-in-law to be; on the few occasions they had met he’d liked him. He could quite understand why Barry had left Connie. She’d drive any man away with her bossy behaviour. She could try and boss him around, but she wouldn’t get far, he assured himself as he bit into a hash brown and turned to other, more welcome observations.

  He knew their married friends would be comparing and contrasting his and Debbs’ wedding with their own, but he was quite confident that the wedding programme they had put together would be one to remember. His message alert rang and he opened it with anticipation and smiled when he read his bride-to-be’s text.

  ‘I love you too, babes. Can’t wait,’ he texted back as his mother arrived with fresh coffee and another batch of hot buttered toast. The day was starting swimmingly, and it was only going to get better, he thought with satisfaction as he took a slug of coffee and demolished a mouthful of golden sausage and crispy bacon slathered with ketchup.