Forgive and Forget

by Patricia Scanlan

  Her feet had ached for a week afterwards but she didn’t care. She’d looked cool and been envied by one of the ‘in’ crowd. Needless to say, her mother and father had been at a function and hadn’t actually seen her outfit, as she’d stayed over at Sarah’s and Mrs Wilson wasn’t as particular as Aimee about what the girls wore to their Friday-night disco.

  ‘I don’t think we should meet Mom in the Shelbourne,’ Melissa said thoughtfully, eyeing their reflections. They looked completely cool, but she knew that Aimee might not see it that way, and she wouldn’t put it past her mother to send them home to change.

  ‘Where will we meet her?’ Sarah stuck her hand on her hip and struck a pose.

  ‘At the church. I’ll tell her we were running late.’

  ‘OK,’ Sarah agreed, studying a very annoying zit on the side of her nose that no amount of concealer would hide.

  ‘Stop squeezing it,’ Melissa chided as her friend’s hand went to the forbidden zone. ‘Come on, let’s grab a cab. Let’s go find ourselves a man.’

  ‘Have you got the camera? You know . . . for the evidence.’ Sarah giggled.

  ‘You bet.’ Melissa plucked her neat silver digital out of her bag and waved it in the air.

  ‘And breath freshener in case we get off with a bloke?’

  ‘Got that too.’ Melissa had all angles covered.

  ‘And I’ve got mints, so no one will cop that we were drinking.’ Sarah handed her friend a Polo.

  ‘Let’s go then.’ Melissa beamed, feeling thoroughly sophisticated.

  Arm in arm they clip-clopped out to the lift in their stilettos, giddy with anticipation.

  The car looked good and smelled good, Barry thought with satisfaction as he indicated left and came off the N11 on to the Greystones slip road. It was hard to believe that Debbie was getting married today, he mused as he slowed down behind a combine that was crawling along. He remembered vividly the day Connie had found out she was pregnant and the leaden lump in his stomach when he’d realized that he was trapped.

  He remembered the myriad emotions he’d felt when he’d held his daughter for the first time. Her big blue eyes staring up at him, as though sizing him up. Those big blue eyes had looked reproachfully at him many times, he reflected with a pang, remembering the hurt and pain in them when he’d leave after one of his visits to her. At least now they were on speaking terms and he was sharing her day. It was a start, and for that he was grateful.

  He was looking forward to seeing Connie again. She had made excuses not to see him since their little episode, and he wondered was it because she was afraid she might be tempted again, no matter how coolly she seemed determined to play it. He certainly hoped that was the case.

  He was pissed off with Aimee big time. She couldn’t even give him the day of his daughter’s wedding without haring off to work. Any normal woman would have been heading off to the hairdresser’s and the beauty salon, but not his wife. She hadn’t even waited to have breakfast with him or Melissa.

  If he got a chance to have sex with Connie again he was going to take it, he decided. Why not have something special on the side with her? If she was interested and it made her happy he was definitely going to go for it. Now that Debbie was no longer living with her it would be good to come and visit so that she wouldn’t be lonely and Debbie wouldn’t be wondering why he was calling.

  And why wouldn’t his ex-wife be interested? he reflected, smiling as he remembered how she’d enjoyed their love-making. She’d been manless long enough. Some TLC would bring a glow to her cheeks and make her feel special and wanted again. He’d be doing her a favour, Barry decided, feeling surprisingly cheerful as he put the boot down and sped past the big machine, anxious to get to his ex-wife’s house without further delay.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ‘I wasn’t expecting you so early.’ Connie opened the door to let Barry in. She was in her robe, but her hair had been styled, cut and highlighted earlier that morning. It was a fashionable, shorter look than she usually wore and it suited her.

  ‘Nice hairstyle.’ He smiled at her, leaning over to kiss her cheek. He inhaled her perfume, a light floral scent utterly different from the heavy, cloying scents Aimee often favoured.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, waving him towards the kitchen in a distracted manner. ‘The make-up girl is upstairs with Jenna and Debbie, and I’m next. Will you go and make yourself a cup of tea? There’s cold meats and salads in the fridge if you want something to eat. There’s Stafford’s sliced bread if you’d fancy a sandwich. It’s lovely bread.’

  ‘I might do that,’ he said agreeably. ‘It will be a while before we eat, so there’s no point sitting through the wedding with a rumbling stomach. Do you want anything? Will I make something for the girls?’

  ‘Umm . . . I suppose you could make a few sandwiches now that you’re here, we might as well make use of you.’ She grinned at him, looking tanned and healthy, her eyes bright and sparkling as the excitement of the day began to kick in.

  ‘Hard to believe, isn’t it?’ he said as he shrugged off his jacket and she took it from him to hang on the hallstand.

  ‘I know. It went in the blink of an eye.’

  ‘Warp speed!’ He grimaced, and she noticed how much more grey was flecked through his hair and how his features had become less firm and more puffy. He was heavier, too, than the skinnymalinks she’d married. But his ageing gave him an air of mature gravitas, not the manifestation of weight gain, wrinkles, memory loss and twinges that seemed to be her experience of the ageing process, she thought sourly. What other argument could there be that the Divine was not a woman?

  ‘I remember the day she was born.’ Barry interrupted her musings.

  ‘Me too,’ she said dryly. ‘It was a long, hard labour.’

  ‘You made a great job of her,’ Barry said quietly.

  ‘I did my best. I don’t know if it was enough, but there you go.’

  ‘Don’t ever have a doubt about that,’ Barry exclaimed, a wave of guilt washing over him. ‘I’m sorry the way things turned out. I have regrets too, you know. Not a day goes by that I don’t have regrets.’ He touched her cheek.

  ‘This isn’t the day for regrets, Barry.’ She turned away to go back up the stairs, breaking the moment he was trying to create.

  He wished that he could prolong that brief interlude of intimacy, familiarity and shared experiences that were exclusive to them. He wanted to hear her say that he had been a good father and done his best by them. He wanted his ex-wife to acknowledge and affirm his good points so that he could try and escape the terrible guilt trip he had been on ever since Debbie had bluntly put it to him what a mark his leaving, his rejection of their family unit, had made on her. He felt riven with guilt for the childhood traumas his departure had inflicted on her. For the first time he’d had to confront the fact that he had behaved selfishly and self-centredly. And he was having trouble dealing with it.

  There was no one he could really talk to without portraying himself in a bad light, and he was particularly unwilling to go down that route with Aimee. He appreciated why she wouldn’t be particularly anxious to hear his confessions of culpability. It wouldn’t be a good reflection on her judgement if she started to think that she’d married an irresponsible fly-by-night and not the successful, sophisticated businessman that she knew him as. It was ironic that Connie was the one who would be the most understanding of his turmoil . . . and the most forgiving.

  ‘I’ve got my suit in the car – I’ll get dressed here if you don’t mind.’ He changed the subject, not wanting to push her where she obviously didn’t want to go.

  ‘No problem at all,’ she said easily. ‘Can I have some mustard on my sandwich?’

  ‘You always were a hot thing,’ he joked, heading out to the kitchen, pleased at least to be with them on the day.

  ‘Your dad’s here,’ he heard Connie call to Debbie, who murmured something indistinct from the confines of her bedroom. Barry sighed, making hims
elf at home, exploring presses, finding cutlery and plates before opening the fridge to take out the cold cuts of meat that Connie had cooked the day before. He buttered the bread, listening to the laughs and chat wafting down the stairs. He felt a moment of happiness and hominess that caught him off guard.

  How nice it was to be with his ex-wife and daughter and not to be made to feel like a visitor, an unwanted guest, as he’d so often felt in the past when he’d called to visit Debbie. He stared out the kitchen window at the riotous mass of flowering shrubs and pots with their trailing, scented blossoms and thought what a relaxing haven Connie had created. There was a serene tranquillity about the house and garden that appealed to him, and he wondered if he was feeling his age.

  He liked his penthouse, but style triumphed over comfort there and his current family equation was far from tranquil at the moment, with he and Aimee passing each other like ships in the night. When he’d told Connie a few moments ago that he had regrets, he hadn’t been lying. The events leading up to Debbie’s wedding had him questioning his life, the decisions he’d taken, and even his second marriage.

  Was he having a mid-life crisis? Was it observing Debbie’s rite of passage and wishing he had been, and was, more involved with his first family? Was it Aimee and her career? If he were honest, would he admit that he sometimes felt inadequate when he measured her increasing success against his own line of business which, though successful, had levelled out and was going nowhere fast. He didn’t know. All he knew was that he felt very restless and dissatisfied lately, and here, right now, in this small, comfy cottage, he felt very much at home.

  ‘What was I going to do next?’ Connie stood perplexed in the middle of her bedroom, trying to remember what she had come upstairs to do. Her memory was gone to the dogs. ‘Friggin’ peri-menopause,’ she muttered, gazing around to try and remember. Her bag, that was it, she needed to sort it out. She slung it on the bed and opened it with trepidation. It needed a good clean-out but today wasn’t the day for it. Connie gazed at the contents of her trusty, well-worn leather handbag trying to decide what she needed to bring to the wedding and what could go to the hotel in her small overnighter.

  The small cream clutch would carry only a fraction of what she lugged around with her on a daily basis. A sucky clove sweet stuck to its plastic packaging caught her eye, and she absentmindedly pulled it out and popped it in her mouth. She could hear Barry clattering around downstairs opening doors and drawers. He’d been all ready for an emotional moment if she’d indulged him, but she’d nipped that smartly in the bud. Today wasn’t about him or her or their regrets; it was about making sure Debbie’s day went as smoothly and as happily as it possibly could. That was her priority. Barry needed to make it his.

  It wasn’t all about him. When she looked back on their relationship, it always had been about him, his needs, emotional and otherwise. It was liberating not to feel she had to indulge him any more. Still, she was glad for Debbie’s sake that he was here and that they would be going to the church as a family group. She was particularly glad that Melissa was coming to the wedding. Blood was thicker than water, and Melissa and Debbie had an opportunity now to become close, despite all that had happened in the past. She very much hoped that they took it, and she would keep an eye on their progress and urge Debbie to be proactive in nurturing the relationship. The day might come when she’d need a loving sister.

  A sister was a blessing. Connie would have loved one of her own. She had Karen, though. Her sister-in-law had stuck with her through thick and thin over the years, and Connie was looking forward immensely to their week in Spain when all the madness was over. It would be a time just to chill after the hassles of the last few months.

  ‘Mum, your turn.’ Debbie strolled into the bedroom wrapped in a terry-towelling robe.

  ‘Hon, she did a fabulous job!’ Connie gazed at her daughter with pride. Debbie looked radiant with a natural-looking make-up that highlighted her beautiful blue eyes and high cheekbones. Her copper hair was piled loosely on her head with just a few silky tendrils framing her face.

  ‘I want to kiss you, but I’m afraid I’ll smudge your make-up.’ Connie hugged her but avoided touching her face. ‘I’m proud of you, darling, I hope you’ll be really happy,’ she said with a lump in her throat.

  ‘Don’t, Mum,’ Debbie warned as her own eyes began to glitter.

  ‘Right, OK. I’m off to get the crevices filled in – hope she has plenty of Polyfilla!’ Connie pulled herself together. They had both agreed there would be no tears but it was hard to keep composed. There was so much she wanted to say to her precious daughter. They had been such a tight little unit for so long. Having her in the house the previous night had been a treat. She’d slept like a log too. She always slept better when Debbie stayed the night.

  Adjusting to living on her own had taken a while. It was the all-encompassing silence that pervaded the house that had taken such getting used to when Debbie had moved out to live with Bryan. She truly was letting go of her daughter today, and there was a sense of loss that was unexpected. Maybe if she and Barry were still together, it wouldn’t be such a jolt. They’d be able to talk about all that had gone on during the wedding and do the post-mortem late in the night, cuddled together, the way married couples did after momentous events. That was the thing she’d missed most from her marriage, the bedtime intimacy and the sharing of the ‘Wait until I tell you what’s happened’ moments. She brushed the thoughts aside irritably. She didn’t need to be reminded of her loneliness right this moment.

  Maybe she just had PMT and was extra emotional, Connie thought, knowing that Debbie wouldn’t welcome any soppy discourses right now.

  ‘You better say hello to your dad, he’s downstairs making sandwiches,’ she suggested as she drew away and made for the door.

  ‘Oh great, I’m starving,’ Debbie exclaimed, and Connie burst out laughing. ‘You go, girl,’ she grinned, astonished by her daughter’s lack of nerves.

  ‘Well, it’s ages since brekkie, I’ve spent the morning being beautified and it will be a long time till we sit down to the barbie,’ Debbie said to justify her hunger.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m in full agreement. Tell your dad to make a sanger for Jenna as well,’ Connie called over her shoulder as she wandered into Debbie’s bedroom, where the make-up miracle was to take place.

  ‘Barry’s making tea and sandwiches for us, girls,’ she announced.

  ‘Thanks, Connie, I wouldn’t mind a cuppa and a bite to eat to keep me going. You sit here.’ Her niece jumped up, waving her hands around and gesturing for Connie to sit down.

  ‘You look smashing, Jenna. Wait until Karen sees you.’

  ‘She won’t recognize me. Ma’s more used to seeing me in jeans, with my hair tied back with a bobbin.’ Jenna laughed, twirling around to admire her sophisticated reflection. ‘Have I become a lady after all?’

  ‘That might be pushing it,’ teased her aunt, who knew what a tomboy Jenna was at heart.

  ‘I think you’re right. A day of this kind of stuff’ – she blew on her nails – ‘will do me for a year. As soon as these are dry I’m off to get my tea. I’ll make a fresh pot for you when you come down.’

  ‘Thanks, hon.’ Connie smiled as the bright-eyed, sunny young woman waltzed out the door in her finery with not a care in the world. Connie felt a stab of envy as she watched her go. She’d been young and carefree and athletic once. Just like her niece and daughter. She’d had a firm, supple, slender body. Optimism and eagerness for new experiences had been her motivator. Nothing daunted her.

  Middle age, with all its cares and hormonal and body changes, hadn’t even been a minuscule cloud on her bright horizons. She’d taken it all so much for granted, never dreaming there would be such changes, emotional, physical and spiritual, wrought in her. Youth truly was wasted on the young, she thought regretfully, knowing that some hard work and discipline was going to be called for to keep herself in reasonable shape once this wedding was ov
er if she was not to slip even further down the road of saggy flab.

  ‘Do your best with the crow’s feet and give me cheekbones,’ she instructed, smiling at Laura, the make-up girl, as she settled into her chair and prepared to be transformed.

  ‘Hi Dad. Mum said for you to make a sandwich for Jenna as well, she’s just letting her nails dry,’ Debbie instructed her father as she watched him expertly carve slices of pink ham and place them in a pile on a plate.

  He turned to look at her and his eyes widened. ‘God, you look so grown-up! You look beautiful.’ He couldn’t hide his sentiment.

  ‘Thanks,’ she murmured, surprised by his reaction. It was rare for him to compliment her.

  ‘Bryan’s a very lucky young man. I hope he knows that,’ he said, feeling a surge of emotion as he beheld his daughter.

  ‘He does, and I’m lucky too,’ Debbie assured him as she leaned over and pinched a slice of ham.

  Barry cleared his throat. ‘I’m glad to be part of your day. I’m glad you were able to forgive and forget and let bygones be bygones, it really means a lot to me,’ he said awkwardly. He reached out and took her hand.

  ‘I’m glad too, Dad. It’s made Mum happy,’ she rejoined, feeling a multitude of emotions at this extraordinary moment of familiarity. Not only was she getting married today, she was having a day of father–daughter moments which she’d longed for all her life. Now that they were happening, she wasn’t quite sure how to handle them.