Forgive and Forget

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘And you, what does it mean to you?’ he asked her earnestly, wishing that she’d say that it made her happy, longing for her to tell him that he could walk her up the aisle. He was her father: it was his right, his duty. What would people think when she went up the aisle on her mother’s arm? Did women have any idea how they could emasculate men? he wondered as he willed his daughter to respond more effusively.

  ‘You’re right, it’s good to let go of the past, it was a heavy burden to carry,’ she hedged, perching on the edge of the table as she wolfed the piece of ham.

  ‘I would have let it go long ago if you’d wanted,’ he reminded her, unable to resist an opportunity to let her know that it was her stubborn stance that had caused a lot of their problems.

  ‘Easier said than done. You didn’t have to deal with what I had to deal with,’ she riposted, unwilling to shoulder all the blame. If he thought this one day was going to make up for years of emotional neglect he could think again. He wasn’t getting off the hook that easy.

  ‘True.’ He conceded defeat. ‘Are you all set for today?’ He changed the subject, disappointed that she wouldn’t give him the affirmation he was looking for on this most special of days and aware of the slight hostility that had crept into her tone.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve been on to the hotel; everything’s OK their end. Our rooms are confirmed. A friend of mine has done the flowers. The violinist rang to check about the music so, unless Bryan doesn’t show up, everything’s on track. How’s Melissa?’ Debbie welcomed the return of predictability to the conversation. She had no intention of getting into any emotional stuff with her father today. It was hard enough keeping her mother from turning into a puddle, without ending up in floods herself.

  ‘She’s moaning about the dress Aimee got for her, says it makes her look like a spaced-out zebra. I stay out of these things.’ Barry made a face, and she laughed and began to relax. ‘Herself and Sarah think they’re going to get off with some of Bryan’s friends, they think they’re thirty not thirteen.’ Her father raised his eyes to heaven.

  ‘Thirteen’s a horrible age,’ Debbie said sympathetically, remembering what it was like to be a spotty, unsure, overweight teenager.

  ‘I can’t remember that far back – Melissa claims I’m prehistoric and I feel it sometimes.’ He smiled at her, and this time her smile was genuine. It seemed almost surreal to be having a normal light-hearted conversation with her father. It was a pity it had taken so long to get to this level in their relationship and he was right, she had to take her share of the blame for that. At least their reconciliation had happened before the most important day of her life. For all her previous opposition to his role in her wedding she was surprised at how good it felt to have him with her right now. It could have been more like this when she was growing up if she hadn’t let her bitterness and anger dictate her behaviour. She still had a long way to go, she thought regretfully, remembering how she wouldn’t give Barry any leeway a few moments ago. Many children came from broken marriages and had good relationships with both parents; she should have got over herself long ago and stopped acting like a ninny. Sometimes she could be her own worst enemy. Still, she’d held out the olive branch and this was the outcome, and it couldn’t be more welcome, she comforted herself, not having enjoyed her moments of self-reflection. Examining her behavioural flaws was not what she’d imagined she’d be doing on her wedding day.

  ‘When you said “rooms”, is Connie staying at the hotel, or is she coming back here?’ Barry asked casually as he poured two mugs of tea as if he’d been presiding over their kitchen for ever and a day.

  ‘God no! How awful and lonely would it be if she had to get a taxi back here? She’s booked a room so she’ll be able to have a few drinks and not worry about getting home and feeling too lonely when the day is over.’

  ‘That’s good. Excellent thinking!’ Barry approved, handing Debbie a plate of neatly cut triangle sandwiches.

  ‘Just as well I came a bit early,’ he remarked as Karen, who had come around the back of the house, let herself into the kitchen in time to snaffle one.

  ‘Just what I need,’ she exclaimed. ‘Well done, brother.’

  ‘Glad to be of service.’ He poured her a mug of tea, which was gratefully accepted.

  ‘Well, niece, are you all set to go? You look beautiful, and very relaxed for a bride,’ Karen approved as she sat down at the table and took a gulp of tea.

  ‘More or less ready now. Mum’s getting her makeup done, Jenna’s drying her nails and then all we’ve to do is to put our dresses on.’ Debbie sat down beside her at the table and held out her cup for a refill.

  ‘Well, this is nice.’ Karen sat back in her chair and smiled. ‘I thought there’d be pandemonium.’

  ‘I’m here, feeding and watering the women – all they have to do is concentrate on looking stunning which, as you can see, is exactly what’s happening, so there’s no panic whatsoever,’ Barry boasted.

  ‘Oh yikes! I forgot to remind Bryan to bring his passport; I’d better go and send him a text. Oh God, where did I put the booking email for our tickets?’ Debbie shot up out of her chair and raced from the kitchen.

  ‘As you can see . . . no panic,’ Barry reiterated, chuckling as he filled the kettle to make another pot of tea for Jenna, who had barely avoided being careered into by her cousin on her way out the door. Twenty minutes later all was calm; texts had been exchanged, ticket email had been located and Connie and Laura, the make-up girl, had marched into the kitchen demanding to be fed. Barry’s eyes widened when he saw his ex-wife, looking the most glamorous he’d ever seen her.

  He gave a low whistle. ‘You look terrific! Your eyes are amazing. You look . . . you look great.’ He was clearly impressed.

  ‘Let’s hope it lasts until I get Madam up to the altar. I’m afraid it will all get washed away if I start bawling,’ Connie joked as she took the mug of tea he handed her.

  ‘No crying! You promised!’ Debbie warned.

  ‘Easier said than done, Miss. Wait until it’s your daughter walking up the aisle,’ her mother declared, taking a welcome sip of hot, sweet tea, trying to ignore the look of surprise and appreciation in her ex-husband’s admiring gaze. He’d never looked at her like that before, even when they were married. She couldn’t deny it was a rather satisfying response.

  Karen, noting everything that was going on, smirked and gave her a wink, and Connie had to restrain herself not to start laughing. Karen was a brat; she knew exactly what she was thinking.

  Now that the day was upon them Connie felt almost laid-back. So far, things were going to plan. What was the point of worrying and getting emotional? She might as well just sit back and enjoy herself.

  ‘I hope we won’t be sitting with that smug upstart Barry.’ Stella Dillon clattered the cups and saucers into the sink.

  ‘Don’t say that,’ her husband remonstrated, struggling with the last clue in the Crosaire.

  ‘I will say it. He shouldn’t be coming to this wedding, if you ask me,’ his wife retorted. She wasn’t looking forward to her granddaughter’s wedding one bit. ‘And neither should that Aimee one. Has she no idea how to behave? Has she no manners?’

  ‘Stella, it’s none of our business, and you mind your manners today, for Connie’s sake. If we are sitting beside them, or if they come and talk to us, we’ll be polite. Do you hear me now?’ Jim Dillon said firmly, lowering his paper to give her a stern gaze over the top of his bifocals.

  Stella’s lips tightened. It was rare for Jim to put his foot down, and when he did he meant it. Men just didn’t understand these things. Barry Adams had walked out on their daughter, no matter what way Connie liked to dress it up. He was going to be at this wedding with his hussy and their child. Just what society was coming to when first and second families mingled casually as though everything were normal she could not for the life of her understand. The carry-on of today’s generation left a lot to be desired; it was extremely unsettling the rate at whi
ch society was changing. Divorce, separation, children born out of wedlock raised not an eyebrow. Drug-taking for recreation was the norm. Children drank when they were barely in their teens. This was the world her granddaughter was living in and it troubled Stella enormously.

  She often felt she was on a different planet when she compared how it was now to when she was growing up. Marriage was treated with respect, having children was honoured; rearing a family within a marriage was seen as a good thing, a fine achievement. Now it meant nothing. Kids reared themselves while their parents worked all hours to buy their SUVs and their massive TVs and their holiday homes and the like. It was all about keeping up with the Joneses and impressing their peers, and child-rearing was left to crèches and schools, whose responsibility it certainly was not. Parents were responsible for their children. That was Stella’s firm conviction, and the way children turned out had a lot to do with their upbringing. How Debbie had turned out as well as she had was a great reflection on Connie. And what had her daughter ended up as? Stella thought bitterly . . . a lonely, not very well-off divorcée, whether she liked it or not, thanks to that good-for-nothing husband of hers.

  Barry Adams was Connie’s husband no matter what he thought. And that Aimee one had no business calling herself ‘Mrs Adams’, no matter what she might like to think. Using her maiden name didn’t fool Stella. And if Jim thought for one second that she was going to sit meek and mild and be polite to that . . . that Judas and his . . . his Jezebel he had another think coming. Mister Barry Adams might think that all was forgiven and forgotten, but she’d be letting him know in no uncertain terms that, as far as she was concerned, she’d never forgive him for walking away from his legitimate marriage to their daughter. Or for walking out on Debbie.

  ‘Do you hear me, Stella?’ Jim persisted when she didn’t respond.

  ‘I hear you,’ she said flatly, whipping the milk jug and sugar bowl off the table and leaving him under no illusion that she was not best pleased.

  Aimee glanced at her watch and groaned. She was leaving it very tight to get back to the office to change into her wedding outfit. She was almost tempted to go to the wedding in her work suit. It was smart and elegant, if a little severe. Why she’d changed her mind about going to this damned wedding she could not fathom. It wasn’t even as if she and Barry were going to the church together. She should have stuck to her guns and stayed away. A thought struck her. Surely her husband would be sitting with her in the church? Or would he feel he had to sit with Connie up at the front?

  She certainly hoped he felt his place was with her and Melissa. She was his wife, she thought crossly, wondering why on earth she was even bothered by such a thing. She was Aimee Davenport, who had never needed a man to affirm her or her place in society. But these last few months she’d been hearing more and more about Connie and what a good mother she was and how she had made such a fantastic job of raising Debbie. Almost as though Barry was comparing her and his ex and their mothering skills.

  She didn’t think Connie had made that good a job of raising her daughter. Debbie was a spoilt, immature brat who only thought of herself, in her view, Aimee thought bitchily, remembering their last unfriendly encounter at lunch in Roly’s when her step-daughter’s behaviour had been less than mature and gracious. And when her husband had most certainly not stood up for her, she remembered in disgust.

  Well, he’d better be by her side today where he belonged, Aimee scowled as she whipped her BlackBerry out of her bag, thoroughly disgruntled by these most uncharacteristic feelings of resentment and, even worse, possessiveness and jealousy. Every single silly female trait that she despised was rearing its ugly head and making her feel the way she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Edgy, rattled and less than in control. And Aimee didn’t like it one little bit.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  ‘It was nice having your father here, even though it wasn’t planned, wasn’t it?’ Connie said as she eased Debbie’s wedding dress over her head. They were on their own for a moment. Jenna had gone downstairs to put her overnight case in Karen’s car, and Laura was in the loo.

  ‘He really made himself at home. He was very relaxed, wasn’t he? I think he knows he made a mistake leaving us, Mum,’ Debbie said earnestly. ‘I think he misses you. He kept looking at you.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, stop that nonsense, Debbie. I didn’t see him looking at me. You’re imagining things. And trust me on this one, I’m happy the way I am, thank you very much. I don’t want any complications in my life,’ Connie said very firmly, lying through her teeth as she slid the A-line satin skirt down over her daughter’s hips.

  Of course she’d been aware of Barry’s admiring gaze, very much aware, and she couldn’t deny that it gave her a certain amount of satisfaction to see how the tables had turned in their relationship. He was the one who had walked out on her and made her feel less than a woman. He was the one who had left her questioning every aspect of her femininity and her personality. He was the one who had met and married a beautiful, successful younger woman, and he was the one now, unless she was very much mistaken, sending out strong signals that he’d like to resume some sort of a relationship with her, which might lead to God only knew what in the future.

  But Debbie wasn’t to know that, and Connie certainly wouldn’t be telling her, despite the fact that their daughter had copped that Barry was behaving quite differently towards her. If Debbie realized that she’d already slept with him she’d be gobsmacked and possibly horrified, Connie thought with a stab of guilt, unable to look at her daughter as she pretended to pick a piece of thread off the hem.

  ‘But aren’t you lonely, Mum?’ Debbie interrupted her ruminations as she wriggled around until the skirt fell in the right folds.

  ‘Not that lonely,’ Connie said emphatically, giving a little tweak at the ivory lacy top until it sat perfectly.

  ‘He really likes being here. He fits in here actually,’ Debbie said slowly. ‘It felt like a “proper” home down in the kitchen this morning, didn’t it?’ There was a touch of wistfulness in her tone that caught at Connie’s heartstrings.

  ‘I suppose it did. I’m sorry it wasn’t like that for you growing up,’ she said sadly.

  ‘Aw, Mum, I wasn’t saying that to hurt you . . . I . . . I just thought it felt nice,’ Debbie said hastily, looking at her feet. ‘It felt like a “real” family.’

  ‘We are a “real” family, when all’s said and done, Debbie,’ Connie said defensively. ‘Barry was always there for you and would have played a much bigger part in your life if you’d wanted him to.’ She wasn’t going to let Debbie off the hook on that one, she thought crossly, annoyed that her daughter had made her feel defensive. ‘Would you like your father to give you away? I wouldn’t have any objections.’ She studied her daughter intently.

  ‘You reared me, you give me away,’ Debbie insisted firmly.

  ‘Well, in a “real” family the father gives the daughter away,’ Connie said tartly.

  ‘Ah, don’t get into a huff, Mum,’ Debbie implored, realizing she’d been a tad insensitive.

  ‘I’m not. Let’s forget it.’ Connie gazed admiringly at her daughter. ‘It’s a beautiful dress. It’s so understated and classy. You look fabulous.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum. I feel fabulous,’ she exclaimed, relieved that a tiff had been averted. She beamed, radiant with happiness, and Connie couldn’t help but smile back.

  Let her always be happy, she prayed, wishing that she could protect her beloved daughter from life and its hard knocks.

  ‘Wow!’ Jenna stood at the door, smiling at her cousin. ‘Drop-dead gorgeous!’

  ‘You look pretty knock-out yourself.’ Debbie grinned. Her bridesmaid was wearing a silk aquamarine, figure-hugging dress that showed off her tanned, slender body perfectly.

  A far cry from the meringues for brides and bridesmaids that had been so prevalent when she’d been getting married, Connie reflected as she helped her niece arrange Debbie’s veil over
her upswept hair. She stood back to look at the result and felt a lump as big as a golfball in her throat seeing the bridal vision in front of her. This was her little girl, the most important person in her life, and today she was going to have to let her go. Pride, joy, loss, sadness – a cocktail of emotions – left her hardly able to speak.

  ‘Come on, let’s go show your father.’ She swallowed hard.

  ‘OK, but first I want to thank you for being the best mother a girl could have,’ Debbie said, softly leaning over to kiss her. They held each other tightly, silently. Tears shimmered in Debbie’s eyes and her lip wobbled. ‘I love you, Mum,’ she whispered.

  ‘And I love you, Debbie,’ Connie said huskily, feeling tears slide down her cheeks.

  ‘OK, you two, break it up,’ Jenna commanded, taking control. ‘Otherwise there’s going to be a Niagara of tears and your make-up will be ruined and I’ll have failed dismally in my duty and Ma will give me hell,’ she added plaintively.

  Connie and Debbie laughed in spite of themselves and it was a smiling trio that made their way down the stairs to the lounge, where Barry was fastening his cufflinks, having changed into his suit.

  His jaw dropped and he chewed his lip as emotion threatened to overwhelm him. ‘Debbie . . .’ he said shakily, holding his hand out to her. Connie could see that his eyes were suspiciously bright.

  ‘Do you like it, Dad?’ She smiled at him, taking his hand and raising her face for his kiss.

  ‘Oh yes, my darling girl. I love it and I love you,’ he said with heartfelt pride and love as he tenderly kissed her forehead.

  ‘I better get out of here or I’ll bawl. It will only take me five minutes to slip into my dress,’ Connie muttered, petrified she was going to lose it again. And this time she wouldn’t be able to contain it. She hurried from the room, struggling to keep control of her emotions.

  ‘Do you need some tissues?’ Debbie called after her teasingly, and Connie gave a tearful smile as she ran up the stairs. Her daughter knew her so well.