Forgive and Forget

by Patricia Scanlan

  He had dithered over phoning Connie’s room to ask did she want to join him and the girls for breakfast, but he decided to leave it. It would be too awkward and he didn’t want Melissa copping on that there was discomposure between him and Connie. She might mention it to Aimee and he certainly didn’t need a grilling from her.

  Anyway, Connie might not want to have breakfast with him after last night, and he’d feel twice as bad if she refused outright. Much as he loved his younger daughter, listening to two twittering teenagers was not ideal when coping with a hangover.

  He wasn’t looking forward to going home either, he thought glumly as Harrington sank a putt. Aimee would be aloof and then she’d have to have one of her ‘talks’ with him to get it all out in the air, and he just didn’t need that right now. It was a pity he couldn’t stay here all day and let the rest of the world go to pot. Barry scowled as he picked up the phone to order room service.

  Aimee had spent a very satisfying morning at her computer answering and firing off emails. She’d been up since seven. The penthouse was unusually peaceful and Zen-like. A perfect atmosphere for working in. She glanced at her watch. Barry and Melissa were probably having breakfast. She hadn’t heard from either her husband or her daughter since the previous day.

  Attack would have to be the best defence, she decided as she shut down her computer and strolled out to the balcony to get some fresh air. There was a regatta in the harbour and yachts at anchor bobbed up and down on the waves while others streaked across the bay as an easterly breeze caught their billowing sails.

  She was feeling a lot better this morning. What had happened with Gwen had happened and there was no going back. She had a punishment planned for Melissa that would ensure that she never stepped over the line again. Barry and she were going to have to have a talk and get things sorted. She had no time for ‘atmospheres’ and, besides, she needed no distractions this coming week. Her whole focus would be work. Months and months of planning were coming to fruition. This wedding event would be her stepping pad to bigger and better things, and Aimee had no intention of allowing anyone – family or friends – to scupper that.

  ‘What are you having?’ Sarah enquired as she tonged a croissant and a Danish on to her plate.

  ‘Might just go for some fruit and muesli,’ Melissa said glumly. She’d had a terrible job getting her jeans on after yesterday’s feast. And the button was in danger of popping.

  ‘Oh, Melissa, you can have that at home. Look at all this gorgeous food – I’m having a fry-up too,’ Sarah protested.

  ‘Nope,’ Melissa said resolutely, spotting Lollipop and Fedora Head drinking coffee and smoking at one of the tables outside. They had no food in front of them. ‘Anyway, I don’t feel very hungry. I’ve got to face my mother, don’t forget, and I know she must be mad as hell because she hasn’t even sent me one text since she saw me yesterday.’

  ‘Oooo, right. How totally grim. I’d forgotten. I better not come home with you. Your dad can drop me off first,’ Sarah said sympathetically as she helped herself to a muffin.

  Aimee heard the front door open and composed her features in a cold, stern mask.

  ‘Hi Mom,’ Melissa said with false bravado as she walked into the lounge, followed by her father. Barry merely nodded and went to go out on to the balcony with his Sunday papers.

  ‘Before you go, Barry, would both of you come into the kitchen please,’ Aimee said coldly. Father and daughter looked at each other, perplexed, but followed Aimee.

  ‘What are these?’ She pointed to the four empty Bacardi Breezer bottles on the kitchen counter.

  Melissa groaned inwardly. She and Sarah had been so excited about going to the wedding on their own they’d forgotten to hide the evidence.

  ‘Well?’ Aimee said icily.

  ‘We were thirsty,’ Melissa muttered.

  ‘And what’s wrong with Coke or Seven-Up? How dare you go drinking behind our backs?’ she rebuked.

  ‘Well, Dad let me have champagne,’ she said sulkily, and then caught her father’s warning glare.

  ‘That’s different. He offered it to you. You know full well you are not allowed to drink alcohol. It looks like we can’t trust you on your own here. You certainly can’t be trusted to wear suitable clothes to a function. In fact, I don’t know if we can trust you at all. And I’m very surprised at Sarah. I thought she was a well-brought-up type of girl. Her mother would be horrified if she knew the carry-on here. Now go to your room and stay there, and do not go on the computer until I give you permission. Is that clear?’

  ‘But Mom—’

  ‘Enough, and I want those jeans when you’ve taken them off.’

  ‘Why?’ Melissa demanded.

  ‘You’ll see. Now get out of my sight.’ Melissa knew there was no point in arguing when her mother was in one of her vicious moods.

  ‘So, thirteen and drinking alcohol?’ Aimee turned her attention to Barry. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘I think you’ve dealt with it without any help from me,’ he retorted coldly and walked out on to the balcony to read his papers in peace as Melissa scurried off to her bedroom.

  What the hell did her mother want with her jeans? she worried, flinging herself on her bed and cuddling her rag-eared teddy-bear. What a vile stroke of luck her finding the empties. Now she had two strikes against her. It didn’t give her much leeway for a third. She took her phone out of her bag and began to text Sarah to warn her that she’d be getting a less than friendly reception from Aimee the next time she met her.

  The traffic was heavy along the N11 as Connie took the turn-off for Greystones. Everyone was probably on their way to Brittas to make the most of the good weather after all the torrential rain.

  She yawned. She was tired. Yesterday had been hectic but most enjoyable. She grinned, thinking of her efforts at Irish dancing. Well, apart from the odd hiccup, she conceded, as she slowed down behind a car towing a caravan. Aimee’s mêlée and Barry’s jealous outburst had been unexpected, to say the least.

  She’d seen her ex-husband briefly as she’d come into the hotel having had a stroll around Grafton Street that morning. He was paying his bill and Melissa and Sarah were sitting on a sofa waiting for him.

  ‘Morning, girls. Did you sleep well?’ she greeted them cheerfully. Melissa was looking somewhat despondent. Still had to face Mama, Connie guessed.

  ‘Fine, thanks,’ they assured her, Sarah with more gusto than her friend.

  ‘Good. Morning, Barry,’ she said evenly as he joined them.

  ‘Connie.’ He was equally polite. ‘Were you out and about?’

  ‘Yeah, I went for a walk along Grafton Street seeing as I was in this neck of the woods. I’m not usually in town on a Sunday morning. But I better settle up myself and get home. Have a few chores to do,’ she’d said breezily. He looked hungover and in bad form.

  ‘Right. See you around, I suppose.’ He met her gaze.

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Good luck with the new job, I hope it all goes well for you. Let me know if you get it.’ He managed a smile.

  ‘Sure,’ she said, taking pity on him. She leaned across and gave him a peck on the cheek. ‘See you. Bye, girls, have a good summer. Melissa, if you ever want to see Hope, let me know, your dad has my number. You’re welcome to come too, Sarah.’

  ‘And am I welcome?’ her ex-husband asked dryly.

  ‘Of course you are, Barry,’ she said briskly, before walking over to the lift to collect her belongings from the room.

  Connie enjoyed the drive home, mulling over the events of the morning. Men were as bad as children, she reflected as she parked the car in her drive and opened the door. Hope shot out from under the lilac tree to welcome her home, purring like a tractor.

  ‘Hello, Miss Hope.’ She smiled, bending down to pat her before putting her key in the door. She’d thought that she’d be very lonely coming home after the wedding but, surprisingly, she didn’t feel at all lonely. She was going
to have a lazy afternoon on her sun lounger with all the worries of the wedding behind her. A new job and lifestyle beckoned. No more commuting, if she was lucky, fewer working hours, and more time for herself.

  ‘I’m optimistic, Hope, that’s what I am. Very optimistic,’ Connie informed her cat gaily as she shook out some cat food for her little companion.

  EPILOGUE

  Barry rubbed his eyes blearily and yawned.

  ‘Sorry, did I wake you up?’ Aimee apologized, her back to him as she inserted gold earrings into her ears and sprayed Chanel No 5 liberally around her.

  ‘It’s OK,’ he grunted, yawning again. She looked groomed, alert. She was ready for anything, the epitome of the successful businesswoman, he thought sourly, remembering that today was the day she’d been working towards for months like a Trojan.

  ‘What time will you be home?’ he queried, stretching.

  ‘God knows,’ she said coolly. ‘Take Melissa out for dinner somewhere or get a Chinese. I never got a chance to get any shopping in. Or perhaps you could do a shop later, we’re running low on the basics.’

  ‘I was hoping to fit in a game of golf. I did the shopping the last two times.’ He knew it was childish tit for tatting, but she wasn’t the only one with a career.

  ‘Whatever,’ she snapped. ‘Eat in, eat out, it’s entirely up to you. I won’t be here.’

  ‘What’s new?’ he retorted sulkily.

  ‘Barry!’ she eyeballed him. ‘I haven’t time for this right now; we’ll discuss it next week. Just give me a break and stop trying to make me feel guilty, because it’s not going to happen, so deal with it.’ She stalked out of the bedroom, grim faced. He heard her have a brief conversation with Melissa and then she was gone. Silence floated around him and he felt his body relax as if he’d just exhaled a large breath.

  He sighed. Since the wedding, there had been so much tension when she was at home. Staccato conversations. Point scoring. It certainly wasn’t a high point in their marriage, he thought glumly, turning over on his side and pulling the sheet around him. The roles were slowly but subtly being reversed. It should be him off out to work at the crack of dawn while she did the shopping and took care of Melissa. He had two chances of that happening. Slim and none, and it bugged him. He was obviously going to have to get used to it because as far as he could see, Aimee was going full-steam ahead with her career and he and Melissa could like it or lump it.

  Melissa could not believe what her mother was saying to her at that hour of the morning. She’d gone to the loo at half past six, bleary-eyed, and when she came out Aimee was in the hall putting her keys into her handbag. Then she’d dropped her hand grenade. ‘Morning, Melissa.’ Not too friendly. Not too cool. The way she’d been all week since the wedding. ‘I’m just off to work but, before I forget, I want you to iron those jeans today, I’m giving them away to a charity shop,’ she said calmly as she took one last look at herself in the mirror and flicked a piece of fluff off the shoulder of her black trouser suit.

  ‘You’re giving my Rock & Republic jeans to a charity shop?’ Melissa’s jaw dropped in shock.

  ‘Yes, Melissa, I am. I’m filling that yellow bag and they’re going in it. I’ll be dropping it into the shop later this week. It might make you think twice about going behind my back again. I was very disappointed in you.’

  ‘Please, Mom, don’t do that; ground me for a week even. I’m the only girl in my class with those jeans,’ she pleaded.

  ‘Sorry, Melissa. I’ve made up my mind. Now, if you want to get back in my good books you can clean out your wardrobe and throw those magazines into the green bin, your bedroom is like a tip. I won’t be home until late tonight so don’t stay up.’

  ‘Why would I want to get into your good books ever again, Mom? You’re like totally mean.’ Melissa turned and stomped into her bedroom and burst into tears. She heard the front door close as she got back into bed. Her mother was a cow, she thought bitterly, crying into her pillow. It was a week since Debbie’s wedding and the atmosphere in the house was toxic. Her father was very grumpy and hardly talking to Aimee when she was at home, which was actually very little of the time, because she was completely absorbed with the big society wedding that was happening today. Sarah was on edge about meeting Aimee because she was afraid she was going to get the cold shoulder; they hadn’t actually met since the discovery of the empties.

  It was all very stressful and not even the deeply satisfying selection of wedding photos she’d downloaded from her camera was giving her much comfort. Her stomach rumbled. She was hungry, but she’d lost four pounds since the wedding and she was going to lose a whole lot more. It was extremely rewarding to stand on the scales and see the needle showing a loss. Let her mother take the jeans – soon they wouldn’t fit her anyway, Melissa thought defiantly. The day stretched out ahead of her. She was bored. Her dad would be playing golf in the afternoon. She took her phone off her bedside locker and texted furiously. It was too early to send. She’d wait until around nine, she decided, saving it to her outbox.

  Melissa lay in bed fantasizing about the clothes she’d wear when she’d lost a few stone and how her sexy waiter would seek her out and become her first lover, waiting for her at the school gates. She would be the envy of every girl in her class, she thought drowsily as she fell back asleep.

  You had to be cruel to be kind, Aimee thought grimly as she drove through the massive wrought-iron gates of Chesterton House and saw the gleaming white roof of the massive marquee that had been turned into a blue and white palace. Melissa would learn the hard way that sneaky, underhand behaviour was not acceptable. She banished thoughts of her errant daughter and selfish, ungracious husband and hurried up the steps to the main house. She was scheduled to have a fifteen-minute conference with the wedding planner at seven thirty. She could see the delivery vans arriving with their fresh produce for the wedding feast. She had sourced every ingredient from organic producers, and the menu would put a Michelin-star restaurant to shame. Oysters, lobster, salmon, fillet steak, lamb, watercress for the soup, and herbs for flavouring, the best of Irish produce. The strawberries, raspberries and blackberries for the roulade had been specially grown for the occasion. It was a triumph for her to have stuck to the letter of her brief, and she was very pleased with her organizational skills, which had been tested to the limit. She felt a huge sense of achievement. Her company would receive a whacking great fee for this and she would be on the up. Time to negotiate a new wage increase, she thought with satisfaction.

  ‘Thank God you’re here, Aimee,’ Belinda, the fraught wedding planner, declared as she phoned her to find out her whereabouts. ‘I’m over in the marquee – can you meet me there instead? The seating has to be completely rearranged because some of the guests have cancelled and two of them have fallen out with each other and will have to be placed miles apart, and I’m sick of the whole shaggin’ lot of them. The more money they have, the more badly behaved they are.’

  ‘Stay calm, we’ll sort it,’ Aimee said reassuringly, her mind racing ahead as she got into work mode.

  Hours later she was beginning to wilt. The bride, a big girl, squashed into a most unflattering designer bodice which had been bought in the US, had had hysterics at the thought of a couple of hundred of her father’s high-profile guests looking at her and had to be calmed down with a mild sedative.

  Seeing Jasmine in her unflattering gown, which had cost an arm and a leg, Aimee marvelled that no one – the mother, the bridesmaid or, indeed, the designer himself – had stepped in and said big girls with flabby arms and plump shoulders did not look good in strapless bodices. Debbie’s gown, with its plain skirt and tailored, beaded top, had looked far more elegant and chic. The bodice look was not flattering to many brides who wore it, and Jasmine O’Leary was one of them.

  Still, that wasn’t her side of things, Aimee thought with relief. And, so far, the marquee, with its crystal chandeliers and subtle, tasteful table décor, was getting a lot of praise. The
newly-weds and the guests were seated, a course of Galway Bay oysters or fish chowder was being served and there was a hum of laughter and conversation. Roger O’Leary walked over to her and put an arm around her waist.

  ‘Fantastic job, Aimee. You’ve done us proud. I’ll recommend you to everyone here – they’ve been asking about you,’ he said exuberantly.

  ‘Thank you, Roger. Now you should go and take your seat, the guests at your table are waiting on you before they eat,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Right. But we’ll talk later,’ he assured her, his face even more florid in his dress suit. He looked like a little penguin as he made his way back to the table. But at least he’d had the courtesy to come over and praise her for the job she’d done.

  A waiter carrying a salver of oysters walked past her, and the look of them and the smell of them made her feel suddenly nauseous. Aimee broke out in a cold sweat. She needed to get to a loo, and quickly. Swallowing hard, trying to quell her nausea, she made her way to the toilets and was discreetly and quietly sick.

  She wiped her mouth and took a few deep breaths. What the hell was wrong with her? This past week she’d been feeling tired and vaguely nauseous and sometimes even light-headed. She’d been like that once before, she thought with a growing, fearful sense of dread.

  It was unthinkable, she couldn’t be. She couldn’t possibly be pregnant . . . or could she? She remembered the last night she’d had sex with Barry. It was when they were half asleep, and she’d done a quick calculation in her head and decided she was OK not to have used a condom, her periods were imminent, she was sure, and that was why she’d felt so horny. But they hadn’t come, and she’d been so stressed she’d forgotten about them. Surely she hadn’t miscalculated!

  ‘Oh God Almighty, don’t let me be pregnant, please. Not now, not when things are really taking off for me,’ she muttered as her phone rang, and Belinda started to say that two of the chefs were having a row and could she deal with it. If they weren’t careful she’d barf all over them, she thought viciously, hoping against hope that it was just a tummy bug she’d caught.