Forgive and Forget

by Patricia Scanlan

  He flipped open his phone and dialled 11811 and got the florist he always used. ‘Two dozen yellow roses,’ he ordered, giving his credit card details and Connie’s address. He’d woo her, he decided. Women loved to be wooed. It might take a while but he’d keep at it until he got the results he wanted. Once Barry Adams set his mind to something, he got it, he reminded himself, feeling more optimistic by the second. He liked nothing better than a challenge. And although Connie had never challenged him in their marriage, things had most certainly changed in that regard, and that was what made it all the more interesting.

  ‘Bye, love, come again soon,’ Connie said, giving Melissa a hug before she boarded the Dart for home.

  ‘I will and thanks, Connie. I had a great time. I just love Hope.’

  ‘And she just loves you,’ Connie said kindly. ‘Text me when you’re home.’

  ‘I will,’ she promised as the doors closed behind her.

  Connie watched the Dart pull away from the station and decided on the spur of the moment to go for a walk on the beach. It was a lovely evening and the sun was beginning to sink. She drove back to the beach at the end of her road and strolled across the stony pebbles to the edge of the shore. She stepped out of her sandals and walked along, letting the water wash over her feet. She was wearing cut-offs so she was in no danger of getting her trousers wet.

  Today had been a good day, she reflected. A fresh start with her new job. A feeling of well-being enveloped her. This was her time, she mused, inhaling the bracing sea air. Ahead of her, a man threw a stick to a golden Labrador, who galloped into the sea after it. He was tall and grey-haired. A bit like the man she’d met at Mrs Mansfield’s.

  Drew Sullivan. A nice name, she thought, remembering the way his blue eyes had studied her intently. Why was he divorced? she wondered. Did he have children? What was his history? No doubt she’d find it all out from Rita once she started working there.

  Yes, life certainly promised to be interesting. Connie laughed as the golden Labrador came galloping in her direction and showered her with sea spray.

  Drew Sullivan sat on his veranda looking at the sun sinking behind the gentle rolling hills, setting fire to the sky in the west.

  He took a draught of chilled beer and stretched out his long legs. He was tired. It had been a busy day; he was going to have an early night, he decided. His thoughts meandered here and there and he remembered his visit to Mrs Mansfield’s. That new nurse, Connie, was a good-looking woman, he acknowledged, with curves in all the right places. He’d seen the way she blushed when he’d looked at her. He did that on purpose. Get women to blush first and then they wouldn’t see that he was shy behind his bold façade.

  She had a good twinkle in her eye, she’d have a bit of fun in her, he reckoned. Not that it made any difference to him. Women were a disaster, and he steered well clear of them. Best to stick to horses. She’d nice eyes, though, very nice eyes that looked at you straight and unflinching, Drew thought, before he fell asleep with the cool evening breeze whispering against his temples like a woman’s caress.

  To be continued.

  If you enjoyed

  FORGIVE AND FORGET

  then find out what happens next in Patricia Scanlan’s fabulous sequel

  HAPPY EVER AFTER?

  Here’s a sneak preview . . .

  DEBBIE

  It was hard to believe the honeymoon was over Debbie Kinsella thought ruefully as she surveyed the shambles that was their bedroom. Bryan had half a dozen art gallery catalogues strewn over the floor on his side of the bed. Three cool T-shirts she’d bought in The Gap for her half-sister, Melissa, lay on top of the chest of drawers. Who would have ever thought she would have ended up buying a present for the teenager she’d despised for so long, she mused as she hung them on hangers so they wouldn’t crease. Debbie felt an unwelcome pang of conscience as she remembered how unfriendly and unkind she’d been over the years. She’d been so angry and bitter at her father for leaving, that she couldn’t bear to see him happy with his new family. When Melissa had been born Debbie had finally given up on the wistful notion that Barry and Connie would reunite. Melissa had become a focus for her anger for a long time. It was undeserved and Debbie was ashamed of herself and anxious to make amends. Hopefully her half-sister would like the T-shirts she’d chosen for her, she thought, as she placed the hangers on the wardrobe door-knob.

  The linen basket was overflowing, their cases were still unpacked, full of clothes that needed to be washed; at this rate she’d be washing for a week, she thought dolefully. Once she would have gathered everything up and brought a bag full of clothes to the launderette and had them washed and ironed. It would have cost her. Ironing was expensive but she wouldn’t have cared, it was money well spent in her eyes.

  Now that they were saddled with a mortgage, loan repayments from the credit union for their wedding and honeymoon expenses, and a massive Visa bill, cash flow was a big issue and little luxuries that she and Bryan had taken so much for granted were going to have to fall by the wayside. Debbie had suggested going back to work on a Friday as it was payday, and to help them adjust to ‘normal life’ after all the excitement of the wedding and honeymoon. They’d only be in work one day, they’d have the weekend to recover, and they’d have money in their wallets. It had seemed like a good idea at the time but now she wasn’t so sure, she thought, as she studied the disarray surrounding her.

  She let her wet towel fall to the floor and began to dress. At least she didn’t have to worry about what to wear, which was just as well as she would have had to delve deep in her wardrobe for something clean, and rooting in their crammed, bulging wardrobe was not for the fainthearted right at this moment. Her uniform suit, neatly pressed, hung on the back of the door and she gave herself a mental pat on the back for at least being that little bit organized. She brushed her shoulder-length copper hair, twirled it around and fastened it with a comb, loose tendrils escaping, framing her heart-shaped face. Her blue eyes, flecked with hazel, needed nothing more than a touch of grey, smudged eyeliner, which she applied with practised ease.

  It was weird getting dressed to go back to work after all the excitement of the wedding and honeymoon. This day last week she and Bryan had strolled arm in arm through the Met in New York, admiring the photographs of the American photographer Walker Evans, part of the museum’s massive photography collection.

  That had been a particularly nice day, she reflected, as she dusted shimmer powder over her cheeks, wishing she could disguise the smattering of freckles on her nose and cheekbones. They had breakfasted in a little deli on East 52nd and then ambled the few blocks up Fifth Avenue, to Tiffany’s, where they’d bought each other a heart tag key ring as a memento of their honeymoon. They had carried on to the Met, where they had spent a thoroughly enjoyable morning browsing the collections. Hunger had eventually forced them to drag themselves away that afternoon and they had headed for Central Park and the Boathouse Restaurant on the lake. Sitting on the sun-drenched deck waiting for their prawns and salads to arrive, they watched the rowboats drifting by, and the ducks and swans looking for titbits as the sun glistened on the lake and the Manhattan skyscrapers soaring above the trees on the opposite shore.

  Debbie remembered the scene in Sex and The City where Big and Carrie had fallen into the lake, and almost had to pinch herself to realize that she was honeymooning in New York and she was now Mrs Bryan Kinsella. Oh yes, it had been a glorious and happy day, she smiled, fingering the gleaming gold wedding band that encircled the fourth finger of her left hand.

  She might have come back to earth with a bang but at least she and Bryan had overcome their rocky times and she couldn’t be happier. And bad enough as it was going back to work at least she wouldn’t have to deal with her bullying boss, Judith Baxter who was in hospital following a car accident. Word was she wouldn’t be back for a while, which was a huge relief to most of the office staff and Debbie in particular. Judith was a tyrant and had given Debbie a
rough ride coming up to her wedding. She’d been down on her like a ton of bricks for any mistake. Even being a few minutes late had incurred her wrath and she had stopped Debbie’s pay increment for six months. Debbie had been shocked. That was uncalled for. She had been counting on her rise to help pay off her loans.

  She didn’t wish her boss ill but there was no love lost between them and she’d be the first to admit that if she never saw the woman again she wouldn’t give a toss. Hard enough as it was going to work it would have been a thousand times harder if Judith had been waiting, hawk-like, to see that she was on time.

  She had to be thankful for small mercies, Debbie supposed as she raced downstairs, anxious not to be late on her first day back, Judith or no Judith. The post had come and as she picked up what were mostly bills, her heart sank as she saw their Visa bill. They were well maxed out on their credit card and they really were going to have to tighten their belts big time in an effort to pay off their spiralling debts. Bryan would hate it, he was moaning about it already, but it was something they had to address before things got seriously out of hand.

  Debbie pulled the door behind her and hurried along the path. It was going to be a scorcher; how nice it would have been to take her lounger out on to their deck and flick through magazines and drink coffee. Would she ever be able to give up work? Or even work part time, job sharing, like some of the married women in her office did? Not unless she won the Lotto, she thought glumly. It was eight million this week; she must remember to buy a few quick picks. She’d do it at lunchtime; she had as much chance of winning as anyone else had, she tried to cheer herself up.

  She crossed the street weaving in and out of traffic. Real life was back with a vengeance. At least she didn’t have the usual knot of tension in the pit of her stomach worrying about Judith Baxter, she comforted herself, as the noisy, stop, start of car engines and squealing breaks and children crying in buggies as their mothers rushed to crèches grated on her ears. Although Sandymount wasn’t far from the city, driving in the rush hour was chaotic and she and Bryan far preferred to take the train. But sometimes Bryan needed the car to travel to clients; at least she could walk to her office from the Dart and it kept her fit.

  Debbie quickened her pace and joined the morning commute.

  BRYAN

  ‘Come on, come on, come on!’ Bryan Kinsella sat behind the steering wheel of his soft top as the traffic inched along the Strand Road. He should have taken his chances and gone through the village and turned right for the East Link. He could see across to the Sean Moore Road in the distance and the traffic snaked along bumper to bumper, hardly moving. Some mornings if he went to work very early he could get to the IFSC in less than ten minutes. It was easily going to take the guts of an hour today.

  Was this what his life was going to be like apart from his few precious weeks holidays? He groaned as the lights went red again. It was incredible to think that the wedding was over. The reception, which he’d looked forward to more than the ceremony, was a blur, and the honeymoon, which had been the trip of a lifetime when he’d got to see as many of the cultural sights and scenes of New York as he possibly could, was now just a lovely dream. How he’d enjoyed strolling through myriad art galleries and studios, sipping lattes on sidewalk cafés, taking in shows, browsing in Borders, and buying treasured books with not a care in the world.

  Now he was back to real life, with all its worries and pressures. He couldn’t even think about the amount of debt they were in after the honeymoon. Both their credit cards were maxed out as was the one he had himself on the sly that Debbie knew nothing about. He had a credit union loan that she knew nothing about either, he thought guiltily, and he was barely managing to pay the interest on that. It looked as though their hefty mortgage was going to increase by another half a per cent and he hadn’t paid the last telephone bill even though he’d told Debbie he had.

  This was what being married did to a fella, he thought gloomily as he stared unseeingly out the car window. Why were women so anxious to get married? He didn’t understand it at all. He’d have been quite happy to mosey along in a smart, rented apartment, in a good area with no mortgage for another few years, but Debbie had insisted they buy a house, saying that rent was money down the drain. He shouldn’t have bloody well listened to her. They’d bought their town house in Sandymount at the height of the property boom when prices had rocketed, and paid mad money for it. Sandymount was an undeniably chic address and he liked living there. He liked the village ambience, the upmarket delis, bistros and restaurants, the quirky shops. It was enjoyable to stroll along the seafront on Sunday, buy the papers, and have lattes and eggs Florentine in Itsa4 for brunch. Or to go to Brownes on a Saturday night and indulge in their famous fresh salmon rilettes wrapped in smoked salmon, or, their to-die-for flaked crab. His mouth watered, thinking of his favourite dishes. He hadn’t eaten breakfast and he was hungry.

  Now a slump had hit and there was no way they’d ever get the price they bought their house for if they went to sell it, so they were in negative equity on that front. If Debbie hadn’t have been so impatient they could have bided their time, rented, and bought when prices dropped and it was a buyers’ market. He’d make sure to say that to Debbie’s mother, Connie, he thought grimly. She’d been pushing for them to get a house. She should have minded her own bloody business. He scowled, looking for someone to blame for his woes and thinking that Connie, his pushy mother-in-law, would fit the bill perfectly.

  Connie wasn’t his most favourite person in the world. He always felt that she was judging him and finding him lacking. Just because he didn’t spend every precious weekend stripping wallpaper or doing DIY. She’d obviously hoped for better for her only daughter. She hadn’t been able to keep a husband so she needn’t bother looking down her nose at him, he decided, conveniently forgetting the very generous cheque she’d given to himself and Debbie. Money she had worked hard to earn.

  The lights turned green and the traffic moved a couple of yards before stopping again. He glanced in the mirror and approved of the way his tan made his eyes look a deeper shade of brown. He was a good-looking guy, he had to admit, he reflected, as he turned this way and that, noting with dismay that he was beginning to get lines at the corners of his eyes. Hell, before he knew it he’d be thirty, and Debbie would want children and his life would be well and truly over. It was a daunting thought. Did other new husbands think like he did or was it just him? He’d never been one for taking on responsibilities; it made him feel smothered. He would have quite happily lived with Debbie for the rest of his life with no marriage and no kids. Just the two of them enjoying their freedom and having fun.

  Debbie would be well into the city on the Dart by now even though he’d left much earlier than she had. Bryan wondered how she would react if he told her he’d like to quit his job, and open up an art gallery. Not too well, he figured, as he surfed the radio channels and came to Lyric FM. The strains of ‘Lara’s Theme’ from Doctor Zhivago floated across the airwaves and he sat imagining how his art gallery would look until an impatient beep from the car behind brought him back to reality and he inched another few yards towards work.

  CONNIE

  Oh God let me win the Lotto, Connie Adams prayed silently as she knelt at the feet of Miss Eunice Bracken and eased a pair of tights over her spindle-thin, purple, varicose-veined legs.

  ‘Make sure they’re straight, Nurse. I don’t like wrinkles around the ankles. I’m not Nora Batty,’ Miss Bracken instructed bossily. She was an ex-headmistress and she treated the staff in Willowfield Nursing Home like schoolgirls. Connie manoeuvred the tights up over Miss Bracken’s girdle and straightened the nylon slip down over her patient’s knees. She then slithered another nylon slip down over the old lady’s shoulders. Miss Bracken liked to wear two slips to keep out the cold despite the fact that it was mid-summer.

  ‘My beige skirt, cream blouse and mint-green cardigan are hanging up in the wardrobe. I’ll wear them today.’ Eunice ga
ve an imperious wave in the direction of the wardrobe. ‘Lay them out neatly on the bed first.’

  ‘Yes Miss Bracken, no Miss Bracken. Three Bags full, Miss Bracken,’ Connie thought irritably as she stood up and went to get the required clothes. What the hell was she doing at this stage of her life being bossed around by a cantankerous old shrew? Forty-eight years of age, twenty-nine of them a nurse, divorced mother of a newly wed twenty-five-year-old. Surely she was entitled to some respect?

  ‘And pass me over my amethyst brooch; it’s on the dressing table,’ came the next haughty instruction. Clearly her patient thought she was there to wait on her hand and foot.

  ‘Certainly, Miss Bracken,’ Connie responded, amused in spite of herself. There was no point in going down the road of standing on her dignity. She had nursed the old trout before and knew the best way to deal with her was to ignore her bossiness and not let her get a rise out of her.

  A box of Terry’s All Gold Chocolates lay open beside the antique brooch and Connie gazed at them longingly. She was dying for her tea break. She had her period and salt and chocolate cravings had kicked in. She’d bought herself a packet of King crisps for her break; a chocolate would be lovely with them. But she knew better than to nick one. Miss Bracken was notoriously mean. Her chocolates were counted daily and woe betide the staff if any of them were eaten.

  ‘Stop dawdling, Nurse,’ Miss Bracken ordered sharply and Connie had to fight hard to restrain herself from giving a sharp retort. She didn’t know if it was a menopausal thing or not but lately she was feeling thoroughly grumpy and exasperated, going so far one Sunday morning to send in a furious email to a panellist on a radio show who made light of the overcrowding problems in A & E’s. It hadn’t been read out and she didn’t know whether to be amused or irritated by her behaviour. Miss Eunice Bracken was pushing her luck if only she knew it. Connie’s patience was hanging by a thread. Thank God her days doing agency nursing were coming to an end for the foreseeable future. She was looking forward to her new job as a part-time nurse to an elderly lady in Greystones, not far from where she lived. And before that she had a week in Spain with her sister-in-law, Karen, to look forward to. It was badly needed; she felt whacked.