Forgive and Forget

by Patricia Scanlan

  The stress of her daughter Debbie’s wedding had taken a lot out of her, more than she realised, she thought, as she stifled a yawn and slid Miss Bracken’s beige skirt over her head. ‘Would you be careful what you’re doing, you’ve messed my hair,’ the elderly woman scolded as her head emerged, hair slightly mussed, her glasses awry as Connie pulled the elastic waisted skirt down over her thin frame. Miss Bracken suffered from arthritic hips and bad knees and couldn’t lift her right leg to step into her skirt.

  ‘Sorry,’ Connie apologised. ‘I’ll brush your hair for you when you’ve finished dressing.’

  ‘You needn’t bother, I can do it myself thank you,’ Eunice Bracken snapped irritably as a dart of pain short through her. ‘Get me my tablets and be quick about it. I’m tormented with my arthritis today.’ ‘It must be the rain we’ve had the past few days,’ Connie said kindly, suddenly feeling sorry for the old lady in front of her. What sort of a life did she have? An intensely proud and independent woman like her, having to be helped to get dressed must be humiliating, and then she had to contend with a life of chronic and disabling pain. No wonder the poor thing was crabby.

  She handed the tablets and a glass of water to her patient and then resumed dressing her, closing the buttons on her blouse, a task Miss Bracken was unable to undertake because of her arthritic fingers.

  ‘You’re not the worst of them,’ her patient said grudgingly when Connie had finished her ministrations.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Bracken.’ Connie smiled, knowing she’d been paid quite a substantial compliment. ‘Let me walk you down to the day room and get you a nice cup of tea.’ She took the elderly lady’s arm and they walked slowly from the room, down the hall, to a bright, airy, comfortable drawing room that looked out on to verdant lawns and massed beds of shrubs and flowers.

  ‘The chair by the window, quick now before Mr McCall comes. He hogs it, you know. You’d think he owned it the way he goes on,’ Miss Bracken declared, managing a little spurt as she triumphantly laid claim to the comfortable armchair. ‘Now you may get me my tea, and my Irish Times,’ she instructed as she settled in comfortably to do her crossword and gaze with longing at the lovely garden. She’d been an avid gardener once but arthritis had put a stop to that. Now all she could do was look and criticize the planting strategy of the lazy lump that looked after the gardens but was more often to be seen smoking and chatting to anyone who would listen to him. He could do with a haircut too. ‘That fellow looks like Worzel Gummidge,’ she sniffed when Connie handed her the newspaper and couldn’t understand why she guffawed.

  ‘I’m glad I amused you,’ Miss Bracken said dryly.

  ‘If you didn’t have a sense of humour in this job you’d be in trouble, believe me.’ Connie couldn’t keep the faint edge out of her voice.

  ‘Indeed,’ Miss Bracken agreed. “I suppose you’re right.’ Their eyes met and there was the tiniest hint of a twinkle lurking in Eunice’s.

  It was a triumph of sorts, Connie felt, as she made her way to the staff dining room to have the much longed for cuppa and crisps. Connie was bone weary when she finally got home. Her eyes were gritty with tiredness and her lower back ached, a dull, nagging pain that always accompanied her period. The early shift was a killer but at least she had a long afternoon to herself. She was greeted lovingly by her little black cat, Miss Hope. ‘Hello my little pet.’ She scooped her up and buried her nose in her soft silky black fur. ‘Let’s have a bite to eat and have a snooze,’ she murmured as she headed for the kitchen.

  Working weekends as well as weekdays really took it out of you, she reflected, as she boiled the kettle and buttered a slice of brown bread and cut a wedge of red cheddar. She was trying to get her finances back on track after the expense of the wedding and her cash gift to Debbie and Bryan. And she didn’t want to be scrimping and saving on her trip to Spain.

  Once, working seven days straight had been no problem to her, but her energy levels weren’t as good as they used to be, hard as it was to accept it. ‘Ah stop acting like an ould wan, you’re in your prime,’ she muttered as she dipped her tea bag up and down her mug. ‘Even if you’re talking to yourself and sending off ratty emails.’ She grinned.

  She headed out to the deck with the mug of much needed tea and sat down gratefully at the table, kicking off her shoes. Her mobile rang and she frowned. Was ten minutes peace too much to ask, she wondered crossly as she took it out of her pocket. She was surprised to see her ex-husband’s phone number come up.

  What did he want? The wedding was over and she wasn’t too anxious to be in constant contact with Barry. She didn’t want to be reminded of their night of passion. She didn’t exactly regret it but it was a once off and he didn’t seem to realize that. Both of them had been feeling shattered after Debbie’s showdown with him about her feelings towards him. Connie had been very shocked that she’d not realized how deep Debbie’s hurt went. Their kiss of comfort had turned into much more than a kiss, but it was emphatically not going to happen again.

  ‘Yes, Barry,’ she said briskly wishing the sun would come out from behind a bank of cloud that was casting shadows over her back garden.

  ‘Hi Connie,’ he said cheerfully. ‘How are things?’

  ‘Things are good, off to Spain next week with Karen. I’m looking forward to it.’ She kept her tone light, off-hand almost. Barry seemed to think that because they’d had a quick shag, in a moment of weakness for her, prior to the wedding, he was now her best friend and confidant. It was an assumption Connie was eager to dispel.

  ‘Yeah, so I heard. I bumped into her the other day. My sister told me she plans to sleep, eat, drink and read, sounds deadly boring to me.’

  ‘Sounds perfect to me,’ Connie riposted.

  ‘If that’s what you want, enjoy it; you deserve it, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she murmured. Barry had just made her forthcoming holiday sound dull and dreary.

  ‘Listen, I hope you don’t think I’m being pushy but I’d really like to build on the momentum of the progress myself, Debbie and Melissa made coming up to the wedding. I don’t want to let things drift.’

  ‘Sure, I understand.’ Connie agreed with a hint of warmth. She’d been so happy that Debbie and her father had finally, after years of bitterness, reconciled and it had given her great joy to see the two half-sisters take those first faltering steps towards real sisterhood.

  ‘I was thinking it would be nice if we could get together for a coffee or a brunch or something but . . . er . . . 1 know you and Debbie and Aimee aren’t exactly hitting it off so that would be awkward. And I don’t want Melissa picking up on it. She’s very loyal to her mother so I was wondering if we could sort of “bump” into you?’

  ‘That would be nice, Barry.’ Carrie approved, ashamed of her earlier irritability at his call. Barry had become a good father over the years, she’d give him that. Her ex-husband was right; these new, unprecedented relationships should be nurtured. It was just such a nuisance that Aimee and her bad behaviour was now the cause of awkwardness and had to be pussyfooted around. Until the wedding, Connie had got on reasonably well with Barry’s second wife, but after Aimee’s strop outside the church when she’d complained about the cost and said that it was her hard-earned money that was paying for it, relations were at an all-time low.

  ‘Melissa and I often go for coffee and a Danish on Saturday mornings. How about if we go to one of the outdoor cafe’s along the Pavilion and you and Debbie could casually wander by? Or is that too obvious?’ Barry asked.

  ‘Um . . . I could ask Debbie to meet me in Meadow’s and Byrne’s; I could let on I was thing of changing my sofa or something and would like her advice,’ she suggested helpfully.

  ‘Would you, Connie? That would be great,’ Barry said enthusiastically and Connie had to smile. Barry was so naive really. He thought all the past hurts could be made better in an instant. He wanted them all to be one big happy family.

  Maybe he was right to be like that,
she sighed. Maybe it was that easy to let go. She wouldn’t stand in the way of it. ‘I’ll give Debbie a buzz and try and sort things,’ she assured him. ‘See you.’

  ‘Thanks, Connie, really appreciate it.’

  ‘You’re welcome, Barry,’ she said and hung up. She supposed she should be glad he was making the effort. God knows it had taken him and Debbie long enough to sort their differences. She’d do what she could to foster good relations between father and daughter. And besides, she’d grown fond of Melissa, having eventually got through that prickly teenage façade. It was important that Debbie and Melissa developed their friendship. A close relationship with a sister was more precious than gold. Connie would have loved a sister. She hated being an only child. In days to come it would be good to know the two girls would have each other to lean on. Connie gave a wry smile. There she was again trying to sort everybody out. Some things never changed. Once Debbie and Melissa were on track she was giving it up, she had her own life to lead, she decided, as she gave up on the sun and went inside and lay down on her sofa. She was asleep in minutes.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Cast your cares upon the Lord for He cares about you.

  – I Peter 5:7

  Dear Lord, thank you for taking my cares and for supporting me in very hard times. My thanks also to Our Lady, St Joseph, Mother Meera, St Michael, St Anthony, the Holy Spirit, White Eagle and all my Angels, Saints and Guides who guide, protect and inspire.

  To my dear and precious family and extended family, who are my greatest blessings.

  Friends are God’s way of minding you and He has minded me well. To all my kind and loving friends who give me such love and support and are always there for me and were, especially so, this year. A special mention and huge and heartfelt thanks to Alil O’Shaughnessy and Pam and Simon Young, whose constant, unstinting kindness helped more than they’ll ever know.

  To Francesca Liversidge. Dearest friend as well as editor.

  To Sarah, Felicity, Susannah and Jane, my wonderful agents at Lutyens & Rubinstein, who are always there working away on my behalf. I really appreciate what you all do and know how lucky I am to have you.

  To all at Transworld who are so supportive and enthusiastic about my books even after all this time. I wish I could name you all, but I would like to say a special thanks to Jo, who is always so reassuring and sorts out all my problems. And to Vivien, Rebecca, Deborah and Sarah Day, who put manners on the manuscript in the nicest possible way.

  To Gill, Simon, Geoff, Eamonn, Fergus and Ian of Gill Hess Ltd, who put up with a lot of wingeing and never make me feel bad!

  To Declan Heeney, the bane of my life (or am I the bane of his?) but I love him. And to Helen Gleed O’Connor, who makes publicity fun.

  To Eoin McHugh, my new colleague . . . Here’s to New Beginnings!

  To all my colleagues in New Island. You’re a great team and I’m so proud to work with you on Open Door.

  To Frank Furlong, AIB Finglas and Eileen Redmond and Ciara Doggett, Anglo Irish Bank, for sound advice and lots of laughs!

  I’d like to take this opportunity to thank with deepest gratitude all the staff in the A&E, Special Care Unit and ICU of the Mater Hospital and all who were involved in the Memorial Service in November. We greatly appreciate all you did for my mother and for us. Your loving kindness made our loss more bearable. There aren’t enough words to tell you how grateful we are.

  And to Keith Massey and staff, and Father Brendan Quinlan, I express the same sentiments.

  And to the family of my late cousin, Fergus Halligan, we will never forget his kindness.

  A most warm and special thanks to all my dear readers. All the letters and kind comments mean so much. I hope you enjoy this book and that all good things, and Blessings come to you.

  Patricia Scanlan was born in Dublin, where she still lives. Her books have sold worldwide and have been translated into many languages. Patricia is the series editor and a contributing author to the Open Door series. She also teaches creative writing to second-level students and is involved in Adult Literacy.

  Find out more by visiting Patricia Scanlan on Facebook.

  www.transworldireland.ie

  Also by Patricia Scanlan

  Apartment 3B

  Finishing Touches

  Foreign Affairs

  Promises, Promises

  Mirror Mirror

  Francesca’s Party

  Two for Joy

  Double Wedding

  Divided Loyalties

  Coming Home

  Trilogies

  City Girl

  City Lives

  City Woman

  Forgive and Forget

  Happy Ever After

  Love and Marriage

  With All My Love

  A Time for Friends

  Patricia Scanlan

  A Time for Friends

  When are the boundaries of friendship pushed too far, and when is it time to stop flying over oceans for someone who wouldn’t jump over a puddle for you? There comes a time when Hilary Hammond has to make that call.

  Hilary and Colette O’Mahony have been friends since childhood, but when irrepressible Jonathan Harpur breezes into Hilary’s life and goes into business with her, Colette is not best pleased.

  After their first encounter Colette thinks he’s a ‘pushy upstart’ while he thinks she’s ‘a snobby little diva’. And so the battle lines are drawn and Hilary is bang in the middle.

  But as the years roll by and each of them is faced with difficult times and tough decisions, one thing is clear . . . to have a friend you must be a friend.

  And that’s when Hilary discovers that sometimes your best friend can be your greatest enemy . . .

  Patricia Scanlan

  With All My Love

  On a crystal clear Mediterranean day, Briony McAllister sits playing with her four-year-old daughter, Katie, while she waits for her mother, Valerie, to join them. Valerie has recently moved to a picturesque town in southern Spain to finally leave behind her turbulent past and find a peace that has always eluded her. Briony has no idea that in a few moments’ time her relationship with her mother will change irrevocably.

  As Katie plays, Briony pulls from her bag an old photo album, found in a box in her mother’s new home. As she begins to study the faded photos, a letter falls to the ground. It is addressed to her.

  My Darling Briony, it begins. As Briony reads the words with mounting shock, realisation dawns. Her mother lied to her about what happened with her beloved grandmother Tessa all those years ago - and denied Briony that most precious of relationships, the type of relationship Valerie now enjoys with Katie.

  The lives of three generations of women are set to change forever as the past is revisited and the truth unfolds through the undelivered letters Tessa wrote to Briony over the years. Secrets, lies, betrayals and sacrifices - the complex bonds between mothers, daughters and granddaughters are intricately explored as Patricia Scanlan takes us into the hearts and homes of a family at war.

  Mirror, Mirror

  Patricia Scanlan

  WHEN CHRIS WALLACE looks in the mirror he sees a deep and complex man. He is, in fact, selfish, shallow and very, very, devious. Successful, charismatic and sexy, women love him.

  Suzy Wallace, a woman scorned, wreaks revenge on her husband’s mistress, once her best friend, now her sworn enemy. She will never forgive and never forget.

  Alexandra Johnston, ambitious, talented and seductive uses every trick she can to get what she wants . . . and then finds out that having is not quite the same as wanting.

  Ellen Munroe, the mother of Chris’s child, the woman he has used and abused over and over. Will Ellen finally be able to see Chris for what he really is – a man who uses lies and false promises to destroy the lives of the women who love him?

  ‘A delicious tale of revenge and women who have had enough!’

  ESSENTIALS

  9780553812893

  First published in Irela
nd by Transworld Ireland, 2008

  This paperback edition published by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2016

  A CBS Company

  Copyright © Patricia Scanlan 2008

  This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

  No reproduction without permission.

  ® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster Inc. All rights reserved.

  The right of Patricia Scanlan to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  Simon & Schuster UK Ltd

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  Simon & Schuster Australia, Sydney

  Simon & Schuster India, New Delhi

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  PB ISBN: 978-1-47114-131-7

  EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-47114-132-4

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.