To her surprise she found herself telling him all about the mistakes she had made and in answer to further interested questions, she told him all about her novel. She found him very easy to talk to and both of them were quite shocked when the familiar ‘Closing Now’ interrupted their conversation. It seemed they had only been talking ten minutes, but it was in fact an hour. His name was Adam Dunne. He was an electrician with Telecom Eireann, he was twenty-five and had just bought a small house in Drumcondra. Maggie felt as though she had known him all her life.
‘Closing please!’ Maggie was beginning to dislike intensely the unseen owner of that bossy voice. She had an accent and tone of voice exactly the same as Sister Mairead, her old teacher. Maybe they were related! Damn the library for closing early on Friday. She had really enjoyed talking to Adam.
‘Tell you what,’ Adam said easily. ‘If you’re around next week I’ll show you a book in the reference section called The Writer’s and Artist’s Yearbook. It tells you all you need to know about the mechanics of the manuscript, where to send them, how to present them. Just what Terry Prone’s been saying. It’s very good. Just what the budding author needs.’
This time they left the library together and the boyish smile he gave her as they said goodbye made her feel ten years younger.
That night as she sat in front of her bedroom mirror Maggie studied herself long and hard. She had let herself go a bit, she thought glumly. It was time she took herself in hand. There was nothing she could do about the fine lines etched around her green eyes but the sagging spreading bottom could be toned up and the thighs firmed. The hair was a mess! That was easily remedied. She should be ashamed of herself for letting herself go to seed. For heaven’s sake she was only thirty-three, not sixty-three!
Without further ado, the hair was cut, the tumbling copper locks shaped into a softer shorter style that framed her face and made her look ten years younger. She started exercising with the help of a shape tape and exercise bike; and even after a week of dieting and exercising she began to notice a difference. It was a sparkling vibrant woman who ran up the steps of the ILAC library the next week.
Adam did a gratifying double take at the sight of her and she laughed aloud. ‘Just got the old mop cut,’ she said lightly. But her eyes sparkled as she met his clear dark-lashed hazel ones.
Their weekly meetings gave her something to look forward to. Adam was so cool and laid-back, yet full of enthusiasm for her writing ventures, quite unlike her husband who dismissed her ‘scribbling’ as a waste of time. They swopped ideas, gave each other encouragement and enjoyed their hour in the library each week.
When Adam told Maggie of a writers’ workshop starting up in his local Arts Centre Maggie jumped at the idea. Terry was not at all impressed when his wife informed him that from now on, every Monday night, she would be going to a writers’ workshop and he would have to mind the children. ‘For Christ’s sake, you’re wasting your time with that nonsense. Couldn’t you take up knitting or rug making or something useful?’
‘I’m not wasting my time. And if you don’t like it, you can lump it! You’re out half the week anyway,’ Maggie retorted crisply.
‘That’s business and you know it,’ her husband growled.
‘So is this,’ his wife informed him calmly.
The classes were a joy! It was wonderful to mix with other people who shared the same interest, especially when you were sitting beside a guy who made you laugh constantly with his witty asides and who made you feel young and lighthearted again and not the mother of three demanding young children. Looking at herself in the mirror one night before she went out, she felt like the Maggie of old – vibrant, alive, ready for anything. How glad she was that she had got herself out of the soul-destroying rut she had been in.
Thirty-five
One morning several months later the postman presented her with a large brown envelope and Maggie felt her heart sink to her boots. Without opening it, she knew it was her returned manuscript. She hadn’t won the competition! Maybe she had been kidding herself all along. Maybe she had no talent as a writer. To compound her misery, her washing machine chose that particular morning to flood the kitchen and it was a very depressed Maggie who set about cleaning up the mess.
For the first time in months she decided not to go to her writers’ class. What was the point? And anyway wasn’t it time she got sense? Half the reason she went to the class was because Adam went. She must be crazy! He was almost eight years younger than her, and probably had a luscious twenty-year-old girlfriend that he hadn’t mentioned. And besides . . . she was married.
So was Terry when he had the fling with Ria! The thought came unbidden to her mind. ‘Oh stop it Maggie,’ she muttered aloud, grabbing Michelle who, in her enthusiasm to kiss her baby sister, was almost smothering the child.
The evening dragged. Terry fell asleep in front of the fire, the returned manuscript reproached her accusingly from the coffee table and she felt miserable. The following morning, she was feeding the twins their breakfast and listening to Gay Byrne when the phone rang. ‘Hi! What happened you last night?’ enquired a familiar voice and Maggie felt a warm glow envelop her.
‘How did you know my number?’ she asked. Adam laughed. ‘Maggie, my girl, I’m a thriller writer par excellence who just hasn’t been published. Putting my detective skills to good use, I looked up the phone directory and found the only Terry Ryan who lives in Castleknock. I then deduced, brilliantly if I may say so,’ he added modestly, ‘that since you were married to him you must live in the same house and therefore share the same number. Are you impressed?’
Maggie had to laugh. ‘Absolutely. I’ll have to call you Sherlock Dunne from now on.’
‘Why didn’t you come last night?’
Maggie stayed silent for a moment. ‘My washing machine broke down,’ she said glumly.
‘And?’
Adam was so perceptive. It was one of the qualities she liked in him. Besides it was only fair to tell him the real reason she had stayed away. ‘I got my manuscript back yesterday,’ she admitted.
‘Ah, Maggie! I’m sorry. It’s an awful feeling, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah,’ she admitted with a sigh.
‘What’s wrong with the washing machine?’
‘I don’t know. Water flooded all over the kitchen. Someone is supposed to be coming to repair it the day after tomorrow.’
‘Poor Maggs.’ She could sense that he was smiling at the other end of the phone.
She laughed. ‘I’m feeling so sorry for myself, I feel like flinging the typewriter and the washing machine out the window.’
Adam laughed. ‘Just make sure there’s no-one passing by. You don’t want to be sued to add to your list of woes.’
‘OK,’ she smiled, feeling much better. ‘See you Friday?’ she queried.
‘Hmmm,’ he responded. ‘Have to go, Maggie. Take care.’
Around the middle of the afternoon she answered a knock on her door to find Adam smiling at her. ‘I fix washing machines in my spare time!’
‘Why aren’t you at work?’ Maggie laughed.
‘I was owed some time so I took it. I figured I’d better get you back on the straight and narrow with your typewriter.’
‘Idiot!’ she grinned, feeling strangely happy. He handed her a blue book.
‘It’s the CLÉ Directory and it’s got the names and addresses of all the Irish publishing houses. So get cracking. Get in touch with some of them and put the kettle on and make a cuppa for us while I have a look at your washing machine,’ he instructed her good-humouredly.
As she moved around her kitchen making tea she was deeply aware of him as he lay, long legs all over the place, trying to fix her recalcitrant washing machine. He sat up boyishly, his hair awry. ‘I can see what’s wrong. I’ll have to get a part. Can you wait until tomorrow? You can cancel the other bloke and save a few bob,’ he suggested.
‘Thanks, Adam,’ she said, smiling at him.
T
hey sat facing each other at the table, Maggie with Fiona on her lap, the twins playing on the floor.
‘That’s a beautiful baby you’ve got there,’ he said as Fiona gripped one of his fingers in her tiny hand and made eyes at him. ‘Motherhood suits you, Maggie,’ he said softly.
She blushed. There was a warmth in his eyes that excited her. It was a long time since a man had looked at her like that. Too long. Terry looked at her these days and never even saw her. Couldn’t see the loneliness inside her that was causing her to turn to a younger man for companionship. They stared at each other and Adam said, ‘I’d better go, I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Thanks, Adam.’ Her voice was husky; she felt like a sixteen-year-old.
She watched him drive away. She was confused, scared, elated. He made her feel so attractive again. God, she could stand up in a leotard these days in a class at CITY GIRL with girls ten years younger than her and not be ashamed. That’s what Adam Dunne had done to her. He made her feel like a woman again and not a drudge!
He arrived as promised the next day and this time she was ready for him. Her hair was freshly washed, her touch of make up was just right and a faint hint of Laughter adorned her wrists and throat. She watched as he deftly fitted the piece in the machine, noticing his long well-shaped fingers. She’d like to feel those fingers caressing her body. A strange fear suffused Maggie. She hadn’t felt like this since she was a young girl with Joe Conway. What was she thinking of?
Adam stood up and saw the expression in her eyes. They stared at each other in silence and then very gently he reached out and took her face in his hands. ‘Maggie, you’re beautiful,’ he said, before lowering his mouth to hers. They kissed slowly, sensually and she felt weak with longing but a yell from the playroom penetrated their passion.
‘My children,’ Maggie murmured apologetically ‘like to be seen and heard.’
Adam laughed. ‘It’s just as well maybe because I could very easily get carried away.’
Maggie stared into his smiling hazel eyes. ‘Me too,’ she said honestly.
‘Maggie, I have to go to London for a month. Telecom are sending some of us so I want you to promise me one thing.’
‘Anything,’ she said, dismayed that she wouldn’t see him for a whole month.
‘Get back to your typewriter, go to your classes, and get in touch with some publishers. There’s a rake of ’em in that directory and some of them will at least read your novel, and if they’ve any sense they’ll publish it. It’s a great read! Now promise!’
Maggie hugged him. ‘I promise, Adam.’
She stood in the sunlight watching him drive away. He waved and she returned the wave. She felt so strong and renewed. Would she have an affair with him? She couldn’t swear that she wouldn’t. That was something to be decided in the future. For now she felt incredibly happy. Lightheartedly, Maggie walked into her kitchen and started to prepare her husband’s evening meal.
Epilogue
The three friends greeted each other warmly when they met in the plush foyer of CITY GIRL.
‘You’re looking pretty pleased with yourself, Maggs,’ Devlin noted as she pressed the button for the lift.
‘I am,’ Maggie grinned as they stepped into the elegant lift and it glided swiftly, silently upward.
‘What’s happened?’ Caroline asked, dying to know. Just wait until she told them her news!
‘I’ll tell you after class at breakfast.’
‘Tell us what?’ chorused Devlin and Caroline.
‘At breakfast,’ Maggie repeated firmly.
The other pair grinned. ‘You won’t be able to wait that long. You’re bursting to tell us. Come on! Don’t be so mean,’ expostulated Devlin who was dying with curiosity to find out what had made Maggie look so radiant. Maybe she had slept with Adam. No! It couldn’t be that. Wasn’t he in London? He had certainly brought the sparkle back into Maggie’s eyes. She just lit up when she spoke about him. ‘Come on, Maggie.’
‘Patience is a virtue,’ Maggie teased as the lift stopped and a beautiful girl in a white uniform stepped in to join them, ending the conversation.
‘Morning all.’
‘Hi Aoibhinn,’ they responded to the chief beautician of CITY GIRL.
‘Any chance of a make-up job for the TV thing?’ Devlin grinned.
‘I’m sure I could squeeze you in to my schedule. Mind, with your mug it could take a couple of hours.’
‘See the awe and reverence my staff hold me in,’ said Devlin in mock disgust as the lift came to a smooth halt and Aoibhinn glided gracefully down the carpeted corridor to her domain.
‘You shouldn’t have gorgeous-looking girls like that working for you, Dev. They’ll give your clients complexes,’ Maggie said, as she pulled the muscles of her stomach a little tighter.
‘The way you look this morning, it’s you who’ll be giving people complexes. Now stop getting away from the subject and tell us the news.’
‘Now, come along, ladies,’ Janet the pint-sized aerobics instructress ordered crisply as she passed them on her way into the gym.
Caroline threw her eyes up to heaven. ‘We’ll have to wait, Dev, to hear Maggie’s news. You know Janet – she’s a stickler for time.’
‘It won’t hurt you,’ grinned Maggie as they trooped into the gym and took up their positions.
‘Morning, ladies. Let’s all prepare to live long and prosper by getting our bodies into shape. If our bodies are well, our minds will be well and we can face anything we have to. Let us begin.’ Janet’s musical voice floated down the floor as she began the warm up exercises. ‘Shoulders back and down and back and down . . . ’ The girls got down to work.
An hour later, glowing and invigorated, they sat at a window table of the restaurant that overlooked Stephen’s Green, tucking into muesli, fresh fruit, croissants and coffee.
‘Now!’ demanded Devlin.
Maggie gave a huge grin. ‘The novel’s being published.’
‘MAGGIE!’ The other two shrieked with pleasure, delighted for their friend.
‘Look,’ she said proudly, showing them a cheque.
‘Two thousand five hundred pounds!’ Caroline read in awe.
‘It’s my advance,’ bubbled Maggie. ‘It came this morning. Isn’t it a hoot?’
‘Does Adam know?’ Devlin asked excitedly.
Maggie shook her head. ‘It all happened so fast and he’s been in London for the past month. He’s due home next week and I just can’t wait to show him this and the contract I signed. I got a copy of it with my cheque this morning.’
‘You kept this all to yourself. How could you?’ Devlin remonstrated smiling.
Maggie laughed. ‘I know, I know. It was so hard, but I wanted to make sure everything was signed, sealed and delivered before I said anything, just in case . . . ’
‘How did you go about getting accepted so quickly?’ Caroline asked curiously. ‘I thought it was a long slow process.’
‘I was just lucky,’ Maggie said modestly. ‘Remember when I didn’t win the competition and I was pissed off?’ The other two nodded, agog. ‘Well, Adam gave me this directory with all the names and addresses of the Irish publishers and then I took Terry Prone’s advice in Write And Get Paid For It and sent one of them a sample chapter. Two days later I got a phone call from an editor who said she’d love to read the manuscript. So I delivered it to her. A week later they contacted me, said they loved it and it was going to be a bestseller and it’s being published next spring. I signed the contract last week. I just can’t believe it.’
‘It sure is going to be a bestseller, I hope they realize how lucky they are getting you as an author. You’ve a half dozen books inside that head of yours! You’ll make a fortune. Ria Kirby turn green and puke,’ Devlin laughed.
Caroline chuckled. ‘Just wait until everybody recognizes themselves – then there’ll be wigs on the green!’
They all guffawed. When the excitement had died down their talk turned towards arr
angements for the weekend. ‘I was thinking,’ murmured Caroline casually, ‘that I could drive us down.’
‘WHAT!’ exclaimed her two friends.
‘I said,’ repeated Caroline calmly, ‘how about coming down in my car?’
‘But you haven’t got a car. You can’t drive,’ Maggie said, confused.
‘Oh yes I have! And I can!’ Caroline grinned proudly. ‘I passed my test last week and Richard bought me the most gorgeous little Fiesta. I collected it from Des D’Arcy’s in Donabate yesterday. Oh girls you should see it!’ Caroline enthused. ‘I’ve called her Bluebell! I didn’t tell you because I wanted to give you a surprise.’
‘Aw Caroline!’ said Devlin leaning over and hugging her friend.
‘You’ve certainly surprised us. Congratulations! We’d love to go to the Harbour in your . . . in Bluebell. Wouldn’t we Maggie?’
‘I couldn’t think of anything nicer,’ agreed Maggie, delighted by the glow of pride in her friend’s eyes. Imagine Richard buying Caroline a car! Things seemed to be much better between them in the last few months. Since Caro had received treatment for her drinking she was a different person and she had much more confidence in herself. It was great that she had started to work again too. It would give her a sense of independence.
‘I’ve nothing exciting to surprise you with,’ Devlin remarked ruefully. And then remembered. ‘Well, I might have something nice to tell you later.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Maggie curiously.
‘Oh, just something I’ve been meaning to do for a long time. I’ll tell you when we get to the Harbour.’ Then she excused herself. ‘Have to rush. I’ve just seen Mary and Julie with their camera equipment. They’re going to shoot the new brochure.’
‘That will cost you,’ Caroline replied knowingly. The two girls ran the most exclusive photographic agency in Dublin.
‘Nothing but the best,’ Devlin said cheerfully. ‘See you later.’
‘Ya sure will baby,’ Maggie assured her. ‘Come on, Caro. Let’s move it or we’ll never get to Rosslare!’
Four hours later they were moving at a sedate forty miles an hour along the wide Dublin-Wexford road in Caroline’s brand new baby blue Ford Fiesta. They were just a few miles from Arklow, where they planned to stop for lunch. Caroline, proud as punch but just a trifle apprehensive, sat up straight, hands gripping the wheel, tongue between teeth as she prepared to overtake a tractor ahead of her.
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