Carla hooted. ‘No way, Dad, no way. Moving out means paying for our own right to be permanently silly’
Lillian’s mobile rang then and she left the table with an apologetic wave. Carla looked at her watch. ‘Oops,’ she said, and gathered the bowls off the table. ‘I’ll just finish with the dishwasher and then I’m off to the cinema. Mike’ll be here at seven.’
We sat, Pete and I, in the silent aftermath of their departure.
‘They’re wonderful,’ he said. ‘At least we did a good job there.’
I stood up. We had had this sort of conversation before and I didn’t want another one, not tonight. ‘Not now, Pete, please,’ I said. ‘I’ve got to go and pack.’
‘Then when,’ he said. But it was no longer a question. He got up and left the table.
I looked around the dining room, at the surroundings that had been familiar to me for so many years. We’d moved into this house when the twins were three, anxious to send them to the highly regarded local primary school. Our rise had been dramatic, Pete’s and mine: from obscure but hard-working young couple in the suburbs to the sudden wealth and cachet of Rathgar. Detached house, large gardens, domestic staff. Granted, my father – my parents – had played a not insignificant role in our advancement, but our arrival had every bit as much to do with us as with them. Pete’s success as an investment banker was ‘stellar’, according to his associates, and the blossoming of my couture business with Maggie was no less spectacular. When I look back, I see an eternal triangle of influences and I wonder whether age has distorted the balance. What makes a life, anyway? How do you establish who gives what, who takes what? The other evening, as I looked around what had once been my home, everything had acquired an eerie strangeness, as though all that comfortable familiarity had mutated into something else. Now the table, the chairs, the curtains, even, had become arid and shadowy and looked as though they were about to crumble into cobwebby dust, just like Miss Havisham’s gown.
I made my way upstairs and pulled my suitcase out of the wardrobe. I had already sent some boxes on ahead by post, so all I needed to pack were the usual essentials that accompanied any normal, four-day business trip. Nothing to arouse question or suspicion. But I’d have to say that Pete is not a suspicious man, never was.
I stayed up late, finishing emails and tidying up the ordinary business bits and pieces that hectic days leave no time for. The house was in darkness by the time I was ready to go to bed.
Then, I did something I haven’t done in years. I went into Carla and Lillian’s room. Despite our four large en-suite bedrooms, the twins have always chosen to share. Neither one could bear to be without the other. I found that a great comfort, last night. I knew that each would fill any temporary gap that might arise in the life of the other. They were both fast asleep in their single beds, each with one hand under her cheek and as always, facing towards her sister. I bent down and kissed Lillian and then Carla, very gently on the forehead, just on that spot near the temple where they had loved to be stroked as babies. I could feel emotion begin to gather at the base of my throat and had to pull myself away. Not for the first time, I gazed in wonder at these two adults who seemed to be my children but who were, in fact, separate individuals, perhaps even two strangers who had – or hadn’t any longer – something to do with me. The point was that they now had a choice. Their welfare, their existence, their safety, even, no longer depended on me, or on anyone else. My job was done.
The last time I looked at the clock it was after one. I climbed into bed beside Pete, whose breathing was easy and regular. It occurred to me that he might have been feigning oblivion, but that is something else I shall never know. I settled down – or at least tried to – falling into that kind of uneasy, thinnish sleep that you get when you know you’ve only got three or four hours.
And now here I am, with the events of the last few days behind me. Few days, few hours, few decades. What does it matter? The past fades very quickly and the future is uncertain.
What matters for now is now.
Paola is sweeping the balcony by the time I get back from my walk. It rained last night, and the soil now has a pleasant smell, sweet and heavy like fruit just about to turn. I need these solitary walks, find that they help to clear my head, fire me up for whatever demands the day will bring. I felt on edge earlier this morning and I knew that I would not be able to settle until I had done some normal things, routine things, something that involved physical movement. As a result, I pushed myself hard along the hilly roads, quickening my pace, lengthening my stride so that my muscles are now aching, my knees protesting.
I have been consumed with curiosity all morning, wondering how things ended up the other night at Claire’s. Pete is predictable, of course: he’ll have called her and Maggie and Nora once he gets my email. They’ll all have agonized together about my absence. They’ll have tried my mobile, too, not once but several times, each of them needing to be convinced individually that the number was already disconnected. And they’ll also discover that my email address is no longer extant. Their messages will bounce off a satellite and land back in their inboxes, the technological equivalent of Elvis’s ‘Return to Sender’. It’s a curious feeling, to be cut loose like this, particularly when so much of my recent life has depended completely upon communications. I had toyed with the idea of keeping on the old mobile phoneline and checking messages from time to time, but I decided that that might have the potential to suck me back in again to all the things that I need to leave behind. I am not stupid. I am aware that anyone who tries hard enough will be able to discover where I am. I have left things in place for Pete, no loose ends. My email will help him find them sooner rather than later. And once his anger subsides, he’ll realize that he no longer wants me back. I know this already. It will take him some time to realize that he knows it, too. My friends will each deal with my absence in their own way. And I have plans for my daughters. My letters await them. I know them well enough to know that, in time, they will forgive me.
Forward. That’s where my focus needs to be: moving forward. No time for sentimentality, for spurious regrets, for what ifs and maybes. I’ve had all of those, for far too long now.
And once he arrives, the last vestiges of my old life will have finally disappeared. Except for Maggie, of course. She is the one exception I am prepared to make for now, until the dust settles. Meanwhile, I rejoice in the newness of everything here, its obvious and shiny sense of difference.
Paola is calling. The gardener must have arrived. It’s time to begin the transformation of the dusty bowl that is my garden into an oasis of blooms and tranquillity. You have taught me well, Claire. This is something I will dedicate to you, my way of remembering.
That leaves only Nora. Ah, Nora. Despite myself, I shall remember you, too.
Without even needing to try.
9. Claire
I can’t believe it.
Pete’s voice on the phone was brittle, all his words stretched tight and thin. I thought that he might burst into tears at any moment.
‘What do you mean, gone?’ I asked. Do you know, I could feel feel even my hands begin to twitch, as though I was physically searching for connections, for some sort of logic. It was like rummaging around in a drawer full of odd socks. I knew that there had to be a match in there somewhere. I just had to find it.
‘She’s gone, Claire. She’s left us. For good, it seems to me.’
Stupidly, I glanced at Georgie’s place at my table, searching for any clue that might appear there. I almost expected her to materialize, looking like her usual self. Imposing, striking, making the occasional sardonic comment. Nora and Maggie had already begun to stare in my direction, their animated conversation stilled as abruptly as if someone had just pulled a plug. Even though I had taken the phone out of the living room, I came back to stand in the doorway once I heard Pete’s words. I didn’t want to be on my own when he let loose whatever missile from the wide blue yonder he was still trying
to control. I could sense that it was already growing larger, speeding in my direction, leaving a thin white trail in its wake. My voice sounded shocked, even to me, ringing hollow and shallow in my ears. For that first split second, I’d thought he meant that Georgie was dead. Some dreadful calamity, some freak of nature.
Once he said ‘left’, I began to calm down.
Nora was sitting right at the edge of her chair. Even while I was speaking to Pete – or rather, while he was speaking to me – I was aware that she was already enjoying the electric spark of the storm that she’d sensed was crackling above all our heads.
‘She left some . . . things for me to find,’ Pete said, his voice beginning to settle a little. ‘The invitation to your house tonight, with your phone number underlined in red. Some bank statements, one showing details of money withdrawn three weeks ago. The deeds of the house. And some other things, personal stuff between the two of us, that make me feel she’s not coming back.’
My mind was hurtling off in several directions at once.
‘I have to confess,’ he went on, ‘I never realized that Georgie had so much money’ And he started to laugh. A mirthless sound, if ever I heard one.
‘Hang on a second – she and I spoke on the phone yesterday afternoon. When did you see her last?’ I still couldn’t take it in.
‘Last night,’ he said. ‘We had dinner together, the four of us. I went to bed around midnight and when I woke this morning, she’d gone. But there was nothing strange about that. It wasn’t until I got an email from her this evening that I found all the stuff she’d left for me.’ There was a pause. ‘She’s obviously not with you, then.’
‘She was supposed to be. She even rang me yesterday to confirm the time. We’ve had tonight arranged for ages. I can’t believe this, Pete. You’re saying you knew she was going away?’
‘Yeah. Just her usual business trip. She’s always gone by five. I don’t even hear her leave any more.’
Something he’d said earlier was nagging at me. ‘Did you say she’d taken money with her?’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Quite a lot of money’
‘May I ask how much, Pete?’ It was a dreadful, intrusive question but my thoughts were beginning to catch up with something. They were still tripping and falling over each other, but making progress towards a conclusion that was out there somewhere, waiting to be reached. I was sure of it. And anyhow, he didn’t seem to mind. He sighed in a way that seemed to say: what difference does it make now?
‘I haven’t added it up yet,’ he said. He seemed to consider for a moment. ‘Not all of it, anyway. There’s one account here for eighty-five thousand,’ he said. ‘Sterling. And that’s just the one she cleared out a few weeks ago. There are others – all in euro, all closed at different times over the last year. At a very rough guess, it’s well in excess of half a million.’
‘Half a million,’ I repeated. I saw Maggie sit up straighter. Her lips looked a sudden, startled scarlet in her pale face. Yes, I thought, you know something that the rest of us don’t. That’s what has been struggling to come to the surface of my mind for the past few minutes. That’s the matching sock, the second shoe that has just fallen with a bang. Now I wanted to get off the phone, to know whatever it was that Maggie knew. And I had a very unaccustomed feeling, too, beginning to grow in the pit of my stomach. Relief, happiness, even, that this time, I wasn’t the one causing all the grief. I brought myself back to Pete’s voice with difficulty.
‘I’ve never even seen that sterling account before,’ he was saying. ‘It’s addressed to her at the boutique. Maybe Maggie knows something?’
‘I’ll ask her. And we’ll get back to you. Or do you want to come over? We’re all here. What I mean is,’ I said, appalled at my slip, ‘Maggie and Nora have just arrived.’
There was a pause. ‘No. No, thanks. I think I’ll stay here, just in case. The girls . . .’
‘Of course,’ I said.
‘And there may be other stuff lying around for me to find. I’d prefer to find it before they do.’
‘Of course,’ I said again. And then he hung up.
Nora’s eyes were wide with anticipation. She was enjoying this, I could see. ‘What’s happening?’
‘It looks as though Georgie has done a runner.’
Maggie was getting whiter by the moment. She couldn’t work her mouth properly, as though her lips had seized. ‘What exactly did Pete say?’
I told her. She put her head in her hands. ‘Jesus Christ,’ she said. Then ‘Oh, Jesus Christ,’ again. She looked up. ‘Is he coming over?’ She couldn’t keep the alarm out of her voice.
‘No,’ I said. ‘But you’d better tell us what you know.’
Maggie shifted in her chair. She looked agitated. But it was more than that, too. I thought she looked forlorn.
‘I don’t know anything – not in the sense you mean. But I have suspected something – and I don’t even know what it is – for the past while now.’
‘Like what?’ Nora was beginning to get impatient. She was twisting her rings again, the way she always did whenever something upset or excited her.
‘She was very . . . ordered over the past few months. ’Course, Georgie has always been very organized but this was like she was . . . tying up loose ends, or whatever. I mean, she even changed our business accounts to “pay either”, things like that, when they used to be “pay both”. She said it would make things easier, that we wouldn’t both have to sign for stuff if things were very busy, or if one of us was away.’
Maggie hadn’t even reached for her cigarettes yet. This must be much worse than I thought. She took a large gulp of her gin and tonic instead.
‘She brought me with her to Italy the last time, too, and introduced me to Roberto and all the other suppliers. I mean, she used to do that negotiating stuff herself. It used to bore me, and anyway, she was much better at it than I was. But she said it was high time I came to grips with all aspects of the business. I never asked why. I just enjoyed seeing Rome and Milan again.’
I waited for her to go on, but she seemed to have dried up. So I prompted her.
‘Half a million, Maggie. Was the business doing that well?’
She shook her head. ‘’Course not. We’d never have that sort of money liquid.’ She began to look uncomfortable. Now she reached for her packet of cigarettes and her lighter.
‘Give, Maggie,’ I said. ‘Give.’
Nora
I always knew she was capable of something like this. I just knew it. Deserting her husband and her family like that and running off without a word. There’s probably some man in the frame, too, and it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if she has more than one on the go. And what about all that money! Where did she get all that money?
If I’m honest, I’d have to confess that I feel really angry as well. She has managed to steal the limelight once again and this time, she’s not even in the same room as me. She has taken over the whole evening without even sitting in her usual chair. I thought this was going to be my night, that I would get my chance at long last to talk about Megan and to show them all the photographs I have in my handbag. But no. As usual, it will just have to wait and I’ll end up being last, again.
Maggie is looking scared, though. I’d bet my life that she knows more than she’s telling. I wonder if now would be the time to let these two know about the afternoon I saw Georgie in Castleknock? When I’m sure she disappeared into that bike place with a young man?
Maggie has stood up and grabbed her cigarettes and lighter off the coffee table. She makes her way towards the door, but Claire calls after her.
‘Come back, Maggie. Special dispensation for tonight.’ She pulls a delicate ceramic bowl off the fireplace. ‘You can even have an ashtray. Don’t worry, it’s sturdier than it looks.’ Maggie sits down again. I can see by her that her mind is racing. Claire takes the bottle of Prosecco out of the ice bucket. ‘I think we should start to drink up, lads, before the wine gets warm
again in all this commotion. Even the ice has melted.’
Maggie takes her glass and begins to sip at the Prosecco but her face looks distracted, almost as if she doesn’t know what she is doing. Her eyes are wide, her painted mouth is trembling and her fingers with those awful scarlet nails have begun to shake. It reminds me of that other evening in Georgie’s so many years ago when Maggie wanted to kill Claire over Ray. And here we are again and there’s still the drama, still the crisis, but as usual, it is all revolving around somebody else.
‘This has to stay between us,’ Maggie says.
The room goes very quiet. Claire halts in the middle of pouring her own glass of wine. I was about to sip at mine, but I stop. I see the glance that passes between the two of them. Immediately, I know what it means. Nobody ever told me what happened after the Ray disaster, but then, after a gap of almost two and a half years, our group evenings started up again and Claire and Maggie were back on speaking terms.
I am not stupid. I have caught many glances like this among the other three over the years and they think that I don’t see or don’t understand. That flash between Claire and Maggie a second ago means that it is now Claire’s turn to forgive Maggie for something she knew or did or knows or has just suddenly guessed. Maggie already has the look of someone who has put two and two together. Claire nods. I can see that the bargain has now been sealed between them.
Then Maggie turns to me. ‘Nora?’ she says. They are both waiting, both looking over at me for my answer. I hesitate. This is a rare moment for me. I’ve experienced it only once before, the time I let Georgie know that I had seen her in Castleknock, dressed to the nines in her fancy linen suit and up to no good. I enjoy the moment for as long as I can. It makes me understand a little bit more about how people feel about power. It must become addictive. In that instant, I understand Georgie more than I ever have before. I nod. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I’ll keep it between us. As long as it’s nothing illegal, of course.’
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