She hung up, none too gently. Truly, if she never saw Vera or Gerald again it wouldn’t bother her one whit, she acknowledged crossly. She’d only put up with her in-laws through loyalty to Mark. That loyalty had been roundly abused. She didn’t have to be saddled with them any more. Let Mark look after his family’s affairs now. Let Miss Toned Pointy-Boobs do Gerald Kirwan’s shopping for him and wash his cacky underpants when he stayed with her and Mark this Christmas.
Christmas would be interesting, Francesca thought grimly. What would Mark do with his father? What would she do for Christmas? Her face crumpled. Owen was going out to his brother in the States for ten days. She’d be on her own. It was frightening. She’d never been on her own before. How would she cope?
She picked up the phone and rang her sister’s number. Millie answered in her usual brisk, no-nonsense style.
‘Hi, Millie, it’s me,’ Francesca managed before bursting into tears.
‘God Almighty, Francesca! What’s wrong?’ Millie demanded.
‘Mark’s having an affair,’ Francesca blurted between sobs.
‘Of course he isn’t, don’t be daft—’
‘He is, Millie,’ Francesca snapped angrily. ‘I’m not stupid. I caught them together in a hotel in Cork. In their dressing gowns,’ she added for good measure.
‘Oh my God!! I’ll be over. I’ll be right over,’ Millie exclaimed hastily. ‘See you in a few minutes.’
Francesca hung up and tried to compose herself. The locksmith was working on the garage door; he’d finished the front and the back. She didn’t want to be all tearstained and red-eyed when she was paying him.
She went up to the bedroom and brushed her hair and dusted a bit of powder onto her cheeks. She put her brush back down on the dressing table and saw a pair of Mark’s gold cufflinks that she’d given to him as an anniversary present, years ago. ‘Oh Mark,’ she whispered. ‘Why? Why did you do it?’ She swallowed hard as she heard the locksmith call to her. Just this one thing to deal with and then she could fall to pieces, she promised herself as she hurried downstairs with her chequebook.
It was a relief when he’d gone and the silence of the house wrapped itself around her like a mantle. She felt some of the tension ease out of her body. The house was secure now. She had taken back control. Mark would have to knock at the front door to gain entry. See how he liked that, she thought bitterly, remembering the cosy intimate scene that she’d walked in on in Cork.
They’d seemed so at ease in each other’s company, so lighthearted and happy. She couldn’t remember the last time she and Mark had had an intimate evening together. Generally after dinner, if they weren’t going out socializing, they’d watch TV and Mark would usually fall asleep. There had been a time when they used to take a stroll around Howth to exercise the dog, but as he began to travel more in the job, the task had fallen to her and he rarely walked with her now. But she still looked forward to his homecoming when he’d been abroad and always liked to hear the news and gossip from Brussels. She’d cook a favourite meal for him and fuss over him, knowing that he worked hard. He always brought her a present home: perfume, confectionery, a piece of crystal to go in her collection. Their marriage was easy. No wild ups and downs. Just steady and comfortable, if a little dull and unexciting. Nothing had prepared her for the shock she’d had today. As far as she’d known, their marriage was rock solid.
She heard Millie’s car in the drive and went to open the front door. Her sister, tall, rangy, the epitome of vibrant good health, crossed the drive in a few long strides to embrace Francesca, who promptly burst into tears yet again.
‘Come on in, Francesca. Have a good cry, get it out of your system, and tell me what happened,’ Millie ordered, taking charge in her usual capable manner. She led her weeping sister into the lounge, sat her down on a sofa and began handing her tissues. Francesca bawled her eyes out as the events of the day finally caught up with her and she gave in to the luxury of grief. It poured out of her in great, gulping, body-shaking sobs, much to Millie’s dismay.
After a while Francesca wiped her eyes and composed herself. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured, giving her sister a watery smile. ‘I’ve been keeping it in all day.’
‘I bet you have.’ Millie grimaced. ‘For God’s sake, what happened? Are you absolutely sure? How did you find out? Could there be any mistake?’
Francesca sniffed and shook her head. ‘There’s no mistake. I caught the two of them together. I don’t know what to do, Millie. My marriage is over.’ She started crying again.
‘Tell me what happened,’ Millie urged, handing over another wad of tissues.
As best she could, Francesca told her sister the whole sorry saga and watched as Millie’s expression became ever more shocked and incredulous.
‘I don’t believe it,’ she murmured. ‘Mark! It’s incredible. God! Francesca, I don’t know what to say.’
‘I don’t know what to say either. It’s so unreal. I have to keep pinching myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.’ Francesca sat up straight and pushed her hair out of her eyes. ‘I’ve had the locks changed on the doors. He can bloody knock to get in here from now on.’
‘That’s a bit drastic!’ Millie murmured.
‘Fuck him, Millie. He’s not going to waltz in here just like that and carry on as if everything’s OK,’ Francesca retorted indignantly.
‘No, of course not,’ Millie soothed. ‘It’s just that you’re angry at the moment and you’re not thinking straight. You’ve a lot to lose here, Francesca. You’ve been married for over twenty years.’
‘How would you feel if you caught Aidan with another woman?’ Francesca demanded.
‘I’d cut his goolies off,’ Millie said unequivocally.
‘Would you take him back? Would you sleep with him again?’
‘I don’t know, Francesca.’
Francesca scowled. ‘Well, there you are.’
‘I know. It’s horrible,’ Millie admitted. ‘I suppose you don’t know how you would react until it happens to you. I just couldn’t imagine Aidan having an affair. But then I couldn’t imagine Mark having one either,’ she added wryly. ‘What are you going to tell the boys?’
‘I don’t know. Owen’s staying with a friend tonight. It’s just as well, I suppose.’
‘Well, you can’t stay here on your own,’ Millie declared. ‘Come on home with me and let’s get pissed.’
For a minute Francesca was tempted. The idea of getting as drunk as a skunk and falling into bed in a stupor was somewhat appealing. At least she’d sleep, and it would be nice to have Millie’s comforting presence about. But she couldn’t drink herself into oblivion every night. She had to get through this. And she had to do it on her own. She might as well start now.
She shook her head. ‘This is my life now, Millie, I’d better get used to it. Running away is not going to solve anything, and besides I don’t want to have a raging hangover if Mark comes home tomorrow. I need to have my wits about me.’
‘I suppose so. Look, I’ll stay here. I’ll give Aidan a ring and tell him that you’re a bit under the weather. I’ll get up early in the morning to get the girls off to school.’
‘Ah no, Millie. That’s not fair, you have your hands full,’ Francesca protested.
‘Of course I’m staying. This is not any old common-or-garden trauma, Francesca. This rates pretty high on the scales.’
‘You think so?’ Francesca managed a smile.
‘A top-notch drama. I mean, I think at least one stiff drink is called for. It’s just so weird. I can’t take it in. What was Mark thinking of?’ She saw the stricken expression on her sister’s face. ‘Oh, sorry, me and my big mouth.’
‘It’s all right, Millie, I’ve been asking myself the same question over and over,’ Francesca said miserably.
Millie gave her a hug. ‘Sit over there by the fire and I’ll get you a brandy. I’ll just give Aidan a ring to tell him I’m staying.’
Francesca went over and curled up in
the soft cream leather armchair by the fire. To tell the truth she didn’t particularly like the leather suite, which had cost an arm and a leg. But Mark had loved it the minute he’d seen it. Its expensive opulence was affirmation for him of how far he’d come from their first small semi-detached house in Santry.
What would happen when he came home tomorrow? If he came home tomorrow. What was he feeling now? Did he feel guilty or was he relieved that it was all out in the open? Had she given him an easy way out so that he could go and live with his lover? Had she played right into his hands? Francesca stared into the flickering flames and felt a knot of fear. Millie was right. She had a lot to lose. Everything that she knew, her identity as Mark’s wife, her place in society as his partner, her home, her lifestyle, all that she had taken for granted had been undermined in the blink of an eye. Now she was going to have to fight for what she considered rightfully hers. Now she was a woman on her own. Unless of course she looked the other way and pretended that Mark’s fling was something she could get over.
It would be the easiest path to take, she thought ruefully. Be mad at him for a while, give him the cold shoulder, make him eat humble pie for months to come and eventually try and pretend that it never happened.
‘But it has happened,’ she argued with herself viciously. ‘It has happened and you can’t change it and life’s never going to be the same.’
Millie poked her head around the door. ‘Did you say something?’
‘Just thinking aloud.’ Francesca leaned back in the chair and took the proffered brandy goblet. ‘What would you do if you were me?’ she asked curiously.
‘It’s different for me.’ Millie sank onto the sofa, curled her long legs up under her and took a sip of the fiery amber liquid. ‘My circumstances are quite different. The girls are very young. I’d have to think of that. Your two are reared and on their way. That makes a hell of a difference. I know it’s going to be hard for them to know what’s happened but they’re adults, they’ll cope easier than two young children would. I don’t know, Francesca, I just hope it never happens to me.’
‘At least you’ve got a job. You’re financially independent,’ Francesca interjected.
‘Look, see what happens tomorrow when he comes home. Maybe he’ll be crushed and full of apologies—’
‘And maybe he’ll see it as an excuse to get out. They were totally relaxed together, a real cosy unit,’ Francesca said bitterly. ‘She was so fucking perfect looking, all long legs and pert boobs. I felt so frumpy and middle-aged beside her.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Francesca, you’re the height of elegance,’ Millie consoled.
‘Elegance!’ scoffed Francesca. ‘It makes me sound so middle-aged. She was young, Millie. Young. I hate being goddamn forty. It’s all downhill from here. Why is this happening to me? What sort of a life am I going to have? I’m past it, Millie. No man’s ever going to give me a second look now.’
‘Stop that nonsense right now, Francesca Kirwan. I won’t have you downing yourself like that just because that total idiot of a husband of yours let his dick get the better of him. I’m telling you, six months of living with Miss Teen-Queen and he’ll be on his hands and knees begging to come back. Trust me on this one, Francesca. And you’ll be the one with the upper hand then and by God you use it.’ Millie’s eyes were hard with anger.
Francesca felt warmed by her sister’s loyalty. She knew it was pathetic but she wanted everyone to hate Mark right now. She wanted them to despise and condemn him for all the hurt and pain he was causing her by his callous rejection of their marriage. He was the one who would end up ostracized and alone. Family and friends would support her through this ordeal. Then he’d be sorry, she thought viciously. She hoped he’d suffer. She wanted him to suffer. She hated him. Her resolve hardened. She’d make Mark pay for the rest of his days for what he’d done to her. She was going to make sure the whole damn world knew what he’d done to her. He’d be mortified. Mark was an extremely private person. If he thought people were gossiping about him at work he’d be horrified. His dignity would be in tatters. By the time she was finished with him, he wouldn’t have a shred of dignity left, she vowed, her grip tightening on the brandy glass as she stared into the flickering flames, oblivious to her sister’s concerned gaze.
Chapter Eight
‘FRANCESCA, PICK UP the phone please. I’m at Dublin Airport. I need to know where you’ve left the car,’ Mark growled down the phone. It was the following morning. He and Nikki had arrived back in Dublin Airport, tired and stressed. There were three huge multi-storey car parks plus an open-air one. The car could be in any of them. He hadn’t a clue where to start looking.
The silence at the other end was deafening. His wife had the answering machine on but he was sure she was in the house. ‘Francesca, pick up the phone, now!’ he ordered. Silence. ‘Francesca, if you’re not there and you come in and get this message, call me on this number immediately.’ He reeled off Nikki’s phone number and hung up.
‘There’s nothing for it but to go through the car parks, I suppose,’ he said irritably to Nikki who was flicking through a magazine in the book shop.
‘I suggest we start with number C, it’s usually the one where you have the most chance of getting a space,’ she said calmly.
‘OK, come on,’ he agreed. He was as mad as hell. Francesca could have told him where the car was parked. She was being a vindictive bitch. Life was going to be fairly gruesome for the foreseeable future. She was probably going to insist that he stop seeing Nikki. He didn’t know if he could. Maybe they could ease off for a while and when the heat had died down, get back together again. They trekked in silence to the furthest car park, each lost in their own thoughts. How on earth had Francesca found out about him and Nikki? Mark asked himself for the hundredth time. They had been extremely discreet. No-one knew about them at work, he was sure of it. It would have got back to him one way or another. It was mystifying. ‘I’ll do the first level,’ he said as they reached the car park.
‘OK,’ Nikki agreed. They split up and began the search for Mark’s BMW.
Nikki took the lift to the second level and tried to stay calm. She felt extremely agitated. She couldn’t understand Mark’s consternation at being found out. As far as she was concerned it was a liberation. It meant that Mark could now choose to be with her. They could be a couple. Francesca knew about them now, surely she wouldn’t want him back.
She strode along the gloomy grey, cold car park, scowling. It seemed increasingly clear to her – from his behaviour since Francesca had barged in on them – that Mark saw her as mistress material, but not as a potential partner. That was extremely distressing. She’d had enough of being a mistress. She wanted a proper relationship with all the frills, she thought tiredly as she scanned the parked cars. She wanted a commitment from him. She’d never put pressure on him, knowing that it was the worst thing that she could do, but everything had changed now. The goal posts had shifted.
He was going to have to choose. It was as simple as that. Mark was going to have to make a decision either to leave his wife and move in with her, or stay with Francesca and risk losing her. And it was a big risk the way she was feeling right now. She felt very unloved and very unwanted.
Stay calm, Nikki told herself as she walked down yet another aisle. He’s in shock. He’s not thinking straight. He’s not himself. Of course he wants to be with you. He adores you. Don’t let him see that you’re feeling needy and vulnerable. He’ll run a mile. Don’t put any pressure on for a while. See what way the whole situation pans out. Don’t let him see that it’s getting to you.
‘Easier said than done,’ she muttered as she traipsed the length of the second-floor car park with neither sight nor sign of Mark’s car.
She was just about to go to the next level when he drove up alongside her. ‘Hop in,’ he said. ‘I’ll bring you to your car.’
‘Where was it?’ she asked as she got into the car beside him.
‘
The third level. I suppose it wasn’t too bad. We could have been here until tomorrow.’
‘What are you going to do?’ she asked casually.
‘I’d better go home and face the music,’ he groaned. ‘I’m not looking forward to it. God, Nikki, this is a nightmare. How the hell did she find out?’
‘Give me a call and let me know how it goes. Keep your cool and don’t get into a row if you can help it,’ she advised as he pulled up beside her car. ‘And, darling, don’t worry too much. Maybe it’s all for the best.’
He didn’t look too convinced as he leaned over to kiss her. ‘I’ll hang on to the cases for the time being. See you, Nikki, I’ll be in touch,’ he said heavily.
‘Whenever,’ she said lightly. She got out of his car and got into her own and roared out of the parking bay.
I’ll be in touch. That didn’t sound as though he was going to leave his wife. In fact it didn’t sound too promising at all. Why had he kept his cases? Was this the end of the road for them? Fear gripped her. She loved Mark more than she’d ever loved anyone. She didn’t think she could face life without him. What would she do if he ended it? Nikki drove home more worried than she had ever been in her life.
Mark drove fast once he got onto the M50. The sooner the ordeal was over, the better. He felt apprehensive. He hadn’t a leg to stand on. He had no defence. Francesca was perfectly within her rights to feel betrayed and angry, but, damn it, he hadn’t fallen in love with Nikki on purpose. His wife would never understand his point of view if he tried to explain why he’d gone into the relationship with the younger woman.
The best thing to do would be to take his medicine and say nothing, he decided. Least said soonest mended. There was no point in getting into a full-scale row. It would make things worse. That was if they could get any worse. Things were about as bad as they could be, he thought agitatedly as he accelerated to pass a juggernaut. He hoped that Francesca wouldn’t say anything about all this to Owen. It would be impossible to look his son in the eye. He felt sick even thinking about it. Both his sons admired and respected him. That respect was important to him. Now it was in total jeopardy.
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