Francesca's Party

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘Forget it, Ralph. I have,’ she said kindly, lying through her teeth. ‘Happy Christmas.’

  ‘And the same to you,’ he said sadly as she moved away to talk to one of the best Sales and Marketing pros in the business.

  Later that evening, as Francesca sat on the swaying commuter train, her thoughts wandered back to her meeting with Ralph. It had been a shock to bump into him so unexpectedly but she felt she’d handled it well. She was glad the meeting had occurred. She’d known that inevitably they’d meet at some function or another. Now it was done and there was a closure of sorts. She was relieved. She had no desire to resume their friendship. It was clear Ralph had a drink problem. She’d experienced a very dark side of him. It was not something she cared to repeat.

  She smiled to herself, remembering the frightened, tense, insecure woman who had sat on a train several months ago silently repeating release, relax, let go. She had come on in leaps and bounds, she acknowledged matter-of-factly. Did she ever think that the desperate, uncertain woman who had scuttled out of Allen & Co.’s office with her tail between her legs would be considering a partnership offer in a PR company? Ken’s suggestion made sense. She’d proved herself, proved that she was capable of handling her own accounts. They could really expand if they put their minds to it. They were a good team. Best of all, she had confidence in her own abilities.

  She was a far stronger woman now than she’d ever been at any time of her life. She’d picked herself up and turned her life around and that was quite an achievement, she thought with satisfaction, smiling at her reflection in the window.

  It wasn’t the right place to have made his apologies, Ralph thought morosely as he ordered a double whiskey in the Horseshoe Bar in the Shelbourne. Francesca had looked so vibrant. Her eyes and skin were glowing and the well-cut black trouser suit she wore had not concealed her tall shapely figure. She was such a sexy woman and she had no awareness of it.

  Maybe if he could get her on her own he could persuade her to come to dinner with him again. He knew where she lived now. At least that was a step in the right direction. Now that they’d made contact again and got over the initial awkwardness, their next encounter would be easier. He’d be on his very best behaviour with her from now on, he promised himself as he finished his whiskey and ordered another.

  The Party

  Chapter Fifty-six

  FRANCESCA STUDIED HER laden dining table and smiled broadly. Everything was almost ready. All she had to do was make the punch and have a bath and dress. A party in her new house. Who could believe it? she marvelled. This time last year she’d been a recluse, spending hours lying in bed crying her eyes out. Hating Mark, petrified to face the future. What a difference a year made. She poured herself a beer and sat down by the fire in her beautiful new lounge. Trixie snored delicately in her basket. The smell of fresh paint mingled with the scent of pine from the Christmas tree and the mouth-watering smells of cooking. A bough of pine and holly leaves along the mantelpiece sent forth the most glorious scent and festive red candles in shining brass candlesticks gave the room a very Christmassy air.

  She looked around almost in disbelief. It was hard to imagine that this was the same shabby, uncared-for cottage that she’d walked into last August. Maple floors gleamed from beneath richly patterned rugs. New double-glazed windows reflected the sparkling lights of the Christmas tree. Smooth, freshly plastered and painted walls in warm buttercup made the room bright and airy. Pelmeted chintz curtains that matched the material on her big, luxurious sofas lent a warm country cottage air. Small pine occasional tables held vases of roses and berried leaves. Her Omani Tribesmen hung over the fireplace and on either side of the hearth small recessed alcoves held shelves to display her sparkling collection of crystal and a few favourite ornamental pieces. White-painted louvre doors folded back to lead into the dining room that was dominated by the large pine table and chairs and the beautiful pine dresser on which reposed her collection of china. It shone under the recessed lights and Francesca smiled at the sight of it. This house was so completely different from her old home, in décor and atmosphere. She loved it, she really did. It was a house of joy to her. And she’d only been in it ten days. It was hard to believe. She’d moved in the week before Christmas and the most wonderful thing of all, her sons had spent Christmas with her. The boys had approved mightily of the cottage. That had been her great concern, that they wouldn’t like it after the grandeur they’d been used to in Howth. She need not have worried. They followed her down the hall to their respective bedrooms and pronounced themselves more than happy.

  ‘And you kept all my gear, Ma. You’re the best.’ Owen enveloped her in a bear hug when he saw his precious guitar and CD player. It had been a joy to see them both. They’d spent hours talking and reminiscing, laughing and teasing just like they’d used to.

  She studied the table critically once more. She’d eschewed caterers. This was her party. She’d cooked all the food herself. A pale pink salmon lay on a bed of lollo rosso, olives and lemons. Platters of honey-roast ham, cider beef, turkey and salamis stood on either side. Dishes of salads and dips lent a variety of colour. Baskets of breads – tomato, onion, nutty brown – were at one end. Dishes of sliced tomato, cucumber and olives drizzled with oil and herbs at the other. A pot of creamy, herb-seasoned pasta in a carbonara sauce sat on her hob ready to be popped into the microwave. A pile of plates and napkin-wrapped cutlery lay on the dresser beside the wine and champagne glasses.

  She strolled into the kitchen that led off a small archway from the dining room. It was a peach of a kitchen, she thought, happily gazing around, still quite unable to believe that this was her new home. Fitted pine presses covered every wall. An eye-level state-of-the-art oven and a gleaming hob delighted her housewifely heart. The big fridge-freezer groaned under the weight of chilled beer, wine and champagne. A colourful trifle, plum pudding and brandy butter, cinnamon pears and blueberry and raspberry sorbets took up two shelves, for afters. But still she wondered if she had enough food. The kitchen was spotless, all dishes cleared away. One thing about living with Mark all these years, she’d learned to be organized when throwing a party.

  But this was a different party, she mused as she stood looking out onto the garden that had been tamed somewhat. This was a party where she was inviting friends that mattered. Her nearest and dearest. This wasn’t about impressing colleagues at work. This was about fun and showing appreciation and giving thanks to all her stalwarts who had got her through the most difficult yet exhilarating year of her life: especially the boys, Millie and Aidan and their girls, Janet, Monica and Bart, Ken and Carla. Some of her book-club friends and two of her old neighbours in Howth who’d been especially kind. Viv Cassidy had not been invited. Her parents had gone to Galway for a holiday break; she was glad she didn’t have to invite them, even though that was an awful admission to make, she acknowledged guiltily. Her mother was still cool with her. Her presence would have put a damper on things. But she would have liked her father to be there.

  The phone rang. ‘Hi,’ she said cheerfully, expecting it to be Millie.

  ‘Hello, Francesca,’ Mark’s deep voice came down the line. ‘I was wondering if Jonathan was there. I can’t get him on his mobile.’

  ‘No, Mark, he and Owen spent last night with the O’Reillys. I’m not expecting them home until later. I’ll get him to give you a call.’

  ‘I was hoping he’d come out for a drink and that perhaps Owen would come too, I know they’re going back to the States in a few days.’

  ‘They can’t go drinking with you tonight, Mark, I’m having a party and they’re the guests of honour!’ Francesca laughed.

  ‘Oh! Oh, very nice. I hope it all goes well for you,’ he said politely.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said warmly. On impulse she heard herself say, ‘Why don’t you drop in for an hour or two if you’re free? It might be a perfect way of breaking the ice with Owen. If he saw that we were civil with each other he might thaw out
a bit.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t like to impose,’ Mark demurred.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Mark, I’d like you to come. You’ll know everyone, except Ken and his girlfriend. What do you say? I’d like you to see the house.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m certain,’ she assured him. ‘Any time after seven. It’s off the coast road, second turn on your right after the garage. You can’t miss it, my car will be parked outside. It’s the only newly done-up cottage on the street.’

  ‘OK then,’ Mark agreed. ‘I’ll see you. Thanks, Francesca.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ she said, putting down the receiver.

  People would get a surprise to see Mark arrive, especially Owen and Millie, but if she could put the past behind her so could they, she thought. Part of her was longing to show off too. To say to Mark: Look what I achieved without you. See what you’re missing, you idiot. She smiled. ‘Vindictive bitch,’ she muttered. But she was entitled, she told herself happily. Tonight was going to be a great night and if Owen and Mark could be reconciled that would be the icing on the cake.

  Mark stared out of the lounge window. Francesca sounded so happy and carefree, he thought enviously. How he’d missed having Christmas dinner with her and the boys. Nikki had been as sick as a dog, unable to keep her food down. He was worried about her. She hadn’t been well since catching that terrible dose at the end of the summer. She didn’t seem to be able to shake off whatever was afflicting her. He’d insisted that she go to the doctor later today. He’d offered to come with her but she’d refused his offer. She’d lost weight and was terribly wishy-washy looking. They’d had a very quiet Christmas. It had suited him, he thought glumly. He wasn’t in the humour for socializing. They’d both gone into work for a few hours that morning, he’d left to play a round of golf but she’d stayed and assured him that she was going to the doctor on her way home. They were supposed to be going to the Inchidoney in Cork for New Year but if she wasn’t feeling up to it there wasn’t much point.

  He wondered how Owen would react to his presence at the party tonight. He had to give it to Francesca, she’d done her best to sort out the bad feeling between him and his son. He was curious to see what she’d done with the cottage. He’d gone up to have a sneaky look at it one evening and had peered in the grimy windows and wondered if she had gone off her rocker. But Jonathan had told him that she’d done a magnificent renovation on it.

  It had been a joy to see his son and he’d held him close on their first meeting, glad to feel some connection with his family again. He’d invited Jonathan and Owen out to dinner with his father, but Owen had declined. He’d hoped time, and the fact that Francesca was happy, would have helped to heal the rift but Owen was being as bull-headed as ever. A trait Owen had obviously inherited from him, Mark admitted. Gerald had been delighted with the invitation to dinner. They’d gone to Shanahan’s on the Green. It was ironic that his relationship with his own father had improved as a result of the dreadful episode when Mark had left his home for the last time, a sad and sorry man.

  Mark sighed. He wouldn’t say anything to Nikki about dropping into Francesca’s. He wasn’t in the mood for a snit. She was terribly edgy lately. Life was not a barrel of laughs in the Langan/Kirwan household, he thought glumly as he went to the off licence to buy a bottle of champagne for Francesca’s party.

  Nikki sat in her doctor’s surgery, flicking through a magazine. Even though she’d made an appointment, he was running an hour late as a steady stream of coughing and snuffling, well-heeled, well-dressed patients shuffled in and out. It was almost six. It was probably to be expected, she thought sourly. He’d been closed all over Christmas and apart from today and tomorrow would no doubt be closed over the New Year break as well. A wave of nausea overtook her and she swallowed hard. She’d had to take another dose of antibiotics at the end of November, her third prescription in four months for that damned chest infection that kept recurring and ever since she’d been feeling atrocious. She, who’d never been sick in her life, had turned into a complete crock. At first she’d blamed the effects of the antibiotics for her malaise, now she’d wondered if she’d developed an ulcer with all the stress she’d been under.

  It had been terribly difficult working when she’d been feeling below par, but at least her work hadn’t suffered. She was in line for her biggest bonus ever and there was talk of promotion. That gave her some small comfort. She was going to ask the doctor to send her for some tests to nip all this illness in the bud once and for all, she decided as the receptionist called her name. But first she wanted something to effect an immediate cure of this damned ulcer or stomach bug or whatever it was. She wanted her trip to Cork to be a fresh start for her and Mark. A fresh start for a new year. Things had to get better than they were now. It was all so different from last Christmas, she thought unhappily as she walked down the carpeted corridor. She’d been so happy and optimistic then. Life had never looked so good. She’d felt vibrant, and full of life. Now she felt like a wet rag. She switched off her mobile. She didn’t want any calls while she was being examined.

  ‘Hello, Nikki, how are you?’ Dr Morris said kindly when she entered the surgery. ‘What’s the trouble?’ To her absolute mortification, Nikki burst into tears.

  ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me, doctor. I feel rotten. It’s one thing after another lately,’ she wept.

  ‘Sit down there and we’ll have a look and a listen,’ Dr Morris said calmly as he patted her arm paternally and handed her a tissue.

  The doorbell rang while Francesca’s punch was simmering on the hob. She hurried out to answer it. The boys had keys, so it couldn’t be them. She opened the door and stood rooted to the spot. ‘Ralph!’ she stammered. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘Hello, Francesca,’ he said cheerfully. ‘You were easy to find. Your cottage is the only one on the street with fresh paint. I figured it was yours. Journalistic instincts and all of that. Happy New Year.’ He thrust a bouquet of red and white carnations at her. ‘I thought perhaps that we could make a fresh start, if only you’d give me the chance.’

  She cursed herself for telling him where she’d bought the house. ‘Oh Ralph,’ she groaned. ‘Why did you do this? Wasn’t it better to leave things as they were? I’d much prefer it.’

  ‘Please, Francesca,’ he pleaded. ‘I’ve changed. Honestly. Let me prove it to you.’

  ‘Ralph, I’m having a party tonight and I’m rather busy. Could we talk about it another time perhaps?’ She couldn’t believe he was standing on her doorstep.

  ‘Oh!’ he said crestfallen. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Well, it’s not really a huge party as such,’ she explained hastily, thinking that he might expect an invite. ‘It’s for the boys before they go back to America,’ she prattled. ‘I want to give them a little family send-off. And now I really must go. Please don’t think I’m rude but I’ve a lot to do.’

  ‘Oh, OK,’ he said dejectedly. ‘The house looks lovely. Again, the best of luck with it. Goodbye, Francesca, and once more, I’m extremely sorry for upsetting you. I hope we can meet in the New Year. Sorry for interrupting your preparations.’

  ‘That’s OK, Ralph. Have a very happy New Year,’ she said politely as he turned away and walked down the path. She felt a little sorry for him. She’d liked him, but after her experience that night, she felt she could never be comfortable with him again.

  She closed the door and walked back into the kitchen inhaling the aromatic scent of the punch. She added some port and swirled some cinnamon sticks around the ruby mixture. It smelled delicious. She took a sip and was satisfied with the taste. Excitement started to bubble; she was so looking forward to entertaining her guests. She nibbled on a glacé cherry and promptly forgot all about Ralph.

  Ten minutes later she heard a key jiggle in the front door. ‘Mega smell, Ma.’ Owen burst into the kitchen followed by his brother.

  ‘Hi, did you have a good time?’ She kissed
them both, delighted to have them with her.

  ‘Too good,’ Jonathan declared.

  Owen sloped into the dining room and snaffled a slice of salami.

  ‘Hands off,’ warned Francesca.

  ‘But I love this stuff, Ma.’ Owen chomped away happily.

  ‘Don’t touch another thing, Owen. Go and change your clothes and get ready for tonight,’ she ordered.

  He lifted her off the floor and swung her around. ‘Make me,’ he teased.

  Francesca squealed. ‘Put me down, you brat. Jonathan, tell him to stop,’ she pleaded. ‘You’ll hurt your back, Owen. I weigh a ton.’

  ‘Ah no, not a ton, Ma, half a ton maybe,’ Owen said cheekily as he put her down.

  ‘You’re brazen impudent.’ She laughed. ‘Go on and get ready.’

  ‘You’ve done a great job, Mam.’ Jonathan followed her back into the kitchen. ‘I’m looking forward to tonight.’

  ‘Your dad’s coming,’ she murmured. ‘How do you think Owen will react?’

  Jonathan looked surprised. ‘Is he?’

  ‘Well, he wanted to meet you for a drink and I told him that I was having a party and suggested that he call in for an hour or two,’ Francesca explained.

  ‘That’s cool, Mam, really cool. I’m glad that you felt you could do that. I’m really proud of you, you came out of this amazingly together, as the Yanks would say.’ He hugged her warmly.

  ‘I had good support, love. That’s what tonight is all about. It’s to say thanks and to show that I’ve made it and I’m fine. And I’m glad Mark’s coming. It’s much better than fighting and rowing. So when your dad comes, will you have a word with Owen and tell him to put the past behind him?’

  ‘OK, Mam. Don’t worry,’ her eldest son reassured her.

  ‘Right. I’m going up to have a bath. See you shortly,’ Francesca twinkled. She was feeling lighthearted and exhilarated. She’d never looked forward to a party as much.