‘But he’s gone now and you have to get on with it. You have to let him go,’ Liz muttered angrily. ‘You can’t keep going around wearing his clothes, you’re only doing your head in.’ She wasn’t the only person in the world to be bereaved – why was she so slow in coming to terms with it? Why was she constantly wallowing in her grief? She was pathetic.
Being a relatively young widow was difficult at the best of times, she thought glumly, as she took another gulp of wine. Several men of her acquaintance had made lecherous, unwelcome approaches that she’d spurned in no uncertain terms. She’d been shocked at their assumption that because she hadn’t been with a man for the last few years, she was gagging for it. Their arrogant vulgarity affronted and disgusted her. Had she sent out any signals, albeit unwittingly, she wondered in dismay? Or was it just that they were insensitive, uncouth gobshites? Did other women who’d lost their husbands have these problems, or was it just her?
‘Don’t mind those scabby fuckers,’ her sister, Tara, fumed when Liz broached the subject with her. ‘As if any woman would look twice at them. Don’t even take it personally, Liz, they’d try it on with anyone. Sad, pathetic gits. Is it any surprise their wives have probably stopped shagging them? A nympho wouldn’t give that pair of losers a look-in.’
Liz had laughed at her sister’s outrage. It made her feel marginally better. But then Tara was her champion and always had been. Her sister had got her through the darkest times and was always supportive on this new, rocky unwelcome road of widowhood.
The wives of two of the couples she and Ray had loosely associated with had become quite watchful if she was talking to their husbands. Liz couldn’t believe it. What did they think? That she was going to jump on them? Maybe she was naïve. But why did they think that her behaviour was going to be any different now? Hadn’t they known her for years? Why did they feel safe with her when she was part of a couple but now that she was on her own view her as a threat? Why did they think that she had suddenly turned into this predator, where no man was safe? Had they no conception of how empty her life without Ray was? Had they no clue as to how much thoughts of her husband still consumed her? There was no room to think about other men. Ray was all she’d wanted in a man. No one else could fill his shoes.
How he would laugh if he were here with her. Liz smiled, her sense of humour coming to the rescue. If her darling Ray were alive, he’d jolly her along about the wedding and it wouldn’t seem at all a hassle. But Ray wasn’t here and there was nothing she could do about it. She was just going to have to put on a brave face and get on with it. With her sister’s help she’d get through it and try to make the wedding the happiest occasion she possibly could for Jessica and Mike.
10
‘Come on, you guys, let’s hit the road.’ Mike rinsed his coffee cup under the tap and turned to look at the others, sprawled around the kitchen table in Gary’s apartment.
‘Fine by me.’ Carol drained her cup and grabbed Gary’s mug from him. ‘Come on, you, we’ll be here all day.’
‘Oi! I wasn’t finished with that,’ he retorted indignantly.
‘You can have plenty of coffee when we get to Banagher,’ Carol said briskly.
‘For crying out loud, it’s seven a.m. I need a bloody cup of coffee,’ Gary growled.
‘Come on, Gary, don’t mind those two sad Capricorns that don’t know how to enjoy life. Let them at it, we’ll have a lovely lie-in tomorrow, and they can get up at the crack of dawn and make breakfast and do the boat checks and set sail and wear themselves out, the poor sad sods.’ Jessica yawned so widely she nearly gave herself lockjaw.
‘No problem to us,’ Mike said smugly, winking at Carol.
‘You’re my type of woman, Jessie. What am I doing engaged to a lark? Us owls should stick together,’ Gary said.
‘Umm.’ Jessica yawned again.
‘Are we safe with you driving, you won’t fall asleep at the wheel?’ Carol asked worriedly.
‘The cheek of you,’ Jessica retorted. ‘I’ll be fine when we get going. Come on, the sooner we get there, the sooner we’ll be out on the river.’
Carol picked up her shoulder bag. ‘I’m ready.’
Grumbling, Gary hauled himself up from the kitchen table and gave a perfunctory look around. ‘Is everything off?’
Carol checked his cooker switch. ‘Yep. Come on, give me a hand to clear the table.’
‘Leave it, it’s fine,’ he instructed, unfazed by the marmalade-smeared knife, the toast crumbs and the bottle of milk lying untidily on the melamine table.
‘You’re a lazy git,’ Carol tutted, but she left the dirty table as it was. She wasn’t Gary’s housekeeper, she’d told him once, and was very put out when he’d told her, ‘No one’s asking you to be.’
Jessica noted her friend’s tight-lipped expression and hoped the pair of them weren’t going to bicker for the three-day cruising break on the Shannon.
She’d been so looking forward to a tranquil few days with Mike, lazing along the meandering, majestic river, and then Carol had muscled in and suggested a foursome.
Still, they were all here now, and once people had got over their early morning moods it could be a bit of fun. She was driving. Gary had said he wanted to be able to drink and he didn’t want to be tied, driving. Mike had no car and wasn’t insured on hers, Carol didn’t feel confident enough even though she had taken lessons, so that left Jessica. She didn’t mind, she reflected as she slid in behind the wheel. She really wanted Mike to enjoy himself. The exams had been tough but he felt he’d done OK. Now he needed to wind down.
‘Can I sit in the front? I don’t want to be queasy.’ Carol didn’t even wait for an answer but just plonked herself in the front seat.
‘Aw, Carol, I wanted Mike to map-read for me, I’m not too sure of the route,’ Jessica protested. She wanted to be with Mike in the front.
‘I’ll read it for you,’ she said jauntily.
‘That will make you sick,’ Jessica retorted. ‘Why didn’t you take a Sea Legs?’
‘I forgot.’ Carol scowled.
‘I’ll direct you from the back,’ Mike said easily, folding his long lean body into the seat behind her.
‘Are you all right there? Are your knees up to your chin?’ Jessica fretted.
‘I’m fine,’ Mike assured her.
‘What about my knees and my chin?’ Gary demanded petulantly from the other side.
‘Ah, bugger you, if you wanted comfort you should have driven your big company car.’ Jessica grinned.
‘Well, if we’d left at a reasonable hour of the morning instead of the crack of dawn I might have,’ he grunted.
‘Crack of dawn, my ass,’ jeered Carol, settling herself comfortably and stretching out her legs in front of her. She really could be a selfish cow, Jessica fumed as she checked her mirror and started the engine. As long as she got her own way, everything was fine.
The traffic was light as they crossed the city and headed west, and the atmosphere lightened as Jessica endured an unmerciful slagging from the pair of male chauvinists in the back.
‘Hold tight, I think we’re on a chicane,’ Gary remarked as she took a bend dotted with red and white roadwork cones, fairly sharply.
‘Clench your buttocks, there’s another one ahead,’ Mike teased. ‘Hope you’re wearing black underpants.’
‘Shag off, the pair of you,’ Jessica giggled, her sense of humour getting the better of her. It was a soft pastel morning, the sun lightening to buttercup yellow behind them, chiffon wisps of early morning mist hugging the treetops.
‘I’m hungry. Can we stop in Mother Hubbard’s for a proper breakfast?’ Gary asked plaintively.
‘You’ve just demolished two Weetabix and four slices of toast,’ Carol remonstrated.
‘It’s the country air,’ her boyfriend declared indignantly.
‘What do you mean the country air? We haven’t got past Lucan yet,’ Jessica scoffed.
‘I’m a bit peckish too, come to
think of it,’ Mike remarked. ‘I think a stop in Mother Hubbard’s sounds like an excellent idea. Good thinking, buddy.’
‘Jessica’s the driver. She’s in charge. It’s her decision,’ Carol interjected.
‘That’s right, it’s my decision, so depending on the behaviour from the back, and by that I mean no smart comments, we’ll see,’ Jessica said smugly, glancing in her rear-view mirror to see Mike grinning at her.
‘I wouldn’t stand for that, Mike.’ Gary shook his head. ‘Nip it in the bud now. Don’t start letting her dictate at this stage or you won’t have a leg to stand on when you’re married.’
‘Maybe you’re right, Gary. In fact that’s sound advice, my son. We’re stopping at Mother Hubbard’s, woman,’ he informed Jessica, poking her through the back of the seat. ‘The Master has spoken and be careful driving over those pot-holes while you’re at it. My ass hasn’t as much padding as yours and the suspension in this car leaves plenty to be desired.’
‘Mike Keating! The nerve of you!’ Jessica expostulated, turning to glare at him after she had swerved to avoid a dead bird mashed on the road.
‘I surrender! I surrender! Just look where you’re going. Please keep your eyes on the road. You’re in complete charge,’ Mike babbled cravenly, his hands over his eyes.
‘I want my mammy,’ wailed Gary.
‘That’s the way to treat ’em,’ approved Carol, tittering in the front.
The banter was flying as Jessica pulled into the car park of Mother Hubbard’s restaurant little over an hour later. They were all in great form and she felt peckish herself after driving.
‘A full Irish for me.’ Mike rubbed his hands in anticipation of the fry-up that awaited them as he uncoiled himself from the back of the car and stretched his cramped limbs.
‘Me too.’ Gary yawned. ‘Just what I need to wake me up.’
‘Jessie?’ Mike inquired.
‘Yeah, I could go a couple of rashers and sausages.’
‘You lot, you’ll have clogged arteries before you’re forty.’ Carol wrinkled her nose and frowned.
‘What are you having, Miss Goodie Goodie?’ Gary pinched her ass.
‘Stop it, you,’ she squealed. ‘I’ll have fruit and yoghurt.’
‘You’re a wild, wild woman,’ he grinned, throwing an arm affectionately around her shoulder. Carol’s face glowed with happiness and Jessica felt glad for her. It was nice to see herself and Gary having a laugh and relaxing in each other’s company. Maybe she was wrong to think that they weren’t right for each other. Every couple was different. All relationships weren’t as easy-going and companionable as hers and Mike’s.
She slipped an arm around her fiancé’s waist. ‘Smashing day, isn’t it? It will be gorgeous on the river.’
‘Just as well, if your woman gets queasy in the back of the car, she’d probably spend the trip barfing every time we hit a wave,’ Mike whispered.
‘That was a new one on me,’ Jessica said drily, snuggling in as Mike’s arm tightened around her.
Twenty minutes later the three of them were up to their ears in a steaming, tasty fry-up. Carol sipped orange juice and ate her fruit and yoghurt.
‘So what’s the plan when we get there?’ Gary asked lazily as he pronged a mushroom with his fork.
‘Well, we have to shop for a few provisions—’
‘Offie won’t be open that early,’ Mike pointed out.
‘We can stock up before we leave. Banagher is full of pubs,’ Jessica explained patiently. ‘I suggest we get our basics—’
‘I hope we don’t have to cook – can’t we eat out?’ Carol remarked.
‘Mike and I aren’t made of money, Carol, we’re saving for a wedding, don’t forget—’
‘Oh, let’s not talk about that,’ she said hastily, her face going a deep shade of puce.
‘Listen, if we’re getting married the last week in September—’
‘This September?’ Gary put his fork down and looked at Carol and then at Jessica.
‘Yeah, I told you during the week that we’d set the date, didn’t you say it to Ga—’ Comprehension dawned. Carol hadn’t discussed it with her boyfriend, obviously. ‘Oh!’ Jessica said, flustered.
‘And when were you going to tell me this?’ Gary studied his fiancée stonily.
‘Sometime during the weekend when we were all together,’ Carol muttered irritably, annoyed at being wrong-footed.
‘Now’s as good a time as any,’ Mike observed cheerily. ‘Last Wednesday in September. Kilbride church. Four Winds. Is that OK for you?’
‘You want to get married in Arklow in September?’ Gary said slowly.
‘Kilbride church is in Wicklow, technically speaking,’ Mike said lightly. ‘But that’s the gist of it. If it doesn’t suit you, Gary, that’s no problem. Do your own thing by all means.’
The colour drained from Carol’s face as she watched her fiancé through lowered lashes. Jessica saw her friend’s fingers roll tight into fists under the table and felt sorry for her.
‘Maybe we should wait, Carol. We’ll be broke too if we take the plunge in September, and I was hoping to go to the Munich beer festival in October with Kenny McCarthy. We’d sort of made arrangements,’ Gary said slowly.
‘Look, Gary, if you’ve made arrangements to go to the beer festival with Kenny McCarthy, that’s fine. I don’t think it should interfere with our wedding plans,’ Carol said coolly. ‘And once we’re married you’ll be able to claim tax for me, you might even get a rebate, you can spend it on beer in Germany,’ she added tartly. ‘Now make up your mind. It’s not fair on Mike and Jessie. Are we having a double wedding with them or not?’
Jessica felt her own nails bite into her palms as three pairs of eyes turned to look at Gary.
‘We need a simple yes or no, mate,’ Mike said firmly.
Gary shifted in his chair and looked at Carol. ‘We’ll be broke. I was going to take you away for a couple of days to France.’
‘We can go to France on our honeymoon if you want, just make up your mind one way or another, Gary!’ she snapped.
‘Let’s leave it,’ he said lightly. ‘It’s a bit soon.’
‘Fine,’ Carol said tightly.
Jessica couldn’t believe her luck. It was just going to be her and Mike after all. God had answered her prayer. She couldn’t even bring herself to look at Carol. She knew her friend was gutted. But that wasn’t her fault, she argued silently. She’d been prepared to go through with the double wedding. It was Gary who had chickened out.
‘More coffee, anyone?’ Mike lifted the coffee pot and broke the uneasy silence that had settled on them.
‘Not for me, thanks, Mike. I’m just going to pop to the loo.’ Carol picked up her bag and pushed back her chair.
‘I’ll have another,’ Gary declared, looking anywhere but at Carol.
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Jessica murmured. She’d got what she wanted. Her and Mike on their own for the wedding. Why wasn’t she happy? Why did she feel so guilty, knowing that Carol was in the loo probably breaking her heart crying? Why was her happiness always tinged with guilt because Carol’s life was such a mess? She wasn’t responsible for her friend, why did it always seem as though she was? She never felt like that with Katie. Her and Katie’s friendship was one of equals. Why, oh why couldn’t it be the same with Carol?
11
Carol just managed to lock herself in a toilet cubicle before the hot tears spurted down her cheeks. Why had Jessica opened her big mouth about the wedding? She’d been going to broach it at some stage over the weekend when Gary was relaxed after a few pints. Now it looked as if she’d never walk up the aisle with him.
Her frustration knew no bounds. How could he be so casual about it all? Didn’t he love her? Didn’t he want to marry her? He gave every appearance of not wanting to and it was extremely hurtful, not to talk about embarrassing.
Why did he stay with her if he didn’t want to marry her? Even worse, why did she stay wit
h him? Why didn’t she just tell him to get lost? Why didn’t she simply do herself a favour and end it? He was a selfish, arrogant, thoughtless bastard who never, ever put her first and she hated herself for being such a doormat.
She was an attractive woman, Carol assured herself. She’d find someone else. But it was Gary she wanted. Her head drooped on her chest as she flipped down the lid of the toilet and sat down. She wanted Gary because she needed to know she could keep a man she had set her sights on. She’d been rejected by a man once . . . her father. No man was ever going to walk away from her again. If anyone did the walking it would be her, and she wasn’t ready to walk away yet. Not by a long shot. Carol set her shoulders and lifted her chin.
‘Play it cool,’ she muttered as she scrabbled in her handbag for a tissue. Gary Davis wasn’t ever going to know how much he had just hurt her. She’d never give him the satisfaction, she vowed, as she marched out of the toilet and prepared to do a swift repair job to her ravaged make-up.
Swiftly she dusted Egyptian Wonder over her cheeks and applied fresh lipstick and mascara. She ran a comb through her hair and studied herself in the mirror. Her brown eyes had lost their sparkle and looked dull and lifeless. ‘Snap out of it,’ she ordered, tweaking a black, silky feather of hair over her forehead. She looked fine, she assured herself. She looked just fine. That bastard would never know just how much his casual indifference had wounded her. Her heart contracted as the sharp new laceration joined the others that festered painfully. It was too much to bear. Her poor heart was in flitters; she should cut her losses and run. Tears threatened to well up again but she bit her lip hard and struggled to regain her composure. ‘You can do it, come on. He’s not worth it,’ she whispered, just before the door was pushed open and a woman and child entered. She had to go. She couldn’t stay skulking in the ladies’ for much longer.
Taking a deep breath, Carol straightened her shoulders and, head held high, she strode out of the ladies’ back to their table.
‘That’s better,’ she said, falsely cheery. ‘Have you lot nearly finished your breakfasts yet? Time’s moving on, we should be too.’
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