Happy Ever After Page 14

  And, if she did stick to her guns and go and have a termination, it would be the end of them from his point of view. Whatever they decided, one of them was going to be the loser. Aimee lay wide-eyed and tense, shocked beyond belief that her hitherto almost perfect life had turned into a complete and absolute disaster.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Connie strolled out of the Dart station at Dun Laoghaire and walked up to the traffic lights at the junction. She glanced across the road towards Meadows & Byrne to the block of apartments where Barry lived. It was a great location, everything on his doorstep, and it suited him down to the ground. He particularly hated gardening, she remembered. She’d miss her garden too much to live in an apartment. Her garden was her private little heaven.

  She was early and there weren’t many people about, so she ambled around Meadows & Byrne in comfort, admiring the china and kitchenware, wishing she could win the lottery. It was eight million tonight, she reminded herself, she must buy a ticket on the way home. Cutting back her working hours would mean less money, but she had paid off her mortgage two years ago, and Debbie’s wedding was over, so she’d be fine, she assured herself, as she watched a woman place a half-dozen expensive scented candles into her basket. How wonderful it must be to be able to spend without regard to cost. She’d never had that luxury and, unless she won the Lotto, it was unlikely that she ever would. She decided to splurge on a cappuccino while waiting for Debbie. She headed outside and sat in the morning sunlight with it, loving the warm rays on her face. She couldn’t wait for her holiday in Spain with Karen. She badly needed it. This was the first Saturday in ages that she hadn’t had to work, and Connie felt a delicious sense of lazy wellbeing infuse her as she opened her paper and perused the clues in the crossword.

  Debbie stretched and yawned and glanced at the clock on her bedside locker. She sat up in shock. ‘Bloody hell,’ she exclaimed, realizing that it was quarter to ten and she was supposed to be meeting her mother in Dun Laoghaire around ten.

  She shook her head to try and clear it and then noticed that Bryan was not in the bed beside her. Her face darkened. He mustn’t have come home – or was he downstairs asleep on the sofa?

  She scrambled out of bed and hurried down, but she could see through the half-open door into their small lounge that Bryan wasn’t there. He must have stayed in Kevin’s apartment. Their first weekend home, and her husband couldn’t even be bothered to spend it with her. It was typical of Bryan to go spending wildly whenever he felt his responsibilities were crowding in on him. The more he owed, the less he was inclined to cut his costs. It was all right for Kevin Devlin to spend a fortune on champagne and drugs, he was on mega bucks; she and Bryan were earning a pittance in comparison.

  She raced back upstairs and hurried into the shower. At least she didn’t have a hangover, she comforted herself. Bryan would be wasted. She didn’t expect to see him until much later in the afternoon. There was no point in losing her cool with him; he’d feel she was trying to clip his wings, and he never reacted well to that sort of pressure, as she well knew, remembering with a shudder how he’d called off the wedding with just weeks to go, until she’d calmed him down by taking him to Amsterdam for a weekend break. Bryan hated being restrained, but a reality check was going to have to set in sooner rather than later. She didn’t want to be a nag, she wasn’t his mother, but the facts had to be faced – and so did the mess that was their bedroom, she thought ruefully, wrapping a towel around her and rooting in her wardrobe for something to wear.

  She was going to breakfast with Connie, and then come home and attack the washing. If she didn’t get on top of it this weekend, they were in trouble. It was a pity she hadn’t put a wash in last night; she could have hung it out. It was a fine day. Debbie frowned as she parted clothes-laden hangers crammed together. Was Bryan right? Was she turning into a housewife? Was she becoming dull and boring? His view was that they should get out and about and live life and not worry about housework, but if she didn’t do any washing, neither of them would have clean clothes to wear the following week, and if she didn’t sort out their bedroom, they soon wouldn’t be able to get into it.

  She dried herself quickly and pulled on a pair of black cut-offs, a white sleeveless vest top and a pink hoodie. Ten minutes to wash and dress – not bad, she congratulated herself – twisting her hair into a scrunchie and running a trace of lipstick across her mouth. She sprayed some Burberry on to her wrists and neck, grabbed her bag and left her tip of a bedroom without even making her bed. She didn’t have time anyway, she didn’t want to keep her mother waiting too long, she assuaged her guilt as she locked the front door and hurried towards the Dart. She was dying for a cup of coffee and looking forward to seeing Connie.

  She was in luck when she got to the station; there was a train due in three minutes and it was only a couple of stops to Dun Laoghaire. She climbed the bridge to cross to the opposite platform and checked her phone to see was there any message from Bryan. She wasn’t really expecting one. He’d probably taken something to bring him down from his coke high, because he’d been in flying form when she left, his eyes glittering, mannerisms more exaggerated as he worked the room. She hated it when he did drugs. She was always petrified that he’d get bad stuff and end up in A&E. He’d taken a bad hit once and puked for hours after it. It had put her off taking drugs again, but not Bryan. If Connie knew they dabbled, she’d go mad. Connie had no time for drugs; she’d nursed enough patients whose lives had been destroyed by them. If her mother asked where he was, she’d say he’d gone into work to collect the car, which wouldn’t be a fib, she decided, stepping into the train and taking a seat on the side where she would be able to see the sea once they passed the Merrion Gates.

  It would be wonderful to have a sea view, she thought wistfully a few minutes later as the train emerged on to the shoreline and she admired the spectacular sweep of the sun-drenched coast, with Dun Laoghaire in the distance. She remembered the magnificent view from Judith Baxter’s hospital window and wondered had her words had any effect on her boss, or was it water off a duck’s back? Once Judith came back to work, her life would be a misery, Debbie thought despondently. Even though she’d sent a half-hearted apology via Ciara, Judith was the type who held grudges, and she’d never forgive Debbie’s impertinence for calling her a bully.

  Don’t think about it now. Worry about it when she comes back, Debbie told herself sternly. She had enough worries on her plate about Bryan and their debts without worrying about Judith Baxter.

  Judith drifted in and out of drowsy, drugged sleep. Something had happened; she couldn’t quite remember what. It seemed a long time ago. She’d been shouting and crying, and then she’d had an injection and gone into dark oblivion. She’d vaguely realized it was morning when the sunlight slanted into the room. She’d been given tea and toast. Was it breakfast? Or lunch? She didn’t know. She was so tired, so utterly, utterly tired. Her mouth was dry, and her tongue felt thick and furry. A nurse came quietly into the room and took her pulse and temperature. Judith watched her through lead-lidded eyes, trying to remember where she was and what was wrong with her.

  ‘How are you feeling now, Judith?’ the nurse asked kindly.

  ‘Not so good,’ Judith said heavily. ‘Strange.’ It was an effort to talk. She wanted to close her eyes and go back asleep, but she was troubled. Something had definitely happened, but she couldn’t focus on her thoughts, couldn’t penetrate the fog that smothered her brain.

  ‘That’s all right, that’s just the effect of the sedation we’ve given you. Why don’t you go back asleep until the registrar does his rounds? He’s running late this morning.’

  ‘Yes, yes I will,’ murmured Judith, and closed her eyes. The nurse wrote something in the chart and glided out as silently as she’d entered, checking to see that the No Visitors sign was in place on the door. Judith had been doing quite well until yesterday; whatever had upset her had had a big impact. Until she’d had some psychological assessment
, she’d be sedated. If the poor woman was talking about a failed suicide attempt, there was no point in curing her physically without sorting her out mentally. The nurse felt sorry for Judith’s mother. Lily Baxter had been very upset on the phone the previous evening, wondering what was wrong with her daughter. The nurse had suggested that perhaps she should give visiting a miss for a day or two, but the elderly woman had been adamant. She was coming in to see her daughter, and that was that. No Visitors sign notwithstanding.

  ‘I’ve had enough of this carry-on, Saint Francis. If you’re going to make life hard for me and Judith, I won’t be saying that prayer of yours,’ Lily grumbled as she washed up her cup and saucer. ‘She was doing fine until I started saying it, and I’m very vexed.

  ‘Oh, what are you wasting your time talking to him for, he’s not going to answer you,’ she said crossly, shaking her fist at the marmalade tabby who stared insolently in at her from his favourite perch on the dividing wall between her neighbour’s house and her own. That cat thought he owned her garden, and the stink of him as he marched around spraying was an added insult. Of course, Saint Francis liked the horrible creatures. That said a lot about him. Lily was not in good form and had to vent her spleen on someone.

  What on earth had happened between her leaving Judith the previous afternoon, and 7 p.m. that evening, when Lily had had a phone call from Cecily to say that Judith was crying and in hysterics and she had been asked to leave? It was very strange and unsettling, and Lily was feeling disheartened and fearful. It wasn’t like Judith to be hysterical. The last time Lily had seen her daughter cry had been at Ted’s funeral, and that was a long time ago. With furrowed brow, Lily finished tidying up the kitchen before going to get ready to visit her daughter. It was early, and she didn’t generally visit until the afternoon, but Lily didn’t care. She wanted to see her daughter. Besides, Judith was a private patient, and they weren’t at all strict about visiting times in the hospital. She would just slip in as unobtrusively as possible.

  The traffic was light, as it was the weekend, and she caught a bus within ten minutes. She felt tense and apprehensive as the almost empty bus raced along the bus lanes. Her heart was palpitating agitatedly as she finally made her way along the now-familiar corridor to Judith’s small room. No one took any notice of her. Nurses, doctors, white-coated lab technicians, none gave her a second glance. The No Visitors sign on the door brought her up short. I’m not a visitor, I’m her mother, she thought, with a spark of defiance. She opened the door and saw the huddle of her daughter’s form under the bedclothes, curled foetus-like and turned towards the window.

  Lily felt her old tormentors, fear and apprehension, assail her. This was not the time for her to be weak. ‘Saint Francis, help me to comfort and console my poor Judith,’ she prayed solemnly as she stole around the bed and pulled the chair up close to her daughter. Judith was as pale as candle wax. She opened her eyes, and Lily could see they were dull and drugged. ‘I’m here,’ Lily said. ‘Don’t worry about anything. Everything is going to be sorted. I’ve been to the bank to see Mr Long. He’s made a very good suggestion, but not a word now to anybody, mind. He wants me to get your name put on the deeds of the house, and then he’s going to give you a loan for a mortgage. As soon as you’re well you can start looking for a place of your own. Won’t that be wonderful? Something to look forward to. You’d like a place of your own, wouldn’t you? And it’s right you should have one.’ Lily peered worriedly at her daughter, wondering had anything she’d said penetrated through the drugged haze.

  Wordlessly, Judith reached out and took her mother’s hand and gave it a weak squeeze before her eyes closed again and she drifted back to sleep.

  It was enough for Lily. Courage renewed, she placed her daughter’s hand back under the sheet and took out her knitting.

  ‘Maybe we should go back and see is Mom OK?’ Melissa suggested as Barry paid for his Irish Times and tucked it under his arm.

  ‘I think she’s probably better off on her own for a while. She’s tired and she needs to catch up on her sleep. She’s been very busy lately.’ Barry gave her a quizzical look. ‘So! What do you think of this baby business then?’

  ‘It’s a real shock,’ admitted Melissa. ‘I bet it’s a mega shock to Mom. I wouldn’t think she wanted a new baby after all this time, would you?’

  ‘Well, these things happen. We just have to adapt.’ He sidestepped the question.

  ‘That’s probably why she’s so cranky lately. She takes the nose off me for no reason at all,’ Melissa said mournfully.

  ‘Me, too. We’ll just have to make allowances,’ Barry advised.

  ‘I wonder will it be a boy or a girl? Where’s it going to sleep? Not in my room, I hope. It’ll have to go into the guest room.’ Melissa tucked her arm into her father’s as they headed for the seafront. She suddenly remembered that it was seriously uncool even to let on you liked your father and hastily removed her arm, pretending to close the zip on her purse. She’d just seen two girls from her class on the other side of the street and was mightily relieved that they hadn’t seen her.

  ‘Don’t worry. Your room is safe,’ Barry assured his daughter, hardly able to believe that they were having this conversation. It was ages since he and Aimee had had sex. It must have been that sleepy quickie in the middle of the night a few weeks before the wedding. Or – was it his child? The thought flashed across his mind, and his jaw dropped. Oh, don’t be a bastard, he thought, disgusted with himself.

  ‘Well, by the time it’s my age, I’ll probably be married or living in my own place, so it won’t matter,’ Melissa declared, airily bringing him back to earth.

  ‘Good God! You’ll be twenty-eight, and I’ll be in my mid-sixties.’ Barry was utterly shocked. It was only just beginning to dawn on him what a seismic shift this was going to make to their lives. No wonder Aimee was distraught. He felt a frisson of sympathy for his wife, which tempered the anger that was bubbling inside. He was certain by now that his wife hadn’t been going to tell him that she was pregnant. She was planning on getting rid of it. He’d seen the guilt in her eyes when he’d held up the test kit and asked her if she was pregnant. She’d blushed puce, something he’d never, in all the years he’d been with her, seen her do. She hadn’t been able to hold his gaze. It had been like a kick in the solar plexus, that realization that his child, his son or daughter, was to be got rid of and he would never have known anything about it.

  How could she do that to him? Hadn’t she even considered the fact that he was entitled to know and have a say in deciding if his child lived or died? Was her damn career so important that it was all that mattered in this?

  Yes, having a child would be a huge upheaval in their lives, but that was no reason to shirk their moral responsibilities. What an irony, he thought ruefully. When Connie had miscarried their second child, he couldn’t have been more relieved and she’d been the one who was devastated. Now it was Aimee who would welcome a miscarriage, and he would be the one who was upset. So much for his lip service to a mother’s right to choose. It was a different kettle of fish when the father had no choice, he admitted. The truth was, he had always wanted another child with Aimee. He’d loved parenting Melissa and realized he was good at it. He wanted her to have a sibling. But, as the years had passed and Aimee had refused outright to consider it, he’d let go of the notion. But, now, even though the timing was not favourable, he wasn’t as thrown by it as Aimee was. He had made such a mess of things with Debbie. Now, it was as if the universe had forgiven him and was giving him another chance.

  He suddenly remembered the meeting he’d planned for his daughters this morning. In the whole drama of the pregnancy test he’d completely forgotten the arrangement he’d made with Connie.

  A hasty glance at his watch showed him that it was ten twenty, just a little later than planned, he thought in relief. They rounded the corner of Meadows & Byrne, and he saw Connie at a table outside, head bent, engrossed in her paper. Barry’s heart
lifted at the sight of her. Connie would never have gone behind his back in something as important as this. To think he’d been foolish enough and immature enough, years ago, to think that Aimee, with her hungry ambition and strong independent streak, was someone his ex-wife could have done with emulating. What a fool he’d been, he thought bitterly, remembering the look in his current wife’s eyes when he’d challenged her to take the pregnancy test there and then. They’d been having a real low in their marriage these past few months, but nothing had prepared him for this scenario. What would happen if things went even further downhill? This time, he wouldn’t be able to run away to America, the way he had on Connie. This time, there was nowhere to run.

  Connie was engrossed in her crossword, her cappuccino almost finished, when she heard a familiar voice say, ‘Look, Melissa, there’s Connie.’ She looked up to see her ex-husband and his daughter walking in her direction.

  ‘Well, hello,’ she smiled, pretending it was a big surprise.

  ‘Hi, Connie,’ Melissa smiled back at her. ‘How’s Miss Hope?’

  Connie laughed. ‘You say that every time we meet. She’s fine and lazy, sunning herself in the garden when I was leaving. Hi, Barry.’ She looked up at her ex, noting that he looked stressed and tired. To her surprise, he leaned down and kissed her cheek. ‘Hi, Connie, what a nice surprise. What are you doing here?’ He played his part perfectly.

  ‘Well, I’m supposed to be meeting Debbie to look at some furniture, but she’s running a little late so I decided to treat myself to a cappuccino,’ Connie explained.

  ‘We were just going to have a coffee ourselves – would you mind if we joined you?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she said warmly. ‘Is that OK with you, Melissa, or did you want to go somewhere else?’ Connie asked the teenager.