Forgive and Forget Page 18

  How typical of her father, she thought with a flash of irritation, one glass of champagne and everything would be fine, all the past erased. He really had no idea of how deep her feelings ran. Certainly, until today, he had had no conception of the depth of her anger or pain. She looked at him standing there, smiling broadly, and couldn’t help the notion that in some ways he was a lot like Bryan. He liked everything to be hunky-dory. He liked to brush things under the carpet and pretend that problems didn’t exist. Was she marrying a man just like her father? The idea shocked her and she pushed it away.

  ‘Can we have some?’ Melissa interrupted her train of thought.

  ‘I’m allowed to drink champagne, I had some for my gran’s birthday,’ Sarah said eagerly.

  ‘One glass?’ Barry gave Debbie a quizzical look.

  ‘Why not?’ she heard herself say. What was the point in refusing? Whatever issues she had, she had to deal with them herself.

  ‘Terrific,’ Barry exclaimed, and went out to the kitchen to do the honours. Aimee always liked to keep a couple of splits of champagne chilling and this was the very occasion for a champagne moment.

  ‘What’s your dress like?’ Melissa asked shyly, unused to conversing with her half-sister.

  ‘It’s not a fussy meringue – it’s got a lacy sort of top and a plain satin skirt. It’s very simple really. I hate frills and ruffles,’ she explained.

  ‘Are you wearing a veil?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘I wasn’t going to, but when I tried it on it looked good, and I suppose it made me feel really bridey.’ She was about to say ‘You only get married once,’ when she remembered whom she was talking to.

  ‘Here we are.’ Barry appeared with a tray of champagne flutes. ‘Girls, the half ones are for you. I’m not sending you home intoxicated, Sarah.’ He smiled at her.

  ‘OK.’ She giggled, taking a glass and handing another to Melissa.

  Debbie took hers and watched the bubbles bursting up through the golden liquid.

  ‘To you, Debbie, to your wedding and to family.’ Barry raised his glass.

  She saw Melissa and Sarah raising theirs to her. Melissa caught her eye. Debbie took a deep breath. It was up to her. Things could stay as they were or she could leave the past and all its grief and resentments behind her and walk a new path.

  She looked into her half-sister’s youthful blue eyes and saw Melissa looking back at her with anticipation. Debbie sighed; she was, after all, the older sister, the one to lead the way. She raised her glass and studied the younger girl intently.

  ‘To family,’ she toasted.

  ‘To family,’ echoed Melissa, solemnly clinking her glass to Debbie’s.

  They smiled at each other and, for an instant, Debbie felt it was just the two of them in the room. This moment must have been made for them, because Debbie knew if Aimee had been home she wouldn’t have agreed to come up to the apartment. She knew it was special and she knew Melissa felt the same. She was only a kid. God only knew what worries and anxieties she had. Debbie hoped with all her heart that she hadn’t caused her half-sister any angst with her unfriendly behaviour. That would be horrible. Her mother and father were right: Melissa was an innocent party in all of this.

  It had been petty and childish of Debbie to blame the younger girl for the problems in her relationship with her father. She was suffused with shame as she looked at the young teenager. It was clear that she wanted to be friends. That surly façade had obviously been her defence mechanism for Debbie’s cold attitude towards her. She would have to make amends and take the lead.

  ‘To sisters,’ she said softly, impulsively, and clinked her glass with Melissa’s again. Melissa went pink.

  ‘Yeah, to sisters,’ she muttered, but she was smiling.

  Her father touched his glass to hers. ‘To fresh starts,’ he said, and she wished that Connie were here beside them to share the moment of reconciliation.

  ‘To Mum,’ she said, and took a sip of the golden liquid. If it wasn’t for Connie she’d never have taken the first step in asking to meet her father to talk. If Connie hadn’t given her that book to read she might not have had the wisdom to change her thinking. If anyone deserved to be drinking champagne it was her mother.

  It would be a pleasure to tell her about this evening. And when she did tell her, she’d make sure they had a bottle of champagne to celebrate, Debbie decided, observing the pleasure in her half-sister’s face as she raised her glass in toast to Connie.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ‘Well done, darling,’ Connie exclaimed. Debbie had phoned her on her way to the train station to tell her of the evening’s events.

  ‘It was the book you gave me,’ she told Connie. ‘It made me see things differently. One phrase kept coming into my head. “That was then and this is now.” It’s very true, I suppose. Anyway, I’m glad I did it. And Melissa was pleased, so thanks for the lecture and sorry for being so childish about inviting her to the wedding.’

  ‘That’s OK, but it’s good to move on. Life’s hard enough without carrying all that baggage. I’m delighted the book helped. I must tell my patient. I liked what I read of it and I hoped it might resonate enough with you to help you take that step and change a negative into a positive,’ Connie praised. ‘I’m proud of you. It’s a great way to start your married life.’

  Debbie smiled. She knew her mother was pleased as punch by her news.

  ‘I just wanted to get it over and done with, I wanted to feel better about myself,’ Debbie said as she reached the traffic lights at Meadow’s and Byrne. She hoped a Dart wouldn’t race into the station across the street before she got there. Luck was with her: the lights changed to green and she hurried across the road. She slid her ticket into the turnstile as they talked and hastened out on to the platform and scanned the monitor. Two minutes to wait for the train. Not bad, she thought happily, longing to get home to tell Bryan the news.

  ‘And I’m particularly relieved for you and Melissa. Blood is thicker than water at the end of the day and family is important, and I like the child,’ Connie continued. ‘I think you’ll feel much happier in yourself. Was Barry delighted?’

  ‘He was pretty pleased all right, he invited me up to the penthouse and we had a glass of champers.’

  ‘Really! Was Aimee there? What’s it like?’ Connie sounded incredulous.

  ‘No, she wasn’t. She was travelling. I wouldn’t have gone if she was there. It’s elegant, but not really homely as such. Look, I’ll tell you all when I see you. I’ll ring you tomorrow, Mum. I hear the train coming. I want to give you your little present from Amsterdam.’

  ‘Why don’t I treat you to a bite to eat? It would mean I didn’t have to cook dinner when I get home. I could meet you in Dun Laoghaire. We could go to Purple Ocean for a change, if you like?’ Connie suggested.

  ‘Lovely, they do a good early bird—’

  ‘To hell with the early bird, we’re going the whole hog. We’ve a lot to celebrate.’

  ‘Well, the champagne will be my treat,’ Debbie said gaily. She was on a high.

  ‘You’re on,’ agreed her mother. ‘Talk to you tomorrow. And well done, pet.’

  ‘Night, Mum, I love you. Thanks for everything.’ Debbie smiled as she pressed the button to open a carriage door.

  ‘Night, Debbie, I love you too,’ Connie said before hanging up.

  Debbie settled in her seat feeling drained but exhilarated. It had been a rollercoaster of a night, but she’d finally had her say and left her father in no doubt about her feelings. It had been a liberating moment for her. The shock on his face had been a balm of sorts after all the years of secret anguish. Even verbalizing it had brought back those sad, distressing memories, and unexpected tears glazed her eyes. She’d felt so out of place as a child, especially when she saw the happy unit that Karen and John made with her cousins.

  Even though he’d been stunned and dismayed, she felt Barry still had no real conception of how abandoned, betrayed and frightened s
he’d felt at his leaving. Blaming it on his immaturity had been very convenient, she thought as the train pulled out of the station. There was still anger in her but at least it wasn’t suppressed any more. She’d faced it and had her say and now she was going to try hard to forget about it and focus on the good things in her life. She was realistic enough to know that just by talking it out with her dad didn’t mean that those feelings would disappear overnight. But she’d taken the first step towards reconciliation and the first step was the hardest step of all.

  ‘So he liked my choice of cheese. I thought he would,’ Bryan said smugly as he handed her a bowl of crisp baby salad leaves sprinkled with stilton and pear wedges to carry to the table.

  ‘It was inspired. It really broke the ice. Thanks for thinking of it, because I never would have,’ Debbie confessed, leading the way to the candle-lit table. ‘This is lovely. Thanks, hon.’

  ‘Anything for you, babes. This is a night to celebrate. You’ve made up with your father and half-sister; you can enjoy your wedding now. No more angst! Life’s peachy,’ Bryan declared, pouring her a glass of wine.

  ‘I took the first step, Bryan, it’s not going to be as easy as that,’ she murmured. ‘I can’t deny my feelings. They’re still raw.’

  ‘Forgive and forget, don’t wallow in it, Debbie. Life’s too short,’ he said cheerily, feeling an edge of irritation at her reservations. She could be a little bit of a drama queen if he indulged her. His attitude was ‘Get on with it.’

  ‘Cheers,’ he said, raising his glass, ignoring the frown that creased her brow. ‘Eat up, I slaved over a hot pan for ages,’ he teased as he tucked into his steaming fajita.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said quietly, wishing he wouldn’t dismiss her feelings so lightly. Men just seemed to do that to her, she thought irritably.

  ‘So, has Aimee got taste? What’s the Taj Mahal like? Does she sit on a golden throne?’ Bryan demanded, determined she wasn’t going to go quiet and huffy because he wouldn’t humour her need for angst.

  Debbie giggled in spite of herself. Bryan felt relief wash over him. He hated all this family stuff. Rows and scenes were to be avoided at all costs and he’d certainly be steering clear of them to the best of his ability. Life was to be enjoyed, and he intended to enjoy it to the full and Debbie’s family weren’t going to get in the way of that.

  Good girl, Debbie, Connie thought with pride as she rearranged plates in the dishwasher to try and accommodate a dirty lasagne dish. It took her five minutes, moving dishes around like chess pieces on a board, before everything finally fitted, and her knees ached from sitting on her hunkers. She pulled herself up stiffly and set the cycle. She’d missed her walk these last few days and she was beginning to seize up, she thought crossly as she stretched her neck and shoulders.

  She opened a press door and took down some IQ oil tablets. They were supposed to be good for memory loss. She should start taking Udo’s Oil to lubricate her joints as well, she supposed, feeling indignant that her body was beginning to let her down. Just at a time in her life when she could start cutting back on work and taking it a bit easier, all this peri-menopause, or whatever the hell she had, had to start kicking in.

  Her thoughts turned to the perfectly toned and supple Aimee and she felt irrationally resentful. No wonder she was toned and supple with the hours she spent at the gym while her child was home alone eating pizza for her dinner. Wasn’t it well for her that she had Barry at home to mind Melissa while she travelled around Europe for work? Much chance she’d had for travelling when Debbie had been a child.

  Her sense of injustice increased as she flung dirty tea towels and dish cloths into the sink. It must be great to be able to afford to have champagne in your fridge so that you could pop a cork at the drop of a hat. Just seeing them walking into Roly’s in their designer gear – Barry in his Polo shirt and Ray-Bans and Aimee with her Dolce & Gabbana shades and Pierre Cardin bag – looking effortlessly affluent and chic had made her feel frumpy and dull in her M&S reliables and her black leather shoulder bag that was donkey’s years old. She’d have to make sure she got something really dressy and upmarket for the wedding. It wouldn’t do for the mother of the bride to be upstaged by the second wife! Karen was coming shopping with her to pick her outfit.

  Wasn’t it ironic? Debbie had confronted Barry about her feelings, and the issues that Connie had felt she’d dealt with years ago were surfacing for no apparent reason. It must be, as Debbie had angrily declared before the reconciliation, that contact with the other family brought up restless, angry feelings.

  Connie knew she was being unreasonable but these days she was often angry for no apparent reason as if she had permanent PMT.

  She should read up on the M word, she thought grumpily, as she tossed in a cup full of bleach and filled the sink with cold water. Or was she better off knowing what to expect, or would reading up about symptoms make her imagine she had them? Was not knowing protection in itself? Nothing had prepared her for this . . . this high and low of emotions, this achy crucifixion of joint pain, this lack of concentration that made her feel she was losing her marbles.

  She could take HRT, she supposed, but a doctor had said something once that stuck in her mind, that she was of the opinion that it wasn’t normal to put a young hormone in an ageing body. Besides, there was breast cancer in her family and Connie wasn’t going to risk it. The oestrogen withdrawal was just going to have to take its course and she’d give that herbal remedy Black Cohosh a bash, she decided, heartily sick of herself.

  On impulse she picked up the phone and dialled Barry’s number.

  ‘Hello?’ He sounded subdued.

  ‘It’s me, what’s wrong?’ she asked. ‘I thought you’d be in good form after meeting Debbie. She rang me and told me she’d had a chat and that you’d asked her back to the penthouse and had champagne. That’s a big step forward, surely.’

  ‘Yeah it is.’ He sighed heavily. ‘It’s just I didn’t realize how much my leaving had affected her, and it’s made me feel bad about myself.’

  ‘Why, what did she say?’ Connie probed, not expecting this response at all.

  ‘She told me that she was in torment as a child. That she felt unloved and unlovable. She felt it was all her fault that we split up. She told me about listening to you crying yourself asleep and feeling helpless about not being able to make things right.’

  ‘She said that! Oh God!’ Connie was equally shocked.

  ‘Yeah and much more. I never realized, Connie.’

  ‘Like what?’ Connie said, dismayed beyond measure.

  Barry relayed the conversation down the line and Connie’s heart was caught in a vice-like grip. ‘Oh, my poor daughter. Poor Debbie, I never realized it went so deep.’ Connie was devastated. ‘I knew she was angry and bitter but I felt that was normal in the circumstances. Oh God!’ She started to cry.

  ‘Don’t do that, Connie,’ Barry said miserably.

  ‘But I used to give out to her for not being nice to you, I used to tell her you were very generous—’

  ‘Oh, I had that thrown at me,’ Barry interjected dryly. ‘ “A cheque doesn’t make up for anything”, and she’s right, I suppose.’

  ‘Oh Lord! I never acknowledged her feelings; I never affirmed that they were justified. When people asked how we were getting on, I always said we were getting on fine and brushed our difficulties under the carpet. I’m a shite mother,’ Connie wept. ‘No wonder she was so angry and resentful. I should have brought her to counselling. I should have listened more and not told her she should grow up. She was only a child.’

  ‘You’re not a shite mother, Connie. You’re a great mother,’ Barry said fervently. ‘It was all my fault; I behaved like a selfish, thoughtless bastard. I’m the one to blame. Please stop crying, Connie.’

  ‘Look, I’m going to go, Barry. I’ll talk to you again.’ Connie gulped.

  ‘Do you want me to drive down? I’ll try and get a babysitter,’ he suggested helplessly. ‘Aimee
’s away.’

  ‘No . . . no, I’ll be fine. It’s just distressing to hear.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m sure. Goodnight, Barry,’ she managed. She put the phone down and collapsed into tears on the sofa.

  Memories brought her back to those years when Barry had left them, and she remembered with painful intensity Debbie’s big blue eyes full of hurt and anger on her birthday when she realized that he wasn’t going to be there.

  ‘Where’s your daddy?’ one of her little classmates asked.

  ‘He’s sick,’ she’d lied. ‘He’s in hospital. I’m bringing him cake later.’

  ‘No he’s not,’ said another. ‘You don’t have a daddy, he went away.’

  Debbie had gazed at Connie in consternation, silently pleading with her to say something.

  ‘Of course Debbie’s got a daddy, Brenda, don’t be silly. He’s working in America, and he couldn’t come home because he’s got a chest infection and can’t fly.’ Connie wanted to smack the smug little madam standing in front of Debbie. ‘Now go and play and be a good girl.’

  ‘Well, my mammy said—’

  ‘I don’t care what your mammy said. Enough,’ Connie snapped, vowing that Brenda Cullen would never be invited to their house again. But it had ruined the party for Debbie, she’d been subdued and clingy; and when everyone was gone she’d proclaimed, ‘I hate my daddy’ before stomping off to bed.

  The pain of it convulsed her. She’d buried those memories deep, almost banished them. No wonder her daughter had been in torment. Connie had been in bits after Barry left and she was an adult – how much worse was a marriage break-up for a child? Guilt shrouded itself around her. If she hadn’t married Barry when she’d got pregnant and fooled herself into thinking it was what he wanted too at least Debbie wouldn’t have known what it was like to live with her father and she would have been spared the agony of the break-up. Connie had deluded herself into thinking that their daughter had coped well. Tonight’s revelations made a mockery of that. She was as much at fault as Barry for the heartache their child had endured, and that truly grieved her.