Happy Ever After Page 22

  ‘Go away and leave me in peace,’ she muttered – and heard the letter box open. He was leaving her a note, no doubt to tell her he’d called.

  Her strategy had worked. Two minutes later, Tom was driving away in a spray of water and crashing gears. Lily sat back in her chair and settled herself for her nap. It wasn’t to inquire about the good of her health that Tom had called, she knew fine well, so she didn’t feel one bit guilty about not answering the door to him. It would be a relief to her when Judith’s name was on the deeds and she’d got her loan because, then, he’d be able to do nothing about it. And if that didn’t suit him he could go and take a good long running jump.

  His ma must have left early to visit the hospital because of the atrocious weather. It was amazing what she could do when she had to, Tom reflected as he slowed down to drive past an awkwardly parked car. Judith had pandered to her far too much. She should have got on with her own life and not ended up feeling bitter and sorry for herself, he thought unsympathetically. He’d arranged for the painter to have a look at the place tomorrow. He’d ask Lily for a key, and then get a duplicate cut for himself. He didn’t like it that he couldn’t access his mother’s house.

  Having the painters in would give him the perfect opportunity to root around and have a look for the will, and his mother’s bank statements and post-office book. He wanted to know exactly what was what financially, so that Judith wouldn’t be pulling the wool over his eyes when Lily went to her rest. Knowledge was power, Tom reflected, swerving to avoid a mini-lake.

  Cecily was not so keen to pursue his lines of inquiry these days, Judith’s accident had given her a shock and her conscience was at her. Well, his wasn’t bothering him, he thought grimly, remembering the abuse his elder sister had hurled at him a few months back when Lily had been in hospital having her cataract done and he and Judith had rowed fiercely. Judith had played a very cute game as far as he was concerned, and she wasn’t going to get away with it. Accident or no accident, he was entitled to his share of Lily’s estate and he would make damn sure he got what was his due.

  Judith lay in bed, drowsily aware of the rain battering the window. She felt almost serene in her snug cocoon. The telephone call to her mother had been strangely cathartic. They really were at a new phase in their relationship. It was like the past and all its traumas and tensions had drifted away and they’d sailed over the rapids into calm and peaceful waters.

  Lily had called her ‘dear’, and that more than anything had almost caused Judith to break down in a flood of tears that would rival the torrents outside, she thought with a rare flash of humour.

  Her mother was insisting on Judith getting a place of her own. How she’d always longed for her own roof over her head, and now it was within her reach. Would she go for a cottage, or a semi-detached, or an apartment? All the options she had. A whole new vista was opening up for her; it was time to grasp her opportunities. Having a place of her own wouldn’t mean she was deserting Lily. She’d still be a big part of her mother’s life, but she’d be independent and free to do as she pleased. That was a rare gift and one taken for granted by many. But not her. Judith would cherish every minute of this second chance that life had unexpectedly bestowed upon her. She had finally made her peace with Lily. She just had one more person she felt the need to make amends to. As soon as she was able she’d make a phone call that would set something she felt bad about to rights. Her eyelids drooped. It had been a momentous day in several ways, and now she could let sleep continue its healing process.

  For the first time in many, many years, Judith felt a flicker of optimism. Her father would be very pleased for her; she owed it to him and to Lily, too, to let go of the past and make a fresh start. She fell asleep with a smile on her thin face, and dreamt of a room with floor-to-ceiling windows through which the sun shone brightly on shelves laden with books, all brand new and waiting to be read.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Debbie stared out at the downpour and watched the lightning streak across the rooftops of the city, zigzagging from a black sky to chimney pots and phone masts with gay abandon. She’d just had a text from her mother to say that she and Karen were shopping in Marbella with Juliet Davenport. The previous day she’d got a text to say that Karen and herself were lazing on the beach at La Cala enjoying massages from two Thai girls.

  She could do with a massage to iron the knots of tension out of her neck and shoulders. She’d hardly had a wink of sleep last night. When she’d got home all ready to confront Bryan with the amount of their debt, his sister and cousin were there, sipping wine, while he cooked a stir-fry for them. They were in the area and had dropped in, and he’d invited them to stay for dinner. She’d tried to join in the banter and chat, but her heart wasn’t in it and, eventually, around ten, she’d pleaded a headache and gone to bed. It had been impossible to sleep. The trio were in the lounge under her bedroom listening to music and making no effort to tone it down, and she lay in bed, furious at being kept awake in her own house.

  They hadn’t gone home until well after midnight, and Bryan was half tipsy and in no humour to talk about finances when he came to bed. He’d wanted a shag instead. She’d said she was too tired, but he’d persisted, stroking her and kissing her, trying to get her in the mood. It was easier to say yes than end up arguing, and she’d half-heartedly given in, but their coupling had given her no pleasure – not that he’d noticed – and as he lay snoring beside her, she’d felt tense and resentful, wondering why was she always the one in their relationship to have to do all the worrying about their unaffordable lifestyle.

  It was ridiculous: she was only a newly married woman, this should be one of the happiest phases of their life together, not fraught with anxiety over money issues. She remembered how carefree and happy they’d been when they’d first started living together. Maybe Bryan had been right about not buying a house or getting married. It was when they’d bought their house that their problems had started. Then the wedding had added to their expenses. If they’d even waited until now to buy a house, they’d have got one much cheaper. They’d bought at the height of the boom and paid crazy money for what they’d got. In one way, Bryan could say that she was the architect of their indebtedness, and she wouldn’t be able to argue with him. It was she who had pushed for them to get married; she was as much to blame for their sorry state as her husband.

  She’d slept fitfully after that moment of self-realization and now, as she sat looking at the storm raging outside, she was finding it hard to keep her eyes open and her concentration focused on her computer screen. It was just as well that Judith Baxter wasn’t in her office, Debbie thought wryly, otherwise she would have been down on her like a ton of bricks, to add to her woes.

  ‘I was very specific in my requirements, Mr Kinsella. Kindly rectify your error immediately and have me and my staff in our new headquarters by the beginning of next week. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Perfectly, Mr Devoy. That will be sorted by Friday,’ Bryan said reassuringly, running his fingers agitatedly through his glossy locks. He didn’t want that little wart going over his head to complain to his boss. Pat Devoy had been a briar from the moment Bryan had had his first consultation with him, and had caused him nothing but grief.

  ‘See to it,’ retorted the wart at the other end of the line before hanging up.

  ‘Little bald-headed bastard,’ muttered Bryan, remembering how the sun had shone on Devoy’s bald pate, giving him the appearance of a just-cooked shiny egg about to be topped.

  His phone rang again. ‘Hey, Kinsella, are you on for a night on the tiles Friday night? A couple of mates are coming over from London, and they want to go clubbin’. Strictly stag, leave the trouble and strife at home,’ Kevin Devlin said breezily.

  ‘Ah . . . sounds good, mate. Leave it with me, I’ll get back to you.’

  ‘No probs, just wanted to flag it up,’ Kevin said and hung up.

  He wouldn’t mind a night clubbing after the week he was
having, Bryan thought longingly. But with their joint credit card at its limit, and his own card close, he’d have to eat into his salary, and so far he hadn’t paid the car tax or the NTL bill and, only that morning, their gas bill had floated through the letter box, so that was another couple of hundred down the Swanee. Where could he lay his hands on a few bob, he wondered. His phone rang again. What an instrument of torture it was, he sighed. ‘Hello!’ he said, frazzled, waiting to hear Pat Devoy with some new ‘requirement’.

  ‘Ah, son, how are you? I’ve hardly set eyes on you since your wedding. Your sister said she’d had dinner with you last night. I miss you terrible, love. We haven’t seen you in ages. When are you going to drop by?’ His mother’s honeyed tones came as a welcome surprise.

  ‘Mam, it’s been mad busy here since I got back,’ he lied.

  ‘And I suppose you’re having dinner and so on with Connie – that’s what always happens after a wedding. It’s always the bride’s mother who gets involved; the groom’s ma never gets a look in,’ said Brona mournfully.

  ‘Not at all, Mam. It’s not like that,’ he assured her. ‘I only saw Connie once. She’s away in Spain – for the next few weeks,’ he exaggerated slightly. ‘Honest, it’s been crazy here catching up with work since I’ve come back.’

  ‘Oh, is that so?’ she said, somewhat mollified.

  ‘If there was any chance of one of your speciality rack-of-lamb dinners, I could call over after work,’ he suggested lightly.

  ‘Go on with you – what time will you be here at? Are you bringing Debbie?’

  ‘No, she has something on,’ he fibbed. ‘It will just be me. We can have a good natter. I should be there around sixish.’

  ‘Lovely. I’ll be looking forward to it immensely, son.’

  ‘Me too, Mam, me too,’ Bryan said as he put the phone down. It would be nice to be made a fuss of and have one of her scrumptious roasts. She did his rack of lamb perfectly pink on the inside, just the way he liked it. Debbie always tended to overcook it when she made it. And, if he confided to Brona that he was a bit skint, she’d give him a few bob, like she always did. She was a great mother, he thought fondly. And he was her pet.

  She knew he had the extra credit card, because the bills came to her house. He’d been living there when he’d applied for it a few years ago. When he’d asked her not to mention the bills in front of Debbie, she’d understood perfectly. She’d encouraged him to have a little extra money on the side, said it was good for a chap. Brona understood him better than anyone, and wouldn’t like to see him broke. Maybe he might get a night out, after all, on Friday, Bryan thought, cheering up as he sent a brief email to Debbie before trying to get a team together to sort out Baldy Devoy’s ‘specific requirements’.

  Having dinner at Ma’s tonight as will be in that neck of the woods for a fit-out. Should be home around nine. Love ya, babes. B xxxxxx

  Great, thought Debbie as she read her husband’s email, she wouldn’t have to cook. She’d get something ready-made on the way home. Maybe it was just as well Bryan wouldn’t be home until nine, because he’d be well fed and in good humour. He always was after a visit to his doting mother.

  She’d have all their figures on the table, ready for him. She’d done an Excel spreadsheet with everything clearly displayed. Tonight, whether he liked it or not, Bryan was going to have to finally face facts because, at the rate they were going, they’d be lucky to have a roof over their heads with another ECB interest hike on top of the one their building society had imposed ratcheting up their repayments.

  ‘So there’s your draft for a hundred thousand, Barry. Just sign here, if you will.’ Malachy Ormond passed a form over his desk for Barry to sign, which he did with a flourish, as the banker slid the draft into a slim white envelope and handed it over to him.

  ‘Appreciate it, Malachy,’ Barry said, standing up and shaking hands with the portly, grey-haired man sitting across the mahogany desk from him.

  ‘Pleasure, as always, doing business with you, Barry,’ Malachy said expansively as he walked with him to the door. ‘Must have a round of golf some day.’

  ‘Yes, we’ll set one up,’ Barry agreed, pocketing the envelope.

  As soon as he was sitting in his car, he dialled Jeremy’s number.

  ‘I have that draft for you, Jeremy. If you want to pop those papers in the post, I’ll sign them and send them back with it.’

  ‘Not at all, my boy, I’ll send a courier over,’ Jeremy declared. ‘You’ll be getting them at three fifteen; they’ve slipped from three twenty – rocky day on the market.’

  ‘Yes, I saw that, checked it up on your index. All shares are getting a walloping, my investments are getting a battering, particularly my bank shares,’ Barry moaned.

  ‘Indeed. We’re all in the same boat there, unfortunately, but it’s only temporary, Barry, nothing to worry about. They’ll come back up.’

  ‘So you’re sure about investing with SecureCo International Plus?’

  ‘Absolutely certain. These are rock solid. I had one investor spend three million on them last week,’ Jeremy said suavely, implying that a measly one hundred grand was a pittance in comparison.

  ‘Right so,’ said Barry, reassured despite all the gloom-and-doom talk about the economy and looming recession.

  ‘Trust me, Barry – when SecureCo International Plus is floated next year, shares are expected to go as high as five hundred. These guys wouldn’t be putting big money into a company that wasn’t going to do the business, believe me. These are all astute financial heads who know their stuff, and they get sound advice. We, at Crookes and Co., feel SecureCo International Plus is good to go, despite the downturn in the markets. We are advising all our clients that it’s one to buy into. You’ll be laughing all the way to the bank, my friend.’

  ‘That’s something to look forward to for sure. Cheers, Jeremy.’ Barry hung up, feeling more optimistic than he had in a while. It was good to feel he was still a player . . . a minnow perhaps, compared to some, but a player nevertheless. Imagine being able to whack out three million smackers on shares, he thought enviously. These were the kind of people Aimee was working for now, the superwealthy, and they were in a different league entirely.

  He wondered would her humour have improved any. He’d had the shock of his life when he’d come home from work the previous evening to find her in bed with the curtains drawn, fast asleep. Melissa had told him that she’d come home and gone straight to bed, saying she was exhausted.

  It was just so unlike Aimee, and he was worried. He hadn’t wanted to disturb her, so he’d let her sleep, and had left some poached salmon and salad in the fridge for her when she woke up.

  She’d come down to the kitchen around nine thirty and eaten a small amount of the meal. Melissa had gone to the pictures with Sarah, so his wife hadn’t felt the need to be particularly civil to him, and had answered his queries as to how she was feeling with a sarcastic ‘What would you care?’ before going back to bed. She was asleep when he went to bed around eleven thirty. As he lay in the dark listening to her deep, even breathing, he remembered how exhausted Connie had been in the early months of her pregnancy, with a tiredness that just overwhelmed her. Was he being thoroughly selfish insisting that Aimee go through with the pregnancy, he asked himself miserably as he twisted and turned beside her. She was so bitter towards him now, so antagonistic. Would they ever surmount this obstacle in their relationship? Their child would always be a reminder that he hadn’t respected Aimee’s wishes. Her taunt that he was just like Ken had hurt. He was far from being an authoritative, dictatorial bully. They would never have lasted all these years together if he had been but, clearly, in Aimee’s mind, he was now cut from the same cloth as her father, and there was no going back.

  He wished he could ask Connie’s advice, but she was away in Spain and, besides, she’d made it quite clear she didn’t want to be involved. Aimee would hit the roof if he ever thought he discussed her with his ex-wife. He wond
ered had she discussed her pregnancy with the businessman who’d offered her the job. He couldn’t really ask what was going on because she’d just tell him to mind his own business, but he hoped mightily that the venture would go ahead. If she lost her chance at being the MD of her own company because of her pregnancy, she’d never forgive him for that either. Eventually, he’d fallen asleep, gaining some respite from his racing thoughts.

  Aimee had left for work before he’d finished shaving, and they hadn’t spoken that morning so he had no idea if she was feeling better or not. Impulsively, he decided to ring her.

  ‘Yes?’ Her tone was pure frost.

  ‘I just wanted to see if you were OK,’ he said evenly. ‘I was worried about you.’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ she clipped.

  ‘Aimee, we’re going to have to talk some time,’ he retorted.

  ‘I’ve nothing to say to you,’ she snapped back, and hung up.

  Stung, he placed the phone into the hands-free kit and drove back to the office, sorry he’d even bothered to call to see how she was. If that was her attitude, she could get lost, he fumed. He wouldn’t bother his ass to make the effort again. And she could get her own bloody dinner tonight, because he was going to eat in town and then go and have a round of golf and a couple of drinks at the golf club. He’d had enough of martyrdom.

  ‘That was a great day’s shopping,’ Juliet exclaimed, kicking off her shoes and wriggling her toes. She was surrounded by bags. ‘I know my luggage allowance is going to be well over the limit.’

  Connie grinned as she leaned back on one of the cane loungers at the side of Juliet’s pool, and stretched luxuriously. ‘I’m baked.’ She blew her hair away from her face.

  ‘How about we change into our swimsuits, have a swim, then an ice-cold Pimm’s and a snooze, and then have a light supper? Incarna’s left a selection of tapas and a lovely tuna salad for us in the fridge,’ Juliet suggested.

  ‘That sounds heavenly.’ Karen smiled over at the older woman.