Forgive and Forget Read online

  ‘Look, I’ll sleep on the sofa, and tomorrow I’ll go looking for a place.’

  He couldn’t get out quickly enough, she thought wildly, afraid she was going to start howling.

  ‘What about Debbie?’ Her voice sounded disembodied.

  ‘We’ll work something out. Don’t worry, Connie, I won’t ignore my responsibilities towards you and her.’

  ‘Is that right?’ she’d said coldly and walked out of the room.

  Why on earth were all those horrible memories coming back right now? She bit her lip as she folded a pillowcase. Barry had kept to his word about his financial responsibilities, but he’d run off to America when the chance arose, leaving her with all the practical difficulties of rearing a child on her own. Then he’d come home, just when she was beginning to get on some sort of an emotional even keel, and announced that he was seeing another woman. A year later he’d informed her they were going to live together.

  Debbie had never got over that and, when Barry’s daughter was born, she’d refused point blank to see her or have anything to do with her. It wasn’t poor Melissa’s fault, Connie had pointed out to her daughter when Barry had got annoyed at her intransigence.

  ‘I don’t care, I don’t have to see her and if you make me I’ll . . . I’ll run away,’ Debbie raged. ‘I hate them.’ She’d just had her first period, her hormones were awry and her resentment of her father and his new family knew no bounds.

  ‘I can’t make her want to see them, Barry. I’m doing my best, but you know as well as I do that Debbie knows her own mind. I’m not going to force her and I’d advise you not to either.’

  ‘OK,’ he said angrily. ‘But they are half-sisters, after all.’

  ‘I know that!’ she retorted sharply, and Barry had known by her tone that she wasn’t too thrilled at the situation either.

  How often had she lain in bed imagining her ex-husband in bed with his glamorous new partner, trying not to feel bitter and twisted and resentful? She missed sex, even though it hadn’t been great by the end of their marriage. She missed lying curled up in someone’s arms. Would she ever have that again, she’d wondered miserably, trying not to be jealous of Aimee. Men had backed off when she told them she had a child, and she’d finally given up on the idea of dating. It wasn’t worth it. She was petrified of making another mistake because of neediness and loneliness. She couldn’t put Debbie through trauma because of her failed relationships.

  She’d been amazed that Barry hadn’t come looking for a divorce before Melissa was born, but when he had, some years later, she was glad to give it to him. She’d always felt she was in some sort of limbo as his separated wife. Once the divorce had come through, she felt relief that she finally had closure. She was a free woman, and she hadn’t disgraced herself with bad behaviour. A colleague of hers was divorced also but, even after ten years, the other nurse hated her ex-husband with a vengeance and never lost a chance to stick the knife in. She hadn’t moved on at all, and it showed in her drawn, angry visage and tight, agitated body language. She was forever looking for more maintenance and sending him demanding solicitor’s letters.

  Connie could look herself in the eye and know that she’d kept her dignity and her independence, and she hadn’t been eaten up with bitterness.

  ‘Not easy, but you did it,’ she murmured as she unplugged the iron and folded up the ironing board. The mobile rang. It was Barry to tell her the train was pulling out of Bray. She poured a carton of cream over the bacon-wrapped chicken breasts, ran a comb through her hair, traced a lipstick over her lips, grabbed her bag and went to collect her ex-husband and his daughter from the train.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘And then she said, “I don’t eat beef, I’m afraid I’d get mad cow disease.” She’s eighty-five, for God’s sake and she is a mad cow. And then do you know what she said?’

  Judith stifled a yawn as she sat in the Westbury eating a selection of sandwiches and drinking coffee with her ‘friend’, Orla. She’d phoned her on the off chance that she might like to go for a meal or go to the pictures, but Orla’s mother-in-law was staying with her for a week and she’d said that she’d just have time for coffee and sandwiches. Only that Judith had said ‘my treat’ she probably wouldn’t have bothered.

  Orla Doyle was in her mid-forties and Judith had worked with her before she joined Johnson & Johnson. She and Orla had kept up the friendship, but sometimes Judith wondered why she bothered. She wasn’t a really good friend, like Jillian, her ex-flatmate. Jillian had been there for her through thick and thin, especially when her father had died, but, unfortunately, she’d moved to Sligo when she’d got married to a farmer and most of their contact was through phone and email now. Unlike Jillian, Orla couldn’t be described as a friend in the true sense of the word. She wasn’t even a fair-weather friend. When things were going well in Orla’s life, Judith might not hear from her for weeks. But when she had a drama, as she often had, she’d be on to Judith morning, noon and night, whingeing and moaning. Once Judith heard the words, ‘Wait until I tell you what’s happened . . .’ she knew she was in for an ear-bashing.

  Orla suited herself in the friendship. If she felt like going out with Judith for a couple of drinks and a meal, she would, but if she wasn’t in the humour or had other plans, she had no compunction about saying, ‘It doesn’t suit.’ She took their friendship completely for granted and made little or no effort, leaving that to Judith.

  Sometimes, sizzling with resentment when a phone call or email hadn’t been returned or plans had been cancelled, Judith would decide she just wasn’t going to bother any more. Orla could go to hell, and the next time she phoned with one of her dramas, Judith would tell her in no uncertain terms to get lost. The fact was, Orla was a user, plain and simple, and tight-fisted to boot. Judith invariably ended up paying for the meal or taxi.

  Tonight, though, she hadn’t wanted to traipse around town on her own and had hoped that the other woman would be free for the evening. She would use Orla just as Orla used her, she’d decided as she made the phone call. But Orla had informed her that she had to go directly home from work – until Judith had said, ‘My treat.’

  ‘Well, maybe for a quick cup of coffee, then,’ the other woman agreed, and had then spent the entire evening complaining about her mother-in-law. Judith had tuned out and spent a while studying the distinguished-looking man at the bar. ‘I know what’s going to happen; she’s making plans to come and live with us. She’s just sussing it all out,’ Orla declared angrily, bringing Judith out of her reverie.

  ‘Hmm, it looks like that. You’d want to nip it in the bud,’ she murmured, heartily sick of Orla’s moaning.

  ‘I know. I don’t want to be stuck with her, the old harpy. She has three daughters of her own—’

  ‘I think we should go and drown our sorrows!’ Judith said impulsively, suddenly longing for a drink. ‘There’s a lovely little cocktail bar off Chatham Street – would you like one?’

  ‘Oh, well, I’d want to be getting on home, I’ve—’

  ‘My treat,’ Judith urged.

  ‘Oh, well, maybe one then.’ Orla, true to form, acquiesced.

  ‘Great,’ Judith said cheerfully. Maybe she could get Orla tipsy and she’d stay for more than one, and Judith wouldn’t have to spend the evening on her own. But even if Orla went home early, Judith could take a taxi home, she could come into town in the morning and collect her car and perhaps do a little shopping. She wouldn’t have to drive her aunt out to Lucan, later, because she’d been drinking. A perfectly legitimate excuse. Win, win, she thought with satisfaction, looking forward, now, to a delicious cocktail. Even an evening spent with Moany Orla was better than being stuck at home watching EastEnders with her mother.

  ‘Something smells good,’ Barry approved as he followed Connie into the kitchen and handed her the bag with the bottle of wine.

  ‘Oh, thanks. There was no need,’ she said, placing it on the counter and slipping on a pair of oven gloves. />
  ‘It’s a Sancerre,’ he explained, anxious that she wouldn’t think it was a cheap bottle of plonk.

  ‘Oh nice one, stick it in the fridge to chill.’

  ‘Already chilled – would you like me to open it?’

  ‘Sure. There’s a corkscrew in that drawer,’ she informed him as she slid the roasting dish out of the oven. A burst of herb- and lemon-scented steam sent a tantalizing aroma wafting under their noses.

  ‘I hope you like this, Melissa. Sit down there beside your dad and help yourself to potatoes and veg,’ Connie instructed kindly, and Barry felt a sudden surge of affection for his ex. She had a very kind heart and had always been good to Melissa, no matter how ungracious his daughter was.

  Gradually, over the course of the meal, Melissa became less surly and tucked in with gusto, accepting the offer of seconds with relish.

  Connie had chatted about this and that, and his tension eased as he sipped a glass of the full-flavoured wine and ate the tasty meal set in front of him. For a fleeting moment he thought how nice it would be to be able to have another couple of glasses, spend a while talking to Connie and then, instead of having to travel back to the city, go to sleep in that cosy attic room of hers and not have to get up in the morning.

  Melissa stared out of the Dart, watching the fields and houses flash by. She liked looking into the windows and seeing the various little scenes being played out along the suburban railway line. It wasn’t quite dark and she could still see the houses rushing by. Various gardens were well maintained, others higgledy-piggledy and full of junk.

  Some houses had lovely lamp-lit rooms, others a solitary light, stark and cold. The backs of houses always looked so much shabbier than the fronts; it was all about façades, she supposed. And she knew all about façades. Every day she went to school she had to put on a façade, pretending that she was cool and confident, on top of things, when inside she often felt as wobbly as jelly, scared that her classmates would discover she wasn’t confident and brash like them.

  Melissa yawned. She was very tired. At least she had a good lot of her homework done. She’d curled up on Connie’s squishy sofa with her books and done her maths, English and geography, the three subjects she had first thing Monday morning. It meant that she was free for the weekend, because she didn’t have to have a history assignment done until the Tuesday.

  Her mother was very strict with her about doing her homework. She wanted her to get high grades, A1’s in all her subjects, if possible. Aimee had told her that she hadn’t been good at maths and science subjects at school but it hadn’t held her back. Aimee felt girls should reach their full potential and only by studying was that achieved. Her dad was much more laid-back and, sometimes, when her mother was on overnighters abroad, he’d do her maths for her so that she got her homework finished faster, then they’d go to McDonald’s in Blackrock and have Big Macs and ice-cream, her favourite.

  She’d been so cross at having to go to Greystones, but it hadn’t been the worst night of her life, she had to admit. Connie had been quite kind to her and given her second helpings of that yummy dinner, and then told her to watch whatever she liked on the TV while she and her dad discussed the wedding. Connie’s little black cat had come in and sat on her knee, purring like mad as Melissa stroked her. She had gorgeous green eyes and a cold velvety nose. She was adorable. Melissa would give anything for a pet, and her dad would let her have one, but her mum said no. Apartments were no place for pets and, besides, animals were unhygienic, according to Aimee.

  Melissa had been most relieved that Debbie wasn’t there. Her half-sister could be very moody. Sometimes she’d talk to her and sometimes she wouldn’t bother. It was just as well they didn’t meet very often, because Melissa never knew what to say to her. She hadn’t wanted to go to the wedding but, tonight, Connie had told her that she could bring a friend. Melissa was so relieved. She’d been dreading going, knowing that there wouldn’t be anyone of her own age there. Now Sarah could come and they could have a laugh, and there might even be a few fine things there. It was a pity it was taking place during the school holidays, or they could have gone into class the following Monday and boasted about the hunks they’d danced with. They’d just have to wait until September, but they’d take loads of photos as proof.

  She felt a frisson of excitement. Bryan must have loads of friends. The reception was going to be a barbecue. Maybe she might even get off with someone. A lot of the girls in her class were going with blokes, and she always felt left out of things when they started talking about snogging and drinking shots until they were out of it. It scared her. She didn’t want to get out of her head on drink and not remember what she’d let a boy do to her. She didn’t want boys she hardly knew fingering her and sticking their tongues down her neck and making her put her hand on their thing. She’d had a horrible experience the previous Christmas. They’d gone to visit family friends on New Year’s morning and while the adults were drinking champagne and nibbling on a selection of canapés, she had agreed to have a game of snooker with Thomas, their fourteen-year-old son she’d known for yonks.

  ‘You want some vodka and cranberry?’ he’d asked. ‘I’ve been skulling it all morning.’ He looked a bit unfocused, Melissa realized, as she took the glass he offered her. She spluttered at the strength of the drink but gamely took another sip as he set up the snooker balls. The first game had gone OK, and he’d beaten her even though his play was a bit erratic, but when he’d won the second time he’d grabbed her, muttered, ‘Winner gets a kiss,’ and stuck his tongue down her throat, thrust his hand under her dress and managed to get inside her knickers, fingering her roughly until she managed to push him away and make her escape.

  None of the adults had noticed her red-cheeked distress, being far too busy downing copious amounts of alcohol themselves, and she’d sat quietly pretending to read a magazine, wishing they could go home as her hands shook from the shock and her heart hammered against her ribcage.

  Melissa grimaced at the memory. Growing up was so scary sometimes. Amanda O’Connell and her gang at school seemed to think scoring and fingering were experiences to boast about. She couldn’t for the life of her understand why. She thought the whole thing was too gross for words.

  She and Sarah could pretend they’d done all those things at the wedding barbecue and then the slappers at school might give them a bit of peace. The wedding was going to change her life, she decided, as the train clattered along the tracks back towards Dublin. Her father gave a snore beside her. She’d better stay awake, in case they missed their station. He wouldn’t be too happy to wake up in Howth!

  Melissa stared out the window, seeing nothing and imagining Johnny Depp asking her to dance on a moonlit beach before lowering his head to hers until their lips met in a long, lingering and very romantic kiss.

  Connie popped a mug of hot chocolate into the microwave and set the timer. Miss Hope curled around her ankles, purring like a train, having just enjoyed a supper of chicken left-overs. Connie bent down and lifted her up, burying her cheek in her silky black fur. ‘I think things went well,’ she said. ‘And if Debbie doesn’t like what we’ve decided, she can take one big running jump.’ Miss Hope purred even louder and Connie laughed as she put her down and took her hot drink out of the microwave. Her fingers hovered over the carton of mini Jaffa cakes. She was trying to lose weight for the wedding, but the day had been so stressful she felt she was entitled to a treat. She’d just have one. She switched off the kitchen light and followed Miss Hope, who was scampering up the stairs to her dormer bedroom. A sudden squall of rain had turned into a steady downpour and it battered rhythmically against the Velux windows.

  Connie loved listening to the rain against the windows. It made the room seem so cosy and snug. She loved this room, she reflected, as she slipped out of her clothes and pulled a long T-shirt over her head. The bedroom was decorated in pine and the inviting double bed had a cream and pink patchwork quilt and a big bolster pillow that reminded
her of her grandmother’s house, where she’d spent many happy holidays as a child. Rose-pink shades on cream lamps cast a warm glow around the bedroom, the light reflected in the big oval mirror of the pine dressing table. Connie yawned as she dived into bed and switched out the lights.

  The evening had gone much better than she’d anticipated. Feeding Barry had been a good idea – he’d wolfed his dinner, drunk a glass of wine and become so relaxed that the expected rant about Debbie had not happened. Perhaps he decided against it because Melissa was with him, Connie reflected as she threw the bedclothes off her, beginning to feel a prickly heat. The girl had devoured her dinner as well and made good inroads into the proffered seconds.

  ‘These are lovely,’ she’d enthused, spearing a chunk of floury new potatoes.

  ‘I get them from the farmer down the road; they’re organic and dug fresh today,’ Connie had informed her.

  ‘Wow, cool! Real potatoes. We buy ours ready-mashed from Marks or the Butler’s Pantry,’ she divulged artlessly, and Connie hid a smile.

  She hadn’t seen Melissa in a while, and had been a little shocked at the amount of weight the teenager had put on. She could see that a lot of it was puppy fat, but her arms and thighs were chunky and her skin was pasty and full of spots. Debbie had suffered from the usual teenage acne, but she’d played a lot of sport and the puppy fat had melted off her after her first term at secondary. Hopefully the same would happen to her half-sister. Poor Melissa had looked pale and tired and she was ravenous; she’d fallen asleep after doing her homework with the cat curled up against her. Secondary school was hard going. Connie remembered how knackered Debbie used to be. She felt sorry for Melissa, now, having to endure a Dart and car journey home before she would get to bed.

  It was while they were arranging the seating that Connie had realized that Melissa would have no one of her own age at the wedding. ‘Let her bring a friend, or she’s going to be bored out of her tree,’ she suggested to Barry, who’d agreed with alacrity.