Francesca's Party Read online

  ‘Oh, what a bloody mess,’ Mark muttered, wishing he was a million miles away.

  Francesca replayed Mark’s message. She was incandescent with rage. How dare he speak to her like that? The nerve of him. Anybody would think that she was in the wrong. She hoped it took him hours to find his car. She shut off the answering machine. At least she now knew that he was in Dublin.

  Would he come back home or would he go off with his tart to wherever she was living? She didn’t know. Everything she had ever felt secure about had crumbled away. She felt lost, bewildered and frightened. What would she say to him when he came home? If he came home. She prayed that she wouldn’t disgrace herself by bursting into tears. That would be so undignified.

  Francesca hurried upstairs and ran a brush through her hair. She stared at her face in the mirror. She looked a sight. Big black circles under her eyes, pale skin tinged with the grey of shock combined with a sleepness night. She dithered, wondering whether to go the whole hog and slap on the war paint.

  Why should she bother? she thought distractedly. What did she care what she looked like for him? She wanted him out of her life. She didn’t care if she never saw him again.

  She was like a cat on a griddle, up and down every five minutes to peer out of the window. She went downstairs and made herself a cup of coffee and carried it into the lounge, but her stomach was tied up in knots and she couldn’t drink it.

  She went upstairs again and glanced out of the landing window. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the car turn into the drive. She felt faint.

  Francesca inhaled deeply and stood at the top of the stairs waiting for his key to go into the lock. When it did, she nearly threw up. She heard him take the key out and put it back in the lock and try again. She could imagine his impatience. The bell rang and she jumped, even though she was expecting it. It rang again and again, loud, insistent. And then continuously, setting her teeth on edge. Who the bloody hell did he think he was? she raged.

  Chapter Nine

  FOR A MINUTE or two Francesca was sorely tempted not to answer the door. He didn’t know whether she was in or not. Her car was in the garage. It would be good enough for him to let him stew. But as the shrill ding dong of the chimes kept ringing, her temper got the better of her and she flung open the door.

  ‘Don’t be so bloody rude,’ she snarled. ‘One ring was enough. I’m not deaf—’

  ‘What the hell is going on here? Why won’t my key fit in the lock?’ Mark demanded, shoving his way into the hall, glaring at her in fury.

  ‘Because I’ve had the locks changed, Mark. This is no—’

  ‘You can’t do that!’ he interrupted, incensed.

  ‘Excuse me, Mark. I can. And I have. You’re not living here any more—’

  ‘I’ll live where I damn well like. This is my house,’ he roared.

  Francesca slammed the front door shut. ‘Let’s not let the whole of the Hill of Howth know that we’re having a row,’ she said coldly. ‘This is my house too. My home. You’re no longer welcome here. You can go and live with your trollop and do whatever the hell you like.’

  ‘You cut that out, Francesca. Nikki is not a trollop or anything like it. And she’s not bloody petty like you, either.’

  ‘Mark, I’m not interested in … Nikki’ – her voice dripped contempt – ‘I just want you to get out of here. You disgust me!’

  ‘Well, you’re disgusting me with your behaviour,’ he retorted. ‘I never thought you were vindictive.’

  ‘It seems we don’t know each other at all, doesn’t it?’ Francesca spat. ‘I’d never have taken you for a lying two-faced cheat. You’ve been with her for nearly a year, haven’t you? You lying bastard.’

  Mark couldn’t hold her gaze. He stalked into the kitchen.

  Francesca followed him. ‘Haven’t you?’ she repeated.

  ‘Yes,’ he muttered.

  ‘Why? Why did you do it? What was wrong with our marriage that you had to go and sleep with someone else?’ Francesca demanded.

  ‘It isn’t all about sex, Francesca,’ he said heatedly.

  ‘Oh, isn’t it? Well, it didn’t look like that to me when I saw you snogging her in the airport and when I walked in on you down in Cork,’ she sneered.

  ‘The sex side of our relationship is very good, as it happens,’ he lashed back, knowing that it would hurt her. ‘But there’s much more to Nikki than that. She’s a highly intelligent woman—’

  ‘And I’m not? Is that what you’re saying? I’m a thicko who’s no good in bed, is that it?’ she shouted, utterly wounded by his defence of his mistress.

  ‘I’m not saying that, Francesca,’ he growled. ‘Stop putting words in my mouth.’

  ‘Well, what are you saying? We had a good marriage, didn’t we? We reared two sons and made a nice home. Why have you turned your back on it? What was so wrong with us that you’ve gone and ruined everything?’

  ‘Oh God, Francesca, I was in a rut. I was bored. Middle-aged. Fed up being responsible. Didn’t you ever feel that there had to be more to life?’ He banged his hand on the kitchen table. ‘When she came into my life I started to have fun again. She made me feel that life could be different. She made me feel young—’

  ‘You idiot, Mark! You’re not young any more,’ Francesca yelled. ‘You are middle-aged, whether you like it or not. Deal with it. Do you think I like being forty? I don’t. I hate it. But I didn’t go out and start looking for a young toy boy to make me feel better. I felt bored and in a rut too, you know. Don’t you think that I get pissed off looking after you and the boys and the house and your damn cranky old father? I do. Believe me. But I didn’t go out looking for a quick fix with some … some passing fancy just to make me feel better … younger …’ she raged.

  Mark gritted his teeth. ‘Well, maybe you should have, Francesca.’

  Her sharp hard slap to his jaw shocked him.

  ‘How dare you, Mark! I made vows on our wedding day and so did you. How dare you say such a thing to me?’

  ‘Oh for heaven’s sake, Francesca, get down off your high horse,’ he said wearily, rubbing his jaw. ‘That was over twenty years ago. We were kids. What did we know about life? People shouldn’t be allowed to marry until they’re in their thirties. What had we ever done or experienced? We went with each other from school. Didn’t you ever wonder what it would be like to be with someone else? Didn’t you ever feel that life was passing you by and that you’d experienced very little of it? Well, I’m sorry but I did. I do. And I can’t help the way that I feel.’ He glowered at her, exuding anger and resentment. ‘I know this is going to hurt you but at least I’m being honest. I’m sorry that I got married so young and there’s nothing I can do about that. That’s the truth of it.’

  ‘Why did you marry me then? You told me that you loved me. You asked me to marry you.’ She was completely bewildered. Where was all this stuff coming from? Why did he make it seem like he was blaming her? Was this all her fault? It couldn’t be. Hadn’t he ever loved her? ‘I thought you loved me. You told me often enough, Mark. I don’t understand this at all.’ She shook her head in disbelief, stunned at what she’d just heard.

  ‘I did love you, I do still, in a different way. I married you because you expected it of me. Our parents expected it—’

  ‘Are you telling me you felt trapped into marrying me?’ She was incredulous.

  ‘Kind of,’ he muttered. ‘That was the way it was then. Our mothers were always at us to “give them a day out”. All our friends were getting married, it just seemed the next step to take.’ He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared out of the kitchen window. ‘And of course we couldn’t have decent sex because we were too scared. Too conditioned to think it was a bad thing to do before marriage.’ He turned to face her accusingly. ‘I was only a young fella and I was as horny as hell all the time and you kept saying no.’

  ‘I was scared, for fuck’s sake. I was petrified of getting pregnant. It’s really mean to blame th
at on me,’ Francesca flared indignantly.

  ‘It was the way we were brought up, and there’s loads of unhappy marriages out there because of the way our generation, and generations before us, were reared and the pressures we were put under to conform. I hope our sons live with women before they marry them,’ he said defiantly, his face puce with resentment.

  ‘Oh, how convenient to blame our upbringing,’ she flared. ‘That’s a real cop-out. All of this is such a load of crap—’

  ‘Look, Francesca, if you don’t want to hear what I have to say, fine. I’m trying to explain how I feel.’

  Francesca stared at him. ‘But you seemed happy; we had fun. I never felt that you didn’t want to be married to me.’

  ‘I was happy a lot of the time, especially at the beginning, and we did have fun, but I always felt I didn’t have time to sow my wild oats and live a bit.’

  ‘So you’re doing it now,’ she said bitterly.

  ‘Probably,’ he acknowledged flatly.

  ‘Don’t I mean anything to you?’ she asked, her face crumpling as tears sprang to her eyes.

  ‘Oh Francesca, try and understand it’s not about you or how I feel about you. It’s about the way I’m feeling at the moment. Lost, resentful, angry that I’m getting older … I dunno.’ He shrugged.

  ‘It never has been about me, Mark.’ She wiped away the tears, angry with herself for showing weakness. ‘Just listen to yourself. Me. Me. Me. And I don’t feature at all. As long as I kept the house going and looked after you and the kids and your father, that was all you cared about. You never bothered to ask if I was happy or fulfilled. Did you care that I might be lost, or resentful, or angry?’

  ‘I looked after you well. You lacked for nothing,’ he snapped irritably.

  ‘You looked after me materially, and yourself too. But emotionally it’s always been about you. You do what you want at the end of the day, Mark, you always have. Well, you’ve broken up our marriage to be with that woman so don’t let me stand in your way. But I won’t divorce you and I won’t move out of this house and I want maintenance. I worked hard at our marriage. I’m not going to lose out just because you’ve lost the run of yourself and are having a fucking mid-life crisis.’

  ‘Now wait a minute, Francesca’ – he took her by the arm as she brushed past him to walk out – ‘there’s a lot to discuss here.’

  ‘Let go of me, Mark. I’ve told you what I’m doing. I’m staying here and I’m not divorcing you and I want maintenance. That’s all the discussion that you’ll get from me. Oh and by the way, would you kindly ask your father to stop ringing here from now on, or else I’ll get the number changed. I won’t be looking after him any more, and you can get Nikki to do your Christmas shopping because I won’t be doing that either.’ She marched out of the kitchen, head held high, picked up her keys from the hall stand and walked out of the house.

  Mark followed, somewhat at a loss. ‘We need to talk, Francesca!’

  Francesca ignored him, opened the garage door and reversed her car out of the garage. Then she confronted him once more. ‘Take whatever stuff you need and put the alarm on when you leave and from now on phone me before you come over. If it suits me to be here, fine, if not, tough. I’ll be talking to a solicitor.’ She got back into the car and opened the window.

  ‘For God’s sake! Francesca, be reasonable—’

  ‘Be reasonable!’ Her voice hit the high notes. ‘Get real, Mark. You’re not the only human on the planet. It’s not all about you!’

  ‘Look, we have to talk. There’re financial implications here that we have to take into consideration. And what about the boys?’

  ‘Don’t give me that. The boys were the last thing on your mind when you started “feeling young” again,’ she jeered.

  ‘Don’t be a bitch, Francesca. It doesn’t suit you.’

  ‘Fuck off, Mark,’ she swore at him and drove out of the drive like a bat out of hell.

  Mark stood still, shell shocked, as it suddenly began to dawn on him that his life was never going to be the same again. He’d never thought that Francesca would find out about Nikki. He’d preferred not to think of the consequences. Well, the consequences were whacking him in the chops right this minute and all that he could foresee as long as Francesca was in this frame of mind was a long road full of hassle ahead of him.

  He groaned and went back into the house to gather some papers and files that he needed. He stood in the hall looking around. The house felt different. Unwelcoming. It had to be his imagination, he told himself irritably. Houses were inanimate objects. Nevertheless, the atmosphere was different. Or maybe it was him. With a sudden certainty that brought a vague feeling of dread, Mark knew that this house would never be his home again.

  Chapter Ten

  FRANCESCA DROVE TOWARDS Clontarf in a state of such anger and confusion that when she looked back on the journey she couldn’t remember ending up in the car park opposite Casa Pasta. It was a miracle that she hadn’t killed anyone, she thought shakily as she sat staring at the angry green sea surging relentlessly, mirroring her own turbulent emotions.

  People walked up and down along the popular seafront walkway engrossed in their thoughts. Were any of them going through anything like she was enduring right now? The pain and hurt and sheer fury and resentment she felt towards Mark were unspeakable.

  Why? Why? Why? Over and over the question tormented her. Why had he ever married her if he hadn’t been sure. She’d been sure. She’d loved Mark from the very moment she’d met him at Mick’s, a teen disco they’d frequented every Friday night when they were growing up.

  He’d always been a bit reserved, less outgoing than the other boys, much less pushy and in-your-face. She’d liked that. He’d asked her to dance one night and that was that. He was the one for her and she’d never looked at anyone else. She hadn’t wanted to either.

  Had she made him feel pressurized into marrying her or was that just an excuse? Her memory of her engagement was a blur. Planning the wedding and making sure everything went all right on the day had been the main considerations. Mark was right about one thing, she acknowledged, she hadn’t given any real thought to marriage or what it entailed. She hadn’t really looked beyond the wedding day. Marriage was what came next on the agenda after leaving school and getting a job. Then it was getting a house and a mortgage. She never remembered sitting down and thinking that she was committing herself to one man for the rest of her life. Or wondering if their marriage would last. She’d taken it very much for granted that it would. Why get married otherwise?

  It was only after they’d married and lived together that she’d really got to know Mark. His neat and tidy ways. His need for time alone. His drive to succeed at work, compulsive at times. She’d driven him mad with her carefree untidiness and her desire to be with him all the time.

  Francesca grimaced. Over the years she’d become tidy, she thought wryly. It was easier than listening to him giving out about the state of the house. When the kids were born and growing up, their toys and accoutrements were always tidied away before he came home. As he progressed in his career and they entertained more and more, she conformed to his idea of how she should look and how their house should be decorated, because it was easier than living with his subtle disapproval.

  She stopped wearing jeans and tracksuits, adopting well-cut tailored trousers instead. She stopped shopping in chain stores and bought clothes that she knew he’d like in small exclusive boutiques. She’d become the perfect corporate wife, she thought bitterly, and lost her own identity in the process.

  Francesca was shocked as this unwanted nugget of self-knowledge dawned on her. Had she really done that? she asked herself in dismay. Become the person he wanted her to be rather than be the person that she was? What kind of woman would she be if she hadn’t married Mark and had two children? What kind of a career would she have pursued? Would she have travelled? How different would her life have been? And why was she sitting here feeling that she
had sacrificed everything only to have that sacrifice flung back in her face?

  Why did she feel like such a fucking martyr?

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ she muttered. ‘This is ridiculous. He’s the one having the affair. You’ve done nothing wrong.’

  Yes, you have. You put him and his needs first. You made him your first priority; now he’s left you and you’ve nothing to fall back on. You’ve nothing of your own. Her inner voice was so strong she actually thought she’d heard someone speak aloud.

  This was crazy. She wasn’t going to sit in the car chastising herself when everything was Mark’s fault, she decided furiously as she got out and locked the doors. The wind blew fresh and cold in her face, heavy with sea salt and the smell of seaweed. She walked along trying to calm the turmoil raging within her. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. The mantra played in her head, but deep down Francesca knew that she was going to have to face up to realities that she’d far prefer to keep buried deep. Was it partly some failure on her part that had caused Mark to go looking outside their marriage for something he obviously felt that he wasn’t getting in it? Had she taken far too much for granted and not put in enough effort pandering to him and his needs?

  But what about her needs? He hadn’t pandered to her in any way out of the ordinary, she thought resentfully. He had taken her for granted too. But wasn’t that part and parcel of what it was all about? A couple couldn’t spend their whole time navel-gazing their relationship, she thought irritably.

  She walked as far as the Alfie Byrne road and back, reluctant to go home until she felt sure that Mark was gone. Hunger gnawed at her stomach. She hadn’t eaten properly in thirty-six hours. Maybe she should ignore it. She’d lose a stone in no time. Look at Vanessa Feltz. When her husband had left her, she’d lost five stone in an effort to get him back. It hadn’t worked.