Forgive and Forget Read online

  It was selfish, she knew. And manipulative. She could have managed if she’d really had to. She wasn’t helpless. And if Judith hadn’t crumbled, she would have had to get on with it, she supposed. But her daughter had caved in and stayed, and the longer she stayed, the more dependent Lily allowed herself to become. Just as she had with Ted.

  She’d known that Judith was very angry with her. She’d known by the banging press doors in the kitchen when her daughter came home from work to find no dinner cooked. Or by the long, moody silences, the snapped retorts, the sarcastic comments. Judith didn’t know how petrified Lily was of living alone. When Judith had announced that she was leaving, a fear had gripped Lily all those years ago and that fear never left her, even to this day.

  The only way she had managed to keep Judith by her side was by promising her the house when she died. That was their secret. Tom and Cecily thought they were getting a share but they’d get a shock when the will was read.

  She didn’t care – Judith deserved the house; the other pair didn’t deserve a cent, Lily thought bitterly. Oh, they came and they visited with the grandchildren every so often, and Cecily took her to stay in her big house in Dunboyne once a year when Judith went on holidays, but Lily knew she was always glad to see the back of her. She was an intrusion in her daughter’s life. Cecily had her routine and having Lily for two weeks was a big deal.

  Tom, the eldest, did the bare minimum; he was too busy playing golf and drinking expensive red wines and having dinner parties with his little madam of a wife to bother about his poor old mother. He rang her the odd time and called on Mother’s Day, her birthday and at Christmas, with his big bouquet of flowers and two fifty-euro notes in her card. Was she supposed to be impressed? she thought sourly. Buying her off. A sop to his conscience. Her children had turned out to be selfish individuals. Was that her fault for the way she had reared them? Had her selfishness rubbed off on them? But she didn’t mean to be selfish. It was just because she was nervous and edgy and needed someone to lean on.

  Lily sighed. She could understand why they wouldn’t want to be with her. A moany, whingey whiner who wasn’t able to stand on her own two feet. She understood Judith’s frustration with her, but she could never let on to her daughter that she felt guilty about having tied her to her. Show any weakness and Judith would be gone and she’d probably end up in a nursing home. Judith was used to being bossed around and demands being made of her. That was the way they’d lived all these years. Fighting and arguing, or else in moody, resentful silence.

  It was too late to change things, she was too dependent. She’d never been brave enough even to try living on her own in her fifties, and she was in her early seventies now, no age to be considering it. Judith would be fifty soon, and Lily knew that she was dreading it.

  Fifty was a hard age for a woman. Neither young nor old but in between, an age for regrets if life hadn’t gone the way you wanted it to. And Judith’s certainly hadn’t gone the way she’d hoped it would. Lily felt an ache of guilt. That was her fault and hers alone. She had prevented her daughter from living her own life because she’d been too frightened to live hers.

  Two wasted lives – what a sad legacy to leave behind her, Lily thought as tears blurred her eyes and she gazed unseeingly through the pristine white curtains of her front parlour.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘Sshhh, Melissa will hear you,’ Aimee murmured against Barry’s ear as he groaned into her hair.

  He gave a slow, deep thrust and she moaned with pleasure.

  ‘Sshhh, Melissa will hear you.’ He raised his head and looked down at her triumphantly.

  Aimee slanted a languorous, sultry glance at him and arched her back, tightening her long legs around him. He came with one last shuddering thrust and collapsed, his breath coming in ragged gasps, on top of her as she buried her face in his neck to muffle her own cries of pleasure as she climaxed.

  They lay entwined for a few moments before Barry rolled off her on to his back. He lay against the plump pillows, his arms behind his head. ‘That was good.’ He turned and smiled across at her, thinking how lovely she looked with her hair dishevelled and her cheeks tinged with pink from their passion.

  ‘Hmm.’ She sighed drowsily, and he saw the black fans of her lashes sweep down over her cheeks.

  ‘Don’t go asleep, I want to talk,’ he protested.

  ‘Just forty winks. Go and get the bagels and I’ll talk to you at breakfast,’ she said, pulling the sheet up around her and turning on her front, her favourite position to sleep.

  Barry scowled as he flung back the duvet and headed for the en suite. Would it kill her to spend a little time talking to him? There’d been a time when she’d snuggle up to him after love-making and they’d talk for ages, before making love again. Those days were fast becoming a distant memory.

  It was kind of insulting, he thought irritably as he stepped under the powerful jets of water in the shower and began to soap himself. Give me an orgasm and let me go asleep, was her motto these days. If he behaved the same way to her he’d get a right lecture and probably be accused of less than desirable, unmannerly behaviour.

  He’d wanted to tell her how Melissa had enjoyed her evening more than she’d expected at Connie’s. He’d wanted to discuss a new column he was anxious to get up and running in one of the trade magazines. He’d wanted to ask her opinion on the best writer for the job.

  He remembered all the times he’d lain with his arms around her, fighting drowsiness after love-making, listening to her enthusiastic plans for this event or another or her describing the new crystal and linen range she’d selected from some fair she’d been to. Or asking his advice about a colleague who resented her promotion and was giving her a hard time. If he’d had the temerity to drop off asleep he’d get a dig in the ribs and be told to wake up in no uncertain terms.

  He made no effort to be quiet as he pulled open drawers and wardrobes to dress, but his wife was beyond being disturbed; she was snoring softly into her pillow, deep in slumber. Work and sleep, that was all Aimee did these days. He supposed he should be grateful for getting a ride this morning. He frowned as he closed the door and walked down the aubergine and cream hallway to his daughter’s bedroom. He glanced at his watch. Ten ten – she might be awake.

  Melissa was busily texting when he knocked and poked his head around the door of her lilac and white bedroom. She was sitting at her computer in her pyjamas, and when she saw him she hastily closed the site she’d been viewing.

  Something she clearly didn’t want him to see, he thought, a little dismayed, wondering was she in a chat room that wasn’t suitable. Although they had the Net Nanny on it, he wasn’t a hundred per cent happy about her having a computer in her room. But they had no space for it anywhere else in the apartment. It would spoil the look of Aimee’s red and gold dining room to have a chunky computer sitting in the corner.

  ‘Hi, Dad.’ She smiled up at him, her black hair tousled, her cheeks a little flushed.

  ‘Morning, Muffin.’ He smiled, too, using one of his pet names for her. ‘What are you up to?’

  ‘Just texting Sarah.’ She was still a little flustered.

  ‘Working on the computer too, I see. Are you doing a project or just surfing?’ he said easily.

  ‘Yeah, just surfing. Is Mom awake?’ She changed the subject quickly.

  ‘She’s having a lie-in. Want to come and get some bagels with me? We could pop into Hughes & Hughes on the way home and treat ourselves to a book each. Have a quick cup of coffee and a doughnut in the coffee shop, if you like, just to keep us going.’

  ‘Sure, I’ll be dressed in five minutes.’ She jumped up, grinning at him, the freckles dusting her nose making her look about ten.

  He smiled back, his heart full of love for her. Soon she’d be at the age where she wouldn’t want to go and get breakfast with him and then who would he have for company? he thought with a sudden pang. ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’

  ‘OK,
Dad, won’t be long,’ she assured him as she pulled open a drawer and rooted for a T-shirt.

  He walked down to the lounge and opened the French doors to the balcony. It was a glorious day, all traces of the previous night’s rain gone. He stood looking at the SeaCat churning up the water as she left the safety of the harbour and began her voyage across the Irish Sea. He could hear a Dart clattering into Dun Laoghaire station, and a flock of wheeling, screeching gulls swooped and dived after a fishing boat that was chugging alongside the pier. In the distance Howth was bathed in early morning sun, the tweedy, muted greens, purples and brown fields cushioned in a pale lemony haze that was drifting over the summit. He inhaled deeply, looking forward to the stroll to the bakery and then to coffee and a doughnut. They might have their coffee in Meadows & Byrne or one of the other cafés along the seafront and then go book-shopping. He’d see what his daughter would prefer. He liked living practically on the seafront in Dun Laoghaire. It had a buzz, a cosmopolitan edge that appealed to him. Aimee would like to move further along the coast to Sandycove or, even better, Killiney, or Dalkey, which were far more upmarket and chic addresses, in her view. And the property prices were much more upmarket and chic too, he assured her, and they were at their limit.

  ‘Ready, Dad.’ Melissa bounced into the room in a pair of red cut-offs and trainers and a black T-shirt that clung too tightly to her pubescent curves. A little roll of puppy fat could be seen in the gap between her top and trousers. He must get Aimee to have a word with her. She was extremely sensitive about her weight and wouldn’t take kindly to him saying anything that could be construed as a criticism. He shouldn’t be bringing her for doughnuts, and Big Macs and the likes, he supposed, but she loved her junk-food treats and so did he. Aimee wasn’t at all interested in food and could exist on coffee and water biscuits, if left to her own devices.

  ‘Do us a favour? Will you pop down to the recycling bins with the cartons and boxes, and I’ll follow you down with the bottles? I just need to make a quick call.’ He dropped an arm around her shoulder.

  ‘Sure, Dad.’ She walked with him into the kitchen and took the recycling bag out from under the sink. He filled another one with a few empty wine and Amé bottles and a couple of jam jars. As soon as the front door closedand he heard the ping of the lift and the doors swishing open, he dropped his bag of bottles on to the counter and hurried to Melissa’s bedroom. He clicked on the keyboard and the screensaver came up. He tapped the Safari icon and scrolled to recent history, anxious to find what his daughter had not wanted him to see. He shook his head as he stared at the site that came to life on the screen when he clicked on it.

  She really was still a child at heart, he thought tenderly as Paper Doll Heaven came up as the last hit. No wonder she’d been embarrassed – she wouldn’t want him thinking that she still liked to dress paper dolls at her age. And here he was thinking she was on some iffy chat room. He closed it down, sent the computer to sleep and hurried out of the room feeling a little uncomfortable. He felt like he was spying on his daughter and invading her privacy, but it was important to keep some sort of check on what she was up to. She was on her own a lot because both Aimee and he worked full time, and sometimes it bothered him that he didn’t get to spend enough time with her. He’d mucked up with Debbie; he didn’t want to make the same mistake with Melissa. He grabbed the bag of bottles and went out to the lift, which she’d sent back up for him. He pressed the button for the basement, knowing that she was waiting for him. Maybe he’d treat her to that new iPod she had her heart set on. She was a good kid, she deserved it, Barry decided as the doors slid open and she stood waiting patiently for him to empty his recycling bag so they could set off on their Saturday-morning jaunt.

  ‘Come on, it’s a lovely day – leave that,’ Bryan urged as Debbie emptied the linen basket and began sorting clothes for the wash.

  ‘I want to put another wash on, Bryan. Will you empty the washing machine and hang out those clothes while I do this lot?’ She tried to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

  ‘We can do it when we come back. Come on – the gang are meeting in the IFSC and we’re going for brunch. I told them we’d be there,’ he wheedled.

  ‘But, Bryan, we were going to clear out the spare room and strip the wallpaper off the walls. We’ve got to get working on the house. It’s a shambles.’ Debbie looked at him in dismay.

  ‘Aw, come on, Debbs, don’t exaggerate. It’s liveable in, there’s no rush – we’ll be living here for years to come. I’ve been incarcerated in the office all week and so have you. We need some fresh air. It’s a smashing day. Who wants to be stuck inside on a day like today doing housework?’ he retaliated.

  ‘Well, I don’t,’ she snapped, ‘but it’s got to be done or we’ll be going back to work on Monday and the house will be in an even bigger mess.’

  ‘Look, we’ll do it this evening. Let’s head off.’ He hauled her to her feet and propelled her out of the kitchen, protesting.

  ‘Ah, Bryan, stop it. Look, you go.’ She scowled, shrugging off his hand. ‘I’ll get a Dart to Connolly and join you later. I really want to get the clothes hung out at least, there’s great drying out.’

  ‘You sound like a housewife,’ he said sulkily.

  ‘Ah, shut up, Bryan. If you want to live in a slum I don’t. I’m not your mother, your sister or your cousin. I’m not going to run around after you. We share the chores. That’s what couples do. Get used to it,’ she flared, stung by his jibe.

  ‘Right! Well I’m going out now and I’ll do my share later,’ he retorted, picking the car keys up off the hall table, which had a week’s post, mostly bills, to be dealt with.

  ‘See you later,’ she responded coolly, not letting him see how mad he’d made her calling her a housewife and leaving her in the lurch to go and have brunch with their friends.

  ‘Ciao, baby.’ He waved his keys at her and gave an insouciant grin as he closed the door behind him.

  ‘Bastard!’ she swore as she flounced back into the kitchen. In a temper she divided the dirty washing into his and hers piles, a determined jut to her chin. He could do his own washing tonight, she thought grimly as she plucked an armful of her clothes and flung them on the floor in front of the washing machine. She emptied the damp clothes into the wash basket with mounting resentment and filled the machine with her dirty washing. She twisted the dial viciously, feeling more furious by the second. Why would she want to marry a selfish pig like Bryan? She sighed deeply as she took the wash basket into the overgrown and weedy back garden and hung her clothes out to dry, leaving his tossed in a heap with the pegs. If he thought she was going to hang his clothes out too, he had another think coming, she thought spitefully as she stabbed a peg on to a pair of black briefs.

  Anger fuelled her, and in the next hour she filled a bag for a charity shop, loaded up the green bin, washed out the kitchen and bathroom floors and spent ten minutes on the phone paying bills with the twenty-four-hour banking option before making herself a cup of coffee and a bacon sandwich and heading out on their small deck. Their small, sadly neglected deck, she thought ruefully as she surveyed the couple of dried-out plants in flowerpots, the round table and two wrought-iron chairs. She was really going to have to get to grips with the garden or it would turn into a wilderness. It was only a postage stamp of a garden. If Bryan was any way inclined, an afternoon would sort it out. But that could be a long time coming the way he was behaving at the moment, she thought dolefully.

  They’d bought a small townhouse in a quiet cul-de-sac in Sandymount and, although they were stretched to their limit with the mortgage and had spent more than they really could afford, they had wanted a house close to the Dart so that Bryan could take the train to work in the IFSC and she could visit Connie in Greystones without having to drive in the gridlock that plagued the N11.

  She should give her mother a call, she thought guiltily. She wondered how the previous evening had gone. She really had behaved badly. Connie was worki
ng this morning and would have her phone turned off. Her mother worked hard. She was a great mother, Debbie reflected remorsefully. She hadn’t made much of a fuss of her lately; she’d been too occupied with her own concerns. Maybe they could have a late lunch together when Connie was finished work.

  That would be nice; it would be her treat to make up for her childishness, and she could find out what seating plan had been arranged. She’d text her so the message would be there for her when she came off shift. She took a bite of her sandwich, and a slug of coffee, starving after her exertions.

  The sun was warm and she felt the tension ease out of her body as she raised her face to its beneficent rays. Little puffball clouds scudded across the indigo sky and the breeze lifted the hair off her forehead, cooling her temples in a most refreshing manner. Bryan was not in the slightest bit domesticated, she thought glumly. Perhaps he was right. She should be enjoying a lovely day like today with their friends, but chores had to be done or else they piled up. It had hurt when he had said she was behaving like a housewife. Maybe she was acting the martyr, but what did he think – that clean clothes magically appeared in the wardrobe, washed and ironed?

  It was his doting mother’s fault. She had treated him like a little prince since he’d been born and it was a role he’d grown used to. Debbie liked Mrs Kinsella – she was a kind, warm-hearted woman – but she really spoilt Bryan, who was her youngest child and only son. He was so used to being fussed over, he found Debbie’s attitude towards his lack of housework skills hard to understand sometimes.

  He had inherited his mother’s generous nature and would give Debbie anything she asked for; she just wished he would pull his weight around the house a bit more. She knew his laziness irritated Connie, who couldn’t understand how little they had done to the house since they’d moved in. It wasn’t easy when the two of them were working. They’d get around to it eventually, she supposed. It wasn’t that it was in a very bad state of repair or anything like it. It was just shabby and in need of redecoration. A couple with two young children had lived in it previously and the wallpaper had crayon marks and scuffmarks that couldn’t be camouflaged. The carpets were stained, and she and Bryan had decided to get wooden floors put down.