Happy Ever After Read online

  He wanted proper food. Meat and potatoes and veg. Was that too much for a man to ask? He pulled open the freezer drawer and thanked God for the Butler’s Pantry as he pulled out two aluminium containers of Pepperpot Beef and Duchesse Potatoes. He marched out into the hall. ‘Melissa, Aimee, have you eaten yet? Do you want Pepperpot Beef and potatoes?’ he called loudly.

  ‘No thanks, Dad,’ came the mumbled response from his daughter’s bedroom.

  ‘Not for me, thanks,’ his wife responded.

  ‘Good. More for me,’ he muttered, hurrying back into the kitchen, his humour darkening by the minute. He’d been looking forward to coming home and announcing his new deal over dinner and maybe a glass of champers, and neither of the females he lived with were interested enough even to come out of their bedrooms and say hello to him. God be with the days when he’d been married to Connie and he’d come home to a cooked meal and a warm reception, he thought sorrowfully, conveniently forgetting how absolutely stifled he’d felt in his first marriage.

  And he had to go to his mother-in-law’s blooming art exhibition. How riveting would that be? He emptied the entire contents of the containers on to a plate and shoved it into the microwave before switching on the small kitchen TV to catch the six o’clock news.

  Aimee appeared ten minutes later, looking immaculate in a pair of red trousers and a cream silk cami and cream shrug. She looked effortlessly elegant and chic, one of the things he’d always admired about her.

  ‘You look very nice,’ he ventured, offering an olive branch.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said tonelessly, and he wondered why he’d bothered. ‘Is Melissa ready?’ She stood with her back to him, looking out the window.

  ‘Don’t know, haven’t seen her.’ He opened the dishwasher and noticed that it needed to be emptied. ‘It wouldn’t kill her to empty the dishwasher while she’s hanging around at home,’ he grouched, putting his dishes in the sink instead.

  ‘I’ll do it later. Don’t start a row, she’s in a snit about coming to Mum’s exhibition,’ Aimee said tiredly as their daughter walked into the kitchen dressed in white jeans and a multicoloured smock top. She looked sullen, ignoring them as she flounced over to the fridge and took out a can of Diet Coke.

  ‘Well, seeing as we’re all here, I’ve a bit of good news to announce.’ Barry turned to face them. ‘In case anyone’s interested,’ he added dryly.

  Aimee looked a little taken aback as she turned to face him. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yep. I hooked a brand-new client today, a biggie. Haven’t lost my touch.’ He grinned from ear to ear, very pleased with himself.

  ‘That’s great news,’ she said slowly. ‘Well done, Barry.’

  ‘Congratulations, Dad. Does this mean we can buy a place in Spain? Clara’s going for a whole month. Could we buy a place near her?’ Melissa asked excitedly, sulks forgotten.

  ‘Don’t rule it out some time.’ He hugged her, thinking about his proposed SecureCo International Plus profits.

  ‘Don’t be putting notions in her head,’ Aimee said, a little sharply.

  ‘It’s not a notion – it might happen yet,’ Barry retorted, stung by her attitude. And when it’s bought it will be bought with my money, he thought angrily. He’d been going to propose a champagne toast but, if that was her attitude, he wasn’t going to bother. ‘We should get a move on if you want to be there on time – the traffic was heavy enough when I was coming home,’ he said flatly, all the good taken out of his achievement.

  Aimee sat beside her husband, stuck in gridlock on the Merrion Road, which was, yet again, undergoing roadworks. She’d been driving on this damn road for more than twenty years and never once had it been cone-free. The money that had been spent digging and re-digging it would have funded half a dozen schools or hospitals, she reflected crossly as Barry cursed a taxi driver who had shot out of the bus lane and cut in ahead of him in an effort to beat the lights further on.

  She hadn’t handled the news of her husband’s new client very well, thought Aimee guiltily. Barry was like a little boy sometimes, expecting a big clap on the back for his achievements. What would his response have been if she’d said, ‘And I have a little announcement of my own to make: I’m pregnant, darling, and I’m not going to keep it. What do you think of that?’ That would knock the self-satisfied grin off his face. She’d hardly be able to tell him her own news about her job offer and big salary increase; he’d feel emasculated – and that had to be avoided at all costs.

  Working wives really had it tough, Aimee raged silently. Stay in your box and, for God’s sake, don’t become more successful than your husband. Never forget his cherished position as hunter/gatherer. Be the perfect mother as well as trying to juggle work and your relationship. Never let your bosses see that you are anything less than in control and on top of things.

  Barry had none of those pressures. All he had to worry about was getting new clients. Well, excuse her if she wasn’t dancing up and down with excitement at his news. She had her own problems to deal with, problems of a sort that he would never, ever have to face.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The rattle of the big tea trolleys woke Judith. She wished she could have slept longer. A tea lady brought in her tray and pulled her trolley up along the bed for her. ‘I’ve cut it up for you, seeing as you have the arm in a sling,’ she said kindly as she left, in a hurry to get all the teas served.

  Judith picked up the silver cover and studied her tea unenthusiastically; bits of leathery brown omelette lay limply on the plate. She poked it; it was almost cold. She replaced the cover and nibbled at the buttered white bread. Her mother had brought her some scones; she’d have one of those, she decided, flicking on the TV to watch the teatime episode of Stargate SG1, her favourite programme. If any of the girls at work knew she was a Stargate fanatic, she’d lose all her credibility, she thought with wry amusement, watching the lean, fit and very sexy Jack O’Neill battle with some Washington-bigwig bureaucrats in an effort to save the planet from the Replicators, her favourite aliens. Yes, indeed – if word ever got out about her TV show of choice, Judith would never live it down at work.

  Her heart sank when she heard a knock on the door. Surely they couldn’t want to take more blood from her at this hour of the evening. Dracula had nothing on the vampires that lived in the bowels of the hospital, she’d told the last technician who’d taken a big syringeful from her. The young girl had managed a weak smile; no doubt she heard that tired old cliché day in, day out. Even as she’d said it, she’d felt foolish, making daft chitchat for the sake of it.

  Perhaps it was a visitor, she thought irritably, wiping a smear of jam from her mouth.

  There was nothing worse than trying to eat when you had visitors. Tom, her brother, who had visited her twice, had arrived at meal times. If it was him again – although she doubted it – she was going to tell him to go away until she had finished her tea.

  ‘Come in,’ she called, in a none-too-welcoming tone, and her eyes widened in delight when she saw her best friend, Jillian, poke her head around the door. It was Jillian she’d been going to spend the weekend with when she’d crashed the car.

  ‘Oh, Jillian,’ she managed before bursting into tears.

  ‘Ah, Judith, poor, poor petal,’ her friend said sympathetically, enveloping her in a bearhug.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ sniffled Judith. ‘I thought you were Tom.’

  ‘That would make anyone cry,’ Jillian said wickedly, and Judith hiccuped and laughed at the same time. Jillian was the only one who really knew her inside out. Jillian understood everything. Judith didn’t mind crying in front of her; in fact, it was a relief to cry. She’d wanted to cry all day.

  Her friend handed her a tissue. ‘Rough, huh?’

  Judith nodded. ‘The pits,’ she gulped.

  ‘God, Judith, I got a terrible shock when Cecily rang me that day. I thought you were a goner.’

  ‘I thought I was a goner myself. And you know, Jillian, and you’re th
e only one I could say it to, part of me was sorry when I woke up out of the coma. Isn’t that an awful thing to say?’

  ‘Yes, Judith, it is, hon, but I understand why you might say it. It’s been hard for you the last couple of years. But you know life is precious, and maybe this is a wake-up call for you to make changes.’

  ‘Well, I’ll tell you one thing.’ Judith wiped her eyes. ‘It’s certainly made a big change in Ma. You wouldn’t believe it. She’s coming in and out to see me on the bus, she’s staying in the house on her own, she’s doing the shopping and visiting the library and going for walks in the park. She’s a new woman.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ Jillian pulled up a chair. ‘Mind you, she sounds quite chirpy on the phone when she rings me with the news bulletins about you. I told her I was coming to see you but not to let on.’ Jillian grinned. ‘She was enjoying the plotting and planning, if you ask me. So that’s one good thing that’s come out of it all. Sometimes things happen to us, and we think that they’re the worst thing that can happen but, when we look back on them, we find that they’re really precious gifts, which change our lives in some way or another,’ her friend said matter-of-factly.

  ‘Oh, don’t do all your spiritual stuff with me,’ Judith grimaced. ‘This is not a gift, believe me. I ache from head to toe. My car’s a write-off, not to mention all the other disasters in my life.’

  ‘Ah, poor you. Poor, poor tormented, afflicted you,’ teased Jillian, and Judith grinned.

  ‘Bitch,’ she retorted, delighted to see her friend.

  ‘What have you got there?’ Jillian picked up the plate cover and made a face. ‘Uggh! Just as well I came prepared.’ She opened the big tote bag she was carrying and took out a cellophane-covered dish, followed by two small Tupperware containers. ‘Your favourite, meat loaf, and pine nut, feta cheese and olive salad, and strawberry roulade for dessert. I was going to bring some wine, but I thought I’d better not with all the tablets you’re on. Now, eat up like a good woman,’ she urged. ‘God that man has a sexy ass,’ she added grinning as she caught sight of Colonel O’Neill retreating from an attack by the Replicators. She too was a fan.

  ‘It’s great. There’re two episodes on every afternoon, and I lie here and watch them and feel like I’m in a little bubble. If it wasn’t for the pain I’d be quite enjoying myself,’ Judith admitted.

  ‘Yeah, it’s nice sometimes just to let go of everything. You see, you’re being given time to rest and reflect, that’s one of the positives of your situation. But it’s awful being in pain, and I don’t mean to be dismissive of it,’ Jillian said sympathetically, cutting another slice of meat loaf.

  ‘I know you don’t. I know you think about things differently. That’s what you get for going off to live in bogger land and doing all those healing things and reflexology and stuff.’

  ‘You wait, Ms Baxter. You’ll see how well reflexology and acupuncture work by the time I’ve finished with you. Lily and I have decided that, when you’re discharged, you’re coming up to me to recuperate, and no ifs, ands or buts about it. A good dose of fresh country air, some nice therapies and healings and a glass or three of whatever you fancy will do you all the good in the world,’ her friend said firmly, removing the plate of omelette from the tray and replacing it with a tasty feast.

  Judith looked at her open-mouthed and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  ‘So you see, I feel I’ve held poor Judith back, and I want her to have a place of her own, so I was thinking of selling my house to the bank and giving her the money. But I can live in it until I die, can’t I, Mr Long?’ Lily twisted her wedding ring around her finger and stared anxiously at the bank manager, who had listened in attentive silence as she told him of Judith’s accident and her plans for her daughter.

  ‘Well, now, firstly, I hope Judith makes a full and speedy recovery and, secondly, Mrs Baxter, I think there are better options than selling your home to the bank.’

  ‘Oh!’ Lily said, deflated.

  ‘What I’m going to suggest would, in the long run, be better for you, I think, and would ensure that Judith gets a mortgage and that you get to keep the house. You see, we don’t actually operate that method of finance here. Our operation in the UK did for a while, but it caused so many problems that our banks here decided not to go down that route. The banks in the UK were being sued by families, who got a big shock when the mother or father died and they discovered that the banks owned the property. There were accusations of pressure being put on the client to sell and accusations that the clients hadn’t realized the implications of what they were doing, or accusations that the clients weren’t compos mentis. It was all very difficult and caused such legal problems that we decided it wasn’t an efficient or profitable system to run with. Do you see where I’m coming from, Mrs Baxter?’

  ‘I certainly do, Mr Long. I can understand that very well indeed,’ Lily said, relieved that he had explained it so well to her. Tom would be the first to sue the bank if she’d gone down that road, of that she was certain. ‘So what do you suggest then?’ She leaned forward, anxious to hear what he would advise.

  Mr Long sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. ‘I’d suggest that you have a chat with your solicitor and get Judith’s name put on the title deeds of the house. Then she could use it as collateral for a loan. Just let me check something a moment.’

  His fingers flew over the keyboard, and he studied the screen intently. ‘Yes, indeed, Mrs Baxter, I can’t of course discuss her account with you – client confidentiality and all of that – but I’d be very happy to have a chat with your daughter about providing a loan. Unless she defaults on her mortgage – and there’s no reason to think she would – and if she passes the medical, I can’t foresee any problems. And the good thing is that your home can go to her after you pass on, if that’s what you wish, and she will certainly be able to clear her mortgage.’

  ‘There’d be a medical? Oh dear.’ Lily frowned.

  ‘Nothing to worry about. I’m sure once Judith is discharged, all will be well,’ the manager assured her. ‘And, of course, we mustn’t forget that there’s a slowdown in the property market and prices are dropping considerably, so she’ll be in a buyers’ market. An excellent time for her to be buying. Couldn’t be better actually.’

  ‘That’s true.’ Lily brightened. ‘Every cloud has a silver lining, I suppose.’

  ‘Now, of course you can go the other route, I can give you some numbers to ring – I wouldn’t like you to think I’m pressurizing you to take my advice and follow a certain course of action. I’m sure you’ve seen the advertising on TV. Judith is certainly free to go wherever she likes for a mortgage or home loan, but I can assure you that our rates are competitive, Mrs Baxter. And do have a chat with your solicitor.’

  He smiled benevolently at her, and Lily felt herself relax. She trusted the man in front of her completely. He had no airs or graces, and she understood very well why the elderly people in her area liked their bank manager. He had told her once when she had been investing a bequest left to her in an aunt’s will that he would never advise anyone who couldn’t afford to take a risk to invest in something he wouldn’t let his mother and father put their money into. After that, she trusted him implicitly. He wasn’t one of these wide boys in their sharp suits. He was one of their own sort and, whether they realized it or not, one of his bank’s greatest assets.

  By the time Lily and Mr Long had finished their chat, the bank was closed to the public. The bank manager walked her to the door, shook her hand, and she left with a sense of great accomplishment and a spring in her step. She had set the wheels in motion, and the next time she saw Judith, she’d have great news for her. She must start buying the papers with the property pages in them, to give Judith an idea of what was on the market. Lily tried not to dwell on the idea that, when Judith eventually bought a place, Lily would, like Mrs Meadows, be living on her own.

  Tom Baxter sat in his car outside his mother’s house
, drumming his fingers impatiently against the leather steering wheel.

  Where the bloody hell was the woman, and why wasn’t she answering her damn mobile phone? He’d tried to ring Judith’s, but that was turned off too, and he vaguely remembered Lily saying the nurses had told her to keep it off so she would get the rest she needed.

  He’d been at a business meeting in a hotel at the airport and, seeing as he was on the Northside and not too far away, and rather than endure the M50 rush hour on a Friday evening, he’d decided to call in to see his mother and see if she was still managing all right while Judith was in hospital. She might give him a bite to eat while he was at it. He was starving, and she usually had some tasty scones or a cream sponge on the go. Glenda, his wife, was not one for baking, unfortunately. Spending money was more her forte, he thought caustically, remembering the row they’d had that morning about her spending 200 euro on a pair of ridiculous shoes with heels like pipe cleaners for a charity lunch she was going to. It was all very well keeping up with the Joneses, but surely she could have bought a pair of shoes for half the price.

  ‘If you want me to go to these things, I’m not going looking like a pauper. Those shoes are cheap compared to what some of those flashy ones wear, believe me,’ Glenda had snapped. ‘You can’t be seen in the same outfit twice. You know that as well as I do. That’s the game, and that’s the way it’s played, and it’s stressful enough without you giving me grief.’

  She was right, he supposed: if you wanted to mix with movers and shakers, you had to act the part and dress for the part. When he’d first met her, all those years ago, she bought all her clothes in Dunnes Stores, and he’d thought she looked lovely. Now, it was all designer labels and posh boutiques. It was just as well she had that part-time job in the boutique and got a discount off her clothes, because she spent a small fortune on them. It was hard keeping up the lifestyle they’d become accustomed to in the boom years. A big house, huge gas-guzzler of a car, private schooling for the kids, property abroad. It had been a dream come true, but now the economy was slowing down, inflation was rising, his properties in Spain were dead in the water, and the bottom had fallen out of the Spanish market. You couldn’t give apartments away there; the rent he was getting was far from covering the mortgages. His investments and pensions were being hammered, the stockmarket was a disaster area, and his own alarm and security installation business was beginning to feel the pinch. Tom felt more than a little oppressed sitting in his BMW, flicking a piece of lint off his Louis Copeland suit.