Forgive and Forget Read online

  ‘Are you having dessert and coffee, Mum?’ Debbie asked and Connie knew her daughter was willing her to say no.

  ‘Thanks, but I think I’ll have coffee out on my lounger at home, if you don’t mind, hon. I’m tired – it’s been a hard day at work.’

  ‘Fine, I’ll go up and pay. I’ll have coffee with Bryan when I meet up with him.’ Debbie got to her feet with indecent haste and hurried over to the cash desk.

  ‘Well, enjoy your lunch, folks. If you’ll just excuse me, I need to go to the loo too.’ Connie got up and made her way to the toilets.

  ‘That was great,’ Aimee hissed. ‘You could have given me a bit of support.’

  ‘And you needn’t have acted so heavy-handed, Aimee. You went over the top and made us all feel uncomfortable,’ Barry retorted. ‘And you were way over the line commenting on Debbie’s meal and weight. That was completely uncalled for.’

  His brusque tone stung. How dare Barry treat her like a child? ‘Well, she was damn rude to me but I didn’t notice you jumping to my defence.’ Aimee’s eyes were glacial as she stood and picked up her jacket and bag. ‘I guess I’m just not hungry. I’m going home.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Aimee, don’t be so childish.’ Barry could see Debbie looking at them.

  ‘Deal with it,’ Aimee spat and turned on her heel and walked out.

  ‘Great,’ muttered Barry. ‘Just great.’

  ‘You OK in there?’ Connie called as she stepped into the cubicle next to Melissa’s.

  ‘Yeah,’ came the muffled reply.

  ‘Well, we’re just heading off, so I wanted to say goodbye and please come and visit Hope any time you want to, she really likes you,’ Connie said kindly as she did a quick pee.

  ‘Thanks, Connie.’ She sounded so subdued next door that Connie wanted to put her arms around her and give her a hug.

  ‘Mind yourself, pet,’ she said warmly as she washed her hands. She came back into the restaurant just in time to see Aimee marching out the door.

  ‘Where’s Aimee gone?’ she asked Barry, who had a face like thunder.

  ‘Home,’ he said shortly as Debbie rejoined them. ‘And you, Miss, could do with a lesson in manners. You were very rude to Aimee,’ he barked.

  Debbie was about to give a heated response but a glare from Connie stopped her.

  ‘Don’t start, the pair of you, I’m warning you,’ she hissed. ‘I’m fed up to the back teeth of the carry-on between you two. Sort yourselves out before this damn wedding or I’m not going to it. Thanks for lunch, Debbie. I’ll see you, Barry.’ She stalked out, leaving father and daughter glaring at each other.

  ‘This is supposed to be the most wonderful time of my life and it’s already a disaster. But what’s new? Nice one, Dad,’ Debbie said tearfully, before hurrying after her mother.

  For the third time in less than five minutes Barry watched a furious woman walk out on him.

  He groaned. What the hell was wrong with them? Were they all pre-menstrual? Was the lead up to all damn weddings as fraught as this one? he pondered gloomily. It was time he faced facts: they were never going to be one happy family, no matter how much he wanted it. This wedding was not going to mend fences as he’d hoped. If anything, the chasm between Debbie and his other family was wider and deeper than it had ever been.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Debbie sat on the Dart as it headed towards town, twisting her engagement ring around her finger. This day was a real bummer so far, she thought despondently as they flashed past Lansdowne Road. Connie had been in no humour to talk when she’d caught up with her and had told her in no uncertain terms that her behaviour was rude, childish and unacceptable.

  ‘I’m ashamed of you. And whatever about being rude to Aimee, there really is no excuse for the way you treat Melissa. That young girl has done nothing to you. None of this is her fault, just as none of it was yours. She’s only a child and you’re supposed to be an adult. Whether you like it or not, she’s your half-sister, you should give her a chance. Grow up, Debbie,’ she’d fumed, before marching off to the car park looking tired and fed up.

  Her mother had a point, she thought wearily: she was twenty-five and she was acting like a five-year-old throwing a tantrum. She knew she was behaving badly and yet she kept at it, kept pushing her father to see how far she could go with him. Was she hoping that if she was obnoxious enough he’d butt out of her wedding and her life?

  He’d been absolutely furious with her, she had seen the disgust in his eyes, but she didn’t care. It was all very well for her mother to go on about putting the past behind her, but you didn’t switch off your feelings just like that. She’d lived with these feelings most of her life – they were like old friends, even though they were negative and bitter – but they were the feelings that came up whenever she had prolonged dealings with her father. They were all she knew. Those emotions had been with her since childhood; just because she was getting married was no reason for them to change.

  Even to this day she could still remember listening to her mother’s muffled crying in her bedroom when Barry had left them and gone to live on his own. She’d been afraid. Mothers were supposed to be strong; they weren’t supposed to spend hours crying into their pillows. She’d felt somehow that it was up to her to look after her mother now that her father was gone. She had to find a way to make her happy, to make things OK again. But what could she do to make her Mum’s hurt go away?

  She remembered how truly fearful she’d felt when her mother had told her that her dad was going to live in America. Who was going to mind them? Who was going to fix things when they went wrong? That’s what daddies were for, her childish reasoning went. She remembered Connie struggling to pull herself up into the attic to set a trap for the mice which had been rampaging over their heads like little elephants the winter after Barry had gone, and that same winter when the car wouldn’t start, trying to push it with her shoulder and steer it at the same time. Debbie remembered her sense of frustration and rage watching her mother’s futile efforts, and knowing that Connie had been presented with yet another problem to deal with on her own.

  She’d bet a million dollars that Madam Aimee would never have to climb up into an attic to deal with mice or push her car by herself to try and get it to start. She’d bet, too, that Melissa would never endure half the heartaches and anxieties she’d had as a child. ‘Lissy’ her father had called her, kindly, gently. They always seemed so close when she saw them together. They had a strong bond. When she was younger she’d felt searing pangs of jealousy towards Melissa. She knew that it wasn’t the younger girl’s fault and she did feel she was a bit of a bitch for the way she treated her. Connie was right, she thought with a little dart of shame. She could give Melissa some leeway. But Barry? He could forget it.

  Things were different now. She felt as if she was the one with the power. Her father wanted to get close to her and she wouldn’t let him. It was a revenge of sorts, she supposed. And he deserved it. Spoilt, cosseted Melissa would never endure the torments that had taken the good out of her childhood. Even now, sitting on a train heading into town, the memories were still vivid.

  Most of the other girls in her class had fathers who’d brought them to school and did their homework with them sometimes, especially maths. Connie wasn’t good at maths and she hadn’t been a great help. Debbie remembered the knots she used to get in her tummy doing her arithmetic, wondering if it was right. The teacher, Miss Kelly, used to make anyone who got less than six sums right out of ten stand up for the last five minutes of class. Debbie spent a lot of time standing up. Once or twice she was the only one, and Miss Kelly had told her she’d have to speak to her mother. She remembered the sick feeling of dread she’d had going home to tell Connie that her teacher wanted to speak to her because she was a dunce at maths.

  ‘Don’t mind her, so am I.’ Connie had hugged her tightly and Debbie remembered thinking that Miss Kelly had never saved someone’s life by giving them mouth-to-mouth resuscitat
ion and heart massage after they’d collapsed, the way she’d seen her mother do once in a supermarket when a middle-aged woman had crumpled over in the aisle.

  Connie had given the teacher a piece of her mind and told her that just because someone didn’t have a flair for maths didn’t mean they were thick and that Debbie should concentrate on the subjects she was good at. Miss Kelly had not been impressed by her attitude and had made life even tougher for Debbie.

  That teacher had been the bane of Debbie’s life; she used to feel sick going to school, and, thinking back, she realized with a shock that the woman was very similar in manner to Batty Baxter. Great, she thought, a bully of a teacher had ruined her schooldays and a bully of a supervisor was trying to ruin her work life. Well, she was damned if she was going to let that happen. She had enough crap to deal with, without taking it at work.

  Tears smarted in her eyes and she blinked rapidly. What on earth was wrong with her? Why in the name of God was she bringing up these old hurts, griefs and long-buried memories to torment herself with? That’s what spending time with her father and his second family did to her. It was always the same after dealing with them en masse. She was better off having nothing to do with them for her own peace of mind, no matter what Connie said about making fresh starts. You couldn’t make a fresh start when there were years of hurt to get over. It was impossible, she felt sure.

  And, besides, why would she want to have to spend time with a snooty consequence like Aimee? She just couldn’t imagine having anything in common with the woman. She shouldn’t have bothered to even respond to her ill-mannered questions in the restaurant. Where did she get off? Imagine being so rude as to comment on what someone was eating and asking if they were concerned about putting on weight. It’s a pity she wasn’t as concerned about her own daughter. Melissa was positively chubby. Nothing was said about her ordering the cod and chips. She’d really thrown a few filthy looks in Debbie’s direction when she’d made her smart comments in response to Aimee’s impertinence. She supposed she could understand the younger girl’s anger. If someone had had a pop at Connie, Debbie wouldn’t be too happy about it. She could identify with her half-sister’s annoyance and respected her for it but, even so, it had felt good to knock the superior sneer off Aimee’s face by saying that she didn’t want to be a twiglet.

  That had hit home, she thought with satisfaction as they came to a halt at Grand Canal Dock. Childish but immensely satisfying. A thought struck her. Why on earth would Aimee possibly want to come to her wedding now? Surely after this little spat she might decide not to come. It might be worth it after all. If she could only annoy her dad enough he might not show up either and she’d have the day that she really wanted.

  Aimee’s breath came in short, controlled rasps as she clocked up her tenth kilometre on the treadmill. She’d spent three-quarters of an hour doing a work-out and was finishing off with a run on the treadmill. The backs of her calves ached as she slowed the machine, and it was a relief to step off it, do a few stretches and head for the shower. She was still fuming about the lunch episode; she hoped Barry and Melissa didn’t come home until she’d managed to regain some sort of equilibrium.

  The nerve of Debbie to speak to her the way she had. How dare she imply that there was something silly about watching your diet and figure? The term ‘twiglet’ had stung.

  She’d been so tempted to retort that there was no danger of Debbie turning into one, she was more at risk of turning into a ‘piglet’. But that would have been an insult too far and there’d have been uproar. Most girls who were getting married didn’t sit stuffing chips and battered fish into their gobs like Debbie had been doing in Roly’s. If she wasn’t careful her dress wouldn’t fit her and that would be a fine disaster on her wedding day.

  Recently Aimee had been organizing the catering at a huge wedding in a big pile in Ballsbridge and there’d been mayhem upstairs because one of the bridesmaids had put on seven pounds since the last fitting for her dress and the zip wouldn’t close. The designer, bride, bridesmaid and bride’s mother had been in tears, and the wedding had been delayed for an hour until the designer had let out two side seams. Miss Debbie would want to be careful the same thing didn’t happen to her.

  Aimee sighed: it was so difficult dealing with her surly, ill-tempered step-daughter. She was lucky, she supposed, that they didn’t have that much contact. She knew Barry wanted them all to be closer but it wasn’t going to happen – and he couldn’t see why not. It wasn’t as though she had come between him and Connie – Debbie couldn’t hold that against her – so what was her problem?

  Aimee could understand perfectly how Barry had got bored in his first marriage. There was no get up and go in his first wife, she wasn’t one bit ambitious or go-ahead. Connie had been content to be a run-of-the-mill housewife. Aimee couldn’t understand that attitude.

  Connie was putting on weight too and it didn’t seem to bother her. Didn’t she want to do something more with her life? Couldn’t she go back to college and study and move up the career ladder? Why would she not consider going into hospital management? What was the attraction of nursing? Aimee could never figure it out. She hated being near sick people and disliked hospitals. If Barry got sick she had to struggle to hide her annoyance, and she was no good at mollycoddling him. She didn’t have time to be doing the tea and sympathy bit.

  Didn’t Connie want to have a relationship with someone? she mused as she unlaced her runners. Didn’t she miss sex and intimacy? She was in her late forties now. Was she content to slide into frumpy middle age? Aimee gave a shudder. That was one thing she would not do. She’d never give in to ageing. She’d never let herself go. She despised women who did. It was a lack of pride and discipline, and she had those in abundance, she thought with satisfaction as she stood under the powerful jets and let the hot water sluice over her supple, toned body.

  She couldn’t ever imagine Connie doing ten kilometres on the treadmill. She was probably being a bit of a bitch, she thought wryly as she massaged shampoo into her scalp. Connie had done well to rear her daughter and she had taken on the mortgage for her house. In fairness, she hadn’t been too much of a limpet on them, financially. She didn’t dislike the other woman – she was pleasant enough – but Aimee was not the girly type and watching Connie and their sister-in-law Karen giggling and laughing together when the clans gathered always made her irritable. Gaggles of women tittering and guffawing were definitely not her scene. She preferred intelligent, informed, stimulating conversation, and she didn’t do ‘girls’ nights’ the way Connie and Karen did. She just wasn’t like them and she had no desire to be. She dried her hair, dressed and strolled home, beginning to unwind. She always felt de-stressed having done a good work-out.

  Twenty minutes later she lay in a sheltered corner of the wraparound balcony of their penthouse smoothing sun-tan lotion over her limbs. She was still angry. Barry hadn’t even phoned to see if she was OK. He was behaving most uncharacteristically lately, she reflected gloomily, and his timing was crap. She needed his support; she needed their life to be on an even keel so that she could give all her energies to work.

  Ever since this wedding had come over the horizon he’d been distracted. Why couldn’t he simply accept that Debbie didn’t want him there, even though he was paying more than his fair share? It was unseemly the way he was running after her and Connie, turning himself into a doormat. He should have given Debbie her answer at the table. He should have stood up for her, Aimee thought crossly as she slid a pair of sunglasses on to her nose and settled down.

  She tried to relax but her thoughts kept returning to the lunch. Typical, too, that it would be the one day that Melissa would get thick and disagreeable. She hadn’t covered herself in glory either. It was infuriating for her to have made a show of herself, in front of that other pair. It grated that Connie had been so sweet and nice to her. Her lips tightened as she remembered how the other woman had butted in and said that the text message might be importan
t. Aimee had cut her off very sharply. She’d felt like saying, ‘You leave the rearing of my daughter to me. She’s not going to end up like the bad-mannered brat that you reared.’

  Aimee grinned as she gazed up at the cobalt sky. She wished she’d had the nerve to say it. How wonderful it would be in life if you could say exactly what you felt at any particular time and not give a hoot about the consequences.

  ‘Get over yourself, Debbie, and grow up.’

  ‘Keep your nose out of my business and my family, Connie, and go and get yourself a life.’

  ‘Barry, I’m not going to that bloody wedding, and you’re an idiot if you go and I don’t like being married to an idiot. And while we’re at it, stop being so lavish with our money.’

  It would be bliss indeed to speak as she wished, she thought as the conversations raced around her brain.

  She might have the conversation with him about not going to the wedding yet. What was the point? She wasn’t wanted and that didn’t upset her in the slightest. If she could manage it at all, this was one wedding she definitely wouldn’t be attending.

  Barry sat in a chair, tucked up in the non-fiction section of the big, airy bookshop. Melissa had gone off shopping with a friend and he didn’t want to go home to his wife after the disastrous episode at lunch.

  He flicked through a biography of Conrad Black, the Canadian media baron who had come a cropper. He read about his wife, Barbara, who had clawed her way up the social ladder with a single-minded determination that was rarely seen. Aimee flashed into his mind. She was pretty single-minded, he supposed. But he couldn’t possibly compare his second wife to the status-seeking Barbara Amiel, he thought guiltily. There was no comparison. Why would he even think like that?