Her Husband's Mistake

by Sheila O'Flanagan

  ‘So what’s new?’ asks Debs.

  ‘I’ve lost the lucrative client, I’ve stopped Dave selling the car and I’m not sure if I’m doing the right thing any more,’ I say. And then, out of the blue, I burst into tears.

  Debs grabs some tissues from the box on the table and thrusts them at me. I mop my eyes, blow my nose and take a slug of wine.

  ‘What’s all that about?’ she asks.

  I tell her about Estelle and Dad, and the photo in the car that I thought might have been Dad’s son and that turned out to be Ivo. Which might have meant me fancying my own half-brother. Which still makes me feel sick inside.

  ‘Well, yes,’ she says in her sensible way. ‘I can see that would definitely have been freaky. But he isn’t your half-brother, so you didn’t. Although,’ she adds, ‘you told me when you were in Cork that you didn’t want revenge sex with him. Did you, in the end?’

  ‘No!’ I exclaim.

  ‘Whew! But why are you so upset if that’s the case?’

  ‘I don’t know!’

  And I don’t. It’s just . . . there was so much going on outside the house that it took me away from the things I needed to think about. Like me and Dave and how I really feel about the Julie Halpin situation that’s supposed to be in the past but that I can’t leave in the past like Mum wants me to do and like I know I should do. It’s easy for me to tell Ivo Lehane to put his past behind him. It’s a pity I’m not able to do it for myself.

  ‘Where are you with Dave and the driving now?’ Debs asks.

  ‘God knows,’ I reply. ‘He’s tolerated me running back and forwards to Kildare this last while because he knows it means the end of Ivo. And maybe he thinks that without someone like him as a great client, the business won’t be so profitable. He doesn’t want it to be profitable. What he wants is another baby.’ I down an enormous gulp of wine. ‘I’m done with babies, Debs.’

  ‘Are you done with Dave?’

  Her question has cut to the chase. Am I? But if so, why? Because of Julie? Because of his attitude about my driving? Because he wants a baby? Because of Ivo?

  Because of me?

  ‘It’s taking you a long time to answer,’ she says.

  ‘I’m done with things the way they were,’ I say. ‘But Dave isn’t. He says he wants everything to be how it was before.’

  ‘And you don’t.’ She sloshes some more wine into my glass.

  I shrug helplessly. I used to be so good at stuff. At making decisions. At knowing what to do. But I’ve lost it.

  ‘Nancy Barrett said you were great driving her to Kinnity Castle,’ Debs remarks.

  ‘Nancy’s a friend. And besides, she hasn’t been driven by a chauffeur since her wedding day. Of course she’d enjoy it.’

  ‘Perhaps. But she told me that you were a really calm person to be in the car with. That you made it all part of the experience. You’re good at it, Roxy. You really are. Dave should accept that and support you.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t? If he keeps on at me to stay home and have another baby?’

  ‘Don’t get trapped,’ says Debs.

  But it’s too late. I’m trapped already.

  I call in to Mum after I’ve done another airport pick-up on Tuesday. She’s sitting in the kitchen surrounded by her octopussies, but she gets up and puts the kettle on for a cup of tea.

  ‘Some of them are Diarmuid’s,’ she tells me as I sift through the tiny purple creatures. ‘In all honesty he’s not great at the crochet, but he’s doing his best.’

  ‘I’m impressed he’s even trying,’ I say. ‘And it’s nice that he’s still around, and that he helped you over the whole Estelle thing.’

  ‘I’m a bit surprised he’s still around myself.’

  ‘Why?’ I ask. ‘You’re a great woman. He’s lucky you’re . . . seeing him.’

  She grins. ‘Seeing him. That’s diplomatic of you.’

  ‘Well, dating sounds a bit weird. But are you dating now, Mum? Is he a fixture in your life?’ I honestly don’t want to know if she’s sleeping with him. That’s way too much information.

  ‘I guess we’re sort of exclusive,’ she says, and blushes.

  ‘Oh, Mum.’ I give her a kiss.

  ‘Steady on. It’s not . . . I’m not going to marry him or anything. I couldn’t.’

  ‘Not now,’ I agree. ‘But maybe in the future.’

  ‘Your dad wanted me to get married again,’ says Mum. ‘He didn’t want me to be on my own. I suppose he thought I couldn’t manage. But after those first few weeks, I’ve been managing perfectly fine. I miss him. I’ll always miss him. But I’m OK on my own too. I said before that women mourn, men replace. I should’ve added that women get on with their lives. We pick up the pieces and start living. It might take some longer than others, but we do.’

  Is she trying to tell me more than I’m asking here? Is she talking as much about me and Dave as her and Dad? Can my mum fix my life for me when I can’t fix it for myself?

  ‘I’m trying to pick up the pieces after Dave and Julie Halpin, but every time I think I’m OK, he says something that makes me feel . . . oh, I don’t know! I want us to be good again, Mum. But I want it to be different too.’

  ‘He’s deflecting all the wrong he did by sleeping with that woman onto you and the car,’ she says. ‘The more he can make you feel guilty about driving, the less guilt he has to carry about cheating on you.’

  I look at her in utter amazement. She’s clarified everything for me with one single sentence. She’s right. Again.

  ‘It’s no easy task living with someone your whole life,’ she tells me. ‘There’ll always be ups and downs. But you have to want the same thing in the end. Do you and Dave?’

  We did once, but do we now?

  I’ve changed. I’ve changed because of him. Because after Rodeo Night I knew I had to be more than just a supportive wife. And yet I was great as a supportive wife. I loved it.

  ‘It’s not like he beats me up or is having multiple affairs or is hateful to the children,’ I say. ‘He’s a good man.’

  ‘But being a good man may not be good enough any more,’ says Mum.

  ‘We made vows. For better or worse.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I feel like I’m letting myself down.’

  ‘Oh, grow a pair, Roxy,’ says Mum. ‘Whatever you do, you’re not letting anyone down.’

  Grow a pair! Mum has changed in the last few months too. She’d never have said anything like that before.

  ‘Do you think I should leave him?’ I ask.

  ‘Only if that’s what you want,’ she says. ‘I told you I’d support you no matter what, and I will. Always.’

  ‘What d’you think Dad would’ve said to all this?’ I ask. ‘He liked Dave.’

  ‘You know, when you get on in life a bit, you take it all far more philosophically,’ says Mum. ‘You’ve seen things, learned things, put up with things. Your dad would have cared about your happiness, not Dave’s.’

  Well, yes, he would.

  ‘And he would have said the same as me. That he’d support you no matter what. He also would have said that you only have one life and you have to make the most of it,’ she adds. ‘He’d be proud of you, Roxy, and the business you’ve built up. He always was proud of you. And so am I.’

  ‘I didn’t realise quite how wise you were, Mum.’

  ‘Not wise. Just experienced.’ She leans over and takes my hand. ‘Experienced enough to know that life comes in chapters. And sometimes you finish one and you move on.’

  Her phone pings. She reads the message and smiles.

  ‘Diarmuid is dropping around,’ she says. ‘He wants to take me to lunch.’

  ‘My mother, the merry widow.’

  ‘Not always,’ she says. ‘But working on it. You have to work at happiness, Roxy. It doesn’t simply land in your lap.’

  I get up and put my cup into the dishwasher.

  ‘It’s always therapeutic talking to you, Mum.’ />
  ‘Ah, go away with yourself.’ She gives me a hug. ‘You’ll be fine, you always are. And I’ll be fine too.’

  ‘Tell Diarmuid I said hello.’ I pick up the car keys.

  ‘Do what’s right for yourself,’ she says as she walks me to the door.

  I love her.

  Chapter 32

  On Thursday, I go to my Zumba class for the first time in weeks. I’m a step behind everyone else and out of breath by the end. Afterwards Debs, Alison and I head to the pub for a drink, though we keep it non-alcoholic in order to stay virtuous.

  ‘So how’s everyone been?’ asks Alison. ‘You especially, Roxy. How’s the business going?’

  ‘Roxy has been feeling a bit swamped,’ Debs tells her when I don’t answer straight away. ‘And Dave hasn’t entirely been on her side.’

  ‘Dave needs to cop himself on,’ Alison says. ‘He’s lucky to have you and he’s a fool if he doesn’t see it.’

  Normally I’d be annoyed at one of my friends for dissing my husband. But tonight I don’t care.

  ‘The business has been going great,’ I say. ‘Though I’ve lost my best client.’

  ‘Which may not necessarily be a bad thing,’ says Debs.

  Alison looks at me quizzically and I fill her in on all the details about Ivo, including the perfume and the trip to Cork. She raises an eyebrow at me.

  ‘So it’s not entirely surprising that Dave freaked,’ I finish.

  ‘Why should he?’ demands Debs. ‘Roxy, you haven’t done anything!’

  ‘Would you have liked to?’ asks Alison.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I say. ‘Maybe I was a bit tempted. But I didn’t fall off the wagon, unlike my husband who clambered onto her! And now Ivo’s back in Brussels or Paris or wherever, with no real need to come back to Ireland. He has a girlfriend there.’

  ‘You should look at it all in a businesslike way,’ Alison says. ‘Your marriage, the chauffeuring, your relationship with Ivo—’

  ‘There’s no relationship with Ivo,’ I point out.

  ‘Your fantasy one,’ she amends. ‘Anyhow, put it all under the microscope and be businesslike about it.’

  ‘How can I possibly do that?’ I demand. ‘It’s life. It’s too messy to be businesslike.’

  She says I should write down the pros and cons of everything and list my priorities in relation to their importance, then look at what’s feasible and how I can achieve it.

  Or, I say, when she’s finished giving me advice that she would normally get paid for, I could ask myself: what would Dolly do?

  They both look at me as though I’m bonkers, and I tell them that Dolly has been a kind of mentor to me, and they laugh and tell me that I am seriously cracked. We all laugh hysterically then. Just like we used to do when we were young and foolish and I was Dave’s girl and I thought I was the luckiest person in the world.

  Two weeks later, I finally find out if I can make it all work.

  I’m driving Gina Hayes again. I’ve collected her from the airport and we’re going to the TV studios for her appearance on an afternoon lifestyle programme when my phone rings. I have to take it. It’s from Mica’s headmistress.

  ‘She was feeling unwell and she’s thrown up,’ says Mrs McCrae. ‘She should be at home.’

  I’m less than ten minutes from the studio, but even if I was to abandon Gina Hayes on the side of the motorway and turn around now, it would still take me at least half an hour to get to the school.

  Using my best business voice so that Gina doesn’t know there’s anything wrong, I tell Mrs McCrae that someone will collect Mica soon. Then I call Mum. But there’s no answer from her phone. I try Dave, but there’s no answer from him either. Nor is there a reply from Natalie. By the time I end all the attempted calls, I’m at the studio. I leap out of the car and tell Gina that she’ll be picked up when she’s finished. Fortunately she’s not on for about an hour, so I’ll have time to organise something for her. I can see a puzzled look on her face and I know I’ve been abrupt to the point of rudeness with her. Before she’s even gone through the studio door, I’m driving out of the car park and towards the motorway again.

  I try all the phones again with no luck. Where the hell is everyone? Where’s my working mother’s support network? I undertake a car that’s plodding along in the middle lane and think I see the telltale flash of a speed camera. I swear loudly and then use my voice control to ring Eric Mallon. He can’t collect Gina Hayes but he knows someone who probably can.

  ‘Let me know if there’s a problem, will you?’ I ask. ‘I don’t want to abandon the poor woman.’

  Eric tells me not to worry, that he’ll sort it, and I allow myself to relax very slightly.

  The phone rings again. It’s Mrs McCrae. She wants to know when someone is going to collect Mica.

  ‘I’m on the way,’ I tell her. ‘I’m caught in traffic.’

  Mrs McCrae is a working mother herself. She should know what it’s like. But I can feel her judgement and disapproval across the ether.

  I’m nearly at the school when Mum calls me back. I tell her what’s happened and she says she’ll be there in a couple of minutes.

  ‘I’m nearly there now,’ I tell her.

  ‘I’ll go too, in case you’re delayed,’ she says.

  But I’m not. We arrive at the same time and I head straight for Mrs McCrae’s office.

  ‘One of you sooner would have been better,’ says the headmistress when Mum and I both walk into the room.

  Mica is lying in the small armchair in the corner, covered with a blanket. Her face is shockingly pale and I’m immediately very worried about her.

  ‘Sweetheart, what happened?’ I ask.

  She says nothing, but puts her arms around me and buries her head in my chest as I pick her up.

  ‘I’ll wait here for Tom,’ says Mum. ‘School finishes in ten minutes.’

  I nod at her and bring Mica to the car.

  She perks up slightly when I carry her into her room and help her get undressed.

  ‘Do you still feel sick?’ I ask.

  ‘Only a bit.’

  ‘Was it anything you ate?’

  Mica normally has the stomach of an ox. There’s nothing she can’t chow down.

  She shakes her head and says she felt icky and then couldn’t help getting sick.

  ‘Any of your friends sick?’ I ask.

  ‘Emma.’ She looks at me accusingly. ‘I told you she was.’

  She did tell me. Yesterday. I meant to phone Audrey. Which I do now.

  ‘Oh God, Roxy, I’m so sorry. I sent you a WhatsApp this morning.’

  I haven’t looked at my WhatsApp groups. There are so many of them and I didn’t think there’d be anything important. Instead I focused on the Gina Hayes job and other messages from my driver’s app.

  ‘Mrs McCrae didn’t tell me Emma was ill when I called in,’ I said. ‘It would’ve been good to know. Is she OK now?’

  ‘I brought her to Dr Massoud this morning,’ says Audrey. ‘He reckons it’s a gastrointestinal bug. I’m keeping her hydrated and she’s perked up in the last half-hour or so.’

  ‘Right,’ I say. ‘Thanks, Audrey.’

  I ring Eric, who confirms that another driver will collect Gina, then I call Melisse and tell her what’s happened.

  ‘But you’ve sorted out Gina?’ she asks.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘In that case, no problem.’

  Mica has been lying on her bed all this time. She looks at me from wide eyes.

  ‘Have I messed up your job, Mum?’

  ‘No. Don’t worry. I always have backup.’

  She gives me a weak smile.

  ‘And you’re always my number one priority,’ I add, as I hear Mum and Tom arrive home. Although I let her down today. I should’ve phoned Audrey earlier and I should’ve checked my WhatsApp messages.

  I share Mica’s diagnosis with Mum and we use the sanitising gel in the kitchen on our hands. I open a small
bottle of 7 Up so that it can go flat. I don’t know if this is a medically sound method of hydrating a vomiting child, but Mum used it for all of us any time we were ill, and I swear by it.

  ‘Can I go up and see Mica?’ asks Tom.

  ‘No,’ says Mum. ‘You can stay down here and not pick up her germs.’

  ‘But I want her germs,’ he complains.

  Mum goes up to sit with Mica while I give Tom something to eat and then spend the next hour rearranging my schedule for the next few days.

  ‘Thanks for being here,’ I say to Mum as she leaves.

  ‘I told you I’d be here for you anytime,’ she tells me. ‘And I am.’

  When Dave comes home, he’s in a bad temper, not made any better by hearing that Mica is ill. And then, an hour after he’s eaten, he’s sick too. Dave isn’t ill often, but when he is, he might as well have five kinds of terminal disease, because he groans and sighs and whimpers as though he’s at death’s door. (Unlike his daughter, who’s now asleep in her room, having taken a little of the flat 7 Up.)

  I feel for Dave, I really do, because being sick is awful, but every time I go downstairs to do something, he calls me up again, saying he’s going to throw up. I’ve left a bucket beside the bed, but that’s not enough; he wants me there to mop his fevered brow.

  I’m not good at watching people being sick. It was the one thing I couldn’t bear whenever Dad had treatment sessions that made him nauseous. I want to ring Mum and ask her to look after my ailing family, but of course I don’t. They’re my problem, not hers. (And they’re not a problem. They’re my family.) Meanwhile, I hope against hope that Tom and I don’t succumb to the bug too. I’m less concerned about me. I never get bugs. The only time I ever feel ill is if I’ve been out on a night with the girls and have overindulged in alcohol. And it’s a long time since I’ve done that.

  It’s a grim night. Dave is in and out of the bathroom as often as he chucks up into the bucket. Mica, probably disturbed by the constant flushing of the loo, wakes up and is sick again too, although there’s not much for her to be sick with by now. But she’s frail and forlorn and my heart breaks to see her like this.