nasty piece of work.’
Adam nodded in sympathy. ‘He sells his stuff to Celeb
Goss.’
‘And then there’s the selfie brigade,’ Sheridan added,
keen to sway their conversation from the magazine she
loathed. ‘They think it’s their God-given right to shove
their phones in your face. Half the time they don’t even
know who you are, only that they vaguely recognise
you from somewhere.’ She sipped her soda water, giving
Monica a wry smile. ‘One asked me who I was after she took the photo. I said I was Jennifer Aniston.’
‘But then there’s the genuine fans who appreciate
you,’ Daniel said. ‘Man, I hate to let them down because
without them, I wouldn’t be here. You need your fol-
lowers to champion your work.’
‘You find it hard, not living a normal life. But who’s
to say what’s normal and what’s not?’ Monica said, ob-
serving their conversation with interest. Her thick black
hair was stiff with hairspray, her false lashes framing her piercing green eyes.
‘The problem is … my world is growing smaller and
the walls are getting higher,’ Daniel added. ‘The number
of people I trust is smaller and smaller every day. I know
we sound ungrateful…’ He looked at Monica. ‘If I was in
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your shoes, I’d be thinking, “What an arrogant prick.” I
hope you won’t judge us too harshly.’
‘I don’t,’ Monica said. ‘But there are lotsa worse-off
folks in the world. You gotta protect yourself from negativity and count your blessings. Life is all about perception.’
‘How can you be happy when people keep letting
you down?’ Sheridan asked. She loved Monica’s choice
of words. It was all ‘gotta’, ‘havta’, ‘lotsa’ and ‘howareya’.
A refreshing change from most of her friends, whose ac-
cents had been driven away by elocution lessons.
‘You gotta choice,’ Monica replied, toying with her
chunky gold necklace. ‘Choose what to focus on and live
your life in line with your beliefs.’
‘Blinkered, you mean?’ Sheridan said, a prickle of an-
noyance creeping in. Monica was a therapist; she couldn’t
fully comprehend celebrity life.
‘Don’t knock it till you try it,’ Adam said, looking at
Monica with undisguised admiration. ‘Mon’s optimism
has really rubbed off on me.’
‘Sounds like you’re doing well. Sadly, Daniel is stuck
with my pessimistic nature.’ Sheridan forgot her irritation as her lips twitched with satisfaction. ‘But I won’t bring
the party down, because I have some good news to share.’
‘I know what this is…’ Adam said, his mouth jerking
upwards in a smile. ‘You’ve made the shortlist for James
Bond. I was turned down for the part today.’
Sheridan shared a glance with Daniel. He and Adam
had run a tight race, but it seemed that Daniel had beaten
him once again. She was about to say that that was not the
news she meant when Daniel slapped Adam on the back.
‘What can I say, mate, you either have it or you
don’t.’ He laughed. ‘Seriously, though … nothing’s been
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confirmed. It’s all rumours and speculation, so who
knows?’
‘No matter. I’ve never been a huge fan of the franchise,’
Alex said, in an obvious attempt to save face. ‘There have
been some right stinkers over the years.’
‘There are no bad Bond movies, just some that are
better than others,’ Daniel replied. ‘In fact…’
‘If you don’t mind,’ Sheridan interrupted. ‘Perhaps
you’ll allow me to share our real news?’ She plucked a black and white picture from her purse.
‘Is that what I think it is?’ Adam said, his eyes grow-
ing wide.
‘Yes, it’s a sonogram – the first picture of our little
girl.’ Sheridan beamed.
‘Wow,’ Monica said, her expression relaying her sur-
prise. ‘That’s … Wow. I wasn’t expecting this.’
‘You’ve not been reading the tabloids then?’ Sheridan
replied. ‘They’ve been talking about us trying for the last six months.’
‘Yeah … of course.’ Monica chuckled. ‘It’s just that …
you mentioned having health issues after Leo.’ She inhaled
a deep breath. ‘Sorry,’ she apologised again. ‘I’m thrilled for you both.’
Tears pricked Sheridan’s eyes as she leaned forward
and squeezed Monica’s hand. It was good to have a friend
who wasn’t afraid to express real emotion. ‘So sweet of
you to worry about me, honey.’ She rose from her chair
to hug her. ‘I’ve been given the all-clear. As long as I
don’t overdo things, I’ll be fine.’
‘Then I wanna hear all about it,’ Monica replied, her
chin on Sheridan’s shoulder. She parted to kiss Daniel on
the cheek. ‘I’m made up for you both.’
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‘Come, I’ll show you my plans for the nursery.’
Sheridan led Monica into the hall.
‘A boy and a girl.’ Adam turned to Daniel as he raised
his glass in a toast. ‘Congratulations! You really have it all.’
Their cheers rang in Sheridan’s ears as she led her friend
towards the room that was waiting to be decorated. She
inwardly glowed from the warmth of their well wishes,
her thoughts with their guest on the floor below. All was
not what it seemed with Roz, but Sheridan was in too
deep to back out of their agreement now.
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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Dympna
Dympna jumped from beneath her covers. It was winter
dark outside, yet a shrill ring had drilled into her brain.
She glared accusingly at her alarm clock. Was it time for
work already? She hated getting up in the dark, but the
red numerals flashing told her it was 3.30 a.m. Tapping
her fingers against her touch lamp, she tried to get her
bearings, then realised it was her mobile creating the
disturbance. There could only be one person ringing at
this hour of the night. What time was it in America? She
fumbled for her phone and accepted the call.
‘Hello?’ she said, hoping it wasn’t bad news.
‘Hi, sorry, did I wake you?’
The sound of Roz’s voice made Dympna smile in relief.
‘What time is it over there?’ Roz continued, her words
barely audible.
Dympna frowned. Why was she whispering?
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Dympna replied, not wanting to
put her off.
She was surprised she’d been able to get to sleep. Her
imagination had been on overdrive. Roz had only been
gone for one day, but she had spent the whole time won-
dering how she was getting on. She leaned against her
headboard, feeling better for having heard from her friend.
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Dympna’s ability to assume the worse had been gifted
from her father, helped by the horror stories he used to
&
nbsp; recount about his police work. Time after time, her mother
had warned him not to be so graphic at the dinner table,
but his eyes would be alight as he regaled them with
stories of the people he had put behind bars. Dympna
grew accustomed to it over the years, but it had left her
with her father’s cynicism which, according to him, was
a good thing.
‘I haven’t got long,’ Roz said. ‘I just wanted to let you
know that I’m OK. I’m staying at the couple’s place now.
It’s amazing – I have a ground floor luxury basement to
myself.’
‘Who are they?’ Dympna said, wide awake now. An
icy breeze crept in through a gap in the bedroom window
and she pulled her duvet up to her chest. Her flat was far
from luxurious, but at least she was safe.
‘I signed a confidentiality agreement. If I tell you,
they’ll have my guts for garters. They’re just protecting
themselves,’ Roz added hastily. ‘They’re lovely people.
You’d be blown away if you knew who they were.’
‘Did you get it checked by a solicitor?’ Dympna said.
‘You should never sign anything without getting it checked
first.’
‘There was no time, but I read it over and it’s fine.’
No time indeed, Dympna thought. ‘They shouldn’t pressure you into signing something until it’s been checked
out.’ But she knew her words were falling on deaf ears,
and besides, it was too late now. All she could do was fish for further information. She gripped the phone tightly but
tried to sound relaxed. ‘Tell me about it. What’s it like
there?’ A continuous bad feeling in her gut told her that
Roz’s predicament was something worth worrying about.
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Caroline Mitchell
Roz sounded hesitant. ‘I wish you could see it. They’re
taking such good care of me. I just wanted to let you
know I’m OK.’ She paused, took a breath. ‘I don’t know
if I’ll be able to ring you again, so don’t worry if you
don’t hear anything.’
Dympna’s jaw tightened. ‘Now you listen to me, Roz
Foley. You will ring me again, at least once a month, to let me know that you’re OK. Even if it’s just a text. You
hear me? Because if I don’t hear back, I’ll get the guards
on to you, I swear to God…’
‘All right, all right, I promise.’ Roz chuckled. ‘Although
I doubt the Gardaí would find me in the heart of New
York.’
‘Why the secrecy?’ Dympna replied, pulling her duvet
further up.
‘Because they want to pass the baby off as their own.
Honestly, nobody is holding me prisoner. I can come
and go as I like.’
‘So why are you whispering?’
‘You know why. I don’t want them to think I’m blab-
bing already. Besides, I had to give George my phone.
They’re dead against personal calls.’
‘George?’ Dympna frowned. ‘Who’s George?’ She
listened as Roz swore under her breath.
‘Um … he’s nobody. Forget I said that. Please, Dympna,
don’t ruin this for me.’
‘All right, all right, I won’t ask about him again. Listen, Roz, I need to ask you something…’ Dympna prepared to
say the words she had rehearsed. ‘It’s about the father…’
‘Sorry, I’ve got to go, someone’s coming. Take care,
hun, love you.’
Dammit, Dympna thought, blurting out a quick re-
sponse. ‘You too. Make sure you ring me, text, anything.’
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The Perfect Mother
‘Will do. Stop worrying. Bye.’
Dympna pushed her hair back from her face. Slouching
in her bed, a rising storm of emotions made her turn cold.
Things had changed since Roz had told her about the
pregnancy. Seamus had been acting odd ever since find-
ing out, too. She had broken a bond by speaking to him
about it, but Roz’s secrecy had planted a seed of suspicion that had bloomed into something dark and ugly. Up until
lately, they had shared everything, as true friends did. She thought back to when she and Seamus had last rowed.
He had been distracted and moody from the moment
they hooked up that night, but had refused to tell her
what was wrong. It was three and a half months ago, the
date etched into her diary along with her outpouring of
annoyance as she wondered what the hell had got into
him. Even then, she wrote that Seamus was wrestling
with something that he didn’t want her to know about.
Something he was ashamed of.
Was he the father of Roz’s baby?
Dympna looked around her room, cloaked in shad-
ows cast from the street lights outside. The flat was so
quiet now that Roz had left. She did not want to believe
that her best friend could commit the ultimate betrayal.
‘Water finds its own level,’ her mother sometimes said.
Was it inevitable that the two people you loved the most
would be drawn to each other, too?
She snuggled beneath her duvet, tears pricking her
eyes. Was she seeing things that weren’t there? But she
hadn’t imagined the awkwardness between Seamus and
Roz. It was only when Roz had announced her pregnancy
that everything had fallen into place. Dympna pictured
the baby, a little miniature Seamus running around the
flat. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She snuffled,
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Caroline Mitchell
tears drizzling down the side of her face as she lay on
her side. She was reading a lot into something that she
knew very little about, but fear had taken root inside
her. She could not bear to lose both her boyfriend and
her best friend.
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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Roz
I lay back on the sofa, listening to the celebrations taking place on the floor above. Sheridan had already informed
me that she was breaking the news to her closest friends
and cautioned me not to venture up. As if. The warning
had been redundant, as she had yet to give me a lift pass.
I could barely believe that not only were Daniel Watson
and Sheridan Sinclair upstairs, but now, so was Adam
Weiss. I had yet to step out of the sense of surreality that had cloaked me since my arrival.
At least I’d found time to give Dympna a quick ring. I
hadn’t told her there was darkness to my arrival, an edge
to Sheridan’s behaviour that made me feel afraid.
I looked again at the schedule Sheridan had given
me. My day was broken up into three blocks. Morning
consisted of medication, meditation and something called
birth affirmations. After that came pregnancy stretches
and drinking copious amounts of water. Then it was time
for my breakfast of kale juice, muesli and fresh fruit. The afternoon schedule was much the same: a twenty-minute
walk on the treadmill was followed by a lunch of ‘preg-
nancy superfood’. My downtime consisted of reading
and researching natural births. Even my ‘afternoon nap’
was timed. My evenings consisted of more supplements,
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pregnancy yoga, then birth affirmations as part of what
Sheridan called her ‘body and mind’ routine. My spirits
plummeted. Every day, every hour was accounted for.
I scanned the rest of the sheet to see what was termed
‘morale boosters’. They consisted of time watching TV or
a creative pursuit. But there was nothing in the schedule
about going outside. Did she plan on keeping me hid-
den away for the next six months? My apartment was
luxurious, but without windows I had no sense of time.
I could be anywhere in the world. I turned the page,
blurting a laugh.
‘She’s not serious…’ I said aloud, scanning Doctor
Blumberg’s appointments for weight and body measure-
ments, spit and urine samples and once-a-month blood
tests. But most mortifying of all was that I had to chart
my bodily functions – how often I used the toilet, and
what for. What bearing did these have on my baby? Was
this some kind of joke? What gave her the right to say
what time I woke and what time I went to bed? I curled
up on the sofa. It was gone 11 p.m. and the day had taken
its toll. I picked up the television remote control and was surprised to find a Netflix account already set up in my
name.
I was drawn to one of Sheridan’s early movies. In The
Greatest Gift she played the role of a pregnant teenager who gave her baby to her sister in England when it was
born. It was an old, obscure film, one I had not seen
before. I covered my legs with a blanket off the sofa and
soon became immersed. But there was something fam-
iliar about the scene as it played out, and it set my nerves on edge. I watched, gripped, as they walked down the
corridor of the stately home.
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The Perfect Mother
‘I’ve started the nursery,’ the sister said, as she opened
the bedroom door. ‘It’s just an undercoat. It’s waiting for that special touch.’ She turned to face Sheridan, her eyes
moist. ‘I have so many ideas.’ She glanced around the
empty room. ‘But I want to work with you to pick out
colours and design. Combine our energies into choosing
the I so the baby can feel our love.’ She chuckled. ‘You
probably think I’m silly, but…’
My mouth dropped open. Those were the same lines
that Sheridan had used on me. Picking up the remote, I
replayed the scene, over and over again. How much of
her life was real and how much was made up?
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