‘Are you OK?’ Barry looked at her in concern. She was as white as a sheet.
‘What do you care?’ she retorted, putting her head in her hands.
‘I do care,’ he said, all the anger ebbing out of his voice as he saw how pale she looked. ‘Lie down, and I’ll get you a drink of water.’ He eased her gently back against the cushions, and she felt too sick to resist. Moments later, he was at her side, raising her up and holding the glass to her lips. She sipped the cold water and lay back against the cushions.
‘Do you want me to call a doctor?’ he asked, taking the glass from her and sitting beside her.
She shook her head. ‘I didn’t get time to eat lunch today; it’s probably a dip in blood sugar. I’ll get something to eat in a minute.’
‘Ah, Aimee,’ he groaned. ‘That’s not good for you. You’ve got to take care of yourself, for your own sake as well as the baby’s. Will I make you an omelette, or some toast and scrambled eggs?’ he offered.
‘OK, some toast and eggs,’ she agreed, closing her eyes. She lay on the sofa, listening to him move around the kitchen. For the first time in a long while she’d seen a little of the old, kind, supportive Barry. Fighting was so exhausting; she didn’t have the energy for it any more, and it was easier to let him cook her something than to have to bother herself.
She’d fallen asleep, and he had to rouse her. She sat up sleepily, suddenly famished as the smell of hot, buttery toast and creamy yellow scrambled eggs garnished with a sprinkling of parsley made her mouth water. He’d added some strips of smoked salmon to the plate, and she ate with relish, noting how attractively he’d presented the tasty meal on the TV tray: a linen napkin folded neatly, extra toast in the rack, a small ramekin of capers and olives on the side and a glass of milk.
‘Thanks,’ she said gratefully when she’d finished.
‘Cuppa?’ he asked, taking the tray from her.
‘I’d murder a glass of wine, but I suppose a cuppa will have to do,’ she said, kicking off her shoes and swinging her legs back on to the sofa. It was nice being looked after and mollycoddled. Her phone rang, and she slid it out of its designated pocket in her bag. It irritated her, watching women scrabbling about in handbags for their phones; she always knew where hers was. She saw with surprise that it was Ian. Maybe he’d had a rethink and was going to increase his offer, she thought smugly. And rightly so. But unless it was mega bucks, she was leaving Chez Moi for good. It would be good to hear him grovel though.
‘Hello,’ she said coolly.
‘Aimee, it’s Ian. Don’t bother coming back tomorrow. I’d prefer not to have you in the office. You’ll be paid until your notice is up. I’ll take over your client list myself.’
‘I do have some personal items in my office,’ she pointed out icily, caught completely off guard. ‘And I’d like to say thank you to the team.’
‘Your possessions will be couriered over to you, and I’ll say your thanks for you,’ Ian said snootily, and hung up.
Aimee stared at the phone. So Ian was playing dirty, and she was being locked out. Well, she could play just as dirty. Wasn’t it just as well she’d taken copies of all the files she might need, plus a copy of the entire client list and all their contact details? She knew that, if she went to log into her work files, the password would have been changed and she wouldn’t be able to access them. Ian would have seen to that.
Aimee lay back against the cushions. She had her PA, Miranda’s, personal phone number on her mobile. She had plans for her. Miranda had been a first-rate PA, calm in a crisis and thoroughly dependable. She hoped the offer of a good salary increase would induce her to move to Hibernian Dreams. Lia Collins, one of the secretaries, had an excellent phone manner, and Aimee felt she would do very well in reception. First contact and front of house was so important, and Lia would be perfect in the job.
‘How are you feeling now?’ Barry asked as he came back into the lounge with a mug of tea and a Tunnock’s teacake for her.
‘Better,’ she said. ‘Thanks for the meal.’
‘Could you not tell Ian you’re pregnant, and maybe he’d give you extra help or something,’ Barry said tentatively.
‘Right now, Ian would stab me in the back if he could get his hands on me,’ Aimee said, amused at the notion of her erstwhile boss trying to make life easier for her.
‘Why, what’s wrong with him?’
‘I resigned today,’ Aimee said slowly. ‘I got that big job offer in spite of being pregnant. I’m setting up a new company for Roger O’Leary and a partner of his. I’m going to be the MD after all. Fair dues to Roger – even knowing that I’d have to take maternity leave didn’t put him off.’
‘Oh! Congratulations. Well done, you deserve it,’ Barry said awkwardly.
‘Thanks, it’s going to be hard work, and I certainly won’t be taking a long break once I give birth. I hope to be back at work within the month.’ Aimee yawned.
‘But what about the baby?’ Barry protested. ‘Are you going to breastfeed this time?’
‘Absolutely not.’ She shuddered. ‘I didn’t with Melissa. And, as for the baby, Barry, you wanted it, you look after it,’ Aimee said firmly, and closed her eyes, glad she had made that crystal clear.
Barry threw his eyes up to heaven and marched out of the room, grim-faced, their temporary truce well and truly over.
‘Home sweet home,’ Juliet muttered as the taxi crunched the gravel behind her and she rooted for her key. Ken’s car wasn’t there. A small mercy, she thought dejectedly. She’d decided to fly home and get herself sorted. It had been almost impossible to get into relaxation mode again after her confrontation with Ken. Her thoughts kept racing as she played various scenarios out in her head. In her heart and soul, she knew that if she stayed living with him, very little would change. If she wanted to live life on her own terms, she’d have to get a place of her own, even if they didn’t go as far as divorcing. But if Ken decided to be insufferable about it all, she would get herself the best lawyer she could find and fleece him, she vowed as she walked into the silent house and felt that old familiar miasma of oppression smother her.
She’d phoned Connie and Karen to let them know that she was flying home, and they’d made her promise to keep in touch. She intended to. Their blossoming friendship was one good thing to come out of the sorry saga, and she was extremely grateful for all their help and support.
Ken had moved back into their bedroom, she noted ten minutes later as she unpacked her case. Well, he could move right back out again, she decided, picking up his pyjamas and dressing gown and walking across the hall to the guest room with them.
It was almost dark when he got home, and she guessed he’d been golfing. ‘So you’re back,’ he said coldly as he saw her at the kitchen table with a mug of hot chocolate in front of her.
‘Not for long, Ken,’ she said quietly. ‘We can do this the hard way or the easy way, it’s entirely up to you.’
‘And what do you mean by that?’ he said brusquely, taking a can of diet tonic water out of the fridge.
‘I want a place of my own, Ken. I don’t care if we divorce or not, but I’m leaving and, if you don’t give me what I want – a place to live and a decent allowance, plus a share of your pensions – I’m going to get a divorce lawyer and go the whole hog and it will cost you a hell of a lot more, and you’ll probably end up having to give me a hell of a lot more too. I’m not a mean person, Ken, you know that, and I’m not a money-grabber, but I’ll do what I have to do unless you agree to my terms.’ She said her piece calmly, confidently and firmly, knowing that, if she showed any sign of weakness, she was a goner.
‘Now listen here, Juliet,’ he blustered, ‘this is ridic—’
She stood and held up her hand. ‘I’ve said what I had to say. You decide,’ she said, and walked out of the kitchen.
She was sitting in her dressing gown, the bedroom door closed, when she heard him come up the stairs. She heard him pause and, then, to her surpri
se, knock. Usually, he barged into the room.
She swallowed and her stomach was spasming with nervous tension. ‘Yes?’ she managed.
‘I don’t want you to leave me. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.’ Ken stood ramrod straight just inside the bedroom. He looked tired, careworn. His thick white hair needed a cut, she noted, back in wifely mode. She felt a flicker of sympathy for him and then realized what she was doing. She couldn’t afford to go back down that road.
‘I need to live my own life for a while, Ken,’ she said tiredly. ‘I want to concentrate on my needs before I get too old and decrepit to enjoy the things I like to do. We don’t have to divorce if you don’t want to. We can just separate.’
‘But I need you. You know how to run my life. It always runs so smoothly when you’re here. Like clockwork. And the house is lonely when you’re not here. Please, Juliet, reconsider,’ he said hoarsely, and she knew for him even to admit that much was a huge effort. She knew, too, that it was now or never. It was her last chance to make a fresh start.
‘Look, Ken, I don’t want to run your life, I want to live mine and that’s why I have to go. It doesn’t mean we won’t see each other. We can have dinner occasionally, go to family events together, but I can’t live like this any more. I’m sorry.’
He stared at her in disbelief, his blue eyes clouded with shock, the lines on his forehead drawn together in a perplexed frown. ‘But I provided very well for you. You never wanted for anything. Has it been that bad?’ he demanded truculently.
‘You have no idea,’ Juliet said bitterly, twisting the cord of her gown between her fingers.
Ken exhaled a deep breath. His shoulders sagged in defeat. ‘Do what you want, Juliet, but I’d prefer if we didn’t divorce – if that’s all the same to you,’ he added, with a touch of sarcasm.
‘That suits me fine. Goodnight, Ken.’ She turned away from him so that he wouldn’t see the tears that were sliding down her cheeks as sadness mingled with relief that one part of her life had ended.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
‘Will we go for a cheap ’n’ cheerful dinner tonight, seeing as it’s payday, and have a chat about making a start on sorting our finances?’ Debbie ventured as she applied her eyeliner and caught Bryan looking at her ass in the mirror. They hadn’t had sex for a while, and she guessed he was feeling randy.
‘OK,’ he said sulkily. ‘Where do you want to go?’
‘The early bird in the Talbot 101, or Mario’s?’ she suggested.
‘Might as well meet in town, if we’re going for the early bird.’
‘101 then.’
‘Right, see ya there around six thirty,’ he agreed, picking up his mobile phone before heading downstairs.
‘OK, I’ll book a table,’ she called cheerfully, glad that there was a thaw of sorts.
It was typical, though, she thought twenty minutes later as she stood swaying on a crowded Dart. She had had to make the first move. God knows how long the ‘silence’ would have lasted if it had been left to Bryan. As long as they had been together he had never been the one to make up. It was just the way he was, she supposed. He’d been spoilt rotten as a child and, even now, Brona Kinsella couldn’t do enough for her much loved son. She should have her parents-in-law over to dinner one of these days, although she’d much prefer to have Connie. The train slowed into Tara Street, and she was pushed and shoved towards the exit before escaping on to the crowded platform.
Caitriona was going around the desks with the wages slips as Debbie hurried into the office. Even though Judith was out sick, none of them liked to be late, fearing that Caitriona would think they were taking advantage. ‘Hi, hon,’ her acting boss greeted her cheerily, ‘your envelope’s on your desk.’
‘It’s spent already unfortunately,’ Debbie sighed, pouring herself a cup of chilled water from the cooler. She didn’t even bother to look at her payslip, as her phone rang and someone on maternity leave began to bombard her with questions about tax relief.
It was a busy morning, and she was kept going, delaying her tea break until she had sorted a particularly complicated job-sharing query. Debbie drank her coffee and scoffed a Twix, wishing Connie was home so she could talk to her about Melissa.
Idly, she tore open her payslip and looked at the figures in the various columns. She glanced at her net payment, and her jaw dropped. She scanned right, to the top of the column, and saw that her gross figure and annual salary figures had increased. How come? She looked at the figures again, thinking it was a mistake. But no, she worked it out that the amount tallied with what her increment would be, had she got it when she was supposed to have. Had HR decided to give it to her for some reason? Should she say nothing, and take the money and run, so to speak? She was just leaving the canteen when Janice Harris, who ran HR, walked past her.
‘Um . . . Janice, I got extra money in my salary this week. Do you know anything about it?’
‘Oh hi, Debbie, yeah, I meant to say it to you. Judith rang me from the hospital and asked me to make sure you got your increment this week. Does it add up OK? Is there a problem?’ she asked matter-of-factly.
‘No . . . no . . . it’s fine.’ Debbie was gobsmacked. ‘Er, did you say Judith rang up about it?’
‘Yep, she felt she shouldn’t have withheld it, and I agree with her. You do a good job, Debbie.’ Janice smiled at her.
‘Thanks, Janice and um . . . if you’re talking to Judith, tell her thanks too.’
‘Will do,’ the other woman said.
Debbie couldn’t believe it. Judith Baxter had phoned from her sickbed to get her increment paid. She’d been sure the other woman would knife her if she got the chance after the altercation they’d had in the hospital. Maybe taking her courage in her hands and confronting Judith with her unacceptable behaviour would be good for both of them in the long run. Today was turning out much better than she’d expected. Debbie’s heart lifted as she walked back to her desk.
An unexpected pay rise, a conciliatory dinner with her husband, an olive branch from her detested boss – and her mum would be home at the weekend. Life was looking up again. She sat at her desk and began to work out which of their debts her increase would go towards paying off first. It had to be the car, but she was only going to tax it for three months, because they weren’t keeping it. She’d had a look at a few used-car ads. A second-hand Ford Focus wouldn’t be a bad buy, but how would Bryan feel, driving around in one? Wouldn’t really suit the image of successful businessman around town, but life wasn’t all about image and, if they wanted to avoid being declared bankrupt in Stubbs Gazette, they had to start downsizing, and that was the be all and end of it.
Bryan lay wide-eyed in the dark listening to Debbie’s even breathing as she slept curled up against him. They had gone for an early-bird dinner, and she’d been all excited about getting her pay rise. When he’d suggested they buy a bottle of bubbly to celebrate at home, she’d nixed the idea, saying the extra money was earmarked for the car tax.
Things were bad when they couldn’t even buy a bottle of bubbly, he thought glumly, wishing he could go asleep. As they’d drunk their coffee after their meal, she’d suggested totting up what they’d earned that week and allocating certain amounts for their various bills. By the time they’d covered everything, there was damn little left. Just enough to cover food, petrol and Dart fares. He had about eighty euro to last him until payday. He’d often spent eighty euro in the offie. The convertible was going to be traded in for some Dinky or other, but the extra money wouldn’t be going into their pockets, it would be paying off bloody debts.
Debbie had been so relieved that they’d finally knuckled down to addressing their financial issues. They’d opened a bottle of red wine when they got home and made love and she’d fallen asleep, happy.
Bryan sighed deeply. Was this to be the pattern of his life? Working to pay off debts, a cheap meal and a bottle of wine and a shag on a Friday night? A life of grim, unremitting boredom. He wasn’t going
to be able to hack it, he just knew it. He loved Debbie, it was hard not to love someone who loved you wholeheartedly, and she had, up until now, given him a free rein to indulge his carefree lifestyle.
Getting married was the biggest mistake he’d ever made. He should have taken the out Debbie had offered him before their wedding, when his reservations had begun to show. He’d had the chance, and he hadn’t taken it, and now he felt trapped, as he’d never felt before. It was almost dawn before he finally fell into a fitful sleep, which afforded him no comfort at all.
Her grass needed cutting, Connie observed as Debbie drove them up the drive on her return from Spain. She’d do it some afternoon next week after work. Work! It was hard to believe that her holiday was over and she was starting a new job. Still, it was nice to come home, and she was dying to see Miss Hope. As if reading her thoughts, a black streak shot down over the garage roof, and the cat stood standing at the front door meowing in greeting. Connie raced out of the car and picked up her little pet, delighting in their joyful reunion. ‘It’s lovely to come home to someone,’ she said to Debbie as her daughter lugged her case into the hall.
‘You came home to me,’ Debbie said indignantly.
‘Yeah, but you’ll be leaving me,’ Connie teased. ‘Miss Hope and I will grow old disgracefully together.’
‘Well, you certainly don’t look old. You look fantastic. You got a great colour.’
‘I walked on the beach a lot early in the morning or in the evenings. It was scorching over there.’
‘I’ve loads of news for you, Mum. Why don’t you have a quick shower and get into a tracksuit, it’s feckin’ freezing today. I’ll have supper ready when you come down,’ she offered.
‘OK,’ agreed Connie. ‘I don’t know what it is about airports, but you always feel manky after travelling.’ Upstairs, her bed looked really inviting. She yawned as she pulled off her white cut-offs and black T-shirt. At least she had everything ready for her early start the next morning. Her new uniform, a dress, as requested by Mrs Mansfield, was hanging on the back of the door, and her white cap and shoes were on top of the chest of drawers.
Happy Ever After Page 30
