She saw other men, men who sometimes thought they were on to a good thing because she was unmarried and had a past, and was, in their view, desperate for a man. None of them had ever made her feel the way Chris had and in a way she hadn’t wanted any of them to. It would have diminished the great love affair of her life, she thought, a little dramatically.
Ellen looked at her sideways reflection in the chipped and stained wardrobe mirror. She was wearing espadrilles; maybe if she wore her tart’s trotters she’d look taller and give the impression of being slimmer than she was. Regretfully, she eased her feet out of her espadrilles. They were like gloves, they were so comfortable. She rooted in the bottom of the wardrobe under a miscellany of shoes, sandals, bags and bric-à-brac. She was definitely going to clean out her wardrobe, she promised herself as she found one patent high-heeled sandal but couldn’t find the other. Eventually, hot, dishevelled and steaming with impatience, she found the other shoe hidden under an old bag beneath the bed. She repaired the damage to her hair and make-up, kissed Stephanie once more, and warned her to be good for Sheila.
Going to visit Chris’s haunts was extremely stressful. Every time the door of the lounge opened, Ellen tensed as hope and anticipation turned to disappointment and despair. It was hard to concentrate on Carol rabbiting on about things which Ellen hadn’t the slightest bit of interest in, when every fibre of her being willed Chris Wallace to walk through the door.
By the time they got to the Intercontinental and she’d quickly scanned the bar and seen that he wasn’t there, Ellen had had enough. She proceeded to get thoroughly drunk. Throwing caution to the winds, she agreed to Carol’s suggestion to go night-clubbing in Leeson Street. After consuming several bottles of plonk, provided by a ruddy-faced businessman, who perspired profusely as he bopped with enthusiasm, if not grace, around the postage-stamp dance floor, Ellen ended up in the loo, puking miserably.
Carol, wild as ever, husband and three children in England forgotten, got off with a travelling salesman and went to spend the night in his hotel. She’d always been a good-time girl. She’d slept with loads of men, but she’d never got caught, Ellen thought jealously as she watched her friend weave her way across the dance floor with the tall skinny man in the ill-fitting suit. It was typical of Carol to do the hot potato act. She’d always been like that, only Ellen had forgotten.
Her feet, in the black patent sandals, were absolutely killing her as she made her way to the taxi rank. Please let there be one there, and no queue, she prayed as she clattered along. If she made it home without puking all over the back seat, she’d be lucky, she thought queasily. Ellen was raging that she’d to pay for the taxi home, by herself, with money that she could ill afford. To add insult to injury, she woke Stephanie as she got into the big double bed beside her.
‘You don’t smell very nice, Mammy,’ Stephanie said in her usual frank way as Ellen went to put her arms around her. ‘You have that funny smell out of your mouth.’ Ellen knew she reeked of alcohol. She felt a wave of nausea and self-disgust.
‘Go to sleep, Stephanie,’ she slurred and passed out.
Getting up for work and getting Stephanie ready for school the following morning was a nightmare, especially as Sheila nagged incessantly about the hour of the night Ellen had got in at. It was a relief to get to work. But they were short-staffed and she was snowed under with work. Now she was flinging money right, left and centre, she thought, disgruntled as more coins cascaded to the floor.
Slowly, painfully, Ellen stood up and put the fallen coins back on her cash desk. The phone rang, jarring every nerve end. ‘Oh, piss off,’ she muttered as she snatched up the receiver. ‘Hello, Munroes.’
‘Is your father back yet?’ Sheila’s frosty tones sliced down the line.
‘No.’ Ellen was equally curt.
‘Have you any idea what time he’s going to be back?’
‘I’d say he’s probably gone for a few jars. It is market day.’
‘There’s a pair of you in it, can’t do anything without alcohol inside you,’ Sheila said sarcastically.
‘Oh for God’s sake, Ma, don’t be ridiculous!’ Ellen exploded. ‘The way you talk you’d think Da was a hardened alcoholic. You know very well he always has a drink on market day.’
‘I beg your pardon, Miss. The cheek of you. I’ll tell you one thing though. You’d want to watch yourself and the way you’re drinking. Don’t think I don’t know that you come into this house maggoty drunk after your nights out. You should be ashamed of yourself. You’re a disgrace, making a show of me and your father, not to talk about Stephanie. I pity that poor child from the bottom of my heart. A fine example you’re setting her,’ Sheila ripped.
‘You mind your own bloody business, Ma. I’m sick, sick, sick of you interfering in my life. I’m thirty-five for Christ’s sake. Would you leave me alone? And don’t you dare talk to me about Stephanie. She’s getting a hell of a lot more love and affection from me than I ever got from you, so shag off.’ Incandescent with rage, Ellen slammed down the phone.
Was it ever going to end? Was she to be trapped in this living hell for the rest of her life? It was a nightmare living at home, constantly having to bite her tongue. She hated having to curb Stephanie’s childish exuberance. She was always on edge in case Stephanie would break one of Sheila’s ornaments that cluttered up every nook and cranny in the house. Sheila was very strict with her granddaughter and it grated on Ellen’s nerves to listen to her mother chastising her daughter.
It couldn’t go on. She was desperate. If she had to stay at home for much longer, she’d crack up and go mad. Ellen sank her head in her hands. She wanted to bawl her eyes out. There was only one thing she could do. It was something she’d been thinking about for ages. She’d saved as much as she could over the years. She had a few thousand put by. She was going to ask her parents to give her a site so she could build a small house on it. After all, she reasoned, they’d given Vincent and Ben sites, surely she was entitled to one as well.
How wonderful it would be to have a little house of her own, where she’d be her own boss. She’d be able to have friends stay over. She might even get into a proper relationship with someone and be able to conduct it in peace and privacy away from her mother’s prying judgemental eyes. If she didn’t do something about her situation now, she’d never do it. She owed it to Stephanie.
Ellen rooted in her bag for her cigarettes and lit up. There was no-one in the shop, she might as well make the most of it. Although her father would blow a gasket if he knew she smoked in the shop. Hygiene was of the utmost importance. Well she wasn’t at the meat counter, she comforted herself. She was in her little cubby-hole. She pulled the smoke deep into her lungs. Bliss. What was it about cigarettes that was so comforting? Ellen puffed away, and felt herself relax a little. She wouldn’t broach the subject of the site tonight. No doubt her mother would tell Mick how disrespectful Ellen had been to her on the phone. If there was one thing Mick hated it was rows.
She’d lie low and wait until this contretemps had blown over, then she’d speak to her father about the site. Maybe after Rebecca’s party next week. Mick and Sheila would be in good humour. They always were after family get-togethers. Ellen would be as nice as pie to everyone. She’d even suffer Vincent and Emma and her snooty ways and try and refrain from making any sarcastic comments.
Please, please, please let them agree, Ellen beseeched the Almighty as she stubbed out her cigarette just as Agnes Whelan, the parish priest’s housekeeper, arrived to buy her Sunday roast. She gave the elderly woman a particularly choice centre cut. Maybe Agnes would include her in her prayers. She was going to need all the prayers she could get between now and Rebecca’s party. Ellen toyed with the idea of phoning her mother back to apologize. Sheila might very well hang up on her and where would that leave her? No, it was too late for apologies now. Ellen would just have to ride out the row, she decided, and hope that her mother would be as anxious to see the back of her as Ellen was an
xious to go.
Sheila scrubbed her baking trays with angry vigour. ‘Shag off,’ Ellen had said to her before slamming down the phone. ‘Shag off!’ Imagine saying such a thing to your mother! Sheila shook her head in disbelief. After all she’d done for her. Had Ellen ever shown one ounce of gratitude for what she and Mick had done for her and Stephanie? She had not, Sheila thought indignantly. All she did was cause worry and strife in the family.
She’d had exactly the same upbringing as her two brothers and they had turned out to be fine upstanding adults. How dare Ellen say she had never received love and affection. She and Mick had been more supportive than a lot of parents when she’d announced, quite shamelessly, that she was pregnant. They could have turned her out of the house and let her fend for herself. It was most vexing. She and Mick should be enjoying life, having reared their children to the best of their abilities, without having to put up with Ellen and her shenanigans. And it was hard having a lively young child around the house. Sheila just didn’t have the energy any more.
It was difficult, too, not to interfere in her granddaughter’s rearing. Ellen was so lax with Stephanie. A child needed guidance and discipline. Not that she was that bold, Sheila thought fondly. She was a good-natured little girl, the apple of Mick’s eye. He was besotted with her. Although time and love for her granddaughter had eased the shame she felt over Ellen’s disgrace, Sheila still felt the stigma Stephanie’s birth had cast upon the family, especially when she was in Bonnie Daly’s company.
Bonnie had tried to be friends many times. But Sheila treated her with brisk disdain. Almost as though she didn’t exist. This really got to Bonnie, much to Sheila’s satisfaction. She was always coolly polite when she discussed guild business with Bonnie, but there was no intimacy like the old days. Although Bonnie tried her best to ingratiate her way back into Sheila’s good books and to resurrect the old closeness, it was to no avail. Sheila would never forgive or forget.
She sighed as she scrubbed a particularly stubborn stain. The jam had run out of her jam tarts and made a right treacly mess. Bonnie always made better jam tarts than she did, Sheila conceded. She had a lighter touch with the sponge cakes though. Bonnie had always admired her sponges. Deep down, she missed their friendship. She and Bonnie had had a lot in common. They’d confided in each other and helped each other out in times of need. Because of Ellen, that comfort was lost to her. God had obviously decided that Sheila should have some burdens to carry. Ellen was going to be a worry for the rest of Sheila’s life. It looked as though she was never going to find a good man and settle down. Ellen was her burden and with the grace of God she’d bear it, she thought stoically as she dried her hands and took out her sewing basket to begin tacking the dress she was making for Rebecca’s birthday present.
Chapter Fifteen
Miriam smiled as she watched Ben chase Daniel across the lawn. Her son squealed with delight as his father threw an armful of newly mown grass over him. Ben had just finished cutting the grass in preparation for Rebecca’s birthday party later in the afternoon. He’d whitewashed the house and painted the window sills, fascia board and doors in Alpine blue. It looked very pretty, almost Grecian.
Miriam was delighted with it. She’d been so pleased, she’d painted the trellises and the big tubs that held masses of geraniums, petunias, busy Lizzies and scented stock, the same blue. Now that the place looked presentable, she was quite looking forward to Rebecca’s party.
Because the day was so fine she was going to have a buffet outdoors. They’d been blessed with the weather. The intense heat of summer was gone but it was still warm. A gentle breeze rippled through the sweet pea that tumbled down from the freshly painted trellises. Across the fields she could see neat bales of yellow hay. Down by the river a crop of late potatoes waited to be harvested, their white flowering heads like buds of cotton wool atop green velvet. Miriam loved harvest time. She enjoyed making her jams and chutneys, drying out her onions and boiling her beetroot. It gave her tremendous satisfaction to fill her pantry with the fruits of her labour.
‘Hi.’ Ellen popped her head around the kitchen door, much to Miriam’s surprise. She wasn’t expecting her sister-in-law so early.
‘I brought the cake. Stephanie and I are just on our way home from town.’ Ellen produced a white box tied with green ribbon. ‘I got it in the Kylemore.’
‘Ah, Ellen. You shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble. A cake from Kelly’s would have done fine.’ Miriam wiped her hands in her apron and untied the ribbon.
‘A godmother has to do her duty.’ Ellen grinned.
‘It’s lovely!’ Miriam exclaimed as she surveyed the gooey creation with Happy Birthday Rebecca iced in large pink letters on a bed of white icing decorated with pink rosebuds. ‘She’ll be mad about that. But honestly, there was no need.’
‘I wanted to get her something special. And anyway I wanted to buy Stephanie a new dress for the party. You know the way little girls are about dressing up.’
‘Hmm. Emma told me she’d bought Julie Ann a French costume for the party.’
Ellen threw her eyes up to heaven. ‘She would. She couldn’t even let Rebecca have her hour of glory without letting Julie Ann take centre stage.’
‘That’s Emma for you,’ Miriam said dryly. The years had not lessened the antagonism between her two sisters-in-law but she always tried to stay out of it. ‘She looks a million dollars after the holiday.’
‘Why wouldn’t she, with not a care in the world?’
‘Just do me a favour and try and be nice for the afternoon. She’ll be here around three.’
‘Is she coming on her broomstick?’ Ellen couldn’t help herself.
‘Ellen!’ Miriam giggled.
‘Sorry. I’m off. I’ll come over a bit early to give you a hand.’
‘Thanks. I’m setting up the table outside. It would be a shame to be stuck indoors on such a lovely day.’
‘Good thinking. See you later.’ Ellen picked up her shopping, called to Stephanie who was playing on the swing with Rebecca and Connie, and headed towards home. Miriam watched her through the window. Ellen seemed to be in very good form today. It was nice to see the old bubbly sparkle. She had a lot to put up with living under Sheila’s roof.
Ellen strode jauntily past Blackbird’s Field with Stephanie skipping along beside her.
‘Mammy, can we pick blackberries?’ Stephanie stopped beside a branch laden with fat, luscious, juicy berries.
‘We haven’t time, pet. We’ve to go home and get changed and have a bite to eat. And I promised Auntie Miriam I’d help her get the party ready. Maybe on the way home.’
‘OK,’ Stephanie said cheerfully.
Ellen smiled as she watched her daughter hop and skip along ahead of her, her black pigtails swinging. Stephanie was bursting with energy, she couldn’t stay still for a minute. She was such a good little girl too, Ellen thought tenderly. Stephanie was very affectionate and good-natured. Often she’d hug Ellen for no reason, as if she understood that there was a sadness in her life that other mothers didn’t have. If it hadn’t been for Stephanie, Ellen didn’t know what would have become of her. She might have gone off the rails altogether.
Today for some reason she felt very optimistic. She was certain Sheila and Mick would give her a site. She’d been planning her new bungalow. Not a big one. A two-bedroom dormer type. Ellen loved dormer bungalows with their cute little bedroom windows. She’d seen beautiful wallpaper in Dublin. A pink stripe edged with blue that would look absolutely gorgeous in her bedroom. She’d have dusky pink curtains with blue tie-backs and a pelmet.
Maybe by this time next year she’d be in her own house. And Stephanie would have a home of her own. Excitement bubbled. She’d have a house-warming party. And because she was feeling magnanimous, she might even invite Emma. She smiled as she turned into the gateway of the farmhouse.
Emma sat on the edge of the bed. She felt most peculiar. Her head felt light. Gingerly she lay back against the
pillows. The room spun. What the hell was wrong with her? She hadn’t been feeling great since she’d come back from the south of France. She hoped she hadn’t picked up a bug.
‘Mummy, is it time to go to the party yet?’ Julie Ann raced into the bedroom and repeated the question she’d asked a thousand times already.
‘Julie Ann, will you calm down! I’ve told you I’ll tell you when it’s time to go,’ Emma snapped. ‘Go and play in your room until I call you, please.’
‘But I want to go to the party.’ Julie Ann pouted. ‘It’s not fair. I don’t want to play in my room. I want to go and play with Rebecca and Stephanie.’
‘If I have to speak to you again you won’t go to the party,’ Emma gritted. Julie Ann had got very bold. She’d really been misbehaving since they’d come back from holidays. And she was so clingy. How Emma wished Vincent was at home to handle things. But he’d gone in to work, even though it was a Saturday. He’d a lot to catch up on.
‘I hate you,’ Julie Ann screamed. ‘You’re a mean mummy.’
‘And you’re a very bold girl. Wait until I tell Daddy when he gets home.’
‘Don’t care.’ Julie Ann stuck out her tongue and marched from the bedroom.
‘Oh Lord.’ Emma sighed. She wasn’t able for her daughter’s tantrums. And the thought of going to a party full of yelling kids made her heart sink. She was sorely tempted to phone Miriam and tell her she was sick. She wouldn’t be telling fibs either, she thought disconsolately. She felt grotty. Perhaps she could bring Julie Ann over to the party, stay for ten minutes or so, plead a migraine and go home to bed in peace and quiet. Julie Ann would be out of her hair and she could snooze until Vincent came home. He could go and collect her from Miriam’s.
Promises, Promises Page 27
