Secrets of a Happy Marriage

by Cathy Kelly

  Jojo had hated her on sight and did not want Bess joining the family. That had wrecked Bess and Edward’s marriage.

  This was nothing, Bess reflected, like getting married first time round and doing everything fresh. She didn’t know why she hadn’t realised this before, but she had run into her second marriage, thinking only of herself and Edward and not seeing the bigger picture, because there was a much, much bigger picture.

  She wouldn’t have minded if the beautiful suite in the hotel hadn’t been touched because she didn’t fear the memory of Lottie.

  When you lay in a bed with your arms around another human being and you knew they had made love to a different woman for many years, you could not banish those thoughts. It would be impossible.

  But you needed space to make your own memories. That’s what she and Edward had needed: the space to make their own memories but it was too hard to do that with the antipathy Jojo showed her.

  Nora had said there was something going on in Jojo’s life and Bess didn’t know what it was, might never know what it was. But she knew she would not remain in this marriage if Jojo always hated her.

  And she could not stay when Edward’s loyalty to his daughter made him treat Bess differently.

  Life was too short for that. She loved Edward but she deserved more.

  And besides, she needed to make changes in her own life, changes with her relationship with Amy. Nora had made her see that. They’d had lunch together since their meeting in Nora’s house and it had been fun.

  One one level, Nora was nothing like many of the women Bess had known over the years. Nora was straightforward, funny, said what she thought and genuinely had no agenda. She cared deeply about her niece, Jojo, and wanted her to be happy.

  And then she’d done her best to explain Jojo to Bess.

  ‘Edward should be doing this, but I don’t know if he can, I don’t know if he’s aware of it. Lottie was the person with emotional intelligence in that family and Edward was fighting the battle at the office, being the best he could be, being the alpha male bringing home the bacon. Have I mixed my metaphors there?’ she asked, and Bess laughed.

  ‘Probably,’ she said, ‘but keep going, it sounds great.’

  ‘Tell me about your daughter.’ Nora had said with her unerring sense of getting to the heart of the matter.

  Bess, who never cried, felt herself welling up. What was it about Nora Brannigan that did this to her?

  ‘I don’t have a very good relationship with my daughter and I don’t know why.’

  ‘Tell me about her. I saw her at the wedding, but we didn’t talk a lot,’ said Nora. ‘Is she shy?’

  ‘Shy?’ Bess wasn’t sure if her daughter was shy or simply had learned a long time ago to keep her mouth shut and to keep out of the way, because when you did that you didn’t get into trouble.

  ‘I pushed her very hard when she was young,’ Bess said slowly, poking her salad around on her plate. ‘My mother didn’t live with us, but took care of her sometimes. My mother pushed her hard too. She – my mother – was one of those women who had been let down by men, well, she felt she had been let down by men. My father was not the great earner she had been led to believe and when he died she went back to work and it made her bitter. I think a lot of that got into Amy’s psyche or maybe it didn’t. Maybe she just needed to get away from me and my mother telling her she had to work hard, make something of herself, stop messing around.’

  Nora didn’t say anything. She had a knack, Bess noticed, of not saying anything at important moments.

  ‘You’d have made a great therapist,’ Bess said, grimly staring at her new friend.

  ‘I know,’ said Nora with a certain cheerfulness. ‘People have said it before.’

  This weekend, Bess planned to talk to Amy to see if she could do something about their relationship. After all, what did she know about Amy’s life other than to criticise the work she did? She didn’t know Amy’s friends, she didn’t know if Amy dated. Amy could be gay, transgender, interested in heading off to another planet on a mission never to return and Bess would be the last to know. And of course whose fault was that? Bess’s fault.

  The man appeared with the luggage and Bess told him where to put it.

  There was no sign of Edward, he was wandering around reception greeting members of his family delightedly, hugging them, and Bess hadn’t been quite ready for that. She’d meet them all later, but first she needed to go to a quiet place and prepare herself to face all the Brannigans together. For seeing Jojo and not being Lottie. For being herself.

  She loved her husband very much but this was going to be difficult. This weekend was more than Edward’s seventieth birthday celebration – this weekend was going to be her last weekend with the Brannigans.

  Cari and Jojo arrived late, shattered after the drive.

  ‘Oh gosh, it’s Aunt Carmel,’ said Jojo as they checked in. ‘I’d better go over and say hello to her. She’ll think it’s very rude if I don’t. Mum would have killed me if I ignored Carmel,’ and Cari watched, slightly open-mouthed, as her cousin sailed across the foyer.

  ‘Cari,’ said a voice, and Cari turned around to see her Uncle Edward bearing down upon her.

  ‘Where’s Jojo and Hugh? Any sign of them?’

  Cari was not going to be the bearer of the bad news.

  ‘She’s gone over to see Auntie Carmel,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, Carmel,’ said Edward, peering. ‘Lovely woman, daft as a brush but Lottie was very fond of her.’

  He looked around anxiously, as if afraid Bess might be there and had heard him using his dead wife’s name.

  Cari felt a pang of pity for Edward – forever locked in trying to please both Bess, who had never met Lottie and was undoubtedly sick to the teeth of her, and Jojo, who wished for Lottie with all her heart. It was just as well she’d given up on the whole notion of men and relationships: it clearly wasn’t worth it.

  Jojo thought she’d have been poleaxed with grief as soon as she stepped into Lisowen Castle, thinking about the last time they had been there when Mum had been alive and it had been such a happy occasion.

  But she hadn’t. She had gone beyond that.

  Her darling mother was dead. Life had to move on.

  Her mother had tried to tell her that when she was dying.

  ‘I know, Mum: I need to live my life, carry on,’ Jojo had parrotted, sick with grief and instead of doing just that, she’d messed it all up.

  She’d pushed Hugh into having the third treatment when he hadn’t been ready, when she hadn’t been ready, and this was the result. Personal annihilation. She’d pushed him away from her, too. Not for one moment did she think he was having an affair with Elizabeth. Hugh was no Barney. He loved her but she’d pushed him too far. And now he was gone, all his stuff out of their shared house and nothing but a formal letter, as befitting a lawyer, left on the table saying he’d be in touch about the house.

  But she was coming back from the dark side – she could never have told anyone else this or they’d have locked her up for sure, but she was convinced that her mother was giving her strength. She could feel her mother’s spirit all around her, telling her the truth: that her pain was to do with grief – a person had to grieve properly and she hadn’t.

  She’d gone straight from her mother’s death to trying to get pregnant, as if having a baby would somehow make up for the loss of her beloved mother.

  Then when that failed, she’d raced into starting fertility tests, then a laparoscopy, and then finding out that she had a problem. All the time, she’d pushed Hugh to do what she’d wanted and because he’d loved her he’d gone along with it.

  She missed him, Jojo realised. She missed Hugh so very much.

  Amy looked at herself in the changing room mirror of the hotel pool and smiled.

  ‘Ah, it’s always a good sign to smile at yourself in the mirror,’ said the woman. ‘Do you know, they say that when a woman looks in the mirror, she sees all the thin
gs that she thinks are wrong with herself and that when a man looks in a mirror, he sees all the things he thinks are right.’

  Amy beamed at her new friend.

  ‘You are absolutely spot-on with that analysis,’ she said. ‘I’ve spent my whole life looking in the mirror and seeing the things that are wrong and, really, what’s wrong with me? Two arms, two legs, etc, all working!’

  ‘That’s the girl! You’re beautiful in that swimsuit,’ said the woman. ‘It looks like an expensive piece.’

  ‘My first expensive swimsuit ever,’ Amy revealed. ‘Normally I’d spend about a tenner on them and when you spend a tenner, you get a tenner’s worth of a swimsuit,’ she added ruefully.

  ‘We have to treat ourselves sometimes,’ said the woman, tidying up the towels and giving a quick polish to the top of the sink. ‘Now, you should try out that jacuzzi. It’s fabulous. Not that I’d have a go myself but everyone seems to love it.’

  ‘I will, I promise,’ said Amy.

  She went into the swimming pool area and decided that she would sit in the jacuzzi first of all. The new her – full of confidence and never buying the cheap option or telling herself what was wrong with herself ever again – did things like wander confidently into jacuzzis, no matter who was there first.

  She sat at first with her back to the pool and looked out of a beautiful picture window from which she could see acres of parkland falling away. It was a very clever conceit to have the swimming pool in the basement and yet with these big windows carved out of the earth so swimmers and jacuzzi-goers could look out.

  The beautiful hot water caressed her and she thought how wonderful it was and perhaps when she got money for her book …

  Just then, Cari appeared.

  ‘Hello!’ said Amy, delighted.

  ‘Hello, favourite author,’ said Cari and smiled because it felt utterly truthful. She loved Amy’s work and she was so over John Steele. Even if he wanted her back now she wouldn’t go to him.

  Cari sank into the jacuzzi with Amy and let the heat warm her bones.

  ‘This is glorious. That drive is murder.’

  ‘I got the train,’ said Amy.

  ‘You should have come with us,’ said Cari. ‘Unless you love the train. Do you want a lift on the way home?’

  ‘Yes.’ Amy beamed.

  They talked books until they were both semi-pruned, then they did a few half-hearted lengths, and finally Cari said they’d better go and get dressed.

  Cari hadn’t bought anything new for the party – instead she was wearing an outfit she adored, which was not at all feminine but which suited her. She’d bought it in the post-Barney years: it was cut to look like a man’s tuxedo suit only she wore it without a white shirt but with a delicate black lace camisole underneath. The combination was both sexy and feminine despite the masculinity of the cut, and she wore the highest heels she had.

  She went up to her room, hotel slippers flopping all the way, then showered the chlorine out of her hair and made herself up.

  She would not think about damn Conal, she thought.

  Perhaps she needed therapy as well as Jojo – anti-man therapy, to deal with the anti-man pheromones she was clearly giving out.

  A text pinged on her phone and she had a quick look. It was from Edwin.

  ‘Cari, need to talk to you regarding John Steele. It’s about Gavin and perhaps you could give me a call. Don’t worry about the time, phone any time.’

  Cari stared at the text, the corners of her mouth beginning to turn up. Jeff had been right after all. Gavin had messed up editing John Steele as she and Jeff had known he would.

  John was a lovely man, but anxious and needing assistance, reassuring talks and brainstorming. Gavin couldn’t brainstorm to save his life and he didn’t do reassuring and helpful talks. Well, unless he did them to his own reflection each morning after he shaved.

  A moment of wildness hit her and she sent a text back to Edwin: ‘Edwin, I’m at a big family party – could I call you tomorrow?’

  It was a tiny bit childish but she couldn’t help herself, and yet a text pinged back almost instantly. ‘Fine, any time after 10.’

  Ha!

  Her thoughts were confirmed. If Edwin was that keen to talk to her that he’d chat on a Saturday, clearly Gavin had screwed up and John Steele was possibly her author again. If she wanted him.

  She thought about it. John Steele wanted an editor in London, and no, she didn’t want to move to London.

  She allowed herself one quick call.

  Jeff sounded sprightly. He must have managed half an hour of a snooze.

  ‘I have news for you,’ she said. ‘I think they want me back on the John Steele case, I think Gavin has messed up.’

  ‘Told you he would,’ said Jeff, sounding remarkably pleased with himself. ‘Yes, that’s one big surprise today,’ he said and then added mysteriously, ‘but there may be more.’

  ‘What more, what do you know?’ demanded Cari.

  ‘Just wait and see,’ said Jeff enigmatically. ‘Bye, Ms Fabulous Editor,’ he said and hung up.

  Cari dressed, feeling light-hearted. She hadn’t got the chance to tell Jeff that she was thinking of turning down John Steele. Because she didn’t want to live in London any more. She was happier here, where she had back-up.

  To think she’d been dreading this weekend because she was worried about Jojo, and anxious about seeing Traci and Barney. She was ready for them: she was all fired up because Jojo was on the mend – even if the Hugh situation wasn’t ideal – and she herself was on the up.

  But Jojo and Hugh would get back together: Cari knew it. They were one of life’s great couples, one of the few. Like her parents, she thought, biting her lip. It was just a pity that Cari couldn’t manage that herself. Still, she’d have a great career, right?

  And this weekend, even if the dreaded Traci raced over to Cari first thing – which was perfectly possible – and said, ‘Oh, sweetie, it’s so lovely to be here with you!’ Cari would just smile.

  What Cari hated most was insincerity and Traci could represent Ireland in the Olympics in the insincerity stakes, but Cari didn’t care any more. Clearly that’s what Barney liked and he was stuck with it now. Barney knew all about Traci’s insincerity himself. No baby had been born to Barney and Traci. An early miscarriage, someone had helpfully told Cari.

  But it didn’t matter, not any more.

  Barney said he was going for a walk. It was the only way he could get away from Traci and try and meet up with Cari.

  Traci was already angry with him because he’d refused to stay in Lisowen Castle.

  ‘I don’t know why we can’t stay there,’ she’d raged. ‘There’s a spa, a pool. There’s nothing here,’ she’d added with distaste, looking around what she considered a second-tier hotel in the village.

  The Lisowen Arms was pretty, but poolless, spaless and didn’t have five stars above the door. Traci liked the finer things in life and would do anything to get them.

  ‘I just think it’s fairer if we don’t stay in the castle,’ Barney said. He found that repeating things with the broken record technique recommended for dealing with either annoying people or children worked very well with Traci.

  He drove out of the car park and was at the castle in moments. As he walked in, he was aware it was early and he probably wouldn’t bump into anyone there for the family party. They were probably all getting ready in their rooms, or coming up from relaxing swims.

  At reception, he asked them to ring Cari Brannigan’s room.

  ‘Who shall I say is calling?’ said the lovely receptionist.

  ‘Er, could you just connect me briefly?’ said Barney, squirming. He’d anticipated this and had an excuse ready.

  ‘I’m here as a surprise,’ he added to the receptionist. ‘I don’t want her to know who it is, you know.’

  ‘OK,’ said the receptionist, who was actually used to people coming in with weird requests and as long as this good-looking man didn
’t want to race down to Ms Brannigan’s bedroom – which was strictly against hotel regulations – then she’d put him through.

  Although, thought the receptionist, she wouldn’t mind if this man raced down to her bedroom, she sighed, she wasn’t there to think such thoughts. She was there to make a living and look after herself and the kids. Plus, he had a weak chin.

  ‘Someone on the line for you, Ms Brannigan,’ she said when she got through to Cari’s room.

  The receptionist clicked a couple of buttons and then gestured to a courtesy phone on the other end of the desk: ‘You may use that phone, sir,’ she said to Barney.

  He picked it up and said hello.

  ‘Hello,’ said Cari and he felt that pang, the pang from listening to her voice for the first time in three years.

  That last horrific meeting after the wedding had made him feel about two feet tall and he’d hated hurting her, hated that he had been taken in by Traci, hated that he wasn’t now with the beautiful Cari Brannigan, because he loved her.

  He knew that now. He’d discussed it with Yvonne, his sister, and Yvonne had called him all sorts of names and said, ‘You are a complete muppet, Barney. And Traci is a muppet too or maybe she’s the one with her hand up your rear end working your arms.’

  ‘Thanks, sis.’

  Yvonne had adored Cari and she’d been right. He adored Cari too. He just wasn’t sure why it had taken him so long to tell her but now this was kismet, fate: this weekend and their being asked was the perfect time to tell her.

  ‘Barney? Where are you?’

  ‘I’m in reception. Can you come down and see me?’ said Barney.

  ‘You’re in the hotel?’

  ‘We were invited to the party,’ said Barney.

  ‘I know,’ replied Cari. ‘I just don’t know why you came.’

  ‘Because Traci wanted to,’ Barney replied.

  ‘And whatever Traci wants she gets, including other people’s fiancés,’ said Cari acidly.