No, she thought, it’ll keep. It’ll definitely keep.
‘No, no, there’s nothing urgent, Sam, thanks. It’s just that as I was in town, I thought I’d call you on the off-chance.’
‘I’m glad you did. Let’s arrange a time for next week, now that we have a minute.’ She could hear the rustle of pages in the background. ‘Let me see – I’m back Thursday afternoon. How about Thursday evening, say six o’clock: would that suit you?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, that’s fine. I’ll see you as soon as I can make it in from Santry.’ She wanted to get off the phone now, quickly.
‘Why don’t we have a drink then?’ His voice was as usual, light, casual. She couldn’t read him.
‘Okay,’ she said.
He was speaking again. ‘Do you know Neary’s in Chatham Street?’
She smiled. ‘I do, indeed. I’m standing very near it at the moment – just beside the flower sellers, in fact.’
‘Excellent. Then I’ll see you there next week, as close to six as you can manage. Upstairs, if it’s open. That sound okay?’
‘That sounds fine, Sam. Thanks.’
‘See you then. Have a good weekend.’
‘You too. ’Bye.’
She hung up. What was she doing? She was having trouble enough getting rid of one man out of her life: she certainly didn’t need another.
A quiet life, remember? Just a quiet life.
Quickly, she selected Pauline’s number. Joan answered at once.
‘Hi, Joan. It’s Rose Kelly here.’
‘ ’Afternoon, Rose. What can I do for you?’
‘I just wanted to leave a message for Pauline.’
‘Certainly. She’s in court all day, but I’ll make sure she gets back to you tomorrow.’
Rose hesitated. ‘I’m not really sure why I’m telling her this, but she asked me to keep a note of everything, no matter how trivial.’
‘Go ahead, Rose.’
‘Just let her know that Ben arrived at the house last night, even though he promised he wouldn’t, not until he’d met with Lisa. I wasn’t there, but my daughter got very upset.’
‘Did she let him in?’
‘No. She had the sense not to. So, in a way, there’s nothing to tell – other than the fact that he’s broken our agreement already. Oh, and he left some estate agents’ brochures as a guide to the value of our house. Pauline’ll know how I reacted to that.’
‘What time was this, Rose?’
‘Oh, about six, I suppose.’
‘So, there was no conversation, no meeting as such?’
‘No,’ said Rose, beginning to feel a little foolish. ‘As I said, I’m sorry if it’s trivial, but it’s not the first time.’
‘I’ll certainly pass it on. As far as Pauline’s concerned, nothing is ever too trivial.’
‘Thanks, Joan. See you soon.’
‘All the best, now.’
Rose hung up, wondering what her husband’s next move would be.
When she arrived home, Brian was already in the kitchen, pulling clothes out of the tumble dryer. She was surprised to see him. ‘Hi, love. You’re home early.’
‘So are you.’ He glanced briefly over one shoulder, kept his back to her.
‘Yes. Sarah insisted I take some time off. Last weekend didn’t exactly work out as planned.’
He concentrated on smoothing his new black jeans, folded them carefully over one arm. He seemed busy, preoccupied. He wouldn’t catch her eye. ‘I won’t be here for dinner tonight.’
‘Okay. That’s fine.’ Rose put her handbag on the table. She filled a large vase with water and started to trim the stems of her flowers.
‘I spoke to Dad.’
She stopped, a bunch of daffodils in one hand, kitchen scissors in the other. ‘When?’ She couldn’t think of anything else to say.
‘This morning. I’m meeting him for dinner at seven.’
‘Good; I’m glad.’ She began arranging the flowers, hoping he’d say something else. He didn’t. ‘You okay?’ she asked, finally.
He slammed the tumble dryer shut. ‘Oh, leave it, will you? Just leave it! Stop fussing!’
He walked quickly out of the kitchen. Rose looked after him, taken aback. He hadn’t spoken to her like that in a very long time. His expression was a sudden, unwelcome reminder of the old days.
She heard him shuffle about upstairs in his bedroom, open and close his wardrobe doors, talk repeatedly on his mobile. She wondered what he could possibly be hoping for. Well, whatever it was, it was out of her hands. She was going to keep her distance. He was nineteen, almost a grown man. She trimmed the remainder of the flowers, placed them carefully among the others and topped up the water in the vase.
This was one he’d have to sort out for himself.
‘Mum? I’m off, now.’ Brian poked his head around the living room door.
Rose looked up from her book. Her son’s expression was neutral now, his face paler than usual.
‘Okay. You look great, by the way.’
‘Thanks.’ He hesitated in the doorway, his hands and feet restless. The clothes he wore were neat, pressed, unfamiliar: not Brian at all. He owned one tie and one jacket – part of his Interview Outfit – and he was wearing them both now. ‘I’m really sorry about earlier. I suppose I’m just a bit nervous about tonight.’
Rose smiled at him. She put her book down. ‘Don’t worry about it. We’re all a bit on edge. Where are you meeting your dad?’
‘The Westbury.’
‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’ll be thinking of you.’
She stood up now and walked towards the door, keeping her hands by her sides. This handsome young man had once been her troubled eleven-year-old, all spiky hair and sagging socks. Right now, he seemed to be waiting for her to do something, say something more. Awkwardness was all over him, like fine rain.
‘Good luck. You’ll be grand.’ She made to smooth the shoulders of his jacket. Just as she reached out her hands, he pulled her towards him into a clumsy embrace.
‘See ya later, Mum,’ and he was gone.
Rose didn’t want to watch him walk down the driveway, didn’t want all the unwelcome associations that went with it. Damien, striding away from her in the lashing rain, rucksack like a monkey clinging to his back.
She heard Brian’s key in the front door just before midnight. He opened the door into the living room, then into the kitchen. Minutes later, his heavy footsteps were on the stairs. There was a gentle knock on her bedroom door.
‘Come on in,’ she said. ‘It’s open.’
He looks better, she thought. The pallor had gone, his eyes were brighter.
He came in and sat on the side of her bed. ‘I was afraid you might be asleep.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m still trying to finish this book – I’ve been reading it ever since Christmas.’
He peered at the cover. ‘Is that the one I gave you?’
She nodded. ‘Yes.’
He grinned at her. ‘You don’t have to finish it if it’s crap, you know – life’s too short.’
Rose pointed to the unsteady pile of books on the floor by her bedside locker. ‘It sure is – as this leaning tower of Pisa keeps on reminding me. I don’t know when I’ll ever be able to get through them all. No, this one’s very good; I just haven’t had too much time lately.’ Nothing like understatement, she thought.
Then, not able to put it off any longer, she asked quietly: ‘Well, do you want to tell me how it went?’
Brian put one hand in the air, rocked it back and forth a few times. ‘What is it you say – like the curate’s egg?’
She smiled at him. ‘That’s the one. So, it was good in parts?’
He nodded. ‘I think so. I mean, we were a bit stiff and awkward at first, but things loosened up after a couple of glasses of wine. Once I got there, I forgot all the things that I thought I wanted to ask him. And then, on the way home on the bus, I remembered them all again.’ He shrugge
d. ‘It was almost like meeting somebody I didn’t know. We were very polite, I suppose. Anyway, we’re going to meet again some time next week, for coffee or something. I told him I’d a lot of studying to do for the exams. He understood.’
She waited, in case there was more.
‘We talked mostly about my college course, my Leaving Cert, all that sort of stuff. He said he knew that there must be things I wanted to ask him, but that for now we could take things slowly. I just said okay.’
‘And how do you feel, now that it’s over?’
‘Yeah, okay. It wasn’t so bad. I didn’t feel any . . . closeness, or anything. I was really nervous on the way in, but when I saw him standing there I kind of felt . . . detached, or something. I dunno, I suppose it’ll take time. We’ll see. Anyway, I’m knackered. I’m going to bed.’ He bent down to kiss her.
‘Oh, and he gave me this, for Paris.’ Brian reached into his jeans pocket. ‘It’s a cheque for a thousand euro.’
Rose felt a dark flash of fear. She saw Brian looking at her face, at the expression she hadn’t been quick enough to control.
‘It’s just money, Mum. That’s all. I took it because I don’t want you to have to give me any more than you already have. I know exactly what this could be, but it’s only money.’
She held onto him tightly. He returned the pressure of her hug, kissed her soundly on the cheek.
‘Now, I’m going to bed. I’ve a shedload of programming to work on for tomorrow.’
She smiled at him. ‘Rather you than me.’
He paused at the doorway. ‘Oh, and by the way, he said that he’s beginning to make progress on his business deals, and that he’s on the lookout for a good solicitor. I told him that you found O’Brien’s good – Paula, isn’t that her name?’
‘Pauline,’ said Rose, quietly.
‘Right. I thought it was Paula. See you for breakfast?’
‘Absolutely. ‘Night, Brian, sleep well.’
‘Night, Mum.’
Now she understood. Now she knew what Ben’s next move was. It had only been a matter of time.
Early the following morning, Rose made her way up to the attic. She looked around her at the dozens of boxes everywhere, black plastic sacks, paper carrier bags. Those she could see were all crammed to overflowing with books, baby clothes, Christmas decorations.
No time like the present, she thought.
She pulled the boxes towards her first, opened the flaps and looked quickly at their contents. Old ornaments, crockery: surviving remnants of an earlier, slower life. They could all go. She piled the boxes at the top of the attic stairs, ready to be brought to the van.
Over the next few hours, she divided the remaining sacks and bags into separate piles: some for the bin, some to keep, some for someone else to use. It felt like giving away the last part of her life, making room for something new.
The charity shops were going to have a bonanza.
At six o’clock Rose heard the front door open, and there were high, girlish voices in the hallway.
‘Mum?’ Lisa called.
Rose went down onto the landing. She looked over the banisters into the hallway below. ‘I’m up here, love,’ she said. ‘In the attic. Have a good day?’
‘Yeah, great! I got all the photograph albums in town this afternoon. Alison came with me.’
‘Good – I’ve put three boxes of photos into your bedroom, so you’re all set. We can bring them downstairs later on, if you like. You’ve taken on some job, do you know that?’
Lisa smiled up at her. ‘It’ll be fun. Me an’ Alison are coming up to my room, now, okay?’
‘Hi, Alison!’ Rose called.
There was some shuffling in the hallway while Alison and Lisa struggled against each other, giggling loudly.
‘Hello, Rose – get out of my way, you!’ Alison elbowed her way in front of Lisa.
Rose smiled down at the two fair heads below her. ‘Stay for dinner, Alison?’
‘Depends on what we’re having,’ interrupted Lisa, cheekily.
‘Oh, the usual – spinach, Brussels sprouts, liver – all your favourites.’
‘Nah, I’ve to go home. I’ve just remembered I’m needed,’ said Alison, grinning.
Rose laughed. ‘Relax – I’ve got quiche, a couple of pizzas and some salads. There’s some spicy potato wedges, too, if you want. Oh, and there’s some wicked chocolate cheesecake for dessert.’
Lisa turned to her friend. ‘I guess you’re not needed at home, after all.’
‘Thanks – I’d love to stay.’
The two girls raced up the stairs, each trying to push past the other, hurrying to get there first.
‘See you later, Mum!’
‘I’ll call you when dinner’s ready. Don’t forget to ring Jane, Alison! Your mother needs to know where you are!’ Rose called after them.
And they were gone.
Two days ahead, thought Rose. Two days, finally, of doing nothing. A proper weekend, at long last. Once Lisa was ready, they’d ring Ben and make an appointment for the three of them to meet.
Right now, no matter what else might be happening to the rest of her life, it was time to make the dinner.
Chapter Eight
SARAH WAS TAKING some boxes of vegetables out of her van when Rose arrived on Monday morning.
‘Hi, Sarah, need a hand?’ she asked.
‘Hi, Rose. Thanks. They’re not heavy, just a bit awkward.’
Rose went to lift one. ‘You’re right,’ she complained. ‘Why don’t they make them with handles?’
‘Hang on a minute, before you do that.’ Sarah rested one of the boxes on the bonnet of the van. She leaned her arms on it and looked closely at Rose. ‘Did you manage to have a good weekend?’
Rose smiled, putting the box on the ground beside her. ‘Couldn’t have been better. Brian met Ben and it went well: very low key, no confrontation. I’m bringing Lisa to see him on Wednesday afternoon, and she’s fine about it. And I actually made a start at clearing out the attic. It felt very good for the soul, throwing my old life away. I’d a very productive time, thanks to all of you.’
Sarah inclined her head, a gesture of approval. ‘Good, I’m glad you enjoyed it.’
‘What about you? Were things all right on Friday? Did my two behave?’
Sarah hesitated. Rose could see reluctance shadowing every line of her expression. It looked as though she was about to say something else, but she stopped herself. Rose could feel her own good humour begin to leak away, draining from somewhere in the pit of her stomach. Sarah was looking down: she seemed to find something very interesting in the top layer of vegetables.
Rose couldn’t bear the suspense any longer. ‘Sarah? What’s up? Spit it out.’
The van’s indicator lights flashed twice, the locks sprang up obediently.
‘Sit in with me for a moment.’
Rose eased herself into the passenger seat and pulled the door closed behind her. She turned to face Sarah. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘I’m really sorry to do this, Rose, I know you have more than enough on your mind.’
‘Tell me, please.’
‘We had some bad news after you left. I had a call from Joe Maguire on Friday morning.’
Rose had to think for a minute. ‘Joe Maguire? Our supplier?’
‘Yes. He asked me to meet him. He said there was something he needed to discuss with me.’
‘And?’
‘I couldn’t meet him on Friday, obviously, so we had coffee together on Saturday morning. He told me that they’ve just found out that one of their most trusted employees has been ripping them off for almost two years now. They’re in the middle of finding out the extent of the damage.’
‘I’m very sorry to hear that,’ said Rose, puzzled. ‘But what has it got to do with us? I mean, they’re not going out of business or anything, are they?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘No, nothing like that. The whole thing came to light a fe
w months ago, completely by chance. All Joe would say was that someone made a mistake, and he started to get very suspicious. He had a hidden camera installed above the till, and another one outside in the car park. And they now have some very interesting CCTV footage. Our Angela has a starring role.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Rose. But she’d already begun to feel that cold, familiar creeping sense of dread.
Sarah shook her head in disbelief. ‘Apparently, the young man at the centre of this has been in cahoots with at least three of their customers, and Angela is one of them. There are six occasions, on video, where she, literally, has her hand in the till.’
‘What! But how?’
‘It’s a very clever scam, very simple. This guy – David’s his name, I think – charges Angela, for example, a hundred euro, and gives her a handwritten receipt. But he only registers eighty on the till. She pays the hundred – with our money, naturally – and Dave keeps back twenty euro. He gives her ten, puts ten in his pocket, and does that, maybe, three or four times a day. It all depends on how many customers are in on his little deal.’
Rose looked at her, trying to take in all the implications.
‘It gets better.’ Sarah gripped the steering wheel, and Rose watched her knuckles turn white.
She groaned. ‘Jesus, I don’t believe this. Go on.’
‘On two very recent occasions – that is, two that were caught on camera – Angela and Dave, as brazen as you like, took a pile of stuff from the stores very early in the morning, loaded up a van and just drove off. Obviously, there’s no payment recorded through the till on either occasion. This Dave person is in charge of both the ordering from their suppliers and the main client accounts. Joe Maguire reckons that his business has lost a fortune.’
Rose’s mind was racing. ‘Was it my van on either of the mornings?’ She could see Angela’s face before her, remembered her late arrival, her air of having been caught in the act. Personal stuff, my foot.
Sarah shook her head. ‘No. It wasn’t your van, nor ours – not on those occasions, anyway. They were able to read the registration off the tape, and the Guards are dealing with it.’
Something Like Love Page 18
