“All our girls are strong,” said Louis. “They get it from you. Now tell me what’s happened. I was never as confident about Adam and Nessa as you. I always felt that a bloke who couldn’t park a car without scraping it wasn’t worth a toss anyhow.”
I seem to spend my whole life on the phone, thought Nessa, as she dialed Bree’s number. She was relieved that she’d told Miriam what had happened but it had been very difficult. Talking to her youngest sister would be easier.
“He’s gone,” she said, as Bree answered the phone.
“What?”
“Adam. He’s gone.”
“Nessa!” Bree shrieked. “You’ve done it. You’ve thrown him out.”
“Well, not exactly.” Nessa related her conversation with Adam. “So he’s insisting that this is a temporary move to give himself time to think and for me to come to my senses and he’s adamant that whatever happens I won’t be left with the house. And the only reason he went at all was because I agreed to think things over.”
“Oh, Nessa.” Bree groaned. “Here I was thinking you’d made a decisive stand and that you’d got rid of him but you haven’t, not really.”
“I have,” said Nessa surprising herself with the firmness of her tone. “If I hadn’t told him I’d think about it there would’ve been another row and he’d have stayed camped in the spare room. So it was just to shut him up. It may have taken me some time, Bree. But I’ve made my choice and there’s no going back. I don’t want to go back now anyway.”
“Well done,” said Bree admiringly. “You sound so certain now.”
“Making the decision was easier than I thought,” said Nessa. “It’s all of the shit that happens afterward that’s going to be difficult.” Her tone changed. “I need to get a solicitor, Bree. And I need to find out about the whole family law thing and where I stand.”
“Don’t you have one already?” asked Bree.
“Of course,” said Nessa. “But Adam has always dealt with him and he’s probably acting for Adam now. So I need someone else.”
“Get someone good,” Bree told her. “Someone who’ll really fight for you.”
“I thought Declan Morrissey might be able to help,” said Nessa casually.
Bree was silent for a moment. “Declan’s a barrister,” she said eventually. “I’m not terribly clued in on the whole hierarchy but he goes to court and pleads cases. I think solicitors do the donkey work first.”
“Oh,” said Nessa.
“But he might know a good one,” Bree said. “Because you’ll want one who specializes in family law, won’t you? Rather than someone whose expertise is getting you off with a slap on the wrist when you’ve committed a major art robbery or something.”
Nessa laughed. “Is that Declan Morrissey’s speciality? Does he look after the Dublin underworld?”
“I don’t know,” said Bree. “I don’t know what he does really.”
“If you don’t want to phone him then don’t,” said Nessa. “I just thought it might be an area he dealt with. It’s not a problem.”
“But if I do want to phone him it gives me an excuse,” said Bree.
“I know.”
“Nessa, please don’t tell me that you threw your husband out simply to give me an excuse to ring my only friend who knows anything about the law,” begged Bree.
“I might be good to you in an older-sister sort of way,” Nessa said, “but not that good, Bree, honestly!” Her voice softened. “Do you want to phone him?”
Bree sighed. “I wish I knew.” And then, more forcefully, she said that no, she didn’t want to phone him.
“Why?” asked Nessa.
“Like I said before, there’s no future in it. I wasn’t thinking about him like that until he said what he said. And it just doesn’t make sense.”
“Who says it has to?”
“I can’t believe you’re encouraging me!” cried Bree.
“I’m not,” said Nessa. “I’m simply saying that maybe you and he—well, maybe it’s worth a try.”
“Nessa, I hardly know the man,” Bree protested. “I’ve gone out with his son, for God’s sake! And you and Cate both agreed that the idea of me and Declan was kind of gross.”
“I admit that I was a bit shocked because of his age,” said Nessa. “But if he’s the right one for you, Bree…even if there’s a chance…”
“I’d have thought that with your experience you’d be warning me off for life,” said Bree.
“I can’t help myself.” Nessa sighed. “It’s my nature, I suppose. I want everyone to be happy and everyone to have someone and I just have a good feeling about you and Declan.”
“You hated him when you first met him,” Bree pointed out.
“That’s because I thought he wasn’t being nice to you,” said Nessa. “But a man who brings you chocolate chip cookies when you’ve got a sore leg—well, Bree, he sounds like a man in a million to me!”
“I don’t know yet,” said Bree. “But I will all him for you, Nessa. And that’s the only reason I’ll call him. To find you a good solicitor. Because I want to make sure that you get everything you’re entitled to from that bastard Adam Riley.”
“Thank you,” said Nessa sweetly.
“It’s the only reason,” said Bree again.
Nessa grinned as she put down the phone. She was about to embark on probably messy and definitely bitter divorce proceedings. She knew that life was going to be bloody difficult for the next few months. But she was making the decisions. She was in charge of things now. And, despite the fact that she knew that tears would never be far away, she hadn’t felt as confident in years.
37
Moon in 1st House
A natural instinct to care for others.
Bree finished work at half past three on Friday. She’d come in very early that morning to do an urgent job on a company car which was needed before nine o’clock. By the time that most of the others had arrived, she’d finished the repairs and had started on the service list.
At a quarter past three Christy told her to go home.
“Why?” she asked. “There’s a few more still to do.”
“The others can finish them,” he said. “You’ve been here for hours. It’s Friday, Bree. Go home, wash your hair and do whatever it is you young, free and single girls do on Friday nights.”
“Actually I’m going to my sister’s apartment tonight,” said Bree. “The three of us plus my niece are getting together for a girls’ night in.”
“What does that entail?” asked Christy. “Sitting around talking about how much you hate men, sticking pins into Action Man dolls, that sort of thing?”
Bree laughed. “No. We’re going to watch videos and wish we knew men like the handsome, soulful, caring, Hollywood heroes.”
“Is that what girls do on nights in?”
“Absolutely,” said Bree.
“Then you should definitely go out instead,” said Christy. “It sounds a bloody boring way of spending Friday night to me. Besides, you’ve just been away with your sisters. I’d’ve thought you’d had enough of them by now.”
“I almost have,” said Bree. “But there’s a little bit to go yet, I guess.”
“One day you’ll find yourself a nice bloke,” Christy told her. “And you won’t have to stay at home with the girls.”
“Girls are easier to get on with,” Bree said.
“I never found it like that,” Christy told her. “Not until I met my wife anyway.”
“God love her,” said Bree.
“You never got back together with young Michael Morrissey after the accident, did you?” Christy’s tone was casual.
“Is that what this conversation is all about?” she asked. “You know I didn’t get back with Michael. He was a nice guy but a bit of a speed freak when it came down to it.”
“I haven’t seen Declan in a while,” said Christy. “Nice man.”
She’d been thinking about Declan because of her promise to Nessa t
o get the name of a family law solicitor from him. It was ten days since she’d told Nessa she’d ring him but although it was a ready-made excuse to call she hadn’t had the nerve to pick up the phone. And now she was feeling pressurized because she didn’t want to mess up Nessa’s life by not getting her the very best solicitor she could, even though Nessa had said that if Declan couldn’t recommend anyone she’d use the same firm as her friend Paula had used.
“Go on,” said Christy. “Get home with yourself, Mizz Driscoll. Even if you are spending the night in you’ll probably want to soak the grime off first.”
She looked down at her hands. Despite the latex gloves she wore they were still streaked with oil and dust.
“OK,” she said. “See you Monday.”
“Have a good weekend,” said Christy.
She walked out of the garage and got onto her bike, adjusting her helmet as she sat astride it, feeling suddenly tired. Christy was right. She should go home and have a shower (there was no way she’d dream of using the shared bathroom at the flat, much as the idea of soaking in a bath appealed) and she should make a bit of an effort to look nice tonight even if it was just a girls’ night in.
When Cate invited them to her new apartment for the evening, neither Bree nor Nessa felt that they could refuse. They were both worried about Cate who seemed to be holding herself as tightly as a coiled spring since they’d come back from Spain and who looked thinner than ever despite the bump of her pregnancy. She’d told Nessa that Finn had called while she was away but that he hadn’t left a message nor called again. She didn’t know whether or not she should call him. Part of her wanted to but another part of her just couldn’t face it. Nessa, Cate and Bree talked about it for ages and finally decided that if he’d called once he’d call back. He was probably trying to get her into a state by not calling back straightaway, they decided. Cate should be cool and aloof. Unavailable, Nessa and Bree told her. Getting on with her life. She’d agreed with them eventually but Bree hated to think of Cate worrying about Finn’s reasons for getting in touch. Now that a few days had elapsed she was beginning to think that maybe they’d given Cate the wrong advice. Maybe she should just have picked up the damn phone to him and discovered what he wanted.
Bree sighed. Men were so complicated. Or at the very least, they complicated things. Women were so much more straightforward. And then she smiled to herself because the blokes in the garage were always complaining about how complicated women actually were and how they just didn’t understand them.
She revved up the bike and went down the road, her mind still racing. But even if women were as complicated as men, it was always men who made them cry. Men had made her cry in the past. Both Finn and Adam had caused Cate and Nessa to sob their hearts out. She wondered was there a woman in the world who hadn’t been reduced to tears by the actions of some bloke somewhere.
She thought about Michael Morrissey. He hadn’t made her cry, of course, even when he told her it was over. If they hadn’t been in the car accident, would things have turned out any differently between them? Would he have been her ideal man after all? Would their relationship have developed any further? And in that case would Declan have ever said anything to her? What would it have been like, she wondered, to go to that house on a regular basis not knowing that Declan was attracted to her while all the time she was in love with his son?
Or not, of course. Because she was fooling herself to think that she’d ever really been in love with Michael. Love had to be more than thinking that someone looked sexy. Love had to be more than being good in bed—not that she’d even got that far with Michael anyway. But if the accident hadn’t happened then he mightn’t have broken it off with her and she might have gone to bed with him and maybe they would have fallen in love eventually. Then Declan wouldn’t have had the opportunity of saying anything and she wouldn’t be biking down this road with her mind in a complete whirl. Bloody hell, she thought angrily. Why did he have to say something? Why did he make me think that he and I were in any way a viable proposition?
Going out with Declan wouldn’t be like going out with anyone else. Not like Gerry or Enrique or Fabien. Not like Terry the legionnaire or Marcus the snake charmer either. Or even like the speed freak that was Declan’s son. The bottom line was that Declan wasn’t a weirdo. But, she told herself savagely, he was a man, wasn’t he? He was already making her life more complicated than she wanted. And one day he’d do something to mess it all up and she’d be like Nessa and like Cate, miserable because of a man.
She slowed down and pulled to the side of the road. Her hands were shaking. This was totally ridiculous. She was getting herself into a knot about nothing. Declan Morrissey didn’t matter to her. There was no chance of a relationship with him. It wasn’t practical. She frowned as she removed her helmet and rubbed her hair. Of course she liked him, she’d always liked him, but it was hard to think of him as anything other than her ex-boyfriend’s father.
But if she hadn’t known Michael, if she’d simply met Declan…she shook her head. She still wouldn’t have considered Declan to be relationship material. She wouldn’t even have noticed him in a crowded room. The only reason she was thinking about it at all was because he’d told her that he liked her. And how serious was he about that anyway? He’d met her at a traumatic time, worried about Michael, concerned about her, and maybe just missing his wife. There were lots of reasons why he might have said something to her and regretted it since. Still his words were etched in her mind, niggling at her, confusing her. She’d dismissed him when he’d come to the flat but hadn’t been able to forget him ever since. She was usually reasonably good at forgetting men—once the weirdos were out of her life she normally accepted their weirdness and congratulated herself on her lucky escape.
So why should she feel different this time? And about someone who was so much older than her, who’d lived such a different life and had lived so much of it already. If he wasn’t older, if he didn’t have a family, if she hadn’t nearly kissed his only son, then would she think it was OK? Bree wondered. She laughed at herself. All those things made Declan who he was, without them he wouldn’t be the same person and she mightn’t even like him very much.
Because, she told herself, she did like him. He was very difficult not to like if only because of his knack with cookies and muffins.
She sighed and replaced her helmet. Then she revved up the bike and moved into the afternoon traffic again.
She hadn’t meant to go to the High Court but she couldn’t help herself. She wanted to see the type of place where Declan worked, to get a sense of the kind of person he was. It was unlikely, she thought, as she found a place to park her bike, that he’d be in court on a Friday afternoon.
She walked up the steps, conscious of a certain sense of occasion. She’d never been here before but she’d seen the building as a backdrop to many news stories where reporters spoke breathlessly of cases hanging in the balance and where cameramen zoomed in on both the victor and the vanquished with equal interest.
A number of people stood in the domed, circular hall which lead to the different courtrooms. They talked in hushed tones which nevertheless echoed like whispers in a church. Occasionally, and incongruously, a peal of laughter cut through the otherwise serious atmosphere.
The door to court number three opened and a girl rushed out, her face streaked with tears. Two women followed her and caught up with her at the entrance to the building. They put their arms around her and whispered to her.
Bree bit her lip. There were all sorts of things going on here, people’s lives being judged and decided on, truth and lies being told and justice being apportioned—only probably not all of the time. She remembered her father once commenting that the law and justice were poles apart. She wondered how Declan felt about it.
Another flurry from a different corner of the hall caught her eye. This time three barristers strode toward the exit, gowns flapping, wigs perched ridiculously on their heads. Bree couldn�
��t help smiling. Did Declan wear a wig? She couldn’t imagine him with a patch of white curls on top of his thick, graying hair.
Suddenly she felt uncomfortable being here. And out of place—she realized that some people were looking at her curiously, wondering no doubt why a girl in black leather biking gear was standing in the court, looking around aimlessly. She didn’t want to simply walk out again, thinking that this might look odd. She caught sight of a sign for the Ladies and walked toward it purposefully. She walked down the stone steps and pushed open the door. She leaned against the tiled wall and closed her eyes.
The court was different to anywhere else she’d ever been in her life. There was a sense of solemnity and occasion which even the white wigs couldn’t lighten. To work here, to listen to the traumas and the crimes and the grievances that were brought before the court, you would want to have some sense of purpose. A sense of purpose that she could never have herself.
She opened her eyes again. She’d been right to come, it had put Declan and everything to do with Declan into perspective. He was a grown up who lived and worked in a grown-up world. She was a car mechanic who liked having fun. Their lives and their dreams were poles apart and it was pointless to think it could ever be any different. He probably saw her as a young thing to amuse himself with, intrigued by her, just as Michael was because she did what was perceived to be a man’s job and she did it well. But she didn’t want to intrigue anyone. She just wanted to love someone. And to be loved in return.
She washed her hands (still grimy despite having scrubbed them before she left the garage) and ran lightly up the stairs again. She hurried into the hall and collided with a group of chattering barristers.
“Sorry!” she gasped as one of them fumbled with a file and almost dropped it. He grunted in annoyance. Then one of the group looked at her in surprise.
“Bree?”
Declan Morrissey was wearing a wig. And it looked as vaguely silly as she’d imagined it might.
“Hi, Declan.” She looked at him uneasily.
He's Got to Go Page 44
