by Cathy Kelly
She was relieved when he changed his mind and helped Caroline to her feet.
When they were gone, Holly allowed her face to betray her lack of party spirit.
‘Do you want to go home?’ Kenny asked, flopping down beside her.
‘Yes, but can we wait a few moments?’ she asked.
‘Give Tom a chance to get a taxi,’ Kenny said, nodding.
Joan was keen to stay, so Kenny and Holly set off home on their own.
In the taxi, Holly stared out the window silently.
‘It wasn’t quite the night we’d planned,’ Kenny remarked.
‘No.’
‘What did you think of Caroline?’ he asked.
‘You certainly liked her,’ Holly said, feeling angry with herself that this fact hurt so much.
‘Actually, sweetie, I didn’t,’ Kenny said, surprising her. ‘I tried to like her for Tom’s sake but I’m not keen on those tough cookie women.’
‘She’s not a tough cookie, she’s feminine,’ said Holly, who longed to be petite, blonde, and able to fit into a size eight slip dress.
Kenny shuddered.
‘Don’t be fooled, Holly. She’s as tough as old boots under that cute-little-me act. Femininity isn’t just a weapon to women like her: it’s a cruise missile and if she aims it at you, watch out. She’s not the sort of girl I’d have expected from Tom,’ he mused. ‘I noticed she was very edgy round you,’ he added.
‘Round me?’ Holly laughed. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘No, really, she was. She kept looking at you, Holls. I see things, you know.’
At home, Holly undressed and folded her slimming jeans carefully. They looked so big when she held them up. Caroline’s whole body could probably fit in one of the legs. Holly put them at the bottom of the wardrobe with all the other never to be worn again clothes. She was stupid to have thought she looked nice in them, and stupid to have thought she had a hope in hell with Tom.
What had she to offer in comparison to Caroline? Tom was a professional and he clearly wanted a girlfriend who matched his achievements: someone gorgeous and successful. Someone other men admired too. Holly pulled on her favourite navy slobby tracksuit bottoms and slumped down in front of the telly. She was too wound up to sleep.
Channel-hopping until she found a black and white film, Holly curled up with a bar of chocolate. At least chocolate never let you down. She was alone again, and she still had the ruby wedding to get through on Saturday.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The last Saturday in April dawned without a cloud in the sky. The gleaming white marquee shone in the early morning sun and the scent of bluebells from Rose’s garden mingled with the scent of freshly cut grass. When Adele woke at six, Meadow Lodge was silent despite having more inhabitants than usual. Stella and Amelia had driven down from Dublin on Friday evening, arriving in time for a quick, and very casual, Adele had thought, supper. Sausage casserole must be a modern invention, she sniffed. Adele herself had been stationed in Meadow Lodge since Thursday in preparation for the party, although there didn’t seem to be much preparation involved. Rose had blithely assured Adele that caterers, florists and marquee people were doing the hard work and all she and Adele had to do was turn up with their hair done. Hugh had taken Friday off to do a few last-minute chores around the house, like cutting the grass, and Adele had enjoyed spending some time with him. He’d nipped off to meet his old pal, Alastair, in the afternoon, so Adele had taken it upon herself to oversee the erection of the marquee. She hadn’t been able to find any fault with either the inside or the outside of the marquee. Not that she hadn’t tried. When the marquee staff began to erect the giant structure she had watched intently, determined to winkle out the person who was doing a shoddy job and to admonish them. But there had been no shoddy work. The team had worked at great speed and efficiency and they’d been relentlessly cheerful, waving and smiling at her every time she made her stately progress in their direction.
The two men working on the flooring were the worst.
‘Suppose you’re going to be dancing the night away on this, Missus, are you?’ asked one of them cheekily.
Adele had given him one of her hard stares. ‘I don’t want any impertinence out of you, young man,’ she’d snapped and marched off in high dudgeon.
Rose had been typically laid-back about the whole thing when Adele found her sitting at the kitchen table, wearing jeans for heaven’s sake. Adele thought jeans were for young people.
‘There’s no point in my hanging around and watching every move they make, Adele,’ Rose had said, looking up from the list of acceptances which she was using to work out a loose seating plan. ‘I don’t know the first thing about setting up marquees. When it’s finished and the tables and chairs are in, then I’ll go out and have a look.’
‘Well, if that’s the way you feel about it,’ Adele had said, miffed. ‘I can do the seating plan. I’m good at things like that.’
Rose looked uncomfortable. ‘Actually, Adele, it’s easier if I do it because there are lots of people coming who you don’t know, and you won’t know who you can put them next to.’
Adele would have liked to have stormed out of the room but she didn’t. Instead, she poured herself a cup of tea from the pot (rude of Rose to have made some and not called her) and sat heavily down beside her sister-in-law. She’d just keep an eye on the seating plan, in case Rose got it terribly wrong.
Now it was the morning of the party, and Adele had a headache. She got dressed and went downstairs to find Rose and Amelia having breakfast happily.
‘Good morning, Aunt Adele,’ Amelia said gravely.
Adele glanced at her grand-niece suspiciously. There had been a long conversation about manners the previous evening and Adele had impressed upon Amelia the need to say ‘Good morning,’ and ‘Good evening,’ instead of ‘Hi.’ But there was no mischievous glint in Amelia’s eyes to say she was teasing. Dear little thing just needed to be told how to speak properly. Children liked a firm hand, Adele felt.
‘Did you sleep well?’ asked Rose, rapidly tidying up the table and wiping away toast crumbs.
‘Tolerably, I suppose,’ Adele began, planning on explaining how she’d woken up at five and how that bed was past its best because she couldn’t get comfortable in it.
‘Good,’ Rose said briskly, cutting the conversation off. ‘Now Amelia, what next? There are lambs in the field at the end of the lane. Would you like to look at them?’
‘Lambs, yes!’ breathed Amelia.
Adele got a cup and saucer for her morning coffee and listened to little Amelia talking nineteen to the dozen about how she was going to have lots of animals when she grew up. ‘And not just goldfish,’ she added firmly. ‘Goldfish end up floating and have to be flushed away. Becky flushed her one away but Shona buried hers. Mine are still alive but Mummy says we can have a funeral if they die. I thought Goldie died last month but he got better only he was a different colour,’ she added, looking up at Rose. ‘Can that happen?’
Around her Granny, Amelia was a lively little imp, those dark eyes gleaming with mischief and fun. Children and animals loved Rose; they were instinctively drawn to her.
In Adele’s company, Amelia wasn’t the same. Instead, she was a formal little girl on her best behaviour.
‘We’ll see you later, Adele,’ Rose said, leaving with Amelia for their foray into the world of lambs.
Imagine going off out on the day of a big party in your home. Adele was scandalised at the idea. There were things to oversee and Rose was swanning off with her granddaughter as if she didn’t have some 200 people about to descend upon her in a few hours.
Of course, Rose could have delegated some of the responsibility to Adele. But oh no, that would never do for Madam Rose. She didn’t understand family and how Adele longed to be involved. Adele let the familiar feelings of hurt swell up inside her until her headache got much worse. That was it: she was telling Hugh all about Rose’s cavalier treatment.
<
br /> Tara stretched luxuriously in the bed, feeling rested after a fantastic night’s sleep. She was sure that her good humour had something to do with the fact that Finn hadn’t had a drink since their row. Last night was the first Friday night in ages when they’d spent the evening without a drop of alcohol. It hadn’t bothered Tara in the slightest. She was just as happy drinking mineral water with her dinner. And Finn had said the same.
‘It’s good for us,’ he’d insisted, holding out his glass for a fill-up of water.
They’d gorged themselves on chocolate afterwards. Finn’s sweet tooth was working overtime and he kept bringing home family-sized bars of milk chocolate.
Finn appeared at the door with coffee, orange juice and toast on a tray.
‘Breakfast in bed, milady.’
‘Fantastic,’ said Tara, grinning at him. Normally, she needed a cattle prod to get Finn out of bed in the mornings. Today, he was up earlier than she was.
He put the tray on her knees and settled himself carefully beside her, taking a piece of buttered toast and biting hungrily.
‘Eat up,’ he said with his mouth full, ‘it’ll probably be hours before we get fed at your mum and dad’s.’
‘The food sounds wonderful,’ Tara pointed out. ‘Mum read the menu out to me and there’s all sorts of fish, lamb and cold beef for the carnivores, and some incredible-sounding strawberry dessert.’
She munched some toast thoughtfully.
‘Finn, please don’t drink today? For me?’ Tara hoped that begging Finn would work. Today, of all days, she couldn’t cope if he got terribly drunk and made a fool of himself and her.
‘You don’t even have to ask,’ Finn said, sounding angrily offended. ‘I’m hardly going to fall into a bottle of vodka in front of your parents, am I?’
Tara bit her lip to hold the words back.
‘I drink socially and sometimes, I forget to say stop, that’s all,’ Finn continued. ‘You don’t have to treat me like a child.’
‘OK, OK,’ she said, anything to keep the peace.
‘I haven’t had a drink for nearly two weeks.’ His eyes were angry now, flashing with fury.
‘Forget I said it,’ Tara said rapidly. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘So you should be.’ Finn got off the bed so quickly that the tray wobbled and spilled coffee all over the duvet. Tara cursed and grabbed a tissue to mop up the excess, hoping this wasn’t a symbol of how the day was going to pan out.
Holly scanned the guest list in disbelief.
‘I thought I’d better warn you,’ Stella said apologetically. They were sitting on the small patio outside the back door of the house in Kinvarra with the morning sun on their faces. Holly was chain smoking.
‘Richie Murdoch,’ she said as she found the name in question. ‘How the hell could she have invited Richie Murdoch?’
‘His mother’s sprained her ankle and he’s driving her.’
Holly’s sweet face was flushed with remembered anger and hurt. ‘The guy is a complete scumbag. I mean, doesn’t she know I asked him to go to my debs dance and he said yes until the last minute and then turned me down to go off with another girl?’ Holly felt outrage remembering this and even more outrage that it seemed to have escaped her mother’s notice. The humiliation of being dumped by a guy just before the important school graduation dance had never left her. If it hadn’t been for Donna fixing her up with a blind date, she wouldn’t have been able to go. As it was, the blind date had hardly been what she’d describe as a roaring success, but it spared her the shame of appearing on her own.
‘You never told her,’ Stella said gently. ‘Mum doesn’t have a clue. You just told her Richie and you had fallen out. I never understood why you did that.’
Holly dropped her cigarette to the ground and flattened it with her boot. For the first time in her life, she wanted to be openly angry with her mother.
‘Mum wouldn’t have understood,’ she said, shaking a new cigarette from her pack and lighting up.
‘You can’t say that,’ Stella pointed out. ‘Mum’s great, she’s always interested in us and she always got involved with everything. She’d have gone round to Richie’s house and given him a piece of her mind if she’d known.’
‘I told Dad,’ Holly recalled. ‘Dad said he was a little shit and did I want him to break both his legs?’
They both laughed at this vision of their genial, lawabiding father even saying such a thing.
‘Daddy’s pet,’ teased Stella gently, trying to cheer her sister up.
‘I just don’t understand how Mum could ask Richie and not even mention it to me,’ Holly said. ‘She must have wondered why we split up so quickly. I mean, you weren’t even living at home then and you knew something was wrong,’ she added hotly. ‘Mum hadn’t a clue. How interested is that?’
‘Hi, girls, we’re home,’ said Rose, her voice coming from the hall. ‘Where are you two?’
Holly leapt to her feet and thrust the guest list into her sister’s hand. ‘I’m too angry to talk to her,’ she said and rushed off into the shrubbery.
Stella stared after her sister, feeling strangely confused and unsettled by their conversation. Stella had always felt backed up by the strength of her family bonds. It unnerved her to find that her vision of the Miller family unit wasn’t shared by all concerned.
Holly smoked two more cigarettes as she walked furiously around the garden and thought back to those awful teenage years.
She’d been crazy about Richie Murdoch. She’d known him since she was fourteen but had never even imagined that cool Richie, one of Kinvarra’s most popular guys, he with the Kawasaki motorbike all the other lads envied, would be interested in her. Painfully shy and even more painfully aware of her plump figure, Holly had barely even spoken to her hero and was content to watch him from afar. Then he’d asked her to dance at a rugby club dance. Nobody had been more surprised than Holly. It had been the start of a three-month relationship, a glorious time for Holly where she finally felt as if she belonged. She’d been on top of the world with her first boyfriend until a week before her debs when Richie had told her in a phone call that it was off.
Heartbroken didn’t quite describe how she felt. His action was more than simply ending their relationship, it was a hideous rejection.
Now, with a bit of experience of men behind her, Holly could look back and realise that they were hardly Romeo and Juliet. The conversation had always been limited. Richie only wanted to talk about his bike, while Holly had listened adoringly.
As grown-ups, they wouldn’t have lasted five minutes together. But that wasn’t the point. The point was: he’d dumped her cruelly and callously, and her mother hadn’t even noticed.
Holly stubbed out the cigarette and didn’t pick up the butt to dispose of it carefully later. She didn’t care. She wouldn’t be the good, quiet Holly any more. She wanted to feel angry with her mother and she wanted Rose to notice. Now that Holly’s anger had finally erupted, she found that it had a life of its own.
‘Do you like it?’ Hugh looked anxiously at Rose’s face. She was staring down at the red leather jewellery box which contained an antique charm bracelet, with a fine heartshaped padlock.
‘It’s rose gold,’ Hugh said. ‘I thought you’d like that.’
Rose tore her eyes away from the present. It was such a thoughtful gift, just the sort of thing she loved. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said. Still holding the box, she put her arms around her husband and held him tightly. They’d decided that they wouldn’t buy each other presents because the party was costing so much, and now Hugh had gone and broken his promise and bought her this lovely bracelet. Rose wished that she’d got him something in return.
‘Oh Rosie, Rosie,’ said Hugh, his face buried in her cloud of dark hair. ‘Forty years. Who’d have thought it, eh?’
‘Not your mother, that’s for certain,’ Rose joked, wiping away tears with a tissue. There were only two hours to go before the party and she didn’t want to be all
red-eyed. But emotions swamped her. It was like their wedding day all over again, yet this time, they had their three daughters with them. And Amelia. Those forty years had produced so much.
‘Don’t cry, love.’ Hugh took the tissue from her hand and began carefully dabbing her eyes. ‘You don’t want to smudge all that careful make-up. Adele will think we’ve been rowing and she’ll march up to give you a talking to.’
Rose managed to laugh. ‘God forbid,’ she said. She could do without Adele on one of her poor-Hugh missions. ‘I’m not sad, Hugh,’ she added with a hiccup. ‘It’s an emotional day.’
‘For me too,’ he said. ‘I never thought you’d stick with me for forty years. I thought if I could hold onto you for forty days, I’d be lucky! Are you going to put it on?’
Rose took the bracelet out of the box and sat down on the end of their bed. The room smelled of flowers. The florists had brought so many that Rose had taken some upstairs to decorate their bedroom and a mass of freesias in a vase on the window sill spread their glorious scent everywhere.
‘Let me.’ Hugh sat down beside her and reached for the bracelet. He opened the clasp and slipped the bracelet over Rose’s slender wrist, snapping it shut firmly. Then he turned the little padlock over so that Rose could see what was engraved on the back.
‘R & H 40 years.’
‘I know it’s corny…’ he said with a grin.
‘It’s not corny at all,’ Rose said softly. She held the bracelet closer so she could see it more clearly. ‘I love it. It’s the nicest present you’ve ever given me.’
‘Better than the girls?’
‘I had something to do with them myself,’ Rose laughed. ‘You weren’t the one who had an emergency caesarean with Holly!’
‘True.’ He kissed her hand with an old-fashioned flourish, then got up. He looked handsome in a new grey suit with a silver grey shirt and a yellow silk tie. To Rose’s eyes, he didn’t look much different from the strong, blond-haired man who whisked her down the aisle forty years before. Only the fine lines on his face and the thinning hair revealed that he wouldn’t see sixty again.
