by Cathy Kelly
Wendy stared at her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, it’s a bit convenient, isn’t it? He and you split up, he rushes back home and suddenly, there’s this new woman on the scene. I’d call that a bit quick, wouldn’t you?’ Clarisse looked archly at her former sister-in-law. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m interfering, Wendy, but I wanted to mark your card. I have a suspicion that Nick isn’t being totally honest with you about Stella.’
Wendy dropped her fork with a clatter, not caring if the noise startled all the lunching movers and shakers. She gulped down her champagne and stared grimly at Clarisse.
‘I’m not saying anything for definite,’ Clarisse went on, waving a be-ringed hand in the direction of the waitress for service. ‘I just thought you ought to know.’
Wendy needed another glass of champagne. To hell with the car. She’d leave it in the car park.
‘The other interesting thing,’ Clarisse was getting into her stride now, ‘is when I asked how she was getting on with the girls. Well, you could have cut the atmosphere with a knife. She smiled, yes, but you could see she wasn’t smiling inside. Oh no. Nick just sat there and he looked grey. That’s it,’ Clarisse said triumphantly, ‘that’s your trump card, Wendy. The girls don’t like her and Nick would never stay with anyone if the girls don’t get on with her. He’d do anything for Sara and Jenna. You could have him back with a snap of your fingers.’
A bottle of the house champagne arrived.
‘We’re divorced,’ said Wendy weakly. ‘He’s my ex-husband.’
‘Piffle,’ said Clarisse dismissively. ‘You can get married again. People do it all the time. Just a blip until you came to your senses. Nick and you had a fine marriage and let me tell you,’ she waggled a witchy finger across the table, ‘there aren’t too many single men waiting around for women of our age. Nick’s a catch, that’s why Ms Never Been to the Beautician’s snapped him up so quickly.’
Wendy sipped her champagne. It was lonely on her own. And dealing with Jenna was becoming more and more difficult. Together in the house, they snapped at each other from morning to night with no Nick to calm things down and jolly Jenna out of her sulks.
The part of Wendy’s mind that had accepted the irretrievable demise of their marriage simply shut down. They could do it for the children’s sakes. Wendy could have coped with staying together for the children in the first place: that was what women did, wasn’t it? Only Nick had said it was no good any more, that it had been over for years and they both knew it. And she’d known he was telling the truth, then. But now…
Clarisse was right: Nick adored their daughters. He’d do anything for them. Sara was old enough to cope on her own but Jenna needed stability.
‘Have some more champagne,’ said Clarisse, reaching over with the bottle.
‘Don’t mind if I do,’ said Wendy.
‘You see,’ Clarisse went on, ‘if I were you, Wendy, love, not that I want to put my oar in or anything, but if I were you, I’d let that woman see that the children come first with Nick. Let her see where Nick’s loyalties lie. That’ll take the wind out of her sails.’
Clarisse, who’d taken an instant dislike to Stella Miller, sat back in satisfaction. She’d seen through Stella instantly. Women like her were just after other women’s husbands. Clarisse knew the type. They waited until there was a chink in a good marriage and then bam! They were in there with their big eyes and their firm bodies. They were a danger to decent women, Clarisse decided firmly. She didn’t want Howard getting any ideas from the likes of her.
‘He does adore the girls,’ said Wendy tearfully.
‘There you are, then,’ said Clarisse. She raised her glass. ‘To the future,’ she said.
Stella loved having Nick pottering round the galley kitchen with her. Not that he was up to taking over any of the major culinary tasks unless it involved putting a chicken in the oven, but he was eager to peel, slice and chop, and he never seemed to mind emptying the dishwasher, a task Stella hated. This was what family life was all about, Stella thought happily, as she gently poached pears for the Roquefort, pear and fig salad she was working on. It was a glorious Sunday at noon and they were getting ready for a buffet-style Sunday lunch in Stella’s tiny courtyard garden.
She and Nick had given it a fresh coat of white paint the previous week and now it was like a glorious, Moroccan-inspired sun trap, with clematis-covered walls. Prettily coloured pots clustered in the corners, while hanging baskets added vibrant colour.
Amelia was setting up her toys outside in the courtyard, in preparation for the arrival of Shona and Becky. Hazel, Ivan and the twins were due in half an hour, along with Vicki and the current love of her life, Craig from work.
‘What can I do next?’ asked Nick, leaning over her shoulder as she poached the pears. He nuzzled her neck and wrapped his arms tightly round her waist.
Stella forgot about poaching for a moment and leaned back against him, loving the feeling of his strong body wrapped around hers.
He’d stayed over the night before and the three of them had enjoyed a pizza. When Amelia was in bed, Stella and Nick had lain together on the couch and watched an old movie on the TV, blissfully happy until it was time for bed. That had been even more blissful. Their lovemaking had been intense and the relaxed atmosphere of the evening had vanished, to be replaced by fervent, very physical sex, where each one’s fierce passion had matched the other’s.
Their bodies slick with sweat, they’d come together, hungry for each other until finally, they’d climaxed fiercely.
‘Better than a sleeping pill any day,’ Stella had murmured, as she curled up beside him, her eyes already closing.
Now she felt sexy and loved, her muscles aching pleasurably from their acrobatics and aware of her lover’s body close beside hers. Sex definitely made her feel sexier, Stella thought, groaning with pleasure as Nick’s hands cupped her breasts and rubbed her nipples into exquisite peaks through her black vest top.
‘Stop or we won’t be having poached pears, we’ll be having mashed pears,’ she murmured. God, but he knew how to turn her on.
The sound of Amelia calling ‘Mum’ from the garden made them part, laughing.
‘Then stop tempting me with that little skimpy top thing,’ Nick retorted. ‘As you’re tied up, I’ll go and see what Amelia wants.’
Stella watched them through the window. Amelia was pointing at a bug which had landed on her dolls. Nick picked it up and carefully removed it, before coming back and crouching down beside Amelia to listen to her plans for a dolls’ tea party.
Stella tested the pears, thinking how lucky she’d been to find Nick.
He’d given her confidence in so many ways: confidence in her looks for one. Not that Stella had ever seen herself as ugly, but she’d always been restrained in her demeanour, wearing clothes that would have suited an older woman just as well, never giving in to the impulse to be young and daft. These days she bought jaunty modern tops, which she wore with comfortable jeans. She’d dumped her neutral lipsticks for rich glossy colours, and she wore all her vintage jewellery, instead of leaving it to look beautiful in her bedroom.
The sense of renewed confidence had included entertaining. Suddenly, it was fun to invite people over to lunch and dinner, and the new, improved Stella didn’t worry too much about the menu either. She flicked through her cookbooks, whisking up home-made pizza with salad and her own, fabulous bruschetta. She roasted huge garlic and lemon scented chickens, gently cooked baby vegetables, and dredged potato wedges in rosemary and spices. Today, she was serving a glorious buffet where less work and more conversation was to be the order of the day. She wasn’t worried that she only had four matching wine glasses and there would be six adult guests. They had enough glasses to go round, nobody would mind in the slightest.
Nick’s mobile phone rang.
‘Nick, phone!’ she called, grabbing it from the counter top and handing it to him through the patio doors.
‘Hi,
Jenna,’ he said warmly, stepping into the kitchen.
Stella scooped the pears out of the poaching liquid and arranged them in a dish. Next, she began to top them with cheese ready to be grilled. Fresh figs and scrolls of Parma ham in a mixed leaf salad with some dressing would finish it off.
Nick had gone into the living room to talk. The radio was loud, Stella acknowledged. It wasn’t that Nick didn’t like to talk to his daughter in front of her. Still, Stella couldn’t resist straining to overhear the conversation. She held her breath too and a little knot of tension crunched into place in her gut.
‘Of course I can come, darling. Don’t worry. Tell Mum not to worry, either.’
Alarm bells jangled in Stella’s head. He couldn’t mean that he was going to see Jenna and Wendy now. Jenna and Sara were going to an afternoon open-air gig in the Phoenix Park, which was why they’d cancelled their usual Sunday visit with Nick. That had given Stella the chance to organise this impromptu lunch. She didn’t usually plan anything with Nick on Sundays because it was one of his days with the girls. But now that Stella had planned something, Jenna had changed her mind. Impotent fury raged through Stella.
Nick’s face said sorry before he had a chance to get the words out.
‘It’s Jenna,’ he said. ‘Wendy’s car battery is dead and she can’t drive them to the concert. There are four of them going, so I said I’d drop over and drive them.’
‘Now?’
Nick grimaced. ‘Yes, now. Sorry, Stella, but she begged me.’
‘What’s wrong with the bus or a taxi?’ Stella asked tartly.
‘They’ll be late for the concert if they try either of those. You know what buses and taxis are like on Sundays. Listen, I won’t be long.’
‘You won’t be here to help me; you won’t be here to entertain everyone, even though it’s supposed to be our lunch.’ Stella could feel the blood thumping angrily through her arteries. ‘Why couldn’t you have said no to Jenna? This is important to me.’
‘It’s only a lunch,’ he said in placatory tones.
At this, all Stella’s much-vaunted patience drained away.
Nick tried to drop a forgive-me kiss onto her forehead but she was in no mood for kisses.
‘Only a lunch?’ she shrieked. ‘It’s not only a lunch. I invited my friends to come here and spend time with us, not me, us. And you have to go before they even arrive because your daughter can’t bear to be late to a concert and demands that you drive her instead of getting the bus like normal teenagers.’
This outburst from his gentle, calm Stella shocked Nick. ‘It’s not like that,’ he protested.
‘That’s exactly what it’s like,’ she shot back. ‘I can see precisely where I stand in your life, Nick. Way down the food chain, a long way below Jenna and Sara. No wonder Jenna doesn’t show me any respect – you don’t show me any respect! She knows that all she has to do is click her fingers and you jump, regardless of what I want. That’s what you’ve taught her, Nick, and I’m fed up with it.’
Nick listened silently to the tirade.
‘Do you know what’s the worst thing?’ Stella added. ‘I’m beginning to understand how Wendy felt – sidelined by Jenna and Sara.’
‘Please don’t say that, Stella,’ he begged. ‘You know how much I love you. This is something I have to do. Don’t make it into a big choice: you or my daughters.’
‘I’ve never asked you to choose,’ Stella said bleakly. ‘Never. I understand what it’s like to love a child, I’d never expect you to give that up for me. But you can love me and your daughters. All I’m asking for is respect from you and your family but Jenna will never respect me because you let her away with it; you’ve chosen to ignore her behaviour because you’re consumed with guilt over the divorce, and the person who gets hurt is me. So there is a choice in all of this.’ Stella stared at him. ‘And you’ve clearly made your decision. I’ve been too stupid to realise it up to now.’ She whirled around and began pointlessly re-chopping the fresh basil she’d already chopped.
‘I won’t be long, I’ll be back before you know it,’ Nick said. ‘We’ll talk about it then, please?’
She didn’t reply. Normally, Nick never so much as went out to buy a newspaper without kissing her goodbye tenderly. Today, she knew she couldn’t look at him again without screaming with all the pent-up rage that had curdled inside her for so long.
She listened to the sound of him picking up his car keys, then the front door shut and Stella burst into tears. The whole day was ruined and she knew who was to blame.
An hour later, nobody would have known that Stella had spent ten minutes crying in the bathroom where Amelia wouldn’t see her. The only tell-tale sign was the fact that Stella’s face was more made-up than usual, with heavier foundation to hide any tear stains and a smoky blast of Cabaret-style eyeliner to camouflage redness. Amelia didn’t notice that her mother had changed from her strappy top into a long flowing linen shirt that covered her as successfully as a Bedouin tent. Stella couldn’t bear to go on wearing the little top that Nick had admired so, she felt foolish in it. Her linen shirt was pre-Nick, pre-historic really.
‘Hazel, Ivan, come in!’ said Stella brightly when she answered the door to her guests. ‘Hello, Shona and Becky.’ She kissed both little girls, then hugged their parents.
‘You look very cool,’ said Hazel as she shut the door. ‘I’ve never seen you wear that before. Is it a kaftan?’
The doorbell rang merrily again. On the doorstep stood Vicki, Craig and a big bouquet of flowers.
‘Hello,’ said Vicki. ‘It’s only us.’
Stella greeted them effusively, and had to stop herself getting teary-eyed at the beautiful bouquet. Vicki was such a generous person. She wouldn’t dream of visiting a friend without bearing gifts.
‘You shouldn’t have, Vicki,’ Stella said, ‘but I’m glad you did. They’re lovely.’
‘You deserve them after doing all the cooking,’ Vicki grinned. ‘I’m famished, so I hope you’ve made buckets of whatever it is. I’m taking a day off my diet.’
Craig followed her, carrying a bottle of wine. Craig’s two-year pursuit of Vicki had finally paid off. Cheeky-faced with a mop of sandy hair and a quick-fire sense of humour, he was the perfect match for Vicki, whom he adored.
Stella led the way through to the courtyard and when the new paint job and the carefully-laid mosaic table with its pretty dishes and orange gerbera flower arrangement had been admired, Vicki plonked herself down on a chair, closed her eyes to the sun and basked. ‘I love eating outdoors,’ she sighed. ‘This is a wonderful idea, Stella. Thank you.’
Ivan and Craig sat down, while the twins and Amelia disappeared into the house on some errand of mischief. They spent all of their time in the twins’ house, so it was doubly exciting for the three of them to be together in Amelia’s home and she was keen to show them her newest treasures.
‘Drinks, everyone?’ asked Stella.
When Stella hurried back inside to get the mineral water and wine, Hazel followed.
‘Nick’s not here yet?’ she asked, admiring the platters of food in the fridge when Stella opened it.
‘Oh, he was called away on a work thing,’ said Stella airily. ‘The office alarm went off and he went in. He shouldn’t be long.’
Much and all as she hated lying to dear Hazel, Stella couldn’t bear to feel her friend’s inevitable pity if she revealed exactly where Nick had gone and why. It was bad enough that Stella now knew Nick would choose his daughters over her, every time. She didn’t want her friends to know it too. A woman could only take so much humiliation.
‘On a Sunday? What a pain,’ commiserated Hazel. ‘Wow, that looks incredible,’ she added as Stella lifted her pears and cheese combination and placed the dish under the grill.
Stella handed the wine and a bottle of mineral water to her friend. ‘Would you pour?’ she asked. ‘I’ve got to stay here.’
She went through the motions of finishing off the lunch p
reparations, and overheard Ivan ask when Nick was coming.
‘Oh, he got called in to work,’ Hazel replied.
‘Poor lamb, he’ll miss all the food,’ said Vicki sympathetically. ‘What is it about work – just when you’ve planned something wonderful, work messes it up.’
They talked of other things and by the time Stella emerged with two platters, the conversation had moved on to soccer.
In every respect, it was a perfect lazy lunch. Stella carried out her mini stereo so that the three children could listen to the pop music they loved. The sun shone all afternoon and there was much angling of the big sun parasol so that people could stay out of the burning heat. The buzz of happy chatter was loud and Stella was determined to act the hostess with the mostest, cheerily filling glasses, chatting nineteen to the dozen, jumping up from her seat to bring out a gorgeous strawberry meringue and fresh fruit for dessert. But, all the time, she was listening anxiously for the phone. Had Nick taken her outburst to heart, she wondered? Had he decided not to bother coming back at all?
‘Please, no more,’ groaned Ivan, when he’d had two portions of meringue and was leaning back in his chair patting his belly.
‘It’s time we went home,’ Hazel said regretfully. ‘It’s after three and I have a tonne of clothes to iron. It’s a pity Nick couldn’t get back. Did he phone?’
‘He left a message on the machine,’ Stella lied. ‘He’s stuck there, I’m afraid. Pity.’
She whisked around, piling up used plates and cutlery.
‘I’ll help,’ said Hazel.
‘Not at all.’ Stella flashed her best camera smile. ‘You go on, Hazel, and I’ll see you in the morning.’
When they were gone, Stella returned to the courtyard. Craig and Amelia were having a discussion about worm farms.
‘Can we look for worms in the pots, Mum?’ asked Amelia, keen to start her own farm now that she’d had it explained to her.
‘Under the clematis is probably better,’ said Stella. ‘Just be careful.’
