Not What You Think

by Melissa Hill

  In Helen’s opinion the whole thing had been an expensive waste of time.

  Jo however, had thrown herself wholeheartedly into the programme Dr Davis had advised. She was careful never to react overtly to Kerry’s repetitions, and never to interrupt, or finish a sentence for her.

  Helen still believed that dramatising and paying too much attention to Kerry’s so-called problem was only contributing to it. Kerry usually only stuttered when she was over-excited or surprised by something. What toddler didn’t have problems getting sentences out when they were excited?

  What the hell was she supposed to do, she asked herself, as she settled Kerry in the backseat of the Golf. She could hardly force the words out of her, could she? The way Jo went on, you’d swear Kerry’s problems were all Helen’s fault. Couldn’t she see that she was just doing her best? Anyway, Kerry had just started attending pre-school, so mixing with other kids would probably sort out the so-called ‘problem’ once and for all. Nothing like a narky teacher to get you learning properly, she thought, remembering her own school days.

  She glanced in her rear-view mirror to where Kerry was sitting in silence.

  “So what did you do at Jo’s today?” she asked, then idly remembered Dr Davis mentioning something about trying not to ask questions that required a lengthy response.

  “We made Wice Kwispie buns,” Kerry answered without stumbling.

  There, Helen thought, she knew Jo was overreacting. The woman overreacted to everything. She could just imagine Jo trying to force Kerry to say various things throughout the day. No wonder her daughter struggled at times.

  “And did Mark help with the Rice Krispie buns?” she asked.

  “Yep,” Kerry said quickly, “buh-buh-buh-buh . . .” She hesitated and caught her mother’s eye in the rear-view mirror.

  Unbeknownst to herself, Helen was frowning. “But what?” she finished for her.

  Kerry looked uncomfortable. “Sometimes the w-w-w-words get s-s-s-stuck in my mouth, Mommy,” she said mournfully. “Jo says it’s called b-b-b-bumpy talk.”

  “What? There’s no such thing, Kerry. You’re still only a little girl, that’s all.”

  Kerry looked away and out of the window, her mother’s dismissive explanation not sitting well with her.

  Helen was livid. Jo had obviously been putting ideas in her daughter’s head. What kind of a thing was that to do? Now Kerry believed she had some kind of a problem.

  That was all Helen needed!

  She felt a familiar impatience rise up from the pit of her stomach. It was hard enough as it was, doing a hard day’s work, without having to play up to Kerry as well. It was all right for Jo, she had a husband to share the domestics and cater for her every whim, with nothing to trouble her but what to watch on television every evening. She didn’t have to face a mountain of washing and an untidy apartment to clean. She didn’t have to spend the next few hours working on a presentation for a client, and then be expected to ‘listen selectively’ to a three-and-a-half-year-old.

  Jo had really annoyed her with the suggestion that she wasn’t doing enough to help Kerry with her speech. What did she know about raising a child?

  Helen sighed. Everything seemed to be getting on top of her these days. She knew that she had been unfairly negative with Laura that time about her plans for her new business, and she was being especially impatient and impossible at work. Normally she took a hardline approach with her sales team, believing that respect and a little bit of fear would get better results than treating them all like babies. But today, one of the newer girls on her sales team had asked Helen for advice, and she had nearly bitten off the poor girl’s head. How could anyone be expected to get results if Helen carried on like that?

  Glancing in the rear-view mirror, she indicated right and drove towards her apartment in Monkstown.

  She needed a break. Even a decent night out would do, but when was the last time she’d had one of those? As expected, the delectable Richard Moore hadn’t been in contact. In the same way that all the promising men she had gone out with had never again been seen or heard from, once they learnt of Kerry’s existence.

  It wasn’t fair. Why should she be doomed to a lifetime of spinsterhood just because she was a single mother? She had done her best for Kerry, was always doing her best for Kerry and what thanks did she get for it all? Absolutely none. Kerry was clingy, tearful and needy and now, thanks to Jo, she was becoming increasingly aware of her speech difficulty. She always made Helen feel guilty for going out at night without her, although she loved staying at Auntie Nicola’s where she could play with Barney or sometimes Auntie Laura’s where she was fussed over by Neil.

  But what about Helen? Who the hell would fuss over her?

  Helen let herself and Kerry into the building, then checked the postbox in the hallway. There was only one envelope addressed to her and she recognised the handwriting immediately. Great – Jamie’s guilt money. At least that might help pay some of these speech-therapy bills.

  She put the key in the door of their modern, expensive ground-floor apartment. What was wrong with her lately? Why was she so down all the time? But she didn’t need to look very far for an answer.

  She was desperately lonely. She wanted – no, she needed someone – someone to share the gossip when she came home after a long hard day in the office, someone to get excited as she did over the football results. She needed intelligent, exciting conversation, something more stimulating than babbling and questions from a three-and-a-half-year-old. She needed someone to cuddle up to when she was feeling down, someone to share her problems and tell her that everything would be all right.

  Someone who didn’t leave a mess in the kitchen, and toys all over the living-room.

  Helen just needed someone to love her, to fulfil her, to make her happy.

  In the same way Jamie had before Kerry had come along and ruined everything.

  Chapter 7

  ON TUESDAY MORNING, Nicola was yawning as she approached the leisure centre. She hated opening up, especially at this hour, and sure enough there were some very early birds waiting in the doorway, ready and anxious to fit in a workout before heading off to a full day’s work.

  Motiv8’s assistant manager, who usually opened the centre had phoned Nicola at 6am that morning, and announced that she had a throat infection and would be out for the next few days. She had arranged for Jack Duffy to cover her early-morning pool duty, but as a result of her absence and the fact that one of the gym attendants had called in sick, Nicola would need to man the reception until at least mid-morning, instead of tackling her paperwork like she had intended.

  Nicola remembered with a shudder that because of Ken’s idea to bring in more custom, they were now holding a Mother and Baby swimming morning on Tuesdays. Terrific, she said to herself as she greeted the members outside the Motiv8 entrance: hours of screaming kids and fussy mothers was just what Nicola needed today. She switched on the lights and the electricity and soon a handful of members appeared from the changing rooms eager to begin a warm-up.

  Although she wouldn’t admit it to Laura, Nicola had been sent into a tailspin by the news of Dan’s impending second marriage.

  At the time, she had read the invite word for word and dismissed it with a cursory wave of her arm. “What he does these days is none of my business,” she had said airily and waited in the car while Laura went to return the invites to Amazing Day Designs. According to her friend, upon her empty-handed return from the store, the wrong box had been given out to the other party a day earlier and hadn’t yet been returned.

  Nicola now wondered whether Dan had been aware of the mistake, whether he had seen Laura’s invites. He would almost certainly recognise the name.

  She shook her head. It was as if somebody somewhere wanted her to know about Dan’s intentions, seeing as he hadn’t bothered letting her know about it himself. She hadn’t known he was even in a relationship. Then again, she thought, checking the acidity level in the swim
ming-pool, why would he tell her?

  They had been out of one another’s lives for a long time now – years in fact. But the divorce had come through only last year. Good old Dan hadn’t wasted any time, had he?

  Then again, she could hardly talk. She and Ken had got together just before the divorce was finalised, and Nicola hadn’t exactly gone running to Dan about that, had she? Although, she thought uncomfortably, that was different and, of course, Ken and Dan knew one another from when Nicola worked with Ken in town.

  She wondered idly what the future Mrs Hunt was like. Judging by the get-up of the invitations and the plush hotel hosting the reception, her family must be worth a few bob. And she was probably young, definitely younger than Dan, anyway. Nicola smiled as she adjusted the pool backwash. She was almost certainly blonde. Dan always had a thing for blondes.

  So Dan was getting on with it. Should she be really be all that surprised? Nicola wasn’t sure. It’s not as though she’d even thought about him since her return. Not all that much, anyway.

  She sighed and shook her head. There was no point in reminiscing about it now. After all, hadn’t she been the one insisting they get on with their lives? Hadn’t she been the one to move away – away from the disappointment and regret that would surely have consumed her had she stayed here?

  After their official separation and her move to London, she had instructed her solicitor to begin divorce proceedings, and luckily Dan hadn’t objected to the terms, nor her plans to sell their home and split the proceeds.

  Upon her return, Nicola had bought a small, two-bedroom cottage in Stepaside, not far from Laura’s house in Ballinteer, and initially had stayed at her mother’s while having some essential modifications done.

  Just under a year later, her English divorce had come through with the minimum of fuss, and Nicola and Dan hadn’t spoken face to face in years. Now he was getting married again. Should she care? Should it bother her that he hadn’t told her? Then again, how could he have told her, even had he wanted to? For a time, she had been living with her aunt in Fulham and he wouldn’t have known how to contact her other than through her family or Laura. He would have known that Laura wouldn’t be too forthcoming with any details, and he would surely have known that the hurt would still be very raw for her own family too.

  Nicola sighed. She hadn’t yet said anything to Ken about the mix-up with the invites, and because she hadn’t told him about it at the time, she now wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. She could hardly admit that it was bothering her, could she?

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud roar coming from the gym. Great, she thought with a groan, the first treadmill casualty of the day!

  * * *

  Later that evening, at dinner, Laura was outlining events to her fiancé who had returned that evening from another trip abroad.

  “It was awful, Neil. I didn’t know what to say to her,” she said, spooning mashed potatoes onto her plate. “I feel a bit guilty for asking her to come to Wicklow with me. If I had gone on my own, I would’ve seen the mistake and said nothing.”

  Neil gave her a shrewd glance. “You would have said nothing? I don’t think so, love. You wouldn’t be able to keep something like that from her.”

  “Maybe,” she sighed deeply. “Still, she carried on as though it didn’t affect her, but surely she must have felt something?”

  But Nicola had said nothing about it since, nothing at all. Laura knew her friend well enough to know that the incident would have knocked her for six. And why wouldn’t it? It had certainly given Laura a shock. Dan – getting married again? It just didn’t seem real.

  “Well, maybe it doesn’t bother her,” Neil said. “I mean, it’s over and done with a long time ago and Dan’s well out of her life now.”

  “Have you seen him yourself, lately?” she asked. The couples had socialised a lot together and she knew that both Dan and Neil had continued their drinking buddy friendship for a while after the separation, until the strain of trying not to mention Nicola had finally got to them both.

  Neil laid down his knife and fork. “OK, I may as well admit it. I knew about the wedding.”

  “What?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t say anything because it’s not really any of my business.”

  “Neil!”

  “Well, it isn’t! Anyway, John O’Leary rang me up one day looking for a cheap holiday and we got talking.”

  Laura snorted. “Typical!” Dan’s partner in the accountancy practice was as tight as a duck’s backside, and would try anything for a freebie.

  “We met for lunch, naturally I asked how Dan was doing and he told me he was getting married to – his exact words – ‘a cute little blonde with a body to die for’.”

  Laura made a face. “What a sleazebag!”

  Neil nodded. “I know, I never liked him myself, but what could I do?” He began to eat again.

  “What else did he say?”

  “Well, Dan and this other girl had been going out for a while, and apparently they got engaged shortly after the divorce came through.”

  “Rat!”

  “Oh come on, Laura! What was Dan supposed to do? Nicola wanted the divorce.”

  “Hold on a second,” Laura interjected. “What was she supposed to do? Stay married to him – after everything?”

  Neil answered with his mouth full. “Depends on how you look at it, I suppose.”

  “Just don’t start.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t start taking his side again.”

  “Laura, it was years ago. Don’t you think that Dan has suffered enough? Doesn’t he deserve some happiness too?”

  “What do you mean ‘too’?”

  “Well, Nicola’s fine now, isn’t she? Her life’s back on track, she has Ken and she’s doing fine.” Neil shrugged and continued eating, his point made as far as he was concerned.

  “Will you listen to yourself – sticking up for that – that coward! Nicola is our friend, for goodness sake.”

  “OK, OK, you’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just sometimes . . .” he trailed off.

  “What?”

  “Well, sometimes I don’t know who to feel most sorry for. I know that Nicola had it tough, but Dan, well, he was the outcast in all of this, wasn’t he?”

  “With good reason!”

  “Yes, but . . . oh look, let’s not talk about it any more. There’s no point in our fighting about it, is there?”

  “No, but I can’t believe you didn’t tell me he was getting married again.”

  “What was the point? They’re divorced, they’ve both moved on – end of story.”

  End of story? For Nicola’s sake, Laura hoped so.

  She knew that Dan and Nicola hadn’t spoken since the divorce. In fact they had stopped speaking long before then, back when the hurt was still there, for Nicola anyway. But surely Dan should have had the decency to inform his ex of his plans, to let her know that he was beginning a new life, albeit a life without her. But, she thought, Dan had changed, had begun to change a long time ago.

  Laura cleared the table, and as she began to wash up she let her mind drift back to the very first time she and Nicola had laid eyes on Dan Hunt.

  * * *

  The two had headed into town for late-night shopping, and had been sitting in an unmoving and seemingly unending line of traffic on O’Connell St for over forty-five minutes. Nicola, who hated town at the best of times, was not impressed.

  “Oh, I’m so bloody sick of this!” she groaned.

  “What?” Laura had said airily, rummaging in her handbag for a hairbrush.

  “The blasted traffic, what do you think?” Nicola impatiently tapped the steering wheel.

  “Oh that.”

  There had been no forward movement for twenty minutes, and the pelting rain seemed to contribute to the misery of their scenario, at least for Nicola. Then again, Laura thought, Nicola normally cycled wherever she could in order to avoid the traffic. “All th
at stress isn’t good for my health!” she’d argue, and Laura had to agree, suspecting that the very concept of road rage had been invented with Nicola in mind. Traffic, quite literally, drove her friend crazy, but Laura couldn’t really understand why she always got so worked up about it. It was hardly a surprise; these days traffic and Dublin went hand in hand, and there was little point in getting upset about something you couldn’t control. After all, everybody else was in a similar jam. Laura giggled at her own unintended pun, but quickly altered her expression when Nicola glowered at her.

  “I don’t know why you’re being so cheerful about it anyway,” Nicola said smartly. “Aren’t you going to be late for your hairdresser’s appointment?”

  Laura checked her watch. “Oh, shit! I had completely forgotten about that!” She was already fifteen minutes late and they weren’t anyway near the Ilac Centre’s multistorey carpark.

  “Well, you could always go on ahead without me,” Nicola suggested. “If I can organise parking before the end of the next millennium, we can meet up somewhere afterwards.”

  “Are you sure? I shouldn’t be too long; it’s only a blow dry.” Laura checked her side mirror to ensure that she didn’t topple some unsuspecting cyclist upon opening her passenger door as she’d done once before.

  “Go ahead,” Nicola sighed. “I’ll text your mobile and let you know where I am, assuming that I get out of here before rigor mortis sets in.”

  “It’s my fault – I shouldn’t have dragged you all the way in here tonight. The traffic is always crazy for late-night shopping.”

  Nicola waved her away with a grin. “Off you go – you can make it up to me by treating me to something nice in Bewley’s later.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes – go on!”

  Laura stepped out onto the wet tarmac and weaved in and out between the halted cars, struggling against the heavy wind and rain with her umbrella.

  She felt awful about leaving her friend like that. After all, it had been her idea to come into town this evening and Nicola wasn’t particularly enamoured of shopping. Her friend was a rare breed of female shopper in the sense that she became impatient very easily. And browsing was a dirty word as far as she was concerned. If Nicola wanted something she bought it there and then, none of this have-a-look-somewhere-else-and-then go-back-to-the-first-shop-anyway business. Which in Laura’s book was half the fun.