by Melissa Hill
Now that she had more time on her hands, Chloe was going to do a little digging around, and she wouldn’t stop until she got to the bottom of this Nicola thing – once and for all.
* * *
Dan drove furiously down the Stillorgan dual carriageway.
Shit! Why did he let that slip? Chloe would never shut up about it now, and God knows she was a nightmare once she had something to complain about. She would be on and on at him forever.
Chloe was so unlike Nicola really, he thought, turning onto the coast road. In fact, the two of them couldn’t have been more different. Nicola had always been most pragmatic and level-headed about things, whereas Chloe would fly off the handle at nothing. Not that Nicola would hide from a confrontation, he thought with a wry smile. Indeed, quite the opposite. But Nicola didn’t get her knickers in a twist over things like . . . well, like the colour of her knickers, and whether or not you could see it through her trousers, or if it went with this dress, or these boots or . . .
Dan found himself tuning out during Chloe rants about her clothes, her shoes, and lately, about this bloody wedding. He was sorry in a way that it had had to be put off, because now he’d have to put up with another five months odd of planning – not just the Perfect Wedding – but the Perfect Winter Wedding. She was already talking about dressing the men up in some kind of Russian-themed get-up, complete with furry hats and high leather boots. His father would certainly love that!
What was it with Chloe and weddings? Why did she feel that she had to impress people? He knew that most women went a little bit batty over their Big Day, but was only realising now how lucky he had been the first time round. Wedding trivia had never bothered Nicola, and she was quite happy with their cosy, intimate wedding in the Caribbean that time.
In fact, Dan thought, there was very little that could bother his first wife.
He stopped in the carpark overlooking Sandymount Strand. Despite himself, Dan was thinking about Nicola more and more these days, and a lot more than he should be. He was getting married in a few months, for goodness sake! But yet, since meeting her last week in Bray, he just couldn’t stop thinking about her.
She had been so calm and so together. He had expected the worst – anger, admonishment, bitterness – something after all that time. But Nicola seemed fine; she seemed strong, calm and amazingly, she seemed . . . happy. Dan wasn’t sure what he had expected, but he certainly hadn’t expected that.
She looked beautiful too, he thought wistfully – despite her weight gain. No amount of physical change could dampen that spirited, determined glint in her eye, the very thing that had attracted him to her in the first place. Nicola had always been strong-willed; whatever had made him think that she would fall to pieces? Dan smiled wistfully, remembering their very first encounter in O’Connell St that time.
Yes, Nicola had always been the strong, forceful one in their marriage, always able to handle anything that was thrown at her, never letting anything faze her. Dan looked out to sea.
Except for that one time, of course.
* * *
They were almost a year married at the time. Nicola was losing it, and Dan didn’t know how to help her. It was like as if he didn’t know who she was any more. What had happened to his wonderful, sunny, carefree wife?
Well, of course, Dan knew what had happened. It had been a tragedy, and a devastating disappointment to both of them. But however much they wanted that baby, and however much it hurt, there was absolutely nothing they could do to bring it back. The miscarriage had happened. There was no reason, no explanation; it just happened. Dan could see it, could partly understand it, so why couldn’t he help Nicola see it?
How could he help? How could he bring her out of the fog that had now surrounded and completely consumed her – the most important person in his life?
He couldn’t get into her head, couldn’t even begin to understand how she was feeling. “Time will heal,” they all said, doctors, nurses, Laura, her mother.
So each day Dan would come home from work, hoping for some improvement, some tiny glimpse of the old Nicola but no, she’d still be sitting listlessly in front of the TV, not having bothered to get dressed, barely having bothered to get out of bed.
She’d just about look up when he came in, would only seem to come out of her trance when she heard the door close behind him. And when he went to kiss her, instead of throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly like she used to do, Nicola would barely respond – she would barely even move.
Dan knew she was grieving but he also thought she blamed him. He should have looked after her better, or should have at least realised that something was wrong. But could he be – had he been at fault? Dan didn’t think so. These things did happen. Maybe he shouldn’t have suggested they go out as much as they had at the weekends? God knows sitting in dank and smoky pubs wouldn’t exactly have improved the baby’s chances.
They had been having a lot of sex too, especially in the early days, but the doctors had told Nicola that it was safe, hadn’t they? And it wasn’t as though he was pushing her or anything; it was just he and Nicola the way they always were, reaching for each other, reaffirming their love as often as possible. But perhaps even more so once her pregnancy was confirmed. They had been so happy.
Maybe they were wrong.
Eventually as the days went by, Nicola seemed to at least come out from under her blanket of fog, and start becoming human again. After almost two weeks she got up, got dressed, went back to work, and went about her day-to-day business just as before.
Except she wasn’t the same Nicola. She was this faraway, preoccupied Nicola, and Dan didn’t recognise her any more. He couldn’t remember the last time they had had a conversation that lasted longer than two sentences, and it was never about anything other than trivialities. She got on with her life as though he didn’t exist.
It hurt. It hurt desperately. He was losing her, and he didn’t know how to prevent it. After a while, it became almost impossible to stay in the same room with her evening after evening, and be unable to share, to talk, to laugh like they once did.
So Dan found that he began to avoid spending time with her. It started out subconsciously; he would stay late working on a set of accounts that needed to be ready for sign-off before Friday. And he told John that yes, of course they could take on more clients, even though the practice had already been more successful than either had anticipated, and their respective offices were already overburdened.
And eventually it was easier that way. Dan could live with himself. He could live with himself because he didn’t have to see the pain and disappointment in his wife’s eyes every time he looked at her, and he thought that maybe if he stayed away long enough, then one day the old Nicola would return.
One evening, Dan was sitting in his office staring at the computer screen, and thinking about all that he was about to lose, or worse, about what had already been lost.
“Dan?”
He jumped.
Someone popped a head around the door of his office. “What are you still doing here?”
Dan caught his breath. “Shannon, you scared the living daylights out of me! I didn’t think there was anybody else here. I’m working on – on the P35 for Manning Packaging.” He picked up the first company file that came to hand. John had recently taken on Shannon to act as PA, hoping that an extra person would help them deal with the workload. The decision had been resented by Nicola, and indeed by Carolyn. But Dan couldn’t do anything about it at the time, as it had been John’s decision. Anyway, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to do anything – he liked Shannon.
“At eight o’clock?” she frowned. “Dan, don’t you think you should be heading home soon?”
“I just have a few small things to finish up, then I’ll go. What about you? It’s not like you to be working late.”
“I wasn’t, actually. I left earlier but I forgot my mobile, so I came all the way back to get it.” She gave him a mischie
vous look. “I’m expecting an important call tonight.”
Dan grinned back. “Oh? Do I know about this one?” Shannon always had some man on the go – be it past, present or future.
“No. He’s new on the scene,” she said coquettishly. “I met him at the weekend. He’s nice, seems like my type.”
“Nice? That definitely doesn’t sound like your type.” Dan laughed for what seemed like the first time in ages.
“Oh, well. I’ll see how it goes, anyway.” Shannon went back towards the doorway. Then she paused. “Dan, is everything OK?”
He stiffened. “Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Look, I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you look awful.”
“Thanks a bunch.”
“No, I don’t mean . . .” She floundered. “Look, I just wondered how things were going – at home, I mean. You haven’t said much and, well, we haven’t really had a chance to talk about it.”
Dan looked at her. Shannon knew about the miscarriage, everyone here did. Should he confide in her his fears about Nicola? God knows he needed to confide in someone, but it almost felt like a betrayal. Especially as Nicola and Shannon had never seemed to get on all that well, and as a result Dan had consciously cooled his friendship with her. Yet they were still friends and before Nicola they had been very close. He threw down his pen. Fuck it, he needed to talk to someone, otherwise he’d crack up soon.
“Things are a little . . . delicate,” he offered eventually.
Shannon gave him a compassionate look. “It’s understandable, you know. I’m sure losing a much-wanted baby wasn’t easy for her.”
“It wasn’t easy for me either, but nobody seems to understand, or even consider that.”
“I can imagine.” Shannon nodded, then looked at her watch. “Look, Dan, you need to get out of here. Let’s go next door for a pint, and we can have a good long chat.” She gave him a winning smile.
Dan thought that sounded great. “Are you sure? Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
She shook her head. “Not really. If lover-boy rings, I can talk to him from there. Go on, get your things.”
“Great.” Dan looked relieved.
As he shut down his computer and collected his briefcase, he discovered he was feeling better already. This was exactly what he needed. A cosy pub, a decent pint of plain and a good listener.
As Dan followed her out to the hallway and locked the office door behind them, Shannon looked across, and flashed him a beaming grin.
Chapter 20
“GOOD AFTERNOON, LAURA Connolly Design?” Laura closed her eyes in silent prayer. Please, please, let it be that man calling back – the one who was looking for the engagement ring that time.
Three weeks later it was highly unlikely. That day, having returned from collecting Keny, she had waited and waited for him to phone back, but no call had been forthcoming. The disappointment had been almost unbearable, as was the fact that there was no chance of piecing together his name, or his mobile number.
Still, Helen had been so grateful for the favour, and when she came to collect her daughter that same evening she had presented Laura with the most gorgeous bottle of designer perfume for her trouble. But the favour turned out to be longer-lived than Laura had expected. Since then, she had collected Keny from playschool nearly three nights out of five in the last few weeks and again this afternoon.
“Hello?” she repeated, when there was no reply.
A short pause at the other end. “Um, hello? Is that Laura?”
“Yes, it is. Who’s speaking please?”
“Laura, how are you, pet? Kathleen Brennan here.”
“Oh, hello, Kathleen, how are you?”
Kathleen Brennan, Laura thought. Kathleen Brennan from Glengarrah. What the hell did she want? Then Laura collected herself. Was it possible – could it be that Kathleen was looking to buy something from her? Perhaps her mother had been telling people about the business, after all. Why else would the village busybody be phoning her?
“Well, it’s like this, Laura,” Kathleen began, as if reading her thoughts, “your mother told me all about how you’re working for yourself these days.”
Brilliant! Laura thought. Maureen had come through for her, after all. Now what would Kathleen be looking for, a brooch to wear at Mass on Sunday, or maybe a present for her husband? She could do a gorgeous set of cufflinks that would suit Cornelius Brennan, something simple but very elegant, something he’d love . . .
Kathleen’s voice broke into her thoughts. “And she told me that you know all about the dubbleya-dubbleya and wouldn’t mind doing me a turn.”
“Sorry?” Laura’s eyes widened. Dubbleya what? The woman was babbling. She remembered Kathleen had a mild stroke a few years ago but, as far as Laura knew, it hadn’t affected her speech.
“It’s just myself and the other women on the bingo bus would love to see Daniel O’Donnell playing at the Opera House down in Cork, but we wouldn’t know how to go about it, and then Maureen said you could get it on the dubbleya-dubbleya.”
Now Laura was really lost. What was she on about?
“Kathleen, I’m not really sure –”
“I have it written here on the back of my hand,” Kathleen said, and then took a deep breath as if reciting something. “Dubbleya, dubbleya, dubbleya, ticketshop, dot –”
“Oh!” Laura interjected, realisation finally dawning. “You mean the internet!”
“Well, yes of course,” Kathleen sounded put out. “The dubbleya-dubbleya. You’re supposed to be able to get tickets from that. So if you wouldn’t mind booking twelve of us for Thursday 14th . . .”
Laura bristled. This was the second time she had played booking agent to someone from Glegarrah. Only the other day, one of Cathy’s friends had phoned to ask if Laura could go online and help book flights to London and a cheap hotel for her and her husband. “It’s supposed to be the cheapest way to do it,” she had said cheerily. After spending nearly an hour and a half trawling through various tourism and hotel-reservation websites, Laura had eventually found something that would suit. To top it all off, she had to use her own credit card to make the booking, as Cathy’s friend had none.
“I’d be dangerous with one of those things,” she laughed, as Laura stonily input the details. “Anyway, I’ll get Cathy to set you right next time you’re home.”
Laura wouldn’t mind doing anyone a favour, but she was getting a little sick of being used as the Glengarrah internet café. Her last phone bill had been huge as a result and if Kathleen Brennan and her bingo buddies had got wind of the internet, then Laura could end up doing this full-time.
Yet she hadn’t the heart to say no to the woman.
“I’ll have a look for you, Kathleen,” Laura told her, logging onto the ticketshop website. “How many tickets did you say you’d like me to book?”
“Twelve, please,” Kathleen said in the manner of someone who was ordering mushrooms from the vegetable man, “and try and get us as close to the man himself as you can.”
Laura tried to think of something to talk about as she waited for the website to appear on screen. She didn’t know Kathleen Brennan all that well, “So, Kathleen, how are things at home?”
“Fine, pet. You haven’t been home yourself in a while, have you? Although why would you? There’s nothing here for young ones these days. Yourself and Helen Jackson had the right idea emigrating to Dublin and getting good jobs for yourselves.”
Emigrating! Good God, Laura thought Glengarrah was, and always had been, one of those villages in which the inhabitants were suspicious and dismissive of the ‘Big City’. Carlow was fine, small enough to get around, and no fear of anyone trying to stab you or run away with your purse or anything. God help any of them if they ever had to go to New York, Laura thought giddily.
“And how is Helen these days?” Kathleen asked, and Laura sensed a tone of faint disapproval behind the supposedly off-hand question. Helen could never be considered as a c
andidate for Glengarrah Person of the Year. In fact, she abhorred the place and only returned a few times a year to visit her widowed father. Most of the older women found this almost as scandalous as the fact that Helen, in no uncertain terms, had told Maisie Davis where to go, when one time Maisie had the cheek to ask after ‘the poor child’s father’.
“And Maisie only trying to be friendly!” Laura’s mother had relayed the story to her word for word about an hour after it happened. Laura wasn’t surprised that Helen had reacted the way she did. When they got together, the women of Glengarrah were like a pack of vultures, pouncing gleefully on any piece of gossip or information about one of their own.
“Helen is fine, Kathleen,” Laura answered, vaguely satisfied to discover that the Daniel O’Donnell concert was booked out.
“I’m very sorry, Kathleen,” she said, after explaining the situation to the older woman. “Maybe if you had given me a bit more notice –”
“Are you sure now?” Kathleen sounded sceptical. “They couldn’t be all gone, could they? Even the ones down the back?”
“Well, I can’t actually see the theatre on screen here. It just tells me that the show is sold out.”
There was a sniff at the other end. “I was so looking forward to it too. Are you absolutely certain, Laura?”
The woman was almost in tears. Laura knew that Kathleen and her bingo cronies would be devastated. And, of course, it would be all Laura’s fault for not being able to get the tickets on the ‘dubbleya, dubbleya’.
“Definitely. Maybe some other time.” Shit, why had she said that? Now half the village would be ringing her up looking for things.
“OK, Laura. I’ll tell your mother you tried, but I’d say she’ll be very disappointed altogether.”
