by Izzy Bayliss
Back at the reception, the mini cakes went down a treat and I had three other couples book me on the spot to do their weddings.
“Lily, how are you dear?” My aunt Flor said coming up beside me.
“I'm good, Auntie Flor,” I said leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek.
“And where’s the lovely Marc?” she asked. There it was, the question I had been dreading since I had opened the invitation. I grabbed a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter and gulped it back.
“Well he . . . mmh . . . well, he’s –”
She was looking at me expectantly.
“He’s working,” I finally finished as I fixed a smile on my face. I knew she wouldn't be one for the gossip magazines, and I just wasn’t ready to tell people and answer all the questions that would inevitably come. I wasn't ready yet to look like the world’s biggest disaster, having failed at marriage after only three months in. I knew it would all come out eventually, but for now I was prepared to lie.
“Ah the poor guy – but at least he has a job. Better to be working on a Saturday rather than be an out of work actor.”
“True,” I agreed taking another gulp from the glass.
The rest of the day continued in much the same way with relatives asking me where Marc was, and me replying that he was working. I also had to endure countless people telling me what a great day they had had at our wedding, and what a great couple Marc and I were. It was horrendous. Dad was beside me on one occasion, but in fairness he gave nothing away as he listened to me lying through my teeth.
Finally dinner was called and as we tucked into the meal, I could tell Clara was well on. She had been knocking back the champagne during the reception, and now she was lashing into the wine. She did this sometimes when she had a rare night away from her children. She had refused to drink the table wine being served with the meal because she claimed it wasn't “paired” properly, so had ordered her own bottle from the menu and was drinking it all by herself. Nobody else was able to get a word in. She was starting to talk louder than her usual level, which was already very loud. Her hands were waving all over the place as she regaled poor Tom with some story.
After the meal was finished I went to the bar to get a round of drinks. I was taking it easy myself - I still hadn’t got over the whole karaoke debacle. The bar was packed with everyone getting up after the meal ordering drinks. A guy squeezed in beside me. I had seen him in the church, he was very good looking, his blonde hair was styled and he wore a pink open necked shirt under a slim-fitting grey suit and brown leather brogues.
“Bride or groom?” he asked me while we waited on the barman to serve us.
“Sorry?”
“Which side are you on – the bride’s or the groom’s?”
“Oh right –” I said realising what he was talking about. He must have thought I was a complete imbecile. “Bride – Tina is my first cousin. How about you?”
“Groom – I work with Oliver.”
“Oh I see.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I always got nervous around really good looking men, whether I fancied them or not.
“What’s your name?” he continued.
Damn it why hadn’t I thought of that question.
“I’m Lily.”
“Matthew. Nice to meet you, Lily.” He held out his hand to shake mine. He had nice hands, big and manly, with just the right amount of roughness, not too soft.
“So where are you from?”
“Well originally from Dublin but living in Ballyrobin now,” I smiled.
“What brought a Dublin girl all the way out there?”
“It’s a long story . . .”
“I’ve got time.”
I felt my cheeks flush. Was he flirting with me? I wasn’t sure how people flirted anymore; it had been so long since I was in the game. Actually, I don’t think I was ever really in the game to be honest, because I had been with Marc since I was seventeen years old.
I gave a nervous laugh and I was pretty sure he thought I was a loon. I willed the barmen to hurry up and serve me, but the bar was deep with people. I felt someone tip my shoulder then and I turned around to see Clara.
“Can you get Dad a brandy instead? He needs an aperitif to help him digest the meal.”
“Sure.”
She eyed up Matthew waiting for an introduction. Her eyes were glassy and I knew she was tipsy.
“Sorry, Matthew – this is my sister, Clara,” I said. “Matthew works with Oliver.”
“I see,” Clara said looking at Matthew disapprovingly. She didn’t make any move to go. It was awkward as the two of us stood there with Clara eyeballing us.
“Well, Matthew, did Lily tell you about her little mishap?” Clara looked at me and then back to him again. What was she doing?
Matthew looked at me to see if I could shed some light on what the hell she was talking about.
“Clara, I –”
But she interrupted me again before I could finish. “Yes, our Lily is getting divorced? Aren’t you, Lily?” She practically hissed the word “divorced”. A few heads turned around – thank God they weren’t any of our relations.
Then she turned and left the bar as quickly as she arrived. What was wrong with her? I was just making polite conversation with the guy and she had turned the whole thing ugly. I watched his eyes widen to see if he had heard her right over the music and when I nodded to confirm his doubt, his face twisted up. Any minute now the excuses would come pouring out.
“Oooh, I just remembered I’m supposed to be getting in a group photo with the lads. Yeah, sorry I have to go. But nice to meet you, Lily.”
“Yeah you too,” I muttered as I watched him skidaddle as fast as his muscular legs would carry him.
It didn’t matter, it wasn’t as if I was even interested in men at the moment, but it was just typical of Clara. Well that had been my first test to see how guys reacted to the news of my separation, and it wasn’t pretty. He didn’t want to know, didn’t want the baggage. How to lose a guy in ten seconds.
I left the bar without the drinks and walked back to the table with Clara.
“Why did you do that, Clara?” I asked.
“Do what, Lily? Are you embarrassed about your divorce?” she shouted the word again, and even Tom told her to stop making a scene.
“I’m not getting divorced,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Lily – you’re separated, next step is divorce. Once the obligatory four years is up, Marc will be express-mailing you those papers just you wait and see!”
She clicked her fingers in the air at a passing waiter and ordered a bottle of Tattinger.
“Don’t you think maybe you’ve had enough to drink?” Tom said.
“Tom Kingston – if you think after five years straight of either being pregnant or breastfeeding that I am not entitled to a drink then you are sadly mistaken, my dear.”
Tom put his head down into his hands. She was obstreperous now.
“Oh yeah, Tom you just bury your head in the sand like an ostrich! Am I not entitled to a break now and again?” she continued.
“Of course you are, Clara, but I think you might be taking it a bit too far tonight.”
“Well you have some cheek! You don’t know how hard I have it! Do you think it’s easy for me going to the toilet with a toddler on my knee and another standing there watching me every time? And then they have to wave goodbye to Mr Pee Pee? Or don’t you think I get sick of having to fake excitement every time I see a plane or a choo-choo train? Or listening to the bloody Wheels on the Bus or the Happy Elf on loop in the car? Or what’s even worse is when I am alone in the car I still want to listen to the nursery rhymes because I don’t know any of the songs on the radio anymore!” She was growing hysterical.
“Whoa, there, Clara – maybe Tom is right,” I said softly. She was clearly plastered. She never, ever painted a bad picture of motherhood or showed us that she might find certain bits tedious or even hard
.
“How dare you, Lily!” she turned on me then. “How dare you lecture me!”
“Look maybe you should go and sleep for a little while,” Dad butted in.
“Sleep? Sleeeep? I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in over five years! Five years!” She was screeching now. “How would you feel if you hadn’t slept in five years?” She was screaming hysterically now.
“But the boys have been sleeping through the night since they were six weeks old?” I said.
“Six weeks. Ha!” she spat. “Maybe by the time they’re six years I might get a night’s sleep!”
Why would she not be honest over something like that? Why did she have to lie and say her boys were sleeping through the night when they weren’t? It made no difference to me whether they slept or not but that was Clara all over though – her boys had to be the best at everything, even sleeping. She saw parenting as some sort of competition. She sulkily drank the remainder of the bottle of champagne to herself without offering the rest of us any.
We talked among ourselves and let her at it. A while later Tom said he was going to bed, and asked Clara if she was coming, but she refused saying the party was only getting started. Tom went off to bed on his own and Clara stumbled up from her chair. She shakily made her way to the bar, balancing precariously in her Prada heels.
When I saw her coming back with another bottle of champagne, I groaned. She was already in such a state – she would be paralytic after another bottle.
“Right – I think you’ve had enough now, dear,” Dad said taking the bottle out of her hands before she had a chance to pour herself another glass. She was too drunk to argue with him. We watched her sway unsteadily in her seat until she suddenly jumped up, “I’m going to be sick.” She started running towards the bathroom.
“You better go after her, Lily” Dad sighed wearily.
I got up and followed her into the bathroom. I found her in the cubicle down the end, the door still open with her head hanging over the toilet bowl. The stench of vomit was unbearable. The other women using the bathroom were disgusted.
“Clara –”
I watched as she puked into the white ceramic bowl again. As you know from stain-gate, I am not good with sick at all. Clara’s hair was hanging down in front of her face with clumps of vomit in it. I gathered it back as best I could and held it behind her head with one hand and pinched my nose with my other one, while she continued to spew into the bowl. When she was finished, she sat on the speckled grey floor tiles with her back resting against the toilet bowl. She must have been out of it because Clara wouldn’t even use a public toilet, let alone sit on the floor of one.
“Thanks, s'Lily,” she said before she fell asleep with her cheek resting against the toilet seat.
By the time I had finally managed to get her up the stairs and handed over to poor Tom to mind, I was exhausted. I fell into bed and was asleep before my head even touched the pillow.
***
The next morning Clara breezed into the breakfast buffet as though nothing had happened the night before. She seemed oblivious to it all. Either she didn’t remember hanging her head over the bowl so that her tonsils were practically licking the toilet rim, or else she was just being pig-headed, and I knew which option I had my money on.
“How’s the head?” I asked her eventually as I buttered a slice of toast.
“Perfect,” she replied. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
I had to hand it to her. She looked remarkably fresh, dressed in an olive green silk wrap dress and heels, with perfect hair and make-up. If that were me, I would have been in a heap. The only giveaway that her head might be a little bit fragile was the huge pair of Tom Ford sunglasses that she was wearing indoors. Although with Clara you never really knew, she was the kind of person to wear them indoors just because she felt like it. We ate the rest of our breakfast in silence.
Chapter 22
The following week I was busy getting ready for the corporate gig. I had been up all the night before putting the finishing touches to cupcakes and had had no time to go to bed. Once the cupcakes were baked, I had to decorate them with cream frosting, and then I cut the company initials out of icing that I had dyed robin’s egg in colour to match their logo. I had to drop everything off for eleven a.m. and set it up in time for the presentation, which was due to start at twelve. Frankie was picking me up and driving me to their offices. I knew I was going to have to learn to drive, and maybe get myself a van, but I couldn’t afford it. The last mortgage payment had bounced, so of course the mortgage company had phoned me within days. I had to promise that it wouldn’t happen again and I’d meet the repayment the next month. I just hoped I would be able to. Marc still hadn’t put any money into our account and I was too angry to phone him and ask for it.
I was just starting to dress myself when my phone went. It was Clara in a complete panic. I balanced the phone between my ear and shoulder while I used my fingers to try and blend foundation into my face.
“It’s Tatiana,” she said breathlessly before I had time to speak.
“What’s wrong?”
“She’s sick –”
“Oh, what’s wrong with her?”
“It doesn’t matter what’s wrong, Lily!” she hissed. “What matters is that I am supposed to be hosting a charity luncheon in two hour’s time and I have no one to mind the boys!” She was near hysterical at this stage.
“I’m sorry, Clara – I can’t do it.” I said quickly before she could even ask. “I have to deliver two hundred and fifty cupcakes into the offices of First Ireland Bank by eleven and set everything up. Sorry, if it was any other time of course I’d help you out.”
“But you have to, Lily – this is so important. I’m being considered for the position of chairwoman of the committee – if I fail at this I can kiss goodbye to it!”
“I can’t, Clara. I’m sorry. This is my first corporate gig and I have to get it right. Did you try Dad?”
“I couldn’t get hold of him – he’s probably off lolling around the golf-course!” she hissed.
“Well I’m sorry, Clara but I can’t help you this time.”
“But, Lily this is important to me.”
“And so is this –”
“But you’re only dropping off a few buns – the boys will be as good as gold I promise.”
“It would look completely unprofessional if I brought them along with me.”
There was silence on the other end.
“Clara are you still there? Clara?” I repeated but she had hung up.
I looked down at my phone waiting for her to call me back, but she didn’t, so I dialled her number but she didn’t pick up. I knew she was annoyed with me, but I had to stand my ground on this. How unprofessional would I look dragging two small boys with me?
I quickly finished off the rest of my make-up and spritzed myself with some of my Armani perfume. I headed back to the kitchen and spent the next hour putting the final touches to the cupcakes. I was just putting them into the boxes when the doorbell rang.
I assumed it was Frankie, but when I opened the door Clara was standing there with Jacob and Joshua on either side of her. There was a child’s car seat and a booster seat on the ground beside her too. I almost closed the door in her face again.
“Please, Lily you have to –” she begged.
“Clara I can’t believe you’re doing this!”
“Pleeease, Lily,” she pleaded.
Jacob looked up at me with a worried expression. His small face was wrinkled upwards as he looked from me to his mother in confusion, wondering what was going on. I couldn't bear to see him like that.
“Okay,” I said purely for his sake.
“Oh thank you so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she gushed. Then she pushed the two boys in the door towards me and handed me a bag packed with their stuff, followed by the car seat for Joshua and the booster for Jacob.
I stood there holding the Cath Kidson hold all, stunne
d by what had just happened. We went back into the house and I switched on the TV to occupy the boys while I stacked up the boxes ready for Frankie’s car. Then I realised that we wouldn't all fit in the car. Frankie drove a Mini Cooper and I had twenty-five boxes of cupcakes to fit in. God knew what state they’d be in by the time we got there.
When Frankie arrived, she was horrified when she saw Jacob and Joshua sitting in my living room, cross-legged in front of the TV drinking Coca-Cola and eating packets of crisps.
“What are they doing here?” she hissed pointing a finger in their direction.
“Shush!” I didn’t want them to hear her. It wasn’t their fault that their Mum was a self-centred witch. “Clara’s au pair is sick.”
“And what’s that got to do with you?”
“Well Clara has some charity lunch on so I said I’d help her out.”
“But, Lily in case you haven’t realised, this is a huge opportunity for you. You can’t bring them along with you!”
“I haven’t any choice – she literally dumped the pair of them on my doorstep.”
“When are you ever going to learn to stand up for yourself, Lily?” She shook her head in despair.
“I know, I know, Frankie. Look they’ll be as good as gold. Won’t you boys?”
They didn’t divert their eyes away from the TV screen.
Frankie looked at me dubiously.
“C’mon,” I said. “I don’t want to be late.”
She helped me to fit the boys’ car seats, which took up the whole backseat of the Mini so I had to stack half the boxes up in the tiny boot and hold the other half on my knees. When we had the boys strapped in and the cakes loaded up, we set off. I held my breath as we drove over speed bumps and ramps, and that was only to get out of my estate. Then Joshua started singing The wheels on the bus and we all had to join in. On repeat. I could see Frankie tensing in the seat beside me as I did the actions once again for the “horn on the bus” with one hand while still keeping hold of the boxes, so I decided change tune to Old McDonald instead.
