Every Time We Say Goodbye

by Colette Caddle

  ‘No,’ Helen sighed. The job market in Ireland at the moment was in a sorry state. Her heart ached for Marianne.

  ‘Don’t worry, love, I’m sure she’ll be fine.’

  ‘Yes, but there’s the children’s education and Dot’s not getting any younger . . .’

  ‘Dominic was a stockbroker; you can bet he’ll have set up trust funds for the children.’

  ‘Don’t you know?’

  ‘Not yet; Dominic didn’t talk to Marianne about money and I have a lot of papers to trawl through.’

  ‘I’m sorry to have landed you in this mess, love, but I’d hate it if she had to deal with all this alone.’

  ‘And she doesn’t so will you please stop worrying.’ He wiped his mouth on his napkin. ‘Now, are there any afters?’

  ‘Brill! Egg and chips!’ Andrew’s eyes lit up as he clambered into his chair.

  Marianne smiled. At least her kids weren’t bothered by her economizing.

  ‘Lovely,’ Dot smiled, taking her seat beside him and squirting some ketchup on the side of his plate.

  ‘More, Granny,’ he demanded.

  ‘You’ve enough,’ she retorted.

  Marianne poured milk for him and his sister. ‘What’s wrong, Kate?’

  ‘Nothing.’ The child sat motionless staring at her plate.

  ‘Aren’t you hungry, love?’ Dot asked.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, half-heartedly stabbing a chip with her fork and nibbling on it.

  Marianne threw Dot a look of exasperation. She was at her wits’ end trying to tempt her daughter to eat. The child had always been thin but now she was skin and bone.

  ‘Let’s have chip butties,’ Dot suggested.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, there isn’t enough bread,’ Marianne groaned.

  ‘Ah, just as well, I’m getting too big an arse on me anyway,’ Dot said cheerfully.

  Andrew spluttered out his milk. ‘Granny said a rude word!’ He grinned in delight at his mother.

  Marianne pretended to look cross. What would she do without Dot? Even Kate was smirking. ‘I think you meant bottom, Granny.’

  ‘Whatever you call it, it’s too bloody big,’ Dot assured her.

  Kate and Andrew giggled.

  ‘Did I tell you about the diet I went on before your mummy and daddy’s wedding?’

  ‘No.’ Kate shook her head and ate without thinking as Dot distracted her.

  ‘Well, I had bought this gorgeous suit – it was a lovely shade of green, wasn’t it, love?’

  ‘Beautiful,’ Marianne agreed.

  ‘I got it in a sale about six months before the wedding; oh, it was a great bargain, really great. But then I went to Tenerife with your granda, God rest his soul, on an all-inclusive holiday.’

  ‘What’s that, Granny?’ Andrew wrinkled up his nose.

  ‘It’s when you don’t have to pay any money once you get there. And they had all of these restaurants and a coffee shop and an ice-cream parlour and lots of lovely bars and so we did nothing but eat and drink for two weeks.’

  ‘And the suit didn’t fit when you got home?’ Kate guessed.

  ‘Wouldn’t go edgeways on me!’ Dot’s face twisted in disgust. ‘I couldn’t even get the skirt over my hips.’

  ‘Or your big arse!’ her grandson chortled delightedly.

  ‘Andrew!’

  ‘But Granny said it,’ Andrew protested.

  ‘I did, love, but your mother’s right; you wouldn’t want to let your teacher hear you talk like that, would you?’

  ‘Miss Maloney, now she really does have a fat arse,’ Kate said, deadpan.

  ‘Kate!’ Marianne exclaimed as Andrew collapsed into helpless laughter.

  ‘Sorry, Mum,’ Kate grinned, ‘but it’s true. So, did you go on a diet, Granny?’

  ‘What’s a diet?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘It’s when you stop eating too much to lose weight, numbskull.’

  Marianne opened her mouth to tell Kate off again and then decided against it; at least she was talking.

  ‘I went on a few,’ Dot told them. ‘First there was this slimming drink that I got in the chemist.’

  ‘A drink that makes you thin?’ Kate asked.

  ‘That’s magic.’ Andrew’s eyes were round.

  ‘Ha! The only magic was it made my money disappear.’

  ‘So it didn’t work?’ Kate said.

  ‘I lost a little bit of weight but only because the drinks were so sickly they put me off food. I gave up on them after a couple of weeks. Then I tried the grapefruit diet.’

  Marianne raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t remember that. Please tell me that you weren’t living on just grapefruits.’

  ‘It would have been simpler if I was. ’Twas a terribly complicated business altogether, I couldn’t get the hang of it at all.’

  ‘So what did you do then, Granny?’ Kate asked before popping another chip into her mouth.

  ‘Well, then I tried the Atkins diet.’

  ‘Oh, I remember that one,’ Marianne said. ‘That’s the protein-only diet, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘No carbohydrates?’ Kate frowned. ‘But that’s mad, everyone knows you need carbohydrates for energy.’

  ‘I’m very impressed,’ Marianne told her.

  ‘Mummy, what’s carbohiders?’

  ‘Carbohydrates, darling. They’re foods like potatoes, rice and pasta.’

  ‘So did that one work, Granny?’

  ‘Indeed it did not,’ Dot said in disgust. ‘I felt hungry all the time and I had no energy at all so you’re right about that, Kate. So then I went on the cabbage soup diet and, yes, that meant eating feckin’ cabbage soup morning noon and night.’

  Andrew screwed up his face in disgust. ‘Ewwww!’

  Dot threw back her head and laughed. ‘You’re right, love, it was awful but a lot more so for those around me; when I farted I could clear a room!’

  ‘What?’ Andrew was looking confused again.

  ‘She means they were smelly,’ Kate said, laughing.

  ‘Granny!’ Andrew splurted his milk everywhere.

  ‘But did it work?’ Kate asked, wiping her eyes.

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘So did you go on another diet?’

  ‘No, I joined Unislim.’

  ‘You should have done that in the first place,’ Marianne said, mopping up Andrew’s milk and refilling his glass.

  ‘I should have, it certainly worked although it would have been even better if I hadn’t stopped off at the chippy on the way home.’ She winked at Kate.

  ‘But you were able to get into the suit in the end,’ Marianne pointed out.

  ‘I was, although I was wearing one of those awful girdle things that holds everything in. I remember I was afraid of my life to eat in case my jacket burst open and I took someone’s eye out with a button.’

  ‘Oh, Granny, you are funny,’ Andrew giggled.

  ‘Tell us about the wedding,’ Kate begged her mother.

  ‘Oh, darling, you’ve heard about it a million times—’ Marianne started, only to be interrupted by the doorbell. ‘That will be your uncle Johnny. I’ll leave your granny to tell you all about it – again.’ She hurried out to the door. ‘Johnny, hi, come on in.’

  ‘Hello, love, how are things?’

  He kissed her cheek as always, but he seemed tense. ‘It’s not good news, is it?’ she said, leading him into the sitting room and closing the door firmly.

  ‘I have no news, really. I can find no policy documents, no records of funds, no details of the mortgage.’ He sighed. ‘Are you sure there aren’t any other files knocking around the house?’

  ‘I gave you everything,’ Marianne assured him.

  ‘Perhaps he had a safety deposit box where he kept these things.’

  ‘Certainly not at our bank, I’ve checked. The funds were so low in the deposit and current accounts I thought there must be a third one in just his name but there isn’t, at least not in that
bank.’

  Johnny frowned. ‘You never told me that.’

  Marianne gave a shrug of embarrassment.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. You can bet Dominic has accounts in different banks or building societies; he wouldn’t have kept all his eggs in one basket.’

  ‘But we’ve found no details of any other accounts,’ she reminded him, conscious of the nagging pain in her stomach; an almost constant companion these days.

  ‘Perhaps he kept his papers at work.’

  ‘Well, I’ll find out soon enough; Dominic’s boss asked me to come in and see him next week.’

  ‘About time too,’ he retorted. ‘In the meantime, Marianne, if you need money, just say the word.’

  ‘No it’s fine, there’s enough to see us through for a couple of months.’

  ‘We’ll get it sorted, love, try not to worry. Would you like me to come along to that meeting with you?’

  Marianne shook her head. ‘Dominic’s boss is rather old-fashioned; I think I’d better see him alone. I’ll call you afterwards.’

  ‘Make sure you do, I’ll be dying to hear all the news.’

  Chapter Five

  Jo looked at the invitation in her hand and sighed; she really didn’t want to go. An evening at Helen’s meant enough food to feed an army, all mouth-watering delicacies that she would find hard – no, impossible – to resist. Helen would look regal in one of her expensive dresses while Marianne, tall and slender with her golden limbs and long dark hair, would look fabulous no matter what she wore. Jo couldn’t compete; nothing looked good on her flabby body. She’d have to wear the green dress again. They had all seen it a million times before but Greg would be furious if she bought something new; he was always going on these days about the need to save money but then he had never been the extravagant sort.

  He had embarrassed her so many times when they’d gone out with her friends and their husbands. Dominic and Johnny were both generous, Dominic in a rather flashy way, but Greg was always the last to put his hand in his pocket. She was sure that Helen noticed; nothing got past her sharp eyes. It made Jo cringe and she found herself looking for excuses to refuse invitations. But this was Helen and Johnny’s twentieth wedding anniversary and short of being at death’s door, there was no excuse that would get her off the hook.

  At least Dominic wouldn’t be there. Jo felt guilty for thinking ill of a dead man but he’d made Marianne so miserable. He had been fun in the past, although Greg never really liked him but hid his feelings because Dominic had contacts. He got on better with Johnny but once he had a few drinks inside him, the snide comments would start to slip into the conversation; when had he developed this nasty, sneering streak? Was it marriage to her that had changed him? Perhaps she had turned out to be a disappointment; that wouldn’t surprise her. She’d never been sure what he’d seen in her.

  She had been an average student growing up. At sixteen the nuns told her she was best suited to factory work or stacking shelves. When she moved to the boarding house the manager, a kindly, maternal soul, set Jo up with a job in a small supermarket owned by her cousin. It wasn’t the most exciting job in the world but Jo was quite content. Her happiness was complete when she met Greg there. The shop was only around the corner from his flat in Ranelagh and he was a regular customer. She had noticed him a few times and, since she wasn’t yet trained to work the till, she hadn’t spoken to him but she liked his serious face and shy smile.

  Then, one day, she’d knocked over a tower of tinned beans. The manager had yelled at her and she was tearfully trying to rebuild it when Greg came to her rescue.

  There had been several short, awkward exchanges over the following weeks before he finally worked up the courage to invite her out and they had been together ever since. Jo was so happy and even happier when they married and moved into their tiny home. She’d enjoyed being a housewife and although she wasn’t a natural homemaker – her mother hadn’t exactly set an example – she’d loved taking care of Greg. When she found out she was pregnant, she was over the moon. The prospect of having her own precious baby to mind and cherish was thrilling.

  But it all went downhill from there. She’d piled on the weight, suffered terrible back problems and couldn’t sleep. Greg grew less and less sympathetic as the ironing piled up in a corner and dinner was often out of a tin or a carton. It didn’t help that Helen had an immaculate house, was an excellent cook and proved quite capable of managing a lively toddler while helping Johnny start up his business. Jo felt completely useless and things didn’t improve when Di was born; the responsibility overwhelming her. Sometimes she would catch Greg looking at her, disappointment in his eyes, and she could just imagine the poison his mother poured into his ear.

  That sour old woman had been the bane of her life, always criticizing her and looking around in disgust whenever she visited, which was far too often for Jo’s liking. Once she’d caught the old battleaxe running her finger along the kitchen shelf, checking for dust, which, of course, she’d found. There was dust on the mantelpiece, Jo noticed now, as she replaced the invitation; her housekeeping skills had not improved with time.

  She looked at her reflection in the mirror above it. Her hair was a disgrace and she looked old and drab though she was only thirty-seven. Helen had just turned forty but looked years younger. Then again, she went for facials and manicures and had her hair done at an expensive salon in town every six weeks; it was easier to look good when you put that much time and money into it.

  Marianne was different. She was a natural beauty who had changed little over the years. Her hair hung halfway down her back; she’d worn it that way since she’d left St Anne’s. Long hair had been vetoed in the home as it made hunting head lice too onerous a task. Marianne had always hated the short, boyish cut. She had never bothered that much with make-up and still didn’t. In her skinny jeans and simple T-shirts she looked more like one of Kate’s friends than her mother. Jo always felt big and clumsy next to her. She didn’t even own a pair of jeans, preferring the comfort and simplicity of tracksuits or leggings; they hid a multitude of sins.

  Jo studied her reflection more critically. She really would have to do something with her hair for the party. The last short hairstyle that the girl in the salon had talked her into had looked okay but Jo hadn’t been able to recreate ‘the look’ since. She was basically a mess. Was it any wonder that Greg had seemed to lose interest in her?

  She had never really enjoyed sex in the way that other women seemed to but the fact that her husband wanted her had always made her feel good. And he had wanted her all the time in the early days. Di’s arrival and those first difficult months had put paid to the honeymoon period but then sex had resumed once things had settled down and it had been much the same with Rachel. But in the last couple of years Greg seemed to have lost interest and only ever got frisky after a couple of drinks.

  She turned away from the mirror and went into the kitchen to start on the laundry, her thoughts returning to Helen’s anniversary and what would be a suitable present. Buying something for the couple who literally had everything was, frankly, impossible and usually expensive. She would have to squirrel away some of the housekeeping and keep her eye out for a bargain. She sorted out the dirty washing, put on the first load and then went to make a coffee. The jar of chocolate cookies that Di adored stared down at her from the shelf and her mouth watered. One wouldn’t hurt; then she’d walk to the shops rather than drive to compensate for the indulgence. Feeling better, she settled down with a creamy cup of cappuccino, two cookies – well, she was going to work them off – and a magazine. She was halfway through an article about a soap star in meltdown when the washing machine buzzer went. Startled, she realized that over an hour had passed and she’d now had two coffees and five – or was it six? – cookies. It was too late to walk to the shop now or she’d be late picking up Rachel; she’d screwed up again. Full of self-disgust, she dragged herself slowly up to the bathroom and got rid of the food in the ea
siest possible way. There was an initial feeling of elation when she flushed the toilet but it was quickly replaced by a sense of shame.

  She would get into a proper exercise regime, she promised herself. She knew that making herself vomit was bad for her health and she felt disgusted with herself for doing it; she had to stop. She would check the noticeboard in the supermarket and see if there was a local exercise class she could join. With a little self-control and hard work she would be a few pounds lighter before Helen’s party. Feeling pleased with her newly formed plan, Jo ran downstairs, fetched her shopping list and handbag, and grabbed her car keys.

  When she got to the supermarket, the car park was packed; was all of Dublin doing their shopping here just to annoy her? She drove around several times before she found a spot. When she went inside it was to discover there were no trolleys and she had to go back out to the car park in search of one. It had started to drizzle and immediately her hair began to frizz. By the time she reached the checkout she was irritable, tired and running late. She only remembered her plan to check the noticeboard when she was loading up the car and the rain was pelting down; there was no way she was going back now. She would ask Di to go online and check slimming classes later. Some of her good humour recovered, Jo drove to the school, but by the time she arrived, the normally sweet-tempered Rachel was scowling and hopping from foot to foot impatiently.

  ‘Mum, the party is in an hour and I have to change,’ she complained, flinging her bag into the back and climbing in.

  Jo looked at her. ‘Party?’

  ‘Tracy’s party!’ The child exclaimed. ‘Did you get her birthday present?’

  ‘No, love, sorry, I forgot.’

  ‘Oh, Mum!’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, we’ll stop off at the newsagent and get a card and give her the money.’

  ‘But why can’t we get the DVD she wanted? I told her I would.’

  ‘There’s no time, Rachel,’ Jo snapped, feeling increasingly frazzled. ‘She can get it herself with the money.’

  Rachel said nothing but sighed dramatically to ensure her mother knew that she was not impressed. ‘Are my pink jeans ironed?’ she asked after a moment.