Marianne smiled through her tears. She was so glad that she hadn’t told Dot about Barbara and the whole fraud business; it would surely destroy her. ‘It’s history, forget it. Aren’t we doing just fine, anyway?’
‘We are.’ Dot wiped her eyes and stood up.
Marianne stood too. ‘We never made the tea.’
‘To hell with the tea. Let’s get stuck in and have this place looking half-decent before the children get home. Then when they’re tucked up in bed, we’ll have a glass of wine and put the world to rights.’
‘I think that may take more than one glass,’ Marianne laughed.
Chapter Twenty-six
Jo couldn’t believe how much she was enjoying looking after Kate and Andrew while Dot and Marianne unpacked.
‘I want to send most of it back to Howth but she insists we keep it,’ Marianne had told her that first night when she had come to collect the children, looking exhausted. ‘It’s like trying to fit Gulliver’s things into Lilliput but she insists that the children have all their possessions around them.’
‘Perhaps she’s right,’ Jo had said, and then offered to look after the children for the full week.
Every day she and Rachel would take the DART to Kilbarrack to collect them and by the time they returned, Di was home from school. Her girls loved having the children around and though Greg complained about the noise levels in the house, he was always smiling when he said it.
Right now, Di was finishing a project in her room, Rachel and Kate were sprawled on the floor working on a jigsaw puzzle, and Andrew was helping Jo make brownies. There was more chocolate on the child than in the bowl but she didn’t mind; he was having a ball. Marianne had warned her of his tantrums but there hadn’t been one so far. Not that the child had been given a chance; her daughters had kept him so busy. Di, in particular, got a real kick out of mothering Andrew and he was wallowing in the attention.
Jo had been watching her daughter like a hawk but Di seemed to be eating normally. She’d taken them all out for an enormous lunch in the local pizzeria yesterday; Di had tucked in eagerly and there had been no trip to the ladies afterwards. Though Jo was still finding it a struggle herself, she had willed herself to eat sensibly and actually held on tight to her chair afterwards, determined to be strong.
It had taken every ounce of courage she possessed but she had finally sat down to talk to her daughter, deciding to go ahead without Greg. There was no need to involve him at this stage, she reasoned; he had enough worries and she had the situation in hand. She felt quite proud of herself for doing this alone, although she knew she wouldn’t be as strong without Marianne and Helen’s support.
She had waited until Greg was out one evening and Rachel had gone to bed before broaching the subject. ‘I want to talk to you, love, about being sick.’
‘I’m not sick – oh, you mean . . .’ Di groaned and rolled her eyes. ‘Mum, I told you it’s no big deal and it was the only time that I did it.’
‘I know and I believe you.’ Jo took a deep breath. ‘It’s me I want to talk about.’
Di eyed her curiously ‘You?’
Jo nodded. ‘I wanted to explain why I did it. I’ll be honest, I find this embarrassing, but I just want you to understand how easy it is to develop bad and even dangerous habits.’
Di said nothing but Jo could see she had her daughter’s full attention. ‘What you have to realize is that growing up in St Anne’s we were fed boring and sometimes downright awful food. What’s more, we had no choice; we had to eat it whether we liked it or not.’
‘That’s child abuse!’
Jo laughed. ‘That’s a slight exaggeration; they had two hundred kids to feed on a very tight budget. Anyway, you can imagine how exciting it was when I left the home to be able to decide what I wanted to eat and when.’
‘What was your first meal?’ Di grinned.
Jo didn’t even have to think about it. ‘Fish and chips. Helen used to take Marianne and me out to tea sometimes but she could only afford beans and chips. I remember watching people digging into huge platefuls of cod in crispy batter and how my mouth would water. We got fish in St Anne’s but there was no batter and it was usually slimy and tasteless.’
‘Yuck.’ Di shuddered.
‘Enough to put you off for life,’ Jo agreed. ‘Having had such a plain diet, I started eating foods full of sugar and salt; I just couldn’t get enough flavour.’
‘Did you get fat?’
‘No, not immediately. I didn’t have much money so I couldn’t afford too many treats. After I got married I put on a little weight but it wasn’t until I was pregnant with you that I started to stuff myself.’
‘Oh, that’s right, blame me,’ Di said dramatically.
‘Naturally.’ Jo smiled. ‘Then after you were born I was too tired to cook so we ate lots of takeaways and TV dinners; I got heavier without ever really noticing.’
‘So, you started to make yourself sick?’
Jo was both ashamed and relieved by her daughter’s candour. ‘No, that started much later. I got a bad tummy bug; I was sick for a couple of weeks and just lived on water and dry crackers. I lost nearly a stone, I couldn’t believe it. I had tried dieting but I had no willpower and never managed to lose more than a few pounds and then I just stumbled on this really easy way to control my weight.’ Jo sighed. ‘I owe you a lot, Di.’
Her daughter looked puzzled. ‘Why?’
‘Seeing you that day brought me to my senses, darling.’
Di gave her a hug. ‘I’m glad, Mum.’
‘I’ve decided to join Dot’s Unislim class and Auntie Helen says she will too.’
‘That’s a brilliant idea; it should be fun.’
‘I don’t know about that. I was never one for exercise and I hate the thought of being weighed in front of everyone.’
‘But, Mum, everyone must feel that way.’
Jo smiled; she had such a clever daughter. ‘You’re right, and apparently, apart from the exercises, there are talks and they give you healthy recipes.’
‘Eating a balanced diet is the key to everything,’ Di informed her with a serious face. ‘We learned all about that in Home Economics.’
‘Yet you made yourself sick,’ Jo reminded her.
‘But I didn’t do it to lose weight. I did it so I wouldn’t look bloated in that top.’
‘Promise me you’ll never do it again.’
‘I will if you will,’ her daughter retorted cheekily.
Jo held her gaze and nodded. ‘You’ve got a deal. Will you help me stick to the diet and exercise plan, love?’
Jo smiled at the determined look in her daughter’s eyes, that she knew so well; Di loved a challenge.
‘No problem, Mum. Consider me your personal trainer!’
Jo had dreaded that first Unislim class but Dot had been great. She had introduced her and Helen to a few people and to Shirley, the instructor, but kept it all very low-key, which Jo had been grateful for; she hated being the centre of attention. The weigh-in, the moment she’d dreaded, had passed in the blink of an eye and no one had paid a blind bit of notice. Shirley had given her a warm welcome and made a note of her details. Jo hadn’t exactly enjoyed the exercises but they hadn’t been too bad, and the talk on the dangers of eating on the go and the tricks to help you stick to the plan were very useful. She was amazed at how much she learned. The evening had flown by and she had felt much happier walking out of the hall than she had going in, and was actually looking forward to her next session.
‘Aunty Jo, these are going to be the best brownies ever,’ Andrew told her.
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Jo smiled, not caring that there was chocolate and flour on every surface and smeared down the front of his jumper.
Di bounced into the kitchen and pulled up short at the sight that greeted her. ‘Wait till Dad sees this,’ she said, grinning broadly.
Jo glanced at the clock and groaned; it was almost six o’clock.
‘Di, help A
ndrew finish up, love, and I’ll get dinner started.’
‘Okay, my man, let’s get these onto a baking tray and then you can stand on a chair and help me wash up.’
By the time Greg walked through the door, the kitchen was spotless, the table set and a scrubbed Andrew was sitting watching Sponge Bob in his vest while his jumper hung on the line. Greg came straight into the kitchen, his heavy sigh making it clear he was not in a good mood.
‘I thought you were on a diet?’ he said to his wife when he saw her check on the oven chips.
‘Hello, Dad. We’re fine, Dad. Had a great day, Dad, thanks for asking,’ Di said, from where she was pouring milk into beakers for the three younger children.
‘Don’t you be so cheeky, miss.’
‘Mum’s not on a diet, she’s on a healthy-eating plan,’ Di told him.
‘I’m not having chips,’ Jo told him. ‘I’ve made a salad for myself.’ She would eat the fried chicken she’d prepared for them but she’d soak up the grease with kitchen paper and remove the skin; one of Shirley’s tips.
‘You don’t have to eat different meals from the family all of the time,’ Shirley assured them. ‘It’s hard enough for most of us to cook one dinner a night. Eat the same meal but adapt it and always have some healthy options in the cupboard that you can dip into if necessary. But if you’re caught short, simply trim all the fat off any meat, do without the sauce or gravy and reduce the portion size. And don’t worry when you do fall off the wagon; it’s not the end of the world. Be a little more careful the next day or increase your exercise or miss a treat. We don’t believe in rigid rules and regulations, ladies; that’s the sure route to failure and that’s not a word we ever use here.’
Jo served up the food and called the children. Andrew whooped with delight when he saw the dinner, making Greg smile. Di sat him beside her and was trying to persuade him to eat some peas, much to Jo’s amusement, but she was touched by the girl’s mothering instinct and relieved to see her tucking into her food. Jo didn’t think she herself was out of the woods yet though. Sometimes she had to fight the urge to rush to the bathroom. She tucked into her healthy salad but found herself eyeing Kate’s chips longingly. The child was sitting to her right, saying nothing and pushing the food around her plate.
‘Do you not like it, love?’
‘I’m just not hungry,’ the little girl mumbled.
‘There’s brownies for afters with ice cream and chocolate sauce,’ Di smiled at her.
‘But only if you’ve cleared your plate,’ Greg said.
‘It’s okay, I don’t want afters.’
‘It’s fine, sweetheart, you don’t have to finish if you don’t want to,’ Jo said, shooting Greg a reproachful look. The nuns had always told her to clear her plate and much good it had done her. ‘Are you sick, love?’ She put a hand to Kate’s forehead. She was quite pale.
‘She’s always like this, Aunty Jo. It’s ’cos Daddy’s dead,’ Andrew said cheerfully, popping a chip covered in ketchup into his mouth.
‘Shut up,’ Kate scowled at him.
‘Don’t talk to your brother like that,’ Greg told her.
‘And she shouts and cries in her sleep,’ Andrew taunted.
‘You little shit,’ Kate retorted with angry tears in her eyes.
‘Kate!’ Jo said as Rachel’s eyes stood out on stalks and Di smothered a giggle.
‘Apologize to your brother,’ Greg ordered.
‘But he started it . . .’
‘It doesn’t matter. You don’t call him things like that, at least not in this house.’
Jo glared at him; was he implying that Marianne would tolerate such language? She put a hand on Kate’s arm. ‘Kate, please say you’re sorry. Andrew’s only a baby, he doesn’t know what he’s saying.’
‘I’m not a baby!’ he shouted. ‘I’m not!’
‘Then why do you wet the bed like a baby?’ Kate screamed back.
‘Kate, leave the table at once,’ Greg ordered.
The girl jumped up and ran from the room; Rachel went to follow.
‘Stay where you are and finish your dinner,’ Greg told her.
‘I’ll go,’ Jo said, and leaving the room and her half-eaten dinner, went in search of Kate. She found her huddled in a corner of Rachel’s bedroom, crying. Jo sat down on the edge of the bed and put her hand on her silky head. ‘Andrew didn’t mean it, darling.’
‘He did. I hate him.’ Kate hiccuped, crying noisily now.
‘I know you’re still sad, but your little brother is sad too.’
‘No, he isn’t. He just pretends to be, to get toys and he does wet the bed!’
‘But I bet that only started after your daddy died, didn’t it?’
Kate nodded silently.
‘You see, we all react in different ways, sweetheart. Your little brother is naughty sometimes because he misses your daddy. Sometimes when we’re upset and we try to hide it, our bodies show it in other ways. I’ll bet you anything that when Andrew starts to feel better, he will stop having accidents and being naughty. It’s hard to believe right now but you will be happy again.’
‘You think I’ll forget Daddy? I’ll never ever forget Daddy, never!’ Kate scrambled to her feet, ran into the bathroom and slammed the door.
Jo didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried when the doorbell went. She hurried downstairs as Rachel was about to open it. ‘It’s okay, darling. You go and look after Kate; she’s in the bathroom.’
Rachel tore up the stairs as Jo opened the door.
‘Hi, Jo,’ Marianne smiled.
Jo pushed her back out the front door and closed it. ‘There was a small . . . incident.’
Marianne sighed. ‘Andrew? What’s he done now?’
‘Nothing much; he and Kate were squabbling and it got a little out of hand. She’s a bit upset.’
Marianne rested against the garden wall. ‘I’m told that this is all normal behaviour and I do prefer anger to silence; that makes me feel so helpless. Tomorrow I’ll take her out just the two of us. Perhaps we could visit the grave.’
‘Is that a good idea?’
‘Apparently so, and maybe it will help her to talk. It’s late; I’d better take them home.’
Just then, Rachel and Kate appeared in the doorway. Marianne opened her arms and her daughter rushed into them and buried her face in her mother’s breast.
Jo swallowed back tears. ‘I’ll go and get Andrew,’ she said, and steered Rachel back inside.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Helen was ironing Johnny’s shirt when Colm walked in. He was wearing only boxers and made straight for the fridge. ‘Where’s Dad?’ he asked, before putting the carton of orange juice to his lips.
Where indeed, Helen thought. ‘No idea. I wish you wouldn’t do that.’
‘He hasn’t forgotten, has he?’ Colm said, looking over at her and frowning.
‘I’m sure he hasn’t.’ Helen forced a smile. It was only the Captain’s Dinner at the golf club; not that important in the scheme of things but yet more evidence that Johnny’s thoughts were elsewhere. He would never have forgotten such a date before . . .
‘Did you phone him, Mum?’
When Colm looked cross he was the image of his father. ‘It doesn’t start for an hour,’ she reminded him. ‘I’m sure he’s on his way.’
‘One way to find out.’ Colm reached for the phone.
‘Leave it.’
‘No.’ He grunted in annoyance. ‘It’s gone straight to voicemail. Dad, have you forgotten it’s the Captain’s Dinner? You need to get a move on, okay? Cheers.’ He hung up. ‘You’re right, he’s probably on his way and is just on a call.’
‘That will be it. So, what are you doing tonight?’
‘Studying. What else?’ He grinned. ‘And then Fergal’s coming over to watch the Leinster game with me.’
‘Fine, but I don’t want to come home and find you passed out drunk,’ she said only half-joking. Colm liked a beer and she didn
’t object to the odd one or two; better to let him drink at home than on a deserted beach or a street corner where he could get into real trouble. She was careful never to have too much of it in the house and thankfully, like his father, it would never really occur to Colm to actually go out and buy his own. Fergal, though, would probably arrive with a six-pack.
‘Of course not, mother darling . . .’ Colm broke off as they heard a key in the door.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ Johnny breezed in, smiling. ‘You look lovely, Helen. I’ll take a shower and be ready in twenty minutes.’
She held his shirt out to him. ‘Here.’
‘You are the perfect wife,’ he said, kissing her cheek, and as he ran upstairs Helen felt quite tearful.
‘Mum? Are you okay?’
‘Absolutely fine,’ Helen said, quickly unplugging the iron and setting it on the worktop. ‘Put the board away for me, Colm, would you? I need to do something.’
As she’d expected, Johnny had left his phone with his keys on the hall table; she took it and went into the study, then closed the door and started to scroll through his text messages. Nothing incriminating at all, and yet she knew in her heart that there was something going on. He forgot that she knew his schedule better than he did and there were too many gaps that he hadn’t been able – or hadn’t bothered – to explain, and most damning of all, the day he’d said he was going to see Christy Kennedy, it had been a downright lie. She’d never have known, only Bev, Christy’s wife, had called that vey night for a heart-to-heart, worried about her husband and had ended the call asking if Johnny would call in when he had a chance. Helen had let a couple of days go by before leaving a note for Johnny passing on Bev’s message. He hadn’t commented on it since and neither had she.
She went out into the hall, put the phone back with the keys, and went upstairs to finish getting ready. Johnny was fumbling with his cufflinks as she walked into the bedroom. ‘Here, let me do that.’
‘Thanks, darling. I do love these; they were a wonderful present.’
Every Time We Say Goodbye Page 24
