by Claire Allan
I sat down beside her and took her hand in mine. “It doesn’t have to be. We’ll talk to her.”
Fionn stared into the bottom of her now-empty glass. “I feel a little bit sick. My head hurts. Who would have thought getting married would be this stressful? I swear I have a migraine coming on. I should have had some breakfast.”
“Go for a lie down. Have a wee sleep. We’ll talk to her when you wake.”
She looked up at me, tears pooling in her eyes. “I do love him, Annie.”
“And he loves you.” I took the glass from her hands and steered her into the bedroom where I pulled back the duvet to let her climb in. Pulling it up over her, I stepped away and closed the curtains. As I left she was snivelling quietly, her anger spent and the two glasses of wine having their effect.
Fionn emerged just after one and just as the discussion was getting increasingly raucous on Loose Women. She sat down and stared at the TV, then looked at me and then back to the TV. Colleen Nolan was saying something really interesting.
“So,” I said, reaching for the control and turning down the volume.
“I was watching that!” she protested.
“It’s not that good, trust me.”
“Ah, you’re only saying that because you’ve been off work all week and been able to watch it at your leisure. You’ve had your fill of it now, but me, I never get to see it.” She took the control from my hand and raised the volume again.
“I’ll make some tea.”
“And some toast!” she shouted after me.
Four buttered slices later she was calmer – and her interest in Colleen Nolan’s pearls of wisdom had been satisfied.
“Right,” she said. “I’m chilled now. I’ve had my meltdown. I’ve had my sleep. I’ve had toast with real butter. I’m ready to form a plan of action.”
“Good woman yourself!”
“Do you think I could get away with hiring a hitman?”
I wasn’t entirely sure she was joking. “You know, I wouldn’t take the chance. Why don’t you talk to Alex?”
She shook her head, and brushed the toast crumbs off her sleek grey tweed trousers and onto my floor. “He would only tell me to leave well enough alone and that he would sort it. And for reasons pertaining to the safety of his ankles as previously discussed I don’t want to do that.”
“So we need to go and talk to her then?”
“In the absence of the hitman option, I think so.”
We planned it as best we could. We wanted to make sure Emma wouldn’t be there so there was no time to waste. School ended at two thirty and Rebecca’s house was a fifteen-minute drive away. I ordered a taxi just in case the half glass of wine I’d had earlier was still swirling around in my system. The last thing I needed was a drink-driving rap on top of everything else I was dealing with.
“I’ll do the talking. You can just be my heavy,” Fionn said, slipping her designer sunglasses on and slicking some gloss over her lips. She meant business. Fionn only ever wore lip gloss when she was going in for the kill.
I nodded, secretly a little concerned that she called me her heavy. I looked down at my thighs in my jeggings and was glad I had worn a loose tunic top to hide any little lumps and bumps.
When the taxi beeped to herald its arrival, I followed Fionn downstairs, half-expecting the theme from Starsky and Hutch to start playing in the background. It didn’t, of course. The taxi driver was listening to the altogether more sedate sounds of Radio Foyle where some businessman was lamenting something or other in a very agitated and exceptionally strong Derry accent.
“Are you sure you want to do this? Are you sure Alex won’t go off his rocker?”
“Oh, I told him when he phoned me. I told him that he could talk to her all he wanted but that I was going to as well. He wasn’t happy but you know there comes a time when I have to get this straight in my own head and that time is now.”
The taxi driver turned down the radio to listen in to our conversation. Evidently we were more exciting than Radio Foyle, which was fine by me.
Pulling up outside Rebecca’s house I’m sure I felt my heart-beat kick up a notch. This felt like a covert super-cool operation, albeit one which Alex knew about.
As Fionn stepped out of the taxi, Rebecca stepped out of her front door, her face ashen. I actually felt sorry for her, for just a split second. Her face was pale and her eyes were just a little bit red-rimmed. Most people wouldn’t have noticed it, but I was all too familiar with red-rimmed eyes these days. Her dark hair was scraped back off her face and she was still in her nurse’s uniform. She shook her head as Fionn walked towards her.
“Alex told me you were coming. I don’t want to talk to you. This is between me and Alex – no one else.”
“Rebecca,” Fionn said, her voice steady, “Alex and I are getting married in three weeks. Whatever – and I mean whatever – relates to Alex at this precise moment in time also relates to me. Don’t think it doesn’t.”
Rebecca paled further, and stepped back towards her door. “You’d better come in. I don’t think either of us wants to have this discussion in the front garden.” She looked over Fionn’s shoulder and spotted me. I nodded at her, somewhat pathetically. It was somewhere between a “How are you?” nod and a “Don’t even think about messing with my friend” nod. I’m pretty sure I looked like I had some kind of facial tick.
“You’d better come in then too,” Rebecca said to me and I followed silently.
Her house was similar in some ways to Alex and Fionn’s. The walls were adorned with pictures lovingly painted by Emma and every chair had a Barbie or other pokey-footed doll waiting to act as a tool of torture – impaling the most unsuspecting of bums when they sat down. Rebecca did a quick sweep of the room, collecting them and throwing them into a wicker toy basket by the radiator. “I was on night shift. I’ve not had time to tidy up.”
“Well, maybe if you hadn’t spent your morning with Alex . . .” Fionn said and I swear Rebecca actually flinched at the mention of his name.
“I’m sorry,” she said, gesturing to us to sit down. “What can I say?”
“Well, that you’ll never do it again would be good start. That you’ll stop trying to make trouble between us and start to accept that what we have is real and it’s not going to go away. I’m sorry if that hurts you, but I love Alex and he loves me and we are getting married.”
“I know,” she said, eyes downcast.
“But do you? Do you really know? Or is this just going to be another lull in the storm before you turn up and go all crazy-arsed on our wedding day like the big mad psycho you are?”
Whether or not I thought Rebecca was indeed a big mad psycho, I didn’t really think that Fionn saying it to her was a wise move. I was right. Rebecca visibly bristled, her back straightening and her entire demeanour changing in a split second.
“Wait a minute. He loved me first,” she said. “And I loved him.”
Fionn snorted: “You might have loved him. But he never loved you.”
“He told you that, did he? And you believed him?” Rebecca snorted back.
There was a lot of snorting going on. I just sat – a little bit terrified – planning my escape route for when it got nasty, which it inevitably would. It would get nasty and possibly bloody and there might be hair and blood flying everywhere and I liked my hair just the way it was, thank you very much.
“I believe him, present tense,” Fionn said.
“Ha!” Rebecca sorted. “I’m not the kind of girl who falls into bed with anyone. I thought I meant something to him. I thought he loved me. He told me he did.”
“Bollocks!” Fionn’s voice was just a shade – a very eeny-teeny shade – below a roar.
“Were you there?” Rebecca barked back. “No! No, you were not. You think you know it all and you are so damn smug. Don’t you realise that I am you? I was once right where you are now. Okay, not however-many weeks away from a wedding, but pregnant with his child, with him whisper
ing every promise I could have wished for in my ear. You’re not special. Don’t think you are.”
I had never actually seen a human being dripping venom before but this was exactly what I was witnessing right now in front of me. Rebecca, human and hurt and feeling very vulnerable, spitting venom at Fionn, equally human and hurt and feeling very vulnerable. I felt uncomfortable. Nosy as feck and part of me enjoying the scandal of it, but uncomfortable as if I was intruding on something I had absolutely no right to be a part of.
“He’s marrying me,” Fionn said, her voice less sure this time.
“And I’m the mother of his child,” Rebecca retorted, her gaze turning to a picture of Emma, complete with the cutest pigtails in the world ever, on the fireplace.
“And don’t I fecking know it?” Fionn shouted, her voice wavering. “Aren’t I reminded of it every time she visits?”
“So you don’t like my child then? Ha! I wonder what Alex would say about that?”
“I never said that,” Fionn protested, her voice breaking.
I could see where this was going and I wanted to step in, honestly I did. But it wasn’t my place. I was just an observer. Not a heavy as Fionn had asked me to be. They needed to sort this out between themselves, once and for all.
“I love her,” Fionn said simply, her voice at a very reasonable and not at all hysterical level. “What I meant was, don’t I always know you are the mother of his child? You’ve given him the most important thing in his life, Rebecca. Isn’t that enough? You have the one thing I never will – his first child. Why isn’t that enough for you?” Her voice broke, just that little bit.
“Would it be enough for you? Would you be okay with it? And what about when you have your own children? Will you even want to have Emma near you then? I doubt it.”
“That’s a stupid question because you beat me to that one and he loves her more than anything else in the world – more than he loves me and certainly more than he loves you. And that is how it should be and it’s something I’ve had to make my peace with. He’ll love our children but no more or no less than Emma. You know that. I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you and Alex – no, correction, I’m not sorry. I’m sorry you are hurting. I know you might find that hard to believe, but you have to let him live his life and you have to let him be happy with me. We all – the three of us – need to work together whether we like it or not, because the important person in all of this isn’t Alex, it isn’t me and it sure as feck isn’t you.”
Rebecca stood up, walked to the window and stared out.
I wanted to say something but what the hell could I say? Was there anything at all I could say that would be a valuable contribution to this conversation? I sighed and sat back, casting a cursory glance at Fionn who just shrugged her shoulders and raised her eyebrows. We both knew this could go either way. Rebecca could accept what Fionn had said and they could work through their issues, or she could go completely mental and start throwing things at us or start boiling bunnies and the like.
The silence was deafening and unnerving and I shifted uneasily in my seat. Rebecca turned from the window and looked at us. It was impossible to read her face. There was no way to judge how this was going to go.
“You’re right,” she said. “And I mean properly right. Emma is the most important thing in all this. All I wanted was for her to have her two parents together.” She sniffed the last sentence, as if it were meant to make Fionn finally give up.
“I’m not trying to take Alex away from her,” said Fionn. “I never would. And I’m not trying to be her mother either. I know you do a good job. I know she loves you. To be honest, I’m just grateful she doesn’t hate me.”
Rebecca sagged.
“You must know that,” Fionn said. “And you must know he loves me.”
“I do,” Rebecca answered.
“Then please just let us be together. Let us just get on with things. I’m not asking you to be happy for us – but just let us be. We didn’t fall in love to hurt you. We aren’t getting married to spite you. We just want to get married and we would love it if you were there and, while we don’t expect you to lead the speeches or start the dancing, if you could just see that we are in this for the long haul and what we have is not going away, that will be enough.”
Rebecca nodded and Fionn stood up, walking towards her and giving her a gentle hug. “I’m not trying to patronise you. I know this must be hard for you, but we don’t have to be sworn enemies.”
Rebecca nodded again and hugged Fionn back, gently also, and I stood and went outside. I figured they deserved a little space.
34
We walked away from Rebecca’s with our dignity just about intact.
“Do you think that’s an end to it?” I asked.
“Probably not. But hopefully it’s enough to get us through the wedding. I feel sorry for her. Honestly I do, but I’m putting me first here.”
“As you should.”
“I just hope Alex sees it that way,” she said, her face a little darker. “He’s finishing work at four. We’ll talk then. Let’s just hope he doesn’t put me on the Naughty Step again.”
“You shouldn’t worry about such things. Not this close to your wedding.”
Fionn shook her head. “Look, I know he is a huffy git at times and patronising at other times but I suppose that’s where the ‘for better, for worse’ thing comes into it. You take the good with the not-so-good and hope for the best.”
“You paint such a romantic image of marriage, my friend.”
“Romance won’t change your incontinence pad when you’re seventy-nine,” Fionn said wryly. “I’m in this for the long haul – and I’m more into realism than idiotic notions of what love should be like. He makes me happy more times that he makes me sad. He rubs my back when I have my period and buys Tampax without blushing. He makes the best scrambled eggs in the world and he pays my credit-card bill for when I’m brassic without ever questioning why my balance never seems to go down. That counts too, Annie, as well as the hot body and the dinners out and all that other stuff. That counts more in a lot of ways.”
She was right, of course.
We walked to a nearby taxi rank where Fionn made off to see Alex and I jumped into a second car asking that the driver drop me into the city centre for some retail therapy. I couldn’t stand the thought of going home to my flat and I felt like spending some money while I at least still had an income. The sensible side of me knew I should probably hang on to my money – you know, just in case – but I didn’t feel particularly sensible. I felt like buying something new and lovely and maybe something I could wear on my big date with Owen. Not that I was trying to think of it as a big date. I was trying to think of it as dinner with a nice man – with strong arms and a nice accent. I wasn’t trying to set myself any expectations whatsoever of what could or would happen. The best I was hoping for was a nice dinner and maybe a glass of wine and some pleasant conversation. I wasn’t looking for was romance, or sex, or romantic sex. At least, that was what I was trying to tell myself.
Dinner. Chat. Wine.
So when I started traipsing around Foyleside, I told myself there was absolutely no way I was going within a country mile of La Senza to buy any saucy undies. I wouldn’t even allow myself near the undie section of Marks and Spencer. In fact, I had already promised myself that I wouldn’t even shave my legs on the big night so that there would be no temptation there at all. This was a new leaf in the life of me – not that my slutty leaf had lasted very long. In fact, it had been a bit of a one-hit wonder, but I was more than happy enough for it to remain that way. I had learned my lesson good and proper. No good can come from passionate clinchers with hairy strangers in posh pubs. Well, if truth be told, a little good can come from it. It was a pleasurable, if slightly sordid, experience but one I had no plans on repeating.
As I ran my eye over the rails and rails of high-fashion clothes in the shops, I wondered how to play it. I could go for demure,
but I didn’t want him to think I was a total no-go area. Sure I was no-go on that night but who knew what could happen later? I was also acutely aware it was August and unnaturally warm – and yet I was still keen to hide my stubbly legs. I chose a pair of wide-leg linen trousers, with a delicate strappy top and some ankle-defying wedges. I planned to scoop my hair up in a high ponytail and accessorize with some oversized sunglasses. I would phone Darcy when I got home to check I wasn’t making some godawful fashion faux pas but first I decided to call into Starbucks and grab a quick cappuccino and maybe read the paper or something equally decadent. Smiling to myself, I decided I would also buy myself the biggest, stickiest cupcake I could find and indulge myself entirely.
I was halfway through my cupcake when I looked up and saw Pearse, hand in hand with Toni. They may have been holding hands but it didn’t look as if it were in an affectionate way. In fact, it looked more like they were clinging on to each other for dear life. Neither looked happy. Toni looked kind of scared. Pearse looked angry – and he didn’t often do angry. Arrogant? Yes. Smarmy? Definitely. But proper angry? Not so much. I so wanted to walk over and ask what was going on but it was a fair bet that whatever I would say it would not take away from Pearse’s anger or indeed Toni’s misery.
I sat back, lifting the newspaper to hide behind and tried not to strain my ears trying to listen in. The combination of the hum of the cappuccino machine and the rustle of the newspaper – not to mention the twenty or so other customers in the shop all having the audacity to talk loudly to each other – made it difficult. But I did pick up the words “fecked” “arse” “disaster” and “latte” – although I imagine “latte” related to their order and not whatever scandal was visiting itself upon Manna.
