Apartment 3B

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘Lainey!’

  ‘Hi Steve,’ she said with a studied casualness, not letting him even get started. Then she walked past him to where Tony was waiting for her at the bar. What her former lover had to say she had no intention of discovering. Maybe he wanted to apologize for his behaviour that day on the beach. Maybe he wanted to proposition her again. Lainey didn’t care to find out. She still found him attractive, she couldn’t deny that. It had taken her a long time to get over him and the only way she was able to do that was by keeping him at arm’s length. That’s the way she intended to continue. If he was suffering because of it, tough! It was his choice. At least he wouldn’t be at the wedding and thankfully they were having the reception in The Arklow Bay Hotel – much to Cecily and Simon’s chagrin as they much preferred swanning around Fourwinds in their finery. Lainey was delighted. Fourwinds was the last place she wanted to go. The Arklow Bay was a lovely hotel and the rest of the family were looking forward to the meal and reception.

  The wedding mass was a lovely special intimate ceremony and Lainey had hugged her new sister-in-law warmly outside the church. Cecily had had a face on her in the church and it was obvious herself and Simon were having a tiff.

  ‘What’s new?’ grinned Joan, unperturbed, when Lainey mentioned it as they waited to get the photographs taken. Cecily stood with an expression that would have curdled milk while Simon’s was not much better. Joan was thrilled to bits with her turquoise watered silk two-piece and white silk top by Dior. She had got engaged at Christmas, much to Lainey’s delight. Cecily and Simon were the least of her worries. ‘Those two are always at it. Tidings of comfort and joy, I call them,’ she murmured out of the side of her mouth, causing Lainey to get a fit of the giggles.

  The meal was delicious and Lainey had enjoyed herself dancing with a succession of partners. Tony and she had just finished a waltz and the band was taking a rest so they sat down at their table with Joan and her fiancé and Cecily and Simon.

  ‘When are you two going to give us a day out, anyway? Or are you going to live in sin for ever?’ Cecily enquired petulantly.

  ‘I beg your pardon!’ Lainey, stunned, couldn’t be sure whether she had heard right. Joan’s jaw had dropped five inches and Tony was quite unable to hide his amusement.

  ‘You heard. When are you going to get him to make an honest woman out of you and stop being the talk of the village?’ Cecily eyed her sister-in-law coldly, taking a swig of her white wine and adding bitchily, ‘Your sell-by date is long gone. If you’re not careful you’ll be on the shelf.’

  ‘How dare you, Cecily Clarke!’ Lainey gritted. ‘What I do is none of your business or anybody else’s for that matter. Looking at you would put anyone off marriage for life, believe me. And I’ll tell you something else for nothing, Cecily. You are by far the most ignorant person it has ever been my misfortune to encounter. You could do with a few lessons in good manners because yours leave a lot to be desired.’ There! She had said what she wanted to say for a long long time and boy, did it feel good.

  ‘Huh!’ sniffed Cecily, focusing her eyes with a little difficulty. ‘You think you’re so high and mighty, the great Lainey Conroy. All you are is a glorified waitress.’ She smiled triumphantly.

  ‘I’d far prefer to be a glorified waitress and have my own money than to be a lazy parasite to some poor unfortunate who’d have to work himself into an early grave to keep me in clothes,’ Lainey retorted. She was a little shocked to realize that her sister-in-law was as drunk as a skunk.

  ‘You . . . you . . . wagon!’ Cecily jumped up, enraged, her accent slipping to reveal her Dublin origins.

  ‘Oh behave yourself, Cecily. If that’s the way you carry on at weddings where you come from, remember that we are a little more civilized down here,’ Lainey snapped, rising from her chair and leaving the table. If she stayed a minute longer, she’d slap the other girl’s face.

  ‘Round one to Lainey,’ grinned the hugely-amused Tony as he caught up with her.

  ‘Did you hear her?’ exploded Lainey. ‘Did you see her? She’s completely pissed!’

  ‘Our Cecily’s a right little plonker despite her little ladylike airs and graces.’ Joan arrived over and they watched Cecily berating Simon, who was trying to get her to leave.

  ‘Since when?’ said Lainey in amazement.

  ‘You’re never here of course,’ reflected Joan. ‘Oh Cecily can lower it as good as anyone. I’ve never seen her this drunk, mind you. I think it was being outshone in the fashion stakes put her in a bad humour because she started lowering the G&Ts as soon as we got to the hotel.’

  ‘Silly bitch,’ Lainey retorted, hoping her mother hadn’t witnessed the incident. But Mrs Conroy was happily chatting to Maura’s mother and hadn’t seen a thing.

  ‘This is the best wedding I’ve been to for ages. It’s a pity there wasn’t a few fisticuffs. I’d have really enjoyed that now. It would have crowned it all nicely,’ Tony said, straight-faced.

  ‘I’ll fisticuff you in a minute if you don’t shut up!’ Lainey watched Simon leave the function room with his arm around a very unsteady Cecily. The remainder of the evening passed off peacefully. The next time she saw her sister-in-law, Cecily ignored her completely and that suited Lainey just fine. Simon started to get on to Lainey but she coolly told him to shut up and said it was nothing to do with him. Cecily was big enough and cheeky enough to fight her own battles. She was no shrinking violet despite her demure manner; that had been quite obvious at the wedding. Simon had been extremely put out and very cool ever since but that was his problem and Lainey wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it. If he thought for one moment she was going to put up with any more of Cecily’s impudence, he could think again!

  A few months after the wedding, not long after Christmas, Lainey had got a very interesting letter from Michelle Powell. Lainey had kept in contact with the author, who kept her up to date with bookworld gossip. As Lainey had predicted, and it was something she took no pleasure from, several of Verdon’s top-selling authors, including Michelle, had gone to other publishers. Michelle had written to say that the Sales and Marketing Manager of Eagle Publishing, her present publishers, was leaving in the late spring and to wonder if Lainey would be interested in the job. The publishers would love to interview her, knowing of her brilliant track record at Verdon, and Michelle promised she’d dedicate her new book to her and that she’d never moan about anything again if Lainey would come back to Ireland and arrange her next launch.

  Lainey jumped at the idea. She had a fine fat bank balance, more than enough to buy an apartment somewhere, and more than anything she wanted to get back into publishing. Eagle Publishing was a thriving company, just what she needed. There’d be plenty of travelling as well so she wouldn’t be completely grounded. On her next leave she flew home and did an interview and was told the following morning that the job was hers.

  Dominic was ecstatic. She had finished up with Eastern Gulf and taken a month’s holiday in Greece, meeting up with Tony and Jonathan for the last week. Eagle Publishing had their offices on the Northside, so she rented an apartment in Griffith Avenue for the time being until she bought a place of her own. It wasn’t far from Dominic and was ideal for the airport.

  Before long it was as though she had never been away. She was welcomed back with open arms and all the contacts made while with Verdon stood her in good stead. She was given all the leeway she needed. Eagle Publishing were more than delighted to have a Sales and Marketing Manager of Lainey’s calibre in their company. When Annette Jackson, the hugely successful biographer, heard that Lainey was back in publishing, she promptly decided that she wanted to be published by Eagle and left Verdon with indecent haste, much to their dismay and Eagle’s delight. Lainey was in her element. Back where she belonged.

  Watching the news about Kuwait, she shivered despite the heat of the evening sun. It had been the hottest day of the year, and she had opened wide all the windows and patio doors in Dominic’s apartment to try
to create a draught. She didn’t expect Dominic home for another hour but she had a salmon salad all prepared, and wine chilling in the fridge. She could have had Dominic come to her own place but she hadn’t unpacked half of her belongings in the new apartment as she didn’t intend staying there that long. But she was so busy at work with all the new books being launched she just hadn’t the time to go house hunting.

  Happily she set the table on the patio. It had been as hot today as any scorcher in Saudi but a bit of a cooling breeze was beginning to blow up. People were saying it was the hottest day of the century and they could well be right, she decided, as she flicked a fly off the table.

  Dominic greeted her with roses and a kiss and they sat down to dinner after he had showered and changed. They enjoyed their meal, chatting about their day’s work and enjoying each other’s company as they always did. Later in the cool of the night they made love and as they lay close together, caressed by the scented breeze that blew through the open window, Dominic took her face in his hands and stared down at her in the moonlight.

  ‘Lainey I’ve been thinking,’ he said staring down at her. ‘I want to leave Rita. I love you so much I want us to be together for always.’

  DOMINIC

  Monday 8 April 1991

  Yawning, Dominic drove into Mountain View and saw a man placing an estate agent’s For Sale notice up at the front gates. Oh! Someone’s selling up, he thought idly. He had bought the apartment here in the mid-Eighties and never regretted the buy. It was his haven from the world and it suited him perfectly. He yawned again. He was tired. It had been a killer of a drive up from Cork that morning. The fog had been a nightmare. He didn’t usually come up to Dublin until Wednesday afternoon, spending the first part of his week in the Cork office, but there was a big consignment coming in that needed urgent attention and so his presence was required. To be fair to Janet, his office manager, she was extremely competent at her job. Still, Hillyards were important clients and he would be well paid for his labours.

  He would have come up last night but his second grandchild was being christened. Kimberly had had a baby by Senan McCarthy and the bastard had run out on her and was now in London. Once she had got over the shock of her unmarried daughter becoming pregnant, Rita had everything under control and as well as minding their first grandchild, Michael’s son, was in her element, changing nappies and feeding her new granddaughter. Kimberly and the baby had moved back home and the house was as chaotic as usual.

  He sighed deeply. He had so badly wanted Lainey to say that she would live with him. He would have told Rita that he was leaving and paid her maintenance and come to live in Dublin. But she was adamant. She wanted a place of her own, wanted to be her own boss and wanted to be tied to no-one. Trust him to pick someone like Lainey. Most women would be clamouring to have their lovers leave their wives and live with them. She had reacted in shock when he had told her he wanted them to live together and make a commitment. The irony of it. The wheel had come full circle. Women no longer needed men. They could live perfectly happily supporting themselves and if he and others like him didn’t like it, that was tough! That she loved him he no longer doubted. But he realized that Lainey, after her experiences with Steve McGrath, was never going to allow anyone to have control over her emotions again. No-one was ever going to have the power to be able to hurt her as she had been hurt so long ago. By keeping her independence and her career, Lainey felt she was in control and there was nothing he could say that would persuade her otherwise. When he had reminded her that she was in her mid-thirties and asked if she had ever thought of having children, she had told him with perfect truthfulness that she didn’t think she would be a good mother. She had grown too used to being able to do as she pleased and, selfish though it might seem, she didn’t want to have a child and end up resenting it for curtailing her freedom. She didn’t feel any overpowering urge to become a mother and she felt no woman should have a child because it was expected of her, just because she was a woman.

  Lainey was the most totally honest woman he had ever met. She had never been anything less than honest with him in regard to their relationship and she could face herself and her faults without flinching, believing that she was what she was and that if people didn’t like her they could lump her. He didn’t think she was being selfish not wanting a child. It was an awesome commitment to produce a child and if she felt it was not for her, she was far more honest that some couples he knew who had children and paid other people to rear them while they carried on gaily working, socializing and the like as though nothing had changed in their lives. Designer children he called them. It had become a status thing to have kids now. The new ‘in’ accessory. From what he heard, Lainey’s nephew Andrew was such a child, the poor kid. Dominic respected Lainey more than any other woman he had ever met and although he had been deeply disappointed that she would not live with him, he knew her well enough to know that it was not a rejection of him and that their love was as strong as ever. Because he loved and understood her he had accepted her decision.

  After a shower and breakfast he felt more alert and refreshed and ready to face the day. Driving out through the wrought-iron gates he noticed the For Sale sign again. A thought struck him.

  Lord, it would be perfect. He jammed on the brakes, took a note of the name and phone number of the agents and smiled to himself. An apartment in Mountain View would be perfect for Lainey. It would be practically as good as living together. The next best thing. An ideal solution. He wondered which block it would be in. It was hardly someone in theirs. He hadn’t heard anything about anyone moving. Maybe Liz might know; she was having a management committee meeting at the end of the week. Thank God it was in her apartment; if it was in Al and Detta’s he’d refuse to go. Those kids were the worst he knew, even worse than Mona’s and that was saying something. Candine and Tralee Shaw were the best example of designer kids he had ever seen. Mind, the parents were something else, the kids couldn’t be blamed, he supposed. Only last week Candine had thrown a flower pot down on top of Derek as he was showing his patio off to another new girlfriend. And Al and Detta had murmured something about childish high spirits and not lifted a finger to correct the brat! Al was such a bore. He had buttonholed Dominic the other day pretending to want to confirm that he had the right date for the committee meeting just as an excuse to fiddle with his new Psion organizer in front of him. He had been waffling on about how hard he was worked and how he had spent all of St Patrick’s weekend ‘reading on’ stock on to the new computer Hanley and Mason had installed and how being an information scientist was no joke.

  Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Al and Detta and brats were selling to become even more upwardly mobile! Dominic liked the rest of his neighbours. Liz Lacey was terrific, with a great sense of humour, Derek, across the hall from him, was fine. He took himself so seriously and was sowing plenty of wild oats, but kept himself to himself. Maud and Muriel were very reserved with him, obviously putting two and two together where Lainey was involved. But they passed the time of day with him and that was all he wished for.

  He didn’t know anyone else in any of the other blocks on the complex. Anyway, to find out all he had to do was ring the estate agents and make an appointment to view. Then he’d ring Lainey with the good news. It was like fate, Dominic decided as he sped down Griffith Avenue towards his Fairview office.

  CECILY AND SIMON

  Saturday 29 December 1990

  Dressed in a pale peach Lacoste track suit, Cecily observed with satisfaction the controlled chaos that was her kitchen. The caterers she had hired were already hard at work and everything was progressing well. Simon was taking care of the drinks. She was looking forward to the party. Cecily loved entertaining. It gave her something to do, something to plan for and she always felt a great sense of satisfaction when a party went well. She entered her dining-room and viewed it with an experienced eye. Yes, the table was fine, the flowers just right. This year her theme colours were gold and w
hite. The cutlery gleamed and the crystal sparkled. She had decided on a buffet because of the numbers coming and once the dividing doors were opened, there’d be plenty of room.

  ‘Everything looks good, Cecily, up to your usual excellent standards,’ her husband commented approvingly as he passed by with a couple of ice buckets.

  ‘Thank you darling,’ she smiled, pleased. She was going to take a split of champagne from the fridge and relax in a warm bath for a little while before she dressed. ‘It will be time to dress soon, I must see how Andrew is getting on.’

  Her son was sitting on his bed with a face like a thundercloud. ‘I really wanted to go and stay in Gran’s. I hate it when you have parties,’ he moaned.

  ‘Now stop that nonsense, Andrew,’ Cecily snapped. ‘You don’t know how lucky you are. Now hurry and get dressed so you’ll be ready to greet the guests. And don’t forget to wear your new waistcoat,’ his mother warned him as she closed the door behind her. What had got into him, she wondered, as she walked into her own bedroom and poured herself a drink. Andrew was so handsome and she was dying to show him off. She had bought him a lovely new suit and a gorgeous embroidered waistcoat to go with it. He would look quite the little man.

  *

  Andrew made a face at his mother’s retreating back and let out a string of very satisfying curses. If he was heard using such language he’d be murdered, but in the privacy of his own room, he always indulged himself. That hideous waistcoat that his mother had bought in Dublin. Andrew hated it. Why couldn’t he wear his new denim jacket and jeans that his Aunt Lainey had sent him down for Christmas. She really knew what a fella liked. He was twelve years old, nearly a teenager, in boarding school in Dublin. He was too old for his mother to be telling him what to wear. The blokes at school would give him hell if they ever found out. With a look of determination Andrew marched over to his wardrobe, took out his new denim outfit, found a crumpled tee-shirt in his laundry basket and began to dress. When he was ready he went to his drawer and took out a little box. In it was his pride and joy. His gold earring. One of the fellas at school had pierced his ear with a darning needle for him. It had hurt like hell but it had been worth it. And at least he hadn’t been called chicken like Ken O’Neill! Inserting his precious earring he took out some mousse and gel from his toilet bag. Industriously he set to work on his hair, stiffening it into spikes. Then when he was finally satisfied he delved deep into his wardrobe and brought out his precious Doc Martins that he had bought with the money his Grandad had slipped him at Christmas. While he was waiting, he decided he might as well have a fag. Taking one from the cache in his underwear drawer Andrew opened the window, lit up and began to puff away contentedly.