Something in Common

by Meaney, Roisin

  How’s your mother? I hope she’s over that cold. The weather’s so changeable I’m not surprised she got one. Dad is hardly going outside the door these days. He’s still fairly active though, for eighty-five, still driving and everything. Maybe we should get your mother and my father together!!

  Hope your hot flushes are fading, they sound unpleasant (although your description of poor Frank rushing around with the ice was hilarious). It’s all ahead of me! Forty-four last October – and Stephen, my baby, is seven, hard to believe. I’d still love another, but at this stage I’m afraid it will hardly happen. It won’t be for want of trying, though! (Oh my God, I can’t believe I wrote that – I’m blushing! Or maybe it’s my first hot flush!!!)

  I’d better go – Martha has a piano lesson this afternoon, and I’m driving her because it looks like it’s going to rain again. Not looking forward to it, still the world’s worst (and most nervous) driver.

  love Sarah xx

  PS Check out the dedication!

  Helen laid the letter aside and picked up the book again, the fifth in the series. It had taken two, Easy Peasy Dishes and C is for Cooking, before people had begun to sit up and take notice. By the time More Kitchen Fun hit the shelves, the first two were being reprinted to cope with the demand, and with the publication of The Smallest Cook in the House last year the series was getting top billing in bookshops, with its own dedicated display units.

  The idea was beautifully simple. Each book contained just ten dishes, and each recipe was presented in comic-strip form by two young chefs, Martina and Charlie, who demonstrated the steps using few words and lots of pictures. Martina, the elder, led the way, having to stop every so often to scold Charlie, who would inevitably spill or drop something, or furtively eat some of the ingredients. It was children teaching children how to cook, and it slotted perfectly into the gap that had existed.

  And it was all down to Sarah, who, Helen was quite sure, bent over backwards to meet whatever rewriting deadlines Paul threw at her – no wonder he called her obliging.

  ‘She’s got such enthusiasm,’ he’d told Helen. ‘She’s like a child herself, not an ounce of guile in her, but she sure knows her way around a recipe.’

  He’d been bemused to learn that the two women had never met. ‘I thought you knew her well.’

  ‘I do, on paper. We’ve been penpals for years. I know things about her that she doesn’t tell her own family.’

  ‘Crikey … In that case, maybe you should come along next time we meet, seeing as how you’re the one who brought us together.’

  But Helen had declined. Not the right occasion, a business meeting not the right setting. They’d know when the perfect opportunity arose, she was sure.

  She had reviewed each book, though.

  Our newest author is a professional cook who loves her job. She also just happens to love children – her own two are arguably the most cherished in Ireland. It’s the perfect recipe for a cookery book aimed at any child who’s ever shown an interest in cooking – or any other child, come to that.

  Easy Peasy Dishes, the first in a planned series, has ten basic recipes written in a beautifully simple style, with clearly outlined safety guidelines and a wonderfully colourful and appealing comic-strip layout – think Dr Seuss colour and fun. There’s even a ‘tidy-up as you go’ ethos running through the book, to keep parents happy. But the genius stroke is that each recipe is presented by two child characters, perfect for your little chef to identify with.

  As the books had gained in popularity, Sarah’s publishers had been approached by journalists eager for information about the books’ mystery author – S. Flannery was barely visible on the covers, and no autobiographical details were contained within – but Sarah had been reluctant to go public.

  I’ve told Paul I’d prefer to stay in the background. The idea of seeing my photo in a magazine, or having someone writing about me and the children, gives me the shivers! Thankfully, Paul is OK with this.

  Of course he was OK with it – mystery only made someone more marketable. In the end they’d settled on one publicity photo being taken, which showed Sarah standing behind a kitchen table, head bent as she stirred a mixture in a bowl, with Martha and Stephen – the real-life inspirations for Martina and Charlie – facing her across the table, their backs to the camera. This single photo accompanied any piece that was written about the cookery books.

  With the downward tilt of her head, Sarah’s features were impossible to make out. All Helen could see was the tip of her nose, the curve of her eyelash, the slant of her cheek. Since the photo was in black-and-white the colour of her hair, which looked to be cut in a short bob, remained uncertain, but it appeared to be a fairly nondescript light brown or dark blonde. She wore a full white apron, underneath which the short sleeves of a dark top emerged.

  A woman she’d never met, but knew so much about. A caring, conservative, generous, self-deprecating, gullible, shy, emotional, sentimental woman. Helen knew Sarah almost as well as she knew Alice – better in some ways.

  She turned the pages of the cookery book and found the dedication: For Helen, who’s always been there when I needed her. And beneath, handwritten, Sarah xx

  She looked at the page for several seconds before closing the book.

  ‘Fifty injured at that match last night,’ Frank said.

  She turned. ‘What?’

  ‘That Ireland-England soccer match in Lansdowne Road. Fifty injured. Bloody hooligans.’

  Helen continued to regard him. His hair, as usual, was in need of a cut: it seemed to grow at twice the rate of everyone else’s. His reading glasses were perched halfway down his nose as he frowned at the newspaper, lips pursed. His pyjama top was frayed at the collar and faded from washing, but he refused to throw it out.

  He didn’t give a damn that she was a menopausal cow. He looked after her mother better than she did, and he was lovely with Alice. He’d cycle to the moon if Helen asked him. He’d never once criticised her.

  He was always there when she needed him.

  ‘Alright then,’ she said. ‘I will.’

  He looked up. ‘You will what?’

  She smiled.

  His eyes widened. He dropped the newspaper and opened his arms.

  Sarah

  My dear Alice

  Congratulations! Your mother told me your good news, you must be delighted! I’m sending a card that Martha made for you – obviously it’s not a patch on your gorgeous ones, but it was made with tons of enthusiasm! Martha was ten last week, and she loves art, always wants to be messing with paints and crayons. I’m sending her to piano lessons because I’d love her to be able to play, but I suspect she’s really only taking them to keep me happy!

  My fifth cookery book hit the shelves at the end of February, can you believe it! Time is flying!

  Love to Jackie, hope you’ve got a big rise along with the promotion, so you and she can enjoy lots of treats!

  All my best

  Sarah xx

  Dear Martha

  My name is Alice, and I’m the one you sent that beautiful congratulations card to – thank you so much. My friend Jackie couldn’t believe you were only ten when she saw it! It’s sitting on our mantelpiece now and we’re showing it off to all our visitors.

  I think you’ll probably be an artist when you grow up, if you don’t become a musician. Your mum says you’re having piano lessons, and I’m really jealous. My dad was a good piano player, but he died when I was very small, and I didn’t learn how to play the piano, or any instrument, and I’m really sorry now, because I’d LOVE to be able to play at parties. People who can play piano or guitar always get asked to LOADS of parties, so you’re a lucky duck.

  I’m sending you some dragon stickers – maybe you could share them with Stephen. I’m not sure if you’re interested in dragons, but here in Wales there’s lots of dragon stuff because of someone called George who was from England and who killed a fierce dragon once. Your mum probably knows
the story.

  Well, I’d better go, it’s time to cook the dinner. I’m not a very good cook, not like your mum. You must be very proud of her for writing all those great cookbooks – I saw them when I visited my mum at Christmas. I’m sure you’re the girl cook in them, even though she has a different name. And Stephen is the boy, isn’t he? Bet you’re secretly delighted!

  Bye for now, and thanks again for the great card,

  love Alice xxx

  PS Your mum wrote to me when I was about your age, and sent me a present of a book, which I still have! She sounds like a lovely mum.

  PPS I have a photo of you as a baby! You had only a tiny bit of hair but you were gorgeous!

  ***

  Things weren’t the same between them – they would probably never be the same. Something had been destroyed on that day in November more than four years ago when he’d sat across the table from her and crushed her heart, and she’d responded by smashing her fist into his face.

  She didn’t know if she could ever completely trust him again. But she was moving on, giving him a second chance, because she still wanted him in her life. They were a couple again, and eventually everyone had accepted it, even Christine.

  They had inched their way back together. After the Christmas dinner – which had passed off more smoothly than Sarah had hoped, everyone being terribly polite – she and Neil had continued to meet just once a week, when he came to collect or return Martha and Stephen. They’d talk for a few minutes at the car, usually about the children, and then Sarah would say goodbye and that would be it.

  In February she’d met Paul from the publishers, and there had been all the excitement of signing the deal, and more meetings, and making changes to the book – and inevitably, the children had told Neil.

  ‘Congratulations,’ he’d said, with as much warmth as she could have asked for. ‘That’s great news. You must be over the moon.’

  ‘I am, it’s all very exciting.’

  And that night she’d lain in bed and imagined how it would have been if they were still married. The four of them would have gone out for a meal to celebrate, or maybe they’d have got a babysitter and gone on their own. Neil might have got her a little gift, a piece of jewellery maybe. She’d have shared each step of the journey with him.

  And then at the end of April, he’d dropped the children back as usual one Sunday afternoon, and he and Sarah had exchanged the pleasantries they always did. She’d enquired after his mother’s back, he’d commented on the new sitting-room curtains. She’d updated him on the book’s progress.

  And as she’d turned to go back into the house, he’d said, ‘Sarah’ – and her name on his lips, and the different tone of his voice, had caused a flush to creep into her face.

  ‘I was wondering if you’d like to come with us to the cinema next weekend. Just if you wanted to.’

  She hadn’t known what to say. A family outing, like they’d had so many times before, only now they weren’t a family any more.

  But maybe they could be, if she had the courage to try.

  ‘Yes,’ she’d found herself saying, ‘I’d like that.’

  And a fortnight after the cinema – the children sitting between them in the dark, some cartoon on the screen she hadn’t paid the slightest attention to – he’d suggested a trip to the wax museum, and shortly after that Stephen had wanted to go to the zoo. And with each outing, Sarah sitting beside him in the car like she’d done so many times before, it became easier to be together.

  And then, when he was dropping them off one Sunday in June, Martha had said, ‘Dad, why don’t you stay to dinner?’ She’d turned to Sarah. ‘That’s OK, Mum, isn’t it?’ And what could Sarah say, except yes?

  And just like that, their reconciliation was nudged on. Neil had come in and played trains with Stephen until the chicken curry had been reheated. And during dinner he’d looked out of the window and remarked that some of the shrubs could do with pruning, and he could drop by if Sarah wanted, whenever it suited her.

  And finally, as they drank tea on the garden seat one balmy August evening, after an afternoon at the cinema and a lasagne dinner, she’d told him that the publication date was September the fifteenth, and he’d told her that he still loved her, and he’d asked if there was any chance that they could try again.

  And that had been nearly three years ago.

  It was different; it might never be the same. It was more fragile; she felt more fragile. But he was still her husband and they were together again – and at the age of forty-four, she’d begun another baby with him.

  ‘Congratulations,’ the doctor said, sliding the box of tissues across his desk to her.

  Helen

  Sarah

  I had to laugh when I saw the Iron Maiden CD – yes, it did bring me back to my misspent youth, thank you very much. I think if you’d met me in my teens you’d have run a mile. I was the original enfant terrible – my poor parents had a lot to put up with. Ah well, I got my comeuppance when Alice turned out to be every bit as bad as I was. (Hasn’t she turned out well, despite my terrible parenting? Maybe I got some bits right.)

  I have news – don’t faint. Frank proposed yet again, and this time I decided I’d run out of reasons to turn the poor man down, so we’re tying the knot in a very quiet registry office ceremony on September the twentieth. It’s a Friday, at two in the afternoon. Just my mother and Alice on my side – and you and Neil, if you’d like it. No fuss, a quick ‘I do’ and then a late lunch or early dinner or something in a decent restaurant.

  Frank is, of course, insisting on footing the whole bill. He’s whittled his giant guest list down to about a dozen, and is talking about us having a party for the thousand others he wanted to invite when we get home from our honeymoon. Yes, I said honeymoon. The man is unstoppable. He’s booking it, and keeping the destination a secret. I’ve warned him I want somewhere hot, or I’m going straight to the divorce courts.

  It’s a bit unsettling, wearing another man’s engagement ring. I never thought I would.

  H x

  Helen!!!

  You’re getting married!!! That’s so wonderful!!! I’m SO thrilled for you – and yes, yes, yes, Neil and I would adore to be at the wedding, thank you so much for asking us. I’ve marked the date on the kitchen calendar, and Martha has surrounded it with red hearts! I can’t believe we’re finally going to meet!

  I’m sending you a photo album so you can take lots of snaps and record this time – I remember how completely happy I was when Neil and I were engaged. I felt we existed in this ridiculously perfect bubble where nothing could touch us. You must feel the same now! (And I’m dying to see your ring – I’m sure it’s gorgeous!)

  On a completely different note, I have news too – I’m PREGNANT!!! I heard just the other day, and I know I should wait until the first three months are up – not till next week – and I will before I tell everyone else, but I had to tell someone besides Neil, and you were the obvious choice.

  I feel like shouting it from the rooftops! Another baby, when I’d as good as given up – and I’m terrified, of course. Would you believe I’m due on my forty-fifth birthday – yikes! The doctor says forty-five isn’t too old for a baby these days, especially not when I’ve already had one, and I’m in good health, etc. But of course he’s going to keep an eye on me, with my history, and he’s warned me not to exert myself (as if I would!) so I’ve given up cycling completely till after the baby – and I’m not going to get behind the wheel of the car either, because that would definitely play havoc with my blood pressure. I remind myself of one of those little old ladies you used to see hunched over the steering wheels of Morris Minors, holding up the line of cars behind them as they crawled to wherever they were going!

  So poor Neil is driving me to and from work for the moment, but I know as soon as I tell Christine and Dad my news they’ll row in and work out a rota with Neil, because it’s playing havoc with his schedule. I hate being a nuisance, but I have to p
ut the baby first. Neil, of course, is delighted with the news – he’s hoping for a girl, and obviously I couldn’t care less what we have!

  So life is good, for both of us – I mean for you and me – isn’t that wonderful? Long may it last!

  Sarah xxx

  PS I’ll be over seven months pregnant at your wedding – I’ll be HUGE!

  Sarah

  ‘You don’t have to go,’ Christine said. ‘She’s my mother-in-law – you hardly knew her.’

  ‘Of course I’ll go – I met Gráinne lots of times, I’d like to go.’

  ‘Sarah, it’s just that—’

  ‘I know, but that’s all in the past now.’

  Because, of course, Noreen would be at her aunt’s funeral. If Sarah went, they’d be in the church at the same time, and even if they didn’t come face to face it was almost inevitable that the two of them would see one another. It would be the first time since the day of Neil’s confession, so long ago now.

  From the sitting room came the tinkle of piano chords. ‘Listen,’ Sarah said, ‘he’s really coming on after only five lessons. He’s much more into it than Martha ever was.’

  ‘Stop changing the subject. I really don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go. The doctor said you were to avoid stress.’

  ‘But it won’t be stressful,’ Sarah insisted. ‘I keep telling you, that’s all behind us now. I’m completely over it, and I’m going, and that’s that.’

  The middle of August, more than six months pregnant, the curve of her growing baby very obvious now, especially when she chose clothes that accentuated her shape. She’d wear her grey jersey dress: she looked twice as big in it. What better way to show fifty-four-year-old Noreen that she and Neil were happily reunited than by making sure Noreen saw the evidence of their lovemaking?