There were rumours circulating the hot spots about Ms Delaney, businesswoman and media celebrity, that were too juicy to be ignored. And one thing the Sunday Echo never did was to ignore juicy rumours. Hell, when they had no juicy rumours, they just made some up themselves! But these rumours were really hot. She was supposed to have had a baby! Supposed to have lived in Ballymun. Then there was supposed to have been a terrible accident. There were rumours that it hadn’t been an accident at all and that Devlin had got a massive insurance pay-out with which she had opened City Girl. Rumours that no self-respecting hack could ignore.
Larry and Lucinda were dispatched with instructions to leave no stone unturned, no gutter unexplored, in the quest for the goods on Ms Delaney. Kevin Shannon of the business section was going to be told to do a business interview which would give the article an air of respectability and around which they would slip in their juicy titbits. With all the resources of their horrible little trade, Larry and Lucinda set off on the trail of the ‘to-lie-for’ scoop.
Caroline’s Story – I
Ten
Her idea had been to go home and lie out in the sun for the rest of the day, to top up the tan that she had got in Rosslare Harbour. But as Caroline drove along past Connolly Station, out towards Fairview and Clontarf, she decided that she didn’t want to go home just yet.
She didn’t know where Richard was. Presumably he would be home for dinner; he hadn’t said otherwise. Maybe she’d pop in and see her dad in Marino, and she could get some steak from the local butchers and do Richard steak and onions for his dinner. Now that she had a plan in mind, she didn’t feel so low.
When she got to her father’s house, she decided against driving in the gate. Caroline didn’t feel quite proficient enough to turn in between what she considered excessively narrow gate-posts. Her father was working out in the back garden. Tony Stacey was a keen gardener; his little plot had helped to occupy his mind when his wife died suddenly and left him with the task of rearing three teenagers alone.
Caroline watched him stooping to dig out a particularly stubborn weed from between his cabbages. He was still a sprightly man at sixty-four. It was hard to believe that he’d be retiring the following year from his job as a maths teacher. ‘Hi, Dad.’ She walked down the path and smiled at her father.
‘Ah, Caroline, I wasn’t expecting to see you.’ Tony wiped his hands on his gardening trousers and greeted his daughter with a smile. ‘You look well. Did you have a nice time in Wexford?’
‘I had a great time, Dad.’
‘Well, you got a good tan, anyway,’ her father observed. ‘Have you time for a cup of coffee?’
‘I’ll make it,’ Caroline offered. ‘Have you had your lunch?’
‘Well, now that you come to mention it, I am a bit peckish,’ Tony admitted, glancing at his watch. ‘I didn’t realize it was so late.’
‘You carry on there; I’ll rustle you up something,’ Caroline said, glad of something to do. She picked a pod off a stalk, squeezed it open and ate the sweet-tasting peas. ‘These are nice. You’ve a good crop. And the broad beans look very healthy,’ she remarked. Her father’s garden was a credit to him. He grew all his own vegetables and when she lived at home she had always enjoyed going out to pick fresh cabbage or parsley or lettuce or other vegetables in season.
She went into the kitchen and opened the fridge door. An unpleasant smell assaulted her nostrils and she raised her eyes to heaven. Her father and two brothers lived in the house, and while they kept it clean and fairly tidy, any time she went to the fridge she would find something that was going off, or past its sell-by date. She started on the top shelf. Two yoghurts, a week out of date; they went into the bin. Next shelf: a lump of cheese that was rock-hard. Out. Two sausages in their plastic packaging didn’t smell great; she got rid of them. The rashers were fine.
The next shelf had a carcass of a chicken and a leg and a wing, obviously the remains of Sunday’s meal. Caroline took that out. She would give it to her father for his lunch. She opened the salad drawer and found the source of the pong, a green pepper that was beginning to grow a fluffy white coating on the inside. The tomatoes and cucumber were all right. Caroline took them out to accompany the chicken, filled the sink with hot water and washed out the salad drawer. Just as well she dropped in once a week or those men would poison themselves, she thought in amusement.
Her father popped his head around the back door. ‘How would you fancy a few nice potatoes and some scallions and lettuce and a few peas and beans?’
‘Oh, Dad, I’d love them! Thanks,’ she exclaimed.
‘I’ll just go and dig the spuds for you, so,’ he said cheerily.
Twenty minutes later Caroline called him in for his lunch. She had put a wash in the machine and had run the hoover over the sitting-room and hall.
‘Aren’t you having anything?’ he asked, sitting down to his chicken salad.
‘I ate earlier at City Girl. I’m not hungry so I’ll just have the coffee.’
‘How’s the mad Devlin one?’ Tony grinned. He had a soft spot for his daughter’s friend and was very appreciative of how both Maggie and Devlin had been such a help to Caroline when it came to her drinking problem.
‘The mad Devlin one is fine and full of ideas for expanding City Girl. Although,’ Caroline admitted, ‘it was a bit harrowing when we went to visit her baby’s grave.’
‘That was very tough on her. Be extra kind to Devlin, Caroline – it will take her a long long time to come to terms with that tragedy,’ her father said sadly, remembering how he had felt in the years after his wife’s death.
‘I will, Dad, don’t worry,’ Caroline promised. She brightened. ‘And guess what? Maggie’s having a novel published. Isn’t that a great achievement?’
Tony was delighted with the news. ‘Well, good for Maggie. She’s a gas woman. I’d say she’d have an interesting story to tell.’
‘Well, she’s being published; Devlin’s succeeding beyond her wildest dreams. I’ll have to pull up my socks to keep in the same league as them,’ Caroline said with a wry smile.
‘You have your own talents,’ her father said kindly.
Yes, I was a great drunk, Caroline thought glumly, but she said nothing, just poured her father another cup of coffee.
‘Hello! Hello!’ Sarah Yates barked imperiously down the phone. All she got was Richard’s voice on the answering machine telling her to leave her message after the bleep.
‘Bah!’ she expostulated. She had no time for these new-fangled machines. Where on earth was Richard? Five times she had called his office. Five times! And left a message that he was to call her urgently. ‘Have you given him the message? It is extremely important. I’m his mother, you know,’ she had informed the girl at the other end of the phone.
‘Yes, Mrs Yates, but I’m afraid I don’t know where he is. If he rings in, I’ll certainly give him your message.’
‘Tsk, you’re not much of a receptionist if you don’t know where your boss is,’ Sarah had retorted after the last phone call.
It wouldn’t have happened in his father’s day. Reginald Yates was a complete professional, as Sarah was constantly reminding her son. The very time she needed Richard, he wasn’t there. Those dreadful new people who had moved in next door, with their barking dog and brazen children, were causing her sleepless nights. The children were deliberately trespassing into her gardens, back and front, to get the balls they were always throwing in. What the neighbourhood was coming to was nobody’s business.
She had never allowed Richard to play on the street, no matter how much he pleaded. That was ‘common’ behaviour as far as Sarah was concerned. And the Yateses were not of common stock. That was more than she could say for her son’s in-laws, she thought grumpily, as she straightened up the antimacassars on the sofa and chairs in the parlour. Why Richard had wanted to get married to Caroline, she could not imagine. And look at the way she had ended up. In a drying-out clinic. The shame of it! Richard h
adn’t meant to say anything, but he’d let it slip one night he’d been taking her shopping. She’d known her daughter-in-law was in a private hospital for ‘tests’ and she asked Richard how Caroline was.
‘Suffering badly from withdrawal symptoms,’ he’d said tiredly, and of course she kept at him until she found out what the addiction was.
She wasn’t the slightest bit surprised to hear that Caroline had a drink problem. It probably ran in the family. Hadn’t her uncle been tipsy at the wedding, that awful wedding that was too dreadful to think about. Caroline’s father had looked ridiculous in his top-hat and tails. Just like a dumpy little penguin. Now Reginald had always looked superb in tails. He could carry them. He had class, not like the Stacey family. That aunt of Caroline’s who gave herself such airs, Sarah had seen her on the day of the wedding eating her melon-and-kiwi starter with her soupspoon. And as for that silly little cousin of Caroline’s who had simpered at Richard and said she’d love to meet some of his friends if they were as good-looking as he was! A social climber without a doubt, Sarah sniffed, as she removed some dead leaves from her geranium plants.
Richard should have taken her advice and stayed single. The two of them had been perfectly happy when he lived at home and she took care of him. He’d never had to worry about coming home and not finding his dinner on the table. Imagine a wife going away with her friends for a weekend and leaving her husband to fend for himself. It was outrageous. Some wife, Caroline’s mother-in-law thought in disgust, as she picked up the phone to call her son’s penthouse once more.
This time she left a message on the despised machine. ‘Ring your mother immediately, Richard. It’s of the greatest urgency.’
That should get a response, she thought grimly, as she sat down in a red-velvet-covered armchair and prepared for the afternoon watch. If that ball came into her front garden once this afternoon she was going to confiscate it and by jingo she’d see her neighbours in court.
‘Can I have two T-bone steaks, please, Robert,’ Caroline asked the young butcher as he diligently wiped down the weighing scales.
‘Ah it’s yourself, the lady of leisure,’ Robert grinned. Caroline grinned back. She always enjoyed the slagging she got from Robert and David, the two butchers who now worked in the shop where she’d always bought meat when she’d been cooking for the family.
‘Don’t mind his cheek,’ David advised. David was in charge of the shop, which was always kept immaculate.
‘What happened to your wrist?’ Caroline asked Robert, noticing that it was bandaged.
‘He was on the beer again,’ David said with a grin.
‘Don’t mind him!’ Robert exclaimed indignantly. ‘I was not.’
‘How did you do it? Fighting off the women, was it?’ Caroline teased.
‘I fell over the hoover,’ Robert informed her, ‘and me ma was more worried about the blooming hoover than she was about me. She comes rushing out and roars, ‘‘Is the hoover all right? I hope it’s not broken.’’ And my lying in a heap. I ask ya!’
Caroline and David guffawed.
Robert took the tenner she handed him. ‘Here’s your steaks and don’t cremate them.’
She left the shop smiling. Most customers did. The two lads were always ready for a bit of a laugh. Now she was not going to get down in the dumps, she told herself, as she drove towards Clontarf. She had spent a lovely weekend with the girls. She had passed a nice couple of hours chatting to her father, which was something they had never done before she’d ended up in hospital with her alcoholism. Their relationship was much stronger than it had ever been. The same was true of her brothers, Declan and Damien. They’d got such a shock when they’d heard she was an alcoholic. They had always taken her for granted when she’d been at home taking care of them. She’d been someone who’d cooked their dinner, washed their clothes and kept the house clean. It had given them a bit of a land when she left home and they had to start doing it themselves. Not that she left them completely in the lurch. Once a week, come rain or shine, she’d come home and do the housework for them. And still they took her for granted. It was only after they’d seen her shaking and ill and suffering the most awful withdrawals from drink and Valium, that her brothers came to realize that behind their drudge of a sister was a very fragile, vulnerable person. Now they were much more supportive of her, and she was enjoying their new relationship.
It was just, she thought with a sigh, as she drove along the seafront, glancing at the palm trees waving in the breeze – it was just that she was feeling a bit restless. Listening to Devlin and Maggie making their plans had made her realize that her own future was a void.
She would have to make up her mind whether she wanted to continue living with Richard or finally admit to the world that their marriage was over. Richard didn’t want her to leave; it suited him to be ‘married’ to her. Just imagine the shock waves that would crash around the law library if its denizens knew that Richard, high-profile married solicitor Yates, and Charles, eminently respectable barrister Stokes, were lovers.
Would she have the nerve to live on her own and stand on her own two feet? This was the question that Caroline frequently asked herself. So far the answer was no, but looking at her friends and seeing the success they were making of their lives despite having their share of troubles had made her think. Maybe she’d talk to Richard about it after dinner tonight. Yes, that would be a start, she decided, as she drove into the apartment complex. Devlin’s penthouse was in the block opposite theirs, but no doubt her friend was still in the office making plans and decisions in her usual businesslike manner. Well, Caroline was going to start making a few decisions about her own life soon, she promised herself, parking her car and taking her bag of fresh vegetables from the boot, as well as her weekend luggage. Her father must have thought she would be cooking for an army, she grinned, weighed down by the bulging bag. She’d cook Richard some of the new floury potatoes, she decided.
After she had unpacked the groceries and the vegetables and dumped her weekend case in the bedroom, Caroline switched on the answering machine. She’d noticed the light flashing and thought that maybe Richard had left a message for her. Her heart sank when she heard the imperious tones of her mother-in-law. Now, what on earth was wrong with her that was such a matter of great urgency? That woman was the greatest notice-box going. And utterly selfish. Caroline detested her. No matter how much Richard and she did for her, it would never be enough. Of course, Sarah Yates had never forgiven Caroline for marrying her precious son. No woman in the country was good enough for her Richard.
Caroline had realized this very early on in her marriage and had tried to accept it. It was understandable to a degree. After all, Richard was Sarah’s only child, and after his father had died she had come to depend on him utterly. That was fair enough. Caroline could cope with that and also with the fact that Sarah clearly had no time for her daughter-in-law. But what really annoyed her was the way Sarah treated Richard. She had never accepted the fact that her son was a grown man and even though he was in his mid-thirties she continued to treat him as though he were a ten-year-old. And worse again, Richard allowed her to get away with it.
‘Don’t argue with me, Richard; I’m your mother,’ was a frequent saying of the mega-martyr Sarah. ‘If only your father were still alive he’d look after me.’ This infuriated Caroline because, whatever his faults, her husband was an exemplary son and always had been.
He looked after Sarah’s financial and legal affairs; he listened to her complaints about her daily and her gardener and often had to soothe their ruffled feelings when they threatened to give notice. He took her to the doctor whenever she needed to go, although she was as healthy as an ox. He phoned her twice a day and visited several times a week. But was her mother-in-law in the slightest bit appreciative of what was done for her? She was not! She accepted it all as her due and was constantly looking for more.
Once a week Richard and Caroline used to take Mrs Yates shopping to S
uperquinn in Sutton. This was not a simple matter. Mrs Yates was a pernickety shopper, picking items up, putting them down. Up and down the aisles they went, waiting patiently while she made her selection, Caroline pushing her trolley, Richard pushing his mother’s. Anything Caroline put into her own trolley was commented upon.
Richard had a weakness for Superquinn pizza, accompanied by tuna salad from the supermarket’s salad bar. Invariably, Sarah would comment that her son would be a whole lot better if he ate ‘proper’ food instead of that kind of modern stuff.
‘Of course, I always cooked the best of food for him when he lived at home. Wives these days aren’t very good in the kitchen,’ she sniffed one evening after Caroline had bought chicken Kiev, another favourite of Richard’s. Caroline was furious. She had been cooking meals since the start of her teens and had never poisoned any of her family. Nevertheless, she had swallowed her annoyance in her usual timid fashion, not anxious to have a confrontation with the formidable woman. After she had been hospitalized for alcoholism and Richard had admitted his homosexuality, she had simply stopped going late-night shopping with him and his mother. It was the one stand she made, and her husband didn’t press her. Caroline did her own household shopping by herself, and thoroughly enjoyed meandering up and down the aisles putting whatever she liked into her trolley without fear of disparaging comment. She didn’t go to Superquinn in Sutton, although it was a lovely shop, because Sarah had ruined it for her. She went to Finglas instead and made it hers.
When they’d got married first, Richard used to moan about Caroline going home once a week to clean the house for her father, until she pointed out to him that, just as he had a mother who depended on him, she had a father who valued what she did. And, while she didn’t mind going shopping with her mother-in-law, or visiting her, or having Sunday lunch with her every so often, the least she could do was visit her father once a week. He couldn’t argue with that.
City Woman Page 11
