‘Thanks, Dev,’ Maggie said heavily, as she took the sponge from her.
‘Aren’t you going to tell him about the book?’
‘I don’t know what to do, Dev. If I tell him I was at a meeting with an editor today, he’ll freak and say I’m neglecting Shona. I can’t keep it a secret much longer. I’ve a lot of rewriting to do in a very short space of time.’ She grimaced. ‘Ah to hell, I suppose I’ll have to tell him one way or another. Tonight is as good a time as any.’
Twenty-One
‘You’re not serious!’ Terry gazed at his wife as they sat in the dingy hospital canteen having a cup of coffee and a sandwich. Shona was asleep and they had slipped away for a little while before Maggie went home to shower and change her clothes and put the twins to bed.
‘I am,’ Maggie grinned, enjoying the look of stupefaction on her husband’s face.
‘You’re having a book published? Well, fair dues to you, Maggie, and all the time I thought you were wasting your time sitting at that typewriter. What’s it about?’ Terry asked.
Pleasantly surprised at his attitude, Maggie was just about to bubble enthusiastically that it was about a woman whose husband has an affair while working in Saudi, when discretion stopped her tongue. No point in antagonizing her husband by reminding him about his past. He’d never read it anyway. Terry wouldn’t read a book to save his life.
‘Ah, it’s just about three women,’ she said offhandedly.
‘When will the money start rolling in?’
Maggie laughed. ‘It’s started already. I got a cheque for the first instalment of my advance last Friday before I went away.’
‘For how much?’ Terry was flabbergasted.
‘Two thousand five hundred,’ Maggie said airily.
‘Good God, that would pay off the loan on your car.’ Terry rubbed his hands as a broad grin creased his handsome face.
‘Well yes, maybe I could pay fifteen hundred off it but I need to keep a bit. I have to do some rewriting and I was thinking that, when Shona gets out of hospital and the lads are finished summer school, I might rent out a mobile in Redcross for a month. It will be good for them and I can concentrate on my novel at night when they’re in bed.’
‘Why don’t you stay at your Ma’s and save yourself the expense of a mobile? They aren’t cheap to rent at the height of the season. It seems like an awful waste of money to me, especially when your parents have the big farmhouse and loads of room,’ Terry argued.
‘No, Terry!’ Maggie was adamant. ‘I never have a bit of peace when I’m at home with the children. Ma gets into too much of a tizzy, and starts going on about the way she did things when we were small and I end up simmering with frustration and anger with a touch of inadequacy thrown in. I’m always afraid they’ll break something and I spend my time telling them not to do this and to be careful of that. It’s just not worth it. If I rent a mobile we’ll be able to visit a couple of times and that will suit me fine.’
‘OK, OK, keep your hair on,’ Terry growled. ‘How long more do you think Shona’s going to be in here? Are they doing anything with her at all? I think I’ll get on to them. There’s no improvement.’
‘They’re doing their best, Terry. The professor told me if there’s no improvement by tomorrow he’s going to put her on Erythromycin. It’s a superstrong antibiotic; the only thing about it is that it sometimes makes children sick.’
‘That’s not much use then, is it?’
‘If it takes her temperature down and clears the chest infection it will be worth it.’
Maggie placed the dirty cups and plates on her tray and stood up. ‘I’m off. I’ll see you later. Caroline cooked a lasagne so you can bake a potato in the microwave and have that with it when you get home.’
‘I suppose I’ll have to fend for myself, when you’re enjoying yourself on your month’s holiday,’ he moaned.
‘I won’t be on holidays, Terry,’ Maggie retorted. ‘I’ll be working. I’ll be looking after three children, cooking for them, washing their clothes, entertaining them. On top of that I’ll be trying to concentrate on my rewrites. If you’d like to swop places with me and go down to the mobile for a month and let me stay at home in peace and quiet to get my work done, you’re more than welcome.’
‘Aw, come off it, Mags,’ Terry scoffed. ‘You’re not going to stand there and tell me that sitting at a typewriter writing whatever comes into your head is hard work?’
It’s as hard as sitting at a calculator working out a tax return, she thought, and was sorely tempted to tell him so, but she restrained herself. There was no point in getting upset by her husband’s attitude. She remembered something she had heard at one of the sessions in the writers’ group of which she was a member. A writer who had achieved great success had told them how annoyed he had been when one day after he had become a full-time writer, a close friend said, ‘Tell me what’s it like not to have to work any more?’ The writer had been so angry he had snapped, ‘What are you asking me for? I don’t know. I work bloody hard.’ Only a writer could understand how hard it is, he had told the class. ‘So,’ he said, ‘don’t let people’s attitudes upset you. Just keep writing.’
In a million years Terry would never understand. Adam would, but not her husband. Nevertheless, even if he didn’t understand, Terry should be much more supportive of her. It was this lack of support that riled Maggie so much. It didn’t matter whether her interest was writing or painting, he should be behind her every step of the way – just as once she would have been his greatest champion. No matter how much she kidded herself, Maggie knew that ever since his affair with Ria Kirby their marriage was a continuing disappointment to her. She found herself constantly comparing their relationship with that of other couples, and it didn’t compare well with a lot of them. Even Caroline and Richard were more content than she was.
‘You’re a gas woman, Maggie.’ Her husband was smiling and Maggie realized sadly that Terry didn’t even realize he had hurt her feelings.
She kept her tone light. ‘I must be to have married you!’
‘Oh, you didn’t do badly for yourself,’ Terry said, grinning. He leaned over and gave her a kiss and a pat on the behind. ‘God, you’ve a great ass, Maggie. I wish this was all over. I’m as horny as hell and I miss you in bed at night.’
‘Stop it, Terry! People are looking at us!’ Maggie extricated herself from his embrace.
‘Let ’em look! A man can kiss his wife, can’t he, especially when she’s as good-looking as you!’ Terry was unabashed.
In spite of herself Maggie had to laugh. In mind and heart her husband was still sixteen years old.
‘I’m going. I’ll collect the car from the garage. Caroline said she’d wait until you got home, so I can come back sooner. Maybe we could nip off somewhere for a court and a bit of nookey,’ Terry whispered hopefully. ‘It’s been ages, Maggie.’
‘Give over,’ she said indignantly. ‘It was last Friday morning before I went away.’
‘That’s ages,’ he exclaimed.
‘Ever ready! That’s you.’ Maggie grabbed the tray and followed the notice that directed them to the kitchen where people were requested to help by leaving out their dirty crockery to be washed – the staff shortages were that bad.
‘I’d want to be to make the most of the rare occasion when you’re in the mood,’ Terry muttered.
‘That’s not fair, Terry Ryan,’ Maggie exploded. ‘Christ Almighty, as if I haven’t enough on my plate at the moment! You’re totally fucking insensitive.’
‘Sure, I’m as knackered as you are. I’m looking after the kids and getting them up and dressed in the morning, as well as doing my stint in here. Besides which I’ve got a day’s work to do. It’s no joy-ride for me either, Maggie.’
‘I didn’t say it was,’ Maggie argued hotly.
‘Well then, don’t start acting the martyr,’ Terry snarled. ‘All I wanted was a bit of love-making and you carry on as if I’d asked you to do the pilgri
mage at Lough Derg or something. Typical, making a big deal out of everything.’
‘Listen, buster, one day I will make a big deal about something and then you’ll know about it.’ Maggie tramped up the stairs in fury and swept out the front door, leaving her spouse equally angry as he headed up to St Camillus. He was just in time for Shona to puke all over him as he lifted her in his arms to kiss her.
‘Are you all right there now, Mr Ryan?’ a young blonde nurse asked after she had helped him wipe off his trousers.
Terry smiled at her. She was a very pretty young girl and it was nice to have a woman smile at him after the way Maggie had jumped down his throat a while ago. ‘Thank you, Nurse . . .’ He peered at her badge. ‘Thank you, Dolores, you’re very kind.’ He gave his most charming smile. He could see that she liked him. It made him feel good about himself. A man needed to feel good about himself and it certainly didn’t help when his wife made it quite clear that making love to her husband was the last thing in the world she was interested in. He was thinking of her as much as himself. A nice kiss and a cuddle would have relaxed her and taken her mind off things. Didn’t she appreciate all he was doing in the crisis? And the way she snapped his nose off when he suggested that writing wasn’t work! She could argue until she was blue in the face; sitting at a typewriter making things up out of her head was a doddle compared to working out complicated figures and tax-relief scams. And now she was talking about going away for a month of leisure and leaving him to his own devices. Honest to God, talk about being neglected! Was it any wonder men had affairs? That nurse definitely fancied him. He knew by the way she was smiling in at him. Oh well, no harm in a little flirtation to keep his confidence up. If Maggie didn’t want him, there were plenty of women who did.
‘Maggie, you look wrecked! Go up and have a shower,’ Caroline said solicitously, shooing her up the stairs. ‘I’ll have your dinner on the table in ten minutes. The twins are all ready for bed.’
Her kindness almost made Maggie cry. After her row with Terry she was fit for nothing. Why couldn’t he see she was under pressure, she fumed, as she stood under the steaming jets of water, trying to erase the ache of tension that knotted her neck and shoulder muscles. They were always rowing lately and she admitted it was as much her fault as his. Was she being super-sensitive? Was she deliberately concentrating on his faults rather than his good qualities? And he had good qualities, she admitted to herself. He was a great father and thought the world of his kids. He wasn’t mean with money. He would do anybody a good turn. He had always been very kind to Devlin and Caroline in their hours of need. He was good to his mother. He worked all the hours God gave him to make a success of his financial consultancy. Why couldn’t he just give her the support she craved? ‘Because he’s a selfish insensitive shit,’ Maggie muttered, as she soaped herself all over, still fuming at his infuriating remarks.
‘Dinner in five minutes,’ Caroline called up the stairs.
‘OK,’ Maggie yelled. Caroline was such a pet and the kids loved her. When this was all over she was going to treat her friend to a really nice lunch in a good restaurant. She looked a bit tired and pale today. Richard had better be behaving himself, she thought grimly.
‘You OK, Caroline? You look a bit off,’ she enquired of the younger woman five minutes later as she sat in a robe of soft pink towelling, ready to eat the tasty lasagne and side salad Caroline had served up. ‘The kids aren’t playing up or anything?’
‘No, no, they’re great, Maggie. I’m fine,’ Caroline assured her, pulling up a chair and pouring herself a cup of tea. ‘How’s Shona?’
Between mouthfuls of the creamy feast, Maggie told her friend the latest about her daughter. ‘I wish the news was better,’ she sighed. ‘With luck the Erythromycin will work. It’s heart-breaking looking at her. I know she’s hungry; she was dying for the Petit Filou I got for her but after the first spoonful she started to cry. Her mouth is in bits with the blisters and she can’t eat anything.’ Suddenly, Maggie’s throat constricted as she thought of her little daughter unable to eat even a yoghurt while she was stuffing herself with lasagne. She started to cry and great big tears plopped on to her dinner plate.
‘Ah Maggie! Ah Maggie!’ Caroline leaned over and put her arm around her.
‘Oh Caroline, it’s awful, it’s awful, and when they give her the oral medicine by syringe and I have to hold her down it breaks my heart. The poor little mite! I feel so useless; I feel I’m letting her down,’ Maggie sobbed bitterly. ‘And then Terry and I had a row, a terrible row. Caroline, I know this is an awful thing to say but I don’t think I love him any more. Things haven’t been good between us for ages. He thinks everything is OK after his affair but it’s not. It’s not OK for me, I’ve tried to put it behind me and I can’t. I bet if Ria Kirby was writing a book he’d be kneeling holding her goddamned typewriter,’ she wept bitterly.
‘Maggie, Maggie, you’re just overwrought,’ broke in Caroline. ‘You’re tired and worried sick over Shona, and things seem to be much worse than they are. Honestly, when she’s well again they will get into perspective. You’re at a low ebb now and believe me, I know from experience that everything always looks much blacker when you’re at rock bottom.’ Caroline was glad she hadn’t confided her own problems in Maggie, although she had been sorely tempted to.
‘It’s ironic, isn’t it? I should be on cloud nine, getting my novel published and all, and I’ve never been so unhappy.’ Maggie wiped her reddened eyes.
‘It will be a happy time. I’m sure that super-antibiotic will fix Shona,’ Caroline said kindly. ‘You shouldn’t take any notice of Terry. Men react differently to women when they’re under stress. He didn’t mean anything he said. I know he didn’t, so don’t take it to heart. Look, the twins are watching The Little Mermaid. Why don’t you go in and sit with them for a while? I’ll clear up here.’
‘You’re very good to me, Caroline.’ Maggie hugged her friend.
‘One good turn . . .’ said Caroline, smiling.
Michael and Mimi were sitting round-eyed looking at Ursula the Sea Witch, mixing her magic potions as she huskily boomed, ‘Poor unfortunate souls, in pain, in need.’ I know the feeling, thought Maggie wryly as she plonked herself down on the sofa and allowed herself to be kissed and cuddled. ‘This part’s real exciting, Mammy; ’Itsom an’ Bitsom are being very bold,’ Michael said seriously.
Maggie hid a smile. ‘You mean Flotsam and Jetsam, pet?’
‘Yeah and they made the Little Mermaid follow him to Ursula’s cave . . .’
‘But Flounder an’ Sebastian are tryin’ to save her,’ Mimi chimed in. ‘Mammy, do you think I look a bit like the Likkle Mermaid?’ her daughter enquired, flicking back her auburn hair and gazing at her amused mother with huge blue eyes.
‘Oh, I think you’re even more beautiful than the Little Mermaid.’ Maggie hugged her and reflected ruefully that she had inherited some of her father’s vanity. ‘And you’re even more handsome than the Prince.’ She smiled down at her son, making sure not to leave him out.
‘Mammy, are you staying at home tonight?’ Michael asked seriously. ‘I miss you.’
‘Me too! I wish Shona was home.’ Mimi snuggled in closer.
‘She will be soon, but I have to stay with her when she’s sick. Just as I’d stay with you if you were sick,’ Maggie explained patiently.
‘I do feel sick,’ Mimi said sorrowfully, ‘here in my tummy, so will you stay at home and mind me tonight?’ Oh Lord, Maggie thought miserably, why are you doing this to me?
‘How about if I stay until you are fast asleep?’
‘That’s not fair; you only care about Shona,’ Mimi said petulantly, going into one of her dramatic huffs, her lower lip stuck out stubbornly. Maggie realized that it wouldn’t surprise her one bit if Mimi ended up on the stage. Even at this age, she had a flair for dramatics.
‘Don’t be silly. You know I love you and Michael as much as I love Shona. Now let’s watch The Little Mermaid and
then I’ll read you a story in bed,’ Maggie said firmly.
‘Will you read us the one about Higgledy Piggledy Hilda?’ Mimi cast a sideways glance up at her mother. Maggie’s heart sank. ‘Higgledy Piggledy Hilda’ was a very long story and normally Maggie did not read it at bed time, keeping it for a rainy Saturday afternoon, when all other forms of childish entertainment had been exhausted. Mimi was perfectly well aware of this, but little manipulator that she was, she knew she had played her trump card by her accusation of not caring. If Maggie refused to read ‘Higgledy Piggledy Hilda’ that would also constitute a not-caring offence and Mimi would go into a mega-huff. Mother nil, daughter one. Game, set and match to Mimi.
Maggie could not help but be amused at how her daughter had, as many times previously, completely outmanoeuvred her. Mimi was an extremely strong-willed little girl and Maggie knew that rearing her was not going to be an easy task. Her daughter had a mind of her own and was frequently openly defiant of her mother. Because she was the apple of her father’s eye, most of the chastising was left to Maggie, which she felt was totally unfair, but she also knew that Mimi needed a firm hand if she wasn’t to grow up into a wild undisciplined brat. She was the dominant twin, always ordering her brother around and making the decisions, and Michael, who was generally a placid, cheerful little boy, was perfectly happy to be bossed around by his sister. It was something Maggie kept a watchful eye on. She didn’t want her son to become a submissive child and she was always trying to get him to be a little more assertive and a little less dependent on his twin. Rearing children was fraught with such difficulties, she thought. Maybe she was just a worrier but she wanted to raise her children to be well-rounded individuals with a sense of their own worth.
Perhaps if her mother and father hadn’t made her feel she was inferior to her brothers, she might not now be in such difficulties in her relationship with her husband. If she had grown up to have more confidence in herself, to be more assertive, she wouldn’t have these ridiculous feelings of guilt at taking a weekend break with her friends or about her writing career. Well, at least Mimi would never feel inferior to anyone; that was something. Maggie turned to her son. ‘What would you like me to read, Michael? I think it’s your turn to choose the story tonight,’ she said, hoping that he might ask for his favourite, ‘Ivor the Engine’.
City Woman Page 20
