Waiting for Jeff’s phone call had been nerve-racking. Every time the phone rang at work her stomach had tied itself up in knots. But he’d hadn’t phoned her at work. He had left it until the evening when he phoned her in the flat.
‘You’d think you might have been interested enough to know if I got home safely yesterday.’ She launched into an attack straight away.
‘I thought you were mad with me so I thought I’d let you cool down,’ he explained defensively.
‘Good excuse,’ she snapped.
‘Do you want me to come up tomorrow?’
‘Do you want to come up?’
‘Not if you’re going to take the nose off me,’ he said sullenly.
‘Well, don’t bother so,’ she snapped, slammed down the phone and burst into tears.
Half an hour later the phone rang again.
‘Let’s not fight, Val,’ Jeff said dejectedly when she answered.
‘OK. Please come up tomorrow,’ she said, utterly relieved that he had phoned again.
‘I will. I’ll come straight from the boat and take you out for dinner. We’ll go to Gallagher’s.’
‘Maybe we should start saving,’ she demurred.
‘It will be our last little fling,’ he said, and she knew he was smiling.
‘Are you sure you want to?’
‘Positive,’ he assured her.
They had been edgy with each other at first. She was still smarting from what she perceived as his rejection of her and couldn’t pretend that things were normal between them. He bore it stoically and put up with her volatile humours over the next couple of visits. When he came back to the city for good and got into the routine of college it got easier, and gradually the shock of her pregnancy wore off. As the days shortened and the nights lengthened into a cold, windy autumn, Valerie settled into her new circumstances and her changing relationship with Jeff. He was going to play his part and be a good father, she realized, the day he arrived at the flat with a sturdy little Moses basket.
‘It was mine. It was in the attic at home and I freshened it up and got one of my aunts, who’s brilliant at sewing, to put a new lining in. Do you like it?’ he asked proudly, and she burst into tears and fell into his arms, and they made love for the first time since she’d told him that she was pregnant.
Lying in his arms afterwards, Valerie felt a sense of optimism and calm return. They were together; they would face the future and all that it held, as a couple. They would need to start making plans about where they were going to live once the baby was born and Jeff had finished his exams. Her next great fear had been that Mrs Maguire would give her her marching orders and now, happily, that hadn’t happened. She could stay in her snug little nest for as long as she liked.
Standing in the kitchen, looking out at the relentless rain and the wind-battered garden, Valerie found it hard to believe that she was going to give birth soon. Her pregnancy had flown by. She had not set foot in Rockland’s, not even for Christmas. Jeff had come up to be with her and it had been one of the happiest times of her life, living together while Lizzie was at home celebrating the festive season. Carmel had come up for Stephen’s Day, and brought a feast of home baking and a large travel bag filled with baby clothes that she had been buying since she’d found out she was to be a grandmother. Valerie had heard nothing from Terence. If he answered the phone when she rang home, he would call Carmel and walk away from the phone. Even though she expected it from him, it still hurt. He was her father, when all was said and done.
Her colleagues and her managers at work had been supportive. She had felt sick to her stomach and full of apprehension the morning she had decided to announce her pregnancy at tea break. She’d mulled over what to say and had prepared a little speech, but in the end she’d just blurted out, ‘Girls, I’m pregnant.’ She could see the surprise her declaration caused but almost immediately her colleagues rallied around, congratulating her, offering second-hand cots and buggys and making her feel no different from any of her married colleagues. Once she had that ordeal over she had begun to relax, and apart from morning sickness in the early months her pregnancy had been uneventful. She was lucky, Valerie reflected, as she heard Lizzie calling her into the sitting room for the start of the film, especially when she heard some of the stories from other mothers-to-be at her prenatal clinics.
‘What would I do without you? You’re a great friend, Lizzie,’ Valerie said appreciatively as she settled herself on the sofa and Lizzie stuck a pillow into the small of her back.
‘I’d expect the same from you, never you fear, missy. I’ll need you one day.’ Lizzie handed her a packet of crisps.
‘I’ll be there, for sure,’ Valerie promised fervently.
‘I know that.’ Lizzie tucked herself into the elderly but very comfortable armchair. ‘This is the life, Valerie. How lucky are we?’ she remarked as Deborah Kerr’s beautiful features, framed by a nun’s wimple, illuminated the screen. Black Narcissus was a gripping film, living up to all of Mrs M’s commendation, and they immersed themselves in the lives of Kerr’s troubled Sister Clodagh, as she watched her colleague Sister Ruth descend into madness, while also battling her attraction to the sexy Mr Dean, in her convent at the foot of the Himalayas.
‘That was brilliant. My God, that Sister Ruth was scary when she went off her rocker, wasn’t she? That mad lipstick scene was something else,’ Lizzie exclaimed, throwing another couple of briquettes onto the fire when the final credits rolled.
‘Mr Dean was a dish,’ Valerie stretched luxuriantly. ‘Lovely hairy chest.’
‘Yeah, except he looked a bit daft on that donkey. His feet were nearly touching the ground,’ Lizzie scoffed. ‘He needed to be riding a horse to do it for me. Or riding me,’ she added incorrigibly.
‘You know, I think I’ve got a name for the baby if it’s a girl,’ Valerie said slowly.
‘I thought you’d picked Cora if it was a girl and Ronan if it was a boy.’ Her friend looked at her in surprise.
‘I know, but remember when Sister Ruth asked the little lad had he given one of the nuns her glass of milk?’
‘Joseph, the little fella who used to call the nuns Lemenie? Ah, he was a dote. Are you changing to Joseph?’ Lizzie poked the fire, sending out a shower of sparks. ‘Good God! You’re not going to call her Lemenie, if it’s a girl, are you?’
‘No, you daft idiot. She asked him did he bring Sister Briony her milk. What do you think of the name Briony?’ Valerie asked eagerly, rubbing her bump.
‘It’s gorgeous! Perfect. I love it,’ Lizzie enthused.
‘Well, then, if it’s a girl Briony Harris it will be. I hope Jeff likes it.’
‘You wouldn’t consider calling her Briony Egan?’ Lizzie arched an eyebrow.
‘Only if Jeff marries me,’ Valerie declared firmly.
‘And rightly so,’ approved her friend. ‘Oh, Valerie, it’s exciting, isn’t it? I can’t wait.’
‘Me neither! I think I would like a little girl now that I’ve got such a lovely name. It just feels right, somehow.’ Valerie’s eyes were glowing as the baby gave another kick. ‘See, it’s kicking. I think it knows its name.’
‘Say it again,’ Lizzie urged, coming over to kneel in front of her and putting her hand on Valerie’s bump.
‘Briony. Briony. Briony,’ Valerie crooned, and they laughed as her baby kicked spiritedly in her womb.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Briony sat sipping a glass of chilled white wine and nibbling on plump green olives, as the waves washed lazily against the shore and the stars glistened in a blue-black sky. Clusters of orange lights shimmered faintly on the horizon and, in spite of her anguish, Briony wondered if people were sitting on the coast of Africa looking over to the twinkling lights of the Spanish mainland. She liked to imagine they were, although the lights were probably from ships or fishing boats. A glittering cruise liner overflowing with glamour, glister and gaiety glided through the surging sea, towards Gibraltar. Around her the
happy hum of conversation and people enjoying their evening added to her sense of sadness. If only Finn were here so she could tell him of her distress. Her husband had a calm way of dealing with life’s ups and downs and she valued his advice more than anyone’s. It was so frustrating to have her phone lying in her bag, the battery as dead as a dodo.
‘Would you like to order, Señora?’ A smiling waiter stood in front of her, pen poised on his electronic pad.
‘Um . . .’ she peered at the menu again. ‘Yes, I’ll have the whitebait, please.’ She smiled back at him and handed him the menu. She hadn’t planned on having something to eat, but her fast, anger-fuelled walk along the beach had left her feeling thirsty, and when she had reached a popular beachside chiringuito she and Valerie had eaten in several times on previous trips to Spain, she’d walked up from the beach and sat at one of the more secluded, outdoor tables at the far side of the restaurant and ordered a glass of wine. When the waiter had brought the menu she realized she was slightly peckish and perused the starters. She was in no rush home. She couldn’t bear to be in the same room as Valerie. Her mother’s lies had deprived her of one of the most loving and comforting relationships of her life. She probably had cousins she’d never met. A whole branch of her father’s family had been lost to her. How wonderful would that have been to have an aunt and uncle and cousins? Briony had no siblings, no father and just a selfish, deceitful mother, she thought sorrowfully. She took a slug of wine. She had a good mind to get hammered. If it wasn’t for Katie, she would, and then she’d take a taxi to the Don Carlos further up the coast, and book into the luxury hotel for the night and to hell with penury. For certain, first thing in the morning she was going to go to an internet café and book a flight home. She was damned if she was spending a minute more than was necessary with Valerie. Would Tessa want to see her now? Should she just drive to Rockland’s and try to find her grandparents’ house from memory? She could always ask someone for directions when she got there. If only she could talk to Granny Carmel and ask her advice, but her poor grandmother was living in her own private world now and didn’t even recognize her even though she made regular visits to see her.
The waiter arrived with her crispy whitebait, and placed it on the table in front of her. ‘More wine, Señora?’ he asked.
‘Why not?’ she said.
‘Et iss holiday.’ He smiled, giving a good-humoured shrug and went to get the wine. Some holiday, she thought wryly, spearing a piece of the fish and popping it in her mouth. It was melt-in-the-mouth tender, and the accompanying salad was crisp and tasty. To her surprise she was enjoying the excellent food, but that was typical of her, she thought irritably. She never lost her appetite because of trauma or anxiety and stress. Quite the opposite, in fact; food was her comfort and companion in times of trouble. And this was surely a time of trouble. Briony sighed. She was damned if she was going to put back on the stone she’d lost through rigorous dieting before her trip to Spain. Valerie had a lot to bloody answer for, she thought viciously as she pronged another olive, buttered her crusty bread roll and took a large bite out of it. She was tempted to order a portion of chips. She could feel a full-on binge heading her way so she took another slug of wine, finished her bread and told herself that she was full.
A quartet of women at the table in front of her, who were coming to the end of their meal, laughed heartily at something one of their party said and she envied them their merriment as they clinked glasses of champagne. Obviously on a girls’ jaunt, she observed as she studied them covertly. Friends who were very comfortable with each other if the jolly slagging that was going on was anything to go by. Her waiter and a tall, elegant waitress stopped to chat and enjoy the fun, and moments later four big glasses of Baileys arrived at the table, compliments of the proprietor. Hoots of laughter rippled through the night, and Briony took another gulp of wine, wishing it would ease the knots of tension that throbbed in her temples. She finished the last of her whitebait and pushed her plate away.
‘Would Señora like anything else? More wine? coffee?’ the waiter, attentive and professional, asked moments later.
‘No . . . thank you, it was delicious. Could you order me a taxi and could you give me la cuenta, por favor?’ She lapsed into her schoolgirl Spanish.
‘Sí, Señora, momento’ He disappeared inside the glass-walled restaurant and she saw him make the phone call to the taxi rank in El Zoco. She didn’t fancy walking back across the beach in the dark, especially after drinking two glasses of wine, plus the cumulative effects of her stressful day had made her feel quite weary. The taxi arrived a few minutes later and she paid her bill and sank back into the leather seat as she gave Valerie’s address. She hoped her mother was in bed. She was in no mood to talk. She rummaged in her bag, hoping against hope that she had her key, otherwise she was going to have to ring the bell and an encounter with her mother would be unavoidable.
She was in luck. She found the spare key her mother had given her. She could let herself in, check on Katie and fall into bed.
The light was on in Valerie’s bedroom, she noticed when the taxi pulled up outside the villa less than ten minutes later. She paid her fare and opened the front door as quietly as she could. She was glad there was a side lamp on in the sitting room to guide her way. Katie was fast asleep, her silky blond hair fanned out over the pillow, her arm around Teddy Ted, her favourite cuddly toy. Briony had to fight the impulse to lift her daughter up and smother her in kisses.
She was sure Tessa had often watched her sleeping, all those years ago. What pain and grief to lose a grandchild on top of losing a beloved son. What had possessed her mother? How could Valerie have been so callous, Briony wondered as she lay in her bed a while later, wide awake. Well, she was going to get a taste of her own medicine because Briony was taking Katie home and neither she nor her daughter would ever return to Spain. The bond she and Valerie had shared was irrevocably damaged. Broken. Shattered beyond repair. She couldn’t wait to get the hell out of here, she fumed as she twisted and turned in her mother’s luxurious Egyptian cotton sheets, desperate to fall asleep and blot out the nightmare her life had turned into, for a few hours at least.
Valerie looked at the shadowy silhouettes that weaved through the slats of her shutters. The origami shapes undulating on her bedroom walls usually delighted her, but not tonight. It was 3 a.m. The luminous green figures on her small alarm clock taunted her as the minutes ticked slowly past.
Hours ago she had heard the taxi draw up outside the villa, and she’d waited, fingers curled tightly into her palms, expecting the doorbell to ring. And then she’d heard her daughter’s key in the front door and exhaled a long deep sigh, not sure if she was relieved or not that she didn’t have to go out and face her. She heard Briony go into Katie’s room and wondered would her daughter knock on her door and come in and talk to her now that she’d had time to cool down and reflect on their situation. Part of her hoped desperately that she would. But then she’d heard movement in the sitting room as Briony turned out the lamp, and then the closing of a door and the muffled sounds of her daughter preparing for bed.
Sudden unexpected tears of disappointment brimmed in her eyes and she had to bury her face in her pillow to muffle the sobs that followed as her heart constricted in pain. How could it all have come to this, she thought in despair as she switched off her own light. Had it not occurred to Briony that something must have caused Valerie to take the actions she did? She had been driven to it, Valerie thought mournfully. Tessa Egan had brought their estrangement on herself with her horrible mean-spirited words and accusations. Briony thought Tessa was the wronged one, but what about her? Valerie had suffered enormously at the hands of Jeff’s mother. Would this night never end, she fretted, wishing sleep would give her some solace. One day Briony would know of the anguish she had endured and learn of her grandmother’s behaviour because that letter had opened a Pandora’s box and there was no going back. Valerie turned onto her side and burrowed her head unde
r a pillow as unwelcome memories came back to torment her, while the breeze began to increase in strength again and the shadows danced like marionettes across her bed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Valerie clattered along the parquet floors of Bolton Street Tech and pushed open the heavy swing doors of the library. She walked past the queue at the librarian’s desk and turned right into the study area, giving a quick scan of students engrossed in their studies. Her heart lifted when she saw Jeff with his head bent, stuck in his books and occasionally writing furiously. The library was hot and stuffy; she didn’t envy any of the students swotting for their exams. She wasn’t sure if she would have enjoyed going to college, she reflected. She enjoyed being a career girl and her regular pay cheque. She certainly didn’t lose as much sleep over it as her father did, she thought wryly.
She made her way down between the desks, trying not to bump into anyone’s table. The rows between the desks were narrow, and her mammoth bulk made her awkward and clumsy. She hit one table and almost knocked down a pile of books. ‘Sorry . . .’ She gave a murmured apology, feeling like an idiot.
‘Hi, babe,’ she whispered when she reached Jeff. ‘Are you ready to go?’
‘Oh! Hi, Val! How did it go at the hospital?’ he whispered back, and began to gather his books together. A skinny, cropped-haired, bespectacled girl sitting at the desk beside him glared at them, her mouth pursed in irritation. For one moment Valerie thought she was going to tell them to shush.
‘I’ll tell you when we get out,’ she murmured, conscious of Skinny Minnie’s basilisk stare.
‘Who’s that little wagon sitting beside you, who was glaring at us?’ Valerie said crossly when Jeff had returned his reference books and they were walking along the corridor towards the lift. An unseasonably warm sun shone through the massive plate windows that lined the corridor and she felt hot and uncomfortable in her heavy winter coat, which was stretched to bursting over her bump. Skinny Minnie was lucky she hadn’t got the two fingers because her hormones were all over the place. She was on a razor’s edge, Valerie thought irritably.
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