She climbed the wooden spiral staircase at the end of the hall that led to her newly built dormer bedroom. It was a most peaceful room. A big pine double bed lay under a Velux window and at night she could see the sky overhead. A pine dressing table and pine wardrobes filled one wall. A rocking chair and small coffee table positioned beside the small dormer window gave her a view of her back garden. She had such plans for that garden, she thought happily as she pulled the pale green curtains shut and began to undress. The en suite was decorated in peach and green with pine accessories. Pot-pourri and scented candles were dotted here and there. She loved lingering in a scented bath with the candles lit listening to soothing music wafting in from the bedroom. It was a warm, snug little haven. And best of all, it was her little haven, she thought happily as she ran the bath and poured a liberal amount of bath oil into it.
‘So here I am, an independent woman,’ she congratulated herself as she lay soaking in the fragrant water. Selling the house had been the best move she could have made. She didn’t miss it. She felt far less lonely here and she loved the security of knowing that this was her house and Mark had no say in any of her affairs now.
She was glad that he was coming tonight. Her anger and bitterness had lessened to an enormous degree. Yet she had to admit that nothing would give her greater satisfaction than to know that his relationship with that woman was over. It was a petty attitude, she knew, but the hurt had gone deep.
She could hear the boys moving around their respective bedrooms. She was going to miss them when they were gone but at least she knew that she was well prepared and capable of living on her own and it held no fears for her.
An hour later, dressed in an elegant black cocktail dress, she sipped a glass of champagne with her sons. Soft music played in the background, candles flickered in the subdued lamplight and the Christmas tree, the focal point of the lounge, twinkled and sparkled, the lights reflected in the sheen of the wooden floor and the glass of the windowpanes.
‘The place is really nice, Mam,’ Owen approved as he sneaked an hors-d’oeuvre.
‘Stop stuffing your face, there’ll be nothing left.’ Francesca marvelled at her younger son’s prodigious appetite. The doorbell rang. She jumped up, eager to greet her first guest. It was Millie and Aidan and the girls and there was a flurry of hugs and kisses as everyone was welcomed with a glass of punch.
Ten minutes later, Janet, Monica and Bart arrived within moments of each other and before long Ken and Carla had arrived. It was the first time they had seen the house and Francesca gave the guided tour amid much oohing and aahing and admiring comments.
Afterwards she stood in the lounge in the centre of a circle of her friends, offering canapés while her sons took care of the drinks, and felt a moment of happiness. The woman who had collapsed in a heap a year ago was gone. A far stronger, confident woman stood in her place. She’d survived.
Ralph sat in his apartment feeling very sorry for himself. He was absolutely alone, he told himself as he poured himself a generous whiskey. His wife and daughters had gone down the country to visit his in-laws, without a thought as to how he’d feel. He’d been so hopeful that Francesca would take pity on him and let bygones be bygones. After all, it hadn’t been easy knocking on her door and apologizing yet again for whatever he had to apologize for. She could have shown him some mercy instead of leaving him standing on the doorstep like a pariah. It was a bit much. Her manners left a lot to be desired. The least she could have done was invite him to the party. He drained his tumbler and refilled it. He’d have another drink and think about his options, he decided as the whiskey began to kick in and he felt himself relaxing.
Nikki lay tensely as the doctor examined her gently. He was being extremely thorough but she wished it was over. She wanted to be at home with Mark. She could see a puzzled look on the doctor’s face. ‘So you were on antibiotics at the end of November and it was after that that you started to feel off-colour, even though it did its work on the chest infection?’ he probed.
‘Yes, doctor.’ She tried to keep the impatience out of her voice. He’d been through this already.
‘I see. Come and sit down, Nikki, and we’ll have a little chat,’ he said, helping her up off the couch.
I don’t want a little chat. I want to go home. I just want to feel well again, she wailed silently as she fastened the buttons on her blouse and straightened up her skirt.
‘Mark, I’ve a favour to ask you, could you drop me over to the Nelsons’ right away? I know it’s short notice but the bloody battery’s gone flat and I’m supposed to be going over for my tea. Could you give me a lift?’ Gerald asked expectantly.
‘Yeah, yeah sure, Dad. I’ll be right over,’ Mark said. He hung up and dialled Nikki’s mobile number. Her phone was switched off. He went into the bathroom and freshened up. By the time he collected his father and delivered him to Rathfarnham where the Nelsons lived it would be after seven. He might as well carry straight on to Francesca’s. Nikki was late. The doctor must be busy, he thought, surprised, as he dialled her number again and left a message on her answering service.
His father was waiting, red-cheeked and impatient. ‘Come on, son, let’s go. I don’t want to delay these people. I phoned them to let them know that I’d be late. And I’ve ordered a taxi to take me home so you won’t have to come back out to Rathfarnham for me. It’s a bit of a trek.’
‘It is,’ agreed Mark. ‘Here’s the keys of the car. Get in. I just want to collect something upstairs.’ He ran upstairs to the spare room. It was piled high with boxes and black sacks. He hadn’t done anything about his belongings. Come the new year he’d make a decision on his future. He saw what he was looking for, tucked it under his arm and hurried downstairs. He didn’t want his father to blow a fuse.
‘Right, Dad, let’s move it,’ he said briskly as he closed the boot. He was a little apprehensive about going to Francesca’s party. In fact he was sorry he’d told her he’d go and was tempted to phone her and cry off. What if Owen caused a scene? It could be awkward. But Owen wouldn’t make a show of his mother, surely, he reassured himself. Perhaps it would be OK. They might even take the first steps towards friendship again and that would be the best thing that could happen.
Of course the Nelsons insisted he stop and have a drink and he couldn’t be rude. They were old family friends and they were delighted to see him. But Mark was anxious to get going. It was almost eight when he finally pulled up on Francesca’s road. He had to park several doors away. Her place was chock-a-block. He could hear the sounds of music and laughter as he walked up the garden path. It looked so different from the first time he’d seen it, he thought in admiration as he noted the new windows and door and the fresh paintwork. The garden had been replanted and a new wooden gate hung prettily to give a true cottagey effect. It was nice, he admitted and, typical Francesca, he thought fondly, she had a real Christmas tree. She’d never had any time for artificial trees no matter how realistic. She liked the fresh sweet smell of pine permeating the rooms and the dropped pine needles had been a small price to pay.
He swallowed, ran his fingers through his hair and rang the doorbell. He could see through the glass door a tall shape loping out into the hall. His heart started to pound. He hoped it was Jonathan.
It was. He’d obviously been primed by his mother to be on the lookout for Mark. ‘Hi, Dad,’ he greeted him. ‘Come in. The place is hopping.’
‘So I see.’ Mark smiled. ‘Here.’ He handed Jonathan the champagne. ‘Stick that in the fridge. I want to give this to your mother. Where is she?’
‘Somewhere in the throng.’ Jonathan laughed. ‘Come on, I’ll walk in with you.’
‘Thank you, son,’ his father said gratefully as he followed him into the lounge. It was a lovely house, he thought in surprise. Small, of course, but beautifully decorated. He liked the softness of it all. The room was full. He smiled at Bart and Monica and stopped to talk to them for a brief moment and then he saw Francesca. S
he was laughing at something a young man was saying. He had his arm around her shoulder. ‘Now, Frannie!’ he was teasing.
Mark felt a momentary surge of indignation. Who was that young whippersnapper calling his wife Frannie? She looked radiant in her chic black dress, with her hair pulled back from her face, emphasizing her cheekbones. Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight and she looked so at ease and happy that he could only stand and stare at her in shock. She wasn’t missing him at all, he realized. Her life seemed to have improved immeasurably since they’d split up. She turned in his direction and saw him. Her eyes lit up, she excused herself to the whippersnapper and took the few steps over to him. ‘Mark!’ she exclaimed. ‘You made it. I wasn’t sure if you’d come.’
‘This is for you,’ he said awkwardly, handing her a painting. ‘I’d like you to have it in your new home. You’ve done a lovely job with the house.’
‘Oh Mark, it’s the Border. I can’t take this,’ she said. ‘This is the one you wanted.’
‘Of course you can. I want you to have it, honestly, Francesca,’ he assured her.
‘Mark, thank you, that’s so kind of you.’ She flung an arm around him and kissed him on the cheek, the other arm holding the painting to her. He handed the painting over to Jonathan and hugged her back warmly and they smiled at each other in the midst of the guests, much to Millie’s and Janet’s astonishment. Owen’s eyes widened as he saw his parents embracing. Francesca saw him and took Mark by the hand and led him to where Owen was standing. Her son flushed a dull red, but he stood his ground. Mark held out his hand.
‘Hello, son,’ he said firmly. Owen’s gaze flickered to Francesca.
‘Please, Owen, if I can forgive your father, surely you can too. Please make up and let us be a family tonight.’
Owen’s jaw worked as a myriad of emotions flickered in his eyes. ‘Hi, Dad,’ he said gruffly as Mark stepped forward and hugged the daylights out of him.
‘I love you, Owen. I’m sorry for everything,’ Mark whispered. ‘I’m so proud of the way you stood up for your mother.’
Francesca felt a lump threaten to choke her. ‘Oh Mark, stop or I’ll start blubbing.’ It was wonderful to see father and son reunited. ‘Owen, take your father’s jacket and get him a drink, I think it’s time we started eating.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ Owen said shakily, his eyes suspiciously bright.
‘Come on, son, get me that drink and tell me all about life in America,’ Mark said firmly, happier than he’d been in a long long while.
‘Millie, will you come and give me a hand in the kitchen? I’ve garlic bread and pasta to serve up,’ Francesca murmured to her sister.
‘You never told me that you’d invited Mark,’ Millie hissed. ‘And kissing him like a long-lost friend – what’s going on?’
‘Peace and reconciliation,’ murmured Francesca happily. ‘Goodwill to men.’
‘Well, at least he and Owen are talking. That’s something, I suppose, but don’t expect me to fall all over him,’ Millie said forthrightly as she slipped on a pair of oven gloves and opened the oven door, letting the rich, tantalizing smell of homemade garlic bread waft out into the kitchen.
The guests dived on the food with gusto and Francesca looked on with satisfaction as she served up dishes of creamy pasta. It was so satisfying to watch people eating heartily instead of nibbling and it was good to have cooked the food herself. She’d found there could be a sameness about catered parties, especially when the same few caterers were used on the circuit.
It was a jolly, buzzy party. Mark relaxed and began to enjoy himself, much to his wife’s genuine delight. She’d thought he looked strained and tired. Not at all laid back and carefree as she was.
‘Auntie Francesca, can I go and lie down in your bed, ’cos I’m tired?’ her five-year-old niece asked.
‘Of course you can, pet, come on with me,’ Francesca said, leading the little girl by the hand up the spiral staircase. Sarah was enchanted with the bedroom and sat in the rocking chair looking out of the dormer window.
‘This is cool,’ she enthused.
‘It sure is,’ agreed her aunt gaily.
Downstairs, the doorbell rang. Bart was nearest so he answered it. ‘Hello, is this Francesca’s party?’ a tall man asked, waving a bottle.
‘It sure is, come on in,’ Bart invited politely. The tall man stepped past him. Bart’s nose wrinkled. This chap had had a few already, he noted as fumes of alcohol drifted past him.
Ralph made his way into the lounge and stared bleary-eyed around but he couldn’t see Francesca. He ambled out to the kitchen and saw an open bottle of red wine. He poured himself a glass and drank it in one go.
Nikki tried Mark’s mobile again but it was switched off. She was shaking. Mark had left a message earlier and she’d felt like crying when she heard him say that he’d gone to give his father a lift to Rathfarnham and then he was meeting Jonathan for a drink. There’d been no talk about lifts or going for drinks earlier in the day. When had all this come up? And just when she needed him most. She got into her car and gunned the engine. She didn’t want to go back to the empty apartment. She’d spent the last hour wandering around a shopping mall. She felt sick to her stomach.
The apartment was dark and unwelcoming. He could at least have left a light on, she thought resentfully as she let herself in. She went into the bedroom and lay down on the bed. She’d just rest there for a minute and hope that her swirling, racing thoughts would calm down. Her eyelids drooped. She’d never felt so utterly exhausted in her life.
The shrill ring of the phone woke her and she shivered. She glanced at the clock and saw that she’d been asleep for over two and a half hours. She was shocked. It was almost ten-thirty.
Hoping against hope that it was Mark, she lifted the receiver.
‘Nikki, hi, how are you, babe?’ Her heart sank. It was Karen Regan, a friend of hers. She sounded pissed.
‘I’m OK,’ she said brightly.
‘Are you doing anything tonight? I just thought you might be at a loose end like me and you might like to pop over for a drink. I saw Mark driving through Monkstown earlier and guessed you might be fancy free for a few hours.’
Nikki felt weak and dizzy. What was Mark doing driving through Monkstown? Karen must be mistaken. He’d told her that he was driving his father to Rathfarnham and going for a drink with his son.
‘Aah … sorry, Karen, I’m actually on my way out myself. A work thing. I’ll call you in the New Year,’ she lied desperately.
‘Oh OK, just rang on the off chance, babe. No probs,’ Karen slurred. ‘Cheers.’
Nikki hung up and sank into a chair. Maybe Karen was mistaken. It was obvious she’d been drinking. But then she’d said that she’d seen Mark earlier. Was that before she’d started to drink? Nikki shook her head in despair. He’d lied to her again. He was going to see his wife. Going to play happy families. Well, she’d had enough of his crap. How dare he play fast and loose with her. She grabbed her car keys. It was time that Mark Kirwan learned a few home truths, she raged. She’d taken as much as she could take. He’d made a fool of her once too often. It couldn’t be too hard to find the bloody house. It was a cottage, Mark had told her. It was off the coast road. She’d look for Mark’s parked car and knock on every damn door until she got the right one.
* * *
Ralph edged his way to the buffet. He was hungry. He hadn’t eaten all day. He jerked the arm of a vaguely familiar-looking man as he walked past. The man stared at him and recognition dawned in his eyes.
‘Oh, it’s the cruddy husband,’ he muttered.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Mark said aggressively, staring at him.
‘I said, “It’s the cruddy husband,”’ Ralph enunciated carefully. ‘What are you doing here? I thought the magnificent Francesca hated your guts.’
‘You’re drunk,’ Mark accused him.
‘So what?’ scoffed Ralph woozily. ‘It won’t stop me riding the ass off your beautif
ul, voluptuous wif—’
Mark’s blow connected with his jaw and was followed swiftly by one to the nose. He vaguely heard a woman scream as he crumpled to the floor.
‘God Almighty, Mark!’ exclaimed Millie. ‘Was that absolutely necessary? Don’t you dare ruin Francesca’s party!’
‘Yes it damn well was,’ said Mark through gritted teeth. ‘He insulted my wife.’
Ralph groaned at his feet.
‘What’s going on?’ demanded Francesca, coming into the room in a panic. She saw Ralph at Mark’s feet, blood spurting from his nose. ‘God Almighty! What’s he doing here?’ she demanded, horrified.
‘Insulting you,’ fumed Mark.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, did you have to hit him on the nose as well? How macho of you, Mark. Look at my good rug!’
Millie tittered. ‘I like your style, dear,’ she murmured.
The doorbell rang. Ken answered it. He was thoroughly enjoying the scene. A wild-eyed, pale woman stood at the door. ‘Francesca Kirwan’s?’ she demanded. Ken nodded, taken aback at her rudeness.
The woman brushed past him and raced into the lounge. She saw a group standing around a man lying on the floor and then she saw Mark.
‘You bastard!’ she swore, lunging at him and slapping him around the face. ‘You lousy, lying, fucking bastard,’ she screamed hysterically as he tried to grasp her wrists. ‘How can you want to be with her after all the things you’ve said about her? It’s me you love. Me. How can you do this to me, Mark? How can you treat me like this? Well, don’t think that you’re playing happy families here any more because there’s going to be another little addition to your family. I’m pregnant, do you hear me, darling! I’m pregnant,’ she yelled.
A horrified gasp went around the room. The colour drained from Mark’s face. Francesca’s hand flew to her mouth in shock. A pin could be heard drop as Nikki went as white as a sheet and dropped gracefully on top of Ralph in a dead faint.
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