Always You (5 page)

Back in the drinks reception, she lifted a glass off the silver tray and made her way back to where she’d left Lizzy and Trevor – she had no intention of rejoining Andy whose voice she could hear rising above the bright hum of conversation like a foghorn. But when she got to the middle of the room, her colleagues were gone. She took a sip of Prosecco, hoping dinner would be announced soon, when suddenly Cahal appeared beside her, smelling like a spice market.

‘Sarah,’ he said, shoving both hands into his trouser pockets. ‘I … I never expected to meet you – here of all places.’ He glanced around the room, and then his gaze, intense and steady, came to rest on her. He inclined his head a little and lowered his voice. ‘I can’t tell you what a surprise it is to see you again.’

A tingle travelled down Sarah’s spine and her heart leapt foolishly. But then she frowned and reminded herself that his word was not to be trusted. ‘Well, you know what a small place Northern Ireland is.’

He glanced appraisingly at her figure. ‘You haven’t changed a bit.’

‘You must be needing glasses, Cahal.’ He laughed at this, and she added, ‘You’ve changed.’

He ran a hand through his short hair and his smile faltered. ‘For better or worse?’

She blushed at this allusion to the marriage vows she had once believed they would exchange. ‘Neither,’ she answered shortly. ‘Just different.’

‘That’s a relief.’ He allowed himself a small smile, revealing the crooked tooth she had once loved so much.

‘So, you’re HR manager for VTS,’ he went on. ‘You’ve done well, Sarah.’

She felt herself grow an inch, at the same time hating that she cared what he thought. ‘I am proud of what I’ve achieved,’ she said, referring to her successful transformation from stay-at-home mum to businesswoman. Seven years ago she’d updated her qualifications, brushed up her image and gone back out to work. She’d been promoted three times since then and hadn’t looked back.

He took a hand out of his pocket and rubbed his chin, dark with stubble even though the night was yet young.

‘You know, I was going to look you up when I got here,’ he said.

‘Really?’ she said sourly, disbelieving him. And then she recalled the earlier conversation with Andy. ‘Why did you tell Andy we were just university acquaintances?’

He held out his hands in supplication and smiled disarmingly. ‘What did you expect me to say? That we were lovers once?’

She looked away, embarrassed. Not only had they been lovers, they had been in love, and the best sex she’d ever experienced had been with him …

She opened her mouth to ask why he had wanted to look her up, when a voice shrieked, ‘Cahal!’ They both looked in the direction it was coming from. Jody teetered towards them. She was tall anyway and in heels she towered, like a caramel-coloured gazelle, over all the women and most of the men in the room. She hooked her arm around Cahal’s and, turning a cold, glassy eye on Sarah, she said, ‘Ah, here you are.’ Then she turned her laser-like attention on Cahal. ‘I wondered where you’d gotten to.’ She pouted girlishly into his face, lowered her gaze and pressed a forefinger into his chest. ‘Everyone’s looking for you.’

Sarah looked away, annoyed by the interruption and faintly embarrassed by Jody’s physical intimacy with Cahal. Were they an item? She disapproved, she told herself, because Jody was young enough, almost, to be his daughter.

Regarding Jody from under slightly hooded eyes, he said playfully, ‘You make me sound like a wanted man.’

Heat rose to Sarah’s cheeks. He
was
flirting with Jody!

Quick as a flash, Jody said, ‘Oh, you are.’ There was a long silence while she let all the possible meanings of this sink in, and Sarah’s emotions see-sawed between admiration at her boldness – and outrage. Once she’d recovered her equilibrium, she said, ‘Excuse me, I have to go,’ and she marched purposefully into the crowd.

Eventually she stumbled across her work colleagues. Lizzy teetered towards her on three-inch heels, red-faced and clearly the worse for wear. Trevor wasn’t far behind, smiling goofily, his tie loosened. ‘Come on,’ said Lizzy. ‘They’ve called us through for dinner. I’m starving.’ She placed one hand on her stomach and grabbed Sarah’s arm with the other to prevent herself from toppling over. Sarah smiled indulgently – and tried to put the image of Jody pawing over Cahal out of her mind.

On the way home from work, Ian took the short detour to Lough View, the nursing home on Greenbank Road where his mother had lived for the past two years. He found the place depressing and the fact that he’d been unable to secure more salubrious surroundings for his mother’s final home filled him with guilt. It wasn’t for want of trying – or for lack of money. His father, who’d risen to the rank of chief superintendent in the police, had left Evelyn very comfortable. When Ian had set out on the quest to find a suitable nursing home, after the second stroke had left his mother partially paralysed on her right side, this was the best of an unimpressive bunch.As soon as the door opened he steeled himself for the smell that wafted out on stale, overheated air – overcooked vegetables and the unpleasant odour of cheap disinfectant, a game attempt to disguise the faint, sour smell of urine. Though lately confined to bed by yet another persistent chest infection, his mother was not incontinent – not yet – and for that he thanked God. He prayed she would be spared that indignity. ‘How is she today, Jolanta?’

The care assistant thought for a moment and then shook her head. ‘Not good today, Mr Aitken. Not good.’

This news did not disturb Ian unduly. In fact he smiled to himself for this was what Jolanta had said every day he’d visited for the last two years.

Ian nodded, and walked through the door with his hands shoved in his trouser pockets. He avoided touching anything in this place – it felt unclean and shame engulfed him once more. His mother ought to be living with him, her only son, not here in this awful place. If he had married a different sort of woman to Raquel, perhaps it might have been possible. If he’d still been married to Sarah, so kind and compassionate, he was almost certain it would be so …

He found her in bed, her head propped up, staring at the ceiling and clutching a white tissue in her sinewy, liver-spotted hand. She tilted her head to look at him standing in the doorway and gave him a lopsided smile, which made her eyes almost disappear in her crinkly face. Ian had been a late and only baby – a miracle his mother used to say in wonderment, gazing upon him as a small red-haired boy. She was now eighty-one years old.

‘Hello, Ian,’ she said a little slowly. Her speech had been affected by the stroke and, though it sometimes took a little longer to find the words, she was still perfectly intelligible. It was just she sounded different, like an old woman, not the pretty, bright mother with the sing-song voice that he remembered from his youth.

‘Hello, Mum,’ he said and sat on the chair placed on the left side of her bed. ‘I can’t stay too long. Raquel’ll be home soon.’

‘Mmm, Raquel, yes. Tell me, is she still working as a shop assistant?’

Poor Raquel, with her platinum blonde hair and lack of tertiary education, she had never quite lived up to his mother’s exacting standards. ‘No, mother,’ said Ian patiently. He suppressed the more robust retort that sprang to his lips, choosing to ignore her snobbishness and the intended provocation because he was pleased, in spite of both, that she still had all her wits about her. The day these left her, the fight would leave her too. ‘You know perfectly well that she’s been promoted to manageress. Of a very upmarket boutique.’

‘Oh, yes, I’d forgotten.’ A whisper of a smile played about one corner of her mouth followed by a long pause during which the smile evaporated. ‘Is everything all right between you two? You don’t talk about her very much. And I can’t remember when I last saw her.’

Ian rubbed his hands together and looked at the floor. Part of him wanted to tell her that his four-year-old marriage to Raquel was on the rocks. He couldn’t remember when they’d last slept together, though sex had once been the most important aspect of their relationship. He’d lusted after her, but his old-fashioned, outdated scruples would not allow him to take her outside of marriage. And so they’d wed. What had he been thinking?

He looked at his mother and forced a smile. She’d warned him not to marry Raquel and she’d said some rather unkind things about her. Sadly, they had mostly proved to be true, though at the time, he’d been too seduced by her sexuality to listen. It was difficult now to admit that he’d been wrong, that he’d been blinded by lust (so much more humiliating than being blinded by love). He could not bear to hear his mother say she’d told him so. ‘Everything’s fine, Mum. Raquel’s just very busy at work. She works six days most weeks. She’s so tired come Sunday, she just wants some me time.’

‘Me time,’ she said with a faint raspy snort. ‘We didn’t have that in my day.’

‘Well,’ he said in Raquel’s defence, trying to sound like a loyal husband, ‘times have changed.’

Thankfully, she lost interest then. He heard someone come into the room and his mother’s eyes crinkled up with pleasure when she saw who was there. ‘Oh, look, it’s Sarah!’ she cried out in a small voice. ‘Do come in.’

Ian looked round to find Sarah standing by the door with a battered biscuit tin in her hands. He drew in his breath, for a moment not recognising this glamorous apparition for his rather frumpy former wife. The black dress and matching Jackie Kennedy-style jacket skimmed her curves in all the right places. Glossy tights sheathed her well-shaped legs and black patent heels added several inches to her height. She’d put on a lot of weight after having the kids and she’d struggled with it over the years. But he was aware suddenly, even though he’d seen her only a few days ago, that the excess weight was all gone. She looked once more like the Sarah he had married. Her natural blonde hair was tucked behind one ear; the rest fell like a curtain of gold about her face. And while he was pleased to see her smile, full and warm, directed at Evelyn, he wished she would smile at him like that.

‘Hello, sweetheart,’ she said, approaching the bed. When she bent down to kiss his mother on both cheeks, a waft of perfume drifted across the bed; it filled Ian with longing. Evelyn let go of the tissue in her good hand and clasped Sarah’s hand instead. Ian blinked and looked away, the moment of intimacy between the two women making him both uncomfortable and glad. He and Sarah had had their differences, but he would forever be indebted to her for her affection towards his mother.

‘Hello, Ian,’ she smiled when Evelyn had released her, and then looked from Ian to his mother with a little frown between her arched brows. ‘I got home from work early and thought I’d just pop in and see how you were. But,’ she said, her intonation at the end of the sentence turning it into a question, ‘I can come another time?’

‘No,’ said Ian and his mother simultaneously. Ian stood up, smiled, and gestured towards the chair he’d just vacated. ‘Please, come and sit down, Sarah.’ He liked her being here; she’d always made the relationship between him and his mother easier, like oil between two slightly out-of-sync cogs.

She placed a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him back into the chair. ‘You stay right where you are, by your Mum,’ she whispered. She patted his shoulder, then withdrew her hand. This gesture of solidarity conveyed so much – recognition of the perilous state of his mother’s health and the grim, inevitable outcome that lay ahead. And he was grateful. ‘I’ll pull up another chair.’

She sat on the opposite side of the bed and Evelyn said, ‘Well, isn’t this nice?’ She paused to cough. ‘My two favourite people – not counting Molly and Lewis of course – come to see me at the same time.’

Sarah grinned. ‘Like buses. We all come at once.’

‘You should have brought the children,’ said Evelyn, out of one side of her mouth, a little dribble of saliva running down her chin. If she was aware of it, she showed no sign.

While he was wondering if he ought to wipe his mother’s face, Sarah got up and discreetly dabbed the corner of her mouth with a tissue from the box on the bedside table. Her smile never wavered as she carried out the task, but she gave Ian a quick, knowing glance.

‘Maybe next time. When you’re feeling a little better,’ she said.

Evelyn closed her eyes and Ian said, ‘Isn’t your chest any better?’

‘Never mind that now. Tell me about the children, Ian,’ she said holding out her hand.

He took it, cold and frail, in his own. ‘The kids are fine, Mum. What did the doctor say?’

Her voice had dropped to a whisper. ‘Didn’t Lewis have a swim gala this week? You know how much I love to hear all about –’ A coughing fit took hold and the sentence was left unfinished.

‘Mum!’ cried Ian, gripped by sudden fear. The infection wasn’t shifting. If anything it sounded worse! She’d had that cough for over a month now.

The coughing subsided. ‘Shush,’ she commanded, her tone firm in spite of her affliction. ‘What’s in the tin, Sarah?’

‘Have a look.’ She prised the lid off the tin and tipped it so that Evelyn could see the contents.

‘Homemade wheaten bread!’ she exclaimed breathlessly, trying to lift her head off the pillow. ‘My favourite.’

Sarah picked out a piece and held the moist, buttered bread to Evelyn’s lips so that she could take a bite. Her head sank back into the pillow, her gums working slowly, and Sarah said, ‘I know.’

Sarah held out the tin to Ian. ‘Want some?’ He shook his head.

Evelyn chewed and swallowed. ‘That was delicious. The wheatgerm’ll play havoc with my dentures. But what the heck. You only live once.’

Ian smiled, slightly envious of the easiness between Sarah and his mother. Sarah got up, lifted the glass of water from the bedside table and held it to Evelyn’s lips. They’d always been like this together, easy in each other’s company. Even when Sarah was a girl she’d gotten on well with his mum, and their relationship had always operated independently of his marriage.

‘Want some more?’

‘No thanks, love.’

‘You gave me the recipe. Took me ages to get it right.’ Sarah stared doubtfully into the tin. ‘It’s still not as good as yours.’

‘The secret’s in the flour. Got to be Morton’s. And a light touch.’

The first day he’d brought her home as his girlfriend, Sarah and Evelyn had ended up in the kitchen together, where Evelyn revealed the secret of her famous wheaten bread. He’d known then how much his mother approved. He’d always known that he wanted her to be his wife, but that day simply confirmed it. When she’d said yes, he was thrilled, though if truth be told, he’d not expected her to accept.

He cleared his throat and looked about the room. ‘Raquel said she sent you some flowers a few days ago.’

His mother broke eye contact and, picking up the tissue on the bedspread, squeezed it between her fingers. For one awful moment, he thought Raquel might have lied to him.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Evelyn, making eye contact again. ‘Though you’d have thought someone was getting married. There were enough flowers to fill a church.’

Ian laughed nervously. She was not pleased. Why on earth not?

She dropped the tissue, captured it again and Ian said, ‘So where are they?’

His mother looked at him blankly.

‘The flowers, Mum. Where are they?’

She looked away again and said, with studied airiness, ‘Oh, I told the girls to put them in vases in the day room. Let everyone enjoy them.’

‘But those flowers were meant for you, Mum. They cost Raquel a fortune.’

His mother brought her gaze to bear on him and her features hardened. ‘They were lilies, Ian. There must’ve been two dozen of them.’

Ian blushed and looked at his feet. ‘She must’ve forgotten,’ he mumbled. How could Raquel be so thoughtless? She’d been at his father’s funeral five years ago when the church was festooned with the pure white flowers, their musky scent as overpowering as the grief. How many times had Mum said in conversation since then that she’d come to hate lilies? How she could not look upon them, nor catch the faintest whiff of their perfume, without thinking of that day.

‘I’m sure she meant well,’ said Sarah.

‘Hmm.’ Evelyn pressed the hankie to the tip of her nose. ‘Flowers are all very well, but why doesn’t she come to see me?’

‘She’s er … busy,’ said Ian. He glanced at Sarah who lowered her eyes to her lap. The last time Raquel had visited was four weeks ago. She’d been sitting beside an old man in the day room, waiting for the staff to finish attending to Evelyn, when the man soiled himself. She’d been horrified, though not as much as the poor old bugger who, though he’d lost control of his bodily functions, was still compos mentis. Raquel hadn’t been back since.

Sarah stood up and said, ‘Well, I’d better be getting along. I don’t want to be late picking up the children.’

‘Be sure to give them a kiss from me,’ said Evelyn. ‘Tell them I love them very much.’

‘I will,’ said Sarah, her eyes bright and glassy. ‘And we’ll bring them to see you very soon, won’t we, Ian?’ He nodded and swallowed, unable to shift the hard lump in the centre of his chest. She bent over, gave Evelyn a hug and ran the flat of her hand down the side of his mother’s wrinkled face.

‘See you,’ she said. She reached over, touched him lightly on the arm and then was gone, leaving him feeling oddly bereft.

‘If you’ll excuse me, Ian, I must go to the loo.’ Evelyn peeled back the bedcovers and slowly swung her legs over the other side of the bed. Her bare feet made contact with the floor.

‘Do you need some help, Mum?’ he said, standing up.

‘No, I’m fine.’

But she wasn’t fine. As soon as she stood up, her legs buckled beneath her and she crumpled onto the floor.

Ian cursed, slammed the emergency call button on the wall with the flat of his hand and rushed to her aid. She was lying on her side, her knees bent up. ‘Here, let me help you. Are you hurt?’

She wheezed and shook her head, a hand pressed to her chest.

Jolanta came running in and, as soon as she saw what had happened, helped Ian lift his mother back into bed, though he hardly needed her assistance, his mother was so slight.

‘Are you hurt, Mum?’ he said, blinking back tears.

‘No. I don’t know what happened, Ian,’ she said in bewilderment. ‘My legs just gave way.’

‘It’s okay, Mum. Everything’s okay.’

‘She was trying to go to the toilet, Jolanta,’ he said. ‘She’s never fallen like that before, has she?’