City Girl (2 page)

Caroline grimaced at the memory. She wasn’t the only wife in the so-called ‘professional’ classes to be beaten. That was for certain. Battering was not the privilege of the
working class as many falsely presumed. But at least she had found out why! Had found out the tortured guilt-ridden reason her husband used to wallop the daylights out of her. Since that awful
night she had never received another battering.

Her life had changed so much and she had come a hell of a long way from the valium-ridden lush she had turned into. She’d got her old job back. Richard hadn’t wanted her to go back
to work and in the old days that would have been that. But these weren’t the old days. These were
her
days, as her husband was slowly learning. It was strange to have him in the same
room as her: usually he slept in the other bedroom of their luxurious penthouse apartment. A friend of his from London had stayed the night so he had moved back into the room she had made her own,
decorating it to her taste, transforming the awful stark, sterile decor that the interior decorator had favoured. Richard had been so impressed he had actually asked her to do something with the
lounge! Caroline smiled to herself; she enjoyed decorating very much, she seemed to have a flair for it. Devlin had even used some of her ideas in CITY GIRL. She was seriously thinking of taking a
course in interior design and decorating. That would really give her an interest and who knows she might be able to start up a little consultancy, set up in business for herself.

How nice it was to have these thoughts. A year ago she would have been terrified of standing on her own two feet. Now here she was, thinking of starting up her own business! Caroline laughed as
she stood under the bracing spray of the shower. She really was a new woman. She’d been through the mill of drink and valium and come out of it a stronger more determined person. Richard was
finding it a little hard to get used to the new Caroline, but he was coping. She didn’t know whether she would leave him or not, that was something she would have to decide in the future, but
for now she was happy enough to be finding her feet again and starting on the path to independence. It suited Richard and it suited her right now, and she had never felt so good about herself.

Wrapping a robe around her she padded into the kitchen and switched on the kettle. Across the landscaped lawns of the apartment complex, she could see Devlin’s French doors open. Devlin
was up too, preparing for her work-out class. Caroline smiled. Devlin was her closest friend. They had been through so much together and at last things seemed to be going right for them both.

This weekend was going to be just like old times. No husbands to annoy them, just the three of them having fun. The crack would be mighty, the irrepressible Maggie would make sure of that . .
.

Maggie Ryan felt her heart sink as her husband sleepily pressed himself against her, indicating his good morning intentions. Whoever invented the morning erection was certainly
not a woman, she thought glumly, trying to decide which would be better – to have sex and not have him moan about her weekend away and the cost of her membership of CITY GIRL, or to suit
herself and not have sex and have to listen to an earbashing. She knew it was sexual blackmail, a subtle form, but blackmail all the same that her husband exerted on her. He’d end up moaning
either way, especially about CITY GIRL and how much it was costing him and what did she want to be hobnobbing with those snobs for? Couldn’t she just go to Unislim like anybody else! It was
so annoying: Devlin hadn’t wanted to charge her for membership, but when Terry heard that Richard had paid the fees, he had insisted on paying too. Maggie told him he was crazy, but he
retorted: ‘I’m not having Yates going around thinking I’m a pauper!’

The foolish pride of men! his wife had thought with disgust. Oh God Almighty! Were all marriages like this or just hers, she wondered wearily, hearing two of her three children in the next
bedroom shrieking their little heads off as they announced to the neighbourhood that they were awake.

‘Shit! The kids are awake. Come on, Maggs, before they come in on top of us,’ her husband said groggily, as he nuzzled her earlobe with a stubbly jaw. Closing her eyes reluctantly,
she tried to pretend that it was Sean Connery and they were lying on a fur-covered water bed.

‘Atta girl!’ murmured Terry triumphantly. Maggie’s eyes flew open.

‘Atta girl!’ For crying out loud! Who the hell did he think she was? Bloody Arkle!

Arkle’s a male, you fool, she thought idly noticing a sneaky little cobweb behind her Norman Rockwell print. Must dust that! Sean Connery wasn’t working so well. Think of Harrison
Ford, she instructed herself gently. In spite of herself she giggled as she pictured Terry with a bullwhip on the back of an elephant. Her husband gave a breathless grunt.

‘Ya like that, love. I always know how to turn you on!’

Maggie sighed, amused at the incongruity of it all. Her husband’s ego was as big as her belly when she was in her ninth month. Terry thought Warren Beatty had nothing on him.

‘Mammy, what’s Daddy doing to you?’ An inquisitive voice spoke from the distance as two eyes observed them with interest from the door of their bedroom.

Giving a satisfied gasp, Terry rolled off his wife and Maggie said mildly and truthfully, ‘Daddy’s doing absolutely nothing to me. He was trying to get out of my side of the bed. Now
go and get your pyjamas off. I’m coming to wash you in a minute. And don’t wake Fiona.’

The sarcasm had sailed over her husband’s head, as she knew it would, as he relaxed in the afterglow of his husbandly performance. ‘You’re some woman, Maggie!’ he said,
smiling at her and swatting her rump as she got out of bed.

‘I know,’ she responded dryly, but she leaned over and gave him a kiss. Sometimes she reflected, she didn’t have three children, she had four. And often Terry was the biggest
child of all.

‘Tell you what,’ he said magnanimously. ‘You go and get ready for that old exercise class of yours. I’ll get the kids ready for playschool and feed the baby. How about
that?’

‘Thanks Ter,’ she said, knowing Josie, the woman who came on Fridays, would be along at eight and that it would be she who would oversee breakfast for the twins and nappy changes for
the baby.

‘Blessed art thou among women to have a hubby like me,’ Terry informed her modestly as he leapt athletically out of bed, pausing to admire himself in the mirror.

‘No flab there,’ he observed in satisfaction, patting his lean flat belly. ‘Not bad for a forty-year-old! I don’t need fancy exercise classes. I’m telling you,
Maggs, a couple of games of squash a week and that’s all you’d need to keep trim. And it would be much cheaper!’

‘Ah don’t take all the good out of it,’ Maggie snapped back.

‘Well, it’s alright for Richard Yates. You should see the money
he
’s earning.’ Terry was Richard’s financial consultant.

‘And what’s more,’ came the voice from the bathroom, ‘he doesn’t have three little mouths to feed and clothe. He’s too bloody cute!’

There was a silence as toothbrush assaulted teeth; then, ‘And you know something else? He’s driving around in a brand new BMW with the plastic still on the seats because he’s
too mean to tax the bloody thing until the start of the month. He wouldn’t give you the steam off his piss the cute hoor . . .’

Maggie threw her eyes up to heaven as she brushed her gleaming locks. Was it any wonder she was sorely tempted to have an affair with Adam? She missed him badly while he was away in London, but
he’d be back next week, and her generous mouth curved in a smile as she thought of what she had to tell him. It was the most exciting thing! And it was because of his advice that it had all
happened. Wait until she told the girls!

She was so looking forward to their weekend away. What bliss! A bed to herself, a full night’s sleep. No babies to be fed or snoring husbands to keep her awake. Time to talk, and confide
and laugh. Thank God for Devlin and Caroline, real honest-to-God friends. Not like Marian Gilhooley. Forget her, she’s not worth it, Maggie told herself firmly. She was going to have a
carefree weekend and she couldn’t wait!

Twenty minutes later Maggie sailed out the door. Friday was hers and had been since she had found out about her husband’s affair with Ria Kirby, the hard-faced bitch! She felt no guilt as
she heard the twins squabbling and Terry bellowing at them. It was a beautiful morning. She heard the baby start to wail. For a moment Maggie was tempted to turn and go back in. Her maternal
heartstrings tugged. It had taken her a long time to get to the stage where she could leave for the day and think nothing of it.

‘No, dammit!’ she muttered aloud. It wouldn’t kill Terry. It was twenty to eight, he’d only have to put up with it for twenty minutes. She’d been the perfect wife
and mother for long enough. All the years of giving to her family, in Wicklow, to Marian Gilhooley, her so-called friend, to Terry and her children. Well it was time now for taking. Time for her.
Time to begin her life again. Briskly Maggie strode to her car, meeting the postman en route.

‘Hello Mrs Ryan, letter for yourself.’

‘Thanks,’ she said calmly, but as she took the long slim envelope he handed to her, she wanted to throw her arms in the air and do a dance.

At last, it had actually arrived! She knew it was coming, but for it to arrive today made everything perfect. She couldn’t wait to tell Adam and the girls; they had been so encouraging. It
would mean nothing to Terry, she’d tell him later. In a daze of excitement Maggie drove to her morning rendezvous with Devlin and Caroline at CITY GIRL.

One

She knew she was pregnant. No doctor had confirmed it yet but she knew, just as thousands before her had known and thousands after her would instinctively know that their
bodies were no longer theirs alone, their wombs no longer just parts of their anatomies but vibrant living things that for nine months would dictate to and rule over the host body.

Devlin felt an awful fear deep in the pit of her stomach. Her period was five days overdue. But she was on the pill, it was impossible to get pregnant on the pill.

‘No it’s not. Maggie Ryan got pregnant on the pill,’ a little voice in her mind whispered maliciously. Devlin sat up in bed.

‘Oh Jesus God please don’t let me be pregnant. Holy-Mary-Mother-of-God-pray-to-Jesus-for-me,’ she babbled, deriving some comfort from the prayer of her childhood to which she
now turned only in moments of deep distress. She waited a moment, as if expecting her period to appear miraculously; maybe it had come in the night. Devlin inspected her knickers; they were as pure
and virginal as the driven snow and frustration rose in her. Getting out of bed she paced the floor of her bedroom.

‘It’s not fair, I don’t want to be pregnant. Why should it happen to me? God Almighty I only did it once and I didn’t mean to. Colette and Brian have been doing it for
over a year every night of the week. How come you didn’t pick on them? Oh God please let my period come!’ she prayed silently, hopefully.

She had to get out of the flat; being on her own was driving her crazy. Caroline had gone away with Richard for a long weekend. She supposed she could go home but the thought of facing her
parents in her present state chilled her; she knew guilt would be written all over her face. Lydia, her mother, would probably start picking on her and she just couldn’t face it right now.
Panic assailed her and she sat down on the bed. There must be something she could do.

‘I mean for heaven’s sake it’s my body, my body, my body.’ She whispered the words like a mantra, rocking backwards and forwards on the bed and hugging herself. A thought
struck her. She flew downstairs, almost breaking her neck in her haste to get to the sitting-room.

Yes! Oh thank God! Grabbing the half-empty bottle of gin Devlin didn’t even bother with a glass. She flew back upstairs almost crying. Rushing into the bathroom she turned on the taps of
the bath. Why didn’t I think of this before? she chided herself.

‘That’s abortion,’ a mean little voice was saying in her brain.

‘Don’t listen. Don’t think about it,’ she muttered feverishly as she waited for the hot water to explode through the pipes. The water remained stubbornly cold. She
checked the immersion heater which was switched off, and cursed angrily. Viciously she snapped it on, frustration and misery written all over her face, knowing that the water wouldn’t heat
for at least fifteen minutes.

I suppose I could start on the gin, she mused doubtfully. Devlin wasn’t too sure exactly what gin was supposed to do. She knew a scalding hot bath was supposed to bring on an overdue
period and maybe you were supposed to put some gin in the bath as well. Well, there was no harm in trying it both ways. Taking a big slug of gin she spluttered and gasped as tears came to her
eyes.

Devlin caught sight of herself in the mirror, naked except for the treacherously white briefs, her slim body tanned golden after a holiday on the Algarve. Blonde hair bleached by the sun lay
tousled around her face and aquamarine eyes, big and frightened, glittered with tears as she stared at the gin bottle clutched in her hand.

‘This has to be the pits,’ she groaned and depression enveloped her in a cloud of torment. She took another slug of gin. It didn’t feel so bad this time so she took
another.

An hour later Devlin sat in her very hot bath to which she had added a measure of the gin just in case. The bathroom was steamed up and the sweet cloying smell of the gin seemed to be
everywhere. She was very very drunk and starting to feel extremely sick.

Just as well Caroline’s gone away for the weekend; she’d be horrified, Devlin thought woozily. Caro, her flat mate, was easily shocked and very innocent. She’d probably faint
if Richard put his thing near her, that was, she thought nastily, if Richard had a thing.

Oh God! She was going to be sick. Drunkenly she stood up in the bath swaying in the steamy heat and barely making it to the toilet. She noisily retched feeling that everything inside her was
coming up. The violence of the attack left her dizzy and weak and grabbing a towel she wrapped it around herself and crawled into the bedroom on her hands and knees. Somehow she managed to haul
herself into bed, where she passed out. It was three hours before she came to from her drunken stupor and she felt as though there was a fireworks display going off in her head. For a while Devlin
just lay there not daring to move, not even sure if she was dead or alive. Then the telephone rang. Harsh, piercing, the sound penetrated her throbbing head with a savage intensity. Sticking her
head under the covers she tried to ignore the sound and eventually it went away. Silence descended once more and she dozed off to sleep. When she woke again she felt much improved, although her
mouth tasted vile and her head was muzzy and heavy.