City Girl (25 page)

Maggie had been very happy the first year of their married life. Both of them were working. Life with the other Europeans and Americans seemed to be one big round of parties and barbecues. She
had learned how to scuba dive and spent many happy hours exploring the warm underwater attractions of the reefs in the Gulf. Then she had got pregnant. Her husband had blamed her entirely for the
pregnancy, which made Maggie sizzle with rage. He never wanted to be worried about contraception, leaving all the worrying to her. He hated using condoms, preferring Maggie to take the pill. And of
course, she had forgotten to take it one night. They’d been at a party where some delightful illicit alcohol had flowed freely and by the time she got home, the pill was the last thing on her
mind as she eagerly returned her husband’s passionate kisses. They had made love and fallen asleep and it was only the following night that Maggie realized what had happened. Unfortunately
the damage was done, and Maggie was well and truly pregnant. They had got over the shock but Maggie found it hard to forgive her husband’s attitude when he found out that she was so
unexpectedly pregnant.

She was having such a difficult pregnancy too. She’d hated having to give up work but she had to because of the constant nausea and sickness. Even after the usual three months the sickness
had not abated, much to her dismay, and as well as feeling miserable she found the days long and soul-destroyingly boring. The servants wouldn’t allow her to lift a finger and indeed would
become quite annoyed should she even attempt to tidy up.

She was a stranger in her own kitchen. Mehemed, the cook, would shoo her from the room with much lamentation and eye rolling should she even try to make herself tea and toast. Needless to say
Terry loved it all. He couldn’t get enough of it, the pampering, the fussing. Maggie wondered how he would adjust to life without servants when they finally decided to return home. One thing
was sure: she was certainly not going to treat him like a lord. Domestic duties would be shared, she had told him jokingly on several occasions, but somehow she didn’t feel that he was taking
her seriously.

Hunger gnawed at her stomach. Maggie sat straight up on the bed. Dammit! I’m going to make an omelette, she told herself firmly. Throwing on a loose cotton wrap she marched into the kitchen, all
cool white tiles. Under the eagle eye of her cook, the house boy was polishing the huge copper pots and pans so that they gleamed spotless. Ignoring the hurt soulful cocker-spaniel eyes of Mehemed
she proceeded to cook for herself a delicious savoury omelette. Her mouth watered as she sat down to eat it. If only she could get the idea of corned beef and cabbage out of her head. It was such a
strong craving sometimes. Still her creation looked delicious. She was about half way through it when nausea overtook her. Tears of self-pity stung her eyes as she deposited her lovely fluffy
creation down the toilet. Retching miserably, she vowed she would never become pregnant again.

Glumly she made her way to the lounge and caught sight of Mehemed hovering around wearing his best ‘I told you so’ expression as he offered her a glass of water. It’s a pity I
didn’t puke all over him. That would knock the superior smirk off his face, she thought nastily, as she studiously ignored him. Changing her mind she marched into the bedroom and slammed the
door, knowing she was being childish. It wasn’t the cook’s fault that she was so miserably pregnant. She felt so frustrated and full of anger. It was OK for Terry – he
didn’t have to put up with Mehemed, he was out working day and night. Nor did he have to listen to the inane yap of the other wives. Waves of resentment surged through her. It was a
man’s world, of that there was no doubt. All she could do at present was either vegetate in the apartment or, worse, sit listening to the gossip down at the pool.

Maggie hated the backbiting and bitchiness that was part of life on the compound. She was too direct a person to enjoy the subtle innuendoes and snide character assassination that some women
indulged in. She couldn’t care less if so and so was having an affair with such and such. It was none of her business what other people got up to. Let them lead their own lives and she would
lead hers. It was the hypocrisy that really sickened her. She had seen them being so nice, so charming to some poor unfortunate and then five minutes later when she was gone, the venom would come
out and every aspect of her life would be torn to shreds.

‘Dreadful figure! Shouldn’t wear those awful bermudas. Husband’s an alcoholic, you know. Mark fancies her! Don’t ask me what he sees in her.’ It went on and on. Oh,
she couldn’t face going down there. God knows what they said about her behind her back.

Opening her dressing table drawer she pulled out a large red notebook, sat down and read the previous day’s entry. Giving a deep sigh she started to write. Maggie liked writing her
thoughts down. She had kept a diary for as long as she could remember. In it she could pour out all her rage and frustration, although it seemed lately that these emotions were the only ones in her
life. Her diary in New York had been so lively and exhilarating. Head bent, soft auburn hair tumbling around her shoulders, Maggie wrote until her fingers were stiff. Catching sight of herself in
the mirror she grinned. She certainly looked like a demented novelist. A thought struck her, leaving her open mouthed. Well she certainly had the time to try writing a novel . . . She could write
one about life on the compound! All human life was there. The sex! Drama! Intrigue! It couldn’t be rivalled by Hollywood. And those Saudi Arabian sheiks!

What a lark it would be. She could just see it all now, the wives reading her novel around the pool, wondering just who was meant to be who? Maggie felt a surge of energy and the cloud of
depression lifted. Turning over some blank pages she bent her head and began to write furiously. Life was what you make it. If she wanted to sit at home and be bored she could do it or else get off
her butt and stop feeling sorry for herself and do something about it.

Three hours later she lifted her head. Her wrist was aching, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkled with their old lively vitality. She was no longer bored out of her mind, in fact she felt
invigorated.

Smiling to herself, Maggie read what she had written.

Fifteen

Devlin observed her two year old daughter sleeping in her arms, the long sooty lashes fanning her pink little cheeks, her halo of fine golden curls soft and silky against
Devlin’s tanned arm. It was the first time in months that the baby had looked so well and healthy

The week in Rosslare had got rid of the pinched unhealthy pallor, the legacy of high-rise living, from both mother and child. Devlin wanted to kiss her baby fiercely, this precious little bundle
that had been the cause of so much heartbreak and joy for her. Regretfully she decided against waking her. Lynn was quite a handful when awake and they still had a fair bit to travel.

Catching Kate’s eye in the mirror she smiled at her aunt. If it hadn’t been for Kate she would never have pulled herself out of the mire of hardship and depression she had been in.
For the first time in three years the burden of anxiety was lifted from her shoulders and she sank into the comfort of the back seat of the Peugeot station wagon, relaxing in the warm sunshine.
They were driving to Wexford, to a new life, a healthy life in the rich sea air where her daughter’s lungs, which had been such a source of anxiety when they lived in Ballymun, would not be
affected by the smog-laden air of the city or by the unhealthy heating system that they had to live with in their high-rise flat.

Mind you, it hadn’t been all hardship living in ‘Ballier’; Devlin had made some good friends there and, more important, had discovered reserves in herself and a strength of
character that she hadn’t realized she had. In Ballymun she had left behind forever the last vestiges of carefree girlhood. In Ballymun Devlin Delaney had become a strong determined woman and
now this woman was starting out yet again to make a new life for herself.

It was a relief to be moving away from the city of her birth although she felt a little pang at the thought of leaving Caroline and Maggie. What friends they had proved to be; utterly
supportive, lifting her out of the black moods of depression that sometimes enveloped her, although it hadn’t been all gloom. They had also had great moments of fun and laughter,
shoulder-shaking, rib-tickling, hearty laughter just like the old days. Friends were so important; great friendships something to be nurtured and treasured. Devlin knew that in Caroline and Maggie
she had the best. Time and trauma had proved it over and over. They hadn’t slipped by the wayside when the going got rough. They had been right there with her and always would be, accepting
her for what and who she was. With them there were no barriers. But apart from Caroline and Maggie there was nothing else to keep her in Dublin – nothing at all.

As the miles slipped by, distancing her from the city and her old life, her thoughts wandered back over the past three years. They had been three years of experience, that was for sure. Smiling,
she remembered the early months of her pregnancy and how she had got a job in an exclusive health centre in Kensington through sheer neck. It must have been desperation that had given her such
courage. She grinned broadly as she remembered how it happened.

After Devlin left the abortion clinic, she had hailed a taxi, booked a room in the London Tara, ate a huge breakfast and then gone shopping. Kensington had fantastic shops and
boutiques and it hadn’t taken Devlin long to select a chic white linen suit. The skirt was pencil-straight but the well-cut jacket had slightly padded shoulders and three quarter length
sleeves. She wouldn’t have to wear anything under the jacket and it complemented her tan beautifully. A pair of white high heeled shoes, a clutch bag, her gold chain at her neck, some perfume
and she was right. It was a sophisticated vision that stared back at her from the mirror. She had had her hair done in the hotel salon and she knew without vanity that she looked perfectly groomed
and classy . . . just the right person for the job as a receptionist in The Capital, the most exclusive health and fitness centre in London.

Devlin had seen the job advertised in a health magazine she had picked up at the clinic and decided that it would suit her fine until her baby was born. ‘Don’t bother interviewing
anybody else; I’m perfect for the job,’ she had informed the astonished personnel manager whom she had demanded to see, without an appointment. Listing off her impressive qualifications
for the job, she had given Colin’s name for a reference. Having asked the woman to ring her at the Tara with her decision, Devlin had spent the following day sitting by the phone, sick with
nervous tension, uncomfortably aware that staying at a top class hotel, and splashing out on her expensive suit had made a sizeable dent into her finances. She had almost given up hope of hearing
anything when the phone rang and Mrs Arnott, the manageress of the health centre, told her grandly that on receipt of her references they would be happy to employ her. Limp with relief, Devlin rang
Colin, told him that she was resigning and said the only thing she expected or wanted from him was a good reference, which she had earned.

Coldly he asked for the address to send it to. He never mentioned her pregnancy or the abortion and Devlin had been as calm and cold as he. How little integrity he had. He was the ultimate in
selfishness, an utterly shallow person, and she had fooled herself into thinking she was in love with him! Well that was one episode in her life that had taught her a lesson and she wouldn’t
make the same mistake again.

Two weeks later, Devlin was installed behind the reception desk, surrounded by the cool marbled walls of the luxurious Capital centre. It was exclusive all right: only the very rich were able to
afford its great range of health, beauty and slimming aids. It had its own hair salon, beauty therapists, nutritionists, aerobic instructors and health personnel. Many people from abroad came to
avail themselves of its services while staying in London and she recognized several well-known personalities who signed in to be pampered and petted.

It was an enjoyable job that suited her outgoing personality and the tranquil surroundings helped to calm her sometimes frazzled nerves. Luckily she had found a fairly reasonable bedsit which
wasn’t too far from work. Her salary was excellent but she saved most of it, because in just a few months she would have another mouth to feed.

Between getting the job and starting work, Devlin had returned home. When Lydia discovered that she hadn’t after all had an abortion and that she was planning on keeping the baby and
living in London, there had been a horrific row. ‘What are you keeping it for? All right, have the baby in London but for goodness sake, child, have it adopted!’

‘I don’t want to have it adopted!’ Devlin shrieked, at the end of her tether. ‘I don’t want it to end up like me wondering about its real mother and father, feeling
guilty like I do because I’m not yours and I feel I’ve let you down.’ Her face was scarlet with emotion, her hands clenched in two tight fists.

‘Jesus Mary and Joseph! Will you keep your voice down, Devlin, the whole street will hear you,’ Lydia snapped.

‘Fuck the neighbours, do you hear me? I don’t give a shit what the fucking neighbours think. They can go to hell for all I care!’ Devlin was shouting now as bitterness and
resentment battled with hurt and despair inside her.

‘Devlin Delaney!’ Her mother’s exclamation and the swift sharp slap of her palm against Devlin’s cheek were simultaneous.

‘Oh!’ Devlin’s voice became a shocked whisper.

‘I won’t have that gutter language in my house, Miss. Is this the thanks you give your father and me after all we’ve done for you? You wanted for nothing Devlin,
nothing!’

‘That’s where you’re wrong, Mum,’ Devlin was calm now. She knew it was pointless to argue with Lydia. Her mother’s vision was so narrow that she couldn’t see
beyond the bounds of what people would say and the gossip about her pregnancy.