City Girl (46 page)

Really, Maggie, grow up! she rebuked herself, half amused. My God, he was only a baby and she was a married woman in her thirties. Was she taking leave of her senses? She was deeply engrossed in
a book about the Art of the American Indians when a deep voice said cheerfully, ‘Hi! Did you enjoy the book?’

Maggie gave a start and turned to find her Adonis smiling down at her. She herself was a tall woman but he was easily six two. Suddenly her afternoon took on an extra sparkle.
‘Hello,’ she smiled feeling ridiculously light-hearted.

‘Well are you going to make your fortune?’ He indicated
Write And Get Paid For It.

Maggie laughed. ‘Not a hope! I found out all the things I did wrong, but it’s a very informative book. You’ll enjoy it. But I’m afraid I won’t get my novel
published.’

‘Oh dear!’ he said, his hazel eyes twinkling. ‘What exactly did you do wrong?’

To her surprise she found herself telling him all about the mistakes she had made and in answer to further interested questions, she told him all about her novel. She found him very easy to talk
to and both of them were quite shocked when the familiar ‘Closing Now’ interrupted their conversation. It seemed they had only been talking ten minutes, but it was in fact an hour. His
name was Adam Dunne. He was an electrician with Telecom Eireann, he was twenty-five and had just bought a small house in Drumcondra. Maggie felt as though she had known him all her life.

‘Closing please!’ Maggie was beginning to dislike intensely the unseen owner of that bossy voice. She had an accent and tone of voice exactly the same as Sister Mairead, her old
teacher. Maybe they were related! Damn the library for closing early on Friday. She had really enjoyed talking to Adam.

‘Tell you what,’ Adam said easily. ‘If you’re around next week I’ll show you a book in the reference section called
The Writer’s and Artist’s
Yearbook.
It tells you all you need to know about the mechanics of the manuscript, where to send them, how to present them. Just what Terry Prone’s been saying. It’s very good.
Just what the budding author needs.’

This time they left the library together and the boyish smile he gave her as they said goodbye made her feel ten years younger.

That night as she sat in front of her bedroom mirror Maggie studied herself long and hard. She had let herself go a bit, she thought glumly. It was time she took herself in hand. There was
nothing she could do about the fine lines etched around her green eyes but the sagging spreading bottom could be toned up and the thighs firmed. The hair was a mess! That was easily remedied. She
should be ashamed of herself for letting herself go to seed. For heaven’s sake she was only thirty-three, not sixty-three!

Without further ado, the hair was cut, the tumbling copper locks shaped into a softer shorter style that framed her face and made her look ten years younger. She started exercising with the help
of a shape tape and exercise bike; and even after a week of dieting and exercising she began to notice a difference. It was a sparkling vibrant woman who ran up the steps of the ILAC library the
next week.

Adam did a gratifying double take at the sight of her and she laughed aloud. ‘Just got the old mop cut,’ she said lightly. But her eyes sparkled as she met his clear dark-lashed
hazel ones.

Their weekly meetings gave her something to look forward to. Adam was so cool and laid-back, yet full of enthusiasm for her writing ventures, quite unlike her husband who dismissed her
‘scribbling’ as a waste of time. They swopped ideas, gave each other encouragement and enjoyed their hour in the library each week.

When Adam told Maggie of a writers’ workshop starting up in his local Arts Centre Maggie jumped at the idea. Terry was not at all impressed when his wife informed him that from now on,
every Monday night, she would be going to a writers’ workshop and he would have to mind the children. ‘For Christ’s sake, you’re wasting your time with that nonsense.
Couldn’t you take up knitting or rug making or something useful?’

‘I’m not wasting my time. And if you don’t like it, you can lump it! You’re out half the week anyway,’ Maggie retorted crisply.

‘That’s business and you know it,’ her husband growled.

‘So is this,’ his wife informed him calmly.

The classes were a joy! It was wonderful to mix with other people who shared the same interest, especially when you were sitting beside a guy who made you laugh constantly with his witty asides
and who made you feel young and lighthearted again and not the mother of three demanding young children. Looking at herself in the mirror one night before she went out, she felt like the Maggie of
old – vibrant, alive, ready for anything. How glad she was that she had got herself out of the soul-destroying rut she had been in.

Thirty-five

One morning several months later the postman presented her with a large brown envelope and Maggie felt her heart sink to her boots. Without opening it, she knew it was her
returned manuscript. She hadn’t won the competition! Maybe she had been kidding herself all along. Maybe she had no talent as a writer. To compound her misery, her washing machine chose that
particular morning to flood the kitchen and it was a very depressed Maggie who set about cleaning up the mess.

For the first time in months she decided not to go to her writers’ class. What was the point? And anyway wasn’t it time she got sense? Half the reason she went to the class was
because Adam went. She must be crazy! He was almost eight years younger than her, and probably had a luscious twenty-year-old girlfriend that he hadn’t mentioned. And besides . . . she was
married.

So was Terry when he had the fling with Ria! The thought came unbidden to her mind. ‘Oh stop it Maggie,’ she muttered aloud, grabbing Michelle who, in her enthusiasm to kiss her baby
sister, was almost smothering the child.

The evening dragged. Terry fell asleep in front of the fire, the returned manuscript reproached her accusingly from the coffee table and she felt miserable. The following morning, she was
feeding the twins their breakfast and listening to Gay Byrne when the phone rang. ‘Hi! What happened you last night?’ enquired a familiar voice and Maggie felt a warm glow envelop
her.

‘How did you know my number?’ she asked. Adam laughed. ‘Maggie, my girl, I’m a thriller writer par excellence who just hasn’t been published. Putting my detective
skills to good use, I looked up the phone directory and found the only Terry Ryan who lives in Castleknock. I then deduced, brilliantly if I may say so,’ he added modestly, ‘that since
you were married to him you must live in the same house and therefore share the same number. Are you impressed?’

Maggie had to laugh. ‘Absolutely. I’ll have to call you Sherlock Dunne from now on.’

‘Why didn’t you come last night?’

Maggie stayed silent for a moment. ‘My washing machine broke down,’ she said glumly.

‘And?’

Adam was so perceptive. It was one of the qualities she liked in him. Besides it was only fair to tell him the real reason she had stayed away. ‘I got my manuscript back yesterday,’
she admitted.

‘Ah, Maggie! I’m sorry. It’s an awful feeling, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah,’ she admitted with a sigh.

‘What’s wrong with the washing machine?’

‘I don’t know. Water flooded all over the kitchen. Someone is supposed to be coming to repair it the day after tomorrow.’

‘Poor Maggs.’ She could sense that he was smiling at the other end of the phone.

She laughed. ‘I’m feeling so sorry for myself, I feel like flinging the typewriter and the washing machine out the window.’

Adam laughed. ‘Just make sure there’s no-one passing by. You don’t want to be sued to add to your list of woes.’

‘OK,’ she smiled, feeling much better. ‘See you Friday?’ she queried.

‘Hmmm,’ he responded. ‘Have to go, Maggie. Take care.’

Around the middle of the afternoon she answered a knock on her door to find Adam smiling at her. ‘I fix washing machines in my spare time!’

‘Why aren’t you at work?’ Maggie laughed.

‘I was owed some time so I took it. I figured I’d better get you back on the straight and narrow with your typewriter.’

‘Idiot!’ she grinned, feeling strangely happy. He handed her a blue book.

‘It’s the CLÉ
Directory
and it’s got the names and addresses of all the Irish publishing houses. So get cracking. Get in touch with some of them and put the
kettle on and make a cuppa for us while I have a look at your washing machine,’ he instructed her good-humouredly.

As she moved around her kitchen making tea she was deeply aware of him as he lay, long legs all over the place, trying to fix her recalcitrant washing machine. He sat up boyishly, his hair awry.
‘I can see what’s wrong. I’ll have to get a part. Can you wait until tomorrow? You can cancel the other bloke and save a few bob,’ he suggested.

‘Thanks, Adam,’ she said, smiling at him.

They sat facing each other at the table, Maggie with Fiona on her lap, the twins playing on the floor.

‘That’s a beautiful baby you’ve got there,’ he said as Fiona gripped one of his fingers in her tiny hand and made eyes at him. ‘Motherhood suits you, Maggie,’
he said softly.

She blushed. There was a warmth in his eyes that excited her. It was a long time since a man had looked at her like that. Too long. Terry looked at her these days and never even saw her.
Couldn’t see the loneliness inside her that was causing her to turn to a younger man for companionship. They stared at each other and Adam said, ‘I’d better go, I’ll see you
tomorrow.’

‘Thanks, Adam.’ Her voice was husky; she felt like a sixteen-year-old.

She watched him drive away. She was confused, scared, elated. He made her feel so attractive again. God, she could stand up in a leotard these days in a class at CITY GIRL with girls ten years
younger than her and not be ashamed. That’s what Adam Dunne had done to her. He made her feel like a woman again and not a drudge!

He arrived as promised the next day and this time she was ready for him. Her hair was freshly washed, her touch of make up was just right and a faint hint of
Laughter
adorned her wrists
and throat. She watched as he deftly fitted the piece in the machine, noticing his long well-shaped fingers. She’d like to feel those fingers caressing her body. A strange fear suffused
Maggie. She hadn’t felt like this since she was a young girl with Joe Conway. What was she thinking of?

Adam stood up and saw the expression in her eyes. They stared at each other in silence and then very gently he reached out and took her face in his hands. ‘Maggie, you’re
beautiful,’ he said, before lowering his mouth to hers. They kissed slowly, sensually and she felt weak with longing but a yell from the playroom penetrated their passion.

‘My children,’ Maggie murmured apologetically ‘like to be seen and heard.’

Adam laughed. ‘It’s just as well maybe because I could very easily get carried away.’

Maggie stared into his smiling hazel eyes. ‘Me too,’ she said honestly.

‘Maggie, I have to go to London for a month. Telecom are sending some of us so I want you to promise me one thing.’

‘Anything,’ she said, dismayed that she wouldn’t see him for a whole month.

‘Get back to your typewriter, go to your classes, and get in touch with some publishers. There’s a rake of ’em in that directory and some of them will at least read your novel,
and if they’ve any sense they’ll publish it. It’s a great read! Now promise!’

Maggie hugged him. ‘I promise, Adam.’

She stood in the sunlight watching him drive away. He waved and she returned the wave. She felt so strong and renewed. Would she have an affair with him? She couldn’t swear that she
wouldn’t. That was something to be decided in the future. For now she felt incredibly happy. Lightheartedly, Maggie walked into her kitchen and started to prepare her husband’s evening
meal.

Epilogue

The three friends greeted each other warmly when they met in the plush foyer of CITY GIRL.

‘You’re looking pretty pleased with yourself, Maggs,’ Devlin noted as she pressed the button for the lift.

‘I am,’ Maggie grinned as they stepped into the elegant lift and it glided swiftly, silently upward.

‘What’s happened?’ Caroline asked, dying to know. Just wait until she told them her news!

‘I’ll tell you after class at breakfast.’

‘Tell us what?’ chorused Devlin and Caroline.

‘At breakfast,’ Maggie repeated firmly.

The other pair grinned. ‘You won’t be able to wait that long. You’re bursting to tell us. Come on! Don’t be so mean,’ expostulated Devlin who was dying with
curiosity to find out what had made Maggie look so radiant. Maybe she had slept with Adam. No! It couldn’t be that. Wasn’t he in London? He had certainly brought the sparkle back into
Maggie’s eyes. She just lit up when she spoke about him. ‘Come on, Maggie.’

‘Patience is a virtue,’ Maggie teased as the lift stopped and a beautiful girl in a white uniform stepped in to join them, ending the conversation.

‘Morning all.’

‘Hi Aoibhinn,’ they responded to the chief beautician of CITY GIRL.

‘Any chance of a make-up job for the TV thing?’ Devlin grinned.

‘I’m sure I could squeeze you in to my schedule. Mind, with your mug it could take a couple of hours.’

‘See the awe and reverence my staff hold me in,’ said Devlin in mock disgust as the lift came to a smooth halt and Aoibhinn glided gracefully down the carpeted corridor to her
domain.

‘You shouldn’t have gorgeous-looking girls like that working for you, Dev. They’ll give your clients complexes,’ Maggie said, as she pulled the muscles of her stomach a
little tighter.

‘The way you look this morning, it’s you who’ll be giving people complexes. Now stop getting away from the subject and tell us the news.’

‘Now, come along, ladies,’ Janet the pint-sized aerobics instructress ordered crisply as she passed them on her way into the gym.

Caroline threw her eyes up to heaven. ‘We’ll have to wait, Dev, to hear Maggie’s news. You know Janet – she’s a stickler for time.’