City Lives (9 page)

‘But it’s not fair—’

‘Mimi Ryan, Grandad McNamara is sick and we have to go and look after him. Stop being so selfish this minute and get out of the pool and go and have your shower.’ Maggie’s
patience was dwindling fast. Mimi always pushed as far as she could go. Today Maggie was not in the mood to humour her.

With bad grace, Mimi climbed the ladder and flounced towards the showers, dripping indignation.

‘Mammy. Mammy look I can swim underwater. Watch me.’ Shona, her youngest child, took a deep breath, stuck her head underwater and managed a half-dozen ungainly strokes before she
surfaced red-faced, gasping and proud.

‘Oh you’re great. A brilliant swimmer,’ Maggie praised. ‘Now run in and have your shower with Mimi, and I’ll be in to you, OK.’

‘OK, Mam,’ Shona responded obediently as she swam to the ladder and pulled herself up. Maggie smiled at her. Shona was such a peaceful little soul. Mimi was much more strong-willed
and argumentative. They were like chalk and cheese.

‘Michael, time to go,’ she called down the pool to where her son, Mimi’s twin, was swimming with some friends. She heard them teasing him. He laughed back and her heart
lightened. Michael was a happy-go-lucky little chap these days – it was a joy to watch him having fun and living life to the full. He’d been devastated when Terry had gone to live with
Ria Kirby. He’d started bedwetting and had become introverted and clingy. His reaction to their separation was the main reason Maggie had decided to get back with Terry. Her son was swimming
towards her now, good strong strokes. He was fearless in the water.

‘Mam can I go to the pictures with Owen and Raymond tomorrow? Owen’s mam is going to bring us.’ He brushed the water from his hair and she had to resist a fierce urge to
smother him in kisses. He’d have died of mortification if she’d disgraced him in front of his friends by kissing him.

‘Sure,’ Maggie agreed. ‘Hurry on and have your shower now, and don’t forget to dry between your toes. And don’t talk to strangers.’

‘I won’t,’ he said cheerfully as he eschewed the namby-pamby ladder and hauled himself out onto the side of the pool. Maggie watched him going into the men’s shower room.
She wished Terry was going with him. It was terrible to have to worry about children in this way, but there was so much abuse these days, it was a fact of life.

She sighed. How did you balance it? How did you try to instil discernment in children? Michael was such an open boy. He’d talk to the man in the moon.

A friend had told her recently that she’d got a letter from the school saying that there was a child molester in the area. Parents were to be extra vigilant. Two children had been
approached to get into a blue car. Another young girl had been physically assaulted. It was downright worrying.

When she was growing up she’d roamed the Wicklow countryside on her bicycle with never a worry. Her children wouldn’t have that freedom.

She squeezed the water out of her hair and climbed out of the pool. Mimi was already stripped and soaping herself in the shower. Shona was struggling with her wet togs.

‘Well at least we didn’t have to wait until a shower was free,’ Maggie remarked as she eased off Shona’s swimsuit. Mimi stayed stubbornly silent. She was as bad as her
grandmother for getting into huffs.

She turned on the water and enjoyed the feel of the hot jets of spray that cascaded down over them. Nelsie no doubt would be like a cat on a hot tin roof until they got to Wicklow. She’d
been none too pleased to hear that Maggie was not going to be down at the crack of dawn.

Maggie frowned as she shampooed Shona’s hair. She’d much more to be worrying about right now than Nelsie’s bad humour. Marcy Elliot’s news had left her feeling very
vulnerable. Why was she leaving? What was the new editor going to be like? Would she, or he, be as good as Marcy? As professional and conscientious?

She’d once heard another writer describe the relationship between editor and author as like a marriage. You really had to trust your editor so much, Maggie mused as she shampooed her own
hair. You were at your most vulnerable with an editor. Taking well-meant criticism on board was never easy unless you had the proper perspective. You had to remind yourself that your editor had
your best interests at heart and that she shared your vision for your book. Maggie had always been able to do that with Marcy. Her editing sessions with her focused, clear-thinking editor always
left her feeling invigorated and mentally stimulated. Marcy challenged everything. She let nothing go. Maggie was always on her toes with her.

She dreaded meeting the new person who was going to have such an impact on her writing career. Would it be a man or a woman? Somehow Maggie wasn’t sure whether she’d be able to
achieve the same rapport with a man.

‘Mammy can we collect the eggs when we get to Wicklow?’ Shona piped up as she lathered half a bottle of Oil of Ulay onto her puff.

‘Go easy with that!’ exclaimed Maggie as frothy bubbles engulfed her daughter.

‘It’s very foamy,’ Shona declared happily, covering herself with a coating of white suds. ‘Can we collect the eggs?’

‘Yes of course you can, so hurry up and let’s get dressed and get going.’

‘I don’t want to collect eggs. That’s just for babies,’ Mimi announced with immense disdain.

‘Fine,’ Maggie responded lightly, knowing full well that Mimi would be as engrossed as Shona in looking for eggs when they got to the farm.

‘I’m nearly nine you know. That’s too old for silly old eggs.’

‘Eggs aren’t silly. An’ I’m not a baby either, Miss Mimi. I’m going to big school,’ Shona retorted indignantly between mouthfuls of water as Maggie hosed her
down.

‘So?’ scoffed Mimi.

‘Mimi, I told you not to say that. It’s rude.’ Maggie said irately.

‘So?’ was Mimi’s latest. And it could sound very cheeky.

‘Get a life,’ Mimi muttered.

‘What did you say?’ Maggie demanded. ‘How
dare
you! How dare you speak to your mother like that! How dare you speak to any adult like that! “
Get a
life.
” Who do you think you are, Madam? I’m telling you, Mimi Ryan, any more impudence like that and you’re grounded for the week.’

Mother and daughter glowered at each other.

‘Apologize immediately.’

Stubborn silence.

‘
Immediately!
’

‘Sorry,’ Mimi muttered.

‘Right, let’s forget it. And I don’t want to hear any more smart-alec talk like that again. Now go and get fifty pence from my purse and dry your hair please,’ Maggie
instructed crisply.

Mimi wrapped her towel around her and stalked out of the shower cubicle.

‘I don’t think she really meant it, Mammy,’ Shona said anxiously. She hated confrontations.

‘Maybe not. But it’s not nice to be cheeky,’ Maggie was firm. ‘Now come on, we have to hurry.’

Michael was waiting for them outside the ladies’ changing-room.

‘Hi Mam,’ he greeted her cheerfully, his cheeks glowing from the swim and the shower.

‘That was quick, Michael, good boy,’ Maggie praised. ‘Did you have the shower room to yourself?’ She posed the question lightly.

‘Yep. No-one else is out of the pool yet and no-one came in,’ Michael replied airily, quite unaware of her reasons for asking the question. Only last week a teenager had exposed
himself to children playing in the school yard. Fortunately Michael had been at the other end of the playground, but how did you explain these things to children without frightening them, Maggie
wondered glumly as she ushered her three out to the car park.

The traffic was light enough, for which she was immensely grateful. The sun was shining and, as they drove along the Strand Road half an hour later, her bad humour evaporated. The sea sparkled.
A ferry glided towards Dun Laoghaire and a DART train sped past the Merrion Gates, causing great excitement in the back seat.

‘You said you’d bring us on the DART out to Bray, Mam,’ Michael reminded her.

‘I know . . . I know. I will. I promise.’

‘Soon,’ persisted her son.

‘Soon,’ she echoed.

Guilt set in. She really should spend more time with her children doing fun things with them. She was always making excuses lately. It wasn’t fair on them. Her writing was going to have to
take a back seat for a while. It was so bloody hard juggling all the balls in the air. She got stuck behind a Merc turning into the Blackrock Clinic and drummed her fingers impatiently on the
steering-wheel. Bad move staying in the outside lane. But he hadn’t turned on his indicator until the last minute. Bloody-Fat-Cat-Big-Noise, too arrogant to think of other drivers, she fumed
silently, wondering if he was a consultant. Maybe she’d worked with him when she’d been nursing all those years ago, before her marriage. That seemed like another lifetime ago, she
thought regretfully.

She’d been happy then. Living in the flat in Sandymount with Devlin and Caroline, full of hopes and dreams. Now she was a disappointed woman living a life of discontent. Nothing had gone
as she planned. Her marriage was a sham. It gave her nothing and she had nothing left to give it. If it wasn’t for the children she’d walk away from Terry and start afresh.

Maggie sighed from the depths of her being.

‘Mammy, are you sad?’ Shona, always intuitive in her own little way, asked from the back.

‘Why did you say that?’ Maggie asked, startled.

‘It was just when you did that . . .’ She imitated the sigh.

‘No, love, I’m not.’ She glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw Michael’s face tense up. He was always watching her and Terry now. Maggie knew in her heart that the fear
of his parents separating again was the one great cloud in his otherwise happy young life.

‘I just sighed because I was stuck behind that car. He should have indicated long ago,’ she added reassuringly. ‘I was just thinking, if we have time in the afternoon after
we’ve given Grandad his lunch we could go for a walk on Brittas beach.’

‘YES!’ Michael shot a triumphant hand in the air.

‘Goody.’ Shona beamed.

Mimi remained stony-faced.

‘Are you going to come with us, Mimi? We might even go into the Old Forge for hot chocolate on the way back.’ Maggie offered the olive branch. Hot chocolate was the ultimate treat
for her elder daughter.

‘Oh . . . OK.’ Mimi brightened.

Thank God, Maggie thought, stilling the thought that she’d won over her daughter with bribery. Mimi’s sulks could be wearing. Now that she had the children with her for the day she
wanted to give them a treat and have some fun with them. A walk on Brittas would be perfect. Blow the cobwebs from her brain and maybe inspire her for her next chapter.

She was blessed with a run of green lights from Blackrock to Deansgrange and before long they were swinging left opposite Cornelscourt onto the N11.

‘I can see the Sugar Loaf . . . I can see the Sugar Loaf,’ sang Shona a while later and Maggie’s heart lifted at the sight of the familiar and much loved peak, so much a part
of her childhood.

If only she was rich enough she’d buy a cottage in Wicklow and spend the summers there with her children in her haven. When they were reared she’d up sticks and leave Dublin and to
hell with Terry.

Someday
, she promised herself,
someday
.

‘Morning Nicola.’ Terry gave the statuesque blonde his most charming smile. He’d been hoping Nicola Cassidy would be playing golf this morning. He liked her.
She had style. Glamorous, well groomed, with curves in all the right places, oozing confidence . . . she was his type of woman.

Maggie had been like that once, he thought ruefully. Now she was heading for forty, stuck in a rut, and he wasn’t the number one priority in her life any more, that was for sure. Terry
scowled. Sometimes he felt that she’d only asked him to come back home for the children’s sake. If it wasn’t for them he wasn’t at all sure if she’d want him in her
life. It wasn’t good for a man’s ego. Didn’t women realize that men’s egos were just as easily bruised as theirs?

OK, he’d had a fling with Ria Kirby, and Maggie had made him pay for that. But she’d had her fling too with that Adam bloke, so they were all square. Why couldn’t she let
bygones be bygones? Why couldn’t she just make more of an effort, for a start? She didn’t dress up for him any more. The only time she ever dressed up now was if she was going to some
function to do with her writing. She’d given up entertaining his clients at home, telling him that he could take them to restaurants. She didn’t have time to cook, she said. Maggie and
he had given great dinner parties in the early years of their marriage. That was all changed now. It was this bloody writing. It took all her time. She was either writing or doing publicity. And he
was sadly neglected.

‘Nice day for a round,’ he remarked as Nicola strolled past him.

‘Ya, I’m in a threeball at eleven. How about you?’ Nicola’s green eyes reminded him of a cat’s.

‘I’m just playing a round with a client.’ Terry glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve twenty minutes before he arrives. Fancy a coffee? It’s a bit early for a
drink.’

‘Coffee’s fine,’ Nicola purred.

You haven’t lost it, boy
. Terry silently congratulated himself as they strolled to the clubhouse.

‘How are things going with you? You were telling me about the big conference you were setting up for your European colleagues,’ Terry asked as he held open the heavy swing doors that
led to the clubhouse. Nicola was a development manager in a big international insurance corporation.

‘It’s going fine. I’ve booked Ashford Castle. That was the easy part. The worst thing is arranging the table seating. You know, inter-office rivalries and all that.’

‘Tell me about it.’ Terry pulled a face.

‘You know what it’s like, Terry.’ Nicola eased her long limbs into a red velvet banquette. He wouldn’t mind her wrapping those long legs around him, he thought
longingly.

‘I know exactly what it’s like, believe me. But I bet a woman like you could handle . . .
anything
.’ He gave her a knowing look. He knew what he’d like her to
handle. She’d be magnificent at sex. He had no doubts on that score.