City Woman (54 page)

‘What’s wrong?’ Devlin asked in concern.

‘She’s been drinking again,’ Gerry said heavily. ‘I came home from work just a few minutes ago and found her in bed, drunk out of her skull.’

‘Oh Dad!’ Devlin felt sick. ‘Why? Why now when things are going so well? The shop is booming, we’re getting on fine. What got into her?’

‘Will you come over? I just haven’t the heart to handle it on my own any more.’ Even down the line Gerry sounded tired and old.

‘Yes, I’ll be over. I’ll leave now,’ said Devlin. ‘See you as quick as I can.’

‘Thanks, Devlin. I really appreciate it.’ Devlin felt pretty browned-off herself. All those familiar feelings associated with the bad old days of Lydia’s drinking surged back
with a vengeance. Disappointment, anger, fear, hatred. Why did she have to ruin everything? Just when it seemed that all was well between them and she had everything going for her. What had sent
her off on a binge? Devlin rang down to the boutique. Rhona, Lydia’s assistant, was still there.

‘Rhona, hi! It’s Devlin. I was just wondering what time Mum left the shop?’

‘Hello, Devlin,’ Rhona said cheerfully. ‘Mrs Delaney went to lunch around midday. She was supposed to come back but she must have got tied up doing her interview.’

‘Her interview?’ Devlin said, puzzled.

‘Yes,’ Rhona said matter-of-factly. ‘Some journalist wanted to do an interview with Mrs Delaney about being a successful businesswoman or something.’

‘Oh yes,’ Devlin lied, pretending she knew all about it. ‘Thanks, Rhona, see you.’ She hung up, totally mystified. Lydia had never mentioned anything about an interview.
What on earth was going on? Well, the only thing to do was to get out to Foxrock and find out for herself. Heavy-hearted, Devlin said goodbye to Liz and left the office.

The traffic was brutal. It was raining and dark and she was stuck in Donnybrook for at least twenty minutes. Once she got on to the dual carriageway the flow would improve, she hoped. She saw
some laughing, briefcase-carrying women heading into Kiely’s for a drink after work. How could they – and she and Maggie – take a drink and enjoy it, while Lydia and Caroline once
they started would end up paralytic drunk, causing hassle and grief all around. Sitting unhappily in the car, she felt like going into the pub herself and for once throwing responsibility to the
wind, getting totally langers herself. How would Lydia feel then? Getting blind drunk was just an easy way out of facing responsibilities, Devlin thought resentfully, because drunks knew that there
was always someone who would pick up the pieces.

If it wasn’t for Gerry she wouldn’t set foot in the house. Lydia could have gone and faced the music herself. And if her business in the mall started going to pot because of her
drinking, she’d be out on her ear before she knew it. The nearer she got to home, the angrier Devlin became.

It was with immense reluctance that she put her key in the lock of the front door. Gerry, hearing it, came out to the hall.

‘I shouldn’t have called you; it’s not your problem.’ He gave her a hug and, as she stood there in his arms, Devlin could have strangled her mother for what she was doing
to her long-suffering husband.

‘Of course it’s my problem! We’re a family, aren’t we?’ Devlin said, hugging him back. ‘Where is she?’

‘Conked out in bed,’ Gerry sighed.

‘Oh, well, let her sleep it off,’ Devlin said firmly. ‘Have you had your dinner?’

‘I wasn’t really in the humour,’ Gerry confessed.

‘Come on, I’ll cook you an omelette or something light.’ Devlin linked her arm in his and they went into the kitchen.

They had just finished their meal and were having coffee when Devlin heard a movement upstairs. It was Lydia going into the bathroom and shortly after they heard her being violently ill.

‘I’ll go up to her.’ Devlin patted Gerry’s arm as he sat tense and worried beside her. She ran up the stairs and paused outside the bathroom where her mother was retching
miserably. I hate this, thought Devlin, beginning to feel slightly queasy herself, but she took a deep breath and went in and held her mother’s head. When it was over and Lydia was sitting
flushed and red-eyed on the side of the bath, sipping a drink of water, Devlin said brusquely, ‘What happened?’

Lydia shook her head and winced. ‘I just took one glass of champagne. I never dreamt I’d get like this . . .’

‘Champagne!’ Devlin exclaimed. ‘Who were you drinking champagne with?’

Lydia sighed, rubbing her temple, her eyes bloodshot and tired-looking. ‘Oh, it was with that Lucinda Marshall.’

‘
Mum!
Lucinda Marshall! What are you doing getting involved with her? It only means trouble.’

Lydia stood up unsteadily and made her way back to her bedroom, followed by Devlin.

‘What were you having lunch with her for?’ Devlin sat down on the side of the bed beside her mother and took her hand. Gazing at her, ravaged and ill-looking, Devlin felt her anger
evaporate. There was something vulnerable about Lydia right at this minute and Devlin couldn’t find it in herself to be angry any more. Lydia raised shamed eyes to Devlin.

‘I can’t believe I actually got drunk. I refused to have a drink with her beforehand. I wouldn’t have wine and because she kept annoying me that it was Dom Perignon I took a
glass. Devlin, I swear I never meant to get drunk. I didn’t think one glass would have any effect. I must have just kept sipping while she kept refilling it. It must have gone through my
system so quickly because I haven’t been drinking in so long. Devlin, it’s frightening. I’ll never make that mistake again.’

And Devlin believed what her mother had just told her. It was such a relief to know that Lydia had not deliberately set out to go on a batter. She knew Lucinda Marshall of old. A couple of
drinks to loosen Lydia’s tongue was just the way she would operate.

‘Why were you having lunch with her?’ Devlin asked again, this time in a much more gentle tone.

‘She wants me to be the first in a series of interviews she’s doing called “Women in Their Prime”. It’s very flattering really: it’s not for her
“Grapevine” column at all. It’s a serious feature. I hope to God she doesn’t mention that I got drunk. I’d be so mortified. Poor Gerry! Does he hate me?’ Lydia
started to cry.

Devlin put her arms around her. ‘No, Mum, of course he doesn’t. He just got a fright, that’s all. The two of us did. We thought there might be something wrong and that the
pressure of the business was getting to you. Because you’re not going to start drinking again, sure you’re not?’

‘Devlin, honestly, I had no intention of doing such a thing and I have no intention of doing it in the future. I don’t need it in my life and I’m never touching champagne
again. Certainly not in the company of a journalist.’ Lydia gave a wry smile. A thought struck her. ‘Oh Jesus!’ she exclaimed.

‘What?’ Devlin asked in alarm.

‘Oh my God, Devlin. You’ll never speak to me again; how could I have been so stupid?’ Lydia put her head in her hands.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘I think she asked me questions about you towards the end. I think I told her about you being adopted and about the baby and the accident.’

Devlin felt her insides go cold. Something was going on with Lucinda Marshall, she just knew it. Revenge was a dish best served cold, the old saying went, and Lucinda was someone who would find
a dish of revenge very tasty indeed. She had been furious when Devlin had told her she was not accepting a renewal of her subscription to City Girl. There had been threats of legal action.
Solicitors’ letters had passed between them but Lucinda hadn’t a leg to stand on, especially when cuttings of her articles written about City Girl and its clients had been photocopied
and sent back to her legal advisers. Devlin should have known better than to think that that would be the end of the matter.

‘Don’t distress yourself, Mum; she’s a sly bitch. Just have nothing to do with her in the future,’ Devlin said comfortingly, trying to put a brave face on it.

‘Should I ring her and just say I don’t want the interview published?’ Lydia raised a tear-stained face.

‘It’s probably too late for that now, Mum. I think the best thing to do is just let it go. From now on, avoid the woman like the plague.’

‘I’m awfully sorry, dear,’ Lydia said miserably. ‘You’d be better off without me. As a mother I don’t seem to be much help to you at all.’

‘Don’t say that,’ Devlin remonstrated. ‘Our closeness is very important to me and it’s made me so happy this last six months or so. I love you, Mum. I always
will.’

‘I surely don’t deserve you, Devlin.’ Lydia kissed her cheek. ‘Will you ask Gerry to come up so that I can apologize to him, and then I’ll just have to take two
Panadol and lie in the dark. I can tell you, Devlin, I’ve got the mother of all headaches.’

‘Poor Mum. I’ll send Dad up with a glass of water. You lie down. I might as well stay the night so I’ll see you at breakfast. OK?’

‘OK.’ Lydia smiled. Devlin helped her mother change into her nightdress. Then she went down, gave her father a brief report of the events and sent him up to his wife with a glass of
water and two Panadol.

‘I don’t think Mum’s going back on the booze. I do believe her,’ Devlin said later that evening as they sat in front of the fire sipping hot chocolate before going to
bed. ‘But I would love to know what that bitch, Lucinda Marshall, is up to.’

‘Maybe she
is
going to do that series of interviews. She’d hardly have treated Lydia to that very expensive lunch otherwise.’

‘Hardly,’ agreed Devlin, so as not to worry her father. But despite herself she had a feeling of unease that would not go away and that night she found herself tossing and turning
restlessly as the problem preyed on her mind.

‘Me ma’s been trying to ring ya and she wants to know would ya ever give her a buzz.’

‘Hiya, Roger! Sure I will. She’s all right, isn’t she?’ Devlin spoke to the good-looking young man who had stuck his head around her office door first thing the next
morning.

‘Ya know Ma – never a bother on her,’ Roger said with a grin. Devlin grinned back. Roger and his twin, Rayo, always had that effect on her. They were unfailingly cheerful and
two very popular employees of City Girl.

‘I’ll ring her this minute,’ Devlin promised.

‘And tell her I fancy a pork-chop with apple sauce for me dinner tonight,’ Roger added.

‘Right,’ Devlin laughed as he closed the door behind him.

What was up with Mollie, she wondered, as she dialled her friend’s number. Mollie O’Brien was like a second mother to Devlin. In fact when Devlin and her baby had lived in Ballymun,
she could have been her mother, so kind and concerned was her next-door neighbour. Since Devlin left Ballymun she had stayed in touch with Mollie and her husband Eddie, and when City Girl had taken
off, she had asked Eddie, who was a carpenter, to come and work for her and paid for the twins to do life-saving classes. Then Devlin had employed them to run the centre’s swimming pool. They
did the work with great good humour and efficiency.

‘Hello!’ Mollie’s broad Dublin accent came down the line.

‘Hi, Mollie! It’s me. What’s up?’ Devlin responded smiling.

‘Howya, luv? I’ve been trying to get ya all last night. Whose bed were ya keeping warm? Is Luke over?’

Devlin laughed. ‘Unfortunately not, Mollie, I stayed with Mum and Dad. What were you looking for me for? Can you not come to the Omni on Thursday night?’ Devlin and Mollie met once a
fortnight on Thursday nights for late-night shopping. There was coffee in Bewleys and then more coffee as they sat chatting and catching up with the news. It was something Devlin enjoyed very much.
Mollie was the salt of the earth and Devlin cherished their friendship. Mollie had grieved almost as much as she had at Lynn’s death because Mollie had loved her like her own
grandchildren.

‘I wouldn’t miss our night, Devlin, luv. But what I want ta tell ya is I think ya should know that some little scut has been around here asking questions about ya. I gave him his
answer, the little shite, and so did Bernie but I think Bridie upstairs – remember that mad bitch – I think she mighta talked ta him.’

‘What kind of questions, Mollie?’ Devlin asked in confusion.

‘About where ya lived and how long ya lived here and about the baby an’ all,’ Mollie said grimly.

‘But why would anybody go out to Ballymun? Why didn’t he ask me here? What does he want to know for?’

‘Devlin, luv, I think he was some sort of a reporter: he was a real slimy little geezer with a tape recorder. One of those small ones they use. Bernie told him she’d stuff it up his
arse if he didn’t stop annoying her; he was terrified of her.’ Devlin laughed in spite of herself, remembering what a kind-hearted holy terror her other neighbour, Bernie, had been.

‘Something’s going on but I don’t know what,’ Devlin said ruefully. ‘Someone’s got to Mum as well. You didn’t get this guy’s name, did you, by any
chance?’

‘Sorry, pet. He took to his heels when Bernie let fly,’ Mollie said regretfully.

‘I bet he did,’ Devlin said grinning. ‘Look, Mollie, thanks for ringing. I’ll try and get to the bottom of this. And I’ll see you Thursday as usual.’

‘OK, luv, I just thought you should know what’s going on,’ Mollie said.

‘Oh, before I forget, Roger wants a pork-chop and apple sauce for his dinner.’

‘Does he now!’ snorted his mother. ‘Ya shudda seen the state that fella left his room in. Ya can tell him he’ll be lucky ta get any dinner at all let alone pork-chops and
apple sauce. Bye, luv,’ Mollie laughed and hung up, leaving Devlin wondering what exactly was going on.

Picking up her phone she buzzed out and asked Liz to get her Lucinda Marshall on the line.

Five minutes later Liz rang back to say Lucinda was out of the office and not expected in until noon of the following day.

‘Don’t we have her home number on file from when she was a member?’ Devlin asked grimly.

‘I’ll check,’ Liz responded. It was on file and a few minutes later Devlin was ringing it. It was with utter frustration and annoyance that she heard the answering machine.