Every Time We Say Goodbye (30 page)

‘I don’t doubt it,’ Jo smiled, not caring that there was chocolate and flour on every surface and smeared down the front of his jumper.

Di bounced into the kitchen and pulled up short at the sight that greeted her. ‘Wait till Dad sees this,’ she said, grinning broadly.

Jo glanced at the clock and groaned; it was almost six o’clock.

‘Di, help Andrew finish up, love, and I’ll get dinner started.’

‘Okay, my man, let’s get these onto a baking tray and then you can stand on a chair and help me wash up.’

By the time Greg walked through the door, the kitchen was spotless, the table set and a scrubbed Andrew was sitting watching
Sponge Bob
in his vest while his jumper hung on the line. Greg came straight into the kitchen, his heavy sigh making it clear he was not in a good mood.

‘I thought you were on a diet?’ he said to his wife when he saw her check on the oven chips.

‘Hello, Dad. We’re fine, Dad. Had a great day, Dad, thanks for asking,’ Di said, from where she was pouring milk into beakers for the three younger children.

‘Don’t you be so cheeky, miss.’

‘Mum’s not on a diet, she’s on a healthy-eating plan,’ Di told him.

‘I’m not having chips,’ Jo told him. ‘I’ve made a salad for myself.’ She would eat the fried chicken she’d prepared for them but she’d soak up the grease with kitchen paper and remove the skin; one of Shirley’s tips.

‘You don’t have to eat different meals from the family all of the time,’ Shirley assured them. ‘It’s hard enough for most of us to cook one dinner a night. Eat the same meal but adapt it and always have some healthy options in the cupboard that you can dip into if necessary. But if you’re caught short, simply trim all the fat off any meat, do without the sauce or gravy and reduce the portion size. And don’t worry when you do fall off the wagon; it’s not the end of the world. Be a little more careful the next day or increase your exercise or miss a treat. We don’t believe in rigid rules and regulations, ladies; that’s the sure route to failure and that’s not a word we ever use here.’

Jo served up the food and called the children. Andrew whooped with delight when he saw the dinner, making Greg smile. Di sat him beside her and was trying to persuade him to eat some peas, much to Jo’s amusement, but she was touched by the girl’s mothering instinct and relieved to see her tucking into her food. Jo didn’t think she herself was out of the woods yet though. Sometimes she had to fight the urge to rush to the bathroom. She tucked into her healthy salad but found herself eyeing Kate’s chips longingly. The child was sitting to her right, saying nothing and pushing the food around her plate.

‘Do you not like it, love?’

‘I’m just not hungry,’ the little girl mumbled.

‘There’s brownies for afters with ice cream and chocolate sauce,’ Di smiled at her.

‘But only if you’ve cleared your plate,’ Greg said.

‘It’s okay, I don’t want afters.’

‘It’s fine, sweetheart, you don’t have to finish if you don’t want to,’ Jo said, shooting Greg a reproachful look. The nuns had always told her to clear her plate and much good it had done her. ‘Are you sick, love?’ She put a hand to Kate’s forehead. She was quite pale.

‘She’s always like this, Aunty Jo. It’s ’cos Daddy’s dead,’ Andrew said cheerfully, popping a chip covered in ketchup into his mouth.

‘Shut up,’ Kate scowled at him.

‘Don’t talk to your brother like that,’ Greg told her.

‘And she shouts and cries in her sleep,’ Andrew taunted.

‘You little shit,’ Kate retorted with angry tears in her eyes.

‘Kate!’ Jo said as Rachel’s eyes stood out on stalks and Di smothered a giggle.

‘Apologize to your brother,’ Greg ordered.

‘But he started it . . .’

‘It doesn’t matter. You don’t call him things like that, at least not in this house.’

Jo glared at him; was he implying that Marianne would tolerate such language? She put a hand on Kate’s arm. ‘Kate, please say you’re sorry. Andrew’s only a baby, he doesn’t know what he’s saying.’

‘I’m not a baby!’ he shouted. ‘I’m not!’

‘Then why do you wet the bed like a baby?’ Kate screamed back.

‘Kate, leave the table at once,’ Greg ordered.

The girl jumped up and ran from the room; Rachel went to follow.

‘Stay where you are and finish your dinner,’ Greg told her.

‘I’ll go,’ Jo said, and leaving the room and her half-eaten dinner, went in search of Kate. She found her huddled in a corner of Rachel’s bedroom, crying. Jo sat down on the edge of the bed and put her hand on her silky head. ‘Andrew didn’t mean it, darling.’

‘He did. I hate him.’ Kate hiccuped, crying noisily now.

‘I know you’re still sad, but your little brother is sad too.’

‘No, he isn’t. He just pretends to be, to get toys and he does wet the bed!’

‘But I bet that only started after your daddy died, didn’t it?’

Kate nodded silently.

‘You see, we all react in different ways, sweetheart. Your little brother is naughty sometimes because he misses your daddy. Sometimes when we’re upset and we try to hide it, our bodies show it in other ways. I’ll bet you anything that when Andrew starts to feel better, he will stop having accidents and being naughty. It’s hard to believe right now but you will be happy again.’

‘You think I’ll forget Daddy? I’ll never ever forget Daddy, never!’ Kate scrambled to her feet, ran into the bathroom and slammed the door.

Jo didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried when the doorbell went. She hurried downstairs as Rachel was about to open it. ‘It’s okay, darling. You go and look after Kate; she’s in the bathroom.’

Rachel tore up the stairs as Jo opened the door.

‘Hi, Jo,’ Marianne smiled.

Jo pushed her back out the front door and closed it. ‘There was a small . . . incident.’

Marianne sighed. ‘Andrew? What’s he done now?’

‘Nothing much; he and Kate were squabbling and it got a little out of hand. She’s a bit upset.’

Marianne rested against the garden wall. ‘I’m told that this is all normal behaviour and I do prefer anger to silence; that makes me feel so helpless. Tomorrow I’ll take her out just the two of us. Perhaps we could visit the grave.’

‘Is that a good idea?’

‘Apparently so, and maybe it will help her to talk. It’s late; I’d better take them home.’

Just then, Rachel and Kate appeared in the doorway. Marianne opened her arms and her daughter rushed into them and buried her face in her mother’s breast.

Jo swallowed back tears. ‘I’ll go and get Andrew,’ she said, and steered Rachel back inside.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Helen was ironing Johnny’s shirt when Colm walked in. He was wearing only boxers and made straight for the fridge. ‘Where’s Dad?’ he asked, before putting the carton of orange juice to his lips.

Where indeed, Helen thought. ‘No idea. I wish you wouldn’t do that.’

‘He hasn’t forgotten, has he?’ Colm said, looking over at her and frowning.

‘I’m sure he hasn’t.’ Helen forced a smile. It was only the Captain’s Dinner at the golf club; not that important in the scheme of things but yet more evidence that Johnny’s thoughts were elsewhere. He would never have forgotten such a date before . . .

‘Did you phone him, Mum?’

When Colm looked cross he was the image of his father. ‘It doesn’t start for an hour,’ she reminded him. ‘I’m sure he’s on his way.’

‘One way to find out.’ Colm reached for the phone.

‘Leave it.’

‘No.’ He grunted in annoyance. ‘It’s gone straight to voicemail. Dad, have you forgotten it’s the Captain’s Dinner? You need to get a move on, okay? Cheers.’ He hung up. ‘You’re right, he’s probably on his way and is just on a call.’

‘That will be it. So, what are you doing tonight?’

‘Studying. What else?’ He grinned. ‘And then Fergal’s coming over to watch the Leinster game with me.’

‘Fine, but I don’t want to come home and find you passed out drunk,’ she said only half-joking. Colm liked a beer and she didn’t object to the odd one or two; better to let him drink at home than on a deserted beach or a street corner where he could get into real trouble. She was careful never to have too much of it in the house and thankfully, like his father, it would never really occur to Colm to actually go out and buy his own. Fergal, though, would probably arrive with a six-pack.

‘Of course not, mother darling . . .’ Colm broke off as they heard a key in the door.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Johnny breezed in, smiling. ‘You look lovely, Helen. I’ll take a shower and be ready in twenty minutes.’

She held his shirt out to him. ‘Here.’

‘You are the perfect wife,’ he said, kissing her cheek, and as he ran upstairs Helen felt quite tearful.

‘Mum? Are you okay?’

‘Absolutely fine,’ Helen said, quickly unplugging the iron and setting it on the worktop. ‘Put the board away for me, Colm, would you? I need to do something.’

As she’d expected, Johnny had left his phone with his keys on the hall table; she took it and went into the study, then closed the door and started to scroll through his text messages. Nothing incriminating at all, and yet she knew in her heart that there was something going on. He forgot that she knew his schedule better than he did and there were too many gaps that he hadn’t been able – or hadn’t bothered – to explain, and most damning of all, the day he’d said he was going to see Christy Kennedy, it had been a downright lie. She’d never have known, only Bev, Christy’s wife, had called that vey night for a heart-to-heart, worried about her husband and had ended the call asking if Johnny would call in when he had a chance. Helen had let a couple of days go by before leaving a note for Johnny passing on Bev’s message. He hadn’t commented on it since and neither had she.

She went out into the hall, put the phone back with the keys, and went upstairs to finish getting ready. Johnny was fumbling with his cufflinks as she walked into the bedroom. ‘Here, let me do that.’

‘Thanks, darling. I do love these; they were a wonderful present.’

‘I’m glad you like them.’

‘You should wear red more often,’ he smiled down at her. ‘Why do women wear so much black?’

‘No idea.’ She crossed to the dressing table, opened her jewellery box and took out her thick gold choker.

Johnny took it from her and fastened it around her throat before kissing her neck. Helen shivered as she always did.

‘Don’t be long,’ he said, heading for the door, and she listened as he went downstairs whistling.

She stared at her poised reflection in the mirror, wondered if anyone else would notice her misery. She put a hand to the nape of her neck where he’d kissed her and closed her eyes. It never ceased to amaze her that, after all these years, a kiss or even a look from Johnny could send tingles down her spine. Right now she resented it. How could he smile at her and kiss her and behave as if everything was fine when he was seeing someone else? She had gone over it and over it until she’d nearly lost her mind, and it was the only thing that made sense. Marianne. The woman he was spending most of his time with at the moment; her best friend. She’d thought fleetingly of letting Jo in on her suspicions but it went against every fibre of her being to run to others with her problems; everyone turned to her. She was the sensible, practical and dependable one. And she was happy to play a supporting role because while her friends depended on her, she depended on Johnny; he was her rock. What would she do if she couldn’t trust him any more? What would she do if he said he didn’t love her any more?

‘Helen, come on, we’ll be late.’

She looked up to see him standing in the doorway and forced a smile. ‘Coming.’

‘This is nice.’ Marianne smiled at her daughter as they strolled along the beach at Dollymount. ‘We used to take you here all the time when you were little. Do you remember?’

Kate nodded.

‘Daddy used to chase you up and down the sand dunes and then the two of you would come sliding down them; I used to give out hell because the sand would get in your socks and shorts, even in your pants; there would be sand all over the house for days.’

Kate wrinkled her nose. ‘Yuck, I wouldn’t do that now; sand makes me itchy.’

They walked in silence for a moment and then Kate bent to pick up a shell. ‘I wish he’d never got that job. Everything got bad after that.’

Marianne was startled by the remark. ‘That’s not true, darling. We moved to a nice new house, you started school and Andrew was born.’

‘Duh, exactly.’ Kate rolled her eyes like a sullen teenager. ‘The house was cool but there were no kids to play with, Andrew just bawled all the time and Dad was never around.’

Marianne was about to tackle each point and then she realized that the last was the only one that counted; she had to draw Kate out about her father. Her GP, Mandy, had said it was important to talk frankly and not to avoid the issue.

‘Don’t dress it up, don’t romanticize it and, above all, don’t avoid answering questions,’ the doctor had told her. ‘Whatever you say will be much less frightening than what Kate is probably imagining right now.’

Feeling that this might be one of the most important conversations she ever had with her daughter, Marianne paused for a moment, choosing her words carefully. ‘Let me explain about promotion, Kate,’ she explained. ‘That’s when you get a more important job and get paid more money for doing it. You only get promoted if you are really good at your job. The problem is that, although it’s a reward for your hard work, it usually means you have to work even harder. It was probably silly of me, but I thought that because Daddy spent so much time at the office, you wouldn’t miss him as much now.’

‘But I always knew he was coming home, Mum.’

Marianne looked down into the dark eyes that held an expression too old for a nine-year-old. How she had underestimated the depth of her daughter’s pain. It really didn’t matter how much Dominic had hurt her, as far as Kate was concerned, he was her daddy. ‘Are you cross that he’s never coming back?’

Kate glanced at her. ‘Do you mean cross with God?’

Marianne shrugged, yet again struck by her daughter’s maturity. ‘With anyone, I suppose.’