Happy Ever After (12 page)

‘Oh, what would you know?’ she screeched, the last remnants of control deserting her. ‘I tried to commit suicide and didn’t succeed. The girls at work think I’m a bully, and they’re right. I’m manless, childless, completely physically crocked, and I don’t even have a home of my own. How fucking bad do you want it to be?’

She turned her back on the nurse and curled up on the bed and wailed with grief and despair.

Cecily made her way towards the lifts, shocked by what she’d just witnessed. Judith had really lost it. She looked like a madwoman with her wild, red-rimmed eyes, keening and bawling. It was scary. Her elder sister was always so reserved and controlled. And never less than perfectly groomed. The woman she’d left behind was someone unknown to her.

She bit her lip as she jabbed the button on the wall for the lift. If Judith was having some sort of a nervous breakdown, would she be expected to stay at home and have to cancel her trip abroad? It would be so inconvenient. They’d booked a house in Brittany for a month, and friends were coming to stay for the first week and, later on, her sister-in-law and her children were joining them. Too many people would be discommoded if she cancelled, but could Lily cope on her own? Tom wouldn’t want to know. He and Judith were not on speaking terms, and he wouldn’t go out of his way to help.

Families, they could be such a nuisance. Cecily sighed as she stepped into the already crowded elevator, hoping she wouldn’t catch any germs from a wheezy old man who was hocking and spitting into a dirty grey handkerchief. She’d take her cue from Lily and play it by ear. This time, though, she was the one who had to take some responsibility where their mother was concerned. It had been a long time coming, and she’d got away with a lot, but now she was up against it, and the timing couldn’t be worse.

It had taken longer than Connie had planned to get to Mrs Mansfield’s house. Karen, her sister-in-law, had phoned her to discuss their forthcoming holiday, then a neighbour had called by, so she’d had to call Jessie back and say she was running a little late. As she drove up the wide, curving drive, she thought how elegant yet homely the impressive, ivy-clad Georgian mansion was. Dappled in the fading sun, it reposed in the manicured grounds like something from a Jane Austen novel. It was a pity Mr Darcy didn’t come riding across the fields to greet her, Connie thought, amused at the notion.

Jessie must have been watching out for her because, as soon as Connie parked the car beside several others at the side of the house, she opened the kitchen door and waved.

Dressed in her nurse’s uniform and wearing a short, navy cardigan, she wasn’t what Connie imagined from talking to her. She’d half imagined someone, like herself, in her late forties and, from her voice on the phone, someone warm and motherly. Jessie Sheehy was a small, wiry, black-haired woman in her late thirties, with sallow skin and white, uneven teeth which gleamed when she gave a broad smile and held her hand out. ‘Connie, nice to meet you, and thanks so much for dropping by. Have you time for a quick cuppa? Mrs Mansfield is entertaining Drew Sullivan, and three’s definitely a crowd when he calls on Friday evenings, so I get to have a cuppa in the kitchen.’

‘Oh yeah – he’s the guy with the stables where Mrs Mansfield keeps her horses. I met him the day I came for my interview, nice man.’ She followed the other nurse into the kitchen.

‘Well, Mrs M. loves him, and he humours her. He’s kind like that. She could pay him directly into his bank account, but she insists on writing a cheque out for him every week, so that she’ll get to talk to him for a little while. And she visits the stables once a week to see the horses. If she goes in the morning, you’ll bring her; if she goes in the afternoon, I will,’ Jessie said, pulling out a chair at the table for Connie. ‘I hope you didn’t mind me asking you about filling in for me next month. I’ll return the compliment if you ever need to swap,’ she added, as she poured boiling water into the teapot.

‘Not at all,’ Connie assured her. ‘I’m going to be pretty much a free agent, as regards time. I can tell you I’m certainly looking forward to giving up agency nursing for a while and going part time.’

Connie sat down as Jessie brought the tea and two mugs over to the table, which already held a plate of buttered scones and milk and sugar. They chatted easily over their tea, and Connie discovered that her new colleague had a teacher husband and two teenage daughters.

She told Connie that, apart from a few little foibles, such as not liking her nurses to wear trousers as part of their uniform, making sure they wore their caps and being somewhat fussy about taking her medication precisely as instructed and at the same time each day, Mrs Mansfield was an easy patient to look after.

‘She was in hospital for months as a child with TB, and I think that’s why she likes the cap and dress. I suppose we’re lucky not to have to wear the starched headdress we wore when we started out years ago. Remember them? The weight of them!’ Jessie grinned.

‘I know.’ Connie laughed. ‘I could never keep mine from going limp; they were the bane of my life.’ They were laughing when a deep male voice said, ‘Excuse me interrupting, ladies. Jessie, Mrs Mansfield wants to take her tablets. She told me to ask you to go up to her.’

‘Right, I better get going.’ Jessie stood up.

Connie reached into her voluminous bag and took out two dozen long sachets. ‘The cat treats, as promised.’

‘She’ll love you for that,’ Jessie said, putting them in a press under the sink. ‘Connie, have a great holiday. I’ll see you when you get back. See ya, Drew.’ She filled a carafe with water, added a slice of lemon and hurried out of the kitchen.

‘So hello again. Is there tea in the pot? Those little china cups that your new boss drinks from wouldn’t quench a thirst.’ Drew Sullivan hooked a long leg around a chair and straddled it.

‘Hi.’ Connie smiled at the tanned, healthy-looking man facing her. ‘This is porter, it’s been standing so long. Will I make you a fresh cup?’ she offered.

‘Not at all, it will be fine, I like a strong cup of tea,’ Drew said easily, loping over to take a mug off a hook under one of the kitchen presses.

‘Me too,’ Connie said, pouring the dark-brown liquid into his mug and handing him the milk jug.

‘So when are you starting?’ He studied her quizzically, and reached over, took one of the buttered scones and bit into it.

‘I’m off to Spain at the end of next week, to recover from my daughter’s wedding, and I’ll be starting the Monday after I come back.’ Connie eyed him back over the rim of her mug and wondered how was it that, as men got older, their lines added to their looks, but on women they looked so ageing. He was one of those men who were sexy and didn’t even know it, wouldn’t even be aware it was an issue with him. Men like that were lethal, Connie mused. He reminded her of an older version of that gorgeous TV presenter on TG4, the one with the laughing eyes and the voice like treacle. Debbie was a fan, too, so she might like Drew. What was she like? she thought in amusement, at the notions that were flitting through her mind. She took another sip of tea and lowered her eyes.

‘My daughter got married in Boston last autumn,’ he was saying, ‘so I recovered from that in New England for a few days. It was glorious. I never saw anything like the foliage,’ he added, demolishing the scone in the second bite.

‘Oh, you’ve a daughter?’ She remembered Rita, Mrs Mansfield’s housekeeper, telling her he was divorced. She hadn’t realized he had children.

‘Two, but I don’t see them that much. They live in the States. My ex-wife moved there years ago, taking them with her.’

‘Oh! That must have been hard,’ Connie murmured.

‘It was. Very,’ he said succinctly, and his eyes darkened momentarily.

‘My ex-husband went to the States after he left our daughter and me. I could never understand how he could leave her and go so far away. He came home a few years later and married again and had another child. My daughter couldn’t forgive him for it. But the wedding brought a reconciliation of sorts.’ Connie sighed.

‘Oh! Well, that must have been tough too,’ he said quietly, his blue eyes meeting hers for a moment, before he drained his tea and pushed his mug away.

‘Yeah, it hasn’t been easy but, you know what, Drew, this is my time now. It’s going to be all about me, and they can all get on with things. I’ve done my bit,’ said Connie firmly as she took the mugs over to the sink and rinsed them.

‘That’s a good attitude you have, make sure you hang on to it,’ he grinned, walking over to her, picking up the tea towel and beginning to dry the mugs. ‘And were you ever tempted to get married again? It must have been hard raising your daughter alone,’ he inquired as he hung the mugs back on their hooks.

‘It was, but I got on with it, I had no other choice and, no, I was never really tempted to remarry, although maybe it would have made sense when I was younger. I would have liked another child, but I never met the right man. One marriage break-up makes you wary. Well, in my case it did,’ she amended, just in case he’d got married again or was in a second relationship. ‘Now, I’m very glad to be a free agent. You?’ She arched an eyebrow at him, curious as to what his answer would be.

‘Nope. As you say, a break-up makes you
very
wary . . . been there, done that and won’t be wearing
that
T-shirt again,’ he said emphatically, and she laughed.

‘I guess I better go, I want to get a walk in, and if I dawdle much longer I won’t bother.’

‘I’m off too. I have a mare in foal I want to keep an eye on; her time is near.’ Drew hung the tea towel neatly on the Aga rail, and she noticed his hands – tanned, long-fingered, with short, clean nails. They would be gentle hands, she imagined, picturing him with a newly born foal.

‘Poor horse,’ she smiled, ‘even to this day I can still remember
my
labour pains.’

Drew chuckled as he put the milk and sugar away before holding open the back door for her. ‘I got a saucepan thrown at me the second time round. Things went downhill from there.’ They walked across the crunchy gravel to the cars. His was a black jeep covered in muck and dust.

‘Good luck with your foal.’ Connie smiled up at him, shading her eyes from the glare of the setting sun.

‘Enjoy your holiday.’

‘I intend to.’

Drew raised his hand in farewell, climbed into the jeep and started the engine, and she got into her own car, threw her bag on the seat and revved up. He waved her to go ahead of him, and she reversed out of her space, hoping she wouldn’t do anything foolish, like grating the gears or stalling. She could see him behind her in her rear-view mirror, the evening sun shining on him. He really was a handsome man, and a real countryman, she observed, the kind that aged well. Even his tightly cut grey hair suited him. He was obviously well used to looking after himself, and he hadn’t expected her to wait on him and dry his mug. She’d been impressed when he’d casually picked up the tea towel and stood beside her drying up and then put everything neatly away.

What had happened in his marriage, she wondered as she drove towards the big iron gates. And how hard it must have been for him to be so far away from his daughters, and not of his choice. She indicated left and slowed down for a moment to check that the road was clear. Drew indicated right and gave a toot on his horn. As she emerged on to the narrow country road, she tooted back, and drove away smiling, feeling quite perked up.

Drew Sullivan watched in his rear-view mirror as Connie’s car disappeared around a bend. He’d enjoyed chatting to her. He hadn’t intended to reveal so much about himself, but it had just seemed natural when he was talking to her. They were birds of a feather to a degree, he thought ruefully, wondering why her marriage had broken up and why an attractive woman like herself was footloose and fancy free. He’d got the distinct impression she was on her own when she’d said she was glad to be a free agent. She had a good sense of humour, too, he noted, a most important attribute in a woman. Marianna, his ex-wife, had had precious little sense of humour, he reflected wryly as he slowed down and pulled in to let a tractor drive out of a field.

She certainly hadn’t been amused to be left alone much of the time to bring up two young children, but he’d been a dairy farmer when they married, as well as having fields under tillage, and it had been tough going, especially trying to find money for the affluent lifestyle she expected him to provide for her.

‘You never spend time with me. Don’t you want to be with me? You prefer those bloody cows and that damn tractor to me and the kids’ was her constant refrain, especially around harvest time, when he was out on the land morning, noon and night and would come home, bone weary, to arguments and tantrums. He understood her frustration. It wasn’t easy being on her own so much, with young toddlers, and she spent a lot of her time driving over to Wicklow with them to spend time with her family and friends.

She’d never really wanted to settle in the country. She was from Wicklow town, her father was a successful solicitor who entertained a lot. She’d told Drew once that she far preferred the townie lifestyle to
vegetating
in the country.

‘Well, why did you marry me then? You knew what I was and the way I worked,’ he’d demanded angrily, fed up to the back teeth of her constant whingeing and moaning.

‘Don’t ask me,’ she’d retorted. ‘It was the biggest mistake of my life.’

That had hurt him to the core. He, like a fool, had thought he was doing his best for her and the children. In the end, she’d left the farmhouse and gone to live in a house in Brittas, where she could meet her hoity-toity friends and drink in McDaniel’s and have barbecues on the decks of their expensive mobile homes.

He’d missed his daughters so much. Missed standing beside their beds looking at the moonlight slanting down on their sweet, flushed little faces. He’d be so tempted to pick them up and kiss them and say, ‘Daddy’s home, my little darlings.’ He missed them trotting into the bedroom at the crack of dawn for their morning cuddles and tickles, until Marianna would moan long and loudly enough about getting some sleep. He’d take them down to the kitchen and give them their breakfast before saying goodbye to them and rousing her to mind them, then head out to help his farmhand feed the cattle.