Happy Ever After (26 page)

‘Do you think Ken would look good in a sarong
à la
Beckham?’ tittered Juliet, and Karen choked on her wine at the image that presented itself.

‘I bet he’s sizzling at this stage, turning a nice shade of purple.’ She’d given her two companions the gory details of events that had led to her early morning flit to Spain. ‘The flight into Egypt had nothing on me,’ she’d chortled as she’d sipped her G&T. She fished her phone out of her bag and turned it on. A half-dozen messages flashed up on the screen. ‘See’ – she waved it around – ‘he’s as mad as hell.’ She dialled 171 and put the phone on loudspeaker.

‘What do you
mean
you’ve booked an open ticket and are taking a break? You’re behaving extremely childishly, Juliet. It does not become you! Ring me as soon as you get this message!’ Ken’s exasperated tones resounded around their table.

Connie and Karen looked at Juliet, awaiting her response. Ken sounded absolutely livid. ‘Listen to that! “It does not become you,” indeed,’ she jeered. ‘Here’s the next one.’

‘Would you
kindly
ring me?’

‘He’s just barely holding it in,’ she confided giddily. ‘The next one’s going to be good.’

‘JULIET. TURN ON YOUR DAMN PHONE AND RING ME,’ Ken bellowed, and the three of them guffawed loudly.

Juliet dialled straight into his mailbox. ‘Ken, I’m having lunch with friends, mostly liquid, if you must know. I’ll turn my phone on when I’m good and ready and may or may not call you, depending on the state of my hangover. Have a good day and don’t forget to put the green bin out.’ She turned her phone off and put it back in her bag. ‘That will give him something to think about. Who knows, he might get so mad he’ll have a coronary and make me a happy widow. Let’s have another bottle of wine . . . on Ken,’ she suggested wickedly, signalling to the waiter.

‘Oh God, I’ll be asleep if I drink any more,’ groaned Connie.

‘Weren’t you up before dawn? It’s not drink that will make you sleep, it’s tiredness,’ Karen soothed, taking another slug of hers. ‘What have we to do except go home and plonk ourselves on our loungers? We’re fed and watered.’ She waved her glass around. ‘We can unpack tomorrow.’

‘True,’ agreed Connie. ‘When you put it like that, what can you do only have another glass?’

Juliet sniggered. ‘I’m having such fun. Eat your heart out, Ken. Aimee would be delighted if she saw this, she’s been telling me for years to do my own thing. And she was right. Just as well I came to my senses before it’s too late, Kenneth Bartholomew Davenport!’

‘Mum, have you been drinking?’ Aimee demanded as her mother answered the phone in a faintly slurred, dopey voice.

‘Yes I have. I was asleep, I’ll have you know. I had a long and very liquid lunch with Connie and Karen. I was up before dawn and I was having a siesta. I’m in Spain, remember? That’s what they do here.’ There was a faint edge to her voice.

‘You had lunch with Connie Adams and Karen?’ Was she hearing things, Aimee wondered.

‘Yes, I met them on the flight over. You know the way you can never fly to Malaga without seeing someone you know?’

‘Oh! How were they?’ Aimee asked, taken aback. She’d never told Juliet that she’d had words with Connie; her mother wouldn’t like that sort of thing. Barry’s ex must have been friendly enough with Juliet if they’d all had lunch. Aimee felt an uncharacteristic stab of envy. How jolly for them, being able to have a long, liquid lunch. She hadn’t even been able to keep down her breakfast, and it would be a hell of a long time before she could indulge in a liquid lunch again. And who would she have lunch with anyway, she thought morosely. She’d no real friends left, thanks to her race up the career ladder; she’d let them fall by the wayside because she hadn’t had time to have long girly lunches and go to films and the like with the crowd she’d socialized with.

‘They’re both in terrific form and looking forward to their holiday. You should take one yourself, Aimee. Come over for a few days with Melissa and Barry. I’m going to stay for a while,’ her mother urged expansively.

‘We’ll see,’ Aimee demurred, knowing that a holiday in her parents’ villa was not going to happen with Barry, not with the way things were at the moment. ‘Are you going to see them again?’ She was curious.

‘Oh yes. We’re going to have dinner in Orange Square some night, or maybe over at Da Bruno here at the marina, and we’re going shopping in La Cañada. Connie’s never been there.’

‘Oh! Right! And you enjoyed lunch with them?’

‘Immensely. We had a great time and, though I may be suffering a bit now, it was well worth it, I haven’t had such fun in ages.’ She yawned loudly. ‘I’m going to take this phone off the hook. Just as well you rang. I don’t want your father roaring at me – you should have heard the messages he left on my mobile.’

‘He’s fairly mad, all right. I had three phone calls from him before lunch to see had I heard from you.’

‘Don’t worry, darling, I left him one back telling him in no uncertain terms that I’d ring him when I felt like it, and that won’t be tonight, I can assure you. Don’t take any nonsense from him.’

‘I won’t,’ Aimee said slowly. ‘Mum, are you OK? Is everything OK? This isn’t like you.’

Juliet laughed at the touch of uncertainty in her daughter’s tone. ‘Hark at you. Have you not been telling me to do my own thing, for years? Aimee, I’m sixty-four and still have a bit of go in me, so I’m going to take your advice and do my own thing, and your father better get used to it. He pushed it one step too far, this time. He said some very obnoxious things to me, which showed a complete and utter lack of respect, and now he can take the consequences. I should have stood up for myself and done what
I
wanted to do years ago. But at least I’ve taken the first step. Now let me go back asleep, and I’ll talk to you during the week.’

‘Enjoy yourself.’

‘I have every intention of doing so. Bye, dear.’

‘Bye, Mum. Well done,’ Aimee approved, replacing the receiver. What a very strange day today had been, she mused, clicking open an email from an Italian glassware firm she did business with.

First her father’s phone call, then Roger’s candid confessions, and now her mother telling her about a liquid lunch with her sister-in-law and Barry’s ex, who Aimee detested. It was almost surreal. She yawned. A deep weariness assaulted her. How she longed to put her head down on her forearms and sleep for twenty minutes. She glanced at her watch. It was just gone four.

She remembered Roger allowing her to buy him breakfast on expenses because he felt Ian had made a lot of money out of him. There were no flies on Roger, she thought admiringly. That money had been made for Master Ian because
she
had worked her tush off, so sod her boss, she decided, logging off her computer and picking up her bag and briefcase. ‘I’m heading off, something’s come up. I may not have my mobile switched on, so deal with anything that arises and I’ll sort any problems out tomorrow,’ she instructed her PA. ‘And,’ she added as an afterthought, ‘see what’s the availability on any Aer Lingus flights to Malaga the week after next. Check for two. I might take a few days’ leave; I haven’t had any since last year. I could do with taking Melissa away. Lindsay can fill in for me, at the Jennings Callely event.’

‘Sure, Aimee,’ her PA said, taking notes. Aimee struggled not to yawn in front of her. She was going home, and she was going to get into bed, and she was going to sleep her brains out. If her mother could make a stand, so could she.
Chez Moi
would manage without her for a couple of hours. And, she was going to go to Spain, she decided. If Roger gave her the go ahead, she’d hand in her notice immediately. If Myles nixed the venture due to her pregnancy, she still had a lot of leave to take anyway so, whether Ian liked it or not, she was going to take it. Melissa would be thrilled; she could hook up with Clara when she was out there and that would keep her happy. And it would be nice for her to spend some time with her mother. Aimee hadn’t made much time for her over the past few years, she thought a little guiltily. Besides, she was exhausted; the last two years of almost non-stop work was starting to take its toll. She badly needed to recharge her batteries for what was to come.

‘You had lunch with Juliet Davenport, and you all got pissed! Way to go, Mum.’ Debbie laughed as she chatted with her mother on the Dart on her way home from work. The line was excellent, and Connie’s voice was as clear as a bell. ‘Did she know about the row with Aimee at the church?’

‘She didn’t seem to,’ Connie said. ‘She was very friendly and entertaining. We had great fun.’

‘Well, that’s what it’s all about. What are you doing now?’

‘Sitting on the balcony watching the sun start to set and listening to the waves, and sipping yet another glass of wine. It’s a spritzer actually. We took pity on our heads. As soon as it gets dark we’ll be in our beds. It’s been a very long day, but most enjoyable. I feel thoroughly relaxed already.’

‘That’s terrific, Mum. Give Karen my love, and have a great holiday. You both deserve it.’

‘Thanks, love. I’ll be in touch, and I’ll get the sarongs at the market on Saturday.’

‘Great, love ya.’

‘Love you too. Bye.’

Debbie glanced at her watch as the phone went dead. It was almost 7.15. She’d been stuck on a Dart for half an hour because a train had broken down further along the line and they were between stations.

She wished mightily that she was sitting on Karen’s balcony watching the sun set. Her stomach was in knots. She’d sat at her desk earlier and worked out her and Bryan’s debts, not including their mortgage, and had been deeply horrified to realize that, between their credit card, a credit-union loan and the repayments for the car they were in debt to the tune of 55,000 euros. She felt sick with dread just even thinking about it. They were barely managing to pay off the interest. When were they ever going to start on the principals involved? What a way to begin married life, she thought dejectedly, and how was Bryan going to react when she told him they were really and truly on their uppers?

‘I think we’ll put you on Prozac for a little while, Judith. Just to get you over the hump. All your resources are depleted, you’ve had a rough time. The Prozac will help to get you on an even keel again. Don’t worry about taking it. I don’t envisage you on it long term but, between your accident and what you’ve told me about your background, plus the fact that you’re at that difficult age when your hormones are awry and your oestrogens are declining, a little help is called for. Have you ever discussed HRT with your doctor?’ the psychiatrist inquired as he wrote some notes on her chart.

‘He didn’t think I was a suitable candidate,’ Judith said stiffly. She wished the tall, thin, balding man in front of her would go away. She was mortified at having to discuss all her intimate personal history with a complete and utter stranger. She felt strangely disloyal to Lily, remembering how, two days previously, in a session with him all her pent-up resentments had come pouring out as she’d revealed how she’d ended up living with her mother and how angry she had been with Lily and her sister the day she’d had the car crash.

She’d been off guard and unprepared when he’d come and sat down beside her bed. Although much less sedated than she had been for the previous twenty-four hours after her hysterical outburst, she was still woozy from drugs and had responded to his gentle probing with unsuspecting candour, which she now bitterly regretted.

What had she been thinking of, losing control and ranting about wanting to commit suicide? How had she let herself become so overwhelmed by her emotions, when she usually kept such a tight rein on them? She’d lost it completely and made an exhibition of herself. That had only given them licence to drug her and make her see a shrink. Now everyone knew her personal business; it was on her chart that she was having a psychiatric evaluation. Her neurosurgeon knew it, as did her orthopaedic guy, and she was more embarrassed than she’d ever been in her entire life to think that they all now thought of her as a looper. How she wished she could leave the hospital and never have to see any of them again. Today, the psychiatrist had brought up the subject of work, but she’d clammed up and refused to talk about it, remembering how Debbie Adams had called her a bully and she’d shouted something about it to the nurse when she freaked out.

He could frig off; she’d told him enough about herself, she was not going to embarrass herself further.

Poor Lily had been pinched with worry these past few days, wondering was there anything she could do to help. It wasn’t fair on her elderly mother, having to trot in and out to the hospital every afternoon. Judith was going to have to get a grip on herself and get the hell out of the place.

‘Dr Fitzgerald.’ She stared at him through heavy-lidded eyes. He had, Judith observed, the look of a druid, one of those composed, wise elders that dispensed wisdom and radiated calm reassurance.

‘Yes, Judith?’ he responded, sitting on the side of her bed, head cocked sideways, looking over at her as she lay against a bank of white pillows.

‘I’ll take those drugs for a while, as you say to . . .’
What was it he’d said to her? She could barely remember, it reminded her of a boat. Oh yes, keel, that was it
. ‘. . . get me on an even keel again, but I don’t feel the need for any more of these sessions. I had a momentary . . . er . . .’
How would she describe shrieking like a fishwife, she pondered.
‘. . . er . . . upset.’
Yes, that was a good word, she congratulated herself.
‘Everything probably got to me. Thank you for your . . . um . . .’
What would she say, she wondered, trying to catch the words that seemed to be floating away from her
. ‘Er . . . kind attention, but I don’t wish to . . . take up any more of your time.’

There! She’d managed it, even though her tongue felt thick in her mouth and her voice had seemed quite far away. She was rather proud of the note of authority she’d managed to inject into her tone, but she hoped he’d hurry on and go. She was exhausted and wanted to close her eyes and go back asleep.