Just Between Us (21 page)

‘That bed looks good,’ said Finn, dropping the luggage wearily and lying on the bed.

‘Don’t you want any dinner?’ asked Tara.

Finn jumped up again. ‘Yeah, dinner, drinks and who knows, maybe a little après-ski here in this bed.’

Tara grinned. ‘That sounds like my sort of holiday.’

‘I ache,’ moaned Tara, several days later. ‘All over.’

‘Poor diddums,’ said Finn, dragging off his salopettes wearily. ‘I think a few reviving shots of schnapps will soon sort you out.’

‘Ugh, no.’ Tara couldn’t bear the thought of more booze. They’d had far too much again the night before and it had been a miracle she’d been able to get up that morning. The low sunlight bouncing off the snow had made her murderous headache worse and it had been lunchtime before she’d been able to face anything to eat.

‘How do you and Derry do it?’ she said. ‘You drank far more than me.’

‘Years of practice, babe,’ Finn replied. ‘Anyway, we’re here on holiday. Getting horrifically drunk is part of the fun.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Tara said. ‘I’m going to have a long hot shower before dinner and an early night.’

‘Come on,’ pleaded Finn, ‘you can’t be a party pooper. We’ve only got three days left. We’ve got to paint the town red.’

‘Not tonight.’ Tara was adamant. ‘Can’t we stay in just once? We could go to bed early,’ she added softly. ‘We’ve been out nearly every night, Finn, well,’ she reconsidered, ‘
you’ve
been out every night and I’ve been out most of them, and it’s costing us a fortune, not to mention the damage it’s doing to our livers.’

‘Book me into the Betty Ford when we go home,’ he joked, blowing her a kiss. ‘We’ve got to enjoy the rest of the holiday, love, please,’ he added in a begging voice. ‘Pretty please. I promise we’ll have that sleigh ride tomorrow.’

‘You said that yesterday.’

‘I know, but today flew past. Tomorrow, I promise, you and me on a sleigh ride with that Ronettes song in the background, and sleigh bells going ding ding aling or whatever they do, OK? But tonight, I’m a party animal! We can go to bed early at home any time we want,’ he cajoled.

It was no good remonstrating with him. She and Finn
hadn’t spent one quiet, romantic evening together. Every night had been a boozing session, and if nobody else wanted to go, Finn and Derry went on their own. Now he and Derry were determined to trawl through the bars yet again, even though nobody else in the group could summon up the energy for another late night. Skiing was so exhausting. Kayla didn’t seem to mind Derry heading off without her, but Tara was furious about it. Palming her off with the promise of time alone tomorrow just wasn’t good enough, but it was hard to argue when the walls were thin and the others would hear every single word.

She sat grimly opposite Finn at the big dining table and tucked into the goulash that Midge had served with rice. There was much laughing and giggling as they ate, with the local plonk racing up and down the table at speed. Wine wasn’t included in the cost of the holiday and trips were made to the supermarket every day to stock up.

Tara drank cranberry juice with her meal. Finn and Derry sat beside each other and shared a rapidly-vanishing bottle of wine, before moving onto the next. Watching Finn wink at her, trying to jolly her out of her bad mood, Tara came to the conclusion that he’d abandoned his plan to go out. He and Derry were clearly partying at home. They
could
have a cosy evening in, she thought, pleased. Maybe they could go to bed early. They’d both been too tired most mornings to even consider making love, and at night they ended up in bed so late that sex was the last thing on their minds. But tonight might be the night. Tara blew a kiss at her husband, who looked relieved to be forgiven.

‘I’m so glad you’re staying in,’ she mouthed across the table when Midge was dishing up a vast bowl of stewed fruit and cream.

‘I’m not.’ Finn gave her a glassy smile.

Tara was furious and didn’t care who heard her. ‘You’re not going out now, Finn? Can’t you stay in for one night?’

Everyone looked nervously up from the table, sensing a full-scale row on the horizon.

‘It’s a holiday, Tara,’ said Derry sarcastically. ‘People go out on holidays, you know. That’s the whole point.’

‘Yeah,’ wheedled Finn, ‘it’s nearly our last day.’

‘I’m asking you not to go out tonight.’ Tara wasn’t sure why this was so important, but it was. She needed Finn to choose between her and his party-animal friend. She’d never wanted to become one of those women who stopped their partners seeing their pals, but this was too much. Her whole holiday had become an awful parody of a lager-lout vacation. She needn’t have come at all, for all Finn cared about her presence. His ideal holiday was clearly one with Derry.

‘Chill, Tara, why don’t you?’ said Derry dismissively.

Finn fiddled with his fork and said nothing.

So that was the way he wanted to play it. Tara threw her napkin down on the table and shoved her chair back, staring angrily at her husband. ‘You should have gone on holiday with Derry,’ she hissed. ‘You spend more time with him than you do with me.’

She slammed their bedroom door so hard that the pretty photographs hanging on the wall rattled. She was enraged, but she didn’t think she’d have to wait long. Finn would come and say sorry. He wasn’t the sulking type and he hated rows. It was damn Derry causing all the trouble. When they got home, Tara vowed, Derry wouldn’t be allowed to put a foot inside their home unless he apologised, boss or no boss.

Ten minutes stretched to twenty, while Tara sat on the blue-striped duvet and tried to concentrate on a magazine. Finn didn’t appear. Eventually, she threw down the magazine and went back into the big living room. The other five were sitting round the coffee table playing Trivial Pursuit. There was no sign of either Derry or Finn.

‘They’ve gone out,’ Kayla said drily. ‘I wouldn’t wait up. Oh, Finn told me to tell you he’d book your sleigh ride first thing tomorrow morning. He said it’d be romance all the way!’

Tara was too proud to cry in front of them all, but she felt like it. Finn’s betrayal hit her like a punch to the solar
plexus. She’d asked him not to go out, told him that she wanted to spend time with him. And he had. Publicly.

‘Have a drink,’ suggested Kayla, proffering a bottle of wine.

Tara shook her head, feeling humiliation and misery welling up in her. ‘I’m going to bed.’

It was three when Finn got in and fell into bed beside her, stinking of alcohol and very cold. ‘It’s freezing out there,’ he slurred, trying to cuddle closer to her warm body. His feet were as cold as if they’d just been taken out of the fridge and Tara pulled hers away as soon as they touched them. The bed was too small for sleeping apart, but she managed it.

‘Go to sleep, Finn,’ she said harshly.

Within minutes, he was snoring loudly. Tara, perched on the edge of the mattress, took longer to drop off. Despite the tiredness from her day’s skiing, she lay awake and brooded.

The scent of breakfast woke Tara before her alarm clock. She lay in bed feeling tired after her bad night, wondering why bed seemed so uncomfortable when you couldn’t sleep, and so welcoming the morning after. Finn had burrowed down so that his head wasn’t visible and there was just a big lump under the duvet to signify his presence. Tara got up without waking him. She wasn’t ready for the inevitable apology. In fact, she wasn’t sure she wanted to talk to him at all today. In the shower, she let the water stream over her face and hair, trying to clear her woolly head by switching the thermostat as cold as she could bear. Finn wouldn’t be able to get up, she knew. He was always the same after a night out. Then he’d apologise, give her some reason for why he’d had so much to drink (‘Derry bought another bottle and we couldn’t leave it.’ ‘The waiter just kept filling my glass.’) and moan that he’d never drink again. Yeah, right.

Wrapping herself in a towel, she pushed open the bathroom door and stared angrily at the lump in the bed. The others were noisily getting ready for breakfast and her
husband groaned as the noise woke him up. Only one foot was apparent, stretched out from under the duvet. Finn had very thin ankles, which was probably why they were so prone to twisting, and she looked at the narrow ankle with its covering of red gold hairs. He had oddly long toes. Tree sloth, she used to tease him. There was something vulnerable about that foot. Tara sighed. It was impossible to stay angry with Finn for too long. But Derry…that was another story. The whole thing was Derry’s fault. Derry was the one who dragged Finn out all the time. How dare he encourage Finn to behave like an overgrown, boorish schoolboy?

‘Hello, am I in trouble?’ Finn sounded suitably croaky and hung over. ‘I found out where we book the sleigh rides by the way. We can go any time you want.’

Tara shoved his foot out of the way and sat on the bed. ‘A very long sleigh ride,’ she said ominously. ‘And I hope it goes over every bump in town so you feel sorry for last night.’

‘I promise.’ Finn’s hand snaked out from under the duvet and found hers.

By mid-March, Rose decided that planning a grand ruby wedding anniversary was a trial.
Talking
about a huge party with a marquee for hordes of people was one thing.
Organising
it was another. Rose felt like a kindergarten school teacher bringing a stream of three-year-olds for a walk: she simply didn’t have enough hands.

Hugh was no help at all but kept saying how much he was looking forward to the party at the end of April.

Then, Rose had discovered just how much it was to hire a marquee. ‘It’s unbelievably expensive,’ she said, feeling stupid for believing a big tent to be a cheap party option. ‘Can we afford it?’ she asked Hugh, when she showed him her ballpark figure for the entire party, a figure that had made her blanch. Despite Hugh’s grandiose plans, the Millers had never been rich people.

‘Of course we can afford it,’ said Hugh expansively. ‘We’ve got to celebrate this one in style, Rose. Hang the expense.’

Rose had given him a long, thoughtful look that had nothing to do with money. ‘We don’t have to have a big party, Hugh,’ she said. ‘There’s no need for it.’

‘But there is,’ Hugh insisted. ‘The girls will be thrilled, they love a party. And we have been married forty years, that’s quite an achievement. People will expect us to have some sort of bash.’

So a marquee had been ordered, invitations had been chosen and the guest list was one hundred and fifty and
rising. Rose knew she’d have to go shopping soon to purchase a special occasion dress because, for your ruby anniversary party, you couldn’t turn up in something people had seen before. Normally, Rose loved shopping. The heady feeling of power from a new outfit was better than anything the doctor could prescribe for you. But right now, she couldn’t summon up any enthusiasm for it. She hadn’t wanted a big party in the first place.

It was partly that the Christmas Eve party had exhausted her. Right now, her idea of the perfect anniversary party was to make an enormous shepherd’s pie, bang a couple of apple tarts in the oven, invite the family over, and be done with it. But also, for reasons Rose didn’t care to explore, she didn’t want a huge public affair where all their friends turned up with big gifts and congratulations, telling her and Hugh how marvellous they were. After the phone call on Christmas Eve, she didn’t know if she could cope with that. A big party would be almost tempting fate.

‘It’ll be wonderful,’ Hugh kept insisting. ‘I’m really looking forward to it.’

‘I’m sure it will,’ she replied.

She kept an eye on the arrangements, and got on with her life. She organised a painter and decorator to freshen up the main downstairs rooms. She hosted a book club evening and it coincided nicely with Hugh being in Dublin on business. The evening was a great success and even Minnie Wilson, who seemed to be getting quieter with every passing week, seemed to enjoy herself.

The next book on the club’s list was an Anita Shreve novel and, a couple of weeks later, on hearing that Minnie was recovering from flu and was housebound, Rose bought two copies of it, planning to drop the spare into Minnie’s that morning. She wouldn’t phone, she decided: she’d just drop in casually. It wasn’t the polite thing to do but Rose was concerned about Minnie and thought that if only she could get to the bottom of the problem, she could help.

Minnie opened her front door and was astonished to find
Rose Miller there, with a book and a basket of scones. Rose was just as surprised because of Minnie’s appearance. She wasn’t dressed. Her hair, normally carefully styled in a short bob, was unbrushed and untidy. But it wasn’t the combination of dressing gown and messy hair that shocked Rose. It was the flat, miserable look in Minnie’s eyes.

‘Minnie, I’m so sorry for calling without phoning first,’ said Rose. ‘I thought you were over the flu, I just wanted to drop this book off.’

‘Come in,’ said Minnie, her voice as flat as her expression.

‘I’ll only wait for a moment,’ Rose said, shutting the door behind her. ‘I’m going into town again later, can I get you any groceries?’

‘No. I’m fine.’

‘You don’t look well, have you seen the doctor?’

‘No, I’m fine, really,’ Minnie repeated. She sank wearily into an armchair.

Rose sat opposite her, alarm bells ringing in her head. Minnie hadn’t even offered to make tea, which was totally out of character. Normally, she rushed around wildly, anxious to provide hospitality. But this dazed, careworn woman didn’t have the heart or the energy to dress herself, never mind make tea.

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ Rose asked gently.

‘No, you are kind but no,’ Minnie said. ‘I’m just tired. I’m not sleeping and I keep waking up early when I do sleep, that’s all. Poor Terence can’t get a wink of sleep with me, and he’s working so hard at the moment.’

‘I see,’ said Rose. She did see. For whatever reason, Minnie was clearly suffering from depression. This was no flu, it was something more. ‘Maybe if I was to drive you to the doctor,’ she suggested.

Minnie shook her head. ‘Don’t put yourself out, Rose. I’ll feel better soon, I always do.’

Rose tried to think of a delicate way to say that Minnie didn’t need to wait until she felt better. ‘That was the old-fashioned way when you got a bit down,’ she said lightly.
‘People are wiser nowadays, Minnie. Sometimes your body’s chemistry alters and it makes you a bit down, so there are drugs to fix that.’

‘I don’t believe in drugs, Rose.’ Minnie sounded firm.

Rose made tea for them both, although Minnie barely touched hers.

‘I’ll drop in again tomorrow, will I?’ Rose asked, when she’d washed the cups and put the tea things away.

‘I don’t mind,’ said Minnie listlessly.

As Rose drove home, she wasn’t thinking about Minnie. Instead, she was remembering the time when depression had enveloped her in a cloud of darkness. It was just after Holly had been born. Rose would never forget the speed and intensity with which the post-natal blues had struck. One moment, she’d been a happy young mother waiting for the birth of her third baby. The next, she was lying in a hospital bed with a screaming Holly beside her, feeling overwhelmed with the futility of life. She’d hoped things would improve when she left hospital but they didn’t. It took enormous effort to summon up the energy to change her new daughter. Then, when she’d somehow managed to juggle all the once-familiar baby equipment, she’d try and rest, only for Holly to roar to be changed all over again. And how Holly had cried, endlessly, hour after hour, as if she knew that her mother could barely face looking at her. The elder girls were at school, Hugh was working all the hours that God sent, and even the doctor didn’t seem aware of her situation. Anyway, people didn’t talk about things like post-natal depression then. Rose had done what she always did and just got on with it. Now, she shuddered when she thought of those dark days.

At home, Rose flicked the button on the answering machine and listened to a litany of messages, nearly all relating to her ruby wedding party.

The caterer had made a mistake on the cost of the corkage: it was to be five per cent more expensive than they’d originally said.

A frantic-sounding woman from the florist’s shop begged Mrs Miller to phone to clear up a tiny mess surrounding exactly
which
Saturday the ruby wedding was on. Nothing urgent, just was it the third Saturday in March (hopefully not, she said with a nervous laugh) or the third Saturday in April?

Adele, who was having builders in to do major work on her roof and was staying with Rose and Hugh for the duration, had decided she’d stay in Meadow Lodge for a week instead of just three days. ‘I could do with a break,’ she said heavily, adding that she’d be there by half ten on Thursday morning. ‘Don’t worry about me, Rose, I’ll look after myself. I don’t want any fuss.’

Rose closed her eyes and rubbed her temples to make the dull ache go away. The idea of Adele not wanting any fuss was a contradiction in terms. Adele couldn’t make a cup of coffee without fuss. A week-long stay would mean the sort of organisation required for a royal visit. Adele ran her own home like a very spartan hotel with specific hours for every meal and a habit of changing the sheets every day. Seven days of Adele would stretch both the linen cupboard and the washer-dryer to breaking point. That wasn’t even mentioning how it would stretch Rose’s nerves.

Hugh had phoned to say he had a meeting which might run late and not to bother keeping dinner for him. ‘I’ll grab a toasted sandwich in the pub before the meeting,’ he said, as if he was doing her a big favour. Rose wondered if Hugh ever realised that plans for dinner didn’t begin at six in the evening. Oh well, she’d still have to cook the chicken she’d defrosted earlier. They could have it cold the following evening.

The last call was silent. Rose didn’t bother to strain to hear some telltale background noise. She made a note to phone the florist and the caterer later, then she wiped the messages from the machine.

The following day, Rose made up her mind. She made a phone call to the doctor’s surgery, then drove into Kinvarra
quickly, not seeing the beauty of the town as she manoeuvred the car through the busy Wednesday morning traffic.

Today, the mid-week market was set up in St Martin’s Square and the parking was particularly bad as everyone and their granny recklessly abandoned their cars at oblique angles in order to buy cheap farm produce. Rose remembered a time when the market had actually sold livestock, but now it was a less rural affair where farmers sold vegetables, eggs, fruit and honey, and where local crafts people set up stalls selling pottery and knick-knacks. Rose quite liked the assorted junk of the bric à brac stalls and often looked to see if there were any old perfume bottles for Stella’s growing collection. But today she had a mission that had nothing to do with the market. She’d decided to talk to the doctor and find out what she should do about Minnie Wilson. Rose didn’t want to interfere and had never in her life stuck her nose quite so much in anyone’s business, but she was too worried about Minnie to do nothing.

She parked in the big supermarket car park and then walked along briskly until she came to one of the town’s backstreets where a big redbrick house took pride of place. Rose pushed open the green front door and stepped in as she had done many times before.

‘Good morning, Helen,’ she said to the receptionist, a girl who’d been in school with Holly. ‘I’ve an appointment with Dr Reshma.’

‘I’m afraid Dr Reshma had to go to Dublin urgently,’ Helen replied, then whispered, ‘his wife’s father again. The poor man is still clinging onto life.’

Rose smiled at this proof that Kinvarra still kept its gossipy village mentality, even though the inhabitants bravely insisted that you could live an anonymous life there and that people weren’t interested in everybody else’s business.

‘Dr Collins is away in Galway, so the new doctor is taking Dr Reshma’s patients,’ Helen added. ‘Dr Zeigler. She’s very nice.’

Rose hesitated. If she refused to see the nice new doctor,

it would imply that she was one of the town’s fuddy duddies who wouldn’t have so much as a boil lanced if Dr Reshma or Dr Collins weren’t in charge of the lancing. But she’d actually made the appointment with the doctor for advice rather than for any medical reason. She’d hoped that wise Dr Reshma could tell her what to do. She looked quickly round the reception area and saw that it was empty. Most days, there were at least six people waiting. Evidently nobody else wanted to make do with poor Dr Zeigler.

‘Of course I’ll see the new doctor, Helen,’ said Rose.

Helen allowed herself to breathe out with relief. ‘I’ll show you in,’ she beamed, thankful that at least one patient wasn’t going to shame Kinvarra by insisting on being sick only on Dr Reshma’s time.

Dr Zeigler couldn’t have been older than Holly. Maybe twenty-seven at the most, Rose thought as she settled down on the seat beside the doctor’s desk. She was freckled, with mousy hair, and if Rose had been asked to guess her profession, she’d have said ‘student’.

‘What can I do for you, Mrs Miller?’ the doctor said.

‘I haven’t come for any actual treatment,’ Rose began.

The doctor’s eyebrows moved up a fraction.

‘I’ve come for advice. You see, I think this friend of mine is suffering from depression and I wanted to ask what to do.’

The doctor’s expression changed subtly and she moved forwards in her chair, leaning so that she’d halved the distance between them. ‘This friend,’ she said kindly, ‘has she suffered from depression before?’

Rose smiled. ‘It’s not me. Honestly.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. I’ve never been depressed.’ Rose didn’t consider this to be a lie, precisely. She’d never told anyone how she’d felt when Holly was a baby and she wasn’t going to start now.

‘Lucky you.’ The young doctor’s face was bland.

‘This is a friend of mine and I’m worried about her,’ Rose said. Without giving Minnie’s name, she described her
general condition and listlessness. ‘Doesn’t that sound like depression?’ she said.

‘It could be,’ Dr Zeigler replied. ‘But there’s very little I can do for her unless she comes to visit me.’

‘I suppose.’ Rose wished now she’d waited for Dr Reshma, who’d have been more understanding and who would have come up with some plan for meeting Minnie and encouraging her to come to the surgery. This doctor plainly thought Rose was nothing but a well-meaning busybody. Perhaps she thought Rose’s actions weren’t even wellmeaning.

‘I’ve wasted enough of your time,’ Rose said, getting up. ‘Sorry. I’ll try and get my friend to come here.’

‘You do that,’ Dr Zeigler said and went back to her files.

Rose walked slowly towards the market, feeling useless and a bit stupid. Of course, Minnie had to go to the doctor’s herself. What had Rose been thinking? Trying to sort out the world’s problems as usual, when she couldn’t even sort out her own. She was going to have to make Minnie go to the doctor’s. She didn’t know how, but she was going to do it, she vowed. As she stopped at the pedestrian lights to cross the road, she realised that she was standing in front of Hugh’s office. It was half twelve, early enough to meet Hugh before he left for his customary lunch in The Angler’s Rest. Suddenly, Rose wanted to see him and tell him about her morning. Hugh would know the right thing to say. He’d cheer her up, tell her she was wise after all, and point out that young doctors didn’t understand the needs of a community the way old Dr Reshma did.