Just Between Us (26 page)

‘I never mentioned Dracula,’ Stella pointed out, deeply embarrassed by the way she’d described Clarisse to Vicki. It wasn’t like her to be so bitchy but she’d felt so upset by the other woman’s reaction to her, and painting Clarisse in unflattering terms had somehow got the rage out of her system.

‘No, but you described her so well, I moved a step on. A disapproving hen’s bum mouth and skin-stretched-tautly-over-cheekbones, you said. Dracula, I thought. Reminds me of Dracula.’

Stella winced. ‘Don’t,’ she begged. ‘I should never have said that. I’m turning into a horrible cow, just the sort of person I hate.’

‘Are you ready to order?’ asked the waitress.

‘Lots of garlic, I think,’ Vicki murmured under her breath.

Stella asked Vicki’s opinion on anniversary presents, explaining that the Paris week was off. ‘Mum says Dad doesn’t have the time,’ Stella said, ‘but she never actually asked him. I keep thinking that maybe I should phone him at work and ask him what he thinks. He might be madly keen to go to Paris with Mum. I can see them walking hand in hand through the old quarter. Oh well, if they can’t go, they can’t go. I must ring Holly and Tara to sort out a trip into town to buy something.’

‘Imagine being that in love after forty years,’ sighed Vicki. ‘It’s wonderful.’

‘I know,’ Stella said. ‘But you have to find the right person. That’s rare. My parents have these friends, people I’ve known since I was a child, and I’m amazed at how they stay married at all. When this couple turn up at my parents’ house for dinner it’s like the Cold War: all icy glances and contemptuous remarks. It’s horrible. Why do they bother staying together?’

‘You only think it’s horrible because your mum and dad are so happily married,’ Vicki pointed out equably. ‘You were lucky, dearie. The Cold War is the norm. My parents fought so much it’s a miracle they didn’t murder each other. I used to think that happy families was another bit of Disney propaganda and that open warfare was standard relationship behaviour. That must be why I’m so hopeless with men,’ she added.

‘What do you mean “hopeless”?’ chided Stella. ‘You floated into the office on cloud nine last week after that date with Craig.’

‘Yes, I suppose I did,’ twinkled Vicki. ‘He is cute, for a younger guy. I don’t want to get too serious though.’ She grinned. ‘What are we like? This time last year we thought all men were pigs.’ She waved her fork at Stella. ‘The romance fairy has seriously affected our judgement.’

Stella laughed at the idea as the waitress laid two plates
in front of them. Vicki’s eyes lit up at the sight of her thincrust pizza, glistening with extra cheese. ‘Who needs the romance fairy when the mozzarella fairy is alive and well?’ she said, digging in.

After lunch, they walked slowly back to the office, enjoying the fine day.

‘I hope it stays fine at the weekend,’ Vicki said. ‘I’m going to Wexford with the girls and you know me, if I plan a weekend away, a tropical rainstorm is bound to hit. What are you up to?’

‘Clearing out the spare room,’ Stella replied. ‘There’s so much junk in there and I began to think that if Nick and I did move in together…’ She ignored Vicki’s big grin. ‘
If
Nick moves in with me and his kids come to stay, they’ll need a room. Not that it’s very big, mind you. His ex has bought this huge, detached house on a third of an acre.’

They’d reached the glass and steel revolving doors of Lawson, Wilde & McKenna. Vicki looked at her colleague. They’d known each other for eight years, had joined the company at the same time. Stella had been a good friend to Vicki during the time when Vicki’s wheelchair-bound mother was slowly dying, the years when Vicki had no life outside the office and her work as a carer. Vicki had been there for Stella when she’d split up with Glenn, when Amelia was only a baby, and both money and childcare arrangements had been hell. They’d come through the hard years together and now Vicki was thrilled that her friend had found love. She was worried about her too.

‘Stella,’ she said now, ‘it might not be a bed of roses, you know, the whole children bit.’

Stella gave Vicki her sunny, warm smile. It lit up her face, made her dark eyes dance, and transformed her from an attractive woman into a stunning one. ‘Come on, Vicki,’ she said, ‘if I can deal with the Machiavellian politics in this office, I can certainly deal with Nick’s children.’

Vicki nodded and went through the revolving doors. She ignored her sense of foreboding. Vicki’s brother had step-
children and it had taken years before they’d all settled down into a proper family. Years. But then, it was probably different when the step-parent was a woman, and a mother to boot. Stella could manage it, sure she could.

Miles away, in her big kitchen with its antique pine and gleaming professional-sized oven, Wendy Cavaletto sat at the table and cried. Her tears were of misery and fury mingled. It was such a shock to find that Nick had somebody else in his life. He’d said there was nobody else when they’d divorced and Wendy herself had known that it was all over between them. Yet now he had this other woman and it was so soon, so soon that it had shocked her. Not even a year since they’d been divorced. It was the ultimate insult for him to find somebody else so quickly. The pig, the bastard.
How dare he!
Still sobbing, she stalked past the granite-topped island unit to the saucepan rack and began slamming saucepans around. Here she was, planning meals for his children, worrying about every aspect of their lives, when he was off with another woman. He was probably swanning round in restaurants, having a marvellous time while she tried to cope with two nightmarish teenagers, one who sulked non-stop and another who didn’t know how to pick up her dirty socks off the floor. Fury rose in Wendy’s throat like bile. She wanted to hit Nick, she wanted to kill him. With an absence of her ex-husband to hit, she picked up the nearest weapon and fired it viciously at the floor. Her biggest copper-bottomed saucepan made one hell of a noise as it clattered onto the terracotta tiles. Wendy wished it was Nick’s head. He’d hurt her and she wanted to hurt him. How could he find another woman to love so quickly? Where was the period of mourning for their marriage?

This was even worse than when he’d told her he was moving back to Ireland. Wendy remembered the years when she’d begged him to move home with her. But no, Nick’s career had come first and he’d insisted that they live in the UK. And then as soon as they were no longer married, he
moved back to Ireland. Not for her, no. For their daughters. Wendy had wept tears of rage at that. It was as if her power over Nick had gone forever. She was at the end of the queue and the girls were at the top, with this new woman.

She wouldn’t make it easy for him. No way. He could rot in hell for all she cared.
She
was the mother of his children. Surely she deserved some respect and Nick’s flaunting a new girlfriend so soon was not respect.

‘Have you been talking to your father?’ she snapped at Jenna when her younger daughter slouched into the kitchen, still in her pyjamas from that morning.

‘He phoned me earlier,’ Jenna said. ‘Said he wanted to talk to me about something tomorrow night.’ She sounded gloomy. Her mother was clearly in a nark, which was nothing new since the divorce. Jenna hated her dad and mum living apart even though you were the odd one out in her school in London if your parents were married. But Jenna wouldn’t mind being the odd one out if it meant her parents getting back together again.

‘You used to complain they were always fighting,’ her friend Maya pointed out when Jenna said she hated the split. ‘Mine were the same. Now there’s no fighting and you get twice as many presents!’

Maya was right about the fights. Jenna remembered the arguments, and how the anger and tension seemed to linger in the air for days. She could hear them yell at each other about not involving the children, but honestly, did they think she was deaf? When he’d gone, her Mum had said ‘good riddance, he should have gone years ago’. But she still didn’t seem happy. They’d moved back to Ireland, which Jenna had really hated because it meant leaving behind all her friends. And then Dad had moved back too, which was great, although that made Mum even more furious for some reason. She kept going on about how she’d finally seen what he thought of her and how she was second best to her own children.

Sara didn’t seem to mind: she loved going to Trinity College,
because of some guy she was going out with. And Jenna was the one who got stuck at home with Mum. Sometimes Mum was happy and hugged Jenna, saying this was the best move of their life and that they were going to make it work. Other times she sat and watched telly all night, ready to leap on Jenna if she said the wrong thing.

Jenna wanted to know when things were going to improve, the way Maya insisted they would. There were no rows now, but the atmosphere was somehow worse. It was like being in the park before a thunderstorm; scary and electric. Dad had never shouted or yelled, not like Mum. He calmed things down. Worst of all, she missed her dad more than anything. He’d said that the divorce didn’t mean he was leaving the girls, but Jenna felt as if she had lost him. He was her dad and he wasn’t there any more.

‘I’ll tell you a bit of news about your father, shall I?’ said Wendy tearfully, banging the kettle down on its stand.

Jenna noticed the slug trails of tears down her mother’s face.

‘Your father has a new girlfriend, he’s really serious about her and he wants you to meet her. Did he not tell you that? I don’t suppose he thinks he has to tell us anything. We’re not important any more. Well, I know
I’m
not important but he should have told you.’

Jenna felt the pain like a stabbing sensation in her chest. Dad hadn’t told them about any girlfriend. How could he not have told Jenna? She was his best girl, his pal. He loved Sara too, but she, Jenna, was his special girl because Sara was grown-up almost and never there. And now he had someone else in his life, someone he must love more than her.

Her mother was still talking, her voice tight with anger. ‘I hope he realises how this makes me feel,’ she was saying. ‘He didn’t waste time getting my replacement, did he? She’s got a kid, too, some single mother looking for a fool to pay the bills, no doubt.’

Jenna was no longer listening to her mother’s tirade
because the pain in her chest had got worse. Dad with another girl, maybe he’d bring her to the cinema. Maybe he wouldn’t care about Jenna ever again, he’d have someone else. He’d said they’d go on holiday to France this year and do Euro Disney, Jenna had always wanted to see it, she didn’t care if it was for kids, she loved that stuff. She had a snow globe with the Disney castle in it from when she was small. Dad had bought it for her and she loved it.

‘I’m not seeing him,’ she said fiercely, shoving her chair back from the table. ‘I don’t want anything to do with him again.’ She ran to her room, threw herself on her bed and let the tears come. How could he do this to her? He loved her to bits, he’d said so the day he left. That would never change, nothing would stop him loving her. But he was wrong, it had changed. He’d lied to her. She hated him.

The scent of barbecuing food filled Stella’s nostrils as she walked slowly up Delgany Terrace that evening with Amelia chatting happily alongside her. She’d driven home from the office in record time and decided to walk to Hazel’s and enjoy the evening air. It was balmy for early April, just warm enough to sit outside. Perhaps she should buy a barbecue, she thought idly. No, perhaps
they
should buy one. She and Nick. It was strange thinking like a couple again. It had been so long since there had been anybody but herself and Amelia. Nick might be good with a barbecue. Men liked that type of cooking. Stella had often gone to neighbours’ barbecues and drank wine with the women, while their children played and a couple of husbands wielded big metal implements and made a big deal about cremating a few steaks. It was one of the few occasions that Stella had felt a wistfulness for a male presence in her life. Barbecues had always had that effect on her. Not that she longed for burnt food, but the whole idea of the family unit around the barbecue had always reminded her of family life, with mother, father and kids, not like her own life with Amelia.

The barbecues when she’d been a child had been wonderful.

Her mother was the party queen. Entertaining had been a huge part of life in Kinvarra.

She had been lucky, Stella reflected, growing up with such a loving family background. She, Tara and Holly hadn’t appreciated just how lucky they’d been or that other families weren’t so happy.

‘Mum, for my birthday, can I have a new bike?’ Amelia began. Her birthday was over three months away, but they had this conversation at least twice a week.

‘What about the dolls’ house?’ asked Stella, smiling.

‘I’d like a dolls’ house but I’d like a bike more and I can get a dolls’ house from Santa, can’t I?’

Stella grinned. ‘You have this all planned out, haven’t you!’

They reached their house, a redbrick terraced cottage that looked quite small from the street but which stretched out behind into a comfortable, if compact, home. In the seven years Stella had been living there, she’d transformed it so that the cottage now boasted a large living room, with a small galley kitchen off it. The kitchen led to a neat little conservatory which Stella had installed, and the back garden was a tiny white-walled courtyard complete with rambling roses and lots of plants in painted tubs. Originally, the cottage had just included two bedrooms and a compact bathroom on the ground floor but a previous owner had cleverly created a third guest bedroom out of the attic space. That was the bedroom Stella planned to clear out for Nick’s daughters.

Stella took off her high shoes as soon as she stepped inside her front door. Picking them up, she went into her bedroom to get ready for Nick, while Amelia scooted off to her own room to dump her school things. Stella had taught Amelia not to leave things lying around, partly because she was tidy by nature and partly because in such a small house, junk cluttered the place instantly. It had worked: Stella had often noticed her daughter tut-tutting when Becky and Shona scattered belongings around in Hazel’s.