Always and Forever (38 page)

She’d have to drive to the smal shop. Her mother never left her car at the airport, and the keys would be in the basket inside the door.

The shop nearest to the cottage sat on a tricky junction where the road went up to the old Delaney place, or down to Lough Enla. There were a few houses, a tiny chapel and a bright green establishment with ‘Slattery’s Grocery & Draper’ shining in big letters over the door.

It looked exactly the same as it had when Daisy had lived down the road, and was the sort of shop where you could buy anything from olive oil to engine oil. The retail-trickery that meant supermarket shoppers were steered in the correct direction had total y bypassed Slattery’s. The stock was piled on the shelves every which way: canned goods beside bleach, bin bags squashed against biscuits and a brightly coloured display of children’s flipflops and sunglasses looking madly incongruous beside the week’s special offer: litre bottles of Chilean pinot noir. Daisy picked up a basket and put two litres of the Chilean wine in.

What the hel , another one would be a good idea. She added a third litre, some bread, cheese and a pack of coleslaw, and a jumbo pack of chocolate biscuits.

‘House warming,’ she said by way of explanation to the teenage girl behind the til when she brought her suspiciously alcoholic basket to the checkout.

‘Oh right,’ said the girl, scanning the coleslaw.

‘A few friends are coming from Dublin,’ Daisy added, wondering why was she justifying herself.

The girl nodded.

‘You’ve got to have a few drinks, don’t you?’ Daisy knew she must sound mad. She paid and said thank you a little too heartily. That was a good impression to give people al right, she reflected as she left: a total nut who narrated her every move.

Back at the cottage, she sat down in the kitchen and got the stove going, sipping a glass of wine as she did so. There was no television in the house, only wal -to-wal opera CDs, so she

found her favourite, Tosca, and flooded the room with music to match her melancholy.

She did think of making a sandwich, but by the fifth glass of wine, she decided not to bother. Why bother about anything any more?

The magazines hadn’t changed in the doctor’s surgery. Stil the same dog-eared copies of Hel o! and GolfPro. The people waiting didn’t appear to have changed either, Mel decided: stil mainly mothers hissing ‘Don’t!’ at their children. Today, one smal boy, his bottom lip stuck out in misery, was trying to rip out the seal from the cover of National Geographic in order to make a col age with a Christmas fashion spread from a tattered copy of Vogue.

His mother, a tired-looking woman in cords and a denim jacket, was trying to distract him with various toys. Mel sat with Sarah beside her, and a sick Carrie on her lap -

tonsil itis again, she reckoned - and decided that the main change in the whole place was herself. No longer Ms Career Babe who stood out like a sore thumb, she now fitted in perfectly in her faded jeans with frayed hems, thonged sandals, and simple white T-shirt. Her hair was longer than it used to be and her skin had a healthy glow from spending so much time out in the garden with the girls.

‘I look like a hippie at a music festival from the Summer of Lurve,’ she’d said the previous morning to Adrian, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she was stepping into her jeans. ‘Make love, not war, and don’t worry about makeup or

even hair-brushing.’ She was struck by the thought that she looked younger than ever, with her freckled, happy face and blonde curls trailing round her ears. Her morning routine was embarrassingly quick. Wash face, brush teeth, shower, rub on a bit of moisturiser, and pul on jeans/blouse/Tshirt.

‘It’s sexy,’ Adrian had said, sidling up to her with his damp towel stil round his waist. ‘Suits you. You look al relaxed and wild child. Like you were when I first met you. I like it.’

His towel dropped.

‘Adrian,’ laughed Mel, leaning back into him. ‘The girls wil be up in a minute.’ It was nearly seven.

‘I’m up now,’ he murmured into her hair.

‘We don’t have time, do we?’ she said, feeling herself respond to his caresses.

‘Let’s give it a try,’ he replied. ‘We only need a few minutes.’ ‘Oh, foreplay too,’ teased Mel, but she turned around and kissed him deeply, and they fel onto the bed.

Just as wel it hadn’t been this morning, she reflected now.

After a sleepless night with Carrie, she certainly wouldn’t have been in the mood for lovemaking.

‘How are you feeling, love?’ she asked Carrie, kissing the top of her daughter’s head.

In response, Carrie wriggled out of her mother’s arms and went to investigate the toy box. Sarah watched her in a superior manner for a moment, then joined her little sister on the floor.

‘Gimme,’ said Sarah, grabbing the Mr Happy book that Carrie had picked up.

‘Mine.’ Carrie whipped it right back. She was pretty good at standing up for herself.

‘What’s wrong with your little girl?’ asked the woman in the denim jacket. Her toddler - Mr National Geographic Ripper had final y found his mother’s mobile phone to suck, which seemed to be keeping him from further destruction.

‘Tonsil itis,’ Mel sighed. ‘We’ve been lucky lately; she hasn’t had it for ages. But she was very bad last night. I’m terrified she’l have to have her tonsils out.’

‘My daughter had them out,’ said the other woman, clearly ready to chat. ‘They can grow back, you know.’

‘You’re kidding!’ A young woman sitting opposite them with a sleeping baby on her lap was astonished at this.

‘It doesn’t happen that often,’ replied Ms Denim, ‘but can you imagine going through it al only to have to do it again!

My daughter had them out when she was five and she’s fine now. It’s so hard for them to understand, though, isn’t it …’

she trailed off, clearly remembering the trauma. ‘I stayed with her overnight. I couldn’t leave her; she cried every time I had to go to the loo. I told my husband that I didn’t care if I had to sleep in a chair beside her bed, I was going to be with her. She was out the next day and back to normal straight away. Kids are so resilient, aren’t they?’

‘Yes,’ the younger woman agreed, holding tightly to her baby as if to protect it.

Mel shuddered at the thought of her tiny daughter having to go into hospital. She knew that wild horses wouldn’t drag her away from Carrie’s bedside. She remembered thinking of such an eventuality when she was working, and wondering how she’d cope because she’d have to take time off work. Now al she’d have to manage was her sick child - and not an irate Hilary as wel .

‘Tonsil itis,’ agreed the doctor when she got in to see him.

‘We should consider the option of taking them out. How many bouts has she had this year?’ ‘Four,’ said Mel quickly.

‘Right,’ the doctor was engrossed in Carrie’s medical notes. ‘It’s tough when they’re up al night, isn’t it, and you know you’re doing everything you can, but they’re stil crying?’ The doctor was about her age, maybe older, and his hair was flecked with grey. He obviously had kids too, since he was so familiar with the personal side of having a smal child sick at

night. She found herself warming to him for the first time.

She wondered how she could have thought him supercilious or condescending when he’d spoken to her mother about Mel dropping in to see him when she had time. Because she felt so guilty, she’d assumed that he was getting at her.

Guilt - what a wasted emotion. How many hours of her life had she frittered away feeling guilty about things over which she had no control?

At least she didn’t have to feel guilty about the girls any more.

What a relief.

By four that afternoon, relief was a long-forgotten emotion in the Redmond household. Carrie was hot and miserable, and Mel had to carry her on her hip al afternoon. ‘Mummy, no,’ she wailed every time Mel thought she was happier and tried to settle her on the couch in front of her favourite TV show. ‘No, no, no, nooooo.’

‘Hold me too!’ demanded Sarah. She was wearing her Hal oween fairy costume - she’d yel ed so much to be al owed to that Mel had given in - and was now stamping her pink feet in rage, looking less like a fairy than a furious little hobgoblin. The, me, me!!’ It was hard to stay calm, especial y when you were dying for both a cup of tea and a pee. ‘It’s al right, Carrie,’ Mel soothed, trying her best to sound serene. ‘Mummy won’t put you down. Mummy loves you. And you too, Sarah. Only you’re a big girl and Carrie’s sick, so Mummy has to hold Carrie. How about we al go out to the kitchen and, since you’re so grown up, you can pour some milk for yourself and then we’l put Nemo on?’

Sarah’s angelic little face grew angry at such blatant manipulation. ‘No,’ she wailed. ‘Don’t like Nemo. Hate Nemo. Want to be up!’ ‘Up’ meant in her mother’s arms.

Mel crouched down on the floor with Carrie, and tried to hug Sarah in close too. Natural y, this plan was not popular.

Carrie wanted to be hugged on her own. So did Sarah. The wails were ear-splitting, and in stereo.

‘Let’s put on Shrek,’ said Mel in desperation. Adrian’s brother, Eddie, had given Adrian the video as a present and, even though Mel was convinced the film was too old for them, the girls adored the bits they’d seen and were always demanding to see more.

‘No,’ roared Sarah, upping the decibel level and simultaneously hitting out at her little sister in an attempt to be the only person being cuddled by Mummy.

Calm thoughts, Mel told herself. Think calm thoughts. TV

and videos were out, so what next? She mental y ran through what she cal ed her Bad Mother’s Bribe List. The electronic babysitter was normal y the trump card, fol owed by chocolate. If chocolate failed, Mummy’s Make-Up came next, fol owed by A Trip to Play on the Winnie-the-Pooh machine in the supermarket, with Daddy Wil Be Very Upset to Hear His Girls Were Naughty as the last-ditch attempt at peace talks. It took two packs of chocolate buttons for Carrie and Sarah to begin to cheer up. Mel managed to boil the kettle and get as far as putting a teabag in a cup before realising that she would wet herself if she didn’t visit the loo. ‘Let’s al go on a trip,’ she said gaily, scooping Carrie up and taking Sarah by the hand.

‘Don’t wanna,’ said Sarah, happy now where she was. ‘We could have more chocolate buttons upstairs,’ Mel begged, cursing the fact that they stil hadn’t summoned up the cash to put in a downstairs cloakroom.

Sarah shook her head.

‘Mummy, sick,’ moaned Carrie, holding one chubby little hand up to her head.

‘We can play with Mummy’s make-up,’ said Mel in desperation. Sarah got up and flew up the stairs, and even Carrie felt wel enough to climb up herself.

‘Lipstick is MINE!’ Sarah shrieked as Mel fol owed.

‘Mine!!’ shrieked Carrie back, rounding the landing at high speed.

Carrie’s tonsils were sounding better, at least, Mel thought wearily. And since she didn’t use much lipstick these days because she wasn’t working, it didn’t matter if they destroyed every one she had, did it? Anything for a moment’s peace.

When Adrian got home at seven, both children were calm and happy after a joyous afternoon painting each other with eyeshadow and blusher. The beige carpet in Mel and Adrian’s room would never be the same, nor would Mel’s make-up bag. She’d nearly lost it when Carrie found the precious moisturiser Mel had bought on her pre-redundancy shopping spree and emptied at least half of the careful y rationed cream onto her teddy’s wool y head.

‘Carrie, I don’t believe it! That’s naughty, no!’ Mel yel ed.

‘You can’t have everything of Mummy’s!’

Losing your temper didn’t work, she realised, when both girls burst into tears at this crosspatch version of Mummy.

Mel had final y managed to get to the bathroom, and have a cup of the tea, as wel as some of the children’s supper and four chocolate biscuits. Being a ful -time mother wasn’t just bad for your nerves, it was bad for the waistline too.

‘They’ve had their bath and they’re fine,’ she said tightly to Adrian, greeting him in the hal with a now-smiling Carrie on her hip. It was al she could do to speak without screaming that every nerve was stretched to breaking point and why hadn’t he been able to get home earlier to help? Just because Adrian had suggested dinner out on Saturday night at the local Chinese restaurant, didn’t mean he could evade al parental duties, oh no … ‘Mama.’ Carrie snuggled into Mel’s neck and began sucking her thumb.

Not in front of the children, Mel remembered. She breathed deeply.

‘Carrie’s had her medicine and they’re ready for bed. You can use a wipe to take off the make-up. Carrie wanted hers left on for a while longer.’ She took the car keys from the hook in the hal . ‘It has been a nightmare afternoon, Adrian, and I’m going out in the car,’ she said, handing Carrie over to him. Carrie beamed at her father so he’d admire her silver eyeshadow and Aunt Sal y-style red spots of blusher.

Adrian was startled. ‘Is everything al right?’ he asked anxiously, looking from the heavily made-up toddler to his white-faced wife.

‘Fine,’ said Mel briskly. If she didn’t get out of the house soon, she’d explode. ‘I just need some time on my own.’

She reached for her handbag. ‘It’s been a tough day,’ she added. Understatement of the year. ‘I won’t be long. I might go to Mo’s for a coffee.’

She’d never done that before in al the years they’d lived in Carrickwel . Mo’s Diner was where they went as a family at weekends, not at seven on a week night when bedtime loomed. Adrian took it very wel . ‘We’l be fine,’ he said.

‘You go.’ Mel sat in the car on the drive for a good five minutes before she started up the engine. Then she drove down to the centre of Carrickwel , parked near Mo’s Diner and went in.

As she stirred sugar into a creamy decaf latte, Mel suddenly realised that she hadn’t spoken to Caroline in a very long time. Not since the big row that fol owed their January night out when Lorna had needled her about how her job meant she missed seeing Carrie and Sarah growing up. Caroline had been so upset the next day, and even though Mel had left a couple of messages for her, she’d never phoned back.