Finishing Touches (36 page)

Eat your tea, she ordered herself fiercely. It was a very tasty meal and she felt the better for it. Afterwards she decided to go for a stroll to get some fresh air. She hoped that massive doses
of sea air would help her to sleep.

It was a forlorn hope, she realized, as she tossed and turned several hours later. Her mind kept replaying scenes of her relationship with Liam.

That first prickly encounter. The first time he had looked deeply into her eyes and she had known that he was attracted to her. That first utterly satisfying afternoon so long ago when they had
made love together over and over. The time he had bought her a Russian wedding ring and told her that he loved her more than he had ever loved anybody. She had been walking on air for weeks after
that. Cloud nine? She’d been on cloud ninety-nine! And then . . . this afternoon. Well, it had happened and no amount of wishing could turn the clock back.

Aileen drove back to the flat the following morning with her mind made up. First thing on Monday morning she was resigning her job. She just couldn’t face the thought of
working in that office, seeing Liam every week, realizing what a fool she had made of herself and knowing that despite his lies she was still in love with him. She
could
ask for a transfer
but that could take for ever, and besides, she was vegetating, doing a job she hated and with not much more to look forward to if she stayed doing clerical work in the Corporation. A drastic change
was called for and a drastic change was going to be made. At her mother’s insistence she had opened a savings account when she started to work. A regular amount was deducted from source and
now she had quite a tidy little sum. It would do her fine for what she had in mind. The only person who could do anything about the disaster that was currently her life was herself. She had to pick
up the pieces and get on with it and get herself out of the mess she was in.

The first thing she had to do was to tell Liam their affair was over.

He couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Why?’ he demanded, mystified.

‘Liam, it doesn’t matter. Let’s not get into whys and wherefores. It’s bringing me no happiness. You’re doing your wife an injustice. After all, you married her for
better or for worse,’ Aileen said quietly, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

‘But you know my situation. It’s never bothered you before. Why now, all of a sudden?’ There was an angry edge to his voice and for a moment Aileen was tempted to tell him of
her trip to Bray the previous Friday. Pride made her hold her tongue.

‘Surely I’m entitled to an explanation?’ he said softly, taking her hand in his.

‘You’re entitled to nothing,’ Aileen said sharply, afraid her resolve would weaken. Before he could say anything else, she walked out of the restaurant where they were having
lunch and drove off too quickly for him to follow her.

No doubt he would go back to the office thinking that she was returning to work. Well, let him go. There he’d be told that she had resigned from her job and was using her remaining leave
in lieu of notice. On her instructions, Cassie and Laura always told him she was unavailable when he phoned, as he did frequently. Once, he had even come knocking at the door but she hadn’t
been in and Laura had told him in no uncertain terms to let her alone.

Cassie and Laura had been incredibly supportive when she told them that she had ended her affair. They knew she was suffering and they did their best to keep her heart up and were full of
encouragement for the step she was going to take.

It was too late in the year to enrol in the Beauty Academy for the course she had selected, so Aileen did temporary secretarial work until the following September. The ups and downs of temping
suited her restless mood, and going from one job to another kept her on her toes. She had been toying for ages with the idea of doing a one-year full-time course in a beauty school; one of her
friends in the theatrical group had done it and was now gainfully employed in her own beauty salon. It was an expensive course but the fees covered uniform, books and her kit, which included
electrolysis equipment, beauty accessories and make-up. She could have done a basic beautician course which would have qualified her to do facial treatments, manicure, pedicures and waxing but the
course she had chosen would entitle her to become a beauty therapist, qualified to give body treatment and massage as well.

The Beauty Academy was off Wicklow Street and at her selection interview, Aileen was told that there was no point in doing the course unless she was prepared for a year of extremely hard work,
as it was a very intensive programme. After successfully completing the course and passing her British Confederation exams, which involved a practical and written test, she could do the CIDESCO
exam leading to an internationally recognized diploma. This would assure her of employment in any country. Aileen was determined. This was her chance to get off her butt and make a go of things for
herself.

On the first day of term she and thirty-nine other raw recruits assembled to hear Madame Junot, the head of the school, tell them that henceforth she expected them to arrive punctually, in
uniform and impeccably groomed. Half of the classes would be practical and half theory. The class was divided in two so that twenty of them would do practical work in the morning while the other
half would do theory and then they would do a turnaround in the afternoon.

After coffee and a get-to-know-you chat with the other girls, Aileen’s class were sent to the practical room for their first session. Ten of them had to strip to bra and pants and there
were a lot of shy fumblings as the girls prepared nervously for action. The ten were then placed at the tender mercies of their ten equally nervous colleagues as they began to learn the rudiments
of body and facial massage. After half an hour the roles were reversed.

After lunch the class began the study of the skin. Soon Aileen was quite addled. There were so many layers and so many terms – the epidermis, the dermis, nerve endings and hair follicles
and twenty-one different muscles in the face. Aileen staggered home, exhausted but determined.

As the course progressed, the girls in the class got to know one another and enjoy their studies, particularly the practicals. Eyebrow and eyelash tinting was a firm favourite but in the
beginning, until they got more experienced, there were a lot of purple eyes. The lip, chin, underarm and leg waxings always caused shrieks of pain but never as loud as when the bikini-line was
being done. Electrolysis was a different kettle of fish. They had all spent many hours of practice probing the hair follicles in the leg without current but Aileen would never forget the first time
she did electrolysis with current. Her hands shook, but soon she was quite practised, and Laura and Cassie, who were her guinea-pigs on many occasions, were rewarded later on when Aileen beautified
them for nothing.

The theory was more of a problem. Aileen found anatomy and physiology terribly boring but she persevered. They had to learn the details of five muscles every night and her flatmates often heard
her muttering weird names like biceps, the radials, the rectus abdominis, the gastrocnemius. The spellings nearly drove her nutty, let alone the pronunciations.

Sitting her first end-of-term exam, she scanned the paper anxiously:

Aileen heaved a sigh. Even doing those first four questions, she was quietly confident that she would pass. She had studied very hard and by chance these particular questions suited her. She
passed her first term-exam comfortably and that gave her a great boost. Thus encouraged, she kept her nose to the grindstone.

Quite a few of the girls in her class were what she privately termed ‘rich kids,’ whose fathers paid for the courses, and whose future livelihood would not depend on their success.
Discipline in the academy was strict and a few of them were unable for the pace of study and the hard work. There were quite a few girls like Aileen who intended to make beauty their career and
there was a great comradeship among this group which pleased Madame Junot very much. She enjoyed teaching eager, interested pupils. Before their final exams she took several of them aside,
including Aileen, and told them that they would pass their exams with no trouble. When people came to her looking for ex-students she could recommend she would be delighted to give them references.
Aileen was thrilled with herself. Nevertheless, on the day of her final exams the following April, she was more than apprehensive as she began written and practical exams in face, body and
electrolysis. But she passed these exams with honours, and two months later she had to face four external examiners for her practical and oral exams to obtain her CIDESCO diploma. Sitting in front
of the four strangers, knowing she had to answer four sets of eight questions, Aileen’s palms were damp with sweat.

‘Describe the vertebra, please,’ the first questioner began. Aileen couldn’t believe her luck. She had actually been reading it up outside as she awaited her turn.

Aileen passed her exams with flying colours and the celebrations that took place the night after the results came out would live long in her memory, as would the hangover she had suffered as a
consequence. The following August, she went to London to take up an appointment in the plush Mayfair Beauty Salon, having been highly recommended by Madame Junot, whose friend owned the salon.

It was the start of a whole new life and though she really missed the girls, and her heart still ached over Liam (and her mother wasn’t talking to her), Aileen knew without doubt that she
had definitely taken a very positive step in her choice of career and that her life could only improve. All the hard work she had put in was starting to pay off and she was quite proud of herself.
She had picked herself up, dusted herself down and got on with it. Now she was finally doing something with her life and even if she wasn’t in a relationship, with luck that would change.
Although this time she would be very wary and married men were strictly off limits. Once bitten, twice shy and all that.

Listening to Cassie’s regular breathing in the bed opposite her, Aileen smiled. It was lovely to be home for Laura’s wedding. She’d thoroughly enjoyed her day with the girls,
and Cassie coming to London to work in the New Year was something she was really looking forward to. Turning onto her stomach and resting her face on her hand Aileen fell asleep and had the most
satisfying erotic dream involving Rod Taylor. Or was it Richard Burton? It didn’t matter . . .

The niggle of disquiet wouldn’t go away and for the umpteenth time that day, Cassie found herself casting an anxious look at the clock. It didn’t help that she had
a hangover from the night before. From the sitting-room she could hear appreciative ‘mmms’ from Laura as she submitted herself to Aileen’s ministrations and had a facial. Robbie
had told her he’d be at the flat with the wedding cake around eleven. It was now ten to twelve and there was no sign of him. She had rung his apartment in case he stopped there first but
there was no answer.

He could have got a puncture on the way down from Drogheda; he could have slept it out; he could have called on his parents. Why did she always have to think the worst, Cassie scolded herself,
as she tidied up the kitchen after the long, gossipy breakfast they had enjoyed. Barbara flounced in with a face on her. ‘Not much chance of getting a lie-in with the racket you lot are
making,’ she growled.

‘Oh Barbara, don’t be such a grouch. It’s Laura’s last day as a single woman. You should have gone home for the weekend if you wanted peace and quiet,’ Cassie
retorted.

Her sister raised an indignant eyebrow. ‘Well, I ask you! That’s really cool.’

‘I’m going to Mass, Barbara. I left a cooked breakfast keeping warm over the saucepan for you if you want it.’

Barbara was slightly mollified.

Actually Cassie hadn’t intended going to Mass this Sunday morning but she wasn’t in the humour for Barbara and, besides, a few extra prayers for Robbie wouldn’t go amiss.

She popped her head around the sitting-room door. ‘Girls, I’m just off to Mass. Won’t be long.’

Laura, swathed in towels, grunted. Aileen waved an oily hand. ‘Don’t rush. This one here is a disaster area, believe me. I’ve got my work cut out for me.’

It was a crisp, bright morning, and despite the fact that it was the end of October it was quite mild. Cassie walked briskly along Beechwood Avenue towards the church. That old familiar anxiety
chilled the pit of her stomach and she felt terribly heavyhearted, all the old fears resurfacing because of Robbie’s non-appearance.

Stop worrying, she told herself; there’s an explanation. I’m sure he hasn’t gone back on the booze. Why would he, after all this time? She tried to reassure herself as the
priest gave the blessing and the Mass began. She murmured the responses automatically, her mind miles away, going over and over the details of the arrangements she had made with Robbie.

Robbie had gone up to Drogheda to a friend of his who was a hotel chef. His friend had made Laura’s wedding cake and Robbie was to deliver it to the flat in Ranelagh. That had been the
plan. He had gone up on Friday night, phoned her on his arrival, and phoned again on Saturday morning. He had sounded fine on both occasions, his usual cheerful self. He hadn’t phoned on
Saturday night because he knew Cassie and the girls were going out. She was terrible for not trusting him. She was daft to be worrying, she told herself, as the priest began his sermon. It was
always the same, though, if he were a bit late meeting her or phoning her. She always assumed the worst, because so often in the past the worst had been the reality.

He’s in AA; he’s stopped drinking, she told herself fiercely.

It’s the October weekend and he’s with an old drinking buddy, shot back her devil’s advocate. O Sacred Heart of Jesus, I place all my trust in thee. O Jesus, please don’t
let him be drinking, she implored the Almighty in a silent, heartfelt plea.