Francesca's Party (12 page)

‘There’re the Christmas cards that have arrived so far. I’m not sending cards this year,’ she’d informed him curtly on his last visit to the house.

‘That’s a bit rude,’ he’d remarked coolly.

‘What do you want me to do? Write and say, “Happy Christmas, love Francesca, Mark,
Nikki
and family”?’ she drawled sarcastically.

‘There’s no need for that,’ he snapped.

‘Look, Mark, it might come as a surprise to you, but I won’t be celebrating Christmas this year and when Owen is gone, I won’t be putting on a good face for anyone. And if that doesn’t suit you, tough.’

‘What are you doing for Christmas?’ he asked diffidently.

‘As if you care.’ She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.

‘I do care. If you want me to, I’ll have lunch with you, so that you won’t be on your own.’

‘How … kind …’ she said scornfully. ‘Don’t worry about me, Mark. I’ve made my own arrangements, thank you very much.’

‘Look, I’m just trying to make this a little bit easier all round,’ he said heatedly. ‘Let’s at least try and be civilized.’

‘ “
Try and be civilized
,” ’ she echoed. ‘Of course. Why not? Much
easier
to pretend we’re civilized, much easier for
you
than for me to behave like a wagon that right now just hates your guts. Stop treating me like an idiot, Mark, and at least acknowledge that I’ve a right to my feelings no matter how uncomfortable they make you,’ she stormed, turning on her heel and walking out of the lounge.

He didn’t follow and shortly after she heard him
leave.
It was the last time she saw him before Christmas.

She spent the two days following Owen’s departure ensconced in her bed, drained and exhausted, unable and unwilling to make an effort to see or talk to people. She turned the phone down, unplugged the extension in her bedroom and when it rang, as it did constantly, didn’t answer it. She knew that friends were phoning to make arrangements to meet over Christmas as they usually did but she could not bring herself to talk to them or to tell them of her new circumstances. When Millie called to see her, concerned, she simply said that she had a bit of a cold and she was staying in bed to shake it off and that she’d see her on Christmas Eve. With just the faithful Trixie for company she shut out the world and wallowed in her misery.

It was a relief not to have to make the effort even to dress herself. She lay in bed replaying every key scene between herself and Mark and when she got tired of that she fantasized about meeting a wealthy, gorgeous, handsome man who would sweep her off her feet. She visualized with pleasure Mark’s horror when he realized that he’d lost her for good and had no hope of getting her back. An even better fantasy was of him coming to the understanding that it was she, not Nikki, that he wanted to spend his life with. She spent hours creating and polishing the scene where he begged her to take him back, telling her what a fool he’d been, and she telling him that she didn’t want him. She had a new life to lead.

In between her fantasies, she drowsed and tried to read, but she couldn’t concentrate on her book, her
thoughts
invariably returning to her own far more consuming trauma.

By Christmas Eve she was heartily sick of herself and desperately lonely. She went to the hairdresser’s for an appointment she’d booked weeks previously and managed to get a manicure as well. It lifted her spirits somewhat and gave her enough of a boost to finish the Christmas shopping that she had left until the last minute.

Look at me, I’m shopping. I’m being normal even though my life is destroyed
, she thought in faint astonishment as she flicked through racks of little girls’ outfits in Adams. Two hours in Grafton Street and Wicklow Street were all her frayed nerves could take and she scurried back to Duke Street car park and inched her way home in the chaotic Christmas Eve traffic.

The house was mausoleum silent. Francesca stood in the hall, cuddling Trixie who came scudding out to greet her. It was the weirdest Christmas Eve that she had ever spent, she reflected as she flicked through the last-minute post. Usually the house would be alive with the sounds and scents of Christmas. She’d be up to her eyes preparing for the champagne and smoked salmon supper they always had for friends and neighbours before going to Midnight Mass with Mark and the boys and, of course, Gerald. A big bedecked tree would grace the lounge, the open fire would be blazing and the house would be decorated with enormous arrangements of holly, poinsettias, azaleas, roses and chrysanthemums.

This year, not one festive flower arrangement, glittering bauble or otherwise decorated the house.
There
was nothing to indicate that it was anything other than an ordinary day. It was like the house of a bereaved person, which she was in a way, she acknowledged. She didn’t want to be here, she thought despondently. The phone rang; she ignored it. When Christmas was over she’d write a note to all her friends telling them that she and Mark were separated. It would be the easiest thing to do, she thought wearily. Right now she was like the proverbial ostrich and the more sand she could bury her head in the better.

Throwing a few clothes into a case, she gathered together the champagne, smoked salmon, pâtés, cheeses and other foodstuffs that she was taking to Millie’s and packed up the car. Ten minutes later, with the house locked up and alarmed and Trixie on her rug in the back seat, she drove down the drive and didn’t look back. The sooner Christmas was over and life was back to some semblance of normality the better. Although Millie had told her that she could be as miserable as she liked, she knew that she would have to make some effort not to ruin their Christmas. The thought of it daunted her.

I hope that Nikki bitch chokes on her turkey drumstick, and Mark too, she thought savagely as she closed the wrought-iron gates behind her and headed off to her sister’s house.

MARK STOOD FROWNING
in front of a jeweller’s window in Wicklow Street. What on earth was he going to give Nikki for Christmas? He should have bought something the last time he was in Brussels instead of leaving it until the last minute. Shopping on Christmas Eve was a nightmare. He studied the contents of the window intently. He didn’t want to send the wrong message. A ring would be far too personal. Women had a way of getting the wrong idea when you gave them a ring. Earrings, even though she wore them all the time, were a bit too wishy-washy as a gift and very much a matter of personal taste.

It was strange to be standing outside a jeweller’s and not to be looking for a gift for Francesca. He would have liked to exchange Christmas presents with her. Just because he was with Nikki didn’t mean that he no longer had feelings for her. Francesca had been part of the tapestry of his life for so long, and always would be, if she wanted to. But right now she
didn’t
want to have anything to do with him. Women were so intense about these things, dwelling on imagined slights and affronts. Seeing insults where none was intended. Why did she have to take it all so personally? Couldn’t she understand his point of view at all? It wasn’t as if he’d cut off her cash and cancelled her credit cards. He’d behaved in a most generous manner, he thought, aggrieved, as he moved along to where the watches were displayed.

You’d think he was a murderer or something the way Owen was treating him. At least Jonathan had been a bit more civil, if very shocked when he’d phoned him with the news.

‘I think you’re making a big mistake, Dad,’ he’d remonstrated. ‘Maybe you and Mam should go and have counselling.’ How American, Mark had thought, but he’d given some non-committal answer and had told Jonathan that he would keep in touch. He hadn’t been half as judgemental as Owen. But then he was living in a culture where marriage break-up was a way of life. He was obviously more of a realist about it all. Owen had gone to America without even saying goodbye. That had cut Mark to the quick. His own son had disowned him.

He straightened his shoulders and walked into the shop. He’d seen the watch that he would buy for Nikki. That was one task to cross off his ‘to do’ list. It was a Swiss timepiece, a Corum Padlock watch, inlaid with tiny diamonds. Very Nikki. He was sure she’d like it.

Later, as he sat sipping a latte that he didn’t really want, he knew that he was going to have to go and visit his father. He’d told Gerald that Francesca was
very
under the weather – woman’s trouble, he’d lied – and said that she was unable to have Christmas as usual this year. He’d told Gerald to contact him on his mobile if he needed him and not to phone the house under any circumstances as Francesca’s nerves weren’t the best and the phone was driving her mad.

His father had been most put out and had promptly set about foisting himself on a first cousin that he played bridge with for Christmas lunch. He’d have to tell Gerald the truth in the new year, Mark decided glumly.

He hoped Nikki liked the watch. He hadn’t seen much of her in the past few days, he thought ruefully. She had a hectic social life and she was partying like mad. She’d asked him to accompany her but he’d balked at the idea.

‘Let’s wait until next year,’ he’d suggested. ‘As soon as I tell people at work about the separation.’ She wasn’t happy at his dithering. She wanted them to appear at functions as a couple, but he was reluctant to go public yet. He didn’t want people knowing about his private business.

He’d told his colleagues at work that Francesca had a very bad flu and he wouldn’t be going to the big Christmas party that was held every year. He’d said the same to friends who’d issued invites to this do and that. It was a strain lying to people and then trying to remember what lies he’d told. Nikki was losing patience with him. He felt pressurized.

Didn’t she realize how difficult it was for him right now? He had so many new sets of circumstances to adjust to, not least living in the apartment with her.

He missed his house, he thought sadly. He missed
the
gracious elegance and spaciousness of it. He missed the gardens. Not that he ever did anything to them, except mow the lawn occasionally. He had a gardener to tend to it once a fortnight or so. But he liked walking or sitting in the large, private, shrub-filled back garden, reading the paper or doing the crossword.

Although he wouldn’t say it to Nikki, he felt trapped sometimes in her first-floor two-bedroom apartment. Although it was bright and spacious as apartments went, he still felt like he was living in an egg box. There was nowhere to get away and be alone. He missed his space. And the noise of the traffic, although masked somewhat by the trees in the landscaped gardens, was a never-ending, intrusive, dull roar that he couldn’t get used to. He wasn’t sleeping well at all. Nikki was a fidgety, twitchy sleeper, unlike Francesca who conked out once she hit the pillow and rarely changed position. She was sex mad too. He was exhausted trying to keep up with her. He was petrified he’d wilt on her some day and disappoint her. How Francesca would laugh at that, he thought wryly. So much for feeling young again.

The whole bloody thing had turned into such a nightmare since Francesca had found out about them. Some men got away with it for years. How had he been so bloody unfortunate? he thought sorrowfully as he picked up his parcels and emerged into the hordes of last minute shoppers.

He and Nikki were going to have a candlelit supper, prepared by him. They shared the cooking. He still had to go to Marks & Spencer’s food hall to
get
dill and baby potatoes. He was doing salmon in cream and wine sauce. It was the easiest dish that he could think of at the moment but when he saw the queues and the big trolley loads at the check-outs, he turned on his heel and hurried back towards Stephen’s Green where his car was parked in the bank’s underground car park. He’d call into Superquinn in Sutton, it was on his route home.

Mark was halfway down Dawson Street before he remembered that he didn’t live in Howth any more and Sutton wasn’t on his route home now. It was a very forlorn moment. He’d never felt as lonely in his life.

Nikki put the finishing touches to wrapping the luxurious terry-towelling robe she’d bought for Mark’s Christmas present. In one pocket she’d put the latest Terry Pratchett novel, in the other a pale yellow and grey silk tie that he’d admired one day when they were out shopping and an expensive Grand Cru that he particularly liked. She’d spent time deciding what to buy him. She wanted him to like his presents.

She sighed. Mark was terribly unsettled. Moody even. It was very frustrating. She could see that it had been a great upheaval in his life but it was time that he faced facts. His marriage was over, he had to get on with it. Every time he went home to Francesca he’d come back in a ferociously bad humour. It disturbed her that his wife still had such an effect on him. Why couldn’t he just get on with enjoying life with her? It could be so good if only he’d relax and let go of the past.

It hurt that he wouldn’t accompany her to any of the Christmas parties she’d attended. It
really
hurt that, to all intents and purposes, no-one knew about their relationship at work and people still thought that he was happily married to Francesca. But she was afraid to put pressure on him in case he upped and left. That would be a fatal mistake. At least they were going into a new year and things might move forwards, she consoled herself as she placed an elegant red bow on the crisp gold paper she’d used. She surveyed the parcel. It looked mysterious and sophisticated and not a bit garish, she thought with pleasure. Just like the image she liked to portray. If the hot shots at work who thought she was such a cool bitch could see her now, wouldn’t they gloat, she thought wryly. She who had always said that no man was more important than her career. She’d believed it once too, in her late twenties. Until she’d got involved with Mark, relationships had certainly played second fiddle to her career. But this was different. She loved Mark. He was a complex, challenging man to love, but she’d relish the undertaking much more if she knew there was going to be a positive outcome. Maybe they should get a place together and move. It might feel more like his place. This apartment had her stamp firmly upon it. But she liked it. It represented the sum of her achievements and financially it was her biggest asset.