My Mother's Secret (9 page)

Then she met Pascal Sheehan. He also worked in the Department of Agriculture and she’d seen him walking around the office before, but their paths didn’t cross until they got into conversation at a booze-up to celebrate a raft of internal promotions and transfers. It’s mad, she said later that evening when she’d blown that week’s travel fund on an unaccustomed amount of cheap white wine, that the first time I get to talk to you is when you’re moving to Revenue.

‘Maybe that’s a good thing,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘After all, it’s hard to go out with someone who works in the same office as you.’

‘Are you asking me out?’

‘Would you like me to?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

He was easy to get on with. She liked being with him. She didn’t mind that he was more organised and methodical than her. He didn’t mind that she was impulsive and untidy, or that from time to time she retreated into her own world. Although they approached life differently, they both liked the same things. But getting married hadn’t been part of the plan. Not when she was still putting money aside for her travel fund.

Now, sitting in her bedroom and fixing her diamond earrings in place, Jenny wondered how it was that the events of forty-odd years ago should be so clear in her mind when there were times she couldn’t even remember what had happened yesterday. Gazing into the mirror, she looked for the person she had been in the reflection of the person she had become.

Leaving aside the older face, drier skin and fine lines (as well as some more obvious wrinkles that not even the most expensive serums had been able to shift), the biggest difference was how groomed she appeared. Of course everyone looked groomed now, thanks to hair-smoothing treatments and skin-perfecting creams and a plethora of products that nobody had heard of in the 1970s. She smiled as she remembered wrestling with her unruly hair before going out with Pascal, desperately trying to tame the wayward curls into something more stylish but inevitably, without a GHD or dry oil to help, failing every time.

She looked at her hair now. Somehow, over the years, it had seemed to tame itself. Maybe it was the result of her regular colouring sessions at the hair salon, supplemented by her weekly blow-dry. Maybe it was the expensive keratin-enriched shampoo she used. For whatever reason, her blond bob was easy to maintain and appropriate for her age. Still, she thought, she’d had an extravagant mane of untamed curls in her youth. Sometimes she missed them.

She picked up her mobile phone. She’d made a late appointment for a blow-dry at Marie’s Klip Joint in the village before going to the restaurant this evening, so she had to text to cancel. Something Roisin hadn’t thought of, mused Jenny as she sent the message. She really wished her daughter had asked her about this party. She knew Roisin had wanted to surprise her, but she didn’t like being surprised. And certainly not like this. Not for this.

The black dress was carefully laid out on the bed. Jenny put it back in the wardrobe. A little black dress was fine for eating out in the poshest restaurant for miles, but totally wrong for a garden party. She looked through her options, finally selecting a white summer dress with a red rose design. It had a fifties retro look with its narrow bodice and wide skirt, and when Jenny had first seen it, she’d been reminded of a day when her own mother, wearing a similar dress, had taken her to the park.

‘You look lovely.’ Pascal walked into the room and kissed her on the nape of the neck.

‘Thanks,’ said Jenny. ‘How are they all downstairs?’

‘Having a great time,’ said Pascal. ‘The girls have managed to get a big crowd together.’

Jenny nodded.

‘You OK?’ he asked.

‘I wish they hadn’t done it.’ Jenny stood up. In her bare feet she reached Pascal’s shoulder, and now she leaned her head against his chest. ‘Perhaps we should have guessed when Roisin asked about the babysitting.’

‘How could we?’

‘I should’ve listened to you before now,’ Jenny said. ‘I should’ve told her we wanted them to come here because we had important stuff to tell them and—’

‘They’d clearly planned this for ages.’ Pascal interrupted her. ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference. Besides, it’s right to celebrate.’

Jenny said nothing.

‘They’re all here to have fun,’ murmured Pascal. ‘And we have to have fun with them.’

‘It’s just …’ Jenny sighed. ‘I suppose I feel like a fraud.’

‘Forty years,’ said Pascal. ‘Nothing fraudulent about that.’

She laughed softly.

‘I always loved you, you know,’ Pascal said. ‘From the moment you walked into the department in that skin-tight tartan dress.’

‘And my red platform boots,’ she remembered. ‘I thought I looked so cool.’

‘You didn’t get the red boots till later,’ he said. ‘I’m remembering your very first day. You were wearing black boots then. I saw you but I was afraid to speak to you.’

She lifted her head. ‘No way.’

‘Yes way.’ He smiled. ‘I thought you were the prettiest girl in the office by a country mile.’

‘But you didn’t speak to me until the day you were being transferred!’ she exclaimed.

‘Shy,’ he said.

This time her laugh was louder. ‘Never.’

‘Absolutely,’ he assured her. ‘I wanted to ask you out but I was afraid you’d turn me down. So the longer I went without asking, the more I could hope that you’d say yes.’

‘You never told me that before.’

‘I like to keep a touch of mystery.’ He smiled.

‘You’re mad, you know that, don’t you?’

‘Everyone has to be a little mad,’ he said.

She rested her head on his chest again.

‘Come on, Jen,’ he said. ‘It’s a day to celebrate.’

‘I …’

‘Everybody’s waiting for us,’ he said.

Jenny sniffed and nodded. She wiped her eyes, thankful that she hadn’t yet applied mascara. Then she touched up her make-up, slid her feet into her favourite high heels and followed Pascal downstairs.

Most of the guests were either on the veranda or wandering around the garden. Jenny watched them for a moment, puzzling over the only person she didn’t recognise, the girl in the canary-yellow dress who was standing close to Carl. Then Steffie came over to her.

‘Oh Mum, you look fantastic!’ she exclaimed. ‘I haven’t seen you wear that before.’

‘Don’t get much opportunity,’ said Jenny. ‘And the black dress would’ve been too heavy for today. If I was forty years younger, I could’ve rocked bright yellow too. Who on earth is that girl? And where’s Bernice?’

As Steffie explained the situation, Jenny continued to observe Carl’s date. Charlie had come up to the group she was in and was trying to position himself beside her, but Summer moved adroitly so that Carl was between them again. Jenny smiled.

‘She’s well able to handle Charlie,’ Steffie remarked. ‘Well able to handle Carl too, I reckon. I don’t know what’s got into him, though. He and Bernice were perfect for each other.’

‘Things go wrong, even in perfect relationships,’ said Jenny.

‘But not for you and Dad.’

‘It wasn’t always perfect. Nothing is.’

‘Well of course not. But you’re the most rock-solid couple I know. Plus you’re my parents. Which is pretty damn perfect from where I’m standing.’ Steffie beamed at her.

Jenny’s smile in return was slightly strained.

‘Are you OK with all this?’ Steffie had noticed the reservation in Jenny’s eyes and understood it. She’d been right about surprises not being Jenny’s thing, and despite the fact that her mother was making the best of it, and was undoubtedly enjoying it to a certain extent, she still believed that Jenny would have preferred a quieter celebration.

‘It’s a very thoughtful gesture,’ her mother replied. ‘Thank you for organising it.’

‘It was Roisin mostly.’

This time Jenny’s smile was broader. ‘I’m sure it was.’

‘Mum! There you are at last.’ Davey waved at her and came over, pulling Camilla by the hand. He embraced Jenny and congratulated her on sticking with his dad for so long, and then, before she had a chance to say anything else, he introduced Camilla.

‘Lovely to meet you,’ said Jenny. She thought about hugging the tall Danish girl, but Camilla didn’t seem to want to be hugged; she simply extended her hand, which Jenny shook.

‘It’s good to meet you too,’ said Camilla. ‘I didn’t realise Davey had such a big family.’

‘Not everyone here is family,’ Jenny said. ‘There are plenty of friends too.’

‘But lots of them are your relations,’ said Camilla. ‘It’s nice.’

‘Yes, it is. Is this your first time in Ireland?’

Camilla nodded. ‘I like it.’

‘Because we’re having such a scorcher,’ said Davey. ‘It makes everything look so green and so gorgeous. The garden has never looked better, Mum.’

‘Thanks to your dad,’ said Jenny. ‘I’m afraid I’m still hopeless at practical things.’

‘Are you busy with your painting?’ asked Camilla. ‘Davey told me you are an artist. I would love to see some of your work.’

‘He can show you,’ said Jenny. ‘It’s scattered around the house. But it’s not that good.’

‘He said you had an exhibition.’

Jenny looked startled. ‘Not really. I had a spot around Merrion Square for a while.’

‘Artists hang their paintings on the railings around the park on Sundays,’ Davey explained. ‘They sell them.’

‘Yes, but when he was younger, yes?’ said Camilla. ‘He told me you had an exhibition overseas.’

‘Oh my goodness, I can’t believe you remembered that, Davey.’ Jenny looked at him in surprise. ‘It wasn’t an exhibition. I went on a painting course.’ She glanced across the lawn. ‘Can you excuse me for a moment, Camilla. My sister is waving at me. I’ll talk to you again later, possibly after you’ve seen my daubs. And Davey, I’m so very glad you came.’

She left them standing together and walked into the garden. The high heels of her shoes kept sinking into the grass, and so, after a few steps, she removed them and swung them from the tips of her fingers.

‘Congratulations,’ said Sarah. ‘Terrific party. Sorry Lucinda and I didn’t manage to co-ordinate our looks.’ She made a face as she caught sight of the youngest of the three sisters, who was talking to Summer and Roisin.

‘These things happen,’ said Jenny. ‘You both look lovely anyway.’

‘Hmm. I would’ve preferred us to look different. Who wears it better? No, don’t answer that. Unfair question. And none of us can hold a candle to the younger generation.’

‘That’s true.’

‘What’s she like?’ Sarah was staring at Summer. ‘And what was he thinking?’

‘God knows,’ said Jenny.

‘It’s a massive mistake.’

‘We all make them.’

‘But Carl, for heaven’s sake! I was a little disappointed when he and Bernice moved in together without getting married, despite the fact that lots of couples do that now. I just expected that one day … And she talked about it occasionally. So I thought they were going to do it eventually. I never imagined … and this girl. Look at her!’

Summer had moved from the group and was now sitting on one of the garden benches, her long golden limbs stretched out in front of her.

‘She’s very pretty,’ said Jenny.

‘Oh come on, Jen! She’s cheap and tarty.’

‘Sarah! That’s an awful thing to say. She’s a bit brash, maybe, but …’

‘OK, OK.’ Sarah grimaced. ‘It’s not her fault she chose to wear a few strips of material and hooker shoes today.’

Jenny shook her head. ‘You’re pissed off with Carl and taking it out on her.’

‘You could be right,’ conceded Sarah. ‘Thing is, I thought I only had one child left to worry about.’

‘Is Colette here?’asked Jenny.

‘At least you know who I mean.’

‘You’re always worrying about Colette,’ Jenny reminded her.

‘Wouldn’t you?’ demanded Sarah. ‘Three fiancés! Three! And not a sniff of her actually ever getting near the altar.’

‘Better she doesn’t get there than it all goes wrong afterwards.’

‘I’d say that if I thought she broke up with them for valid reasons,’ said Sarah. ‘But she can never say why. Only that it didn’t feel right.’

‘It’s a good enough reason.’

‘She has a feckin’ collection of engagement rings but no damn husband.’

‘Maybe she’s better off without one,’ suggested Jenny.

‘That’s hardly a line you can take. Not after forty years of perfection.’ Sarah couldn’t quite keep a smidgeon of envy from her voice.

‘Nothing’s perfect,’ Jenny said for the second time that afternoon. ‘Pascal and I have had to work at things, the same as everyone else.’

‘You must be very proud all the same,’ said Sarah. ‘Of your kids. Of your marriage. Of your forty years.’

‘It’s worked out for me.’

‘Last woman standing,’ said Sarah.

‘Huh?’

‘You. Here am I, divorced. And poor Lucinda never managed to find someone who’d take her and Alivia on. Was it luck or judgement that got you this far, Jenny?’

‘I … I’m not sure.’

‘I remember when you came home,’ said Sarah. ‘All tanned and glowing and looking fabulous. With a wedding ring on your finger.’

‘I remember that too.’

‘Mum was devastated.’

‘She got over it.’

‘When Roisin was born,’ Sarah nodded. ‘And you became the golden girl again.’

‘Oh, stop with that golden girl nonsense,’ said Jenny. ‘It’s all in your head, you know.’

‘No it’s not,’ said Sarah. ‘You always were the best in her eyes. And she’s probably looking down on us all now and thinking you still are.’

Jenny winced. She’d won a gold star for one of her art projects, and for the rest of the day her mother had called her Golden Girl. Sarah had never forgotten it. Because she’d taken it as a slight, a signal that Jenny was the favourite daughter. Which wasn’t true at all. If Kay had had a favourite, Jenny thought, it was Lucinda. She’d always gone easier on Lucinda than anyone else.

‘I’ve been lucky,’ she told Sarah. ‘Things have worked out for me.’

‘And yet they so very nearly didn’t.’

That was true, thought Jenny. But Sarah didn’t know the half of it.

Chapter 9

When Jenny and Pascal touched down at Rome’s Fiumicino airport at the start of their Italian holiday, she almost fainted with excitement. After all of her years of dreaming, she’d finally made it to the Eternal City. Pascal, whom she’d told of her dream, had arranged the trip through a travel agent to surprise her. She’d been completely shocked, especially as they’d only been going out a couple of months and hadn’t even spent a weekend away together, let alone a fortnight. Her parents had been horrified. The idea of their unmarried daughter going away with a man who wasn’t her husband was something they weren’t in the slightest bit happy about.