Never Too Late (51 page)

Stephen and having his father find out about his wife’s

television appearance before he did would certainly rank as

humiliating. Why hadn’t she thought that anybody connected

to Stephen would see the show? Why had she been

so bloody stupid?

Because you were so delighted with yourself that’s why,

sang an evil little voice in her head. ‘Pride goes before a

fall,’ her mother had always said puritanically, although she

only ever said it during those years when Olivia’s beauty

had blossomed and never applied the proverb to herself.

Olivia stared at the phone, waiting for it to ring loudly at

any minute with Stephen breathing fire and brimstone

down the line from Germany. He’d phone again, she knew

he would.

The piercing ring of the doorbell made her jump and

spill half her cup of tea on to the floor. She gasped in

shock. It couldn’t be Stephen. He couldn’t have got home

from Germany that quickly. Opening the door gingerly, as

if she expected something black, cloven-hooved and

brandishing a giant pitchfork to be standing there malevolently, Olivia peered out.

There, hidden behind a giant bouquet of early-summer

flowers, stood her next-door neighbour, Gloria. A redheaded

air stewardess who lived alone, Gloria had

incurred Stephen’s wrath years before for having the odd

wild party where seventies disco music blared through

the thin walls and, therefore, never called round when he

was there.

‘Is this a good time, Olivia?’ she said in her breathy,

little-girl voice. Meaning: Is your husband there? Olivia

knew.

‘Wonderful time,’ she said, just as grateful as Gloria that

Stephen was thousands of miles away. ‘Do come in.’

‘These were delivered earlier and I took them in for

you,’ Gloria said, handing over the giant, sweet-smelling

bouquet. ‘They are beautiful. I do hope you haven’t been a

naughty girl.’ She giggled. ‘That’s my job.’

Never seen without the expertly applied cosmetics that

transformed her from an ordinary-looking girl into a femme

fatale in an Aer Lingus uniform, Gloria was a complete

chatterbox who’d talk all day if you let her.

Normally, Olivia was too busy drumming up three

course meals to keep Stephen happy to have time to talk.

But today, jittery with shock and desperate to gabble to somebody about what had happened, she dragged Gloria into the sitting room, made them two giant drinks and

spilled her heart out.

‘I never meant not to tell Stephen,’ she said, shaking so

much that Gloria was afraid Olivia’s Bailey’s and ice was

going to hit the floor. ‘I mean, we all have secrets and it’s

just the way it turned out. But if I’d ever dreamed he’d

find out this way … And he’ll go mad! I know nobody

believes it, he’s a bit of a house devil, street angel, but …’

Gloria, very kind and used to dealing with nervous fliers

on the Dublin to New York route, sat beside Olivia and

put an arm around her. ‘Don’t panic, lovie,’ she said, ‘Have

your drink.’

Like a child being told to drink up her milk, Olivia

obediently sipped her Bailey’s while Gloria kept up a flow

of meaningless conversation intended to relax her.

Then are gas, aren’t they?’ she went on. ‘We all think

they’re the answer to our prayers and when we have

them, they drive us mad. I know your Stephen is a bit,’

she paused delicately, ‘sensitive and tricky. But he’ll come

round. The thing is, you’ve got to stand up to him, lovie.

Tell him you’re his dear wife but you’ve got your own

career. It’d be different if you were fighting over something

else but with this television show, he should watch

out. There’ll be dozens of men dying to date the glam

telly cook and your Stephen ought to cop on to himself or

he’ll be cooking dinner for one soon. Now, let’s see who

those flowers are from. I’ll put them in water and you

read your card.’

She handed Olivia the envelope that came with the

flowers and went into the kitchen in search of a vase.

Feeling so much better after a bit of sisterly support and a

glass of Bailey’s, Olivia ripped open the envelope and

smiled fondly.

‘Congrats on a brilliant TV debut. Paul and the team reckon

they’ve found a new star. So do I. Best wishes, Max Stewart,’ read the card. Dear Max, he was so kind and supportive.

In the kitchen, she found Sasha and Gloria happily

arranging the flowers. Kissing the little girl on top of her

blonde head, Olivia asked Gloria if she could stay a bit

longer.

‘We’ve had a McDonald’s,’ she confessed, ‘but we could

open a bottle of wine and have some cheese and biscuits.’

They were halfway down a bottle of Frascati when the

doorbell rang blisteringly. Much more relaxed and no

longer expecting Stephen to arrive in a demonic rage,

Olivia walked to the door in her stockinged feet and

opened it. Her jaw dropped when she saw Sheilagh and

Cedric on the doorstep, bristling with emotion and carrying

suitcases.

‘Well, you’re the quiet one,’ said Sheilagh, shoving past

her into the hall, leaving Cedric to hump two cases and a

carrier bag of bullet-hard scones in behind her.

“I can’t say we weren’t surprised,’ Sheilagh went on,

dumping her fat cream leather handbag on the floor and

squeezing her plump arms out of her red blazer. ‘But it’s an

interesting job. You’ll have to get Theo or Nancy to do a

special appearance in Miriam’s Boutique in Navan. I was in

there today and said I was sure you’d be able to, seeing as

how you know them. All these famous types love personal

appearances. But this’d be free, of course.’

Striding into the sitting room, she stopped at the sight

of Gloria tucking into spiced Adare cheese and water

biscuits. Not sure that Gloria wasn’t a famous celebrity

she just didn’t recognise, Sheilagh’s face creased up into

a smile.

‘Hullo,’ she said, immediately adopting her posh phone

voice. ‘We’re Stephen’s porents, deloighted to meet you.

I’m Sheilagh and this is Cedric’

Gloria, who recognised Stephen’s parents after being

shoved rudely to the back of the lift by Sheilagh and

numerous carrier bags in a January sale frenzy on several

occasions, drained her glass and got up.

‘Must go,’ she hissed at a still-silent Olivia.

‘So pleased to meet you,’ she trilled at Sheilagh, in her first-class-to-JFK-lounge voice. ‘Have to fly. Love to dear sweet Nancy. Tell her I’ll be in touch,’ she added wickedly.

‘Who was that?’ asked Cedric with interest as Gloria let

herself out with a final goodbye pout at her hostess.

Sheilagh gave him the evil eye and he began humping

their cases down to the spare bedroom.

‘Television people are so rackety,’ Olivia said, suddenly

regaining her composure. ‘Dear Gloria works on the

News.’ she lied, ‘but she’s so unassuming you’d never think

she was in television.’

Sheilagh wasn’t interested in the News. Only lifestyles of

the rich and famous gave her the thrill that Cedric no

longer wanted to. ‘What’s Nancy Roberts like?’ she

demanded, sitting down and helping herself to a lump of

cheese the size of a hamster. ‘Is she lovely?’

About as lovely as you pair are, Olivia reflected.

Cedric and Sheilagh had gone through half a quiche,

four massive baked potatoes and an entire Vienetta by the

time Stephen phoned again.

‘Won’t be a minute.’ Olivia said to her replete guests,

closing the door to the sitting room and taking the phone

into her bedroom.

Stephen was beside himself. ‘What the hell is going on?’

he hissed, obviously not even slightly mollified by the posh

dinner Olivia knew he’d have had in the posh hotel he

always stayed in.

‘By the way, your parents are here,’ she said mildly.

‘I don’t fucking care! What’s this about you on the

television?’

‘Don’t swear. I did a television audition for a morning

programme. They wanted a cookery expert and I went for

the job. I got it and today was my first day.’

‘What!’

Olivia covered the receiver. Gloria, in the apartment

next door, must have heard his roars.

‘I didn’t tell you because I wanted to see if I was any good at it. I thought you’d slag me off for even attempting to appear on television. But it was very good, everyone

thought so.’

‘Jesus Christ, Olivia, are you fucking mad? You go off

and do this thing without even telling me about it and

then I hear from my father. How do you think that makes

me feel?’ Stephen roared.

The telephone receiver is a powerful instrument, Olivia

realised, the thought striking her out of the blue. She dared

to say things to the cream plastic receiver she’d have been

scared to say to Stephen’s face.

‘Stephen, do you ever for one moment contemplate the

fact that what you think and what you feel aren’t the most

important things in the universe?’ she said, finally snapping.

If she could cope with the malicious Cheryl Dennis

and the vicious Nancy Roberts, then her own husband

wasn’t going to trash her. ‘I didn’t tell you because I knew

you’d try and destroy my confidence over this the way you

do with everything else. It’s that simple,’ she said, every

syllable enunciated perfectly. ‘And now that I’m doing it,

getting paid for it and enjoying it, I don’t give a fuck what

you think.’

She could almost hear him recoil at her unexpected use

of the expletive. Olivia never swore.

‘If you want to discuss this, then come home. But don’t

dream of swearing or screaming at me or you’ll find all

the locks changed. I won’t even let you in the spare

room,’ she warned. ‘You can use your precious gold card

to buy you a hotel room. You’ve bullied me for too long,

Stephen. The worm is turning.’ She slammed the phone

down vehemently, feeling the thrill of triumph coursing

through her veins.

In the sitting room, her in-laws were channel surfing

aimlessly. There was nothing on the TV they liked

watching. All the films on these days were ‘rubbish’ and

the late-night chat shows were all populated by ‘young

pups’. Olivia knew what would come next: bored, they’d

start interrogating her as to why Stephen hadn’t known

about her television debut. So far, they’d been too busy

stuffing their faces to ask. But the inquisition was nigh,

she just knew it.

They’d love to be up all night talking about the proud

MacKenzie name, about how much Stephen loved her, and

probably ask if they could get tickets to see their favourite

shows. Olivia, who had to get up the next morning for a

class, wasn’t in the mood. Seeing as how she wasn’t taking

any abuse from Stephen, she wasn’t planning on taking any

from his horrible parents either.

It was half-nine, she realised, wondering where the

evening had gone. She could watch the TV in her bedroom

if she managed to escape from Cedric and Sheilagh. As

long as they had access to the kitchen, they’d survive.

‘Was that Stephen?’ asked Cedric, fixing her with his

beady eye as she came into the room.

‘Yes, it was. Actually, Cedric and Sheilagh,’ she

announced, ‘I’m quite exhausted and I’ve a hectic day

tomorrow so I’m going to bed early. You’ll have to excuse

me

Sheilagh, who had changed into one of her trademark

velour tracksuits - mustard yellow - once she’d realised

there’d be no more glamorous television guests turning up,

looked furious at Olivia’s announcement.

‘After we came all the way up from Navan to see you?’

she said hotly. ‘We need to talk.’

Olivia’s patience, which had taken a severe battering

from Sheilagh and Cedric over the twelve years of their

marriage, was wearing dangerously thin.

‘Sheilagh,’ she said, less tolerantly, ‘I didn’t know you were coming or I would have tried to rearrange my day tomorrow.’

Her mother-in-law went a dark red at the not so subtle

dig.

‘But because you arrived unexpectedly,’ Olivia went on,

‘I haven’t had a chance to rearrange anything and as I’ve

got to be up at seven, I’m going to bed now.’

‘There’s no need to get up on your high horse about it,’

Sheilagh snapped. ‘I’m sure we’d have phoned if we’d had

the chance.’

‘You had the time to phone Stephen in Germany twice,’ Olivia pointed out crisply, ‘so I think you could have managed a call here.’

‘We were worried, that’s all,’ Cedric interrupted, eager

to get his four ha’pence worth in.

‘Worried about what?’

‘About how you’d got on the television and why we

were never told,’ he said. ‘And about why you were using

your maiden name,’ he added sententiously.

‘As if ours isn’t good enough,’ shrieked Sheilagh. ‘We

know when we’re not wanted …’

‘I don’t hold with this modern carry on of women not

taking their husband’s name,’ Cedric continued. ‘It’s a

disgrace, should be outlawed. In my day, women were

proud to take a man’s name. Of course it’s different