Never Too Late (52 page)

now …’

‘… what with all that divorce,’ put in Sheilagh, her

hard little eyes gleaming with rage.

‘Well,’ Olivia said, finally losing her own temper, ‘thanks

to your meddling, perhaps Stephen and I will be getting a

divorce, so then I’ll be needing my own name after all.’

Cedric spluttered and Sheilagh went another shade

darker, a colour that usually made casualty department

doctors ring up the cardiac specialist.

There’s never been divorce in our family,’ she hissed

with all the venom of a rattlesnake.

Olivia stared back at her parents-in-law. She’d have

loved to have said that if they hadn’t brought Stephen up

to be a domineering, anal-retentive control freak, then

divorce wouldn’t be in prospect. But he was and it was, she

realised calmly. Anyway, she didn’t want to reveal her inner

misery to Cedric and Sheilagh.

‘Let’s hope there won’t be one this time either,’ she said,

‘but your involvement hasn’t helped. Goodnight.’

She left the room and went quietly to her bedroom.

They’d stayed here many times before: they knew where

everything was, including the front door. And it Stephen

had a problem with Olivia finally standing up for herself

when it came to his parents, then tough.

It was too much to expect that they’d be gone when

she came home the following day just after lunch, after

having picked Sasha up from the creche. The hum of a

hairdryer and the blaring television still on in the sitting

room told her that Sheilagh was doing her hair and

Cedric was glued to afternoon TV. They may have known

when they weren’t wanted but that didn’t mean they’d

actually leave.

Tired of the air of gloom hanging over the apartment,

Olivia went into the kitchen and turned the radio on full

blast. Offspring’s latest hit pumped out violently, all heavy

guitars and an ambient beat that sounded as if you’d want

to be taking at least a few kilos of drugs to really get into.

She grinned. Sheilagh would hate it.

‘We had our lunch,’ Cedric said, appearing at the door

looking mildly shamefaced.

‘You have?’ Olivia was surprised. Usually their idea of

lunch meant half an hour tidying up for her.

‘We’re going in a few minutes, I’ve booked a taxi.’ He came further into the kitchen. ‘I’m sorry, Olivia,’ he said, startling her as much as if he’d just announced he was a

transvestite. ‘We shouldn’t have interfered. I just reacted

badly, although Sheilagh doesn’t agree with me, if you get

my drift.’

Olivia got it all right. Sheilagh had no intention of ever

apologising for anything: she didn’t think she’d done

anything wrong, and she’d crucify her husband if she knew

he was apologising.

‘I didn’t think about you or the trouble I might cause by

telling Stephen you weren’t using our name - I’m sorry.

I’ve been thinking about it all night.’ Cedric looked downcast.

‘He can be hard to live with, I know. But he does love

you very much.’

‘Love shouldn’t be about control, though, should it?’ she

asked bitterly. What a conversation to be having with your

father-in-law!

Cedric shook his head. “I know. That’s my fault too. I

wanted him to be strong, you see, not a wimp. I’m sorry

he’s so furious with you.’

Olivia’s head shot up. ‘He rang while I was out, didn’t

he?’ she asked.

Her father-in-law nodded. ‘I tried to talk to him but it

was no good. His mother got in there and started giving

out yards …’

‘I did what?’ Sheilagh, hair styled into hard grey sausage

curls clamped to her head, appeared behind her husband,

looking as if she’d been in an overpowering rage for twelve

hours with no sign of a let up. Her face was red and she

was sweating under her sensible white blouse and red

blazer.

‘I was telling Olivia that Stephen’s getting a flight home

this afternoon,’ Cedric said, back to his usual strident

tones.

Jesus! Olivia wanted to collapse. Stephen was coming

home from Germany early. He’d kill her.

Much she cares,’ snapped Sheilagh.

Olivia looked at the woman who’d caused her so much

grief during her marriage, the woman who’d always

resented Olivia’s family background and who’d found

every excuse to complain about her to Stephen. Sheilagh

had whinged about the food, her bedroom and Olivia’s

manners whenever she came to stay. She’d remarked that

working women couldn’t expect to rear children properly;

anything to cause division between her beloved son and that woman he’d married. Olivia felt the years of doing her best to please Sheilagh slip away. You couldn’t please

Sheilagh, so why bother?

‘You know what?’ Olivia said, giving her truthful streak

full rein. ‘You’re a nasty, vindictive woman and I’m sick of

you. I’m not letting Sasha near you ever again in case you

taint her with your horrible opinions on people and your

venomous tongue.’

Her mother-in-law glared at her. ‘You … you can’t do

that! She’s my grand-daughter. What would people think?’

Olivia’s face was a mask of disgust. ‘That’s all you really

care about, Sheilagh: what people think. You couldn’t give

a damn about real people or whether you’ve hurt them or

not. All that matters to you is the surface, your public face,

and making sure you’re in your rightful place at the altar

on Sunday, piously praying. When behind it all you’re

secretly figuring out whose character to assassinate next.’

‘Steady on,’ Cedric said.

‘I don’t do that, said Sheilagh shrilly.

‘Oh, come on.’ Olivia was beyond being polite. ‘When

did you ever come here and say anything nice to me?

When did you come and help, instead of arriving unexpectedly

and demanding I drive you around like a bloody taxi? Did you think I didn’t know you complained behind my back to Stephen if I wasn’t ultra-polite to you or if you

felt you weren’t being looked after properly because you

wanted an extra pillow on your bed?’

‘How dare you speak to me like that? You’re nothing

but a jumped up little tramp, no matter how you

pretend to be better than us, coming from that big

house.’ Sheilagh’s eyes were blazing now as she said all

the things she’d been hinting at for years. ‘Well, we all

know your mother’s nothing but a drunken lush and

that’s probably what you’ll turn out like too. I’ve warned

Stephen.’ She was almost spitting with rage. ‘I’ve told

him you’ll turn out just like her: drunk and sluttish. You

with that long blonde hair, too. It’s ridiculous at your

age! Makes you look common. And all your going on

about your posh family …’

She went on and on but Olivia had stopped paying

attention. What had Stephen thrown at her during that big

fight before Andrew Fraser’s wedding: that she’d turn out

just like her mother? Obviously he and Sheilagh had been

singing from the same hymn sheet. What a pair. No

wonder she and Stephen had been struggling along

together, with his mother as the anti-marriage guidance

counsellor from hell in the background, dispensing her

poison.

The doorbell rang.

‘Our taxi,’ said Cedric, desperately relieved. He scurried

out of the kitchen to answer the door.

Olivia stood as close as she could bear to Sheilagh and

whispered: ‘I will get Nancy Roberts and Theo Jones to

come to Navan, and we’ll have a marvellous time - except you won’t be invited. Nancy will make that plain. She’ll tell everyone that she won’t have anything to do with you

because you’re such a cast-iron bitch to me and Sasha.

Wait till that gets spread around Navan. You’ll be a

laughing stock.’

As if by magic, Sheilagh’s high colour drained away. ‘You

wouldn’t?’ she breathed.

‘Wait and see,’ was Olivia’s reply.

‘Sorry,’ said Cedric helplessly as his wife flounced out of

the front door, not bothering to take either of the suitcases

with her.

Olivia shrugged. ‘I’ve always known what she thinks of

me, now I’ve just told her what I think of her.’

‘But this is so bad for the family …’

Olivia’s voice was hard: ‘Your wife and my husband

worked hard to create this problem, so let them pick up

the pieces, Cedric’

‘Where’s Daddy going?’ Sasha asked, sitting on the bed

and playing zoo with her new elephant and a couple of old

bunnies as Olivia briskly and efficiently packed Stephen’s

clothes into the two largest suitcases they owned.

‘He might be going on a long trip, darling,’ she said

absently. ‘Or he may be staying in the spare room.’

‘Why?’

‘He keeps waking Mummy up in the middle of the night

with his snoring,’ she said, abandoning her task to cuddle

her daughter.

‘Will he be cross with us?’ Sasha asked, her face anxious.

‘No,’ Olivia promised. ‘He won’t.’

She hugged Sasha closer, grimly thinking that this was

something she should have done a long time ago.

‘Goodie. Can Rosie live with us then, and Auntie Evie?’

Sasha loved Rosie with childlike devotion.

Not really, love, they’ll be living with Uncle Simon.’ Or,

at least, Olivia thought they’d be living with Simon. The

last time she and Evie had discussed the wedding, it had gone from being the biggest thrill of Evie’s life to something she apparently didn’t want to discuss. Which didn’t

bode well for the future.

When Stephen’s key turned in the lock that evening,

Olivia had two suitcases and four boxes of stuff ready for

him in the hall; the boxes containing his books, office files,

CDs, the CD player, and the contents of his drawers. At

first, she’d only packed clothes for him as if he was going

on a particularly long business trip but after a while had

decided that they needed a complete break. The only way

to get him out was to shock him and packing up all his

possessions would certainly do that.

‘What the fuck is going on?’ he roared on seeing the

boxes.

It was business as usual. Olivia steeled herself for the

inevitable battle. Do not back down, she told herself again

and again as she walked from the bedroom into the hall.

‘What’s going on? Why have you packed up my stuff?’

Tall, dark and handsome in a grey suit and charcoal tie,

Stephen would have turned any woman’s eye if it hadn’t

been for the fury on his face. Almost speechless with

temper, he gestured at the boxes and cases and asked:

‘What is going on, Olivia?’

Determined not to betray how scared she was, she stared

back. ‘Until we sort out our differences, it makes sense that

you move out.’

‘Differences! What bloody differences?’

‘The differences that mean you scream down the phone

at me, effing and blinding simply because I did something

with my life you didn’t know about.’

‘Oh, yes, your “job”,’ he sneered, draping his suit jacket

over the hall chair.

‘That, Stephen, is my point. I have a new job and it’s

none of your business. I want you to move out. I want a

trial separation, it’s not open to discussion. Don’t try to

bully me’

‘You can’t throw me out of my own house,’ he said,

outraged. ‘I bought it, it’s mine.’

‘Is it?’ she said coolly. “I seem to recall my parents giving

as twenty percent of the purchase price as a wedding

present. Doesn’t that mean I have a bigger stake in it than

you?’

He shook his head impatiently. ‘Let’s get back to the

main issue here. You’re just fooling around like this

because you want this job and I don’t approve.’ He

advanced and took her hand in his, a pleading expression

on his face now. ‘We can talk about it, if it means that

much to you. I don’t approve …’

‘Stephen.’ She wrenched her hand away from his. ‘I

don’t need your approval. I’m an adult, and I’m sick to the

teeth of you bossing me around as if I’m some sort of

half-wit. I’m not. I’m not Mother Hen or Dopey Olivia.

I’m a person and you are no longer controlling my life.

You’re domineering, aggressive, and it’s got to stop.’

Stephen sat down on a chair as if his legs had lost their

strength and he needed to sit before he fell. He seemed

genuinely amazed, astonished that she could see his behaviour

as anything other than justified.

‘But I love you! I only want what’s right for you,’ he

protested. ‘I only tell you what to do so I can protect you,

take care of you.’

‘I married you, Stephen, I didn’t want to marry a force of

nature. That’s what you’re like: a tornado or a tidal wave.

You engulf everything that gets in your way. “Protecting”

me means babying me, treating me like a kid. You never

ask me what I want to do, you totally ignore my needs.’

Needs?’ he said, stung. ‘I know where you’ve been

getting all of this. From those bloody women’s magazines with their “relationship” sections. How to whip your man into shape-tell him he’s a force of nature and doesn’t listen to your needs. God, that crap makes me sick! It’s all psychobabble anyway.’

Olivia felt herself weakening. It was so difficult, standing