Never Too Late (6 page)

Olivia and Sasha were leaving for a day’s shopping.

‘As we’re not having you for Christmas Day, we’ve come

to give Sasha her presents,’ Cedric told a startled Olivia at

ten in the morning, breezing into the apartment lugging a

large suitcase, with Sheilagh close behind, beady eyes on

the lookout for dust.

‘How lovely to see you,’ mouthed Olivia weakly. What

else could she say? Apart from ‘you could have phoned

first’.

‘Stephen’s away in Frankfurt,’ she said, as they settled

themselves on the cream leather couches in the airy,

off-white living room.

Stephen was so proud of those couches. They went

perfectly with the blond polished wooden floors, the

modern Scandinavian furniture and the single driftwood

sculpture on the facing wall. Sasha wasn’t allowed to play

on the couches or on the butter-coloured wool rug placed

just so in front of the fireplace.

‘I know he’s not here,’ Cedric said complacently, ‘and I

know you’re coming to us in the New Year, but we’ve

come to visit you and Sasha now, Olivia, my dear. We

thought we could get some last-minute shopping if you’d

drive us into the city and, I must admit, I’d love a cup of

Lapsang, I’m parched.’

‘Sorry,’ Olivia apologised. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ She was

always apologising when Stephen’s parents were around.

In the stainless steel kitchen, Sasha was sitting under the

bleached maple table playing with her colouring pens: the

bright, indelible acid greens and luminous pinks that she

loved and that didn’t wash off. Olivia was sick with nerves

keeping them away from the precious leather couches.

‘Are we not going shopping now, Mummy?’ she asked in

a voice that was surprisingly grave for a four year old.

‘No, Sasha,’ Olivia said resignedly as she wondered when

she’d ever get time to shop now. After a manic two days

correcting exam papers so she wouldn’t have to do them

during the holidays and waste her precious time with

Stephen, she had banked on getting everything done today,

including buying all the food and picking up a gift for her

father, who was impossible to buy for. But how could she

go shopping with Cedric and Sheilagh ensconced here

demanding to be entertained, fed and kept supplied with

copious amounts of Lapsang Souchong at hourly intervals?

Why couldn’t they drink normal tea like normal people?

And how could she tell them they’d have to leave by six

the following evening because she and Stephen had to

drive down to Ballymoreen for the Frasers’ Christmas Eve

drinks party?

Cedric and Sheilagh were already raging that it was

Olivia’s parents’ turn to host Christmas, meaning they’d be

eating their Christmas lunch alone. There’d be World War

Three if Olivia turfed them out of the apartment before

they felt inclined to go.

‘Sasha’s at that wonderful age when it’s a joy to see her

opening her presents on Christmas morning,’ Sheilagh had

said earlier, laying on the guilt with a trowel and ostentatiously wiping away a tear as she placed the presents under

Olivia’s tree.

Olivia felt like a criminal, denying a little old lady time

with her only son’s offspring. But as the day progressed

with unbelievable slowness, she noticed that neither

Sheilagh nor Cedric paid that much attention to their

adorable four-year-old grand-daughter even when she was

right under their noses: Sasha had spent ages in the

kitchen quietly making cards with her pens, gold and

silver stars, glitter and the child-safe glue Olivia had

bought for her.

Olivia loved watching her: the small face screwed up in

concentration, the chubby little fingers remarkably dextrous

as she decorated a smiley face with long, golden hair:

‘Like yours, Mummy.’

Sheilagh had never ventured in once, except when

looking for tea and biscuits. It’s as if our home is some sort

of posh station waiting room, Olivia thought with a flash

of irritation, somewhere to relax after the journey from

Navan before being chauffeured off shopping. Seeing

Sasha to give her her presents was just an excuse.

Stop it, she commanded. That’s uncharitable. They love

Sasha, she’s their only grandchild and of course they want

to spend time with her. They’re simply not any good with

children. Or with adults, the little devil in her head

muttered.

In the end, she’d only managed to escape the apartment

late that evening when Sasha was in bed and Sheilagh was

settling in for the night with her cocoa and a mountain of

shortbread to watch Emmerdale and The Bill.

‘I’ll just run to the supermarket,’ Olivia said gaily,

politely hiding the fact that she was exhausted after a day

of cooking and tidying up behind her guests, not to

mention the trauma of braving the three-mile traffic jam

into Dublin’s city centre because Sheilagh had a fancy to

pick up some last minute gifts in Arnott’s.

‘You run along, Olivia,’ Cedric said magnanimously. ‘I’ll

wash up here.’

Olivia stifled the retort that the only washing up left

were his and Sheilagh’s last couple of tea cups, as she had

already tidied up after the enormous dinner, scrubbing

saucepans until her arms ached while the dishwasher

trundled through the dishes. But she’d been so grateful to

escape that she’d said nothing and smiled politely as she

shut the apartment door as quietly as she could.

‘Five pounds and thirty-two pence,’ counted the checkout

girl as she handed Olivia her change.

‘Thanks.’ She manhandled the unwilling trolley towards

the door.

The security guard pulling down the supermarket shutters

gave her a hot, admiring glance as she left, taking in

the tall, slim figure and the beautiful face. Men always

noticed Olivia, even when she was slumming it in her

ancient and very comfortable Indian fringed skirt, too-large

black coat with threadbare patches and flat suede boots

she’d had for at least ten years.

Flowing layers of fabric couldn’t hide the elegant, graceful

body or the oval face with slanting silver-grey eyes and

pale, full-lipped mouth.

If anything, her eccentric style of dress heightened her

unusual looks. Fashionable, tight and sexy clothes were

too brash and in-your-face for someone like Olivia, who

was more at home in antique chiffon blouses and long

Edwardian dresses she picked up in flea markets than in

the chic modern clothes Stephen liked her to wear.

Olivia smiled faintly at the security guard, the way she

acknowledged everyone, friend or stranger. She couldn’t

help it: it was a reflex action.

‘You’re not like most beautiful people, Olivia,’ Rosie had

said recently, faintly disapproving. ‘You’re nice to everyone.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’ she had demanded easily. She

never minded what Rosie said to her. She adored her

bolshie seventeen-year-old goddaughter.

‘Too nice,’ Rosie had pointed out crisply.

Now Olivia stowed the bags in the boot of the Golf,

shivering in the icy night air.

She’d love to pop over to Evie’s for a few minutes. She

had no desire to rush home and she hadn’t bought

anything instantly perishable. If she had, Olivia thought as

she fiddled with the heater, it’d remain frozen no matter

how long she spent with Evie and Rosie. It was freezing

outside and, since the twelve-year-old Golf’s heater only

worked sporadically, it was pretty cold inside the car too.

That was it, she’d go to Evie’s. After the hellish day she’d

had, it would be lovely to sit in her pretty sitting room in

front of the fire and gossip.

Then she remembered - Evie was at Simon’s office

party. Shit. Sitting in the car staring blankly at the supermarket lit up with fairy lights, tinsel and overindulgent

sprawls of fake snow, Olivia felt like crying. She must be

pre-menstrual, she thought, searching blindly in her handbag

for a tissue.

Everything had gone wrong all week, finishing up with

horrible Cheryl Dennis’s mince-throwing session on the

last day of term. Now she was stuck with bloody Sheilagh

and Cedric for the night. They wouldn’t go to bed until

very late, while she, who had a mountain of quiches to

bake the following morning, had to get up at six.

Half an hour chatting with Evie would have cheered her

up enough to cope. She blew her nose and thought of what

her friend would say about the MacKenzie Seniors. Indeed,

what Evie already had said about them: ‘Those people

have no bloody manners - they need the short, sharp shock

treatment. They’re so thick-skinned, it’s the only thing

that’ll work.’ Her advice would be brusque now: Tell

them you’ve got a lot to do so you’re going to bed early.

Explain that they can look after themselves tomorrow

and,’ Evie would pause for effect, her forehead scrunched

up crossly, ‘tell them to phone next time they plan to stay

with you. I don’t know why you can’t say it, Olivia. They’ll

haunt you for the rest of your life if you don’t get firm

with them sometime.’

Dear Evie was so protective of her but she was right,

Olivia was perfectly aware of that. Still, it was one thing thinking up all the tough things she’d like to say to her pushy, inconsiderate in-laws. It was another thing entirely

actually saying any of them. And being so blunt would hurt

Stephen dreadfully because he idolised his parents. Olivia

wouldn’t hurt him for the world.

‘I’m home,’ she said brightly, dragging the first batch of

shopping into the apartment. That was one of the huge

disadvantages of high-rise living - it took several goes to

lug the groceries up from the car park because the lift was

too unreliable to get it to wait while she dragged six or

seven bags to the front door.

More than once, the lift doors had slammed shut on half

of Olivia’s shopping as she struggled to drag the first

instalment across the landing and in the front door.

‘It never happens to me,’ Stephen had pointed out when

she’d complained about it.

Olivia was too loyal to remark that he’d only done the big

grocery shop once when she was in bed with bronchitis, so

he was hardly an expert on the subject.

Now she dumped the bags in the kitchen and poked her

head into the sitting room where Cedric and Sheilagh

were watching the news.

Cedric was sitting ramrod straight on one couch, that

day’s newspaper all over the floor, while Sheilagh lay prone

on the other, looking like a giant, plump strawberry in the

pink velour tracksuit that did nothing for either her hefty

figure or her purple-tinged frosted hairdo.

‘I’m home,’ Olivia said again. ‘I’m just getting the

shopping from the car.’

‘Oh, hello,’ said Sheilagh.

Neither of them moved a muscle.

Olivia turned to collect the second hundredweight of

shopping.

She’d just dumped it on to the kitchen floor when

Cedric called out: ‘Did you remember to get a lemon,

dear? You’ve none in the fridge and I love it in my tea.’

Meaning, Olivia simmered, that you’d like more tea, with lemon this time.

She gazed at the shortbread crumbs decorating her previously

spotless worktops. For someone who claimed to be a

martyr to her wheat and dairy allergies, Sheilagh certainly

could put away biscuits like there was no tomorrow.

Count to ten, she thought, as she boiled the kettle again.

Her guests were still animated at half-eleven. Sitting on

the crouch while Cedric regaled her and Sheilagh with

some long-winded story about his optician’s shop, Olivia

marvelled at how her father-in-law could look so like her

beloved husband and yet be so utterly unlike him in every

other way.

Both men shared the same lean build, although Stephen

was broader thanks to his regular workouts in the gym.

And they both had tightly curled dark hair, olive skin and

fathomless black eyes that spoke of Italian ancestry somewhere

along the way (Cedric’s grandmother had been

from Naples).

But while Cedric was self-obsessed, strait-laced and very

fond of the sound of his own voice, Stephen was outgoing,

the life of every party, ambitious and very passionate.

That’s what had drawn her to him, Olivia thought, wishing

he was here right now.

They’d been introduced at a dinner party twelve years

previously and had fallen madly, passionately in love with

each other. After a whirlwind romance when they’d spent

every spare moment in bed, they’d got engaged within

three months and married six months later.

At the time, Olivia had been working in the local tech by

day teaching home economics, and giving cookery demonstrations

at night to make enough money to travel round

the world. Stephen had just joined Clifden International.

Once they got married, he told her she didn’t need to

kill herself with two jobs and then somehow Olivia had