Invigorated, she dropped her night clothes on the floor, stepped into the shower and stood under the bracing spray scrubbing herself with the loofah.
Once she was dressed she was going to go and get her hair cut. Karen Marshall’s bash was coming up the following week and her hair always looked its best about a week after it was cut. After that, she was going to go for a brisk walk along the Clontarf seafront. She badly needed to start walking again, she was puffed after five minutes these days. Then she was going to buy a load of vegetables and make a huge pot of vegetable soup and live on that for a couple of days now that she wouldn’t have to cook for Owen. Even if she lost half a stone it would make a difference, she decided firmly. She was going to look her very best at this do. That Langan wagon had put iron in her soul. Francesca was
Mrs
Mark Kirwan and that was a title that bitch would never have.
Humming, Francesca ladled on passionfruit gel and lathered it up into a satisfying foam all over. She inhaled the scent with pleasure. Odd though it seemed after such an upsetting encounter, she felt more alive, invigorated and purposeful than she had since the whole sorry saga had begun. Maybe Nikki Langan’s unexpected and unwelcome visit had unwittingly done her a service. It was time to stop
pottering
and get on with her life, Francesca decided as she stood under the water and rinsed the frothy suds from her body.
Nikki felt uncharacteristically flustered as she drove back towards town. The encounter with Francesca had not gone at all as planned. Nikki had expected a short, sharp, ladylike discussion; instead she’d been called names and physically shoved out the front door. Practically assaulted. She could sue, she thought angrily. It was clear Francesca had no intention of being shamed into a divorce. And why would she be? Nikki thought sourly as she did seventy along the Dublin Road (she was in no humour for speed limits today). Francesca Kirwan had the life of Riley. A lady of leisure, content to slob around her big house. Why should she go out to work when Mark, the fool, was making it all so easy for her? Could he not see that he was being taken for a ride? Why didn’t it infuriate him? Why was he carrying around such guilt? Francesca wasn’t his child, for God’s sake, she was his equal and being equal meant taking a share of responsibility, not abdicating it as she had done. It was so frustrating. Nikki bit her lip as she shot past St Anne’s Park, one of Mark’s favourite walking spots when he’d been with Francesca. Nikki’s lip curled. Middle-aged, frumpy cow, she’d made Mark old before his time. Did the woman not want closure, for crying out loud? Had she no desire to move on? Nikki couldn’t understand it. She’d never want to be financially dependent on a man. She could think of nothing worse.
Her father had been an autocratic tyrant, her mother meek and subservient, totally dependent on her husband for every penny. It had galled Nikki to watch her mother put up with the shit her father dished out. She might as well have been his servant. From the time Nikki had got her first summer job in the local supermarket and started earning her own money, she’d been determined to be financially independent. She’d worked her way through college and studied industriously. Everything she’d achieved since then she’d worked hard for and she had an extremely well-developed sense of self-worth. A financially independent woman she would always be, whether she married or stayed single, that was one certainty in her life, she thought grimly as she swung left onto the Alfie Byrne Road. A kept woman, like Francesca Kirwan or her mother, she would never be. Nevertheless it didn’t mean that she didn’t want to be Mark’s wife. She’d just have to try another tack. But what that tack would be she wasn’t sure yet.
Mark looked at the phone in complete astonishment. What on earth was Francesca’s tirade all about? What was all this about a divorce? He didn’t want a divorce. He was happy enough to be separated and nothing else. He dialled her number again but it just kept ringing. His mouth tightened in anger. He knew that she was there and not picking up. She’d been bloody rude calling him an asswipe, he thought angrily. There was no need for that. And what did she mean by saying to tell his tart not to come knocking on her door? Was she talking about Nikki? Surely Nikki hadn’t gone calling on Francesca? He
groaned.
Nikki wouldn’t be so stupid … or would she?
He frowned and dialled Nikki’s mobile number. It went into divert. ‘Damn!’ he muttered. He dialled her direct line. No answer. What the bloody hell was going on? He dialled and asked to be put through to her office. Her secretary answered and informed him that Nikki had taken the morning off. She hadn’t said anything to him about taking the morning off. With a deep feeling of unease, Mark went into a meeting of his European counterparts, all his earlier youthful vigour dissipated as a niggling thread of worry pervaded his thoughts, making it hard to concentrate.
‘WHAT THE BLOODY
hell did you do that for, Nikki? You had no business going anywhere near Francesca. For crying out loud, didn’t I tell you divorce would devastate her?’ Mark raged down the phone as Nikki sat impatiently in traffic on the East Wall Road as juggernaut after juggernaut poured out of Dublin Port. The meeting was delayed so he had managed to get a call through.
‘Look, I can’t talk now, I’m driving,’ Nikki said tightly, irritated beyond measure at his anger. He was always taking fucking Francesca’s side. What about her, for God’s sake? Didn’t she rate at all in the bloody triangle? ‘Phone me tonight and we’ll talk,’ she said curtly and clicked off. She turned her mobile off completely in case he phoned her back. She couldn’t understand it. She’d thought that he’d be pleased that she’d made an effort to sort things out. After all, she’d done it for him. Instead it seemed as though she’d made a major strategic error going out to Francesca’s house. It had got Mark’s back up, and
that
was the last thing she wanted to do. But
why
did he not want things to move on? What was his problem?
‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’ she swore as the lights turned red yet again, leaving her tapping her thumbs impatiently on her steering wheel. There were times when she felt like throwing in the towel. Didn’t Mark know just how bloody lucky he was to have her? What would he do if
she
kicked
him
out? He’d better bloody watch it or she just might, she thought sourly as the lights turned green and she managed to get through before coming to a halt as the barrier came down to let the toll bridge up. Nikki cursed long and loudly. Was nothing going to go right this day?
‘Can you believe it, Janet? She actually had the nerve to come to my door and lecture me about being a parasite. Then she demanded that I divorce Mark. I told her where to get off in no uncertain terms, I can assure you,’ Francesca told her friend Janet Dalton as they sipped coffee after having their hair done. She’d met Janet at the hairdresser’s and when the other woman had suggested having a cup of coffee, Francesca had been delighted to accept. She liked Janet, and always enjoyed the lively discussions she had with her in the book club.
‘God, I was so mad,’ she confessed. ‘I wanted to whack her one in the face. I nearly did.’
‘I know, it’s terrible, isn’t it?’ Janet gave a wry smile. Francesca looked at her in surprise. ‘I’ve been in that place where you are now. I know all about what you’re going through.’
‘Really, Janet? I never realized.’ Francesca was
astonished.
‘What happened – or can’t you talk about it?’ she added, not wishing to cross any boundaries.
‘Oh, it happened a long time ago. Twenty years ago. I was twenty-five, the kids were young, in primary school. I caught my husband with my best friend.’
‘Your best friend!’ Francesca made a face. ‘That’s pretty low. At least I don’t know the bitch. Did you stay with him?’
‘Oh no, I couldn’t. And besides, Keith didn’t want to stay. He wanted to be with her. So I more or less became a single parent. He provided for us, paid the bills and so on, but he wasn’t there for the sick tummies, the homework, the hormony years, the exam angst. And don’t even mention the teenage years. He wasn’t there for any of the day-to-day stuff. I had to do that by myself and I hated and resented him for it. He went back to a life of being a bachelor with Una and they had a ball. I remember one Saturday, it was a hot sweltering day, I dropped Peter at football and Orla at her running and raced into town to buy their schoolbooks when I saw Keith and Una strolling hand in hand into the Kylemore for breakfast. The pair of them hadn’t a care in the world. They’d just come back the previous week from a long weekend in Kerry.’ Janet shook her head at the memory. ‘I tell you, Francesca, I was so livid I waited until they were sitting down with their grub and then marched in and poured a jug of milk over the pair of them. It was a horrible time. I was eaten up with anger and bitterness. I was desperately unhappy.’
‘I’m sure you were. That was horrible to be left
with
young children. At least my boys are grown up,’ Francesca said sympathetically.
‘Yeah, well, in the long run Keith really was the loser. The kids got used to not having him around and they grew away from him. He has hardly any relationship with them now. And it wasn’t any of my doing. I tried to keep my feelings about Keith to myself and not let it colour how they felt about him, but at the end of the day, when they got older, they saw him for what he was, a shallow, selfish, rather pathetic man. He taught me great lessons though, and I’m very grateful to him.’ Janet smiled.
Francesca eyed her quizzically. ‘You’re
grateful
to him?’
Janet laughed at her tone. ‘Believe me, Francesca, one day you could very well be saying the same thing to me.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Francesca said caustically.
‘Well, you know, you have the choice to let the anger eat you up and stay feeling as though you’re a victim, or you can move on from it. I’m only sorry it took me a good ten years of bitterness until I realized, with the help of a lovely healer, what I was doing to myself.’
‘Really?’ Francesca was doubtful.
‘Well, look at me now. Once I eventually took responsibility for my own feelings and stopped laying blame and saw that I ultimately had to take responsibility for my own life it was like a huge burden lifted from me. I was so fearful of the future I’d hung on to Keith’s apron strings and all the negative energy that entailed. I couldn’t let go and move on.
‘After many healing sessions with Sam, I enrolled
in
a back-to-work course and got a job as a legal secretary and then I did a computer course and moved into the IT sector. I job-share now so I’ve the best of both worlds. I’m independent, I’ve met loads of people and made lovely friends and I enjoy my life. Once I let go of the past doors opened for me.’
‘But don’t you hate Keith for what he did to you?’ Francesca countered.
Janet shook her head. ‘Not any more. Hating someone is exhausting. It took all my energy. I remember Sam saying very gently to me, how long was I going to give Keith free lodgings in my head, because it meant there was no room for anything or anyone else. I remember thinking, That’s easy for you to say. You didn’t go through what I went through. You didn’t have a terrible injustice done to you. I was still in victim mode, you see. And some people carry their victimhood with them for the rest of their lives and never move on.’ She laughed again, a deep throaty chuckle. ‘I was very angry with Sam and swore to myself that I was never going back to him to listen to that bullshit because he was saying things that I didn’t want to hear. I called him a quack and told myself he didn’t know what it was like living in the real world, but something drew me back because part of me, deep in my soul, knew that he was right and I wanted to hear more. Going to him changed my life. Not overnight. I struggled with anger and lack of forgiveness for a long time after, but, Francesca, the day I realized Keith meant nothing to me any more and that I was in control was a great day for me. I knew no-one and nothing could ever hurt me like he’d hurt me, because I’d never give my
control
away again like I had with him. It was a powerful life lesson, Francesca, believe me, and as your friend and as someone who’s been through it all I’d really like to help you the way I was helped. That’s why I’m telling you all this and I hope you don’t mind. Just don’t give that pair all your energy.’
Francesca bit her lip. ‘I don’t think I could forgive. I want him to suffer the way I’m suffering. I hate thinking that he’s happy while I’m miserable. Why should he get off scot-free?’
‘No-one gets off scot-free, Francesca. In one way or another every deed and every action is accountable for. If you tie yourself up in knots hating Mark and that woman, there’s no room for new and good things to come into your life. If you want to move on, you have to let it go and trust that it’s all part of a bigger picture that we can’t see.’
Francesca scowled. ‘But I don’t want to let go. It’s the anger that keeps me going.’
‘I understand that – more than you know, Francesca. I carried such anger for a long, long time. But it’s only when you let it go that you realize just how exhausting it is.’ Janet topped up their coffee cups.
‘Do you believe in that bigger-picture stuff?’ Francesca queried doubtfully.
‘I do think one’s life is mapped out to a degree,’ Janet replied easily, ‘although I wouldn’t have said that ten years ago. When I went to Sam first, he gave me a little affirmation to say every day and I do say it. It’s very simple really. I just ask for the Divine Plan of my life to unfold and so when things are happening to me where I feel I’m not in control, I just think of
it
as the Divine Plan and it helps. If you like I could give you Sam’s number and you could make an appointment to see him,’ she ventured.
‘OK,’ Francesca agreed, privately thinking that she just couldn’t see herself going for a healing. She wasn’t into any of that New Age stuff at all. And if this break-up of her marriage was part of a Divine Plan, she didn’t think much of it.