‘GERALD M. KIRWAN HERE
. I’ve been trying to get you all day, I need you to get a prescription for me and cook me a bit of dinner and I need some honey and lemons to make a hot drink. I’ve got a very nasty chest infection. I had to call the doctor. Tell Mark I need to see him. Over and out
.’
Francesca’s lips tightened as she listened to her father-in-law’s irritable tones. Unable to relax as the locksmith worked on the locks, she’d played back her phone messages. Gerald Kirwan’s crotchety voice boomed through the hall. He always announced himself with his full name. Pompous old goat. He hated leaving messages on the answering machine. He sounded hoarse.
Tough, Francesca thought stubbornly. Gerald Kirwan was no longer her concern. She was damned if she was going to cook meals for him and run around doing his errands. Let Mark look after his father. Or Vera, Mark’s sister. Vera had turned her back on Gerald a long time ago. Understandable, knowing Gerald,
Francesca
conceded. But it was very convenient, all these years, for her sister-in-law to have had nothing to do with her father. Vera never had the burden of him.
Well, Francesca wasn’t going to have the burden of him any longer, she decided grimly. Why should she? She wasn’t a blood relative and she was sick and tired of being used. As of now, she was no longer the Kirwan family’s doormat.
She picked up the phone and dialled Vera’s number. Her sister-in-law answered in her usual breathy whisper. ‘Halloo, Vera Darmody speaking. How may I help yooouu?’ Her standard greeting to all callers. It never varied.
Francesca didn’t see her sister-in-law that often. She and Mark weren’t close. It was left to Francesca to make contact at Christmas or Easter. Quietly spoken, with that soft, breathy voice, Vera gave the impression of being a helpless female, but over the years Francesca had come to see that whatever Vera wanted, Vera got. She lived her life very much on her terms. She was, although she would completely deny it, extremely like her father.
‘Vera, it’s Francesca.’
‘Francesca, what a surprise,’ Vera cooed. ‘How are yooouu?’
‘Fine thanks, Vera. I’m just ringing to let you know that your father has a chest infection and needs a prescription. I can’t get it, I’m tied up. Mark’s away so I’m ringing you.’
‘Oh, but
Francesca
, you know that I haven’t spoken to my father in
years
!’ Vera’s voice rose a couple of octaves in dismay. ‘Why are you ringing
me
?’ she added indignantly.
‘I’m ringing
you
to let you know the position. He’s not my father after all, Vera, he’s yours. I’m not taking responsibility for him any more. I’ll give you Mark’s mobile number, you can leave a message and sort it out with him,’ Francesca retorted, unable to keep the edge out of her voice. Typical Vera. Me. Me. Me.
‘But, Francesca, I don’t have anything to do with him.
Yooouu
know that,’ Vera protested.
‘Vera, that’s your problem, deal with it. Here’s Mark’s number.’ Francesca was getting more furious by the minute. For years she’d had to look after her father-in-law, while Vera went hill-walking every weekend and gadded around the country with her choral group and had a holiday in the Canaries every Christmas. She’d offloaded her father onto Francesca and got away scot-free. How nice for her. Well, the worm had just turned and Vera was being called to account.
Francesca called out Mark’s mobile number in a clipped, tight voice.
‘But why can’t Mark look after it when he gets back? I can’t go near that horrible man. You know that, Francesca. I’m
very
surprised that you phoned me. It’s rather insensitive of you,’ Vera whined.
That was the final straw. Francesca’s face turned a dull shade of puce. ‘I’m sorry if your sensitivities are hurt, Vera, but right now they’re of no interest to me
whatsoever
. Mark’s in Cork with another woman. You can discuss it with him. I won’t be looking after Gerald any more, Vera. In fact I’ve no intention of seeing him or you again. I’ve had just about enough
of
the Kirwans, believe me. I’m just letting you know that your father is sick. You can do what you like about it. It’s no skin off my nose. Bye.’
She heard Vera’s sharp intake of breath as ‘the other woman’ titbit landed like a bombshell. She wasn’t going to protect Mark from the consequences of his actions. Let him take responsibility for the break-up of their marriage. She was the innocent victim.
She hung up, none too gently. Truly, if she never saw Vera or Gerald again it wouldn’t bother her one whit, she acknowledged crossly. She’d only put up with her in-laws through loyalty to Mark. That loyalty had been roundly abused. She didn’t have to be saddled with them any more. Let Mark look after his family’s affairs now. Let Miss Toned Pointy-Boobs do Gerald Kirwan’s shopping for him and wash his cacky underpants when he stayed with her and Mark this Christmas.
Christmas would be interesting, Francesca thought grimly. What would Mark do with his father? What would
she
do for Christmas? Her face crumpled. Owen was going out to his brother in the States for ten days. She’d be on her own. It was frightening. She’d never been on her own before. How would she cope?
She picked up the phone and rang her sister’s number. Millie answered in her usual brisk, no-nonsense style.
‘Hi, Millie, it’s me,’ Francesca managed before bursting into tears.
‘God Almighty, Francesca! What’s wrong?’ Millie demanded.
‘Mark’s having an affair,’ Francesca blurted between sobs.
‘Of course he isn’t, don’t be daft—’
‘He
is
, Millie,’ Francesca snapped angrily. ‘I’m not stupid. I caught them together in a hotel in Cork. In their dressing gowns,’ she added for good measure.
‘Oh my God!! I’ll be over. I’ll be right over,’ Millie exclaimed hastily. ‘See you in a few minutes.’
Francesca hung up and tried to compose herself. The locksmith was working on the garage door; he’d finished the front and the back. She didn’t want to be all tearstained and red-eyed when she was paying him.
She went up to the bedroom and brushed her hair and dusted a bit of powder onto her cheeks. She put her brush back down on the dressing table and saw a pair of Mark’s gold cufflinks that she’d given to him as an anniversary present, years ago. ‘Oh Mark,’ she whispered. ‘Why? Why did you do it?’ She swallowed hard as she heard the locksmith call to her. Just this one thing to deal with and then she could fall to pieces, she promised herself as she hurried downstairs with her chequebook.
It was a relief when he’d gone and the silence of the house wrapped itself around her like a mantle. She felt some of the tension ease out of her body. The house was secure now. She had taken back control. Mark would have to knock at the front door to gain entry. See how he liked that, she thought bitterly, remembering the cosy intimate scene that she’d walked in on in Cork.
They’d seemed so at ease in each other’s company, so lighthearted and happy. She couldn’t remember
the
last time she and Mark had had an intimate evening together. Generally after dinner, if they weren’t going out socializing, they’d watch TV and Mark would usually fall asleep. There had been a time when they used to take a stroll around Howth to exercise the dog, but as he began to travel more in the job, the task had fallen to her and he rarely walked with her now. But she still looked forward to his homecoming when he’d been abroad and always liked to hear the news and gossip from Brussels. She’d cook a favourite meal for him and fuss over him, knowing that he worked hard. He always brought her a present home: perfume, confectionery, a piece of crystal to go in her collection. Their marriage was easy. No wild ups and downs. Just steady and comfortable, if a little dull and unexciting. Nothing had prepared her for the shock she’d had today. As far as she’d known, their marriage was rock solid.
She heard Millie’s car in the drive and went to open the front door. Her sister, tall, rangy, the epitome of vibrant good health, crossed the drive in a few long strides to embrace Francesca, who promptly burst into tears yet again.
‘Come on in, Francesca. Have a good cry, get it out of your system, and tell me what happened,’ Millie ordered, taking charge in her usual capable manner. She led her weeping sister into the lounge, sat her down on a sofa and began handing her tissues. Francesca bawled her eyes out as the events of the day finally caught up with her and she gave in to the luxury of grief. It poured out of her in great, gulping, body-shaking sobs, much to Millie’s dismay.
After a while Francesca wiped her eyes and composed herself. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured, giving her sister a watery smile. ‘I’ve been keeping it in all day.’
‘I bet you have.’ Millie grimaced. ‘For God’s sake, what happened? Are you absolutely sure? How did you find out? Could there be
any
mistake?’
Francesca sniffed and shook her head. ‘There’s no mistake. I caught the two of them together. I don’t know what to do, Millie. My marriage is over.’ She started crying again.
‘Tell me what happened,’ Millie urged, handing over another wad of tissues.
As best she could, Francesca told her sister the whole sorry saga and watched as Millie’s expression became ever more shocked and incredulous.
‘I don’t believe it,’ she murmured. ‘Mark! It’s incredible. God! Francesca, I don’t know what to say.’
‘I don’t know what to say either. It’s so unreal. I have to keep pinching myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.’ Francesca sat up straight and pushed her hair out of her eyes. ‘I’ve had the locks changed on the doors. He can bloody knock to get in here from now on.’
‘That’s a bit drastic!’ Millie murmured.
‘Fuck him, Millie. He’s not going to waltz in here just like that and carry on as if everything’s OK,’ Francesca retorted indignantly.
‘No, of course not,’ Millie soothed. ‘It’s just that you’re angry at the moment and you’re not thinking straight. You’ve a lot to lose here, Francesca. You’ve been married for over twenty years.’
‘How would you feel if you caught Aidan with another woman?’ Francesca demanded.
‘I’d cut his goolies off,’ Millie said unequivocally.
‘Would you take him back? Would you sleep with him again?’
‘I don’t know, Francesca.’
Francesca scowled. ‘Well, there you are.’
‘I know. It’s horrible,’ Millie admitted. ‘I suppose you don’t know how you would react until it happens to you. I just couldn’t imagine Aidan having an affair. But then I couldn’t imagine Mark having one either,’ she added wryly. ‘What are you going to tell the boys?’
‘I don’t know. Owen’s staying with a friend tonight. It’s just as well, I suppose.’
‘Well, you can’t stay here on your own,’ Millie declared. ‘Come on home with me and let’s get pissed.’
For a minute Francesca was tempted. The idea of getting as drunk as a skunk and falling into bed in a stupor was somewhat appealing. At least she’d sleep, and it would be nice to have Millie’s comforting presence about. But she couldn’t drink herself into oblivion every night. She had to get through this. And she had to do it on her own. She might as well start now.
She shook her head. ‘This is my life now, Millie, I’d better get used to it. Running away is not going to solve anything, and besides I don’t want to have a raging hangover if Mark comes home tomorrow. I need to have my wits about me.’
‘I suppose so. Look, I’ll stay here. I’ll give Aidan a ring and tell him that you’re a bit under the weather.
I’ll
get up early in the morning to get the girls off to school.’
‘Ah no, Millie. That’s not fair, you have your hands full,’ Francesca protested.
‘Of course I’m staying. This is not any old common-or-garden trauma, Francesca. This rates pretty high on the scales.’
‘You think so?’ Francesca managed a smile.
‘A top-notch drama. I mean, I think at least one stiff drink is called for. It’s just so weird. I can’t take it in. What was Mark thinking of?’ She saw the stricken expression on her sister’s face. ‘Oh, sorry, me and my big mouth.’
‘It’s all right, Millie, I’ve been asking myself the same question over and over,’ Francesca said miserably.
Millie gave her a hug. ‘Sit over there by the fire and I’ll get you a brandy. I’ll just give Aidan a ring to tell him I’m staying.’
Francesca went over and curled up in the soft cream leather armchair by the fire. To tell the truth she didn’t particularly like the leather suite, which had cost an arm and a leg. But Mark had loved it the minute he’d seen it. Its expensive opulence was affirmation for him of how far he’d come from their first small semi-detached house in Santry.
What would happen when he came home tomorrow?
If
he came home tomorrow. What was he feeling now? Did he feel guilty or was he relieved that it was all out in the open? Had she given him an easy way out so that he could go and live with his lover? Had she played right into his hands? Francesca stared into the flickering flames and felt a
knot
of fear. Millie was right. She had a lot to lose. Everything that she knew, her identity as Mark’s wife, her place in society as his partner, her home, her lifestyle, all that she had taken for granted had been undermined in the blink of an eye. Now she was going to have to fight for what she considered rightfully hers. Now she was a woman on her own. Unless of course she looked the other way and pretended that Mark’s fling was something she could get over.
It would be the easiest path to take, she thought ruefully. Be mad at him for a while, give him the cold shoulder, make him eat humble pie for months to come and eventually try and pretend that it never happened.
‘But it has happened,’ she argued with herself viciously. ‘It
has
happened and you can’t change it and life’s never going to be the same.’
Millie poked her head around the door. ‘Did you say something?’
‘Just thinking aloud.’ Francesca leaned back in the chair and took the proffered brandy goblet. ‘What would you do if you were me?’ she asked curiously.
‘It’s different for me.’ Millie sank onto the sofa, curled her long legs up under her and took a sip of the fiery amber liquid. ‘My circumstances are quite different. The girls are very young. I’d have to think of that. Your two are reared and on their way. That makes a hell of a difference. I know it’s going to be hard for them to know what’s happened but they’re adults, they’ll cope easier than two young children would. I don’t know, Francesca, I just hope it never happens to me.’