Authors: Grace Wynne-Jones
Erika grabs another biscuit and stares moodily out the kitchen
window. We remain silent for a while. Fiona’s pronouncements have been rather sobering.
‘Alex’s wife has got suspicious now. He says we shouldn’t see
each other for a while.’ Erika turns sharply towards Fiona. ‘I bet you’re glad, aren’t you? Every decent man is married. I’ve been
left behind on the sideboard.’
I assume Erika means ‘shelf’. Fiona and I manage not to smile.
‘That’s nonsense,’ Fiona says. ‘I bet you’ve got all sorts of men
lusting after you secretly.’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘You’re so pretty, and… and you make such beautiful cats.’
Any compliment about her cats comforts Erika. Her eyes
brighten slightly. ‘Milly really does seem to like this one.’
‘
Of course she does,’ Fiona says.
‘Yes, it’s an
heirloom,’
I add. ‘Fiona said it herself.’
‘Maybe I should make some singleton cats,’ Erika says
dreamily. ‘Singleton cats with attitude.’ She picks up one of Fiona’s
gorgeous hand-painted mugs and stares at the intricate motifs.
Fiona fills the teapot and glances over at me. ‘Did you get that
notebook back from Nathaniel?’
‘Yes, I was going to bring it round to Aggie tonight. I want her advice about some of the recipes. The chocolate cake sounds very
nice – though I’d only make it if I was having at least five people
to tea; I wouldn’t want to be alone in the house with it.’ Fiona laughs. ‘But I’ll have to visit Aggie tomorrow instead, because
Diarmuid suddenly wants to see me.’ I look at my watch. ‘In fact,
I’ll have to leave soon. He’s calling round to me.’
‘Sally and I are going horse-riding any day now,’ Erika s
uddenly announces. ‘We’re going to be women who run with the
horses… or who let the horses run while we’re on them.’
‘
Just trotting,’ I say firmly.
‘That’s great,’ Fiona says. ‘I must go riding myself, but not just
yet. I’m still a bit – you know…’ Erika and I nod. Fiona has
already told us in detail about the gruelling process of labour. ‘But
we’ll have to go hill-walking one of these days.’
I think of Fiona’s seemingly interminable hikes through the
hills, and Erika probably does too, because she swiftly moves on
to another topic.
‘Lionel’s got me helping bloody refugees. Can you believe that?
He’s actually bullied me into teaching a bunch of them how to
speak English.’ She sighs dramatically and crunches her cookie.
‘Bloody refugees’? I can’t believe Erika just said that. Her love
for Alex has made her terribly heartless.
‘Lionel doesn’t sound like someone who’d bully you,’ I say.
‘Unless his loosened ankles have radically altered his personality.’
‘He said he’d help me market the cats if I helped with the refugees,’ Erika mutters.
‘Why don’t you bring him round here one day?’ Fiona says eagerly.
‘Oh, you wouldn’t want to meet him,’ Erika says dismissively.
‘He’s terribly boring and bashful. He has hardly any personality.’
Fiona and I exchange meaningful glances. Lionel sounds much
nicer than Alex.
Erika cocks her head sideways. ‘Was that Milly?’
I didn’t hear anything, but Fiona scurries away to check. Erika
and I put the tea things onto a tray and carry it out to the
magnificent bog-oak coffee table. Milly is gurgling happily, and
Fiona is staring at her, besotted, as though she can’t believe she
exists. I wish I could stay here all evening. I wish I could curl up on one of Fiona’s big cushions and watch some soppy black-and-
white film on the telly.
I also wish Nathaniel had kissed me, but he didn’t. And soon I
have to face my husband in my sitting room, even though I
suspect I already know what he wants to tell me
.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
‘I’m sorry I can’t
visit you tonight, Aggie.’ I pause and gaze out
the window at the sea. I need to give some excuse, but I can’t say Diarmuid is coming round, since she thinks I still live with him. ‘I’ve… I’ve got a meeting.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, dear.’ Aggie sounds bright-eyed and bushy-
tailed. ‘I’ve already had a visitor today – a lovely old woman who
wanted to see what the place was like. Her relatives think she
shouldn’t live on her own for too much longer.’ Aggie frequently
calls people her age ‘old’, but she also calls people like me
‘young’, which is rather comforting. ‘She was a bit brash – dyed
blonde hair in a big bun and layers of make-up, and expensive-
looking knitwear that flapped around as she talked – but we had
a great chat. I told her to stay in her own house for as long as possible and stop listening to people telling her how old people should behave.’ There is a new, authoritative tone in Aggie’s
voice, as if she sees herself as something of a rebel now. ‘Her name
is Fabrice. She’s a real character, and very posh – she mentioned
something about being a countess. Her family comes from Germany.’
‘Goodness,’ I say. ‘She sounds interesting.’
‘Yes. She just came into my room because the door was open.
She’d fibbed to the staff about visiting a relative. She said she knew they wouldn’t tell her the real facts about the place; she needed to hear the truth, from a resident. So I told her about the
overdone roast beef and the bossiness, and how they’ve changed t
he lock on the front door because of me.’ Aggie starts chuckling
– a deep, satisfied, almost roguish chuckle. ‘She was very impressed by my silly bid for freedom. I told her all about how you and Diarmuid found me.’
I’m not surprised by this statement. Aggie has started to believe
Nathaniel is Diarmuid; she has also told me that marriage clearly
suits him, because he’s so much more ‘open’ and ‘light-hearted’ now.
‘It turns out Fabrice knew DeeDee when they were in their twenties.’
‘But I thought she was German.’ The journalist side of me likes
to sort out these inconsistencies, but the minute I’ve said it I wish
I hadn’t. It’s not fair to expect Aggie to have a firm grasp on the
details. Only the other day she told me Marie was thinking of being a country singer in Nashville.
‘Yes, she is, but her family came over here shortly after the First
World War.’ Aggie’s voice sounds dreamy. ‘Fabrice was only a
young girl. Her mother was afraid the family jewellery would get
pilfered on the ship, so she kept the best pieces in her bra. It was
stuffed with gold and pearls and diamonds… DeeDee would have
loved that story.’
‘How did she meet DeeDee?’
‘They met in the shop where DeeDee was working. It was just off Grafton Street and sold hats.’ I hear a sucking noise; Aggie is
on the mints again. ‘It was quite famous; so, because Fabrice is so
posh, I asked her if she had ever been in the place. And she had!
She said DeeDee helped her to choose a lovely hat; Fabrice said it
was the nicest one she ever owned.’
Aggie is so excited that I haven’t the heart to tell her my ‘meeting’ may start at any minute. Diarmuid is usually pretty punctual.
‘They sometimes met for lunch after that. Sometimes they just
had cream cakes and coffee; they both found sandwiches boring.’
I find myself smiling.
‘Fabrice is an unusual name for a German, but she says part of
her family is French. Some of her relatives have big castles in the Loire Valley.’ Aggie gives a contented sigh; then her voice grows
solemn. ‘I asked her if she knew where DeeDee is now, but she doesn’t. They lost touch when DeeDee left Dublin.’
‘Oh, well – it’s lovely that you had such a nice chat,’ I say.
‘Yes,’ Aggie agrees. ‘Fabrice has lived in this area for years, but
even so, it’s quite a coincidence that she knew DeeDee.’
I agree, though in Dublin there are loads of such unexpected
connections. In fact, meeting someone who isn’t already acquaint
ed with a number of your friends can be quite a relief.
‘I think the angels were involved,’ Aggie adds. ‘Fabrice did too.
She saw them flying about the place.’
‘Oh.’ I don’t know what to say. ‘How nice.’
‘She said she senses that what the angels want me to know,
most of all, is that DeeDee still loves me.’ Aggie’s voice wobbles.
‘She said that DeeDee often talked about her sister Aggie. She even told Fabrice she would always love me, no matter what. It was shortly before she disappeared.’
‘Well, how
lovely,
’
I exclaim. I do not, of course, add that I’m pretty sure Fabrice saw that she was desperate for reassurance
and simply said whatever she wanted to hear. ‘Are you going to
see her again?’
‘Oh, yes, she says she’ll come visit me as often as she can, but
it might not be for a few days. She says she has to visit London for a while; she’s got some business to do there. And she’s involved in the peace movement; she goes on marches to stop
various wars. She’s very sprightly. Her relatives think she
shouldn’t gallivant around so much.’
After Aggie and I have said our goodbyes, I sit on the orange sofa. The biscuits are on the plate and the kettle is full; the mugs are on a tray, and so is the jug of milk and the bowl of sugar.
So this is how you find out you
a
re about to get divorced,
I think.
Over tea and almond biscuits on a bright summer evening.
I reach for my wedding ring – I’ve
got used to twisting it round and round my finger – but of course
it’s not there. It’s got lost.
I remember Fiona’s pronouncements. When my marriage got lost, I really didn’t hunt hard enough for it. I was half-hearted
about it from the start, but that was because I didn’t know what I
really wanted. But I knew what I
didn’t
want. I didn’t want the nights alone while Diarmuid was with the mice, I didn’t want a
baby nine months later, I didn’t want all the silences. And I became
so obsessed with what I didn’t want that I stopped seeing the good things I had. No wonder Diarmuid didn’t want to talk to me; I kept
complaining. We should have talked about the good things between
us and helped them to grow. If I’d given him some compliments, I
bet we could have negotiated instead of just arguing.