Authors: Grace Wynne-Jones
I didn’t expect him to say something like that. I didn’t expect him even to have those thoughts.
‘Look, give the cabinet away if you don’t want it,’ I say.
‘But it’s a really nice cabinet.’
‘Yes, and that’s why lots of people would be happy to have it.’
He says nothing.
‘I have to go, Diarmuid. I have to get ready for Marie’s party.’
‘Oh, it’s today, is it?’ He sounds sympathetic. ‘Try not to worry
about what they think of you, Sally. Just be yourself. Most of us
find that only a few people ever really understand us anyway.’
Can this really be the same Diarmuid?
I think as he hangs up.
The same Diarmuid who wouldn’t skinny-dip in the hotel swimming pool at midnight on our honeymoon?
Being with Charlene seems to have changed him. At long last, he’s had to take a stand about something he believes in.
I sit for a while after our conversation. I feel things leaving me
– things that were ready to go. I can’t quite name them yet, but that’s OK. I want to get used to this new feeling I sometimes
glimpse – this feeling that it’s OK to be Sally Adams, just as I am,
a great big mixture like DeeDee’s shop. Of course, it would be great if I could share my life with someone like Nathaniel – he himself clearly wouldn’t want to – but there are so many other
people I cherish. I would have missed them if I’d taken that plane
to California.
At twelve-thirty on the button, Mum presses the doorbell. I am
in my new dress, with a thermal vest and a thin woollen jumper underneath; it isn’t a very warm September day.
‘Well, isn’t this just grand,’ Dad keeps saying as we head
for Marie’s house. It’s in a very large estate, and it’s very tidy and
somewhat devoid of character. Even from a distance I can sense
the air of anticipation. Marie is peeking out from behind the net curtains; I can see her round, worried face.
Dad beeps the horn as we park in the driveway. The door opens
and Marie, flushed and smiling, surveys us. Her smile is so broad
it looks like it’s going to fall off the edges of her face. She looks
extremely nervous. She is wearing an apron and fidgeting with her
hands. ‘Welcome!’ she cries. ‘I’m so glad you’re here on time.’
‘Hello, Marie!’ I call out.
She waves back as though we were still at the other end of the
road. ‘Aggie’s here, and so is… that friend of hers.’ She manages
to keep smiling. Uncle Bob, Marie’s husband, agreed to collect Aggie good and early so that she could put her feet up and have a little rest before the social exertions.
‘The nurses said we shouldn’t bring her back too late,’ Marie whispers as we get out of the car. ‘They weren’t sure about her coming here, actually, but of course she insisted.’ Marie’s face softens, and I can see she feels grateful for Aggie’s enthusiasm. ‘This may be the last family gathering she attends.’
‘Yes, yes, there’s no need to be morbid, Marie,’ Mum says brusquely. ‘We all know that. I’ve brought along some sausage rolls.’ She hands her sister a large plastic tub.
Uncle Bob joins us on the driveway. He is a tall, balding man
with a serious face and kind eyes. ‘I even mowed the lawn in honour of our visitors,’ he proclaims innocently.
‘Go inside and see to the drinks, dear,’ Marie says quickly. ‘And fill up the crisp bowl. And use the small sherry glass for Aggie; she
says she doesn’t want wine.’
‘Keep an eye on Wayne,’ Marie hisses at me as we go into her
hallway. Her whole house is painted in very muted pastel colours, which match the furniture and the curtains and even the cushions.
‘And make sure Fabrice doesn’t eat all the crisps, or there won’t
be any left by the time the others arrive.’
So Fabrice is a crisp-
eater too
?
I think. For some reason this surprises me; I hadn’t expected Fabrice to eat anything as un-dramatic as crisps.
Fabrice is swathed in a loose, fluttery dress, liberally dotted with sequins. It is a strident pink, and so are her large round
earrings. Her white-blonde hair is now in frothy curls; part of it is
in a chignon, and the rest almost forms a thin veil across her face.
There is, however, a gap in the middle where her nose and parts of her mouth and eyes are clearly visible – and she is, as usual, caked in make-up. Clumps of mascara have gathered on her eyelashes.
‘I wish April had allowed us to collect her from the airport,’ Mum says to me fretfully, while Dad listens to Fabrice talking about snorkelling amidst the grandeur of some Australian coral
reef. ‘It doesn’t seem right that she has to make her own way here,
but she was adamant about it. Dad, of course, will pay the fare. Should I phone her to see if she’s landed?’
‘No. I will,’ I say quickly. ‘You sit with Aggie.’ Aggie is installed in a very large armchair and swathed in a blue mohair
rug. She is looking around her with great interest and sipping her
sherry.
I go into the back garden and take out my mobile. ‘April, it’s Sally. Have you arrived in Dublin?’
‘Yes,’ she says rather breathlessly. ‘I’m watching luggage on one of those carousels. Ah, good – here’s my case.’ There is a pause and the sounds of mild tussling.
‘Please say you’ve changed your mind about –’
‘I’m not going to talk about it now, Sally. I have to get a taxi.’
‘I’ll persuade Mum and Dad to tell people another time.
Aggie’s here; she’s so old, and she’s enjoying the party, April. Think of her too.’
‘There’ll always be reasons not to tell people,’ April says briskly. ‘I have to go now. See you soon.’
I walk back into the room in a daze. I can’t believe I am
allowing April to come to this party in her current state – but how
am I to stop her? I hoped she would change her mind once she actually got on the plane, but she hasn’t.
‘Wayne,’ Marie hisses at me as soon as I get indoors.
‘You’ll have to get someone else to watch Wayne,’ I hiss back.
‘I have to talk to Mum.’
‘About what?’ Marie demands, seeing my worried expression.
‘April. She’s… she’s a bit upset about something.’
‘Was her flight all right?’
‘Yes, I think so. It’s just that she seems a bit emotional.’
‘Of course she is!’ Marie exclaims. ‘She hasn’t been home for
ages. It’s only natural. She must have missed us all so much.’
‘No, it’s a bit more complicated than that,’ I say, only Marie is
now telling me how thrilled everyone is that April is attending the
party. ‘Your parents have talked about nothing else for weeks,’ she adds. ‘Have you seen the Waterford crystal bowl they’ve bought her? It’s exquisite.’
I pull myself away from her and head towards Mum. ‘She’s become such a dear friend, you see,’ Aggie is saying to Mum. I
assume she is referring to Fabrice. ‘And I think she gets lonely. She l
ikes to pretend she’s still a young thing, but…’ They both look over at Fabrice, and Aggie smiles.
‘Excuse me, Aggie,’ I say, ‘I need to speak to Mum for a moment.’ I feel Fabrice glancing at me keenly. I look away and steer Mum towards the garden.
‘What is it, dear?’ Mum says.
‘April,’ I whisper. ‘She really does plan to make some kind of
announcement.’
‘She’s just teasing, dear. You know what she can be like.’
‘But it’s like she’s a different April,’ I say. ‘She has this obsession with the truth now – she keeps saying people must know the truth. Maybe it comes from living in California.’
This seems to be the first remark about April that actually reaches my mother. For all its modernity, California is still the
Wild West. It is a vast, mixed place with an extraordinary number
of opinions. It can change people – often people who wanted to be
changed anyway – and my mother knows this better than anyone.
‘Ring her again,’ Mum says suddenly, as though this is the first time I have mentioned April’s announcement to her. She must see
the look of very genuine consternation on my face. ‘Tell her Dad
will collect her from the airport.’
I take out my phone while Mum darts across the room and
tugs at Dad’s sleeve. ‘April,’ I say, when she answers, ‘Dad will
collect you at the airport. He really wants to. Please let him.’
‘I’m sorry, I’m already in a taxi,’ she replies. ‘Gee, I’m glad I
brought my sweater. It’s not exactly warm today, is it?’
Mum is at my shoulder. ‘Tell her he’ll collect her in Dublin,’ she
says, rather desperately. But April has turned off her phone, sen
sing, I suppose, that we were launching an attempt to ambush her.
‘Does Dad know about this?’ I ask.
Mum nods and sighs. ‘Oh, dear… I should have listened to you
before.’
The room is getting crowded. The guests are all very well dressed, and some are bordering on beautiful. Any minute now they are going to start asking me about my marriage.
‘I’ve read your columns,’ a cousin called Seamus tells me. ‘I a
gree with you entirely about the importance of kitchen storage.’
‘
Have you been doing any courses lately?’ a relative called Suki e
nquires. She is tall and blonde and could easily be a model.
‘Not really.’
‘I’ve been studying art history – it’s so fascinating, Sally – and…’
I look as though I’m listening to her for the next ten minutes.
She seems a nice enough person, and genuinely enthused by her
subject matter. Then Mum nudges me sharply in the ribs.
‘How wonderful, Suki,’ I say. ‘I’d better go and… you know…
mingle.’
‘What is it, Mum?’ I whisper, when we’re out of Suki’s earshot.
‘I’ve asked your father to head the taxi off at the entrance to t
he estate,’ Mum says agitatedly. ‘He’ll wave it down.’
‘
What?’
‘He’ll get it to stop. And then he’ll ask April to get into the car,
and drive her to a nice lunch at that hotel in Killiney she likes so
much.’ Mum is almost quivering with subterfuge. ‘If she says she
wants to make her – her announcement, he won’t argue with her;
he’ll pretend that he’s going to drive her to Marie’s party later. Then he’ll get her drunk.’
‘Oh.’ I notice my father leaving the room hurriedly and
dashing towards the front door. I’m rather shocked at this daring
plan.
‘Orla, our daughter, has just met a lovely young man at her
salsa class,’ a distant relation by marriage tells me. ‘Have you ever
tried salsa, Sally? Apparently it’s great fun.’