Between The Sheets (30 page)
Gently, Ashling unlatched Holly from her breast so she could walk out with Dana. Ed was waiting in the hall.
'She is going to break hearts,' he told Ashling with a smile.
'Tom says he's building a moat,' Ashling said laughing. 'I think she's going to be Daddy's little princess. Aren't you, darling?' She closed her eyes as she nuzzled her baby's neck, and missed the look that passed between Ed and Dana.
'It was lovely to meet you, Ashling,' Ed said. 'Please forgive us for calling in unannounced, but Dana was dying to meet Holly.'
Ashling kissed his cheek. 'I'm delighted you did. Take care of Dana for us, won't you?'
He saluted with a grin. 'I am her obedient slave.'
'More like a sergeant major,' Dana retorted. She hugged Ashling, careful not to squeeze the baby, then dropped a kiss on the child's downy head. 'Lovely to meet you, Holly. Welcome to the world.'
Ashling beamed at her. 'Thank you so much for the present. Come back and see us soon.'
'We will,' Ed said before Dana had a chance to answer. 'She needs to get out more. Maybe when she gets the cast off she could even babysit.'
Dana's eyes widened in alarm, but she smiled when she saw that the other woman was laughing.
'Bye, Ashling, give Tom my best and tell him congratulations,' Dana said as Ed helped her into the car. 'Go back inside now, it's cold.'
'I will. Goodbye, Dana.'
'She's nice,' Ed said as they drove away.
'Yes.'
'Beautiful baby,' he added.
'Yes.'
He grinned. 'I mean it.'
She smiled. 'Yeah, me too.'
Dana saved
The Mile High Club
and sat back. 'Thank God,' she murmured. Going into her email, she wrote a message to Sylvie and attached the file. Then she phoned her PA.
'Hi, Sylvie.'
'Oh, hi, Dana. How are you?'
'Relieved. I've just finished the book.'
'That's great news, congratulations.'
Dana smiled. 'I think we both know that congratulations aren't really in order.'
'Well, at least it's over and now you can move on.'
Everyone talked about her moving on, Dana mused. To what?
'So shall I send it on to Gretta once I've checked it?' Sylvie asked.
'No, I think we'd better let Walter have a look at it first. It's only fair to prepare him. I'll call him now and tell him to expect it.'
'I'll get it to him before close of business,' Sylvie promised.
Dana called Walter's office but it turned out he was at meetings and wasn't expected back until the following day. Rather than leave a message, Dana sent her agent a short email.
Dear Wally,
By the time you read this, you should have the final manuscript — I thought you should read it before we sent it to Gretta. I'm sorry.
X
Dana
She swallowed back her tears as she pressed send. Poor Wally. Despite all his encouragement and help,
The Mile High Club
was still the worst book she'd ever written. There was no way that Gretta would publish it. Strangely Dana felt worse for her agent than she did for herself. She had known for weeks that it wasn't going to be good enough, but she had tried. And she felt awful that she'd let Wally down. Some day, she promised herself, she'd make it up to him. She had no idea when or how, but she would.
'Here we are.' Ian came into his office, two beakers in his hand. 'Have you read the final chapters yet?'
Sylvie shook her head and took a grateful sip of coffee. 'I've printed it out but I'm putting off reading it. I know it's going to be bad.'
Ian sighed. 'And she really seemed to have got her act together. I don't understand.'
'She just doesn't seem to enjoy it any more.'
'Maybe she needs to hit rock bottom,' he mused. 'Maybe being out of contract will make her realize what she's thrown away.'
'By which time, I'll be out of a job,' Sylvie said glumly.
'You'll get another job, Sylvie, don't worry. Have a word with Walter, he knows everyone in the publishing industry and I'm sure he'd be happy to write you a reference.'
'I'm not sure I even want to stay in the publishing industry. I'm not sure I know what I want, to be honest.'
'You do.'
'I don't,' she protested.
'You do,' Ian insisted. 'Just make a list of all the things you like doing and all of your talents and see what job fits.'
'That's going to be a very short list,' Sylvie said, pulling a face.
He laughed. 'Don't talk rubbish. I could make a list right now off the top of my head.'
She sat up. 'You could? Would you?'
'I'd love to, but I have to go out.'
'Okay, then.' Her face fell and she reached for the printed copy of Dana's final chapters.
'But,' he said and smiled at her, 'if you have dinner with me tonight, I'll be happy to discuss it.'
Sylvie looked at him. 'Are you asking me out on a date?'
Ian held her gaze. 'Yes, Sylvie, I am.'
'Okay, then.' She smiled slowly. 'Why not?'
He grinned. 'Great. Now, get to work.'
Sylvie sighed. 'If I must.'
It didn't take long to finish
The Mile High Club
and there were few errors. Sylvie quickly made the changes, saved the file and sent it to Walter. She was sitting staring into space, close to tears, when Ian arrived back from his meeting.
'Moving?' Ian asked hopefully, handing her a tissue.
'Crap,' she sniffed.
'I'm sure Wally will be able to talk Dana into making a few changes.'
'It would take a lot more than that,' Sylvie assured him. 'At the moment it reads as if the second half of the book was written by a different author.'
His eyes widened. 'You don't think—'
'No.' She shook her head emphatically. 'You can read in it all the heartache and trauma she's being going through. The heroine is as miserable as she is.'
'Maybe we should get her to write her autobiography instead. Misery memoirs are big at the moment.' Ian put an arm around her and gave her a quick hug. 'Come on, cheer up. We'll go out tonight and celebrate.'
Sylvie stared. 'Celebrate what?'
'Your new career, of course! Whatever it may be.'
'You look nice, love.' Maureen smiled as her daughter came into the room, putting on her earrings. 'Going anywhere special?'
Sylvie shook her head. 'Just out with Ian.'
'He's a nice lad. You could do worse.'
'Now, Mum, don't start. And don't say anything to him or I'll murder you.'
'Wouldn't dream of it, love.'
The doorbell went. 'That will be him. Not a word,' Sylvie warned her mother.
'Take him in to see your da before you go, love. It will cheer him up.'
And it did. Sylvie sat quietly on the end of the bed while Ian and her dad discussed Liverpool's performance the previous night. Her father was almost animated and looked younger and more vital than she'd seen him in years.
'We should go over to a game sometime,' Ian said.
'Are you mad, son? Sure it would cost an arm and a leg.'
'Ah, but I have contacts.' Ian tapped the side of his nose.
'No, son. It's good of you to offer, but getting me there and back would be too much like hard work. It's not worth the hassle.'
'Everywhere is wheelchair-friendly now, Dad,' Sylvie pointed out.
Her father shook his head. 'Leave it, Sylvie. You two go off and enjoy yourselves, I'm tired now.'
'Would you like to be a copy editor?' Ian asked. They were sitting in a Chinese restaurant, drinking coffee and talking about the future.
'Are you crazy?' Sylvie laughed. 'I barely scraped through school.'
'Okay, then. But you like organizing people; you enjoy socializing; you deal with people sensitively and respectfully—'
Sylvie's eyes widened. 'I do?'
'Yeah, you're great with your dad.'
'But that's because he's my dad,' she protested.
'And you've been great with Dana,' he continued. 'You never knew from one day to the next what mood you would find her in, and yet you coped with that and managed to be her friend when she needed it, too. I know, you could be a social worker!'
She shot him a dirty look. 'I could be out of a job in a matter of hours, and you're making jokes.'
'You are not going to be out of work for long. If all else fails, you can always work with me.'
'What?'
'We make a good team, don't we? What?' he added, when she looked away.
'I don't know, Ian. You've been very good to me and I appreciate it, but...'
'You're afraid that I'll want you to do more than answer the phone.'
She raised her eyes to meet his. 'And won't you?'
He smiled. 'I wouldn't mind. Is it such a scary thought?'
'It's too quick, we hardly know each other.'
'I think we know each other very well. What's wrong, Sylvie? Aren't I rich enough for you?' he challenged.
'That's part of it,' she said, looking him straight in the eye. 'Don't blame me for wanting more. And stop trying to rush me. It's our first date! I'm trying to get my head around the fact that I could be unemployed shortly and you're talking about commitment on almost every level. It's too much.'
He looked sheepish. 'Okay, sorry, message received and understood. It's not going to be all awkward in the office now, is it?'
'Not as long as you keep buying the coffee and cakes.'
'I don't know about that. Times are hard; we may have to share.'
She smiled. 'I can live with that.'
Dana sat in the darkened conservatory, a glass of champagne in her hand.
Ryan touched her hand. 'Maybe I should go.'
She looked up at him, realizing that her mind had wandered, again. She didn't seem to be able to concentrate on anything at the moment — anything other than the past, that is. 'I'm sorry, Ryan. I've been terrible company this evening, haven't I?'
'That's okay. But now that you've finally finished your book, I thought you'd be happy.'
'How can I be happy? It's rubbish.'
He raised his glass of champagne. 'At least you drown your sorrows in style.'
She smiled. 'Ed thinks I'm a lush.'
'Where is big brother tonight?'
'Off photographing some moonlight shots for the calendar he's working on.'
'You're such a creative family.'
She looked surprised. 'It's strange you should say that. My father had no time for Ed because he showed no interest in art or literature.'
'Your dad sounds like a hard man.'
'He was,' Dana said. 'He humiliated my mother and bullied my brother. He'd shout and scream at them and took his belt to Ed on a regular basis.'
'And what about you?' Ryan asked.
'Oh, he never touched me. I was his little princess.' Her eyes filled with pain. 'Have you any idea how awful it is to be loved so much by someone who's hurting the people you care about? When I was young, I adored my father. He was my hero. It wasn't until I got older that I realized what a tyrant he was and understood how he used me to exclude my mother and punish my brother.'
'Don't blame yourself, Dana. You were just a child.'
'Yes. I suppose I was.' She yawned.
He smiled and stood up. 'I can take a hint.'
She allowed him to help her to her feet and kiss her. 'I'm sorry. I've been so miserable.'
'I'm flattered you feel you can talk to me.' He kissed her again, this time harder and longer. 'I am so looking forward to you getting that cast off,' he said with a groan when he finally pulled away.
She smiled. 'Not long now.'
When he'd gone, Dana went into her office and continued to tap out her story with one hand.
As I parked the car and got out I looked around nervously. I hadn't gone to the house — couldn't bear the thought. Instead I headed straight to the funeral home. I was early, deliberately, so that I could have time on my own with my mother. I had never seen a dead body before but then this wasn't a body, this was my mum. Hurrying across to the entrance, my face buried deep in the collar of my coat, I prayed Father wasn't here. I knew I was probably safe, though. He'd be receiving mourners in a suitably solemn manner, and playing the part of the grieving widower.
When I went inside, a young man came from behind a desk to greet me with a gentle smile.
'Can I help you?'
His voice was soft and pleasant, but solemn; perfect for the job.
'I've come to see my mother, Rosemary O'Carroll.'
'Of course, come this way.'
I followed him down a corridor and he stopped by a set of double doors.
'Would you like me to stay with you?' he asked kindly.
I tried to smile but my face felt frozen. 'No, I'll be fine.'
'The other guests are expected at five.'
'I'm sorry, is it a problem me being early?' I asked.
'No, of course not! I'm sure your mother would appreciate the time alone with her daughter.' He smiled again, opened the door and stood back.
Straightening my shoulders, I walked in. As I approached the coffin in the centre of the room I realized I was holding my breath. Maybe it was all a mistake; maybe it wouldn't be my mother at all. But, sadly, it was. Her tiny figure looked even smaller than I remembered but other than that she looked just the same as she did when she was asleep. I half expected her to open her eyes and smile. She was dressed in the customary habit — she would have much preferred one of her pretty lace blouses — and someone had joined her hands and wrapped rosary beads around them; Father no doubt. I felt like snatching them away, they would have meant nothing to her. My mother had not been a religious woman. Father had turned us all off religion. The fact that he could be such a monster at home, and then attend the sacraments regularly, had been hard for us all to bear.
I felt guilty for not having come straight home when my father phoned. I should have been here to make sure he didn't abuse her in death as he had in life. I only realized
I was crying when a tear fell on my mother's face. Horrified, I wiped it away with my finger. Her skin was cold and felt like paper and it hit me like a slap in the face that my mother was gone forever. I would never hear her voice again or see her smile. I would never feel her kiss on my cheek, or know the comfort of those thin arms around me. She was gone. I was crying noisily now, my shoulders heaving as deep waves of sadness engulfed me, and I clung on to the side of the coffin for support.
It took me a moment before I realized there was a hand on my arm. I turned to see it was the young man who had let me in.
'Come and have a cup of tea,' he said.
'But I can't leave her,' I protested.
'You can come back in,' he promised. 'Just take a little break.'
This unleashed more tears and he had to almost carry me from the room. He led me to a small sitting room further down the corridor. A table was already set with a pot of tea, a plate of biscuits and two cups and saucers.
'Would you like some company, or would you prefer to be alone?' he asked.
'No, please stay.' I struggled to get my tears under control. 'I'm sorry about this.'
He shook his head as he poured the tea. 'Don't apologize, it's your mother.'
'Whose decision was it to put her in a habit?' I added milk to my tea and raised the cup to my lips using both hands for fear that I'd drop it.
'Your father and brother made all the arrangements together.'
I stared at him. 'Ed's here?'
He nodded.
'But how did he know she was dead?'
'I don't understand—'
I shook my head. 'Sorry, it's just my brother left five years ago and hasn't been in touch since.'
'He must have kept in touch with someone. Many people do, you know. And it's quite common for reunions to take place in a funeral home.'
'Don't you find that rather pathetic?' I said bitterly. 'What's the point in coming, once they're dead?'
He shrugged. 'At least you and your father get to see him again, and, hopefully, stay in touch this time.'
The phone rang outside — a hushed muted tone — and he excused himself. I sat there for a moment and then realized I couldn't face my father. I didn't trust myself not to strike him or scream and shout. And I couldn't do that to my mother. There had been enough of that during her lifetime. She deserved to at least be buried in peace.
I stood up and went back down to the room where my mother was laid out. Going to her side, I dropped a gentle kiss on her cold lips. Then I hurried out of the room and back out into the reception.
'Thank you for your kindness,' I whispered to the funeral director.
He looked up, surprised. 'Aren't you going to wait for your family?'
'I'll see them tomorrow. That's time enough.'
I went back to my car, moved it to the other end of the car park and waited. It wasn't long before a black stretch limo drove in, and the driver walked around to open the door. I slid down in my seat and held my breath as I watched my brother step out, looking handsome in a dark suit. He leaned into the car and offered his arm, and I gasped in surprise when I saw my father emerge. They paused on the step for a moment before going in. Father looked hunched and thinner than I remembered. He pulled a snow-white handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. Ed put an arm around his shoulders and squeezed them in a comforting manner. Father nodded as Ed said something and, taking his son's arm, Father went with him inside.
I pushed frantically at the car door, swung my body around, and bent over just in time to vomit on the grass verge. When I'd finished I cleaned my face and hands with some tissues and then, dazed and shaken, drove the short distance to my friend's house.
