City Lives (42 page)

Dinner was a lively affair. Sulaiman and Alma ate every scrap with evident enjoyment, and everyone seemed to have got their second wind. Maggie, after her second glass of wine, began to relax.
She’d been worrying needlessly about the dinner, she chided herself silently.

The children went off to play with the computer and Mrs Ling, at Maggie’s urgings, went to bed. ‘We’ll put the children to bed,’ Maggie said kindly, ‘won’t
we, Alma?’

‘Of course we will. We’ll all be in bed soon anyway,’ Alma agreed.

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Mrs Ling murmured and slipped out of the room in her quiet unobtrusive way.

‘We’re going to the theatre tomorrow night—’

‘And the pub?’ Sulaiman enquired eagerly.

‘And the pub,’ laughed Maggie. ‘And then Terry and Sulaiman can go and play golf one morning and you and I can go shopping. We’ll bring the kids to Fort Lucan, an
adventure centre, one day and the pictures another, and you and I can go into City Girl and have some treatments one morning before you go.’ She turned to Alma.

‘Lovely.’ Alma gave a little wriggle. ‘I’ll have a full-body massage,’ she said huskily, looking directly at Terry.

‘Sounds very nice too.’ Terry poured her another glass of wine. ‘Have some more pavlova,’ Maggie urged.
And put on an ounce!

‘No thank you, Maggie. I’m as full as an egg. I shouldn’t have eaten any dessert at all.’ Alma patted her non-existent tummy. ‘I’ll be getting fat.’

‘Indeed and you won’t, Alma,’ Terry said gallantly. ‘You look very well. Doesn’t she, Maggie?’

‘Oh, very well,’ Maggie agreed politely.

‘You look very well yourself, Terry,’ Alma flirted.

Terry puffed out his chest. ‘I work out as often as I can and play the odd round of golf,’ he boasted.

‘Suly’s getting very flabby,’ Alma said tartly, giving her husband an elbow in the stomach. ‘You hear that, darling. Terry works out. You haven’t worked out in
years.’

‘I don’t have time to. I’m working myself to the bone to try and keep up with your spending,’ Sulaiman retorted.

Terry guffawed. ‘I know exactly what you mean,’ he said chummily, much to Maggie’s annoyance.

‘Give over, I pay my own way. I’m a best-selling author, you know.’

‘I’m never allowed to forget it.’ Terry raised his eyebrows to heaven.

‘Huh!’ Alma glared at her husband. ‘You’d think that we were paupers the way you go on,’ she snapped.

‘We will be, the way
you
go on,’ Sulaiman snapped back. Alma bristled.

‘Let’s get the children to bed and go into the sitting-room and have a brandy,’ Maggie suggested diplomatically. ‘I forgot to tell you, Devlin’s throwing a party in
your honour on Saturday night.’

‘Oh how wonderful! I adore parties,’ Alma exclaimed. ‘I’m so looking forward to seeing her. It’s great news about her baby. And so sad about poor Caroline. How is
she?’

‘She’s putting one foot in front of the other and getting on with it. It’s very difficult for her but she’s transferred to Galway City Girl. It’s becoming
residential, so she’s overseeing that,’ Maggie explained.

‘Such a tragedy though. Did he leave a note? Do they know why?’ Alma was dying to hear the gory details.

“No. Richard was depressed. It’s one of those things. Let’s get the children to bed.’ She changed the subject. She had no intention of discussing Caroline or the tragedy
with Alma.

‘Will she be at the party? I’d like to see her,’ Alma asked.

‘No. It’s a bit soon for her to be going to parties. She’s just been bereaved in the most tragic circumstances, after all. Besides she’d have to travel up from Galway and
it’s a long drive,’ Maggie pointed out. Alma could be so obtuse at times. Imagine thinking that Caroline would even
want
to party at such a time.

‘I’ll have to get something to wear!’ Alma declared.

Sulaiman looked sceptical but said nothing. Alma ignored him. ‘Can we go to Brown Thomas? I adore BT’s,’ she begged.

‘Sure. Maybe we could do that on Friday morning and bring the kids to the pictures Friday afternoon, and the guys can go and play golf.’ Maggie drained her glass. ‘Let’s
put the kids to bed. Terry, will you put the dishes in the dishwasher and we’ll go and settle down for a natter,’ she said easily. Terry needn’t think that he was getting off
scot-free. She was determined that he was going to pull his weight.

Fortunately, after the wine and the brandies, the other couple began to yawn prodigiously and by eleven, when Maggie suggested that they retire, they agreed tiredly. Maggie couldn’t
believe her luck to be in bed by eleven forty-five. The first day over, only six more to go, she thought drowsily as she drifted into sleep.

By the time Saturday arrived, Maggie was exhausted. She chickened out of Fort Lucan, much to Terry’s annoyance.

‘You have to come,’ he hissed as he tied a knot in a refuse sack. They were on their own in the kitchen. Sulaiman and Alma were getting dressed and Noori and Ali rampaged up and down
the stairs playing hide and go seek with Shona.

‘Look, I’ve a load of washing to do. I’ve to collect your shirts and the rest of the ironing from the cleaners. I’ve to do a supermarket shop. I want to get
tomorrow’s lunch prepared, because I’ll be drinking at Devlin’s party tonight and I’ll most likely have a hangover. It won’t kill you to go without me. You’ve
been getting off lightly as regards the kids. We took them to the pictures yesterday and to McDonald’s. And if that young one asks me once more is it going to snow, I’ll freak.’
Maggie was at the end of her tether.

‘Let Mrs Ling do it!’ Terry growled.

‘Terry Ryan, I will not! That poor woman has enough to do with those children.’ Maggie was scandalized that he’d even consider asking the poor woman to do her housework.

‘Oh! OK then!’ Terry said with bad grace and stomped out to the shed with the refuse sack. Maggie heard a crash and rushed out into the hall. Pot-pourri lay scattered all over the
carpet and the china bowl was smashed into smithereens.

‘It was her fault,’ Ali said shrilly, pointing to Shona.

‘It was not, Ali Al Shariff,’ Shona protested indignantly. ‘You knocked against the table.’

‘But you were chasing me, I was trying to get away from you.’

‘Just go and get ready to go out, the pair of you.’ Maggie gritted her teeth as she got down on her hands and knees and started picking up the fragments. Mrs Ling hurried to her
assistance.

‘Let me help, ma’am,’ she offered.

‘Thank you, Mrs Ling,’ Maggie said gratefully, wondering how the woman remained so placid and even-tempered. If she had to take care of Alma and those two wild kids, day in day out,
she’d crack up.

‘Did you do this, Ali?’ Sulaiman appeared at the top of the stairs. He at least chastised the children now and again.

‘It was an accident,’ sulked Ali. ‘It was her fault,’ he added spitefully, pointing to Shona, who promptly burst into tears and ran up to her room.

‘It’s OK, Sulaiman. It’s just excitement. Fort Lucan will be the perfect place to get rid of excess energy,’ Maggie said lightly.

‘It’s a pity you can’t come. Alma and I would like to take you to lunch.’

‘I really need to catch up,’ she explained. ‘I need to do a shop and collect stuff from the cleaners.’

‘How about we take you out to dinner tomorrow night?’ Sulaiman got down on his hands and knees to help.

Maggie smiled at him. ‘That would be lovely, Sulaiman. Thank you.’ She was very fond of Sulaiman. He was a most generous man, and, to give her her due, Alma shared that trait. It was
a shame their marriage seemed as rocky as hers and Terry’s. They’d been sniping at each other since they’d arrived. It was uncomfortable.

She and Terry were making an effort and an unspoken truce was in effect.

It was with a huge sigh of relief that she waved them all off eventually. The silence was balm to her soul. She went into the kitchen, made herself a cup of coffee, took a chocolate-covered
Kimberly out of the big Christmas biscuit tin, and sat down at the kitchen table and wilted.

Four days gone, only three to go, she comforted herself. And after that, never again. Not that Terry would be asking them to stay for a week again, she grinned. He was beginning to wilt too.

The phone rang. It was Devlin calling for her daily update, wondering how things were going.

‘They’re driving me nuts, Devlin,’ she wailed. ‘I hardly have time to pee. I went shopping with Alma yesterday and she must have tried on fifty dresses before finally
deciding on the first one she saw. That was after we’d traipsed through every shop in Grafton Street. Then we took the kids to the pictures and Ali thought the film was too childish and
moaned his way through it. Noori made herself sick eating M&Ms. They’re fighting like cats and dogs with my lot. Alma is prancing around the house in her negligee and Terry is watering at
the mouth. I’m telling you, I’d nearly get a novel out of it.’ She laughed. If it wasn’t for Devlin she’d be lost.

‘Look, tonight you won’t have to worry about a thing except enjoying yourself, and at least you’re having a break from them today. I know you’re up to your eyes. But
you’ve passed the halfway mark. It’s all downhill from now,’ Devlin consoled.

‘I know. And I enjoy Alma and Sulaiman’s company. It’s just a bad time to visit. Miranda Quigley phoned me looking for a delivery date for the manuscript, and it’s just
driving me crazy that I can’t have a good run at it and finish the damned thing.’ Maggie sighed.

‘It will get done, stop panicking. You might even get a few pages written today.’

‘Yeah, if I get myself in gear I just might.’ Maggie felt a spurt of adrenaline. ‘I’ll go and get myself organized. See you around eight.’

‘You’re taking a taxi, aren’t you?’ Devlin said.

‘I sure am, honey, I intend to get poleaxed,’ Maggie informed her hostess.

‘Lucky you, I’d love to get tiddly,’ Devlin confessed.

‘Just think, you’re halfway there too,’ Maggie soothed. That hadn’t been the most tactful thing to say to a pregnant woman on the dry.

‘At least the tiredness is gone. That was a killer. Anyway, I’ll let you go, Maggs, I’ve to clear up the kitchen before the caterers come. See you tonight.’

Maggie finished her coffee, tidied up the house and put her washing in the machine. She was at the supermarket an hour later. She raced up and down the aisles and was lucky that the queues
weren’t as bad as she’d expected.

By one thirty Maggie was sitting at her computer, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she made the most of her precious little nugget of time. She was on the closing chapters of her novel,
tying up loose ends. She knew where she was going and it was a joy to write, unlike at the beginning of the book when she was much slower, and unsure of what was happening.

She wrote fifteen pages with exhilaration, delighted with herself that she could go to Devlin’s party with a clear conscience, knowing that she had worked well. The peace and quiet was a
rare treat.

Her family and guests arrived home from Fort Lucan around four, the children bubbling to tell her of all they had done. After a quick cup of coffee she whisked Alma off to Nikki’s, where
they both had their hair done, and a sense of light-heartedness began to envelop her as she dressed for the party later that evening.

‘I’m looking forward to this,’ she confided to Terry as she applied her foundation.

‘Me too. Devlin and Luke always throw a good bash. It will be nice to get out of the house. The kids are a bit wearing.’ Terry poured aftershave onto his hands and smoothed it in to
his cheeks. It was Fabergé. Alma had told him she liked the smell of it.
He
liked the smell of her Chanel No 5. She was a dead sexy woman. And the way she wriggled that ass of hers
was an occasion of sin, he thought longingly.

‘I just hope Alma doesn’t get into a discussion about politics,’ Maggie lowered her voice ‘She’s got very trenchant views, hasn’t she? I got such an
ear-bashing on the way home for some off-the-cuff remark I made. I was sorry I opened my mouth, I can tell you.’

‘She argues her point in a very feisty manner.’ Terry defended his new heroine.

‘Come on, Terry, she rams her opinions down your neck,’ Maggie retorted, unimpressed with ‘feisty’.

I wished she’d ram her tongue down my neck
, he thought, but he just muttered a non-committal ‘umm’, and carried on with his ablutions.

Maggie applied her eye-shadow with care. She wanted to look her best. Alma was wearing a stunning black off-the-shoulder cocktail dress, the one she’d bought in BT’s, so Maggie had
decided against wearing a dress, knowing that she couldn’t compete in the figure stakes. She was wearing a pair of black trousers that were extremely flattering to her long legs and a royal
blue silk top with a deep plunging V at the back. It was understated but very sexy. She intended to wear her highest heels.

‘You look nice,’ Terry said when she was ready, but she knew that he said it automatically. It meant nothing.

She didn’t really care one way or the other whether he thought she looked nice or not. Nor did she care that he was constantly ogling Alma. She merely found his behaviour irritating.

‘Thank you,’ she said politely. At least the tenuous harmony between them at the moment was better than the bickering they’d been going on with.

Alma lay back into the frothy bubbles of her scented bath. She was looking forward to Devlin’s party with great anticipation. Devlin had style and class – her party
was sure to be a buzz. Alma enjoyed parties. She loved being the centre of attention and having men dancing attendance on her. It was nice to feel wanted and desired. It made her feel sexy and
womanly. She gave a deep sigh and blew a dusting of foam off her nose.

She might as well be a nun for all the sex she’d had this past year, she reflected glumly. Sulaiman was a disaster in bed and he just wouldn’t talk about it or go and see a doctor or
even take Viagra. When she’d suggested that, he’d freaked.

‘You expect me to take drugs. Men have died taking Viagra,’ he’d raged. She should have known better. He wouldn’t even take an aspirin for a headache. He was a doctor,
for God’s sake. He prescribed drugs day in, day out. What was his problem?