City Woman (43 page)

‘Why? What did she do?’ Devlin grinned.

Maggie took a slug of her Irish coffee before continuing the saga. ‘Of course, they were having a row before they arrived. I copped that immediately when I was on the phone to them earlier
in the day. I mean, OK, if you’re having a row, fine! Let’s face it: Terry and I haven’t been getting on great recently. But you don’t make other people uncomfortable by
inflicting your domestic disagreements on them. You put on the best face and you keep it between the two of you – well, that’s if you’ve any manners. But of course she
hasn’t,’ Maggie declared, much to Devlin’s amusement. ‘Well, by the time Terry and I arrived with the kids, she was sitting there with a face on her that would curdle milk,
looking daggers at everyone.’

‘Little madam,’ Devlin murmured. She had met Susy on a few occasions and thoroughly agreed with Maggie’s assessment of her: rude, spoilt and thoroughly selfish. It wasn’t
like Maggie to make those kinds of comments, but Devlin had to admit they were perfectly justified.

‘Remember the time just after they got engaged when I was staying down at the farm with you for a few days? She came to visit and I asked her if she’d like a cup of tea.’
Devlin laughed at the memory. ‘You’d think I’d asked her did she want Paraquat. She’s a bit peculiar, isn’t she?’

‘Peculiar isn’t the word: she’s spiteful, that’s what she is! Do you know what the fucking little wagon said to me?’ Maggie fumed. ‘ “When’s the
famous novel coming out? I thought you were supposed to be published months ago? Mam was dying to read it. She thinks it’s great that I’m married to someone who’s related to an
author. You
are
going to be published, aren’t you? Or was it all an April fool?” ’

Devlin’s eyes widened. ‘The catty little so-and-so.’

‘She’s lucky she’s not sporting a new set of false teeth, I can tell you,’ Maggie retorted. ‘And, you know, the sickening thing is that when I first mentioned about
being published, she was all around the town telling people. No doubt when
City Woman
comes out it will be “my sister-in-law the famous author”. Oh woe is me!’ Then
Maggie laughed as she began to relax and enjoy her chat with Devlin. ‘That’s if she’s still talking to me. Although, to be perfectly honest, I couldn’t care less if she
never spoke to me again. In fact, after her carry-on at Gran’s I hope she won’t, the little hypocrite!

‘It’s just, Dev, that poor Gran had gone to such trouble, and she’s not really able for it. She’s very rheumaticky but she loves to have the family around her, especially
for that one day at Christmas. She couldn’t even enjoy the couple of hours with the lads and myself because of that Susy and her shenanigans, sitting there like Lady Muck with a face on her
that would trip a duck. I don’t know why Patrick lets her get away with it, because I’ll tell you one thing, Dev, if he treated her family the way she treats mine, she wouldn’t
stand for it. Honestly I wouldn’t dream of treating Terry’s mother other than with respect. Terry and I were disgusted, and so were Lillian and Anthony. Susy actually had the bad
manners to start a row with Patrick out in the scullery and she could be heard all over the house. Poor Gran was getting upset. So I went out and told them to have some manners and cut it out and
stop making a spectacle of themselves.’

Devlin was amazed that anyone could be so rude. ‘What did she say to you?’

‘She told me to fuck off back up to Dublin and mind my own business. I said, “You’re upsetting my grandmother and that
is
my business. You should be ashamed of
yourself.” ’

‘And what did she say then?’ Devlin laughed.

‘What
could
she say? I was right and she knew it. Oh, she knows what I think of her all right. But I did feel sorry for Gran. She’s coming up to me with Ma and Da for New
Year’s Day and I’m going to make such a fuss over them.’

‘You do that, Maggie,’ Devlin said, getting up and giving her friend a hug. ‘And don’t let that other one get you down. She isn’t worth the worry. Imagine going on
like that, the spoilt little brat. That’s total immaturity.’

‘She’s thirty-five years of age, for God’s sake! She’s four years older than Patrick.’

‘Exactly!’ said Devlin. ‘Imagine a woman in her thirties behaving like that! It’s pathetic! Just think: some day she’ll be a grandmother and a mother-in-law and
what goes around comes around. May she get the sons and daughters-in-law she deserves, just as bad as herself. And, no doubt, she’ll look like a great-granny then. Now, what do you say to
another Irish coffee?’

‘You’re a great mate, Delaney. Lead on to the kitchen,’ laughed Maggie, her bad humour evaporating at the picture of her silly sister-in-law that Devlin had painted.

They were sitting laughing and chatting, on their second Irish coffee, when Terry opened the door and three little bodies hurled themselves on Devlin.

Mimi hugged Devlin tightly. ‘Auntie Devlin! Auntie Devlin! Are you staying on your holidays tonight?’

‘I certainly am,’ laughed Devlin.

‘Did you bring us presents?’ Michael asked shyly.

‘Michael!’ exclaimed his mother.

‘I certainly did, Michael! Let’s go get them.’

‘I lobe you, Manty Devlin,’ Shona declared.

‘I love you too, pet.’

‘I love you too, Devlin,’ grinned Terry. ‘Did I get a present?’

‘Wait and see.’ Devlin turned to Maggie. ‘Hey, Mags, how about if I wash this gang and get them ready for bed, Terry can start the dinner: he’s a dream cook—’
she fluttered her eyelashes at her friend’s husband ‘—and you go and write a few pages. I’d say you’ve enough for a chapter at least.’

Maggie snorted. ‘You’re a bad egg, Devlin Delaney.’

‘Maybe I am,’ chuckled Devlin, ‘but I bet there isn’t one person who reads your book who won’t say, “Oh, I know someone exactly like Susy MacNamara.”
’

‘Well, you’re probably right,’ laughed Maggie. ‘Why don’t I go and put it to the test?’

‘Every cloud has a silver lining,’ declared Devlin, as she was dragged out to the hall to get the presents.

‘Maybe you’re right,’ murmured Maggie an hour later, as a totally new character appeared in her second novel. It’s amazing, she thought, but bitches are so much easier to
write about. Look at Ria Kirby. But this one’s even better than her. Marcy’s going to
love
this!

Maggie’s fingers flew over the keyboard. Now she was actually looking forward to meeting Marcy early in the new year with her next instalment. Before Devlin’s visit, she had been
dreading it. She hadn’t written anything since her last meeting with her editor just before Christmas. Now there was no stopping her. She smiled to herself as she wrote, ‘Cissie Lyons
wore her hair in a style that made her look like a little old granny . . .’

‘You should have seen the face of her when I said, “When’s the famous novel coming out – or is it all an April fool?” ’ Susy MacNamara
smirked at her friend Harriet, from behind the bar at which Harriet was sitting on a high stool. ‘Imelda!’ She waved an imperious hand at the young girl who was standing at the other
end of the bar. ‘Serve this gentleman, please.’

‘Why don’t you serve him your bloody self instead of standing there gabbing with Harriet Anderson – who’s only sitting listening to you in the hope of getting a
brandy,’ Imelda muttered to Neil, the barman. Nevertheless she did as she was bid. She needed this job, even if it was a torment working for Mrs high-and-mighty Susy MacNamara. Soon, she
promised herself, her day would come and she’d be able to tell Susy to get lost.

‘What did Maggie say?’ Harriet leaned forward with feigned eagerness. She’d been there twenty minutes already and there wasn’t a sign of a drink being offered. All Susy
had done was rabbit on about her horrible in-laws. She didn’t know how lucky she was to have in-laws, even if they were horrible – and Harriet knew that the MacNamaras were pretty OK,
no matter what Susy said. The trouble with Susy was that she had such an inferiority complex that she was always dwelling on imagined slights. When she worked in the County Council, no-one had got
on with her there. One minute she’d be talking to you, all smiles and charm; the next she’d ignore you or barely say hello. Her moods had been extremely unsettling and made for a very
unpleasant atmosphere in the office at times. It was a great relief to all her colleagues when she resigned from her job after her father bought the pub. Mark Bennett had actually sung the
‘Hallelujah Chorus’ when she signed off for the last time and the next day they’d bought a cake to celebrate. Harriet kept in contact only because it meant that she didn’t
feel such a spare thumb going to the pub on her own. At least she could talk to Susy when she was behind the bar.
And
get a free drink – if the younger woman was in a magnanimous
humour. Harriet cast an envious glance at the solitaire engagement-ring and extra-wide gold wedding-ring on Susy’s pudgy third finger. How she had managed to ensnare Patrick MacNamara, who
was several years younger than her, and a gentleman to boot, mystified Harriet!

She herself, just turned forty, had more or less given up hope of ever entering the married state, after a hard-fought battle that saw her going out every weekend for the previous twenty-five
years in search of a man. Oh, she still got dressed up and went out whenever she could. Still gave her stock response of being a ‘career woman’ to the inevitable questions about when
she was going to ‘give people a day out’. Harriet hated the term ‘career woman’, hated knowing that she was going to be stuck in the County Council until it was time to
collect her pension. Deep down, Harriet felt an utter failure because no man had ever asked her to marry him, and it looked now as if no man ever would. That was why it was so irritating to hear
Susy MacNamara narking on about her in-laws. How would she like it if she were stuck on the other side of the counter in Harriet’s position?

Harriet came to in time to hear Susy declare, ‘I just can’t stand these ones coming down from their big fancy houses in Dublin, swanning around, doing the lady. I suppose when the
great novel is published she’ll be arriving in a chauffeur-driven Mercedes. Herself and that Delaney one.’

‘Who?’ asked Harriet glumly. So far there was no sign of a freebie. She’d give it five more minutes, buy herself a gin and tonic and go home to watch TV.

‘You know, her friend who owns City Girl, the ultra-posh women’s leisure complex up in Dublin.’

‘Oh yeah,’ Harriet sighed. Frankly, she couldn’t care less if Susy was talking about the first woman Pope.

‘She’s a friend of Maggie, you know.’ Susy popped a handful of peanuts into her mouth and pushed the dish towards Harriet. ‘Have some.’

‘Thanks very much.’ Harriet’s tone was Sahara-dry but Susy didn’t even notice.

‘I’ve met her a few times. Another consequence who thinks she’s
it
! I remember once after we’d got engaged, she was staying at the farm for a few days and she
was going around as if she owned the place. Making herself at home, offering me tea! I mean, after all,
I
was the one who was coming into the family.
I
should have been making tea
in the MacNamaras’ kitchen, not some blow-in from Dublin. I’m telling you, when you get married you’re stuck with your husband’s family and friends as well. Stay single as
long as you can.’ Susy loved saying that, from behind the security of her wedding-ring of course. She knew very well that, barring a miracle, Harriet was unlikely to get married now; she was
too long in the tooth.

Bugger you, you superior cow! Harriet thought furiously. She smiled at Susy. ‘Well, it
is
nice being footloose and fancy-free, having my evenings to myself to do as I please.
I’d hate to have to work at night like you do. I suppose you might as well not be married at all really,’ she added sweetly, ‘if Pat’s working all day and you’re
working all night.’ Ha, she thought as she saw the expression on Susy’s face, good enough for you.

She slid off the bar stool. She was damned if she was going to add to Susy’s profits tonight. ‘I think I’ll go and get a Chinese meal and sit in by the fire. There’s a
great film on tonight. Ta ra, Susy.’ Harriet waved and departed briskly.

It’s well for you, thought Susy dourly. Wouldn’t
she
like to be sitting in front of the fire eating a Chinese takeaway. If only Patrick would take over the running of the
pub lounge and restaurant. After all he was a Swiss-trained chef. He’d be in charge just as much as he was in the kitchens of the hotel in Wicklow where he worked.

They had been fighting about it all over Christmas but he was adamant that he wasn’t giving up his job. Well, she was still not speaking to him, and wouldn’t until he came round to
her way of thinking. She’d made that quite clear to him.
And
if he thought she was going to put up a façade for his family, she had certainly dispelled the notion at his
gran’s tea-party. She had told him exactly what she thought of him, until that Maggie bitch had the gall to interfere. Who the hell did she think she was, anyway? Just because she was having
a novel published she thought she was the bee’s knees. Well, Susy wasn’t impressed by her and she’d let his family see that she wasn’t too impressed by Patrick either. In
fact she couldn’t stand the whole bloody lot of them. Susy was delighted to hear of Maggie’s publishing setback. It would give her great pleasure if the book was an unmitigating flop.
And what was more, when Maggie invited them to her annual New Year’s Day family dinner, she was just not going to go.

Thirty-Eight

‘Won’t you stay the night now and not go rushing back to Wicklow? It will make the day less tiring for Gran as well.’ Maggie was talking to her mother on the
telephone, making arrangements for her New Year’s Day dinner.

‘Oh well, all right,’ Nelsie agreed, and Maggie knew she was smiling at the other end of the phone. ‘What time do you want us to come?’

‘Look, leave early in the morning when there won’t be much traffic, and it will give you time to relax when you get here. Then you can stay the night so Dad can have a few drinks
with Terry and Anthony, and Terry’s brother-in-law.’