City Woman (9 page)

After a dark time of near-despair she had come to realize that she had been a most selfish wife, unworthy of Gerry’s years of patient loving kindness, and a disaster of a mother to Devlin.
She had vowed to herself that she would make it up to her husband but remembrance of the bitterness and anger of Devlin’s words had prevented her from contacting her daughter. It wasn’t
that she didn’t want to. More than anything, Lydia had longed for Devlin’s forgiveness. She had believed that Devlin had spoken the truth when she said she wanted nothing more to do
with her and then, when Devlin had been so spectacularly successful with City Girl, she had been afraid to call her and congratulate her in case Devlin would think she was making up to her now only
because she was successful and famous.

When she had picked up the phone and heard Devlin’s voice at the other end inviting her to lunch, it was as if a huge burden had been lifted from her shoulders. Gerry had been so pleased
when she had told him and did his best to calm her fears that she wouldn’t say the right thing to her daughter and that the whole thing could end up in disaster.

She had nearly lost her nerve that morning; only the knowledge that she would never have such a precious opportunity again had kept her going. Three times she had changed her outfit, not wanting
to look either overdressed or underdressed. She had dithered about whether to bring champagne or even wine, not wanting Devlin to think that she was still a drinker. In the end she had bought a
bouquet of roses and some handmade chocolates.

Driving across the East Link bridge she had got increasingly nervous and as she turned right on to the Alfie Byrne Road, she longed to pull in and have a cigarette to gather her scattered wits.
The tide was in, boats bobbed up and down and windsurfers scooted along the waves. Clontarf, nestling among verdant trees, looked very pretty. She pressed on. Devlin had said any time between
half-past twelve and one. It was twelve-forty.

‘Jesus help me!’ Lydia prayed from the heart as she stopped at the traffic lights before turning on to the Clontarf Road. ‘Put the right words in my mouth; let me show my child
that I love her and that I’m sorry. Let me try and make up to her for what I’ve done. O Sacred Heart of Jesus, I place all my trust in Thee!’ It was strange how for years she had
gone to Mass every Sunday, helped church charities, done good works, was highly thought of in the community; and yet when the test came and Devlin had told her she was pregnant, she had almost
pushed her on to the plane to London for an abortion.

That betrayal of her daughter, herself and her religion should have distanced her from God, and yet, when she had been in that nursing home in dark despair, she had felt closer to Him than ever
before. Nowadays when she heard of girls and women having abortions, she did not judge them as once she would have. She knew through personal experience why some women were driven to do this
fateful thing. But, despite the awareness of the circumstances and the understandable desire of women to have the right to choose, Lydia had decided that if ever she could persuade a girl or woman
not to have an abortion, she would.

She had done a course in counselling and now twice a week she talked to women who had to make that decision. She always started off by telling them of her own experience: how she had insisted
that her unmarried daughter go for an abortion. ‘It was the biggest mistake of my life. My brave daughter left that clinic and had her baby and I was not there to support her. But I am here
to support you in any way I can,’ she would assure the upset woman. And support them she did, whatever their decision. It helped her more than it helped them, Lydia often believed, but it
could not assuage the aching sense of loss and guilt she felt over Devlin.

Following the directions Devlin had given her over the phone, she drove along the seafront until she came to the address. As she drove up the tree-lined drive Lydia was impressed. This was a
very elegant complex indeed, she thought, as she viewed the flowering shrubs, the beds of heathers and the ornamental central pool with its arrangement of waterlilies and reeds. Several of the
tenants sat reading or sunning themselves on garden seats, and in the distance she could see some tennis-courts and hear the rhythmic whack of ball and racket as a foursome played an enthusiastic
game. It was as nice as any complex one would find on the southside, Lydia thought approvingly, and then shook her head at her silly snobbery.

She parked the car and, taking a deep breath, walked up the steps to the entrance. Locating Devlin’s bell, she paused with her finger on the button and then let her hand fall to her side.
She could see her reflection in the glass panels of the doors. Nervously she patted her hair with her free hand and clutched the flowers tighter to her with the other. What if everything
didn’t go well? She had to do this right: it was her only chance to make it up to Devlin. ‘God give me courage,’ she said under her breath, pressing her finger against the
bell.

For what seemed like an eternity there was silence and then Devlin’s voice seemed to float down over the intercom. ‘Hello, Mum. I’ll send the lift down to you. It’s the
first one on the right.’ Then the door swung open and Lydia, following Devlin’s directions, found herself in a lift, which glided swiftly up to the penthouse where her daughter lived.
As it came to a halt, she swallowed hard. When the door opened and she saw Devlin standing in front of her, she tried to smile.

Six

‘Hello, Mum.’ Devlin tried to keep her voice normal.

‘Devlin . . . dear.’ Lydia attempted a smile as she proffered the roses and the chocolates but to her horror her lip started to tremble and tears spurted from her eyes.

‘Oh Mum, Mum. It’s all right. Don’t cry! Don’t cry, Mum, there’s no need!’ Devlin flung her arms around Lydia and held her tightly.

‘Devlin, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I can never forgive myself for what I did.’

She suddenly felt very sorry for Lydia. It wasn’t that she was a saint full of turning the other cheek and dispensing forgiveness or anything like it! But she had never been one to harbour
a grudge and it was clear that while Devlin had been going through hell, Lydia had had her own trauma. As far as Devlin was concerned, the past was the past; nothing would change it, but she and
her mother could now pick up the pieces and go forward to a new and more enriching relationship.

‘I didn’t know how I was going to face you.’ Lydia took an immaculate linen-and-lace handkerchief out of her bag and dabbed at her eyes. ‘I didn’t mean to end up
like a weeping willow.’ She gave a sheepish smile.

‘I was a bit nervous myself, Mum,’ confessed Devlin, ‘but we’ve done it now and that’s the worst part over. And I’m sorry for the things I said to you in the
hospital that time. I . . . I was in bits.’

‘I know you were.’ Lydia squeezed her daughter’s hand. ‘And I was no help to you when you needed me most. I’ve thought about it every day and cursed myself. Maybe
if I’d acted differently your baby would still be alive.’

‘Oh, Mum.’ Devlin started to cry. She couldn’t help it. ‘Mum, she was beautiful. She had the most gorgeous golden hair and the biggest blue eyes and the heartiest
chuckle. She was such a little dote. I miss her so much.’ Devlin sobbed her heart out as the pent-up grief of many months was released like a tidal wave. Lydia cried with her and held her
close in a way she would never have been able to do in the old days.

‘Have a good cry, my love. It’s always good to cry. And then tell me all about my grandchild,’ she murmured.

‘I’m sorry,’ Devlin apologized a little while later when she had cried herself dry.

‘Don’t be, darling,’ Lydia soothed. ‘It’s only natural for you to cry. I’ve learned a lot since the old days. If you bottle grief up you only make yourself
ill. Some day it will all come at you. So grieve as long as you must and don’t keep it all inside. Look at the way I kept things inside. I was so unhappy myself; I made your father dreadfully
unhappy – and look what I did to you. I turned to drink to blot it out. It didn’t: it only made things worse. I keep away from it now, Devlin, and your father and I are much closer. I
want to try and make up to him for the dreadful life I’ve given him and if you will let me, I’ll try and be as good a mother as I can to you.’ Lydia’s tone was pleading as
she stared into her daughter’s pain-filled eyes.

‘I’d like that very much, Mum. I’ve never really talked to anyone about Lynn since the accident, I just couldn’t: it was too painful. I’d like to talk to you about
her and show you her photographs.’

‘Thank you, darling, for wanting to share your memories with me.’ Lydia stroked her daughter’s cheek tenderly and Devlin marvelled at how changed her mother was.

The lunch lasted for hours. ‘I didn’t realize you were such a good cook,’ Lydia declared as she ate the last spoonful of the brûlée with relish.

‘When I went to London I couldn’t cook an egg,’ Devlin laughed. ‘I used to live out of the frozen food compartments when I was in a flat here. But I just couldn’t
afford that over there. It was a case of having to learn or starve.’ Lydia looked stricken and Devlin could have kicked herself. ‘I’m exaggerating, Mum,’ she said gently.
‘I’m glad I learned how to cook. I learned a lot of things, I learned how to stand on my own two feet and that’s the best lesson a girl can have. Mum, some of the things that have
happened to me were for the best. I was a spoilt brat when I lived at home. All I had to worry about was where to spend my allowance and to decide whether to go to Leggs or the Pink Elephant on
Friday and Saturday nights. I was very shallow and totally immersed in my own petty little problems. I really wasn’t a very nice person.’

‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, dear,’ Lydia responded, taking a cigarette out of her bag and lighting up. ‘You were a good daughter to both of us. And though I’ve
no right to say so, I’m so proud of you. You know I envy your generation so much. All mine aspired to was getting married and having a nice home and a successful husband, if we were lucky.
Our status was tied to our man’s. If he did well, we didn’t have to worry about not being well provided for. If he didn’t, we suffered hardship with him. But your
generation—’ Lydia exhaled a long thin stream of smoke ‘—you just get out there and take control of your own lives and finances. I think it’s wonderful. I wish I were
a young woman again.’

‘You don’t have to be a young woman to take control of your own life,’ Devlin pointed out gently. ‘Look how you’ve stopped drinking. Look at the way you’ve
done your counselling course; and there’s the voluntary work you do.’

‘I know that,’ Lydia sighed. ‘And I feel a lot better. But . . .’ Lydia turned her fine eyes to her daughter. ‘I feel I’ve really achieved nothing significant
with my life. Looking at you makes me ashamed. You’ve done so much in such a short space of time.’

‘Yes, but at what cost?’ Devlin said sadly. ‘I’d give up all this tomorrow to have Lynn and Kate alive.’

‘I know you would, dear,’ Lydia murmured. ‘I’m sorry: that was thoughtless of me.’

‘Have you never thought of setting up a little business? You’d be great at interior design. Or even opening a boutique? You’ve got such taste, Mum.’

‘I don’t think I’d have the nerve, Devlin,’ Lydia laughed. ‘Anyway what would I know about setting up a business? I’m a bit long in the tooth now, don’t
you think?’

‘What did
I
know about it?’ Devlin declared. ‘And you’re never too old. It’s not as if you’re Methuselah!’ A thought struck her. ‘You
know one of the shops in the mall in City Girl is closing down because the woman who opened it just couldn’t be bothered to put the time in. She’s far more interested in swanning around
the Coffee Dock in her designer gear. You know Vivienne Kearney? It’s her place. She decided she was going to open this exclusive boutique. All she wanted to do was take off to Paris and
Milan to stock it. She was very enthusiastic at the beginning but it’s such a hard slog; the glamour of it has worn off.’ Devlin’s eyes sparkled. ‘I was in London with Luke
recently and I got the most beautiful lingerie in Harrods. I think something like that would go down very well in the mall.’ Devlin sat up straight. ‘Mum, why don’t you take it
over? We haven’t let it yet. Lease it and do what you want with it.’

‘Devlin, I couldn’t,’ Lydia demurred.

‘Of course you could,’ Devlin said excitedly. ‘You could stock lingerie and soft toys and knick-knacks like that. Little treats.’

‘Maybe pot-pourri and stationery and chocolates – gifts . . .’ Lydia, infected by Devlin’s bubbly enthusiasm, started getting excited herself.

‘Oh Mum, go home and talk to Dad about it. It’s so handy having a bank manager in the family.’

‘Will I?’ Lydia’s eyes were wide with excitement.

‘Yes. Do. Tonight!’ Devlin urged.

‘Oh all right,’ Lydia chuckled. ‘I’d better get going soon anyway. Gerry will wonder where I am.’

‘I’ve something for you before you go,’ Devlin said shyly. She went into her bedroom and took a framed photograph out of a drawer. It was a photo of Lynn that she had kept on
the chance of such an occasion.

‘Oh, Devlin! Oh, my dear, she’s beautiful.’ Lydia took the photograph and gazed at her grandchild. Tears coursed down her cheeks. Devlin too started to cry and the two of them
stood hugging each other tightly.

‘I wish you had known her, Mum, but you don’t know how happy it makes me to be able to give you this.’ Devlin brushed the tears from her cheeks and tried to smile.

‘She’s so fair, isn’t she? I thought she’d be much darker,’ Lydia reflected, tracing a finger gently over the photo. Devlin was puzzled by the comment then suddenly
remembered that Lydia had always believed that Devlin had become pregnant by a Portuguese during a holiday fling.

‘Mum, I didn’t get pregnant on holidays that time,’ Devlin said quietly. ‘It wasn’t a foreigner. It was Colin.’

‘Colin Cantrell-King! Oh my God!’ Lydia exclaimed, utterly shocked. ‘Oh, the bastard!’

‘Forget it, Mum. I just thought you should know.’