Divided Loyalties (47 page)

‘OK,’ Shauna agreed. ‘Talk to you later.’ She finished the call and reached for the teapot. ‘I’m telling you, Carrie, they’re awful,’ she
reiterated as she poured herself another cup of tea. ‘Greg’s just told me not to bother coming to the funeral parlour. Just to meet the funeral in Glasnevin. There’s no religious
ceremony, only a cremation. The mother wants it over fast. She’s coming directly from the airport. She’s a cold fish. No wonder Della’s the way she is.’

And Greg
, Carrie thought privately. ‘So what are you going to do? Just going to the crematorium would be handy, wouldn’t it?’

‘I know.’ Shauna made a face. ‘But I wouldn’t like to give Della an opportunity to say that I didn’t give their grandmother and Chloe’s great-grandmother the
respect she deserves or that I’m not a supportive wife.’

‘I thought you didn’t give them a thought,’ Carrie said dryly.

‘I don’t, but you know what I mean,’ Shauna said exasperatedly.

‘Hmmm. True. I’ll come with you. I’ll ask Sadie to collect the kids from school. Do you want me to ask her to mind Chloe or do you want to bring her with you?’

‘She didn’t know the woman. I’ll ask Greg what he thinks. I suppose it’s up to him. I’d prefer to leave her here, if that was OK. If Sadie can’t do it,
I’ll ask Dad.’

‘Fine, just let me know.’ Carrie waved at Hannah, who was sliding down the slide.

‘I’ll bring the two of them for a jaunt into Drogheda, if you like. I’d better organize a wreath.’

‘OK, just take Hannah’s fleece with you. There’s a nip in the breeze today. It will be cold in the shade.’ Carrie went into the back room and found the little jacket.

‘Do you need anything?’ Shauna applied some lipstick and a dust of bronzer.

‘Not a thing, thanks. I’ll stick your dinner in the pot. I’m making a chicken and pasta dish.’

‘Sounds good. Thanks, Carrie. See you later.’ Shauna headed out into the breezy September day, trying to decide whether or not to go to the funeral parlour and have to endure an
added encounter with her detested in-laws.

‘Go on, have a drop, it’s the best of stuff,’ Billy Allen urged his cousin, proffering a bottle of poitin. ‘I’ve been saving it for a special
occasion.’

‘I can’t drink that, I’ve to drive back to Dublin,’ Greg exclaimed.

‘What are you going home for, to have to drive back down again in the morning? Can’t you stay the night? Come on, we should give Edith a decent send-off,’ Bill urged, pouring a
generous amount of the explosive drink into two glasses. He took a slug and grimaced as he swallowed. ‘Cripes, that’s strong. Phew!’

‘I haven’t tasted poitin in years.’ Greg grinned as his cousin’s eyes watered.

‘Try this, go on. It’ll blow your head off.’ He thrust a glass at Greg.

Greg sniffed it and eyed it warily. He wouldn’t mind getting tanked. He hadn’t been on the razz in ages and perhaps Billy was right. What was the point in driving back to Dublin to
have to drive back in the morning? Recklessly, he took a gulp. The alcohol burned the back of his throat and made him choke. ‘You’re right, that
is
strong,’ he
gasped.

‘I’ll have a drop of that.’ Eddie walked into the room.

‘You will if you’re offered,’ Billy retorted. ‘What did you bring to the party?’

‘I didn’t know you were going drinking,’ Eddie muttered.

‘As good an excuse as any, I suppose, and you’re good at excuses,’ Billy said, but he handed the other man a glass and poured a measure of the precious liquid into it.

An hour later the three men were feeling no pain. Greg hadn’t laughed so much in a long time. He was totally relaxed and very pissed.

‘Come on, Eddie, I want to get home. I didn’t think I was going to have to drive.’ Della marched into the room with a face like thunder.

‘Ah don’t be giving out,’ her husband muttered.

‘Well, you’d be giving out if you were seven months pregnant and had sciatica,’ Della snapped.

‘I’m telling ya, boys, I’m having the snip. I’m not going through this again,’ Eddie grumbled, hauling himself to his feet.

‘You wouldn’t have the snip. You’d be afraid for your life,’ Della jeered. ‘You faint at the sight of a needle.’

‘Nothing to it, mate. I had it. It’s a doddle,’ Greg slurred. ‘It’s sore for a while afterwards but it’s worth it.’

Della shot him a look, surprised. ‘You had the snip! Shauna never said.’

‘It’s no big deal,’ Greg mumbled. ‘You two should make up at Gran’s funeral.’

‘Yeah.’ Eddie giggled. ‘I wish they would. The only place I ever got a decent feed was in your house. All I get at home is fuckin’ rabbit food.’

‘Shut up, Eddie, and get out to the car,’ Della exploded, furious at her husband’s disloyalty.

‘G’bye, lads. Aren’t you the lucky ones? I’ll be gettin’ an earbashing all the way home. See yiz tomorrow.’ He stumbled out the door after his wife, throwing
his eyes up to heaven.

‘Have another drink there, Greg,’ Billy encouraged.

‘I don’t mind if I do.’ Greg held out his glass with a very unsteady hand.

‘Did you mean it about the snip being a doddle?’

‘Yeah, but it was bloody sore afterwards, I thought I’d ruined myself for life. I was running scared for a couple of weeks. Are you thinking of having it?’

‘I think I’d have to be a lot drunker than this if I was going to do it.’ Billy guffawed, and raised his glass.

Della drove towards Cavan seething with anger. Eddie was such a bastard, making a show of her in front of Greg and Billy. How dare he say he was only fed rabbit food? He was
fed the best of organic wholesome fare. Greg would probably blab it to Shauna. Della’s lip curled at the thought of her sister-in-law. They’d be seeing each other tomorrow and she was
not looking forward to it. Shauna would probably be dressed up to the nines and be as slim and slender as ever, while she’d be looking like a beached whale in black trousers and a maternity
top that looked like a tent.

She’d probably forced Greg to have the snip so that her fabulous figure would never again be endangered by pregnancy. How vain could you get? Della thought furiously as Eddie snored loudly
beside her. What bad timing for Gran to die, when she was looking like a great fat dumpling. If she had hung on for another week the Cassidys would have been back in the Gulf and would not have
flown back for the funeral.

There was no point in wearing a corset, she mused. She was too far gone. Her hair had become dreadfully greasy, too, over the past month. Maybe she’d wear a hat, she decided, as she
rattled over a pothole and groaned as her sciatic nerve throbbed in protest. She wouldn’t let on that she was feeling less than good about herself, Della decided. She’d apply some fake
tan and wear her highest heels and put on the performance of a lifetime. She wondered if that other bitch, Carrie, would be coming. Her heart sank. The thought of seeing those two snooty cows was
enough to give her a dose of serious heartburn.

Eddie gave a belch and alcohol fumes wafted across the seat. He could sleep in the boxroom from now on; she’d had more than enough of him. It would be a
pleasure
to have the
marital bed all to herself.

‘Shauna, it’s Gwen, Billy’s wife. If you were expecting Greg home, he won’t be coming. Himself and Billy are asleep on the couch. They imbibed a drop
too much alcohol. Poitin, to be exact. I wouldn’t like to be them in the morning.’

‘Oh . . . oh. Right! Thanks for ringing me. I was going to give him a call to see what was happening.’

‘Nothing much,’ laughed Gwen. ‘I think they’ve shot their bolt. When he sobers up I’ll tell him I called you.’

‘Thanks, Gwen. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Shauna smiled. She’d only met the other woman a couple of times but she’d liked her.

She didn’t mind that Greg was pissed. She liked the idea of him staying over with his cousin. He rarely saw his extended family. It was good for him to make a connection with them. It also
meant that she could drive to Enfield with Carrie and have a laugh. It wasn’t a funeral where she’d feel great grief, as she’d hardly known the deceased woman, and she might as
well make the most of her time with Carrie, and she wouldn’t have to face Della on her own.

‘Oh Lord! Enfield’s the last place I want to go to tomorrow but I can’t let Shauna go on her own.’ Carrie yawned and snuggled in against Dan.

‘You might knock a laugh out of it. Surely Della will have something outrageous to say or do. You can tell me all about it tomorrow night.’ Dan smiled down at her. ‘At least
it’s not a funeral that you’re involved in, if you know what I mean.’

‘I know. Dad felt he should come but I persuaded him not to. He doesn’t know about the bust-up with Della and Shauna doesn’t want him to know. I wouldn’t put it past
Della to insult him. I’d say Shauna and I will be lucky to escape without a barb or two.’

‘Look on it as a girls’ day out,’ he teased, and she thumped him with her pillow. He grabbed her and kissed her and Carrie forgot her tiredness and kissed him back with
passion. She was so lucky to have a husband like Dan, she thought gratefully, knowing she’d never cope with a husband like Greg. She felt sorry for Shauna having to go back to the Gulf when
she didn’t want to.

Dan ran his fingers along the curve of her waist and down over her hips and she forgot about Shauna and her troubles and turned her thoughts to pleasuring her husband. Sliding her hand gently
down the flat, taut plane of his stomach, she smiled with satisfaction as she heard him groan with pleasure and murmur her name as her hand explored further. They could still turn each other on.
Not bad for a pair of old marrieds, she thought happily as he drew her closer and kissed her hungrily.

The traffic on the M50 was bumper to bumper from the Blanchardstown slip road and Shauna cursed as they slowed to a five-mile-an-hour crawl. ‘This is ridiculous.
We’ll be all hours getting to Enfield. So much for the plan to have brekkie in Mother Hubbard’s,’ she moaned.

‘Stay calm. We’ll be fine once we get through the toll bridge,’ Carrie assured her. ‘We’ve loads of time. Were you talking to Greg?’

‘Is he one sorry boyo. He’s in bits.’ Shauna grinned. ‘He said he’s never had a hangover like it.’

‘Poitin’s not for the faint hearted.’ Carrie laughed as she sorted out her coins for the West Link.

‘I wouldn’t like to be going to a funeral with a hangover. He’ll probably look like the wreck of the
Hesperus
.’

‘Well you look fantastic, if that’s any comfort,’ Carrie assured her, glancing at her sister, who was dressed in a superbly cut black trouser suit and a cerise camisole which
showed off her tan to perfection. The neat clutch bag she carried was an exact match to the camisole. She wore a small gold cross at her throat and a single gold bangle on her wrist. She looked the
height of elegance. Carrie wore a long, straight black skirt and a cream boxy jacket. She knew she looked smart but she could never aspire to her sister’s effortless elegance.

Her prediction proved right and once they’d gone through the toll bridge and taken the first exit off to join the N4 they speeded up. They were sitting tucking into a tasty breakfast in
the well-known restaurant in just over an hour.

Della gazed at her reflection in dismay. Her fake tan had streaked and looked rather on the orange side.

‘Bloody hell!’ she muttered as she turned this way and that, examining her reflection. She felt like bursting into tears. Shauna was always effortlessly chic, and she’d badly
wanted to present an appearance of glowing radiance. She was glowing all right but in completely the wrong shade. She saw her hands and gave a squawk of dismay. The sides of her fingers and wrists
were white and the rest was orange. Why oh why had she done it? Why hadn’t she gone to a salon and had her tanning done professionally, instead of relying on her amateurish ham-fisted
efforts? She’d made a complete hames of it.

She rooted in a drawer and found a pair of black leather gloves. She’d wear them to disguise her disastrous efforts at fake tanning.

‘You’d want to get a move on,’ Eddie roared up the stairs. He’d brought the children to school and crèche and was nursing the mother and father of a headache.
Della had no sympathy for him whatsoever.

She studied her hair critically. It was limp and lacklustre. She’d have to wear the hat she’d borrowed from a friend. It was black with a large brim that would hide her face, so she
could pretend to play the grieving granddaughter.

A thought struck her. Had Gran left a will, and if so, what was in it? Would she have any money left in her savings, having paid a fortune to the nursing home where she’d spent her last
year? She’d sold a big house. Surely there had to be some money left over from the sale. Della would very likely be a beneficiary. There was only Greg and their mother to divide the estate
between. Perhaps because Greg was so wealthy their grandmother might have bequeathed his portion to her, Della fantasized as she fastened a string of pearls round her neck. Pearls were so elegant,
so
Sex and the City
. She’d bought them cheap in a Spanish market, but no-one would know the difference.

Feeling marginally better, she adjusted the brim of her hat and waddled down the stairs.

‘You never told me that Della was pregnant,’ Shauna whispered crossly to Greg, as they stood behind the coffin in the funeral parlour, waiting for the undertakers
to carry it to the hearse.

‘What difference does it make?’ Greg muttered uncomfortably.

Shauna wanted to shout, ‘Because it’s not fair! She’ll have three children and I only have one.’ She swallowed down her bitterness and couldn’t give him an
answer.

‘Crikey, look at the colour of her. She could give a Jaffa orange a run for its money,’ Carrie whispered, catching sight of Della’s startling tan under the brim of her hat.

Shauna giggled despite herself, suddenly very glad that Carrie was by her side. She was sorry now that she’d made the effort to drive all the way to Enfield, especially when she’d
seen Della like a ship in full sail, heavily pregnant and playing the grieving granddaughter to the hilt. The other woman had hardly acknowledged her and that suited Shauna just fine.