Never Too Late (17 page)

‘Evie,’ she said gently, ‘you’re going to hate me for saying

this but I’m your friend and I have to.’ She paused to take

her lunch off the tray. ‘I know you feel desperately threatened and hurt because of how quickly they got engaged and everything but, believe me, if you don’t go to

the wedding you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Don’t

you understand?’ She rushed on before Evie could say a

word. ‘Think about what you’re doing by not going. You’re

telling your father you don’t care and that you disapprove

of him in the most public way possible, and you’re making

Rosie choose between you. She can’t possibly go if you

don’t. She’s too loyal to you to do that but she loves her

grandfather. Can’t you see?’

Hazel eyes huge with tears, Evie stared at her oldest

friend. She looked as if she’d been stabbed with her soup

spoon. Her lower Up quivered pitifully, making Olivia feel

like she’d just clubbed a baby seal. Despite the hard

exterior Evie displayed so defiantly, she was as soft as butter on the inside and was incredibly easy to hurt. She’d been

hurt so many times before that Olivia hated herself for

adding to that. She grabbed her friend’s hand in remorse.

‘I’m sorry, Evie,’ she said desperately. “I didn’t mean to

hurt you but I had to say it.’

Her friend bit her lip in misery and for a moment, Olivia

was afraid she was going to break down and sob. But

instead Evie took a deep breath, hiccuped and whispered:

‘You’re right.’

Olivia sighed with sheer relief. ‘I’m so glad, Evie. I know

it’ll be difficult but it’s the right thing.’

Evie picked up her napkin and wiped her eyes with it.

‘You’re right about making Rosie choose between me and

Dad, and you’re right about how awful it would be if I

publicly turned against him. I keep thinking about it,

worrying about what I should do and hating myself for

being childish about this.’ She gave a wry little laugh. “I

can’t believe it’s really practical, common-sense me behaving

like a prima donna …’

‘You’re not a prima donna,’ interrupted Olivia. ‘You’re

normally very level-headed but this has knocked you for

six.’

‘Well,’ Evie said ruefully, ‘the last time I lost my head, I

was about seven and somebody broke the leg off my Tiny

Tears doll! I’m a bit old for having tantrums now, it’s just

that I lose control when I think of that woman taking

advantage of Dad …’

The smile faded and Evie’s eyes were as hard as agates as

she looked at Olivia. ‘You’re wrong about Vida. She hates

me and I hate her back. I don’t trust her and if she hurts

Dad, I’ll kill her. I will.’

Olivia had never seen such a grim expression on her

friend’s face, one that frightened her. But she didn’t want

to start another pious homily.

‘Don’t be so angry, it’ll eat you up inside, Evie,’ was all

she said. ‘Come on, let’s have our lunch. I can’t send you

back to the office looking that angry and red-faced - the

rest of the staff will think I slapped you!’

Evie laughed, a high-pitched little sound, and the tension

was broken. ‘The rest of the staff wouldn’t dream of

thinking any such thing,’ she said, managing a weak grin.

They think nobody would dare slap me. They certainly

wouldn’t.’

‘You don’t mean to tell me they’re all taken in by your

tough-as-old-boots routine?’ Olivia asked with her mouth

full of tuna sandwich. ‘Don’t they know what a complete

old softie you are?’

Evie shuddered. ‘I couldn’t bear it if they did. The only

way to run an office is with an iron hand in an iron glove,’

she said loftily.

‘Can you give me hints on how to use that technique

with a crowd of delinquent school kids?’ Olivia asked.

‘Another term of 3A will drive me nuts.’

‘They can’t be that bad, surely?’ Evie said, not noticing

how dismal Olivia looked. ‘You’ve got to show them who’s

boss.’

‘Easier said than done.’ Olivia stared into her soup and felt

her heart sink at the thought that in four days’ time she’d be

facing 3A, all hyperactive after Christmas and ready to make

her life hell. Or more hellish than it felt already.

‘I never had this problem with the fifth and sixth years,’

she said. ‘But when the other home economics teacher left

last year, the replacement wanted to teach the older girls

and, being only part-time, I ended up with the horrible

third years. There are a couple of little terrors in that class.’

She put down her spoon. Her appetite, which hadn’t been

good for days, had totally vanished. ‘None of the other

teachers can bear the troublemakers but I’m the only one

who can’t control them.’

‘They’re probably all jealous as sin of you,’ Evie

declared. An expert at giving orders, she couldn’t understand

why her friend was having so much trouble with

unruly pupils.

Evie had always imagined that one look at the ethereal

Olivia would stun any class into silence. She was so lovely

looking, with her flowing blonde hair, model’s bone structure

and long, slim body. If Evie had only looked like that,

she was convinced her life would have been different. Like

a romantic novel, full of real-life heroes waiting to whisk

her off to glorious destinations with sun, yachts, magnificent

castles and family jewels. And no overdraft, lonely

nights watching TV, months of existing on the cheapest

cuts of meat because they were so broke - and definitely

no envelope-stuffing at nights to pay for Rosie’s school trip

to Stratford-upon-Avon.

But Olivia never capitalised on her beauty or even

seemed to be aware of it. At school, she’d worn the

drabbest clothes and had never hung around with the

more advanced girls in St Agatha’s who’d been dating since

the age of fifteen. Instead, she’d stayed best friends with

Evie and together they’d steered clear of boys until they

were seventeen. Evie, plump, talkative and a tad bossy to

cover her insecurity, hadn’t exactly been inundated with

offers from the local boys, so this hadn’t been too much of

a hardship. But the desperately unsure and anxious Olivia

could have had her pick of the male populace, if only she’d

wanted to.

But then, Evie thought darkly, how could any girl be

normal when her teenage years happened to coincide with

the worst years of her parents’ alcoholism? Having your

drunken mother screech abuse at you every second day for

no apparent reason wouldn’t exactly instill you with

confidence, no matter bow stunning you looked.

‘Are you really dreading going back to teaching?’ she

asked Olivia.

Her friend nodded glumly.

‘Stephen’s thrilled lo be back at work. I think he’s bored

hanging around the house with me.’ She didn’t say that she

was sure he was bored by her company. It was as obvious

as the nose on his face. Her husband was bored rigid by

her, preferred talking to total strangers at parties than

spending time with her, and his face became ten times

more animated when he was discussing work than it ever

was when she was talking to him. Suddenly, Olivia didn’t

feel as if she could reveal all this to Evie. She felt too raw

to discuss it. Too much of a failure.

“Course he’s not bored,’ Evie interrupted. ‘He’s probably

got the post-Christmas blues like the rest of us.’

Olivia shook her head morosely, thinking that Stephen

had post and pre Christmas blues. ‘No, it’s not that.

Yesterday I suggested we spend our last day going for a drive out to Howth and having lunch in one of those lovely little pubs, but he said he wanted to catch up on

work and spent the day with his nose stuck in his briefcase,’

she said. ‘If there hadn’t been a decent film on the

TV, I’d have gone round the bend. It was Sommersby. I love

Richard Gere.’

Evie sighed in sympathy and waved at the lounge boy,

trying to get his attention so they could get coffee. He

ignored her.

‘You try.’ she said.

Olivia raised her perfect profile, flicked back a strand of

fair hair and looked hopefully in the direction of the bar. A

barman and the lounge boy arrived at their table like a

shot, both looking eagerly at the elegant blonde dressed in

sleek pewter wool.

‘Two coffees, please?’ she said, with a polite smile that

didn’t reach her silver-grey eyes.

‘How do you do that?’ asked Evie, shaking her head. ‘No,

don’t bother answering. Anyway, you should have insisted

that Stephen go for a drive with you. Heaven knows he

spends enough time working, it wouldn’t kill him to go

back to work unprepared like a normal person.’

‘I know. But his job is so important …’ Olivia said

automatically.

‘You and Sasha are important too,’ Evie pointed out,

putting too much sugar in her coffee to give herself energy

for the afternoon ahead.

She failed to notice Olivia grow even more morose as

she thought of her darling Sasha. Olivia’s eyes welled up at

the thought of the beautiful little girl with those huge

trusting eyes so sad as she watched her mother steeped in

misery.

She wasn’t even a good mother anymore. She’d cried

that morning making Sasha’s breakfast, big fat tears raining

down on the toast and honey as soon as Stephen had

slammed the front door without kissing her goodbye.

That was no way to behave in front of a four year old.

She felt so ashamed. Here she was telling her best friend

how to sort out her life, how she should go to her father’s

wedding, while she, Olivia, couldn’t sort out anything. She

felt useless; boring, stupid and quite, quite useless.

Her head bent so Evie couldn’t see her brimming eyes,

Olivia took several sips of scalding coffee. She had to get

out of the pub before she broke down completely and

disgraced herself.

‘Gosh, look at the time,’ she said with a gasp. ‘I said I’d

pick Sasha up by two-fifteen and I’ll never be back in time.

I’d better go.’ Feeling dreadful to be racing out on Evie

under false pretences, Olivia got up abruptly, grabbed her

coat and kissed her friend quickly on the cheek without

looking her in the eye.

‘I’ll drive you back to your car,’ Evie offered.

‘No, it’s only across the road,’ Olivia said anxiously. ‘I’ll

walk. Finish your coffee.’ And she rushed off!

What she really wanted to do was sit down and sob her

heart out to Evie but this wasn’t the time or the place.

Evie was caught up in her own problems and Olivia

couldn’t burden her with any more. Olivia had to sort this

out on her own.

Back at her desk with a sheaf of messages in front of her,

Evie thought about Olivia’s rapid departure and felt guilty

for rattling on about Vida and her father. Olivia was right,

she thought: she had been obsessing about the wedding.

Endlessly, she realised, shamefaced. And poor Olivia had

put up with her for ages and obviously wanted to talk

about something but Evie had been so tied up with her

own problems, she hadn’t noticed.

Feeling ashamed, she picked up the phone and dialled

Olivia’s home number. The answering machine clicked on,

with Stephen’s deep, self-important voice announcing that

the MacKenzies were not at home and to leave a message

after the beep. ‘After the beep,’ he emphasised, as if he was

talking to some spectacularly dumb caller who’d never

heard an answering machine before. God, that man loved

the sound of his own voice. He’d make anyone feel stupid

with his patronising manner, Evie thought crossly. He did it

to Olivia all the time. And he was so self-important, you’d

think he was chairman the way he went on and on about

his job and how vital he was to the company.

Imagine not wanting to spend the last day of Christmas

with his family and refusing point blank to go for a drive

in Howth so he could pore over his papers. He really was

very selfish. Because he travelled so much, he and Olivia

spent very little time together. Yet Stephen never seemed

to understand that playing happy families was terribly

important to Olivia, mainly because she’d never had one

before. Doing normal family things like going for drives or

having a cosy day at home stretched out in front of the

TV with a tin of biscuits and some tea, instead of a quart

of gin and an argument, was Olivia’s idea of sheer bliss.

The only time she’d ever done normal family stuff as a

child had been with Evie’s family, which was why they

were so close. Stephen just couldn’t understand that. And

he was so obsessed with his bloody career he didn’t

appear to care.

‘Livvy,’ Evie said to the answering machine, using the pet

name she’d called her friend by when they were younger,

‘sorry I was blathering on and on about Vida at lunch. It

must have been a real pain in the neck and I’m sorry. Give

me a buzz later, will you? We should have a proper chat and

not a word about my family, I promise. ‘Bye.’