Never Too Late (40 page)

anyone. I don’t know where it all started to go wrong, but

it did and it has.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I love him,

Evie, but he doesn’t love me, not really.’ The words came

out in a rush. ‘He loves having a wife who looks like me

and knows how to say the right things but he doesn’t

care anymore about me as a person. It’s as if I don’t exist,

I’m just another thing in his life. Like the car or the

apartment or his state-of-the-art laptop. I hate it all.’ She

broke off, tears running down her face now. ‘I don’t say

anything to him now,’ she continued. ‘I let him go on

believing that it’s all OK when inside I hate him sometimes.

That’s why I did this, the television audition.

Because I thought it’d show him I could do something,

that I wasn’t stupid.’

‘You’re not stupid!’ Evie said, putting her arms around

Olivia.

‘I feel stupid,’ she howled. ‘Stupid and useless. I can’t

even teach my classes without screwing up, I can’t do anything. Why do I think I can do this?’

While she cried on to her friend’s shoulder, Evie held

her tightly, wishing there was more she could do or say.

But there was nothing, apart from ‘I told you so’, which

wouldn’t have been true, anyhow.

Evie had never really liked Stephen, wary of his brusque

self-assurance and suspicious of the way he’d treated

Olivia. He was domineering and almost obsessive about

her from the very start. The way he watched her across a

room made some people smile fondly but it had made Evie

wrinkle up her nose in distrust. A man who trusted and

loved a woman didn’t stare at her like a gaoler guarding a

prisoner on day release, which was the way Stephen looked

at Olivia.

But Evie had never said any of this. She’d never said,

‘Have you really thought about this?’ The type of plain

speaking she was renowned for. Olivia had been so very in

love with him. Anyway, still reeling from Tony’s death,

Evie hadn’t exactly considered herself an expert in male/

female relations at the time, so she’d kept her misgivings to

herself. And watched her closest friend carefully for signs

that the fairy-tale wedding hadn’t worked out.

As the years went by, Evie convinced herself that

Stephen and Olivia were happy together, which just went

to show that you never knew what really went on behind

closed doors.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ she asked now. ‘Stay for

dinner and we’ll talk, you can’t go home now. You need to

get this off your chest.’

Olivia sat up, wiping her tear-streaked face. ‘No, I can’t,

Evie. Thank you for the offer, but I’ve got to get home.’

She was visibly pulling herself together, dragging on the

‘happy’ face she presented to the world.

‘Olivia,’ said Evie sharply, ‘stop it. That’s what you’ve

been doing for years and you never told me. Now stop and

talk,’ she commanded. ‘You’ve got to or you’ll go mad!’

Olivia dropped her facade and her lovely face looked

instantly ravaged, the mask gone and hollows of misery left

in its place. Haunted eyes stared out at her friend.

‘Oh, Livvy,’ Evie cried softly. ‘You can’t go on like this.’

‘What else can I do?’ she asked. ‘Leave him? Be realistic,

Evie. I can barely cope with the world with him - what

would I be like without him?’

‘You could be your old self again, the person you were

before Stephen.’

With a tissue, Olivia dabbed away the tears from her

eyes. ‘I don’t know who that person was,’ she said dully. ‘I

don’t know what sort of person I am now. At the wedding I told Max that Stephen didn’t see me as a person anymore.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘That’s not exactly true. I

don’t know who I am any more, so I can hardly blame my

husband for not knowing, can I?’

‘I want to help,’ Evie said anxiously.

Olivia shrugged. ‘You can’t help me, not really. I have to

do it myself…”

‘Please, Livvy, don’t shut me out. Let me help,’ interrupted

Evie.

‘I won’t shut you out, I promise. Who knows? You may

have to put me up on your sofa for a few nights.’ Olivia got

up from the table, letting her words sink in. “I really have to go now. I know I have to tell Stephen about all this

sometime.’ She gestured to the heavy television makeup.

‘But not tonight. He’s got some people over from Germany

and they’re coming to dinner, so I’m going home to play the

good hostess with something exotic for dinner and a perennial

smile on my Stepford Wife face.’

Her voice was bitter. There was nothing Evie could say.

They hugged goodbye and Olivia got into her car. With

sunglasses hiding her eyes and her perfect profile outlined

in the low March sun, she looked the picture of an elegant

working woman as she drove away from Evie’s front gate.

Looking into her pocket handkerchief-sized front garden,

Evie watched a fat pigeon waddling around digging for

worms in the soft clay. Unease sat in her belly like a rich

meal, curdling ominously. She thought about Olivia and

Stephen, on the surface the perfect couple. Underneath it

was all a sham.

Was she mad to want to get married? Evie wondered.

She’d been happy enough with her life so far.

Being half of a couple had seemed so important for such

a long time. Or maybe it was just that not being half of a

couple made it seem to matter. Was that why she and

Simon had clicked - because they’d both desperately

wanted someone else and didn’t really care who? In any

case Simon was practically married to his mother, which

was why he’d taken so bloody long to decide actually to do

the desperate deed and ask someone to marry him.

He’d been burned once before, he’d told her. A long

relationship that hadn’t worked out. Perhaps whoever she

was hadn’t been able to compete with his maternal devotion. Evie watched the pigeon mournfully. Perhaps they were both making a huge mistake.

She shook her head as if driving the thought from her

mind. Daft, that’s what she was. Plain daft. She was

marrying Simon in September and that was that.

CHAPTER TEN

It was five to three. Still. Evie wondered if she was in the

Twilight Zone because no matter how often she looked at

the alarm clock, the time seemed to change with brain

numbing slowness. Not looking at it was obviously the

answer. She sat up in bed, shook her pillow around a bit

and sank back down on to the cool side of the bed,

determined not to look at the time. Four minutes to three

winked the luminous numbers on the clock.

Evie felt like crying. She was exhausted and yet she

couldn’t sleep. The memory of Olivia’s weary face earlier

that day kept running through her mind; Olivia and

Stephen, Evie and Simon, an ill-fated foursome and their

problems. And Max. No matter how she tried to wrench

him from her mind, he was still there. Smiling wolfishly at

her, eyes caressing her in a way Simon’s never did.

Shit! She sat up again, feverish and furious. She had to

stop thinking about bloody Max Stewart. It was positively

sickening. His presence loomed over her even when she

was in bed, never mind what it did to her when she was up. Since she’d met him a week ago, he was everywhere: grinning at her, taunting her, eyebrows raised in amusement

as if he could see the effect he was having upon her.

It was no use trying to sleep. She might as well get some

hot milk and read.

Trying not to think of how shattered she’d be after a

sleepless night, Evie warmed some milk and brought it up

to bed. Propped up with pillows, she picked her book

up and tried to read. Even that didn’t work.

The dashing South American polo player in Venetia’s

Victory reminded her of Max; he had the same glinting

eyes, the same devil-may-care attitude. Every time the polo

player crushed Venetia to his chest with his powerful

mallet-wielding arm, Evie could see herself being crushed

against Max. She threw the book down in disgust and

rummaged through her bedside locker for a replacement.

Jammed at the back was one of Cara’s forensic pathologist

thrillers. Cara adored blood, gore and serial killers and had

been trying to get her sister to read one for years. Evie had

resisted until now because she hated the thought of

reading about murderers preying on vulnerable women

before she went to sleep. Strangely enough, the idea

seemed very appealing now. Surely an axe murderer would

be able to get Max out of the picture?

By five-thirty, she was a serial thriller convert - and very,

very tired. How come you can only sleep when morning is

lurking around the corner? she thought exhaustedly, sinking

her head on to the pillow as the birds began to sing

energetically outside the window.

They appeared to be singing the same song when the

alarm clock erupted with the breakfast show and Tom

Jones purring ‘Kiss’ at seven-fifteen. Evie dragged herself

out of bed, yelled at Rosie to get up, and yawned her way

down the stairs, only just avoiding tripping over her

dressing-gown belt. Strong coffee and some breakfast

didn’t help her as much as she’d hoped.

‘You look wrecked, Mum,’ Rosie remarked, the picture

of health as she bounced into the kitchen in her school

uniform.

‘Couldn’t sleep,’ Evie mumbled, head bent over her

plate, ‘and I’ve a terrible day ahead. The auditors are in.

God, I could sleep for a week.’

‘Caffeine tablets,’ pronounced Rosie, ‘that’s what you

need, Mum. They’re ace at waking you up. All the girls use

them for exams.’

Normally, Evie would have said something about how

she hoped Rosie would never use any sort of chemical

stimulant. This morning, however, she only just managed

to stop herself from asking where she could get her hands

on some caffeine tablets and how many could you take for

maximum effect.

Rosie switched on the radio, which immediately foretold

horrible delays on Evie’s route to the office.

‘I don’t believe it,’ she mumbled miserably, ignoring her

usual rule about only having one cup of coffee in the

morning and pouring herself another. Her cellulite would

just have to like it or lump it.

‘Poor Mum.’ Rosie gave her an affectionate hug. ‘Now if

you’d teach me how to drive your car, I could drop you

into work and you wouldn’t have to face the traffic,’ she

added with a mischievous grin.

Her mother groaned. ‘Have you ever thought of going

into the legal profession, Rosie? You’re an expert at arguing

at the right time and the right place.’

Grinning, she shoved a couple of slices of bread into the

toaster. ‘Is that a yes?’

‘I’d be the wrong person to teach you to drive,’ Evie

pointed out. ‘Maybe Simon could teach you.’

Rosie grimaced. ‘Not Simon. Maybe Grandpops would.

Or perhaps Vida! She brightened up at the thought of

driving Vida’s stately Lexus and impressing all the young

fellas in Ballymoreen who hung around the monument.

She could picture them with their mouths open in

astonishment and admiration, particularly that guy who

lived above the post office. It was a pleasing picture.

‘What’s wrong with Simon teaching you?’ her mother

asked irritably.

‘Oh, Mum, come on,’ said Rosie. ‘You know …’ She

broke off without finishing the sentence.

‘No, I don’t know.’ Evie was cross and very tired.

Rosie sighed. ‘Let’s not have a fight.’

‘This isn’t a fight,’ Evie said grumpily. ‘I simply wish you

didn’t have such an attitude about Simon.’

‘I don’t have an attitude about Simon,’ her daughter

retorted.

‘You do,’ Evie snapped back.

‘It’s not an attitude,’ Rosie said, taking her coffee cup off

the table. ‘I just don’t like him, that’s all.’ She slammed the kitchen door and a millisecond later her toast sprang up

from the toaster with a twang.

What have you done? Evie groaned to herself. Just

because you’re in a bad mood, you don’t have to take it

out on poor Rosie.

She quickly buttered and marmaladed Rosie’s toast and

took it up to her daughter’s room. The door, usually open

in the morning because the two of them chattered nineteen

to the dozen as they showered and dressed, was

ominously shut.

‘Rosie love, I’m sorry. I’m grumpy this morning because

I couldn’t sleep,’ Evie said from the landing.

The door opened. Slightly mollified, Rosie took the toast

from her mother.

‘I am sorry,’ Evie said again.

‘It’s OK,’ Rosie said. ‘I’m sorry about what I said too.

About Simon. I don’t dislike him,’ she lied. ‘I just don’t

want him to teach me how to drive. I’d love you to do it.’

Evie smiled for the first time that morning. ‘I don’t know why, love, when I’m such a bad-tempered old cow of a mother. But I’ll teach you, I promise. When you’ve finished

your exams, I’ll put your name on the insurance. It’ll be my

post-exam present to you.’

‘Ace!’ said Rosie joyfully.