Three Women (20 page)

‘So this is a turn-up, the two of us meeting after so long,’ he said, leaning forward. ‘I didn’t think our paths would ever cross again, despite what we meant to each other.’

‘They probably wouldn’t have except for Erin,’ she said slowly, ‘our daughter.’

She told him all about meeting Erin and getting to know her. ‘She’s so lovely, so grown up.’

‘Wow! It’s kind of hard to get your head around having a grown-up kid you’ve never seen.’

‘You did see her!’ she reminded him angrily. ‘In the hospital.
You
held her, you said she was beautiful – and Johnny, she is beautiful, and intelligent and really nice. Have you any daughters?’

‘No. I have a son. He’s sixteen.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Max, but I don’t see much of him. He lives with his mum, Andrea.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. It just didn’t work out. We divorced when he was about six. I got married again, but we hadn’t any kids. We split up three years ago. What about you?’ he quizzed.

‘I’m married to the same guy, Paddy,’ she said. ‘We have three kids. Sean is twenty-three and Kevin is twenty and our daughter Aisling is sixteen. They are great kids, all doing well. The boys are in college and Ash is still in school.’

‘Busy lady!’

‘Yes, I suppose. What about you? Your mum told me that you are still in the music business.’

‘Well, it’s general entertainment more. I own a company called Celtic Connections. I bring over Irish acts to clubs and pubs in London and around the UK. There’s quite a market for traditional musicians and bands and Irish dance troupes and comedians. The English can’t seem to get enough of them.’

‘Do you still organize rock gigs like you used to do in college?’

‘A few in the beginning, but most of the good bands are tied up with the big promoters, so I’ve specialized. I’m kind of niche, I guess. Traditional music is very big.’

They had another drink and she listened as he told her about his life in London and the gigs he did with various comedians.

‘Barry Byrne is probably the best. The audiences just love
him
and he packs up every club or pub I put him in. Sean O’Dooling is a madman and he nearly caused a riot in Ealing in a pub there with his comments about the royals!’

The bar was getting busier and busier.

‘Let’s go and get something to eat,’ suggested Johnny.

She hesitated, but it was really getting too noisy to talk about Erin here, so she grabbed her coat and they went outside.

‘There’s a nice restaurant just a few minutes’ walk away,’ Johnny said, ‘and it should be a bit quieter.’ He went to put his arm around her as they walked and she moved away from him.

Rico’s was down a narrow road that ran behind the big office blocks overlooking the Liffey. Candles glowed enticingly in the window. They sat together in a small booth as the waiter fussed around and got them a bottle of wine, assuming that they were on a romantic night out.

As Johnny studied the menu, Kate studied him. He was still bloody attractive, and he knew it. He still had that nervous energy, talking fast, moving fast; the ability to be noticed and get attention. He hadn’t changed! Not an iota.

She smiled when he ordered the steak – medium rare with pepper sauce and fries; it was still his favourite meal. Any time they could afford to eat in a good restaurant he’d always ordered the same thing.

She opted for the house special, chicken parmigiano, and Johnny ordered a bottle of red wine. They talked about the old days, about college, and her working in Captain America’s Steakhouse, and him trying to make money by organizing gigs.

‘Some of those bands were dire!’

‘Remember that band from Sligo that got so drunk playing the Commerce Ball that everyone flung stuff at them?’

‘The drummer could barely see the drums, let alone hit them!’ he laughed. ‘We had to leg it …’

They reminisced for ages, drinking more and more wine, sitting closer together, the attraction between them the same as ever, Johnny’s arm around her, his fingers touching her bare skin. It felt so familiar being beside him, both of them reluctant to break the fantasy of it, both skirting the thorny subject of her getting pregnant.

‘Kate, we had so many good times then. We were a great couple!’

‘You’re right, we were a great couple,’ she said, taking another slow sip of her wine. ‘But then I found out that I was having your baby, Johnny, and that was it. I wasn’t part of a couple any more. I was on my own.’

‘I’m sorry for not standing by you,’ he said, reaching for her hand. ‘I really am.’

‘Do you know what you did?’ she demanded, watching the expression on his face.

‘I let you and the baby down,’ he said, looking at least a bit ashamed. ‘I know that.’

‘I had to give my baby away – give her away!’ she said, losing control. ‘Can you even begin to understand what that means?’

‘I’m sorry, Kate. I’ve always been a selfish shit, that’s what Andrea said – that I didn’t deserve to be a dad!’

‘Why didn’t you even try to be a friend to me?’

‘I was scared,’ he admitted. ‘Scared where it would bring us and that it would tie me down, so I got the fuck out of there …’

‘You never thought about me or the baby.’

‘I was twenty-one!’ he said defensively. ‘I could barely keep myself, let alone you and a baby. I knew that – it was impossible.’

She said nothing. Johnny hadn’t changed; he was still the same. Looking out for number one, Johnny Devlin, and God help everyone else.

‘Kate, can we not fight – please.’

She stopped. There was no point to it, fighting with him over something that could not be undone. Instead she focused on telling him about Erin and how much she wanted to meet him and get to know him.

‘You let our daughter down years ago; don’t let her down now, that’s all I ask,’ she begged.

‘What does she want from me?’ he asked angrily. ‘Didn’t you tell her what happened?’

‘I did – but you’re her dad!’

‘I don’t think it’s a good idea after all these years.’

‘I only came along tonight to ask you one thing, Johnny – to give our child an hour or two of your time. I don’t think it’s too much to ask.’

‘Kate, I told you already that I’m not interested in meeting her,’ he argued defensively. ‘She’s found you and that’s great, but I’m not part of the picture, so there’s no point to it!’

‘Johnny, I was scared too when she contacted me. I refused to meet her,’ she confided. ‘But now I have met Erin, it’s different, honestly!’

‘Kate, I’m not getting involved.’ She could tell that no matter what she said he wasn’t going to budge or change his mind. ‘I don’t want to meet her, to see her, or talk to her, and you can tell her that.’

‘Okay.’ She sighed, realizing that whatever there had been between them was totally gone. He felt not one scrap of decency towards her or their daughter. ‘If that’s what you really want, I’ll tell her.’

‘Good.’ He looked relieved. ‘I’m glad the two of us have got that sorted.’

He really was a shit! They had nothing left to say to each other. How could she have ever imagined it otherwise?

‘What about another drink?’ he asked.

She didn’t even bother answering him, but just grabbed her handbag and coat, got up from the table and started walking to the door.

NINA WAS SITTING
doing the crossword when tom came downstairs to the kitchen.

‘You look very smart,’ she said, admiring the new grey pinstripe suit and crisp white shirt, and a tie she had definitely never seen before. He’d had his hair cut a few days ago and the tighter shape of his grey hair somehow made him younger.

‘I have a few important meetings in town today, so I probably won’t be home for dinner,’ he said quickly.

‘I’m going out with Mum later, so I’ll get something over in her place. Tom, is everything okay?’ she ventured.

‘Everything’s fine, Nina, but I’m running late …’ he said, disappearing out the kitchen door.

She listened as his car pulled out of the driveway. She had no idea what was going on with him, but she wished that, whatever it was, he would just tell her.

After breakfast she escaped to the comfort of her study. The Oscar Wilde illustrations were just about done. She was so pleased with
The Happy Prince
, standing tall on his pedestal
surveying
the city and its inhabitants, the detail of the little swallow flying over the rooftops, the jewels from his sword being sold, the food on a family’s table. It was such a wonderful classic tale, but so very sad. She ordered a courier to collect them, as they were far too precious to risk getting lost in the post en route to her editor in London. The job had been for a small publisher, but Nina was grateful to still get some work when she considered all the wonderful new, young, upcoming artists.

She looked at the preliminary drawings she had started for
The Selkie
. She hadn’t even mentioned it to Poppy, her agent, yet. It was just something she wanted to do, tell it her way. The face of the girl was almost hidden behind her long golden hair, and as she began to draw the eyes and cheeks she realized that the face she was sketching was her daughter’s.

Her mother was waiting for her, anxious to be off on the promised outing to Carragh House, to see one of the famous Guinness family gardens down in Wicklow. It was only open to the public for a few days of the year.

‘I have wanted to visit here for years,’ she smiled, ‘and I’m so glad you are the one bringing me, Nina. Lizzie is wonderful, but she has no interest in plants and gardens. The last day she took me to Mount Usher she raced me through the place. All she wanted was to sit and have coffee – but can’t I do that at home?’

Nina had brought a camera and as she rambled around the huge gardens with her mother they discussed the variety of old roses growing there and the wonderful layout of the Carragh House garden with its central water feature, a large pond with a dolphin fountain. They strolled along the massive summer
borders
of blues and pinks and purples, which almost looked like a Monet painting. She took photos of her mother, intent and totally engaged with the beauty of the cottage-garden plants. It amazed her how her mum could name every flower, remember when she had planted each one and how well it had done. This was a person who sometimes struggled to remember her grandchildren’s names!

They sat on a bench in the sunshine, enjoying a pot of tea and home-made scones with jam. Her mum was wonderful, on days like this, just wonderful …

‘How’s Erin?’ May asked out of the blue.

‘She’s fine, Mum. But there’s a lot going on with her at the moment. Her boyfriend has just moved to London and he wants her to move there, and she has recently met her birth mother!’

‘What?’ asked May, puzzled.

‘Her birth mother. Erin and Jack are adopted.’

‘I never think of that,’ said May firmly. ‘Never.’

‘I know,’ smiled Nina, ‘but it’s something Erin wanted to do – to find her mother. Anyway, her mother is living in Dublin and they’ve met a few times. Now she’s even talking about trying to meet her father.’

‘How awful for you, Nina, how truly awful! It must be so upsetting for you!’

‘I am upset, Mum. I know it sounds terrible, because Erin is so happy to have discovered her birth mother, but I feel like I’ve been kicked in the teeth. I feel like I’m second best now she has her real mother.’

Her mum seemed to be the only one that really understood what she was saying.

‘You can’t help yourself being jealous, Nina. We are always
jealous
of anyone or anything that takes our children away from us.’

‘I know,’ said Nina, tears welling in her eyes. ‘It’s so stupid, but I’m afraid that I’ll lose her.’

‘We never lose our children,’ her mother assured her. ‘Never.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’

‘I was jealous of Betty,’ she said, very softly, ‘when you were younger. I used to feel that she was taking you away from me. I couldn’t compete with her.’

Nina remembered her Aunt Betty, who was the eccentric in the family, an artist who was always painting and drawing, and had even turned her hand to sculpting. Nina had loved the visits of her mum’s older sister, who was living in sin with her partner, Harry, in a terraced house in Rathgar. Betty used to bring her to exhibitions by her artist friends and buy her pastels and oils and sets of brushes for birthday and Christmas presents. She was the one who encouraged her constantly to look and draw and paint. When Harry retired, her aunt had moved to a place in the mountains in Spain where the light was good and she and Harry could grow olives. She had died about five years ago, her ashes sprinkled over the olive grove.

‘Did you ever say anything to Betty, Mum?’

‘Why would I? She was my sister. Everyone loved her – children and animals and men!’

‘I loved Auntie Betty, Mum, you know I did. But you’re my mum!’ she said, putting an arm around her. ‘You know I love you!’

‘I know, pet – and you’re stuck with me!’

Back in her mother’s bungalow, Nina put on a wash of clothes and checked her fridge, taking note of a few things she needed.

‘Mum, do you fancy an omelette, or scrambled eggs, or pasta with a cheesy sauce?’

‘The pasta would be nice.’

She looked around her mother’s small kitchen. Her parents had moved here from their old house in Foxrock about ten years ago. It had been such a wrench, moving home at their age, but her dad had bad arthritis in his spine and feet, which made walking and the stairs a problem. Now May Armstrong had the bungalow to herself and she felt safe within it. Her Filipino home help, Charity, came in twice a week, and Lizzie and Nina were both living near enough to help out and keep a close eye on her.

‘
Coronation Street
will be on in twenty minutes,’ May reminded her. Nina laughed; their mother would never miss her favourite TV programme.

‘The pasta’s nearly ready,’ she promised, as she tossed it in the creamy-white cheese sauce and put it out on their plates.

As she watched May eat, Nina realized that her elderly mother was right: she was entitled to feel jealous about this Kate woman, but the thing she had to remember was her mother’s belief that, no matter what age you are, you never lose your children.