Читать книгу Always and Forever - Cathy Kelly - Страница 11

Mel wished she’d had more time to make an effort for the Lorimar charity ball at the end of February. A black-tie event which all senior staff were expected to turn up at upon pain of death, it had been the subject of much discussion in the office for the past month.

One Lorimar contingent – a Samantha from Sex and the City lookalike from marketing, three executive assistants and the head of telesales – planned to go all out for Sex and the City glamour, with perilous heels, just-left-the-Elizabeth-Arden-counter make-up and wildly contemporary outfits.

‘Lots of red lippy is the key,’ said the woman from marketing, who had spent hours on the party preparations, a mammoth task, which also involved ensuring that hundreds of red Lorimar balloons would fall from the ballroom ceiling when Edmund Moriarty announced a special Lorimar donation of €100,000 to the charity, a heart surgery research foundation. Edmund would go ballistic if his big moment was ruined, so most of marketing and a fair part of publicity were deployed on charity detail.

Another group of female staff were planning to get themselves fake-tanned to a decent colour, go to the hairdresser’s, then dig out their reliable old black dresses, because nobody wanted to splash out on a new outfit for a mere office do. Vanessa had borrowed a red satin knock-out evening gown from her sister and said she was fully expecting Hilary to go into cardiac arrest when she saw it.

‘Although there will be lots of cardiologists on hand if she does,’ Vanessa said cheerfully.

And Mel…Mel had planned a bit of personal grooming time so she’d look her best on this important occasion. A new dress, perhaps. Or a trendy haircut. Something to show the world, and the top people at Lorimar, that Mel Redmond had her finger on the pulse.

Yet somehow, with fifteen minutes to go before she and Adrian had to leave the house on the Saturday night in question, Mel was upstairs frantically trying to revive her limp hair with a blast of hairspray. Her maquillage consisted of a faded bit of eyeliner that had originally been plastered on at nine that morning, and her skin tone was more Wet Weekend in Greenland than the delicious shade of Malibu Bronze most of the other Lorimar women were aiming for. Adrian was recovering from the flu and Mel realised miserably that even he looked better than she did. Feeling worn out after a hectic day and an even more hectic month, all she wanted to do was lie down on the bed and sleep.

Her diary had been black with dates for the whole of February. The second Friday of the month had been Adrian’s younger brother, Eddie’s, fortieth birthday and the landmark party had involved a big meal for the extended family in his favourite restaurant.

‘My kid brother, forty…’ Adrian kept remarking in an astonished way. ‘It seems so old. I can remember us talking about what it would be like to be forty.’

‘It was like being a million years old,’ reflected Eddie. ‘It seemed so far away. I sort of hoped I’d be forty before you because I was fed up with being two years younger and you got to do everything first.’

‘For you to be forty first, Adrian would have had to have died,’ said their mother, Lynda.

‘Just as well it didn’t happen then,’ Eddie said gravely, ‘although I came close to killing you often enough, big bro.’

The following weekend, Mel’s aunt and uncle celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary and their children organised a big lunch party in a Dublin hotel, complete with a band playing Jim Reeves songs, and enlarged photos on the walls of the happy couple during their married life. Arrangements of pale pink roses decorated the tables, and to recreate the whole wedding effect, which had originally been low key because of a lack of funds, there was a blessing by the parish priest, champagne toasts and speeches.

‘It’s such an emotional event, isn’t it?’ said one of the guests dreamily to Mel after Uncle Dermot reduced the whole room to floods of tears by telling them how he didn’t want to cope a single day without his Angela.

‘Er, yes, very emotional,’ replied Mel, sweat ruining her hair as she rushed off after Carrie, who’d run rampant as soon as she realised that the hotel was the perfect place for escaping her mother. So far, Carrie had hidden in a stall in the women’s loos, under the draped tablecloth where the anniversary cake stood in state, and behind the swing door into the kitchen.

‘Sit down and rest and I’ll take care of Carrie,’ said Mel’s mum, as Mel sprinted past.

Mel stopped and thought of how her high-heeled party sandals were killing her and how the people who organised these events and invited children never seemed to plan anything specifically for them. ‘Children welcome!’ meant nothing when it didn’t include a special child-friendly room where parents could alternate care while round-the-clock Barney’s Great Adventure/One Hundred and One Dalmatians played on the video. Or else on-demand tranquillisers for the parents. Those glasses of red wine sitting invitingly at the edges of the tables were like a magnet for a child of Carrie’s age.

‘You’re tired, Mel. Have a sit-down with Adrian. Get yourself a piece of the cake, go on. I’ll keep an eye on her.’ Karen got up from her seat and began to head off after the lilac-clad whirlwind that was Carrie.

‘No, Mum, it’s OK. You do enough,’ Mel said firmly. If her feet hurt, she’d just take her shoes off. Who’d notice? ‘Next thing, Carrie will think you’re her mother and not me!’ The brittle laugh that accompanied this comment didn’t escape either of them.

‘She wouldn’t, don’t be silly.’ Karen’s soft hand gripped her daughter’s tightly.

‘Course not. It was a joke!’ Mel’s face adopted its best PR executive smile. They both knew it was fake.

‘See you later then, love,’ said her mother. And although she’d never worked in PR, she managed a creditable imitation of her daughter’s smile.

There was no respite at the office either. Mel was snowed under as the company’s magazine, which was sent to all subscribers, was going quarterly instead of biannually, and everyone in the publicity department was being called upon to work overtime. To make matters more tense, there were ominous rumours of huge cutbacks. More work and less money – not a good combination, Mel felt.

Vanessa was under the same pressure and the only time they got to talk was in the morning in the ladies’, where they compared notes on the dismal vibes that were circulating about how the company could Save Money.

‘I was reading a bit in the paper the other day about how most working women do so much first thing in the morning that by the time they actually get into the office seventy-five per cent are knackered,’ Vanessa said one day as she washed her hands and decided that she didn’t have the energy for any other primping.

Mel, applying jet-black mascara to give her tired eyes some definition, almost laughed. ‘Only seventy-five per cent? What sort of medication are the other twenty-five on?’

What had added most to Mel’s sheer exhaustion was the fact that Sarah wasn’t sleeping well. For several weeks, Sarah had refused to settle on week nights until she was falling with tiredness, and then she slept badly and woke up several times in the night crying. Mel had discussed this with Dawna, the nursery boss.

‘I think I’ve got to the bottom of it,’ Dawna said finally the Friday before the Lorimar charity ball, when Mel was at her wits’ end. ‘She doesn’t want to miss being with you, Mel. When Mummy’s out at work all day, we miss Mummy, don’t we?’

Sarah nodded gravely.

‘That’s all it is. She doesn’t want to go to bed and miss spending time when you’re home in the evening,’ Dawna went on blithely, not realising that she was injecting another hypodermic needleful of guilt into Mel’s heart. ‘I bet she goes down like a lamb at weekends when you’re there all the time?’

Mel nodded. It was true: on Friday and Saturday nights, Sarah always slept well and Mel had tried to convince herself it was because the weekends were packed with activity and she was tired. She should have known it wasn’t that.

Rather than ask for her mother’s help again, Mel enlisted the aid of Adrian’s mother, Lynda, to babysit on Saturday while she and Adrian went to the ball. Lynda was always thrilled to be asked, though that didn’t happen often. This was partly because Mel didn’t want to seem to take advantage of her but mostly because Mel felt that Lynda at some level disapproved of her.

Lynda had come from a generation who’d stayed at home with their children, and even though she never directly said a word to Mel about her job – Lynda wasn’t the confrontational type – Mel felt the vibes anyway.

A youthful sixty-something with a trim figure from playing badminton and the same blonde colouring as her son, Lynda seemed the ideal mother-in-law. She lived far enough away not to be dropping round all the time and, although she’d been widowed for several years, she had her own social life and didn’t cling to Adrian. But the odd comment Lynda made gave Mel to feel that she didn’t want her beloved granddaughters brought up by strangers and was suspicious of her granny rival.

‘Melanie, I can’t get over how good the girls are with strangers. Carrie particularly. When my boys were that age, they just weren’t used to people and they’d hide behind my skirt if they met new people,’ Lynda remembered fondly. ‘But the girls, why they’re regular little grown-ups! It must be being at nursery all day.’

Mel had ground her teeth at that one.

‘She didn’t mean anything by it,’ Adrian protested. ‘She’s only saying…’

‘I know,’ said Mel tightly. The memory of her mother-in-law’s last comment: ‘You career women! I don’t know where you get the energy from. I wouldn’t have been able to take care of my family and go out to earn a living, I can tell you!’ was still fresh in her mind. If Lynda was only saying, why did it sting so bloody much?

By half-past six that evening, Mel had done all she could with her hair and would have to put her make-up on in the car. The day had been swallowed up with grocery shopping, taking the girls swimming and getting everything ready for Lynda that night.

Sarah had been upset that her parents were going out, and had been miserable with her mother all day. With her tiny heart-shaped face, huge blue and violet eyes and silvery blonde ringlets, she had the look of an enchanting little angel. But the angel-face hid fierce determination to have her own way in everything and, at the age of four and a quarter, she was well on the way to being empress of the Redmond household. Mel had read all the books on how to cope with strong-willed children and had finally come to the conclusion that none of the childcare experts had ever met anyone like her daughter.

At least swimming had tired her out, Mel thought, rapidly pulling on her long black evening dress, the one that could almost go to the ball by itself, it had been to so many work parties. Standing in the pool, holding Carrie up, had tired her out too. Downstairs, Beauty and the Beast was in the video, ready to go. Two chicken breasts in garlic and wild mushroom sauce sat in a dish on the kitchen counter with a bowl of baby potatoes beside them, waiting to be warmed up for Lynda’s dinner. A joint of lamb was marinating in fresh rosemary and olive oil in the fridge for tomorrow, because Lynda stayed over till the following evening if she babysat and she was partial to a proper Sunday dinner. The spare bed was freshly made up with lilac sheets and Mel had even managed to iron the duvet cover, something she didn’t do for herself and Adrian. The soft sheets on Sarah’s bed and on Carrie’s cot had been changed, and all their favourite cuddly toys were lined up in their correct places. Mel had left the thermometer and the children’s paracetamol on top of the bathroom cabinet, too high for the children to reach but where Lynda could get them in an emergency, and the phone number of the local doctor and the venue for tonight’s party were both written in big writing – Lynda was half blind without her glasses – beside the phone.

Surely Lynda would have no excuse to think that Mel’s going out to work meant the family suffered.

‘We’re going to have a lovely time tonight,’ Lynda cooed to her two grandchildren, who sat snuggled up beside her on the couch, cosy in their pyjamas and ready for fun with Granny Lynda.

Lynda had brought sweets with her, the sort of sugar-laden confections that were banned in the household because they made both children hyper. Mel knew she couldn’t say anything.

Adrian, looking less pale, walked in finishing a biscuit. There was dinner tonight but what with the drinks reception first, who knew when they’d get a bite to eat. He was wearing a black fine wool suit with a silvery grey shirt that brought out the blue of his eyes. He looked great. ‘Will you miss Daddy?’ asked Adrian, quickly scooping Sarah up from the couch and turning her upside down, a game she’d loved since she was a baby.

‘Yes,’ giggled Sarah, trying to pull her long fair hair away from her face.

‘No, really?’ demanded Adrian, bouncing her up and down.

‘Yes!!’ she squealed with delight, loving being bounced. She had no fear of anything, Mel knew.

‘Me, me!’ yelled Carrie, her fat baby cheeks rosy with excitement. She looked like a mini version of her sister, without the stubborn chin.

More like our side of the family, Lynda said sometimes, and Mel took that to mean the stubborn streak in Sarah had come from her and was, therefore, not approved of.

‘We should go,’ Mel said automatically.

The fun seemed to stall for a moment. Sarah, still upside down, gazed at Mel with those knowing eyes as if to ask why her mother had to ruin it all.

Because there isn’t enough time in the day, Mel wanted to scream. Somebody has to keep it all running on schedule. Imagine what would happen if she didn’t keep them all to time.

Adrian put Sarah down and then quickly bounced Carrie a few times to keep the peace, before popping her back beside her grandmother.

‘Be good for Granny,’ Adrian told both his daughters, who smiled adoringly at him as if to imply that they didn’t know the meaning of the word naughty.

‘Bye, Carrie.’ Mel bent to kiss her baby and was rewarded with two fat little hands clinging to her neck and a sloppy kiss planted on her cheek. She was growing so quickly, Mel thought with a pang. It seemed like only yesterday she was a tiny, fragile creature nestling in Mel’s arms, tiny rosebud mouth sucking on her mother’s nipple.

‘Bye, Mummy,’ Carrie cooed in her breathless voice.

Mel kissed her again. ‘I love you,’ she whispered gently.

On the other side of Lynda, Sarah now sat with a stash of forbidden sweets on her lap.

‘Can I have a kiss goodbye?’ Mel asked tremulously.

‘Byee,’ said Sarah, still engrossed in arranging her treasure, ignoring the request.

‘Little scamp, you should kiss your mummy goodbye,’ said Lynda fondly, ruffling Sarah’s hair.

‘Oh, they all get like that sometimes,’ Mel said in a breezy voice. She would not let anyone know how she felt like breaking into betrayed, bitter tears. ‘The new person is always more fun than boring old Mummy.’

‘Give your mum a kiss,’ urged Lynda.

Blissfully unaware of the pain it sent shooting into her mother’s heart, Sarah kept her head down and ignored them all.

‘Go on,’ Lynda said, half-laughing. ‘Isn’t she a little rascal? She hates you going out, Mel.’

Suddenly, Sarah looked up, smiled her breathtaking smile, and blew her mother a speedy kiss with an idle wave of one hand.

‘Good girl,’ said Lynda. ‘Now give me the television zapper and let’s watch our film.’

‘Have a great time.’ Adrian was already making for the door.

‘Yes, be good, darlings,’ Mel added as she walked mechanically after her husband, feeling her disappointment like a physical ache. Sarah hadn’t wanted to kiss her. Blowing a kiss didn’t count, not as a proper kiss. Sarah always kissed her mother goodbye, always…

‘Mel, your handbag,’ reminded Adrian, handing it to her. ‘How could you forget that?’

‘Silly me,’ said Mel, and went out of the door.

‘You’re exhausted, aren’t you?’ Adrian said, unlocking the car.

His wife sank into the front seat. As they sped down the road, she realised that her make-up bag was still on the hall table. All she had with her was a pale lipgloss and mascara. With limp hair and a nearly nude face, she’d look like she was the one with flu. But in her misery, for the first time in her perfectly groomed life, Mel Redmond didn’t care.

The event was being held in the ballroom of a posh five-star city hotel called McArthur’s, and the drinks reception in the foyer was already in full swing when Mel and Adrian arrived. Smiling gracefully, aware she must look like a plague carrier, Mel held Adrian’s hand as they progressed through the throng until they came upon one of Mel’s good friends from work, Tony Steilman, and his wife, Bonnie. They were friends outside of work too, and Tony was a person Mel trusted entirely.

‘Hey, great to see you,’ said Tony, kissing her. ‘You look terrible.’

Bonnie, hugging Adrian, gave her husband an exasperated look.

‘Left my make-up at home in the rush to get out the door,’ Mel shrugged.

‘I don’t have much with me,’ Bonnie said, holding up a tiny evening bag, ‘but you’re welcome to use mine.’

Leaving the two men to talk, Mel and Bonnie made their way in the direction of the loos, but as they turned into the corridor, they almost literally bumped into Hilary and the chief executive, Edmund Moriarty – the very last people Mel wanted to see in her current state.

‘Gosh, Mel, are you ill? A virus?’ asked Hilary, moving a step away because whatever it was, she didn’t want to catch it.

‘No, it’s being a working mum and always having to do everything at a rush,’ laughed Bonnie brightly, the effects of her two glasses of pink champagne loosening her tongue. ‘Honestly, Hilary, I don’t know how she manages it. Our Mel is a regular heroine. I always say to Tony that he’s lucky I’m there at home for him all day so he doesn’t have to come home to the washing, like Mel. It’s great that Lorimar are such supporters of working mums.’ Bonnie’s sweet round face shone with pride at her friend, thinking she’d said the right thing because Mel was incredible, really. Bonnie didn’t know how she’d manage if she had to work as hard as Tony and Mel, and still be a mum.

There was silence.

Mel felt the smile straining on her face. She knew that it was absolutely the wrong thing for Bonnie to say. Edmund did not want to be reminded that Mel was a mother with any other responsibilities. He and Hilary wanted Lorimar to be her first priority and they genuinely didn’t care what sort of hoops she had to jump through in order to do her job. A childless man, the only capricious, demanding and easily bored person Edmund wanted his employees interested in was himself.

Casting her mind about for some explanation that would satisfy everyone and keep her Super Career Woman image intact, Mel suddenly came up trumps. ‘Actually, I was at the gym training and I had to rush home. You know how time flies when you’re working out.’

Bonnie blinked.

‘The mini marathon,’ Mel went on. ‘Lorimar have a group running and, obviously, I want to be there.’

The vision of a gang of his female workers wearing head-to-toe Lorimar merchandise as they ran past waiting photographers clearly appealed to Edmund Moriarty. Health, charity and good publicity – the perfect combination.

‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘Didn’t know we were sponsoring a team but excellent idea. Health is our aim and we are healthy. I like it.’

Hilary, who obviously didn’t believe a word of it, gave Mel a bland stare. ‘Great,’ she said. ‘We can talk about it on Monday.’ And she led Edmund off to schmooze some more.

Mel managed to keep a stiff upper lip for the rest of the night and it was only when they were safely on their way home that she let her guard down.

‘It looked so bad,’ she groaned as they drove out of the hotel’s underground car park. ‘And for damage limitation, I said I was training for the mini marathon, which means I’ll actually have to do it.’

‘You’re kidding, right?’ Adrian was bemused by all of this. So what if Mel had looked tired? She hadn’t been hired to look like a supermodel all the time; she was a normal person.

‘No,’ she snapped, angry at the world and, since the world wasn’t there, Adrian would have to do.

‘You can’t have to run a mini marathon just because you looked tired at a party?’ he went on.

‘Yes I do because I said it in front of the boss and the boss’s boss, so I have to, and it’s all my bloody fault for looking a wreck. I can see why people have eyeliner tattooed on. At least you always look as if you’ve tried.’

Adrian laughed. ‘Come on, love, it’s not that important, really. You’re great at your job, they know that. The rest is rubbish. Who cares about how you look?’

‘It shouldn’t matter but it does,’ hissed Mel furiously. ‘How I look does count because I’m a woman and I’ve got kids and I’m on borrowed time. You don’t understand that. You’re a man and nobody’s watching you like a hawk for signs that your family are coming before your job, and that goes for your appearance too. Everything matters! You’re not suspected of being the one who takes a sickie when Carrie has a temperature of a hundred and three. If you make the school Christmas play, everyone thinks you’re in line for Dad of the Year. If I make it, I’m clearly shirking at work and if I don’t make it, I’m clearly shirking as a mother. So yes, how I look does matter.’

‘I’ve stayed home with the girls when they’re sick,’ Adrian pointed out.

‘But with men it’s seen as a one-off,’ Mel said in exasperation. ‘It never stops with women. It’s like a bloody marathon. And not the mini marathon, either.’

‘It can’t be sexism in Lorimar, Mel, because Hilary’s a woman too,’ Adrian said doubtfully.

‘Not so you’d notice,’ Mel sighed. ‘She’s married to the job and you’d never think she has kids. In other words, the perfect female executive. Have your tubes tied or have someone else bring up your kids so you never see them and we’ll give you a job at the very top.’

‘But you love it,’ Adrian insisted. ‘You’re a powerhouse, Mel. Everyone thinks you’re great for all you do. I think you’re great. The way you manage work and the kids, juggling it all…’

‘I hate when they call it “juggling”,’ Mel said quietly. ‘Juggling can’t be that hard but this…this is like…’ she searched blindly for the right words, ‘this is juggling with hand grenades.’

‘Is it that bad?’

Mel closed her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It’s a bloody nightmare, like a hamster wheel in a horror movie, and I can’t get off.’