Читать книгу Cathy Kelly 6-Book Collection: Someone Like You, What She Wants, Just Between Us, Best of Friends, Always and Forever, Past Secrets - Cathy Kelly - Страница 28

It was ten days after Christmas and Leonie was used to her new haircut now. Mind you, she thought, running a hand through the shorter, layered style that seemed to sit better, she’d never be able to afford to have all that done again. Having your hair cut and mesh-dyed cost a bloody fortune. Still, it was nice to have honey-gold hair with tawny brown streaks running through it. It looked almost natural. The girls had been most impressed.

‘Mum, it’s beautiful,’ Mel had said, almost in surprise.

To go with her new hairdo, she’d bought some new clothes. Hannah had been great advising her about what to bring, especially for travelling.

‘Don’t waste something dressy on the plane,’ she’d advised. ‘It’s Fliss and Ray you want to impress, not the people on the jumbo. Change when you get to Denver if you want to, but wear something baggy and comfy for the trip across the Atlantic’.

Hannah was very shrewd, Leonie acknowledged. She instinctively knew that looking good when she met Ray and his fiancée was of paramount importance to her. Pride was a terrible thing, Leonie reflected, as the air stewardess ran through the safety checks and the twins sat clutching each other delightedly.

They were so excited about the trip, it was contagious. Leonie found herself sitting back happily, content because she had a nice fat detective novel in her handbag for the flight and had got the doctor to give her four tranquillizers to cope with her fear of flying. They were working – so far.

Danny had somehow managed to get himself allocated a seat apart from the rest of the family, one row ahead, beside an attractive girl in faded jeans. Just so he wouldn’t get above himself, Mel and Abby had been making loud remarks about how his girlfriend must be missing him and how he’d promised to save himself for her.

He had to keep turning back to shoot them daggers looks and the naughty pair convulsed with mirth every time, keeping silent for about one minute before resuming their conversation about how lovely his fictitious girlfriend was. Leonie grinned but told them to keep their voices down. What a pair.

She hoped they’d calm down a bit in Colorado or she’d have a manic time trying to keep an eye on them. With the twins behaving as hyperactively as if they’d been slugging down fifteen cans of Coke each, she couldn’t see them giving her much time for relaxation. Well, their father and their new stepmother could take over for a while, Leonie decided, opening her handbag and extracting her P.D. James novel.

She was going to relax. And if she felt stressed at any time, Emma had given her a little bottle of herbal Rescue Remedy. Leonie remembered Emma having it with her in Egypt. She swore by it. Just to be on the safe side, Leonie put a few drops of the remedy on her tongue, wincing at the slightly alcoholic taste.

In the toilets in Denver airport, Leonie decided against another dose of Rescue Remedy. She’d taken so much, Ray and Fliss would think she was drunk if she had any more. The flight to Atlanta had been a nightmare. It didn’t matter how calmly Danny had explained that turbulence wasn’t dangerous, it was merely the plane flying through a particular type of air current or something like that, she still felt as if she was going to have to scream with sheer terror every time the plane wobbled. It felt like being in a whale’s belly, a whale who was in training for one of those public aquariums where they jumped up and down through hoops for the audience. Did whales do that, or was it only sharks and dolphins? Leonie didn’t know. All she knew was that if she had to endure any more turbulence, she’d die. She hated flying. Why the hell had she allowed herself to be convinced to come on this trip? Amazingly, the twins and most of the rest of the passengers had slept through the storm. After dinner and a Bruce Willis film, they’d all happily dozed off, making the most of the night-time flight to sleep. Leonie had sat rigidly in her seat, unable to read, sleep, or even listen to the moronic comedy hour on the airline headsets. Three little bottles of wine hadn’t helped at all: if anything, they’d made her feel even more paranoid and convinced the plane was about to drop like a stone from the sky.

Half an hour before they arrived in Atlanta, the turbulence disappeared and people woke up. ‘Are we nearly there?’ asked Mel, stretching sleepily.

They’d had a wait of an hour and three-quarters in Atlanta before boarding the plane for Denver, and Leonie spent most of that time convincing herself that air travel was the safest in the world and that it’d be stone mad to even think about hiring a car to drive to Colorado.

‘Jeez, Mum, relax will you,’ said Danny, who wasn’t impressed by this lack of cool from his mother.

Thanks to Mel’s frantic desire for even more new clothes, they had nearly missed the plane. Five minutes before boarding, she had disappeared and Leonie had to double back and look in all the shops for her. She’d found Mel in a chic boutique investigating designer sunglasses that cost more than Leonie’s entire outfit.

‘God, Mum, they’re lovely. And much cheaper than back home. Couldn’t you lend me the money, pleeease? Dad’ll give it to you.’

‘No,’ hissed Leonie. ‘Everyone else is on the plane. They’re calling our names, so come on!’

It was, therefore, a tired and weary woman who arrived with her charges in Denver. They were all happy and excited; Leonie felt as if she’d been dragged through a hedge backwards and, looking at herself in an unforgivingly enormous mirror in the luggage hall ladies’ loo, she discovered she looked like it too.

What had Hannah suggested to her? Bright lipstick and throw on that silky red sweater so you’ll look vibrant no matter how tired you are. It had sounded great when Hannah said it but, under the current circumstances, Leonie decided that messing around with lipstick and red sweaters would merely highlight her exhausted, red-rimmed eyes. Then again, perhaps matching your eyes with your sweater would be seen as a plus. A sort of colour-coordination thing.

Fliss and Ray were meeting them. Originally, Leonie had protested that of course she and the kids would get to Vail on their own.

‘It can’t be that difficult,’ she’d told Ray loftily. ‘There are shuttle buses, I believe. I’m sure we can manage.’

But she was glad now they were being picked up. She couldn’t face negotiating another journey, sorting out which bus they wanted and piling luggage on to it.

Unfortunately, being collected by the soon-to-be-happily-marrieds had its disadvantages: they’d see her in this state. She unscrewed her lipstick and slicked some on before struggling into her red sweater. It was a small improvement, she decided wearily.

Danny had manfully collected all their luggage. ‘What have you got in there, Mel, a dead body?’ he grumbled, hoisting the final suitcase on top of the overloaded trolley.

‘We don’t all want to look like backpackers, you know,’ Mel replied snootily. ‘I’ve just brought a few things.’

‘Oh yeah, like a few trowels to slap all your make-up on,’ he retorted.

So it was squabbling as usual that the family emerged from customs into the bright glare of the arrivals hall.

‘Dad! I see Dad!’ squealed Mel excitedly. She ran through the crowds with Abby, and Danny pushed the trolley rapidly after them. Reluctantly, Leonie followed.

She slowed down. Let them all say hello to each other before she got there. She needed a few moments to prepare herself. A group of people barged in front of her, momentarily separating her from the others. Leonie waited patiently for the group to pass. She hadn’t seen Ray for two years and felt a bit anxious about meeting him now. A large man in front of her moved and, through the gap in the crowd, she could see her children finally reach their father and his fiancée. The joy with which they all greeted each other took her breath away. Ray looked happier than she’d ever seen him: he’d filled out, wasn’t as thin as he used to be. His dark hair was greying, but he was tanned and looked wonderful, just like the slender, vibrant woman at his side. Fliss was even better looking in the flesh than she was in the photos from the kids’ summer holidays. Dressed in denims and a butter-coloured suede jacket, she was lightly tanned and, when she smiled, her teeth were gleaming white against her glowing skin. The short dark hair that had looked like a boyish cut in the photos was now longer but still casually chic. That was the word for Fliss, Leonie decided: chic. Watching them all from her hidden vantage point, Leonie felt like the interloper, the spectre at the feast.

Ray and Fliss could have been the kids’ parents, not Leonie and Ray. They were all laughing and smiling, hugging each other. Ray was saying, ‘You’ve got bigger, Danny, I swear!’ Mel even looked like Fliss: the same long limbs, the same careless beauty. Fliss rested her hand on Abby’s waist and Leonie was horrified to see that Abby was smiling radiantly. Jealousy curled around Leonie’s heart like a starving boa constrictor clutching a small animal. They were her children, yet they were smiling at this woman with love and affection. And yes, Leonie could see it in all their eyes, admiration.

‘Leonie! There you are!’ Ray bypassed the group in front of her and hugged her warmly. ‘You look wonderful. It’s so great to see you. Come and meet Fliss.’

He must need to visit the optician, Leonie thought grimly as she was led round to meet Fliss. You look wonderful, my ass.

Fliss didn’t grab Leonie in a bear hug. Instead, she smiled what seemed like a very genuine smile, held out her hand and said: ‘It’s lovely to meet you at last, Leonie. I’m so glad you could make it.’

Leonie smiled back and said, yes, it was lovely to meet her and what a lovely place Denver was and God, but she could kill a cup of tea or the chance to put her feet up, she was so exhausted.

Listening to herself, she realized with disgust that she sounded like some cardboard Irish woman from a terrible play, the stereotypical solid old bag with an emerald-green headscarf and an Aran sweater who kept saying, ‘Begod, America’s a fine spot and sure, put the kettle on there and boil up some spuds.’ What was happening to her? Where was the sophisticate she’d planned to be? Why had she been replaced by an auto-pilot parody of an Irishwoman?

‘I’m so sorry, forgive me. You must be exhausted, Leonie,’ Fliss said instantly. ‘Come along, guys, we’ve got to give your mom a rest. Danny, there’s a vending machine over there. Here’s a dollar, get your mom a hot drink.’ She handed him some change and he obediently went off.

Leonie stared at him. Getting Danny to do anything without a ten-minute interval of grumbling was impossible. How had Fliss managed it when she, his mother, couldn’t?

‘Ray, honey, we’re parked a long way off so if you get the Jeep, Leonie and I’ll wait for you with the luggage – that way she won’t have to walk all the way round the lot to get to it,’ Fliss commanded.

He rushed off to do her bidding too and Leonie found herself standing with Fliss at the entrance to the parking lot, sipping a plastic cup of something that didn’t taste as if a tealeaf had ever even swum through it. The girls chattered nineteen to the dozen to Fliss while Danny lounged beside her, only saying anything when a particularly nice car drove past.

‘Wow, a Pontiac Firebird,’ he exclaimed as something red and sporty appeared.

Ray pulled up in a huge off-road vehicle and they dumped the luggage in the back and climbed in.

‘Are you OK back there, Leonie?’ Fliss asked in concern from her position in the front seat beside Ray.

‘Sure, it’s lovely,’ Leonie said. Stop with the begorrah act! she hissed at herself. ‘Marvellous,’ she added, determined to get the blarney out of her voice. ‘It’s cold, isn’t it,’ she said, as Ray fiddled with the heater. ‘There must be quite a wind-chill factor. I don’t think any of us knew how cold it would be here. Usually on holiday, I end up going somewhere hot.’ Shit. That made it sound as if she was the sort of vacuous woman who liked baking herself to a crisp on the Costa Del Whatever and couldn’t cope with any other sort of holiday. ‘It’s wonderful to be here in Colorado,’ she continued brightly.

‘We’re glad you could come,’ Ray said. ‘Wait till you see Vail. It’s breathtaking. The skiing is marvellous, you guys.’

The talk turned to skiing and, as Leonie had no intention of trying it, she sat back in her seat and looked out the window as the lights of Denver swept past. Even the ever-laid-back Danny was excited about skiing for the first time and, as the other five talked, Leonie stared out into the inky night. Denver had a marvellous natural history museum with a planetarium, she’d read in a guide book borrowed from the library. And lots of bookshops and plenty of historic sights like the Unsinkable Molly Brown’s Victorian house.

If the wedding fever got too much for her, she’d get a bus back to the city and do her own thing, she decided. Vail was only a hundred miles away and there was daily transport to and from the city.

After the trauma of the flights, Leonie surprised herself by falling asleep for the journey.

‘Mom, we’re here,’ said a voice. Mel, calling her ‘Mom’. Americanized already, Leonie thought sleepily.

She got out of the off-roader to find herself outside a selection of wooden cabins and one small hotel, all of which could have come straight from the pages of Heidi. Windows with adorable carved shutters, sweetly carved porches complete with wooden curlicues and window boxes with little conifers gave the cabins an authentic Tyrolean look. Not that she’d ever been to the Tyrol, but Leonie had looked at enough holiday programmes in her time to recognize the Austrian experience had been uprooted and replanted in Vail. Every little detail, including the hanging wooden signs proclaiming the cabins’ names, was picture-postcard perfect. Only the phalanx of gleaming and expensive four-wheel-drive vehicles parked carelessly to one side of the hotel showed that this was wealthy Vail and not nineteenth-century Heidi-land.

‘Isn’t it adorable?’ sighed Fliss. ‘The hotel has a dining room, bar, sauna, hot tub – everything you could want – but each cabin is self-contained. The best part about the complex is that we’re only two miles outside Vail village itself. They’ll shuttle you into town anytime you want, or it’s a mile by the back path. Ray checked you in earlier so you don’t have to bother with registering; you can do that tomorrow. I’m sure you’re dying to get into bed.’

‘Yes,’ Leonie said. ‘I could sleep for a week.’

‘Sleep!’ exclaimed Mel. ‘How could you want to sleep, Mom? I’d love to explore right now.’

‘I thought you’d want your beauty sleep, young lady,’ Fliss said, affectionately ruffling Mel’s silky hair.

Another dart of jealousy nipped Leonie. She was surprised at how much it hurt her to watch them together. It was ridiculous, being jealous of your children enjoying themselves with someone else. Honestly, what was she like?

‘Thank you so much, Fliss,’ she said, being over-friendly to compensate for how bitchy she felt. ‘This is lovely. It’s a truly beautiful place for a wedding. Which cabin is ours?’

The word cabin was a bit misleading, she felt as Ray let them into it. Leonie had been expecting something practical and spartan in a homespun way. That’s how skiing cabins looked on holiday programmes normally: roomy enough for skiing paraphernalia and with a basic kitchen fitted out for cooking enormous après-ski dinners. This one was obviously the deluxe version.

Decorated in a warm, dark umber colour, the huge sitting room was a shrine to American Indian art, complete with wall-hangings, a driftwood sculpture of a bison and two giant watercolours of rock drawings on pale stone. ‘They’re Anasazi paintings, from the Mesa Verde,’ explained Ray. ‘The Anasazi were native Americans from over two thousand years ago. Fliss’s mom is thinking of getting a trip together to visit Mesa Verde some day. It’s hard going in winter, but it’s worth it, she says.’

‘Great!’ said Abby, who loved history.

‘Knew you’d like that, Pumpkin,’ her father said lovingly. ‘I better leave you to it. I’ll phone you in the morning to see what you want to do, kids.’

Danny threw himself down on a huge couch in front of a big fire and admired the room, while the girls rushed to investigate the bedroom facilities.

‘This one’s huge, it should be yours, Mum,’ Abby said.

‘But there’s two of us and we need more room. And it’s got an ensuite,’ wailed Mel, who wasn’t as giving as her twin and clearly fancied herself in the master bedroom.

Leonie went in to referee.

‘This room’s prettier,’ said Abby, peering into a second room. ‘It’s got twin beds, a fireplace and patio doors.’

‘Oh, lemme see,’ squealed Mel.

Leonie toured the premises. A well-equipped kitchen leading on to a dining area, the sitting room, a huge bathroom with an enormous tub big enough for three people, and three bedrooms.

Danny could have the third room.

She got her luggage, dragged it into the double room – which was very nice really, with a huge bed, and striking dark green décor – and left them to it.

Nine hours of sleep later, Leonie felt well enough to get up and think about breakfast. The girls were gone but Danny was still in his bed. Some things never change, she thought fondly, peering in his bedroom door at the giant lump huddled up in a stripey duvet.

Somebody had kindly left coffee, milk, sugar, bread and a few other necessities in the kitchen, so Leonie made herself coffee, delighted to have figured out the complicated coffee machine so easily. After fixing herself toast, low-fat spread and some sort of grape jam labelled jelly, she retired to the sitting room and looked out of the window to see what sort of place they were in.

Magnificent, she realized, having to stop munching midslice as she gazed at the stately snowy mountains all around her. They were huge, they made the mountains back home look like hills. The sun shone off the snow, lighting the valley with bright glorious sunshine. The Colorado light was legendary, Leonie’s guide book had said. The guide book was right. The whole place was fantastic. Leonie felt a frisson of excitement. This was such a glorious place, they’d have a wonderful holiday.

Ray phoned to say the girls were with him and that he hoped to bring them all to lunch in Vail at one o’clock to show them where everything was. ‘It’s terribly pretty, Leonie. You’ll love it. There’s lots to do if you don’t want to ski: shopping, sleigh rides, eating out. The list is endless. I’m going to take the kids ice skating in Beaver Creek tomorrow,’ he added, ‘if you’d like to come. By the way, Fliss has dinner organized with her parents tonight, and I hope you can come. Apart from that, and the wedding, of course, you’re free to do what you want.’

‘Which cabin are you in?’ Leonie enquired.

‘We’re staying at Fliss’s parents’ place, half a mile away. That’s where the wedding is going to be held,’ Ray explained.

It must be a small wedding then, Leonie thought. Funny, she’d been expecting some big, showy affair.

‘How many are coming?’ she asked.

‘About two hundred,’ he replied.

‘Jesus, that must be one hell of a cabin,’ Leonie gasped.

There was an embarrassed silence. ‘That’s what I thought at first,’ Ray said finally. ‘They all insist on calling it a cabin. It’s really a big house, split-level with masses of room. It’s the same as the way they all call those huge houses in the Hamptons “cottages” when they’re mansions.’

‘I better not mention my cottage then,’ Leonie grinned. ‘Everyone will think I’m loaded.’ Vail was beautiful, she had to admit, hours later when she and the girls were tired from going from shop to shop, admiring the designer clothes and everything you ever needed to ski in style.

The twins adored the picturesque Bavarian-style buildings and Mel was in seventh heaven as they trekked from boutique to boutique, looking at clothes.

But it wasn’t a cheap place. Fliss’s parents must be seriously rich if they owned a place here.

‘Did you meet Fliss’s mum and dad during the summer?’ she asked the twins.

Abby shook her head: Mel was too busy drooling over a beaded micro-dress in one of the few shop windows that didn’t have skiing clothes in it.

‘It’s cold,’ Leonie said, shivering. It began to snow gently, soft fluffy flakes, perfect for skiing on, Abby explained.

‘Let’s sit down somewhere,’ Leonie begged. ‘These boots are killing me.’

Over mugs of steaming cinnamon-topped hot chocolate, Mel stared out the window at the passing pedestrians and Abby read the Vail guide book her father had given her. She was fascinated by the skiing section: Ray was taking them all out the next day and Abby couldn’t wait. Leonie sipped her sweet chocolate and hoped the simple dinner tonight wasn’t going to be some fiercely dressed-up affair. Everybody in Vail was beautifully, expensively dressed. She’d seen more fur here than she’d ever seen before. The anti-fur lobby obviously hadn’t reached this corner of the world.

They’d watched two women in ankle-length minks, snow boots and wrap-around sunglasses sashaying across the street in exquisite full make-up. Mel had been convinced they were movie stars and had craned her head for a better look. Leonie had even seen fur-lined skiing clothes. She didn’t feel as if she fitted in. Had it been a horrible mistake to come?

Ray didn’t pick them up in his Jeep that evening for dinner: a short man who respectfully called her Mrs Delaney came instead.

‘I drive for the Berkeley family,’ he explained when Mel artlessly asked him who he was.

‘How lovely,’ smiled Leonie, wincing on the inside. Now she knew for definite that it was going to be a very posh evening.

Any family who had their own driver were in a different league to the Greystones’ Delaneys. Doubtless, dinner would not be lasagne and baked potatoes eaten at the kitchen table. Her old reliable, the copper velvet trousersuit, was not going to cut the mustard with the super-rich Berkeley family, even if she was wearing her best Egyptian jewellery and had gone easy on the kohl. It’d probably be the sort of night where even the maid wore Gucci. Gulping at the thought, Leonie pulled on her warm woollen coat and climbed into the back of the Jeep.

The Berkeleys’ cabin would have made a super B & B, she decided as the driver steered the car into the drive where two Mercedes were already parked. Mel was most impressed by the size of the house.

‘Wow,’ she said in awe. ‘This is amazing.’

‘Yeah,’ Danny agreed. ‘They must be loaded.’

‘Danny!’ hissed his mother. ‘Keep your voice down. We’re not here to assess their net worth. Don’t turn the plates upside down to see where they came from.’

Everyone giggled.

Fliss and Ray were waiting at the door for them and Leonie was struck once again by how much a couple they seemed; every time Fliss moved, Ray watched her, his eyes following every gesture, every smile, as if he couldn’t bear to tear his gaze away from this beautiful creature. And Fliss did look beautiful.

She wasn’t showily dressed. In fact, her grey tailored trousers and silvery V-neck sweater were simple in the extreme. But they were beautifully cut, elegant clothes. The sweater was probably cashmere, Leonie thought. And definitely expensive. It was the combination of the clothes and Fliss’s own simple, understated beauty that made you stare at her. She really did wear practically no make-up apart from lip gloss and mascara, as Mel had explained that first time. Still, she looked wonderful. Leonie felt like she’d escaped from the clowns’ caravan in the circus by comparison.

This time, Fliss hugged her. ‘I’m so glad you’re here, it means such a lot to Ray,’ she confided as Ray led the others into a large reception room. ‘I don’t know if I’d be able to go to my ex-husband’s wedding, I’m so possessive. But it’s wonderful that you and Ray get on so well. It’s great for the kids, and I wanted you to meet me and know they’d always be safe and happy with me.’

It was the longest speech she’d made to Leonie, who wasn’t quite sure what to say in response. Leonie felt that it might be a mistake to reveal that seeing Fliss with her children cut her to the quick, so she smiled and limited herself to saying, ‘I’m happy to be here, Fliss. I’m glad Ray is happy.’

Which was true, more or less. Well, it wasn’t that she wished him to be unhappy, but it was hard to see him marrying someone he adored while she remained so spectacularly single. If he’d been a teensy bit less happy, it might have been easier to bear all this wedding stuff. Sheer joy was very hard to cope with at such close quarters.

But Leonie could hardly let that slip. So she patted Fliss’s arm and added that people were very civilized in Ireland these days and remarriages were commonplace now.

It was a very civilized evening all round. Fliss’s parents were there with their new spouses, and when Leonie was first introduced to them, she couldn’t imagine how the original Mr and Mrs Berkeley had got together in the first place. Opposites must certainly attract.

Fliss’s mother, Lydia, was a taut-faced, elegant brunette who spoke in a genteel voice and looked as if she never lifted a finger to fetch a tissue when she could summon a minion to do it for her.

Fliss’s father, Charlie, was a big blond bear of a man with a weather-beaten face, hands like hams and a marvellous sense of humour. He spent most of his days on his cattle ranch in Texas, a place where Leonie couldn’t imagine the immaculate Lydia ever setting foot. His current wife, Andrea, was a down-to-earth, country-loving woman with Bo Derek bone structure and a mane of silvery blonde hair. She and Leonie hit it off immediately. Fliss’s stepfather, Wilson, was a lawyer and he and Ray were obviously good pals.

Andrea, Charlie and Wilson were incredibly friendly, and all did their best to make Leonie, Danny, Mel and Abby feel at home. Clever, warm people, they were good company and made Leonie relax. The guests were plied with food and drink and everyone made a big effort to include them in the conversation. Only Lydia, Fliss’s mother, was aloof. It was most disconcerting, but every time Leonie looked up, she found Lydia watching her. Probably wondering how her future son-in-law ever married me, Leonie thought grimly. She couldn’t warm to the ex-Mrs Berkeley, even when Lydia insisted that Leonie sit beside her at the dinner table so they could talk.

Leonie suspected the only thing Lydia wanted to talk about was how much alimony Ray was paying her, so she could ascertain whether her beloved Fliss was getting her fair share. Not that Fliss appeared to need any money. Between her wealthy parents and her job, she obviously didn’t go short.

During the first course, Lydia questioned with the subtlety of a NASA probe. But with the entertaining Charlie on her right, Leonie managed to enjoy the meal.

Charlie kept the conversation going with stories about his ranch and life in the Panhandle.

‘You should visit us there,’ he told her. ‘You’d love it, particularly as you’re not partial to skiing. Texas is hot, believe me.’

Once he discovered that she worked as a veterinary nurse, they were friends for life. Charlie had dabbled in every type of farming, from dairy to horses. Now, he had what he described as a small herd of cows and a few horses. Andrea laughed and told Leonie that her husband’s notion of a ‘small herd’ meant six thousand head of cattle.

‘Ours is mainly a small-animal practice,’ Leonie explained when Charlie began getting into the intricacies of modern breeding techniques and embryo transplantation. ‘I haven’t seen a cow for a long time. We handle a lot of dogs, cats and hamsters, with the odd lizard thrown in for good measure. Oh yes, one client breeds African Greys. They’re parrots,’ she added, ‘so we care for them too. They’re lovely, so affectionate. There’s nothing quite as sweet as a parrot nuzzling up to you and gently grooming your hair.’

Even the uptight Lydia relaxed after a few glasses of wine and unbent enough to chatter idly with Leonie about the wedding.

Leonie kindly listened to fifteen minutes of minutiae about placements, the difficulty of getting caterers who could do a really exquisite lobster thermidor, and how Fliss had always said she wanted a Calvin Klein wedding gown.

Leonie felt that if she said, ‘Oh really?’ one more time, she’d choke on the words. To vary her responses, she tried asking about the actual gown. ‘Is it Calvin Klein? What’s it like?’

Lydia looked as shocked as if Leonie had suggested a gang-bang with the staff on the snow-covered terrace. ‘I can’t talk about it with Ray here,’ she whispered. ‘It’s unlucky. I’ll show it to you now, shall I?’

Leaving Leonie no time to say that, actually, she could live quite happily without seeing her ex-husband’s fiancée’s wedding dress in advance, Lydia had loudly announced that coffee would be served in the library.

There was a library too? Leonie sighed. And this was only the holiday home. God alone knew what sort of mausoleum Fliss’s actual childhood home had been. Palace-sized, no doubt. No wonder she was so slim – all that running between rooms would keep you fit.

‘Fliss,’ whispered Lydia, ‘I’m going to show Leonie your dress.’

‘What a wonderful idea,’ cried Fliss.

The female members of the party set off en masse to see the dress, leaving the men alone with the coffee. Mel and Abby, who’d both been allowed a glass of wine with dinner, were giggly and linked hands conspiratorially with Fliss as they all marched through a long corridor to the bedroom where the gown was displayed on a dressmaker’s dummy. Everyone was suitably silent with approval at the sight of the dress.

It was very Calvin: an oyster silk, bias-cut sheath with a gently draped neckline. Leonie could just imagine Fliss wearing it, looking gloriously sophisticated and giving the young supermodels a run for their money.

‘Oooh,’ sighed Mel in designer delight. ‘It’s beautiful.’

‘Gorgeous,’ said Abby.

‘Do you like it, girls?’ asked Fliss anxiously, as if their opinion was the most important of all.

‘Of course,’ they chorused and hugged her.

Leonie felt a lump in her throat at the touching tableau. Fliss was wiping her eyes with the emotion of it all, while the twins kissed her and told her she’d look stunning in the dress.

Andrea gave Leonie a comforting smile. ‘I’m sure it’s hard to see your ex getting married again,’ she whispered, giving Leonie’s arm a squeeze.

‘Not at all,’ protested Leonie honestly. What was killing her was seeing Mel and Abby so utterly in love with their soon-to-be stepmother. That was what hurt, not the idea of Ray and Fliss walking down the aisle looking like an advert for forty-something love.

‘Beautiful,’ Lydia said proudly, looking at both the dress and her beloved daughter.

‘Beautiful,’ echoed Leonie, smiling so hard she thought her foundation would crack.

Everyone was being so kind to her, so warm and welcoming, yet she felt like the spectre at the feast. How could the children not want to be part of this gilded, privileged family when the alternative was their boring old life back in Wicklow?

‘Would you look at that. Isn’t it beautiful?’ said the girl sitting next to Leonie on the little gilt chair in the Berkeley sitting room which had been transformed into a chapel of lurve in honour of Fliss and Ray’s nuptials. Pale orchids drooped in the almost tropical heat of the room and subtle saffron-coloured ribbons were trailed around them, creating a display that was both elegant and beautiful.

‘Yes, it’s beautiful,’ said Leonie dutifully. Her bum hurt from half an hour on the chair, which was not built for anyone with the vaguest hint of arthritis. Since she and the children had arrived half an hour previously, people had been murmuring, ‘Isn’t it beautiful!’ to her constantly. It was all bloody beautiful, from the morning-suited men right down to the posies of orchids clinging to every conceivable spot. The string quartet were beautiful; the pre-ceremony glass of pink champagne had been beautiful; and Fliss’s sister, Mona, a raver in approximately one metre of cream leather who clearly wasn’t having any truck with being a bridesmaid in yards of frills, was also beautiful if a little underdressed. Leonie was fed up to the back teeth with the whole beautiful thing.

‘Mum,’ breathed Mel, sliding into her place beside Leonie, ‘she’s coming and she looks…’

‘Don’t tell me,’ said Leonie between gritted teeth: ‘…beautiful.’

Mel was overawed. Her mother could recognize the signs. For the past three days, Mel hadn’t stopped talking about the Berkeleys’ house, all the lovely things they had and how nice it must be to live here. Ray had taken them skiing, on a sleigh ride, to dinner in a quirky steak restaurant and ice skating. Leonie wondered if Mel would ever again adapt to life in a small cottage in Greystones. At home, the house needed painting, the tiles in the bathroom were slowly disconnecting from the wall, the library consisted of the bookcases in the sitting room, and the only time they ever used linen napkins at dinner was when Claire came round and gave them out because she hated using kitchen roll.

‘Don’t forget, Mel, this is lovely but it is a different world to ours,’ Leonie couldn’t help saying. ‘It’s Fliss’s parents who have all this money. Neither Dad nor I do, so our life isn’t like this.’

‘I’m not stupid, Mum.’ Mel looked scathing. ‘It’s nice to enjoy it. Can’t you let me do that without trying to ruin everything!’

Which was why Leonie’s eyes were filled with tears when Fliss walked slowly and gracefully down the aisle to meet Ray. Through the tears, Leonie saw that Fliss did indeed look stunning in her Calvin Klein dress: a tall, slim vision in cream with a small bouquet of creamy orchids in her hands.

Andrea, who was on the other side of the aisle, shot Leonie a sweet, poor-you look. Leonie wanted to scream out loud that she didn’t give a flying fuck who Ray married but she’d had it up to her tonsils with the Berkeley family’s obvious wealth, which was being shoved down their throats.

After the ceremony, Mel shot off, leaving her mother, Abby and Danny in their seats, wondering what to do next. They weren’t left wondering long. The two hundred guests were ushered into the dining room. Double doors which opened into a huge conservatory had been taken off, making one huge ballroom-sized room. The conservatory faced an expanse of snow-covered mountain, so the vista from the room was magnificent. So too was the huge table laden with an extravagant buffet, and at its centre an ice sculpture of two swans beside a huge bowl of oysters.

There was lobster, salmon, what looked like a side of beef, and more Parma ham than you’d find in Italy, not to mention every sort of salad on earth and the more unusual varieties of lettuce. Tuxedoed waiters flew about noiselessly, bearing champagne, mineral water and gold-edged plates for the buffet. It wasn’t long before the party began in earnest, with lots of laughing, joke-telling and even a moment of madness when a sprightly octogenarian dragged Mona up to dance while the entire wedding party clapped on the sidelines.

Lydia couldn’t resist sidling up to Leonie and boasting about everything. ‘The ice sculpture had to be flown in from LA,’ she said smugly. ‘It’s keeping the oysters cold.’

With great effort, Leonie resisted the temptation to say they didn’t need an ice sculpture to do that: stick the oysters beside Lydia herself and they’d remain suitably frosty. Instead, she nodded gravely and said she was always nervous of serving shellfish at parties because of the salmonella risk. It was worth it to see Lydia’s eyes widen with horror as she rushed off to the kitchen, no doubt to harangue the poor caterers to make sure nobody died in a hail of food poisoning.

‘Great, isn’t it, Mum?’ said Danny, arriving with a plate already piled high with food. He had a glass of beer too. ‘Dad got it for me,’ he said, taking a slug of beer. ‘He knows I’m not into wine. You all right, Mum?’ he asked. ‘You’re a bit quiet. Mel driving you mad, huh?’

Leonie felt herself tear up again. This was ridiculous. She was developing incontinent eyes. It was just that having Danny being unusually intuitive was so sweet. It was normally Abby who understood exactly how her mother was feeling. These last few days, however, Abby had been superglued to Fliss’s side, chatting and smiling up at her, apparently happier with her new stepmother than with her real mother.

‘I’m fine,’ Leonie said briskly. ‘I keep having visions of the place at home and comparing it to this place. I’ll never be able to eat off our fifty-pence-in-the-sale plates ever again after eating off these gold ones.’

Danny snorted. ‘This is all show, Mum,’ he said dismissively. ‘It’s Fliss’s mother’s idea. She’s a real show-off and she’s full of crap. Everyone else is nice,’ he added, ‘but she’s the one who wants this big party. Dad told me that he and Fliss wanted a small wedding but she begged to have this funfair.’

Leonie felt a momentary twinge of pity for Lydia. Having an ostentatious wedding for her daughter was obviously her way of dealing with a life of boredom.

By nightfall, Leonie was bored herself. She’d talked to endless kind couples and had eaten far too much, but even the wonderful food and vintage champagne couldn’t make up for the ache she got in her heart when she saw Mel and Abby fussing around their new stepmother so delightedly. Or compensate for how out of it she felt as the only unaccompanied woman there.

Every time Leonie looked in their direction, Fliss was laughing and giggling with the twins. The newlyweds circulated graciously as a couple with their ready-made family tagging along behind them. And it was Abby, once her mother’s stalwart, who appeared happiest with Fliss. Her face was animated as she laughed at Fliss, who patted her arm and fixed Abby’s hair with the affectionate gestures of one who had done this often. Mel hung on her father’s arm, seemingly delighted to be part of this laughing, gorgeous group. She was so pretty: her cheeks were flushed a pale rosy pink and her dark hair swung silkily around her heart-shaped face. Fliss had lent the twins some expensive make-up and they’d had a ball that morning doing themselves up in the bathroom. Watching them all together, Leonie couldn’t help but feel a pang of fear deep inside.

Fliss obviously loved the twins and would be a fabulous mother to her own kids. But what if she became so close to Mel and Abby that she took them over as hers? What if the twins decided they preferred this wonderful American lifestyle to their own simple life with her in Ireland? What would Leonie do then?

Kirsten and Patrick’s New Year’s Day party was going brilliantly. Even bad-tempered Great-Aunt Petra, had she been asked, would have had to admit that they knew how to throw one hell of a do. But because Kirsten hated Petra, no invitation had been issued to her.

‘I’m not having that old cow at our party,’ she’d told Emma forcefully. ‘Let her sit at home and mix up eye of newt and wing of bat in her cauldron, the old witch.’

Emma wished she was as forceful when it came to keeping Petra off her invitation list.

At least a hundred and fifty people were crammed into their large modern Castleknock home, stuffing their faces with the oriental food Kirsten had insisted on. The wine was flowing and if some of Patrick’s fellow brokers were growing a bit rowdy in one corner, it all added to the general air of merriment which was helped along by a CD playing kitschy Christmas tunes at full belt.

Kirsten sailed around the house in a gold Karen Millen crochet dress, flitting from conservatory to dining room to kitchen, chatting with guests and draining vodka after vodka. She’d left Emma in a corner of the dining room with Anne-Marie and Jimmy, both of whom were looking unimpressed at the plateful of dim sum they’d been given. Pete had gone off to get a refill of wine for himself and Jimmy. In his absence, there was silence in their little group, a direct contrast to the loud, excited chatter going on all around them as Kirsten and Patrick’s pals exchanged Christmas horror stories and groaned about the thought of going back to work after such a long holiday.

Emma, who wasn’t drinking because she was designated driver, crunched into a spring roll and stole a surreptitious look at her watch. Nearly six. She and Pete had decided to invent another party that evening so they’d have an excuse for leaving early.

‘You know that Kirsten will dump your parents on us,’ Pete had groaned. ‘We may as well have a contingency plan so we have some hope of escape.’

Their real plan was a quiet evening at home. A trickling sound made Emma glance over at her mother who was sitting at the table between Emma and Jimmy. She had stopped pushing food around her plate with her fork; her glass had fallen sideways in her hand and she was slowly spilling her red wine on to the floor as tears ran unheeded down her face. Emma stared at the slowly spilling wine, too shocked to do anything for a moment.

‘Mum!’ hissed Emma.

As her mother’s red eyes turned to face her, Emma was frightened by what she saw in them: Anne-Marie’s expression was of sheer, anguished fear.

‘I’m afraid, Emma,’ she sobbed. ‘Afraid. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I don’t know anything any more.’

Her mother’s hand jerked and the trail of red liquid started splashing on to her lap, soaking the floral silky skirt with a growing crimson stain. It was like blood, Emma thought in horror.

‘Mum,’ she said in distress, trying to take the spilling glass from her mother. Anne-Marie’s hand was clenched tightly around it and more wine slopped on to Emma and the carpet before she could wrench it away. Crouching down on the ground beside her mother’s chair, she threw her arms around Anne-Marie.

‘Mum,’ she crooned, ‘it’s OK, I’m here and Dad’s here.’

‘But you’re not always here and I can hear the voices and I can’t remember things,’ moaned her mother.

Emma kept hugging her, but her mother couldn’t stop crying. And why wasn’t Jimmy doing anything?

‘Dad,’ whispered Emma, ‘look at Mum. Can you help her.’ She felt powerless to do anything, but so was Jimmy. His face froze as he saw his wife with tears sliding down her face.

‘Help me, help me, help me!’ shouted Anne-Marie suddenly, her voice loud and carrying across the room.

Emma could see Pete arriving from the kitchen with wine, his mouth an astonished oval. He seemed to be walking slowly towards them, as if in slow-motion.

The entire scene seemed as if it was being played in slow-motion, Emma felt. She could sense her father’s eyebrows lifting slowly in shock, could feel people’s heads swivelling at a leisurely pace towards them and mouths opening at a snail-like pace.

‘Mum,’ she soothed, ‘please don’t get upset. We’ll help you, I promise.’

‘You won’t, you won’t! You’re all against me,’ screamed her mother, clambering to her feet abruptly.

‘No,’ she roared, so loud that nobody in the house could miss hearing her, despite the sleighbells of Kirsten’s Christmas album jingling loudly in the background. ‘No, no, no, no!’ She was screaming now, lashing out wildly and shoving plates and glasses across the table. Crockery crashed to the floor. ‘How could you say it? What are you trying to do to me?’ she roared. ‘You don’t understand, do you hear me? You don’t understand. I won’t go there, I won’t!’

Pete dumped the glasses of wine and together, he and Emma tried to put their arms around Anne-Marie to calm her.

‘Mum, it’s OK. We’re here with you, nobody’s trying to send you anywhere.’

‘You are,’ wailed her mother, still trying to shove plates from the table. ‘You’re all in on it!’

‘It’s all right, Anne-Marie,’ said Pete soothingly, ‘all right. We’ll look after you.’

His calm voice seemed to do the trick. She stopped struggling and sat heavily down in her chair. Pete and Emma squatted on either side of her.

‘Mum, it’s me, Emma.’ Emma tried to keep her voice steady. It was hard: she was shaking so much she felt as if her very bones were rattling. ‘Dad, can you help?’

Hearing Emma speak to him, Jimmy O’Brien seemed to come out of the astonished trance-like state he was in. ‘Yes,’ he gasped.

He shoved Pete out of the way and grabbed his wife.

‘Anne-Marie, I’m here with you, love. Don’t worry about a thing. It’ll be all right.’

She collapsed against his bulky figure, her long, pale golden hair escaping from its butterfly clip to stream untidily down her back.

‘Let’s get her home,’ Jimmy said firmly, holding his wife’s frail body tenderly.

Kirsten insisted on staying with her guests but Patrick drove Jimmy and Anne-Marie home in his BMW, with Pete and a terrified Emma following behind.

‘We’ve got to call the doctor,’ Emma said, still shaking.

‘Absolutely,’ Pete said.

But Jimmy O’Brien was having none of it. ‘We don’t need a doctor!’ he roared. ‘She’s perfectly fine. A bit stressed, that’s all.’

Upstairs, where she was helping her mother to change her dress, Emma cringed at the fury in his voice.

Pete and Patrick exchanged a glance. ‘I’m sorry, Jimmy,’ said Pete firmly, ‘you’re over-ruled on this one. Anne-Marie is more than just stressed. She’s not well, she could have something serious wrong with her. I’m phoning the doctor. I can’t live with my conscience if something serious is wrong and we’ve done nothing.’

Emma strained towards her parents’ bedroom door, desperate to hear what would happen next. Her father spoke, only it didn’t sound like him really. This voice was tired and weak, not the obstreperous man she’d known all her life:

‘What if they want to put her in a hospital, what will I do then?’

‘I’m sorry, dear,’ Anne-Marie smiled at her daughter, clumsily trying to close the buttons on a clean dress and failing. ‘I was angry, wasn’t I? I am sorry, I didn’t mean to be. I don’t know what came over me.’

‘It’s all right, Mum,’ Emma said, gently taking over the buttoning. Her mother, who would once have been outraged if anyone had tried to help her with her toilette, sighed with relief as Emma buttoned her up. ‘Tell me,’ Emma began, ‘you said you forget things, Mum. What things do you forget?’

Her mother blinked at her. ‘Where I put things: I can’t find things any more. And I can’t seem to read. I have to get my glasses changed, they’re not strong enough. The words, you see,’ she explained earnestly, ‘the words are too small and jumbled up. I tried using your father’s magnifying glass, but it doesn’t help. Will you bring me to get new glasses, Emma?’

Her daughter had to bite her lip to stop herself bursting into tears.

‘Of course, Mum. But first, let’s get the doctor to look you over.’

The family doctor, an elderly gentleman with the kindest, gentlest hands and a charming manner, examined Anne-Marie from top to toe but could find nothing outwardly wrong. She chatted away to him the way she’d always done, saying she was sorry he’d been dragged out on New Year’s Day and adding fondly that her dear sons-in-law fussed too much.

‘Fit as a fiddle, my dear,’ he told her as he left her room.

‘It sounds as if she’s very depressed from what you tell me,’ he said thoughtfully to Pete, Emma, Patrick and Jimmy downstairs. ‘That could make her lash out and get so worked up that she’d shout. But it could be some sort of seizure. We’d need tests to see what’s really wrong…’

‘No tests,’ Jimmy said angrily. ‘She’s under a lot of strain, that’s all.’

‘It’s more than that,’ Emma said. She ignored the fierce look her father shot at her. ‘She says odd things at odd times, she loses things all the time, she tried to open a tin with an egg whisk the other day. They’re all small things, but I know there’s something wrong, Doctor. Now she’s after telling me that she can’t read any more and she thinks it’s her glasses. It’s not, it’s more than that.’

‘This is the first time this type of strange behaviour has occurred? She’s been perfectly normal until now?’ the GP asked.

‘No. She got very upset with me a few months ago when we were shopping,’ Emma said quietly. ‘In a fabric shop. She began to shout at me and she didn’t know who I was. I couldn’t calm her down and she was calling for Dad, even though he wasn’t actually with us.’

‘You never told me,’ said her father accusingly.

‘I’m telling you now,’ said Emma with an edge to her voice.

‘My wife is stressed and a bit depressed,’ Jimmy maintained. ‘A few tablets, that’s all she needs. Like the time she was on those tablets before, when Kirsten was sick with glandular fever. They sorted her out. That’s all she needs now.’

‘Bring her to the surgery next week and we’ll have a chat,’ the doctor agreed. ‘If she’s depressed, we can help her, but without tests, we won’t know what happened today.’

‘She was overwrought, Doctor, nothing more,’ Jimmy said. ‘She’s fine now, isn’t she? If it had been serious, would she be able to chat to you now as if nothing had happened?’

‘True. She’s only young, too. Just sixty you tell me. Well, Jimmy, I can’t think what could be wrong with her at this age, but we’ll keep an eye on her, I give you my word.’

‘He’s an old fuddy-duddy,’ hissed Pete as Jimmy let the doctor out. ‘Your mother could have a brain tumour and that man wouldn’t recognize it. She needs to see a specialist.’

‘She’ll be fine,’ announced Jimmy, slamming the front door.

Emma sent Pete and Patrick home. She didn’t fancy staying with her father any longer, but felt she should be there for her mother. Jimmy didn’t appear to know how to handle Anne-Marie.

The three of them sat in front of the television for a while before Anne-Marie said she was tired and wanted to go to bed. It was only half past eight.

Her mother didn’t quibble when Emma accompanied her upstairs and helped her with her clothes. Instead, she seemed happy at the company. When she was tucked up in bed, Emma sat down beside her and smoothed her mother’s long fair hair gently.

‘I’m sorry you were so upset earlier,’ she said softly.

‘You were telling me I had to go to that bad place again,’ Anne-Marie said sleepily, one hand holding Emma’s tightly.

‘I didn’t mean it,’ Emma said, thinking that it was probably kinder to pretend that she knew what her mother was on about.

‘Talk to me, Emma,’ murmured Anne-Marie. ‘I like to hear your voice.’

Emma started a soft, gentle monologue about what she was going to do the next day and how she’d come over in the evening and see Anne-Marie. Her voice certainly seemed to soothe her mother, who drifted off to sleep, still clutching her hand.

Emma remembered being a child and how the roles had been reversed: whenever she had a nightmare, her mother, wearing one of her lovely soft brushed-cotton nightdresses with lily-of-the-valley-scented handcream on her soft hands, would hurry in once she’d heard Emma’s screams and sit comfortingly beside her, stroking her fevered forehead and telling her that the hobgoblins had all gone.

Now she had taken the role of the mother comforting her child instead of the other way round. How strange to have someone to mother after so long dreaming of a baby; only now, her baby was a sixty-year-old woman who’d sunk into childhood again. But why? And would she get worse in the future?

She wished she had a night-light to leave on the bedside table, something dim and soothing in case Anne-Marie woke up suddenly and couldn’t remember where she was.

Emma could recall the tiny light with a caterpillar inside that her mother had bought when Kirsten had been small: his green glowing body let off enough light to scare away the bad dreams. Maybe that was why Kirsten never had nightmares. She’d had Mr Caterpillar to keep her safe at night.

Her mother was breathing easily now. Emma got off the bed and silently tidied up the room. She folded clothes and sorted out the jumble of toiletries on the once-immaculate dressing table. That was proof in itself that things were amiss: Anne-Marie had always been incredibly house proud. She’d never have allowed any surface in her home to become dusty and untidy. Cotton buds lay scattered around and talcum powder had been spilled and not cleaned up. Emma vowed to tidy it soon.

Her mother’s handbag was dumped carelessly under the dressing-table stool, its gilt clasp open, displaying the contents. Sitting down on the stool, Emma looked into the handbag. Instead of the usual neat array of glasses, lipstick, powder compact, purse and linen handkerchief, there was a tangled mess with lots of little scrunched up bits of paper. Emma took a bundle out and slowly unfolded them. ‘Teabags in blue tin,’ read one. ‘Glasses on dressing table. Don’t forget!’ read another. One had Emma’s home phone number, with the digits written slightly wrong in two separate places and then scribbled out. It was as if her mother had tried to write it down but couldn’t manage to do it correctly until the third try.

Slowly, she unfolded each pathetic scrap of paper, reading each sad message that Anne-Marie had written to herself. Reminders about where the milk was kept and what day the window cleaner came round. Most poignant of all was one with her mother’s name and address carefully written on it. As if she could conceivably get lost and not know who she was or where she lived.

Emma used a tissue from the dressing table to wipe her wet eyes.

At the bottom of the handbag were buttons, lots of buttons. She counted out fifteen of them, ranging in size and colour from tiny mother-of-pearl ones to bigger navy ones that looked as if they’d been cut from Jimmy’s big overcoat. God love her, Emma thought wearily. Collecting buttons. Perhaps she thought they were coins.

‘Is she asleep?’ asked her father, appearing at the bedroom door.

Emma nodded. She couldn’t talk to him just then. He angered her so much. Today, he’d done what he always did: bulldozed over anyone who had a different opinion to his and insisted that he was right. Anne-Marie was seriously ill but, as usual, Jimmy refused to see any viewpoint other than his own.

He could face the reality on his own tonight, then. Emma wasn’t going to hang around and help him deny his wife was sick. She grabbed her things and left. She could walk home; it wasn’t far.

The phone call woke her and Pete at six thirty the following morning. Emma reached groggily over to the small table where the phone sat. ‘Hello?’ she mumbled. She could feel Pete dragging the covers over his head to block out the noise.

‘Emma, it’s your father,’ said a voice. ‘Can you come over? I can’t cope.’