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 33

Leonie was tidying when she found them. It was Friday morning and she was having a much-needed day off. The house was like a tip and she’d promised herself that if she could spend two hours on housework, she’d have lunch out as a treat. Danny’s room was a complete nightmare and there wasn’t much she could do there except pick up all the dirty clothes from the floor and hoover the bits of carpet uncovered by college books, sports gear and stacks of CDs. The bed looked as if Penny had been rolling in it after a particularly dirty walk.

‘How did I rear such a piglet?’ Leonie wondered out loud as she stripped the sheets and duvet.

Herman the hamster, who somehow managed to survive in the murky ecosystem that was Danny’s bedroom, climbed into his hamster wheel in shock at all the domestic activity and started running furiously. ‘You’re next, Herman,’ warned Leonie. ‘Your house smells. It’s clean-out time.’ Herman ran faster.

When Danny’s room was done and the bathroom was gleaming, it was half eleven and Leonie was beginning to wane. The thought of a leisurely lunch in the Delgany Inn with a glass of wine and a magazine made her feel wearier than ever. But the girls’ room needed a quick whizz with the Hoover and, as she’d ironed duvet covers the night before, she decided to change their bedclothes too. Normally, the girls changed their own sheets but she might as well do it while she was cleaning. Mel still hadn’t unpacked after the weekend in Cannes and her suitcase lay on the floor, clothes spilling out of it. Mel’s method of unpacking was to slowly remove things from the case as she needed them. Eventually, it would be emptied out.

She stuck their radio on and found some uplifting music before pulling out each twin bed and ripping the covers off. Mel’s bed was soon freshly made with the hot pink cover she loved. It didn’t go with the pale coral stripey wallpaper, but the girls didn’t appear to mind. Leonie turned to Abby’s bed. As she leaned over to tuck in the pale pink sheet close to the wall, she found them: a large red pack of laxatives.

Leonie stared uncomprehendingly at the packet for a moment as if the lettering on the front was Swahili instead of English. Laxatives. Whatever did Abby need them for?

The answer came to her in a blinding flash – Abby didn’t need them.

Neither did any of the thousands of schoolgirls who bought them, and consumed far more laxatives than was safe. They did it in order to be thin. Laxatives in teenage girls’ bedrooms meant eating disorders.

Leonie sank abruptly on to the bed as if someone had just taken her ability to stand away. She opened the pack to find that half the laxatives were gone. Half of a pack of twenty-four. God alone knew how many more packs Abby had already gone through. God knew how many were hidden under the bed even now, emptied and waiting to be dumped when Leonie wasn’t looking.

She fell to her knees on the floor, pulled up the duvet and stared under the bed. Old magazines, a couple of tennis balls and a shiny blue doll’s suitcase stared out at her. Balls of fluff and scrunched-up tissue paper reproached her for not hoovering there often enough. For once, Leonie didn’t feel upset at signs of dust. She used a tennis racquet to poke around under the bed, discovering an old cuddly rabbit, some pens and an odd blue sock. Nothing else. Then she dragged out the doll’s suitcase. It had come with a travelling doll, an ugly black-haired witch of a thing that Abby had unaccountably loved when she was seven. Leonie remembered Mel teasing her twin about her secret hiding place and knew without doubt that the suitcase was it. A perfect place to hide things from prying eyes.

Opening it was like reading your children’s diaries or bugging their telephone calls or something awful, Leonie was sure. Child psychologists would have a field day telling her what she was doing was totally wrong and would be betraying her daughter’s trust. But right now, Leonie didn’t give a damn about child psychologists and their version of child-parent relationships. What did they know? They hadn’t just been presented with the evidence that their fifteen-year-old daughter had an eating disorder. They weren’t the parent who felt guilt creeping up on her because she’d never noticed what had been going on.

Leonie wrenched the suitcase open. Inside lay a hideous treasure trove of Abby’s goodies: empty sweet and chocolate wrappers, a half-eaten packet of chocolate biscuits, several bags of crisps and at least eight more bright red laxative packets, all empty. She touched them lightly, running her fingers over the scrunched-up foil wrappers the tablets had come in. Poor, poor Abby. She had visions of her daughter doubled up with pain in the bathroom, trying to cope with horrific cramps from taking an unhealthy amount of laxatives.

Guilt hit her painfully. How could she not have known? What sort of a mother was she when she hadn’t noticed what was going on? Her mind flew over the events of the past few months, desperately trying to piece together evidence of Abby’s problem, evidence that seemed painfully obvious now but imperceptible then.

She remembered Abby losing weight and becoming picky about her food. She thought of the fuss and bother when Abby insisted on eating only vegetarian products, and how happy she’d been that Abby was growing prettier and slimmer, convinced her daughter wouldn’t have to cope with the pain of being large and dull the way she’d had to. Now those happy thoughts turned sour in retrospect – Abby had been getting thin because she was taking laxatives and…Leonie paled at the thought of what the ‘and…’ might be.

If only taking these things was the extent of her problem, if only she wasn’t developing anorexia or bulimia.

The phone rang and she let it ring out. Leonie sat on the floor of the twins’ bedroom and stared blankly at the posters of the boy bands on the walls, not seeing their bronzed and toned torsos; seeing instead sweet little Abby coping with this awful thing on her own. Leonie cursed herself for not noticing. She’d been so obsessed with her own problems, worrying about the effect Fliss would have on their lives, getting caught up in her romance with Hugh, that she’d completely missed all the signs.

Leonie had felt a lot of emotions in her life but never had she felt like a bad mother. She did now. Schoolgirls who didn’t look much like schoolgirls made their way out of the big silver gates of St Perpetua’s at four that afternoon. Trailing schoolbags and sports bags, sleek, grown-up looking girls wandered out, regulation navy coats unbuttoned, royal blue A-line skirts hitched up as soon as they’d passed the watchful eyes of the nuns. The older ones all looked far too old to be in secondary school, Leonie thought, as she sat in the car and watched for Mel and Abby. Some lit up forbidden cigarettes as they walked towards the bus stop, others applied mascara and lipstick as they waited for lifts, chattering nineteen to the dozen, delighted to be free for the weekend.

The bus to Bray had come and gone before Mel and Abby appeared in the middle of a group of other transition years, laughing like drains at some magazine they were all craning their necks to read.

Mel saw their mother’s car first and hurried over to it. She looked startled to see her mother for they usually got the bus home from school.

‘Mum! What’s wrong? Is it Gran or Danny? What is it?’

‘Nothing like that,’ Leonie replied.

‘But you never pick us up any more…’ began Mel.

‘I need to talk to you both,’ said Leonie grimly.

‘Oh.’ Gloomily, Mel got into the front seat and fastened her seat belt. ‘What have we done now?’ she asked.

‘What’s up?’ Abby asked blithely, opening the back door. She threw her bags into the back seat and fell in. ‘I’m knackered, Mum. This is a nice treat. Did you have a good day off?’

Leonie looked intensely at her daughter through the rear-view mirror, searching Abby’s face for some sign of illness or bulimia, as if it would be written on her forehead.

‘Er yes, I did,’ she stuttered.

‘We’re in trouble, Abby,’ announced Mel. ‘What have we done now, Mum?’

Leonie drove down the hill in a quandary. At the bottom, she braked a little too late and had to jam her foot to the floor to bring the car to a halt at the stop sign. How did she say it? Should she wait until they were at home, or should she only say it to Abby?

‘Spill the beans, Mum,’ said Mel, exasperated and keen to find out if whatever misdemeanour would result in her not being allowed out all weekend.

‘I found some laxatives in your room today, beside Abby’s bed.’ Bluntly was the only way to say it. Leonie looked at Abby again in the mirror.

Abby’s face closed over. She said nothing.

‘I wasn’t snooping,’ Leonie said. ‘I was changing the sheets and I found a pack beside your bed, Abby.’

‘So?’ Abby said sullenly.

‘I know I shouldn’t have, but I looked in your blue case and I found all the others,’ Leonie added.

‘You what! You had no right to look in my private things!’ screeched Abby. ‘How would you like it if someone did that to you? They’re my things and I’m entitled to my privacy.’

‘I know, love,’ said Leonie, trying to placate her, ‘but I’m worried about you. I wasn’t looking for diaries or anything. I needed to see if you’d taken more of those awful things. They’re so bad for you,’ she protested.

‘It’s my business if they are or not!’ yelled Abby. ‘I hope you didn’t read my diary.’

‘Of course I didn’t, I didn’t even see a diary. But you’re my business, Abby,’ said her mother heatedly, ‘that makes it my business. I have a right to know what you’re doing because I’m your mother and I want to look after you. Taking laxatives is bad for you, it’s stupid. You’re lovely, darling, you don’t need to change how you look. There are other ways to be slim, if that’s what you want,’ she said pleadingly.

‘Oh yeah, and you’d know about that, would you?’ snarled Abby with vicious accuracy.

Even Mel, who liked rows and was never fazed by rudeness, gasped.

Leonie found herself mouthing helplessly like a goldfish out of water.

‘She didn’t mean that, Mum,’ Mel said.

‘I did!’ howled Abby.

It was Leonie’s turn to howl. ‘How could you say something so nasty?’ she asked. ‘Is that what you really think of me?’

Abby didn’t answer.

They turned into the drive and as soon as the car had stopped, Abby leapt out and rushed into the cottage. Mel ran after her. Feeling weary, Leonie got out and followed them.

‘Abby, we have to talk,’ she said loudly, standing outside the girls’ bedroom. There were scuffling noises and whispering. Leonie didn’t want to barge in but it looked as though she might have to. ‘Abby!’ she called again. ‘We have to talk.’

Cheeks flushed and eyes suspiciously bright, Abby emerged after a moment, looking less upset. No doubt she’s been checking to see that her diary was there, unopened. Leonie had never even noticed a diary when she’d been looking earlier. She’d been too obsessed to notice anything but the laxative packets. Abby appeared to have calmed down a little bit.

‘Tell me how long this has been going on, Abby. Be honest,’ Leonie commanded her.

Abby didn’t meet her eyes. Shuffling from foot to foot, she stood outside her bedroom door still in her school uniform. ‘Not long,’ she said. ‘I read about them but they didn’t work, so there! Those were old packets you saw.’

‘Please tell me that you won’t do it again,’ Leonie begged. ‘If you want, we could get counselling for you. I know there are eating-disorder groups…’

‘I don’t have an eating disorder!’ snapped Abby. ‘I was just experimenting, right. I don’t have to explain everything to you, you know. I’m not a child,’ she said, her tone scathing.

‘I know, love,’ Leonie said weakly. She tried to touch Abby but the girl jerked away from her. ‘Don’t be angry with me, Abby. I don’t want to treat you like a child, but what you’ve been doing is dangerous and I’m your mother. It’s my job to take care of you. I can’t stand by and watch you destroy yourself. I need to know that you won’t take laxatives again, and I need to know if you’ve done anything else…’ Her voice failed her briefly. ‘…If you’ve been making yourself sick.’

‘I haven’t done anything else,’ Abby answered sullenly. ‘Don’t you believe me?’ she hissed.

Leonie stared at her for a long time. ‘If you promise you’re telling me the truth, then yes, I believe you. But if you have, we can get over it, together, as a family.’ Her eyes were wet with tears. She wanted to hug Abby, the way she’d done when the twins were toddlers. Abby had been so affectionate, a scrap of a thing who loved cuddles and kisses. ‘I can get the number of the eating-disorder group and we can deal with this problem together.’

Abby’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve got the answer,’ she snapped. ‘Listen, Mom, I don’t want to be here, I could go and live with Fliss and Dad. They’d love to have me, and I bet I wouldn’t be so much of a problem for them,’ she said, eyes like knives.

Leonie stared at her, hurting so bad she could barely think straight. Abby was speaking as if she was already in America. Calling her ‘Mom’ instead of Mum the way she’d always said it. And she hadn’t said she’d go to her father and Fliss – it had been the other way round. Fliss first, then Ray. He wasn’t the lure that drew her to America, it was the slim, elegant, charming Fliss. Leonie had never cared that the beautiful American woman had married her ex-husband. They’d been apart for so long, Fliss was welcome to him. But she would die if Fliss took her children away.

‘You’re not a problem, Abby,’ she said brokenly. ‘I love you, I couldn’t bear it if you went to live somewhere else. I just want what’s best for you, don’t you understand?’

‘Leave me alone,’ Abby said. ‘That’s what’s best for me.’

She whirled round and went back into her room, slamming the door so hard that the surrounds shook.

Leonie prepared dinner on automatic pilot, her mind in turmoil as she figured out what to do. She felt too shattered to phone her mother or Ray, even though she knew she needed moral support. She wanted some time alone to think about Abby’s behaviour.

Abby emerged from the room that evening, white-faced and red-eyed. Leonie knew instinctively that she was sorry for all the things she’d said. Leaving the vegetables she’d been straining, she crossed the kitchen and pulled her daughter into her arms.

‘Oh, Mum,’ sobbed Abby, crumpling against her mother’s body, ‘I’m so sorry. I hate myself for what I said to you. I love you so much, I was upset. Please believe me.’

‘Hush, hush,’ said Leonie softly, stroking Abby’s hair. ‘I love you too, Abby. I want to help you. Will you let me? Please don’t push me away.’ She held Abby’s face in her hands and looked at her questioningly. ‘Will you promise me not to touch laxatives again, please?’

Abby nodded mutely, her eyes brimming. ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’

Leonie hugged her again. ‘It’s all right, darling, we’ll get through it together. It’s all right.’

Of course, it wasn’t all right. At every meal, Leonie tried her best to keep her eyes away from Abby’s plate but she was inexorably drawn to it, watching anxiously as every mouthful was forked up, and straining her ears each time Abby went near the bathroom, listening for signs of vomiting.

‘Stop watching me,’ hissed Abby on Saturday evening as she picked at her dinner.

Tension loomed over the entire weekend. Amazingly, Danny, who was working flat-out on a project, didn’t seem to notice. Abby consistently avoided her mother so that Leonie was forced to engineer a moment alone to ask how she was feeling.

‘Fine,’ exploded Abby. ‘I told you I’m not doing it any more, so can’t you just accept that?’

On Monday morning, the twins left for school and Leonie rang the surgery to say she’d be in late. She had a phone call to make.

The woman on the eating disorder helpline was called Brenda and had heard it all before. Her soft, friendly voice and non-judgemental manner were a balm to Leonie’s bruised soul. She judged herself badly for not noticing Abby’s problem, therefore she expected everyone else to judge her badly too.

But Brenda swept aside the idea of blame or guilt: ‘It’s great that you finally know how Abby feels,’ she said once she’d been told the story. ‘You can help. Before, you couldn’t. Surely that’s positive.’

‘I suppose,’ Leonie said numbly.

‘Trust is an important part of how you cope from now on,’ Brenda explained in her kind, matter-of-fact manner. ‘There’s no use you watching over Abby like a hawk, forcing her to eat up her dinner or insisting she has large portions. That’ll just make her more secretive than ever.’

‘But what do I do?’ cried Leonie. ‘I want to help but I feel so helpless. She’s pushing me away.’

‘That’s common. Don’t think it’s just you. She’s upset and hurt. She wants to hurt someone back, and she’s trying to keep you away from her so she can remain in control of what she’s doing. If she lets her guard down, she thinks she won’t be in control.’

‘She was always so good, the best kid imaginable,’ Leonie said in anguish. ‘If anyone was destined to develop this, I would never have thought of Abby. Her twin, Melanie, is much more interested in how she looks, in clothes and boys. Mel’s the gorgeous, feminine one. Abby’s reliable and easy-going.’

‘Perhaps,’ Brenda said delicately, ‘she got tired of being reliable. It may be hard living in her sister’s shadow.’

‘You’re right.’

‘It sounds as if you have caught this in the early stages, although you can never be sure. People with eating disorders are very successful at hiding it.’ Brenda laughed. ‘I should know, I was anorexic for five years and bulimic for eight.’

On the other end of the phone, Leonie gasped.

‘I know you’re surprised,’ Brenda added, ‘but think about it: the best person to help someone with an eating disorder is someone who’s actually gone through it all themselves. You cannot force your daughter to eat. All you can do at this stage is provide her with support and help her to deal with it. You’re doing fine.’

She recommended some books that would be useful and added that if there was any way Leonie could get Abby along to a meeting, then it would be a wonderful help. ‘Some of the girls come here for the first time and they’re scared stiff. They don’t know anyone else who feels the way they do, they feel utterly alone. They rarely say anything at the first meeting, they just sit and stare, amazed that they’re in a room full of people who’ve gone through the same thing. Try and bring your daughter, Leonie.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ Leonie promised.

She could barely concentrate on work.

‘Has Hugh asked you to marry him or something?’ Angie enquired laconically when Leonie produced the wrong rabbit for neutering during morning surgery. ‘This is a female.’

‘Sorry,’ Leonie said, scooping the bewildered, struggling rabbit up again. ‘Migraine, that’s all.’

‘Do you want to go home?’ Angie asked sympathetically.

Leonie shook her head. The last thing she wanted to do was go home and spend the afternoon on her own, alone with all her miserable thoughts about Abby.

After lunch, she went into one of the upstairs offices and braced herself to phone Ray. He had to be told.

Ray was in a bad mood and, once Leonie had reassured him – untruthfully – that there was nothing wrong, he spent five minutes muttering about the appalling weather in Boston. ‘Damned climate,’ he grumbled.

‘Yeah,’ said Leonie absently. ‘It’s cold here too. Listen, Ray,’ she said heavily, ‘we’ve got to talk.’

‘You mean there is something wrong,’ he said.

‘I hate to simply phone up and say, “Ray, there’s something terribly wrong,”’ Leonie muttered.

‘Tell me,’ he said.

She’d expected Ray to be upset and even tearful. What she hadn’t expected was for him to get furious with her.

‘For Chrissake, Leonie, how the hell did it happen without you knowing? You can’t turn on the TV here without hearing about kids with anorexia or bulimia. Schools and parents are totally aware of it and you apparently haven’t a clue!’

‘That’s not fair,’ protested Leonie. ‘By its very nature, it’s a secretive illness. I love the kids, I’d do anything for them. I hope you’re not accusing me of neglecting them!’

‘You certainly took your eye off the ball this time,’ Ray snapped.

‘They’ve just come back from Cannes with you. How come you didn’t notice?’ she shrieked at him.

‘Four days is nothing,’ he said curtly. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ve a ten o’clock. I have a day, you know. I’ll call tonight to talk to Abby. I think it’d be a good idea if she came to stay with Fliss and me for a while. We can keep an eye on her. Fliss is great with Abby. They had a fantastic time in Cannes.’

He hung up, leaving Leonie horrified.

Desperate for reassurance, she phoned Emma but got her voice mail. A polite woman in Hannah’s office said she was out. She didn’t try Hugh. This was something she felt she couldn’t talk to Hugh about. Bloody Jane had been such a perfect teenager, according to him, that Leonie couldn’t bear to tell him what had been happening with Abby.

Feeling very alone, Leonie buried her face in her hands and sobbed her heart out. How was she ever going to cope with this? Why had she been so interested in herself that she’d neglected her beloved kids?

She went home early and took Penny out for a walk, despite the fact that the so-far balmy May afternoon had been transformed into a raging gale with hailstones like bullets hurtling down. Leonie didn’t mind the weather: it suited her current mood of introspective self-loathing. She deserved hailstones whipping against her face and the wind threatening to whisk her off her feet. Bad mothers couldn’t expect anything else. Penny, on the other hand, loved the wind. She held her head aloft and sniffed ecstatically, breathing in scents that no human nose could identify. She danced along, landing heavily in puddles, with Leonie stomping along behind her, head down against the gale.

As they reached the heavy black gates at the end of Doug Mansell’s drive, Penny, accustomed to meeting his two collies on their evening walks, decided she’d pay them a visit now. Ignoring Leonie’s demands that she come back here immediately, she trotted confidently up the drive to see her friends. Leonie groaned but set out after her quickly. It might be nice to talk to Doug, she thought. They often walked together in the evenings now, talking about everything and nothing. It was a companionable, easy relationship. Doug could be very funny in a dry way and once he’d let his guard down with Leonie and the kids, he did so wholeheartedly. He’d been to dinner loads of times and appeared to enjoy the banter of the Delaney household. He’d been giving Danny driving lessons in his Jeep and had promised that when the girls were old enough, he’d teach them too. ‘I better get the pacemaker fitted first,’ he’d kidded Mel, who was not mechanically inclined and who viewed driving as a method of getting out and about to meet more guys than she could on the bus.

Leonie didn’t tell Hugh about these cosy dinners. She felt he might interpret them incorrectly. It was hard to explain her friendship with Doug because it was totally unlike any other friendship she’d ever had. Not romantic, obviously, but, well…It was about companionship and camaraderie. You couldn’t explain that.

She went round the back to the kitchen door because she knew Doug would either be there or in his studio beside the kitchen. He opened the door without her having to knock on it, alerted to her presence by the demented barking of three dogs, all desperate to play with each other.

‘Sorry to butt in, but Penny decided she wanted to see Alfie and Jasper,’ she said.

Doug screwed up his face in mock disgust: ‘You mean you wouldn’t bother to come and see me unless Penny wanted a date?’ he demanded. But seeing how Leonie’s face crumpled at his remark, his looked immediately contrite. ‘What’s wrong, Leo?’ he asked in concern. He was the only person who called her that and she liked it. It was special, private.

She told him everything. It was a relief to talk to someone about it all. She’d felt too raw and hurt to tell Angie, and she hated telling her mother, because she’d be so upset. But Doug was a good person to tell things to. He installed her in the comfiest of the small couches in the warm kitchen, gave her hot, sweet tea and the Italian biscuits he always seemed to have on hand. After listening to the whole story calmly, feeding the three slavering dogs biscuit crumbs, he said that Ray had over-reacted and ought to be shot. ‘It’s very easy to tell you where you’re going wrong from three thousand miles away,’ he remarked. ‘Ray feels guilty as hell because he’s not here, so he gets that off his chest by snapping at you. You don’t have to take that, Leo.’

‘I’ve failed as a mother,’ she wailed.

Doug was stern, the hooded eyes severe. ‘You haven’t failed. You have three great kids, but they’re not saints. They make mistakes – we all do, Leo. If Mel, Abby and Danny were three plaster saints, they’d be boring individuals who’d never amount to anything in the world. But they’re not. They’re funny, clever, sensitive – too sensitive, in Abby’s case – people who are feeling their way in life. They’re not kids any more. You have to accept that. You can be there for them when they make mistakes, but you can’t stop them making those mistakes. Right,’ he said, seeing Leonie’s bottom lip wobbling, ‘lecture over. I believe in you, Leo, and so do the kids. The twins and Danny would go to hell and back for you. That’s because of all the sacrifices you made for them. Don’t forget that.’

She nodded.

Doug eyed the three dogs, who were now splayed out on the kitchen floor, exhausted after playing a frenzied game of tag with each other all over the downstairs of the house. ‘Penny has had enough exercise for one day. I’ll drive you home and if you show me which bit of the freezer you keep that amazing lasagne in, I’ll make dinner. Deal?’

‘Deal.’

Fliss rang late that night when Doug had gone home and the twins were going to bed. Leonie felt her hackles rise at the sound of the other woman’s voice, the same way Penny’s hackles rose when she spotted a cat other than her housemate, Clover.

‘Leonie, this is a terrible experience for you and for the whole family. I feel just awful for you.’

‘Well, thanks, Fliss,’ said Leonie woodenly, hating Fliss for having access to this most private family secret.

‘Ray told me he lost it with you earlier and I wanted to apologize because he had no right to do that,’ Fliss continued. ‘We’ve been talking it over and we came up with a solution that might be appropriate for everyone.’

‘Really?’

Without losing any of her calmness, despite Leonie’s sarcastic tone, Fliss continued: ‘Ray and I think it would be good for Abby if she came to stay with us for a while – and Mel too. I think it’d be a mistake to part them.’

‘What? That’s ridiculous,’ Leonie said. ‘They’ve just gone back to school after taking two extra days to go to France. They can’t miss any time now. They’ve got their end-of-year exams.’

‘It’s only transition year. Besides, they were due to come in August anyway,’ Fliss interrupted. ‘They’ll just be coming a few months early. It would be so good for Abby to have a change of scenery to take her mind off what’s been going on.’

‘Even though it is their transition year,’ Leonie said hesitantly, ‘the school probably won’t want them to miss the exams.’

‘You could always say it’s about parental access,’ Fliss suggested. ‘I’m not that familiar with family law cases, but I know it’s not unusual for kids to take time out to live with the other parent for a while. Even two or three months could make a difference for Abby.’

‘Two or three months!’ gasped Leonie, horrified. ‘I was thinking more of a couple of weeks. I’d be lost without them.’

‘Yeah, I guessed you’d feel that way.’ Fliss was very gentle. ‘Leonie, I’m not trying to take your girls away from you. They’re your kids, they love you. Nobody can take that away. This isn’t about that, it’s about Abby. You are the best support she could have, but right now, I believe that breaking the cycle of what she’s been doing is the best thing for her. She needs another environment. You know her father would love to have her here – and Mel, too.’

Leonie knew she had to get off the phone quickly or she’d burst into tears.

‘Let me think about it, Fliss,’ she said abruptly and hung up. Then she did burst into tears.

Doug offered to drive them to the airport. ‘You won’t be in any fit state to drive anywhere,’ he told Leonie candidly.

She knew he was right. In the three days since she’d told the girls about the trip, she hadn’t been able to do anything right. She’d taken time off work because it was quite possible she’d make an awful mistake in the surgery and be responsible for the demise of some poor animal. Angie had been wonderfully sympathetic when she heard about Abby.

‘Change of scenery is probably a good idea for both Abby and you,’ she said. ‘When the girls are gone, why don’t you and Hugh go away for a week? Drive down to Kerry or Clare and do absolutely nothing but eat, drink and go for tramps in the woods. You deserve a break, and if Hugh is boring, you can go off with that tramp from the woods!’

But Leonie wasn’t in the mood for joking or a holiday, any holiday. She wanted to crawl into her lair and hibernate to lick her wounds.

It was ten in the morning and the twins’ flight was leaving at half two. Leonie wanted to make sure they were there on time for the lengthy US immigration process. How ironic, she thought, that she was rushing to make sure they caught a flight she didn’t really want them to be on.

‘Ready, girls?’ she called with false gaiety.

Mel and Abby had been up since seven, in a frenzy of last-minute packing, hair-washing and even one final, triumphant phone call to Mel’s long-time enemy, Dervla Malone, to boast about flying to Boston while she was heading off to school for double French followed by netball practice in the rain.

‘Nearly,’ called Mel. ‘I can’t close this suitcase. Can you come in and help, Mum?’

Rolling her eyes at Doug, who was patiently reading the newspaper in the kitchen with a slavish Penny at his feet, Leonie went into the girls’ room.

‘Surprise!’ they chorused, waving an envelope and two oddly shaped presents at her.

‘Wine,’ said Mel unnecessarily, as she presented a bottle-shaped present.

‘And this is something to cuddle when you’re lonely,’ Abby said quietly, handing over the other present.

Leonie felt a lump in her throat. ‘Oh, girls,’ she said tearfully, ‘I’m going to miss you both so much.’

Abby threw herself at her mother. ‘I know it’s my fault we’re going, and I love going, but I’m sorry it’s hard for you,’ she said jerkily.

They clung together, Leonie desperately trying not to cry.

‘Aren’t you going to open your presents?’ asked a dryeyed Mel happily.

Leonie praised the bottle of wine to the heavens. It was a lovely Burgundy, expensive, she was sure of it. ‘How did you pair manage to buy alcohol?’ she asked. ‘You’re under-age.’

‘Doug helped us. He said what you’d like and helped us pick it.’

Leonie was touched. What a kind man Doug was. The kids adored him and he’d promised to give Abby painting lessons. He’d roared laughing the day before when Mel artlessly said she’d love to have her portrait painted, but not by him because in his pictures everybody looked fat and ugly.

Leonie opened the second present. It was a furry toy, a cuddly dog with big brown eyes like Penny’s and reddish fur.

‘It’s lovely,’ she cried.

‘Isn’t it?’ sniffed Abby. ‘I know you’ll be lonely, so this is to make you think of us.’

Leonie caressed Abby’s cheek lovingly. ‘As if I could forget about you two for one minute,’ she said fondly. ‘Thank you both. We better get going, Doug will go mental if we don’t leave soon.’

Abby grinned. ‘That’s the nice thing about Doug,’ she said, ‘no matter what happens, he never goes mental.’

Leonie managed to keep a firm hold on her emotions all through the car journey and while they had a cup of coffee in the cafeteria.

‘Don’t forget to study,’ she said. ‘The only reason the school is letting you go is if you work hard and have counselling, Abby.’

Ray had arranged a private tutor to give the girls lessons during their six weeks away and Abby had agreed to see an eating-disorder counsellor. It was only the promise of that, during a lengthy discussion with the headmistress about Abby’s problems and her father’s legal right of access, that had made the head agree to let both girls go.

‘If it wasn’t transition year, there is no way both girls would be able to take that much time off without having to stay back a year,’ Sister Fidelma had said. ‘They have exams coming up and I know people think transition-year exams aren’t important, but they are.’

Leonie had explained passionately that Abby’s state of mind was more important than any attendance record or summer exams.

‘The Department of Education might not agree,’ Sister Fidelma said testily. But she had nevertheless made all the arrangements. Leonie had remarked to Doug that you’d swear she was sending her daughters off as apprentices in a Thai sex-shop instead of a visit to their father in Boston.

‘And don’t leave the kitchen in a mess like you do at home,’ Leonie warned. ‘It’s not fair on Fliss. And please phone,’ she added.

‘Of course we will,’ Mel said, impatient to be off.

‘They should probably go through now,’ Doug said gently. ‘The immigration process takes a while.’

Leonie could only nod, she was incapable of speech. She and Doug walked the twins to the security barrier leading to the departure gates, where they were to meet the Aer Lingus representative helping them through immigration because they were minors.

Both girls kissed Doug goodbye.

‘Look after Mum, will you?’ asked Abby.

‘Of course,’ he replied.

Abby turned to Leonie.

‘Bye, Mum,’ she said.

‘Goodbye,’ Leonie replied, her strength disappearing. She sobbed, not able to help herself, reaching out blindly to grab Mel and Abby.

The three of them hugged each other tightly before Mel broke away.

‘Don’t panic, Mum,’ she said, ‘we’ll be back before you know it.’

She took Abby’s hand and pulled her away. ‘Let’s go. I hate goodbyes.’

They waved until they were out of sight. Doug put one strong arm around Leonie’s heaving body. ‘They’re only going for six weeks, you know,’ he said. ‘They’ll be back.

Now come on, let’s get out of here. I’m bringing you out to dinner somewhere posh tonight and we’ve got to walk the dogs first.’

She had stopped crying by the time he parked outside the cottage an hour later.

‘I’m coming in to make you some hot tea,’ he said.

‘Better make it hot whiskey,’ Leonie snuffled through her bunged-up nose.

‘That’s a deal.’

Good as his word, Doug boiled the kettle and made her a strong hot whiskey. When she was finished drinking it, he got up.

‘Leonie, I’m not letting you sit here moping all day. Get your walking gear on and I’ll be back in ten minutes with Jasper and Alfie. We’re going to walk some of the Wicklow Way and when you’re too knackered to walk any more, we’re going to dinner in the Hungry Monk.’

‘You’re so bossy,’ she grumbled.

His stern face softened into a smile. ‘It’s working, though, isn’t it?’

It was a glorious day. As they walked past acres of the sulphur yellow gorse that covered the Wicklow hills, Leonie brooded. She answered Doug in monosyllables until he got fed up with her moping.

‘I’m only going to say this once, Leo. You’re a great mother. Those kids love you. They’re growing up, that’s all, with all the pain growing up involves. So stop moping and pull yourself together.’

‘Well why do I feel like such a bloody awful mother, then?’ she demanded angrily. ‘I feel so fucking furious.’

Hugh would have been shocked if he’d heard her swear, but Doug wasn’t in the least put out.

‘Why?’

‘Why? That’s a stupid bloody question, Doug,’ she hissed.

‘You’re not God,’ he said calmly. ‘Things happen that are outside your control and you’ve got to learn to deal with them. I’ve had to. Do you think I wanted to get burned in a fire and have the woman I loved dump me because she couldn’t cope with a disfigured shell of a man who was no longer the darling of the art gallery scene?’

Leonie was too astonished to say anything. Doug had never spoken about his past before. She’d discovered that he was a famous, critically acclaimed artist but they never talked about that. He sometimes showed her his paintings and Leonie loved them all, especially the wild, fierce landscapes that leapt from the canvas into your heart.

‘I had no control over that,’ Doug said solemnly. ‘I had to deal with it. You must too, or you’ll be eaten up with bitterness and resentment. I’m not letting that happen to you, Leo. Now come on, we’ve still got three miles to go.’

Doug marched on resolutely, leaving even Leonie, with her long legs, hurrying to keep up.

Three hours later, they sat in a dark corner of the Hungry Monk in Greystones, tearing into the bread rolls and drinking gin and tonics.

‘I’m ravenous,’ Leonie said. Her limbs ached pleasurably from their six-mile hike and she felt relaxed for the first time since she’d found those awful laxatives under Abby’s bed. ‘Exercise is definitely better than booze for making you relax.’

Doug, with his head in the wine list, laughed. ‘Exercise and booze are the best yet.’

They ate amazing fat mussels, corn-fed chicken and sinful potatoes laced with cheese and cream. After a bottle of red wine, they moved on to an Australian dessert wine with the apple dessert they shared, happy to sit and listen to the chatter of the other diners. Feeling reckless, Leonie decided she’d have an Irish coffee to round things off.

‘You’ll regret it in the morning,’ Doug warned. ‘Mixing your drinks like that will give you a murderous hangover.’

‘No it won’t, silly,’ she said, happy now that she was physically tired and mentally a bit dopey thanks to alcohol. If she had one more drink, she’d sleep like a baby and wouldn’t spend the night worrying about her beloved twins.

Languorously tipsy, Leonie found the courage to ask Doug about what he’d said earlier.

‘I never ask you about your past,’ she said, ‘but you did bring it up. Tell me. After all,’ she added, ‘you know everything there is to know about me and mine.’

Doug fiddled with the stem of his wine glass. ‘I don’t like talking about it,’ he said gloomily.

‘It’s only me,’ Leonie protested.

‘Well, seeing as it’s you,’ he said. ‘This is not a story with a happy ending, you know.’

‘Pish posh,’ said Leonie dismissively. ‘Spill the beans, Mansell. I know you too well for this coyness.’

‘Did you ever think of investigative journalism as a career?’ he enquired.

Leonie giggled. ‘You have to learn to ask leading questions when you’ve got three kids, otherwise you’d never know who their friends are or what they were up to.’

For once, Doug didn’t grin back. He looked sombre as he started his story: ‘I was going to be married to a woman I’d been seeing for three years. I’d lived with a few people over the years,’ he explained, ‘but I’d never wanted to marry anyone until I met Caitlin. She was a sculptor and it seemed like the marriage made in heaven. I’d have my studio and she’d have hers right beside it.’ He took a gulp of wine, his eyes opaque. ‘One night we were out late and we decided to stay in town with a friend of mine who lived over his gallery in this second-floor flat. An electric heater caught fire downstairs. I woke up and couldn’t find Caitlin. There was smoke everywhere, I thought maybe she’d gone down to try and get out that way, even though there was a fire escape. I got burned down there.’

‘What happened to her?’ Leonie asked, horrified.

Doug shrugged wryly. ‘She’d decided to go home to her own place earlier. Left me a note, she said, because she hated sleeping in the flat and had to get up early, so she went home at about three. You don’t notice notes on the pillow when the room is filled with smoke,’ he said with heavy irony. ‘Afterwards, she couldn’t cope. It was a mixture of guilt that I’d been burned because of her and the fact that she loves beautiful things.’ The old bitterness that Leonie hadn’t seen on his face for a long time returned, twisting his mouth into a grim shape. ‘I wasn’t beautiful any more. Caitlin loved touching things; she’d run her hands over my face with her eyes closed as if she was reading Braille. As a sculptor, she saw with her fingers. She didn’t like what she saw any more.’

How horribly cruel, Leonie thought. This Caitlin couldn’t have loved Doug very much if she left him over that.

‘That’s when you moved in here,’ Leonie prompted.

‘I’d planned a reclusive life of painting and then this local woman fell over outside my house and that was it: so much for privacy,’ he joked. ‘I can’t get rid of her, actually.’

He pretended to consider this. ‘Ah no, that’s not true. If she wasn’t around, I’d miss her. She drives me mad but she’s great fun.’

Leonie blushed.

Doug waved at a waitress. ‘Could you order us a taxi, please?’ he asked.

In the taxi home, Leonie drifted off to sleep. She woke up as the car pulled up outside the cottage and found herself leaning comfortably against Doug’s bony shoulder.

‘Wake up, sleepy head,’ he said, gently shaking her.

‘God, sorry,’ she muttered sleepily.

Doug got out of the taxi and helped her out. ‘You all right?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘See you tomorrow.’ And then she reached up and did something she’d never done before: kissed him. His beard felt funny against her lips, funny but nice. Doug was nice too. Happy in her alcohol haze, she patted his cheek lovingly before turning to meander up the drive.

The sound of Penny barking woke her the following morning. It sounded like the Rank Organization man with the gong was in her bedroom, banging it for all he was worth.

‘Stop it, Penny,’ moaned Leonie, pulling a pillow over her head. Her head ached and her mouth felt dry. The night before drifted in and out of her mind. The Hungry Monk, lovely food, Doug being sweet to her, his story about the fire and…oh no. She sat up abruptly. She’d kissed him goodnight. How awful. He’d hate that, he’d think she was coming on to him. Ohmigod no! And she had a man in her life, too. She had Hugh. It wasn’t as if she was desperate for a man. No, but she still had to act like some middle-aged slapper who threw herself at her friends because she was drunk.

After a while, thirst got her out of bed. Struggling into her towelling dressing gown, she shuffled along to the kitchen, her slippers slapping against her heels. Danny was listening to the radio at top blast, making toasted sandwiches and creating a mess of crumbs, squelches of dropped mayonnaise and melted cheese.

Penny immediately sat at his feet adoringly, waiting for scraps.

‘You look terrible, Mum,’ Danny said cheerfully.

‘Would you mind turning the radio down,’ Leonie said in a feeble voice, ‘and make me some tea.’

‘Tea?’ roared Danny wickedly, knowing she was hungover.

Leonie shot him a murderous look. ‘Next time you come home from the Micro Club plastered and I make you drink a pint of water and put you to bed, I’ll remind you how cruel you were to me today.’

‘Only kidding, Mum,’ he said. ‘Tea coming up.’

Outside the kitchen window, she could see Clover standing on the sill, staring in at them with an outraged expression on her feline face. She obviously hadn’t been fed.

‘Feed Penny and Clover, too,’ Leonie added. She got to her feet. ‘I’ve got to make a phone call.’

As she rang Doug, she quailed at the thought of how he might react.

‘I’m sorry, was I awful last night?’ she asked as soon as he picked the phone up, not wanting to know the answer.

Doug laughed heartily. ‘Terrible,’ he agreed. ‘I had to stop you dancing on the table in the Hungry Monk, and as for what you tried to do with the cream from your Irish coffee…Well,’ he said, dead-pan, ‘I don’t think they’ll ever accept a booking from us again.’

‘Oh God,’ she groaned.

‘I’m kidding, you fool. You were fine,’ he said. ‘Apart from the bit…’

Leonie held her breath. He was about to say apart from the bit where you tried to snog me.

Instead, he said, ‘…where I had to watch you stagger up the drive to your front door. The taxi driver and I were taking bets on how long it’d take you to get your door keys out of your handbag. I should have walked up with you,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Leonie with relief. ‘I shouldn’t have had that last Irish coffee. It sent me right over the edge.’

Danny came in with a pot of tea.

‘I have to go. I’ll see you soon,’ she said to Doug. ‘Thanks for last night.’

‘Oh, I forgot to tell you, Mum,’ Danny said, helping himself to one of the chocolate biscuits he’d put on the tray with the tea. ‘The girls phoned this morning, early. They got there safely last night so they rang to say they were fine.’

‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ wailed Leonie.

‘You were asleep,’ protested Danny, injured.

‘I’ll ring them now,’ she said frantically.

‘They’re going out for the day, Mel said,’ Danny pointed out. ‘Fliss is bringing them shopping. To some market or something, I can’t remember exactly. You know Mel, dead excited about shopping.’

‘Did you speak to Abby?’ his mother asked in a small voice.

‘Yeah. She sounded excited too. I’m going out, Mum,’ he added. ‘I’ll probably be late tonight. See you.’

‘See you,’ echoed Leonie sadly.

When Hugh phoned later, she was delighted to hear from him. She’d spent such a lonely day in the house. Penny had done her best to comfort her, shoving her cool wet nose into her mistress’s hand occasionally, saying, I’m here. But Leonie felt so inconsolable that even her beloved Penny couldn’t cheer her up.

Hugh’s phone call, therefore, was welcome. Perhaps he’d rung to tell her there was a change of plan and that they were going out after all.

‘Are you still bringing Jane to the theatre?’ she asked hopefully.

‘Yes,’ Hugh said. ‘She’s so excited about it. Poor love is all cut up about that awful ex-boyfriend of hers.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Leonie said untruthfully. She wished Hugh had cried off from his trip with his daughter. Leonie could have done with some company tonight. But kids had to come first, she thought dully. Except Jane wasn’t a kid.

‘You don’t suppose there’s any way Jane would cope if you cried off tonight and came to see me instead?’ Leonie said daringly.

Hugh sounded horrified. ‘I can’t, Leonie,’ he said in shocked tones. ‘That bastard of a boyfriend was stringing her along for ages, she’s so upset about him. She needs me.’

But what about me? Leonie wanted to cry. I need you too. My daughters have gone and they’re more precious to me than some boyfriend-of-three-weeks is to bloody Jane. But she said nothing.