CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I need the car tonight and I won’t be having dinner. D
Debbie stared at the screen, dithering whether to add a couple of kisses after her initial, as she usually did before pressing send. Bryan had hardly spoken to her that morning, and she’d had no cheery texts or emails from him, as she frequently did during the day.
She saved the draft and picked up her mobile, looking furtively around, before remembering that Judith Baxter was not sitting in the corner office with her eagle eye on her. Judith had been very strict about the use of mobiles during work time. Debbie’s fingers flew over the keys.
Hi Melissa are you free 2 drive down 2 Greystones with me after work and will we have supper together? D xx
She pressed send and got the delivery report note. Melissa responded promptly.
Gr8. I’d like that. M xxxx
Debbie chewed the top of her pen. She didn’t particularly want to meet Aimee, so she decided against collecting her half-sister from her apartment block.
Pick you up at George’s yacht club at 6.30. xx
That would be easier all round, she decided, as a confirmatory text flashed back on to her screen. She studied her email to Bryan and sent it, without the kisses. Why should she send Bryan kisses and pretend that all was well between them? He’d behaved like the lowest of the low, laying all the blame for their financial straits on her and, for once in their relationship, she wasn’t going to be the appeaser. As long as she’d been with Bryan, she’d always been the one to give in and make up. She’d given him his chance to back out of the wedding when she’d brought him on a surprise trip to Amsterdam just weeks before they’d got married. She’d asked him did he want to postpone it, and he’d said no, so he could take it back for blaming her for pushing them to marry. She should have thought of that when he’d been flinging his accusations at her, but she’d been so dismayed at his reaction, it had slipped her mind.
She hated fighting with Bryan. It had always unsettled her when they were engaged, and she’d worried that he would call it off, but things were different now. They were man and wife and, short of divorcing her, he needed to work with her to sort out their differences and their finances. And the sooner Bryan realized that, the better for their marriage. Her husband needed to grow up, she observed dejectedly as she brought up her section’s overtime records and began working on the necessary calculations.
Bryan read his wife’s email and scowled. She could have the bloody car. The petrol gauge was nearly empty, so she could fill it up herself, because he wasn’t going to pay for her jaunting around.
‘Hey, bud, how’s it going? Are you all ready for the Galway Races? Some of the guys are thinking of hiring a chopper to get down there. Have you sorted any accommodation? The prices are an arm and a leg this year.’ Ed Murray sat on the corner of his desk, tanned and affluent in his bespoke grey suit. Ed was one of the marketing managers and would have his expenses at Galway paid, as he’d be hosting several corporate events on behalf of the company.
‘Yo, Ed.’ Bryan pretended cheeriness. ‘Hope to be going, but I’m a married man now, I have other commitments. I can’t be acting like a carefree bachelor,’ he joked feebly.
‘I’m married, too, but that never stops me going to Galway or chatting up the birds on Ladies’ Day,’ Ed scoffed. ‘Don’t let Debbie turn you into a wimp. If you give in the first year, you’re going to be pussy-whipped for the rest of your life. Start as you mean to go on, mate, that’s my advice to ya. See ya around.’
‘Sure thing, Ed. Cheers,’ Bryan said flatly, watching the other man swagger down the office. It was well known that Ed did more than ‘chat up’ the ladies and, if the rumours were to be believed, his marriage of ten years was shaky, and his attractive blond wife had started drinking way more than was good for her. Debbie wouldn’t be able to afford to turn to drink if he went off with other women, he thought dryly, sending off an email to her with a curt, Fine.
If he told her he was considering a trip to the Galway Races, World War Three would break out, so he’d say nothing and try and scrounge the money together somehow. But where was he going to get a couple of thousand smackers? There was no point in going to Galway with pennies in your pockets. And if he didn’t go, the others would agree with Ed and say he was pussy-whipped. So much for happy ever after, he grimaced, staring down at his wedding band and heartily wishing he were single again.
‘Hey, Bryan, you wouldn’t be interested in buying a Bang & Olufsen stereo system and an almost new flatscreen TV, would you?’ Alison Reed, the MD’s PA, stopped at his desk, cutting short his dour thoughts.
‘No, why?’ He looked at her in surprise.
Alison sighed, flicking her chestnut hair back off her face. ‘My boyfriend’s lost his job, and he’s moving back home to his parents’, and I live with my parents, so neither of us has any room for them.’
Bryan ran his fingers through his hair as he studied the slender brunette standing beside him. He liked Alison, but he didn’t fancy her; she was too skinny for his tastes, all angular, jutting, bony bits and no curves. From the back, she could almost pass for a boy. ‘That’s rough, who was he working for?’
‘He worked in the corporate services of FB Sweeney auctioneers. They let fourteen people go the same day as Gerry.’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘It had been on the cards for ages. They were cutting down on entertaining and days away and wining and dining prospective clients, so he was half expecting it, but it was a shock just the same. Ed would want to watch out – our corporate entertaining budgets are going to be cut in half. There’s a raft of cost-cutting measures coming down the line. We’ve lost two big contracts this week because the companies involved have pulled out of the officeletting sector. It’s going to get rocky here too,’ she said sombrely, getting off the desk. ‘So are you interested?’
‘Sorry, Ali, we have a TV and stereo, but I’ll ask around. Why don’t you put it up on the newsletter?’
Alison made a face. ‘I don’t really want the world and his mother to know – it’s a bit embarrassing, if you know what I mean. People would start asking questions. I mean, it’s the pits not having a place of your own to go back to. We can’t even have a decent shag any more. You’re so lucky being married and having a house of your own.’
‘I suppose I am,’ Bryan said slowly. ‘Sorry to hear of your troubles, Ali,’ he added. ‘What’s Gerry going to do?’
‘He might have to emigrate, the way things are going. We didn’t save much, we were too busy having fun, so there’s not much to fall back on, and we couldn’t manage on just my salary, so it’s all up in the air. We never thought the good times were going to end. Anyway, thanks for listening to my moans – I better go, there’s a big meeting in twenty minutes to discuss the recession and its potential implications for the company. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’re a few job losses here too, and he’ – she pointed at Ed, who was flirting with one of the secretaries – ‘might not be so cocky this time next week. See ya.’
‘Bye, Ali,’ murmured Bryan, dismayed at what he’d heard. If Ali knew the state of his finances, she might not be so envious of him. This recession thing was getting serious. Ali’s boyfriend, Gerry, had rented a cool, duplex apartment in Grand Canal Dock and had often thrown lavish parties to which Debbie and he had been invited. Now he was back living with his parents. That had to be the pits.
And all this talk about job losses was unsettling. It was true the market for offices had contracted. If it got worse, he could be in trouble, and then they’d have to let the bank repossess the house, because Debbie wouldn’t be able to pay the mortgage out of her salary. Gerry and Ali might not be the only ones living with their parents, he thought gloomily.
Debbie was right, although it pained him to say it. They did need to get their finances sorted, or they were going to be in deep trouble. Going to live with either of their parents, Connie in particular, was an option to put the fear of God in him. His conversation with Alison had been a wake-up call Bryan didn’t particularly want. The Galway Races would be the first casualty in his belt-tightening exercise, and life would be all the more lacklustre because of it. If this was what it was going to be like for the foreseeable future, emigrating looked like a very attractive option. Bondi Beach would suit him just fine.
‘Mom, I’m meeting Debbie to go and see Connie’s cat, ’cos she’s away in Spain, so I won’t be home when you get in from work. It’s fine with Dad.’ Melissa left a message for her mother. She’d tried to phone her, but it had rung out before going to her voicemail. She must be at a meeting; it was all she seemed to do these days: work and sleep.
She flung herself down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Sarah had asked her to go to Dundrum to hang out at the shopping centre with her cousin who was visiting from England, but Melissa hadn’t been in the humour. She knew they’d want to go to have something to eat at some stage, and she just couldn’t do that right now. She couldn’t risk slipping back. She had to keep focused on losing the weight, seeing as the scales were giving her such positive results. She’d pretended to have bad periods.
Melissa wasn’t telling fibs about feeling ill. She really didn’t feel well. Her stomach was tied up in knots, and she didn’t know if it was because she wasn’t eating, because she was making herself vomit when she did eat, or because she was worrying about what was going to happen to her parents. She got up and pulled her weighing scales from under the bed and carried them out to the terrace. She never put the scales on top of her bedroom carpet; it affected the reading. She stood on them and gazed at the small red screen that showed a loss of one stone five pounds. The only thing she had control of: her weight loss. It afforded her some small comfort from the worry of her parents’ rift and life in general. Her stomach rumbled and went into spasm. She was starving, but that was a good sign. It showed she was strong. Virtuous. In charge. The buzz of empowerment reinvigorated her. She went down to the kitchen and poured some lukewarm water from the kettle and squeezed some lemon juice into it, and sipped it slowly as she went back to her room. The tartness of the lemon made her wince, but she persevered, and the sharp pangs of hunger faded to a gnawing ache.
She needed to buy new jeans, as she was constantly hitching hers up these days, a satisfying reminder of how much weight she was losing. She studied her reflection critically. Yes, she definitely needed smaller jeans, but she still had a good way to go before she got really skinny. If Debbie hadn’t texted, she might have changed her mind and met up with Sarah and her cousin after they’d eaten and then gone shopping, but she wouldn’t have time now, if she was meeting Debbie at 6.30. She was so looking forward to seeing Connie’s adorable little cat. She’d always longed for a pet, but Aimee wouldn’t have one in the penthouse, saying it was no place for an animal.
When she hadn’t heard from Debbie after Connie had gone to Spain, Melissa had wondered had her half-sister forgotten their plan to drive out to Greystones. Getting the text earlier had lifted her glum spirits. If anyone understood how she was feeling, it would be Debbie. After all, she’d gone through her parents’ divorce and survived it. Melissa couldn’t let on to Barry and Aimee that she’d overheard their horrible argument, but she might confide in Debbie and see what she had to say about it. She went back into her bedroom and began to try on a selection of outfits for her jaunt in her half-sister’s sporty soft-top, turning this way and that to observe her figure from every possible angle.
‘So, Ian, I’m giving you a month’s notice, as required.’ Aimee handed over a crisp white envelope. ‘And I’ll be taking my annual-leave entitlement, which works out at three weeks and two days. I’ll spend the next few days going through my schedule with Rhona – I think you’ll agree she’s the most experienced one to replace me until you fill the position.’ She couldn’t help enjoying the moment: shock followed by dismay registered on Ian’s thin, fake-tanned visage.
‘Wha . . . what do you mean you’re resigning? You can’t resign; we’re up to our eyes. You have half a dozen major-league events in your diary,’ her boss stuttered.
‘I can and I just have,’ Aimee said coolly.
‘But why? What’s going on?’ He jumped up from his chair and walked around to her side of the desk. Two dull red spots appeared on his cheeks under his orange tan, and his little walnut eyes glimmered with panic. Aimee was convinced he’d had Botox; his forehead was as smooth and unlined as her own. Today, he was dressed from head to toe in black; almost priest-like, she observed as he stood in front of her. Black jeans, black Armani shirt, and a black cashmere pullover draped over his narrow, wire-hanger shoulders. He stuck his hands into the back pockets of his Dolce & Gabbana jeans and stared at her in disbelief.
‘You know, Ian, I’ve made big bucks for your company, especially in the last year, and you haven’t even had the decency to offer me a raise. The best you could do was to send me an email telling me to take a great big bow,’ she added dryly.
‘I’ve been meaning to get around to it,’ he blustered. ‘It’s just been so busy. Now calm down and sit down, and let’s take a moment to discuss your raise. You know I couldn’t run this company without you.’ He gave her a sweet smile, cocking his head sideways in a boyish manner, a mannerism that invariably melted any woman it was directed at. Aimee was unimpressed. She’d long since grown impatient with his poor-little-me-I-just-can’t-manage-by-myself act.
‘What are you offering?’ she asked out of curiosity, to see how far he’d go to keep her.
‘Um . . . an extra five thou?’ He arched a plucked eyebrow hopefully, and then saw the look of disdain on her face. ‘Plus a new company car,’ he added hastily. ‘Maybe seven,’ he amended when he saw her turn to walk away. ‘Come on, Aimee, you owe me, big time,’ he bleated. Aimee came to a dead stop.
‘No, Ian, you owe me. And, you know something? You never appreciated what I did for you or this company, but one of your clients did, and he’s made me an offer I simply can’t refuse. Double the salary I’m getting here, a top-of-the-range car and, even more important, an employer who appreciates my capabilities. I’m going to be MD of his company. I’d never have got the chance to run my own company with you. Ian, you get handed things on a plate. I’ve had to fight for every rung I’ve climbed up the ladder. I’ve brought this company and myself on to the top rung and, FYI, one thing you need to know for further reference: when you hire my replacement, patronizing, flowery emails are a big no-no. Money talks.’
‘Listen to yourself,’ Ian vented, all pretence of being lovey-dovey gone with the wind. ‘You’re beginning to believe your own publicity, just because you’ve had a taste of what it’s like to work for the mega rich. It was me and my contacts that got you where you are. I gave you your big chance, and this is the thanks I get – being left in the lurch without a backward glance. So, let me guess – it has to be Roger: he’s been going on and on about how wonderful you are. Has he got into your panties yet? Because that’s where he wants to be.’ His thin lips were drawn back in a sneer, and hostility oozed from every pore.
‘Really?’ Aimee gave him a withering look. ‘Well, don’t be jealous, honey. If he’s your type, there’re lots more like him out there.’
‘I beg your pardon? How dare you, Aimee Davenport!’ Ian was apoplectic. Little flecks of spittle flew in the air.
‘Oh get over yourself,’ Aimee threw over her shoulder as she marched out the door. Five measly thousand was his first offer, chickenfeed, for the amount of business she’d brought to his company the last year. And it was offered begrudgingly. He hadn’t a hope of keeping her with that sort of attitude.
She knew she was being a real bitch, and she didn’t care. She began to clear out her files. She’d had enough of men pushing her around; it was good to hit back, even if wimpy Ian was a less than perfect target. He’d been disgusted at her innuendo, but it served him right for his nasty, scurrilous little remark about Roger. She shuddered. Sex with Roger was a revolting thought; their relationship would be a purely business one, and she felt he knew that very well. Ian was just being his usual bitchy self when things didn’t go his way. She was almost glad he’d lowered himself to make such remarks because, when she screwed him by taking half his clients with her, she wouldn’t feel at all bad.
Her phone beeped, signalling she had a message, and she picked it up from her desk. Her lips tightened when she listened to what Melissa had to say. What did she want to be going off to Greystones with Debbie for? Why did she want to be getting so closely involved with Connie and her half-sister? Hadn’t she managed perfectly fine without them all these years? It was bad enough that the pair knew about her pregnancy almost as soon as she’d found out about it herself, she bristled. She was so bitter, volcanically angry and resentful these days. Those dark, seething emotions had consumed every cell and fibre of her. She was going to give Barry a piece of her mind about that when she got home later. If Ian was a less than perfect target for a tonguelashing, Barry was just the one for it. With any luck, he’d get sick of her bitchiness and run back to Saint Connie because, right now, as far as Aimee was concerned, the other woman was more than welcome to him.