CHAPTER EIGHT
‘Hello, Mum, you look fabulous. Where’s Dad?’ Aimee looked around the crowded art exhibition, expecting to see her father’s handsome, leonine head or hear his booming tones discoursing on some topic or other.
Juliet’s eyes narrowed, and her lips thinned. ‘He couldn’t come. He had to go to Larry Wright’s retirement dinner. It was essential that he be there, he informed me. He forgot about it when he agreed to come.’
‘Larry Wright? But he can’t stand him!’ Aimee tried to frown, but couldn’t because of her Botox.
‘Exactly,’ declared her mother tartly. ‘But he’d prefer to be at dinner with a man he can’t stand than come and see my “little art shindig”, as he called it himself. Never mind,’ she declared brightly, turning to embrace her son-in-law. ‘Thank you for coming, Barry. I hope you didn’t have to forego a golf game or anything.’
‘Wouldn’t miss your exhibition, Juliet. Good luck with it,’ Barry said cordially, privately thinking that his father-in-law was an even bigger plank than he’d previously thought. It was clear the older woman was very hurt by her husband’s non-appearance. He liked his mother-in-law. She was a ‘lady’, as his own mother called her. Pleasant, unassuming, easy to talk to and very much in her husband’s shadow. Juliet had never made any demands on Aimee during their marriage, and she was a far different kettle of fish to his ex-mother-in-law, Stella. She’d been an interfering old biddy, and he hadn’t been in the slightest bit sorry to lose contact with her when his marriage to Connie had broken up. And she hadn’t changed either, he reflected, remembering their frosty encounter at Debbie’s wedding.
‘Melissa! Hello, darling, thank you so much for coming – I’m sure you had much better things to do than come and see your old grandma’s paintings.’ Juliet turned to her granddaughter with a smile, noting her sulky, bored demeanour.
‘Don’t say that, Gran,’ Melissa protested weakly, hoping she wasn’t blushing. ‘I think they’re gorgeous. I really like the tiger in the jungle.’
‘Do you?’ Juliet couldn’t hide her pleasure. ‘Well, if it doesn’t sell, I’ll give it to you and, if it does sell, I’ll do you another. How about that?’ she offered.
‘Cool,’ Melissa exclaimed. ‘Thanks, Gran.’
‘Your cousins are here. Steven and Gemma and the girls came up from Kildare. Wasn’t that good of them?’ Juliet remarked, peering through the throng. ‘They’re down at the far end. See them?’ She pointed out her son’s gangly figure between a gap in the crowds. Melissa looked over. ‘Deadly – I’ll just go and say hello,’ she said, cheering up. She liked her cousins. Even though they were culchies and totally uncool and she had little in common with them, she secretly envied them their lifestyle. Her Uncle Steven was an equine vet, and her two cousins, Mandy, fourteen, and Anna, sixteen, both had horses. They had part-time jobs in one of the big racing stables near their home and had little interest in fashion and make-up or in hanging out in shopping malls or Starbucks. They weren’t even on Facebook or Bebo; their lives revolved entirely around horses. They liked school – unheard of! – and they had a lot of friends who liked the same things they did. They didn’t seem to have groups and cliques, which was so much the norm in her school. There was no edgy rivalry among their schoolmates.
Melissa was fascinated by them. She’d always felt a touch superior when she was with them, feeling sorry for them that they lived in Hicksville, as she mentally termed it. Imagine having no Miss Selfridges, Topshop, Mango, McDonald’s or Starbucks. How seriously deprived was that? she’d said to Sarah when they’d been talking about them one day.
Her cousins slagged Melissa good-humouredly and told her she was posh, with her D4 accent, and yet they were great fun. And she loved being with them. She felt she could be relaxed and giddy and not have to worry about making an impression. She called them Boggers, which they took with great good humour, and she wished she could have their self-confidence and joie de vivre.
One of the best weekends of her life had been last year, when they’d gone to her Auntie Gemma’s fortieth birthday. Her cousins had brought her to the stables where they worked, and she’d helped muck out the stalls and fallen head over heels in love with a chestnut gelding called White Star. He had a beautiful white star on his forehead and melting, chocolate-brown eyes. He’d nuzzled his nose into her neck and eaten the apple she’d produced from her pocket, and she’d spent ages stroking his face, talking to him. She’d felt he understood every word she’d said.
Then – treat of treats – her cousins had got permission for Melissa to ride him around the yard, her first time ever on a horse. She’d been so nervous she’d almost chickened out. But White Star had been patient and very gentle, walking sedately along, giving an encouraging whinny every so often, and she’d been exhilarated beyond belief.
That evening, there’d been a big family barbecue and, as the sky turned fiery orange with the sunset and then the stars had come twinkling into the black velvet sky, there’d been singing and dancing, and then more food to warm them up as the night grew cool. Everyone had drawn up close to the glowing barbecue embers and watched shooting stars flame across the sky. They were meteor showers, Anna had explained, as one bright star left a dazzling burst of light as it streaked southwards. Every time Melissa saw one she made a wish that she could save enough money to buy White Star, and she’d fallen asleep against her dad’s shoulder, filled with optimism that the beautiful horse she’d fallen in love with would be hers one day.
Mandy saw her and waved. ‘Hey, Posh,’ she called teasingly.
‘Hey, Bogger,’ Melissa called back, making her way towards her cousin, glad now that she’d come to the exhibition and dying to hear news of her beloved White Star.
‘Just as well the girls are here; she might have been bored.’ Juliet smiled as she watched her granddaughters embrace. ‘It’s good for them to spend time together, isn’t it?’ she said with satisfaction, beginning to relax and enjoy herself in spite of Ken’s absence. ‘Now, darlings, can I get you a drink? The nibbles are nice too,’ she advised.
‘Um . . .’ Aimee paused. She shouldn’t really drink, she supposed, but if she wasn’t keeping the baby, what difference did it make? She needed something to relax her; she was as stressed as hell. Why not? ‘A glass of white for me,’ she decided, defiantly.
‘And I’ll have a glass of red, please,’ Barry added. One glass wouldn’t put him over the limit and he had enough food in him after his big dinner to soak it up.
‘I’ll be right back,’ said Juliet, gliding away, saying hello here and there to people she knew.
‘He’s such a bastard,’ Aimee muttered, watching her mother weave her way through the crowd.
‘Who?’ Barry asked, not following her train of thought.
‘Dad. The least he could have done was be here for her. It would have meant a lot to Mum. She supports him in everything he does.’
‘Indeed she does,’ he agreed dryly, but the sarcasm was lost on his wife as she began a rant about what a selfish, self-centred human being her father was.
‘Like father like daughter’ popped into his head; the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, as the old saying went, but he kept silent, and was glad when his mother-in-law returned with the wine, followed by Steven and Gemma, who greeted them warmly. It was a relief to talk to his brother-in-law, with whom he had a good relationship, although they didn’t see each other that often. He was relieved not to have to make small talk with Aimee, who was chatting to Gemma about the cost of keeping horses.
A thought struck him. Seeing as they were at the exhibition, they should support Juliet by buying a painting. It would be expected, he would imagine. He’d buy the tiger painting for Melissa. If Aimee wanted to buy one, she could buy her own. But, knowing his wife, he doubted it would even cross her mind. Philanthropy was not a trait she was noted for, he thought sourly, watching her schmooze Bill Kerrwin, a wealthy film director. Barry knew she was chatting to him in the hope that he might potentially be a client. She never took her eye off the ball. She was always working. He’d been like that once too, he remembered, and wondered was it age that had blunted his business edge and made him less competitive.
‘Just going to buy one of your mother’s paintings for Melissa,’ he murmured to Steven, wishing he could stop comparing himself with Aimee. Ever since the wedding it had become an issue with him.
‘Oh, right. Good thinking.’ Steven nodded. ‘I should buy one too, I suppose. The girls liked the tiger—’
‘Sorry,’ grinned Barry. ‘That’s mine. In fact, I’m going to pay for it right now in case anyone else snaffles it. Excuse me.’ He made his way over to the wall where the tiger painting was hanging and noted that there was no little red dot on it, but two women were studying it intently, and he overheard one say to the other. ‘I think I’ll buy this one, it would look good in my dining room. The colours are perfect.’ That’s what you think, Missus. Barry made haste to the desk where the buying and selling was taking place and staked his claim.
‘The exhibition runs until after the weekend, so you won’t be able to take it tonight. I hope you don’t mind,’ the organizer told him.
‘No problem,’ he assured her. He wouldn’t tell Melissa he’d bought it. He’d just hang it in her bedroom for her as a surprise. He was walking back to join the others when he noticed a small watercolour of Greystones Harbour. It was a delightful little painting, and he immediately thought of Connie. On impulse, he went back to the desk and bought it. She surely couldn’t object to him buying her a little gift, and it might soften her attitude to him. He could do with someone to chat to and confide in these days, and Connie was very good at listening. A woman who listened was a prize beyond jewels. Aimee might listen to her clients, but she certainly wasn’t listening to him these days.