My Mother's Secret Page 13

  ‘If she marries you, she’ll have to get used to it.’

  ‘I haven’t asked her yet.’

  And, thought Davey, I may not ask her now. Not today, anyway. Not the way I meant to. All the same, I wish things would go the way I wanted. For once in my life.

  Bernice couldn’t remember the last time she’d driven in such awful weather. Visibility was deteriorating by the second and the rain was heavier on the return journey than it had been on their emergency dash to the hospital. Despite the fact that the windscreen wipers were on full, she could hardly see in front of her. She dropped her speed to less than 40 kph to minimise the chances of ending up in a ditch. And how would Carl feel about that? she wondered as she wiped the steamy windscreen with the back of her hand. Horrified that they’d had a crash, or relieved that it wasn’t Summer in the car? She felt tears sting her eyes and she exhaled sharply. She was a professional nurse transporting a patient home from hospital. She would not allow her thoughts to wander towards Carl Mullens.

  ‘I’m cold,’ said Poppy from the back of the car.

  ‘So am I,’ said Roisin.

  ‘It’s because your clothes are still damp,’ Bernice told them. She turned the heater on, although the truth was that despite the rain, the air temperature hadn’t really fallen very much and all it was doing was making things stuffy.

  ‘This wasn’t in the game plan for today,’ Roisin said, as Bernice dropped her speed even further.

  ‘There’s a lot that wasn’t in today’s game plan,’ said Bernice.

  ‘I’m glad you came,’ said Roisin. ‘Even though … well, you know.’

  ‘I have my uses,’ said Bernice.

  ‘And I have a sling.’ Poppy sounded satisfied. ‘People will have to be nice to me because I have a serious injury.’

  ‘Not that serious,’ said Roisin. ‘You were very lucky. In future when I tell you to get down from something, you do it straight away. OK?’

  ‘OK.’ Poppy heaved an enormous sigh that made both Bernice and Roisin smile.

  They continued to drive on in silence, Bernice concentrating hard on keeping the car as far away from the verge as she could, while being aware that another car could round a bend at any time. But they didn’t encounter any traffic and she felt a surge of relief as she turned on to the narrow road that led to Aranbeg.

  ‘Oh crap!’ She stopped the car.

  ‘What?’ asked Roisin.

  ‘The road has flooded,’ said Bernice. ‘Don’t tell me that piddling little stream has burst its banks.’

  ‘It can’t have.’ Roisin rolled down the rear passenger window and looked out. A torrent of muddy water was racing across the width of the road. It was impossible to tell how deep it was. ‘Though it certainly looks like it.’

  ‘Are we stuck?’ asked Poppy.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Roisin. She leaned towards Bernice. ‘It’s probably not that deep,’ she said.

  ‘You’re kidding, right?’

  ‘You said it yourself, Ber. It’s a piddling little stream.’

  ‘It’s more than that right now,’ said Bernice. ‘Look at that massive puddle!’

  ‘I’d say it’s a pothole,’ said Roisin.

  ‘Whatever, I don’t think we can negotiate it.’

  ‘Of course we can,’ said Roisin. ‘Put the hammer down and keep going.’

  ‘What if we get stuck in the middle?’ Poppy looked anxious ‘We could drown.’

  ‘We won’t drown in six inches of water,’ said Roisin.

  ‘Although we could get stuck,’ said Bernice. ‘And then we’d have to abandon the car and wade home.’

  Poppy began to cry. ‘I don’t want to get wet.’

  ‘You won’t.’ Roisin shot an irritated look at Bernice. ‘We’ll be fine.’

  ‘I don’t want to damage the car,’ she said.

  ‘You’ve got insurance.’

  ‘That’s not the point.’

  Roisin gathered her thoughts. Bernice had legitimate concerns about driving through what was definitely more than a mere puddle, but there was no way Roisin wanted to abandon the car and walk more than a kilometre up the road with her injured daughter in this sort of weather, not unless it was the only option. And not even then, she thought. She was going to have to make Bernice do it.

  ‘Go for it,’ she said as persuasively as she could. ‘You’ve been amazing so far today; don’t let us down now.’

  ‘I’m not letting you down just because I won’t drive through a raging torrent!’ cried Bernice.

  ‘You can do it,’ said Roisin. ‘I know you can. You’re one of the most capable people I know.’

  ‘Capable maybe. Stupid not.’ Although, Bernice thought suddenly, Carl might have different views about that.

  ‘If we have to leave the car, we have to leave the car,’ said Roisin. ‘But it would be more stupid not to give it a go first.’

  Bernice tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and said nothing.

  ‘I didn’t mean to imply that you’re stupid!’ cried Roisin. ‘I want us to get home, that’s all.’

  ‘In one piece would be nice,’ said Bernice.

  ‘Bernice?’ Poppy’s voice quivered. ‘I want to go home too.’

  Bernice took a deep breath and put the car into gear.

  ‘Give it some welly!’ cried Roisin as she revved the engine.

  ‘I’m not sure that’s the most appropriate word,’ said Bernice. Then she depressed the accelerator as far as it would go and released the brake.

  A wave of muddy water swept over the bonnet of the car as it leaped forward, sloshing against the windscreen and cascading over the roof. There was a crunching sound and the car listed to one side as the front right-hand wheel hit some kind of obstacle.

  Poppy screamed. So did Bernice.

  ‘Keep going!’ yelled Roisin.

  They could all feel the car wavering. But Bernice didn’t let up. With a sudden spurt they were over the obstacle, out of the puddle and on to the relatively safe road on the other side.

  ‘Well done,’ said Roisin.

  ‘Yay!’ cried Poppy. ‘You’re so cool, Bernice.’

  Bernice wiped the sweat from her brow and tucked the damp locks of her hair behind her ears. She drove on at a more sedate pace, allowing her heartbeat to return to normal as Poppy and Roisin continued to compliment her on getting them through the flooded road.

  And that’s what real women, not Barbie dolls, can do, she thought as she turned in to Aranbeg. It was a pity Carl hadn’t been with them to see it.

  Jenny had been watching for their arrival, and as they pulled up outside the house, she opened the front door and hustled them out of the rain. She gave Roisin an anxious look, which faded to relief when her daughter reassured her that Poppy was fine. Jenny hugged Poppy and told her she was a very lucky girl.

  ‘I know.’ Poppy wriggled free. ‘I have a sling. How brill is that!’

  ‘Most of it is bumps and bruises,’ Roisin told Paul when she joined him in the living room. ‘The sling is to protect her shoulder, she hasn’t broken anything.’

  ‘You’re a brave little soldier,’ said her father.

  ‘A brave little soldier who’ll do what her parents tell her in future,’ said Roisin.

  ‘Thanks for looking after me,’ Poppy said to Bernice. ‘And for driving us through the water.’

  ‘Through the water?’ asked Paul.

  ‘There was a huge flood at the end of the road,’ explained Poppy. ‘We went through it with a whoosh like a submarine. The road is filling up with water too.’

  ‘What!’ More than one of the guests spoke at the same time.

  ‘We thought the stream might have burst its banks, unlikely though that seems,’ said Roisin.

  ‘Surely we’d notice that from the house?’ said Paul. ‘The water would be coming up the garden by now. Most likely it’s some localised flash flooding. That rain is fairly bucketing down.’

  ‘Is the road impassable?’ asked
Jim Kinsella.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Bernice. ‘But if it keeps raining like this …’

  ‘Maybe we should go.’ Seamus looked at his wife and then at Jenny. ‘Before the car park floods and we can’t get out.’

  There was a general murmur of concern at the idea that they might not be able to move their cars, and more people began to talk about leaving.

  ‘Wait until Mum and Dad cut the cake,’ begged Roisin. ‘And give me five minutes to change first.’

  ‘You and Bernice and Poppy definitely need to change out of those wet things,’ agreed Jenny. ‘But let’s not bother about the cake. I quite understand that people want to go.’

  ‘Of course we’ll wait for the cake,’ said Carl. ‘We can’t miss that.’

  ‘Please don’t feel you have to,’ said Jenny.

  ‘I’ve been waiting ages for this cake,’ said Davey. ‘So the sooner the better.’

  ‘We’ll stay till after you cut it,’ Lillian Kinsella said. ‘Then we’ll head off too. Our house is in a hollow and I don’t fancy getting stuck on the way.

  ‘I won’t be a minute changing,’ said Roisin. ‘Come on, Poppy.’

  Steffie told Bernice that there were some dry clothes on her bed if she wanted to change into them.

  ‘I guess this dress is ruined.’ Bernice looked sadly at the L.K.Bennett number she’d bought specially for the day, which was grass-stained and mud-splattered. ‘And as for my hair …’ She glanced at her reflection in a wall mirror and saw that her curls were bedraggled. ‘I’m a mess.’

  ‘But all in a good cause,’ said Jenny. ‘Thank you so much, Bernice. You’ve been wonderful.’

  ‘Yes indeed,’ added Paul. ‘I wanted to drive her myself, you know I did, and I bet I would’ve been fine. But in the end perhaps it was just as well it was you.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ said Bernice.

  ‘C’mon,’ said Steffie. ‘Let’s get you something dry to put on. And I’ll lend you my hairdryer.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Bernice.

  She could feel Carl’s eyes on her as she walked out of the room. She wondered what he was thinking.

  Eventually everybody was gathered in the kitchen to see Pascal and Jenny cut their anniversary cake. Pascal’s arm was around Jenny’s waist and she was holding the big knife in her right hand. She was just about to slice into the cake when Roisin told her to wait, that Paul hadn’t made his speech yet.

  ‘Before he gives it, I’d like to say something,’ said Davey.

  ‘You would?’ Roisin’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t want Davey stealing Paul’s thunder by giving an extra speech.

  Steffie glanced at her brother and his girlfriend and wondered if this was the moment he was about to ask her to marry him.

  ‘It’s not much,’ Davey reassured Roisin. ‘A few words, that’s all.’ He started to talk about his parents, about how inspirational their love for each other had been and the security that had brought the three of them growing up. He glanced at Camilla from time to time as he spoke, hoping that his words would impress on her how much she too meant to him. When he’d finished, Jenny thanked him and got ready to cut the cake again.

  ‘Oh, me!’ cried Seamus. ‘I’d like to say something too.’

  For crying out loud, thought Roisin. People will be fed up with speeches before Paul gets his chance. Why don’t they keep their mouths shut and let him do the talking?

  Jenny’s fingers tightened around the knife as her brother-in-law told them of the time he’d called to see her and Pascal at the flat they’d first moved into on Haddington Road, and how struck he’d been by how much they loved each other. Even though, he added to general embarrassment, the marriage itself might have been somewhat rushed.

  Then Steffie chimed in with how important it was to her to know that her parents had loved and cherished each other for such a long period of time. It went to show, she said, that true love always won out in the end. And even if her parents had been somewhat rushed into their marriage, it hadn’t mattered because they’d made such a tremendous success of it.

  It seemed as though all thoughts of going home early had been forgotten as more and more people gave their own reasons why Jenny and Pascal had been an inspiration to them, and after every speech there was tumultuous applause.

  ‘People just live together now,’ Paul said when he finally got the opportunity to speak. ‘But Jenny and Pascal have proved that there’s something enduring about marriage. Something special that binds them together. Maybe they were lucky because they were married in Rome. Maybe they received an extra blessing that’s helped them through the hard times. All I can say is I’ve looked up to Pascal ever since meeting Roisin and I hope that we can follow in their footsteps.’

  Jenny knew that her hand was trembling because she felt Pascal put his own hand over it to steady it.

  ‘Marriage matters.’ Paul – knowing that he, Roisin and the children were staying at Aranbeg for the night and so consequently having had more to drink than he normally would – continued to talk, despite the fact that the other guests were beginning to get restless and Jenny’s smile was becoming fixed on her face. ‘People say it doesn’t, but it does. Everyone should be married,’ he said as he waved his glass of whiskey in the air. ‘Everyone should be as lucky as Jenny and Pascal. Forty years. Forty bloody years. They’re amazing and they’re an example to all of us. And because of that, we’d like to present you with this …’ He looked to Roisin, who’d taken the bowl from its hiding place in the cupboard and now handed it to her parents.

  ‘Oh my goodness.’ Jenny put the knife on the table and looked at the glass bowl with its 40 Years inscription on the front. ‘This is so beautiful, but you shouldn’t have. Really you shouldn’t.’

  ‘Of course we should,’ said Roisin. ‘Now cut the cake!’

  There was a roar of approval from the assembled guests. Pascal picked up the knife and held it out to Jenny. She hesitated before taking it from him. She was breathing quickly and she could feel her heart thudding against her chest. All that praise, she thought. Everyone looking up to them. Envying them. Proud of them. Wanting to be them. They were right in one respect. She and Paul had made it work. But she couldn’t let them think it was because they’d been married in Rome. She really and truly couldn’t. It was time to come clean.

  She placed the knife on the table again.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I really—’

  ‘Jen, sweetheart,’ Pascal whispered. ‘Not now.’

  ‘Oh Pascal, I have to … I mean – I can’t not … Everyone’s gone to so much trouble and …’

  ‘Mum?’ Steffie looked at her apprehensively. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing’s the matter. Not really. Everyone is right. We’ve been very lucky.’

  A relieved smile spread among the guests.

  ‘But you’ve got it wrong too,’ she said. ‘It’s all about love but not all about marriage.’

  Beside her, Pascal took a deep breath.

  ‘We’ve put it off for so long and I can’t let everybody think … We’re not exactly the role models you imagine.’ She turned to look at him and then at everyone else. ‘The thing is, yes, we’ve been together for forty years, and to be honest, most of that is because Pascal is the best man any woman could have in her life. No question. His love for me has been steadfast and true and I really don’t deserve him.’

  There was a round of applause and Steffie said that Jenny absolutely did deserve her father, just as Pascal deserved Jenny.

  ‘But,’ said Jenny, as though her daughter hadn’t spoken, ‘we have to be honest with you all. We should have been before.’

  ‘Honest about what?’ asked Roisin.

  ‘Honest about … well …’ Jenny paused.

  The guests looked expectantly at her.

  ‘Well, the thing is,’ she said, ‘Pascal and I – we’re not actually married at all.’

  The Storm

  Chapter 15

&n
bsp; When the pregnancy test proved positive, the first thing Pascal did was ask Jenny to marry him. She immediately forgot all of the other dreams she’d had, of travelling the world, of moving to Rome, of becoming a painter. She’d known then that all she wanted was to be married to Pascal and have his baby and be a good wife and mother. She couldn’t imagine another man in the world who would’ve reacted as brilliantly as he’d done to the news. She’d kissed him hard on the lips and said that she’d be honoured to be Mrs Sheehan. And she meant it.

  Because the first thing she’d thought of when she saw the blue line on the test was that her parents would kill her when they found out. Times might have moved on since Kay and Terry had started going out together, but they certainly hadn’t embraced a more permissive outlook on life. She’d had an immense row with them over coming to Rome with Pascal in the first place – Kay had warned her that under no circumstances was she to share a bed with him. Jenny wondered if her mum was really in the dark about the fact that she’d slept with Pascal already. It was the 1970s after all, what did she expect? But still … arriving home as a pregnant unmarried woman was a horrific prospect. Returning as an engaged pregnant woman would surely temper their fury.

  ‘I’ve a better idea,’ said Pascal.

  She looked at him questioningly. Her boyfriend – now her fiancé – had been brilliant so far, but there was no way they could pretend that she wasn’t pregnant.

  ‘Of course not, you idiot,’ he said when she asked him if that was what he had in mind. ‘I meant that we could get married before we go home. Kill two birds with one stone so to speak.’

  ‘Married? Where?’

  ‘Here in Rome,’ he said. ‘It would be a sort of appropriate thing to do, wouldn’t it?’

  It would be more than appropriate, she thought. It would be perfect. If she went home a married woman, nobody could say a word. Other than to congratulate her.

  ‘Is it possible?’ she asked.

  ‘Why not?’ Pascal grinned. ‘It’s the wedding capital of the world! C’mon. Let’s see what can be done. Always provided …’ he looked at her with a sudden flash of doubt, ‘always provided that you really do want to get married.’