City Lives (5 page)

Caroline took a deep breath. ‘Richard, stop it. This isn’t about me. It’s about you, isn’t it? You’re thinking that if you go to Boston and you don’t like it
and it doesn’t work out you can come back to me and go on the way we are. Don’t you see, neither of us will ever have the guts to move on if we hang onto each other as a safety
net.’

‘You’re very brave, Caroline. You always were. I do want to go to America. I was very comfortable being gay there. If they ever found out about it here I’d be pilloried. In
Boston no-one knew who I was. I had no image to maintain. Charles and I were very happy the few months before he died.’ He swallowed hard.

‘I know you were.’ Caroline reached out a comforting hand. ‘And I wish he hadn’t died. I miss him too. But he’s dead and you have to pick up the pieces. I wanted to
die when my mother died. I used to go to bed at night and pray to die in my sleep. When I’d wake up in the morning I’d be so angry and so sorry that I was still here. But you have to
get on with it. You have no choice. There’s no point in saying otherwise.’

‘I suppose I’m afraid of facing the unknown. I’ve always had you . . . Charles . . . my mother. Over there I’ve no-one.’

‘Well, it might not always be like that,’ Caroline comforted. ‘You might meet someone very nice. Anyway, there’s a freedom in having to answer to no-one. That has its own
advantages. You might enjoy it. Talking of mothers,’ she arched an eyebrow at him. ‘When are you telling your mother?’

Richard took a gulp of white wine. ‘I’ll have to do it at the weekend. The practice is going up for sale on Monday. She’ll freak. I don’t know what will be the worst,
telling her about the divorce or that I’m emigrating. It will probably kill her.’

Caroline frowned. ‘Your mother’s the toughest nut I know. She’ll get over it.’

‘Well, you know how she depends on me—’

‘Now, Richard,’ Caroline cut in sharply, ‘we’ve been over that before. Your mother’s a controller. She’s never let you live the life you wanted. This is your
chance to make the break. She’s loaded. She has a housekeeper now who can drive her wherever she needs to go. She’s in the best of health. Seventy isn’t that old. She has another
ten years at least, if not more.’

‘I know, I know, it’s just she’s going to give me such an ear-bashing about the Church and mortal sins. You know the way she is.’

Sarah Yates was a staunch Catholic. In her eyes divorce was worse than a cardinal sin. Divorce was the devil’s invention. She wouldn’t entertain the idea that her son was gay.
Homosexuality was even worse than divorce, in her opinion. It was nonsense for him to think that he was homosexual.
She
hadn’t given birth to one of those dreadful creatures,
she’d assured him when he’d finally told her of his sexual orientation. He only
thought
he was a homosexual because he wasn’t having satisfactory relations with his wife.
And that was all Caroline’s fault, she’d informed Richard. And, in an angry phone call that evening, had said the same thing to Caroline.

She might be a staunch Roman Catholic but she was no Christian, Caroline thought wrathfully. Sarah hadn’t an ounce of compassion. She was an interfering, controlling, cold, rigid woman and
she’d wreaked havoc on her son’s psyche. She was an expert at emotional blackmail. If Richard didn’t jump when Sarah said jump she made him feel very guilty. She niggled and
nagged and exerted subtle but insidious pressure until she got her way. Caroline loathed her.

Richard interrupted her musings. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t come with me when I’m telling her we’re divorcing?’ he urged.

‘Absolutely not. Remember that phone call when she said it was my fault that you thought you were gay? Remember when we told her we were separating when you went to Boston and I went to
Abu Dhabi? She wiped the floor with me. Remember the scene when she told me I was common and that if I’d been a proper wife all this would never have happened? No, Richard, I’m not
going near that woman. I might say something I’d regret. You have to do this on your own. You have to stick up for yourself at least this once. Just keep saying to yourself, “This is my
life and I’ll live it my way.” She’s lived hers.’

‘I know. I’d prefer to face the toughest judge in the law courts than her,’ Richard admitted.

‘That’s because you’re doing something for yourself. It’s always much harder to do something for yourself than for someone else.’

The waiter arrived to clear away after their first course. Caroline and Richard sat back in their chairs and smiled at each other. The rippling hum of laughter and talk eddied and flowed around
them. It was an elegant restaurant, luxuriously but tastefully decorated. The tables were well spaced, giving privacy. Rich gold damask curtains with crimson tassels hung at long narrow
floor-to-ceiling windows, giving a cosy old-fashioned air. Candles flickered on all the tables. Discreet up-lighting threw shadows on the crimson and gold flock paper that adorned the walls.
Touches of crimson in the lampshades and tiebacks picked up the colour in the wallpaper. It reminded Caroline of a salon in a stately home, but the nice touches, like the real log fire and the
fresh cut flowers, lent a homely air. She had dined in all the top restaurants in the city, some of them so pretentious she’d dreaded going to them. This was one of her favourites. She was
glad they’d had their last meal here before announcing the divorce.

When the silent, efficient young man had glided away, Richard remarked quizzically, ‘You know, you’re so different from the shy quiet mouse that I married. You’re much more
assertive and assured now, aren’t you? You wouldn’t say boo to a goose then.’

Caroline grimaced. ‘I know. I was a disaster. I was terrified. But I’ve been through a lot. It leaves its mark and makes you stronger. I hope I’ll never go back to the way I
was. But there are still times that I have those scary, fluttery, panicky fears. I want to let go of fear. The only way you can do that is by walking up to the thing you fear most and facing it.
And for me that’s the fear of being on my own.’ She sighed. ‘That’s one of the reasons I want the divorce, Richard.’

‘You might meet someone,’ Richard said diffidently, fiddling with his soup spoon.

‘I’m not going looking. If it happens it happens, if it doesn’t . . .’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I was too needy with you, that’s why I married you. I
don’t want to make the same mistake again.’

Richard didn’t reply.

They sat in silence for a while, awaiting their next course. ‘Have you told Devlin and Maggie that we’re divorcing?’ he asked. Caroline shook her head.

‘Not yet. I just wanted to get used to the idea myself first.’

‘I’m sure they’ll be delighted.’ Richard’s tone was caustic.

‘That’s not fair, Richard! Don’t be like that,’ Caroline retorted.

‘Sorry!’ His apology was half-hearted.

‘The girls were very kind to me when you were putting me through hell. They’ve always been there for me.’ Her voice held a note of anger.

‘I said I’m sorry. Don’t go on about it. It’s all water under the bridge now,’ Richard muttered uncomfortably. He hated it when she brought up the subject of his
past treatment of her.

‘OK. Just don’t be nasty about my friends,’ Caroline said shortly. ‘I wonder who’ll buy the practice?’ she pondered, changing the subject.

Richard gave a dismissive shrug. ‘I don’t care as long as I get plenty of cash. It’s worth a quid or two.’

Caroline looked at her husband, so handsome, so successful, and so empty, and felt sad for him. He’d built up his practice to be one of the most lucrative in the country. Driven by the
will to succeed. Pushed by his mother into a career he’d never wanted, so that he’d follow his father’s illustrious trail in the legal field. When she’d first met him,
he’d been so ambitious. Now it meant nothing to him. Maybe it was good that way, she thought. That was why he could walk away from it so easily. His heart wasn’t in it any more.

‘I hope you get a fortune. You deserve it,’ she said warmly as the waiter arrived with consommé for her husband and potato and leek soup for Caroline.

They ate in silence for a while, lost in their own thoughts, each wondering what the future held.

Caroline squeezed some cleansing lotion into the palm of her hand and gently patted it onto her face in light circular motions. She’d been so tempted just to get into bed
and bury her head under the pillows, but that way lay disaster, not to mention streaks of make-up and mascara on her pillowcases. The fine web of lines around her eyes was a clear indication that
skincare was now a must, she thought ruefully. Once you were over thirty you couldn’t get away with slapping on the odd bit of cleanser and toner now and again. Men were so bloody lucky, she
thought resentfully. Richard’s black hair had traces of grey and the lines around his eyes and mouth were deepening quite noticeably, but on him it looked attractive. Made him look mature and
seasoned.

Caroline felt suddenly depressed. Here she was, in her mid-thirties, and what had she to show for it? She was an alcoholic. She was childless. Her marriage was and always had been a sham and now
she was getting divorced. Was she always going to be alone? Was this what was in the map of her life? Aloneness? How she hated the solitude of this bedroom, repository of so many memories of misery
and pain. She should never have come back to the apartment. It had been a huge backward step. Why couldn’t she be more like her friends. They’d taken what was thrown at them and turned
it around. She had run away, as usual.

There was Devlin, successful beyond dreams, married to the most beautiful man a woman could wish for, although Caroline admitted that her best friend’s life had not been easy and
she’d overcome a lot of suffering to get to where she was. Still, she’d done it.

And Maggie, OK, she might be married to a toad but she had three beautiful children and a successful career as writer. She had
achieved
.

What had
she
achieved? Caroline asked herself as she slathered more cleanser on her face. Bugger all!

‘Stop that!’ she said irritably to her reflection. ‘You stopped drinking. You made a career for yourself.’

Big deal! You drank because you were a coward and you made a career on Devlin’s coat-tails. That’s nothing to be particularly proud of. Now you’re going to be on the shelf
again. You’ve come around full circle, that’s exactly where you’ve got to in life, Caroline Yates
, that hated inner voice taunted.

Caroline scowled at her reflection. She’d done very well giving Richard advice. What advice should she give herself, seeing as she was so smart? She should read some of her self-help books
and try and lift her spirits and get into a meditative state of mind before going to sleep. She couldn’t summon up the right attitude. It was much easier to wallow in negativity. It always
was.

‘Oh . . . Oh
deal
with it,’ she gritted, before snapping off the light and getting into bed where she curled up in a ball and tried to ignore the rage and fear and
disappointment and resentment that battled within her.

Richard tossed and turned, desperate for sleep, desperate to try and forget the ordeal that lay ahead of him the following day. How could he, one of the most successful legal
eagles in the country, a grown man in his thirties, possibly be apprehensive about telling his aged mother that he was taking a step towards a future that he hoped would bring him happiness? It was
ridiculous, he told himself over and over, his thoughts chasing each other like whirling dervishes.

He was doing the right thing, he assured himself, as he pummelled his pillow into a more comfortable shape.

When Charles had died he’d lost heart. Charles had always been his rock. Encouraging, listening, advising. Richard would have spent his life with him and been content. He’d always
been peaceful with Charles.

When his best friend and lover had been diagnosed with cancer, Richard, for the first time in his life, had put his own needs and career aside and gone to Boston to live out Charles’s last
weeks. The bond had deepened, strengthened and he had his first experience of living an openly gay life.

America had been a revelation to him. Watching gay men holding hands and being openly affectionate towards each other had been a discovery of delight for him. For once he’d felt free to be
himself. To be who and what he truly was.

After Charles’s death he had come home to his practice but the buzz wasn’t there any more. The drive, the ambition to be bigger, more successful than his peers had gone. He was
working on autopilot and he didn’t care. His life was an empty shell. He’d gone back to Boston for a week, six months later, and knew America was the place where he wanted to be.
He’d got in touch with some old friends who’d been very supportive when Charles was dying. One of them, Martin, also a lawyer and an Irishman, had half jokingly suggested that he become
a partner in his law firm.

‘There’s lots of Irish people here that need advice about buying property and suchlike at home. Wills are always being contested. You know, the few acres that were left behind, and
that kind of thing. It would be good to have an Irish slant on things.’

‘Everything’s moved on a lot these days. We’re a booming nation,’ Richard reminded the younger man.

‘All the more reason we should have you on board. You’re up to date. Think about it, Richard,’ Martin urged, and Richard knew that his interest was more than professional.

Richard had felt alive for the first time in a long, long time. His mind started ticking. Pros and cons were examined, rationalized.

You’d be running away.

You’d be living the life you want on your own terms.

Mother would freak.

Let her freak! You’d be thousands of miles away from her. You’d never have to be at her beck and call again.

You’d have to give Caroline a divorce. It wouldn’t be fair not to.

You should give her a divorce anyway, whether you’re in Dublin or Boston.