Francesca's Party (22 page)

Janet wrote the number down for her and Francesca tucked it into her bag and promptly forgot about it as their conversation turned to Owen and his imminent departure for the States.

‘I’d better get home and cook something for him, he’s going out with his pals tonight for a couple of drinks. At least his stomach will be lined.’ Francesca stood up. ‘Thanks for everything, Janet, it was great talking to someone who understands. I never knew you’d gone through all of that.’

‘I have no need to talk about it now, unless it’s to try and help someone see that there is light at the end of the tunnel. And believe me, Francesca, there really is, I promise,’ she said earnestly.

‘Thanks, Janet, it helped, honestly.’ Francesca gave her friend a warm hug. ‘See you at the book club, I’ve got a great new Madeleine Wickham,
Cocktails for Three
. You’ll enjoy it.’

‘And I’ve got Dermot Bolger’s and Joseph O’Connor’s latest, they’re both terrific so we’ve some real goodies this week.’ They smiled companionably at each other and Francesca felt warmed by Janet’s friendship as she crossed the road to the car park. Today had been a very good day, all in all. The best since the break-up. Maybe after Karen Marshall’s
bash
she might try the letting-go bit, but until then she was going to do her damnedest to look her very best and to pretend that she was getting on fine because it was quite clear from the encounter this morning that she was a thorn in Nikki Langan’s side. She intended being one for a very long time, she thought grimly, remembering the tirade of abuse and insults that she’d endured this morning. Being called a parasite was something she’d never forgive that little bitch for. Janet might be saintly and forgiving, but she definitely wasn’t.

Owen came home to a feast of roast beef, roast and creamed potatoes, mushy peas, baby carrots, broccoli and rhubarb crumble for dessert.

‘Ma, that was mega. I’m really going to miss your home cooking. Jonathan can’t cook for buttons.’ Her son planted a smacker of a kiss on her cheek.

Francesca laughed. ‘I’m sure you won’t starve, Owen. The restaurants are great over there. You’ll have a ball.’

‘Are you really sure you don’t mind me going?’

‘Honestly, Owen, I don’t. So don’t worry about me. I’m fine.’

‘You look different today. You seem much perkier. Has something happened?’ he asked as he cleared his dishes from the table and put them into the dishwasher.

‘Well, I got my hair done,’ she said lightly. She had no intention of telling Owen about her unexpected visitor.

‘Yeah, it’s nice, Ma. That style suits you.’

‘Come on, flattery will get you everywhere. Let’s go to Millie’s so you can say your goodbyes.’
Francesca
smiled at her son. She was going to miss him terribly.

‘The very woman I wanted to see,’ her sister said gleefully twenty minutes later when they knocked at Millie’s door.

‘Oh, why’s that?’ Francesca asked.

‘I’ve booked a week’s holiday for us in the Algarve. Aidan’s taking a week off to mind the girls. Francesca, we’re going to take Portugal by storm.’ She beamed delightedly from ear to ear.

Francesca looked at her, bemused. ‘Wait a minute, what’s all this about?’

‘We are going on a girls only holiday. That’s what it’s all about. And I just can’t wait. We deserve it, dearie, so go pack a few glad rags and prepare to boogie in three weeks’ time.’

‘Are you serious?’ Francesca was gobsmacked.

‘I certainly am.’ Millie grinned. ‘And if the Algarve’s not posh enough for you, tough. It was the only place I could get at such short notice.’

‘The Algarve’s fine. I like Portugal. It’s just so unexpected,’ Francesca said faintly.

‘Nice one, Millie,’ Owen approved. ‘It’s just what Mam needs.’

‘Exactly!’ Millie agreed. ‘I’ll give you all the details in a minute. I’ll just stick the kettle on and we’ll have a brew.’

Ten minutes later Francesca was poring over a brochure, feeling about twenty. It was years since she’d been on a charter holiday with her sister. ‘Oura Praia. It sounds lovely and the studio looks nice, and there’s air conditioning. Excellent.’

‘I could only get a studio,’ Millie said apologetically.
‘There
wasn’t a one bedroom to be had for love or money.’

‘A studio’s fine, Mil. This is going to be fun. What made you decide to book?’

‘I thought it would do you good to get away for a week. It will certainly do wonders for me to get away from that.’ She indicated the back garden where the kids were screeching and yelling in delight as Owen chased them up and down. ‘I know it’s not as expensive a holiday as you’re used to but it will be like old times.’

‘I think it will be brilliant, and thanks so much for thinking of it.’ Francesca jumped up and hugged her sister.

‘I’m only using your trauma to get a holiday for myself,’ Millie giggled, ‘so don’t feel at all in my debt.’

‘Nikki Langan called at my door today looking for me to divorce Mark,’ Francesca informed her.

Millie’s jaw dropped. ‘You’re joking!’

‘Nope!’

‘And?’

‘I told her to get lost and shoved her out the door.’

‘I hope you gave her a good kick up her bony little ass for good measure.’

‘Well, I didn’t quite go that far,’ Francesca said regretfully. ‘Although I felt like it when she called me a parasite and asked me had I no pride and was I going to sponge off Mark for the rest of my life?’

‘She
didn’t
!’ Millie exclaimed. ‘The unmitigated gall. How did you restrain yourself, ’cos I know your temper when you’re riled.’

‘With great difficulty,’ Francesca said drily.

‘Pity,’ snorted Millie. ‘You’re totally intimidating when you’re on the warpath. What a cheek though. And how cowardly of Mark to send her instead of doing his own dirty work.’

‘To be honest, I’m not sure if he knew about it. He sounded surprised when I bawled him out over the phone.’ Francesca nibbled on a chocolate digestive, forgetting her diet plans.

‘Interesting,’ declared Millie. ‘Maybe he doesn’t want a divorce because he doesn’t want to commit, and she’s getting desperate. Veerry, veerry interesting!’

‘Oh! I hadn’t thought of it like that,’ Francesca admitted.

‘Well, that’s what it sounds like to me,’ said Millie firmly. ‘Little Miss Muffet is not happy on her tuffet and wants to get married and figures if he won’t ask for the divorce, she will. I bet Mark’s having a canary. Why on earth would he want to get married when he’s got the best of both worlds as it is? Francesca, when divorce was introduced into this country an awful lot of second relationships broke up because the man’s excuse for not being able to cut the ties from the first wife was no longer legitimate. You know Jill and Kenny? They split because he wouldn’t divorce his wife and marry Jill. She just got pissed off at the idea of being second best and dumped him. She’s with someone else now and he’s on his own.’

‘Really?’ Francesca was surprised at this titbit. ‘I didn’t know that.’

‘Ducky, if you told Mark that you were divorcing him, he’d have an absolute mickey fit, I promise you,’ Millie retorted. ‘It would be the worst thing in the
world
you could possibly do to him because then he’d have no excuses to make to Miss Pushy. His life would be absolute
hell
!’ she drawled.

Francesca laughed. ‘You raise bitchiness to a high art, sister dearest.’

‘You’d better believe it. And I’m right in what I’m saying. If you don’t want him to come slithering home ever again and you want to get your own back, you divorce the bastard and take him for half of everything he’s got and then watch him squeal,’ Millie concluded confidently as Owen came into the room with his young cousins and the subject was dropped.

That night as Francesca lay in bed having an early night, she reviewed the events of the day, remembering her anger at Nikki Langan’s distasteful slurs. Although she found it hard to admit, she wasn’t happy about being financially dependent on Mark. Now that they were no longer a couple living together, she felt the need to earn her own money so that she wouldn’t feel beholden every month when his cheque was credited to her account. But she’d made such a mess of her first pathetic little job. The thought of trying to find another that she liked and that she could do was daunting. She grimaced. She couldn’t imagine Nikki Langan being financially beholden to any man or being intimidated by any job. That crack about having no pride had touched a nerve.

Maybe she should do a back-to-work course like Janet had. Or some sort of a computer course. It seemed like her only option. But it had worked for Janet. It could work for her, she thought with a little more optimism. She’d look into it after her holiday. Definitely!

‘LOOK, I WAS
just thinking of you, Mark. I was thinking of how hard you work and how much you have to pay out. Surely a divorce would be much more economical and easier on everybody in the long run.’ Nikki put her point across as reasonably as she could. It was seven-thirty in the evening, she’d had a long and tiring day and she was doing her level best not to lose her temper. Mark had phoned in a foul humour. She reckoned it was better to act cool. If they had a row over divorce it could be the end of them and Nikki didn’t want that. If this relationship ended it would be because she wanted it to and not because of Francesca bloody Kirwan.

‘I appreciate that, Nikki, but it didn’t help. You should have spoken to me about it first. I had Francesca on the phone giving me dog’s abuse and, believe me, it was the last thing I needed,’ Mark said wearily. ‘Forget about divorce for the time being. It’s too soon. I can afford to pay her the money so let’s leave things to settle down for a while. We’re fine the
way
we are. And please, promise me that you’ll never get in contact with Francesca again. She’s a proud woman, she won’t take kindly to it.’

‘OK, Mark, if that’s what you want,’ Nikki said crisply. ‘I’m sure you’re tired, I’ll let you go. Talk to you tomorrow.’

‘Night, Nikki.’ She heard him yawn as he hung up. Nikki replaced the receiver and took a slug out of her G and T. If Francesca Kirwan was so goddamn proud how come she was sponging off Mark and how come he couldn’t see it? It was damn infuriating. She scowled as she picked up the remote control and surfed the channels. She missed Mark around the place. It would have been nice to have a drink and a cuddle. She was getting domesticated, she thought in horror. She’d better nip that in the bud. She picked up her palmtop and scanned the screen for the number she was looking for. If her friend Ava was free they were going clubbing this very night, long day or not. Nikki had an image to maintain. She wanted to be able to tell Mark that she’d been out on the tear so that he wouldn’t be under any illusions that she was sitting in pining for him, hoping against hope that he would divorce his shrew of a wife.

Owen groaned as he sat up gingerly and opened his eyes. Not too bad, he thought, pleasantly surprised. Just a dull throbbing in his temples. He’d had far worse hangovers than this. But then he hadn’t gone completely overboard last night. Not with a long flight ahead of him. A shower and some grub and he’d be fine. He glanced at his watch. Nine-thirty: he’d need to get a move on.

‘Morning.’ Francesca eyed him in amusement as he sloped into the kitchen. ‘What do you want for the last breakfast?’

‘I think a fry-up might hit the spot nicely and after that I just have to hop into town for an hour or so.’

She raised her eyes to heaven. ‘What have you to get? I thought you did all that yesterday.’

‘Ah, just bits and pieces. Anyway, I’ve loads of time. The flight isn’t until four.’

‘I wish you’d have flown direct with Aer Lingus. I would have paid for the flight, Owen,’ Francesca said as she laid strips of bacon on the grill pan.

‘Ma, it was much cheaper to fly to Heathrow and get the red-eye and you need your money and I wasn’t taking
his
.’ Owen cut a chunk of brown bread and smeared it with butter and marmalade. Mark had wanted to pay for his flight but Owen wouldn’t hear of it, much to his father’s chagrin.

‘It’s nothing to do with me. I haven’t discussed it with him one way or another,’ Francesca had said coolly when Mark had tackled her about it. She knew that the rift between himself and Owen was cutting him up, but he’d made his bed and he could lie on it as far as she was concerned.

‘I’m thinking of doing a computer course and trying for another job again,’ Francesca said as she added sliced mushrooms to a pan of sizzling butter seasoned with salt and pepper.

‘I think that would be great for you, Ma. Go for it. It means you won’t end up pottering before your time.’ He laughed as she flicked him with a tea towel. He loved his ma, she was the best in the world and if he could get his hands on his da, he’d hammer him.
Bastard!
he thought angrily. They’d had a good family life until he’d gone muckin’ about. Why had he thrown it all away for a bit of skirt?

‘Why don’t you have your shower? This will be cooked by the time you’re ready, if you hurry,’ Francesca suggested as she put the tomatoes alongside the mushrooms.

‘OK,’ he agreed. He didn’t feel quite so worried about his ma now. She seemed a lot perkier in herself and he was delighted that she was going on holiday. It was time that she started having a bit of fun again. Whistling, he stepped into the shower. Things were looking up.

Nikki suppressed a moan as she bent down to pick up the pen she’d dropped. She had the mother and father of a hangover. She’d met Ava in the Morrison and they’d downed a bottle of champers and several cocktails before heading to Lillie’s. It was after five when she got to bed and right this minute she felt like crawling home and staying under the duvet for a month.

She ran a comb through her hair. She’d worn it loose today, she couldn’t face the effort of putting it up. She sprayed some Oscar de la Renta on her wrists and freshened her lipstick. She had a meeting in five minutes. She needed to be on top of things. She couldn’t hit the sauce the way she used to, she thought ruefully, but Mark had been surprised when she’d told him about her night out. He’d phoned her at home but she wasn’t there. She’d stayed over at Ava’s and he hadn’t been able to contact her until she got to the office. She’d kept her mobile switched off
on
purpose. It was good to keep him on his toes. One thing was for certain: she’d make damn sure that he never took her for granted.