Francesca's Party (32 page)

‘Francesca, you shut your damn smart mouth.’ Mark flung his mug angrily down on the worktop causing the tea to slop out of it. His face was puce with fury. ‘I came here to tell you that I’ve had enough of your crap. You’re rude, ignorant and totally ungrateful for all I’ve given you. I’ve looked after you better than a lot of men in my position. You have the house. I pay for the upkeep, I give you a more than generous allowance and all I want is for you to keep a civil fucking tongue in your head. Surely that couldn’t be too difficult … even for you,’ he exploded.

‘Listen to who’s talking about keeping a civil tongue in their head,’ Francesca retorted witheringly. ‘Let me tell you something, Mark Kirwan. I don’t care how damn “generous” you are. I am not beholden to you. This is as much my house as it is yours. And forgive me for not being all sweetness and light when we talk, but I just don’t feel like being “civil”, believe it or not. I have no respect for you. I despise you. And right now I don’t even like you. So don’t expect me to put on a façade and pretend a civility I don’t feel. If you can’t handle it stop ringing me and don’t set foot on my doorstep again.’ She was seething.

‘
Our
doorstep, Francesca!
Our
doorstep!’ Mark snarled.

‘Oh, get out,’ Francesca shouted. ‘Go “
home
” where you belong.’ She turned on her heel and marched out of the kitchen, afraid that if she stayed another minute she’d pick up a knife and stab him. She was overwhelmed with anger and was holding on to control by the skin of her teeth. The urge to violence was so strong it shocked her. She wanted to batter and bruise him and throw things at him and smash up the house.
His
fucking goddamn house. How dare he look down his nose at her job? Just because the bitch he was living with was a high-flying banker earning a fortune. How
dare
he? She’d never felt so humiliated in her life. Tears smarted in her eyes. She stood at her bedroom door waiting for him to leave and when he did slam the front door behind him she yelled, ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish, you patronizing fucking bollocks!’ at the top of her voice before collapsing in a heap on her
bed,
howling with rage and grief and helplessness into her pillow.

Mark got into the car and felt like ramming his foot on the accelerator and driving the car in through the front door. God, that woman would drive a pioneer to drink. What a waste of a bloody journey. He was never going to get anywhere with her. And now he had this shagging job of hers to contend with. A fine mess of his taxes that was going to make! He’d have to get on to his accountant first thing to get it sorted. As if he didn’t have enough on his plate.

He gunned the engine and roared out of the drive. It would be a long time before he’d bother his ass to come and see that vindictive bitch again, he swore as he braked to avoid another car. And because she was being so obnoxious and ungracious he
was
bloody well going to deduct her salary from her allowance.

The apartment was dark and empty when he got home. Nikki was in London and he missed her. He could have done with her company tonight, he thought, depressed. He flung his jacket on a chair, loosened his tie and took a can of Bud out of the fridge. After all these months his relationship with Francesca was getting worse instead of better. He was going to leave her to her own devices. To hell with treating the deck and all the rest of it. If she ever wanted his help she could come crawling for it from now on.

The phone rang. He picked it up and gave a small smile as Nikki’s greeting came down the line.

‘Hello, love. I miss you.’ He sighed.

‘And I miss you, darling. How did it go?’

‘Don’t ask,’ groaned Mark as he took a long
draught
of beer. ‘Francesca was her usual charming self. That’s to say, she was a total bitch and I got nowhere. And the icing on the cake is the news that she’s got some job or other and that’s going to muck up my tax allowance big time. What the bloody hell she has to go off at half cock and get a job for is beyond me.’

‘What kind of a job?’ Nikki asked, intrigued.

‘Oh, some sort of PR thing. It can’t be much, the salary’s crap.’

‘How much?’

Mark yawned. ‘Fifteen K.’

‘Oh!’ Nikki sounded disappointed.

‘It was such a bummer of a day,’ Mark rubbed his jaw wearily. ‘Maurice St Deville walked out of the meeting in a huff and Anton had to spend half an hour pacifying him. I got delayed at Charles de Gaulle for two hours, then I was sitting beside a chatterbox on the flight home, and then I had Francesca to contend with. I truly don’t know which was the worst, her or Maurice.’

‘Poor darling,’ Nikki said sympathetically.

‘I think I’ll hit the sack, Nikki. Talk tomorrow.’ Mark yawned again.

‘OK, ’night, Mark.’

‘Goodnight, Nikki.’ Mark hung up, finished his beer, switched off the light and, twenty minutes later, was sprawled out in Nikki’s bed snoring.

Nikki hung up the phone and lay back against the pillows. She should be on top of the world to know that Mark and Francesca had had what appeared to have been a massive row. It was good news, of course
it
was, she assured herself. So why wasn’t she on a high? It was the phone call that was causing her to feel so agitated. Mark had told her all about
his
bummer of a day, and
his
fraught meeting, and
his
delayed flight home, and never once asked how she’d got on.

As it happened, she’d had a bummer of a day herself. She’d been stuck on the Underground for over two hours due to a breakdown and had missed a very important meeting. The hotel her secretary had booked her into had been overbooked and she’d ended up in a grotty little garret of a room and when she’d gone to have a bath, the water had trickled out of the taps and to describe it as lukewarm would have been a gross exaggeration. But did Mark know any of this, or did he even care? Nikki chewed her lip unhappily.

What was it about men that made them so selfish? Why was it that they truly felt they were the centre of the universe? She had even gone to the trouble of buying that Mars/Venus book early on in their relationship in an effort to understand Mark. She should have known better, she thought irritably. It was written by a man. All that nonsense about men going into their caves and comparing them to rubber bands that pull away and then spring back when they need intimacy again. Talk about feeling sorry for themselves. Men just had it
every
way. Nikki scowled.

So his lazy lump of a wife had got a job in PR. Her home truths about being a parasite must have stung, Nikki thought with satisfaction. It was a pity the pay was buttons, she’d still be hanging on to Mark’s financial apron strings.

Thank God she was a financially independent woman and hoped she always would be. Mark would never have to worry about keeping her, she vowed. And he knew that too, so why couldn’t he commit emotionally? Theirs was a relationship of equals. He needn’t worry that she’d sponge off him, she fretted. Didn’t he see their relationship as a long-term one? He hardly entertained notions of ever going back to Francesca. That was ludicrous, she assured herself. If only he would realize that in spite of her independent nature she needed emotional security as much as the next woman. Was it so much to ask of him? Why did he withhold it from her? Would these bloody unanswered questions ever stop rampaging around her head?

She felt like a drink but the shack she was holed up in didn’t do room service and she couldn’t face the crappy little bar. She slid off the bed and started to undress. She was wrecked and tonight she was totally fed up. She loved Mark but she wanted his love in equal measure and lately it wasn’t even coming close to that. She was doing all the giving and he was doing all the taking. Was this the way she wanted to live her life? In her heart of hearts she knew she couldn’t lay all the blame on Francesca. Mark was responsible for his own behaviour. And tonight had been all about him. She hadn’t even rated a ‘how are you?’

It was time she told him a few home truths, Nikki decided irately as she got into bed and switched out the light.

‘HI, JANET, IT’S
me, sorry I haven’t been in touch in ages. Things have been a bit mad lately,’ Francesca said apologetically. She was on her coffee break, and knowing that her friend Janet was interested in things spiritual, she wanted to tell her about the author she was taking out to TV3 and Gerry Ryan.

‘Francesca, hi, how are you? Would you believe I was planning on calling you today, talk about synchronicity,’ exclaimed Janet.

‘If you say so,’ laughed Francesca. ‘Listen, Janet, I’m working in a PR firm. I got myself a job, finally, and I thought you might like to know that I’m bringing a Mind Body Spirit author out to TV3 in the morning and later on she’s going to Gerry Ryan. She’s some sort of a healer. She sees energy and auras and all of that. And I thought of you.’

‘Francesca, you’re working, that’s wonderful. When did you start?’

‘Just a couple of weeks ago. I’m enjoying it. I’m
working
for Monica’s nephew, Ken. He’s a dote,’ Francesca said.

‘Excellent. That’s terrific news. And how are things otherwise?’ Janet asked kindly.

‘Not great,’ Francesca admitted. ‘Had a row with Mark last night. He doesn’t think much of my job or my salary and he’s whingeing about his tax-free allowance.’

‘Of course he is,’ chuckled Janet. ‘And don’t let him fool you about the tax issue. That’s part of it, of course. But he’s just finding it hard to cope with the fact that his passive little Francesca is taking her own power back and he doesn’t like it one bit. I’ve been there, Francesca, don’t forget. I know all about it,’ Janet said lightly. ‘He can feel you closing the door in his face and he can’t handle it.’

‘Is that what I’m doing?’ Francesca gave a wry smile. ‘I feel like I’m on a rollercoaster. One minute I’m flying high and full of optimism, then after an episode like last night I’m at rock bottom and haven’t a clue where I’m heading.’

‘You’re heading in the right direction, don’t you worry,’ Janet comforted.

‘I’m full of anger and full of hate,’ Francesca whispered and felt that hard horrible knot of grief lodge in her throat.

‘It will pass, Francesca. Honestly. If your intention is to let it go then it will go. If your intention is to hold on to it, well, lovie, you’ll only do yourself harm,’ Janet said quietly.

‘I
do
want to let it go but it’s what keeps me going. I want to prove things to the bastard. I want to prove that I can get on without him.’

‘Well, do that, Francesca. That’s fine. But you don’t need the anger to do it. Your own resources are perfectly adequate. When the anger comes up, ask for it to be released and let go.’

‘Who do I ask?’ Francesca asked, bewildered.

‘The Divine, your Creator, Jesus, Mary, the Angels, your Higher Power, Buddha, Mohammed, a saint you pray to, St Michael, St Anthony, you know them all. Whatever or whoever is authentic for you.’ Janet spoke with absolute authority.

Francesca sighed. ‘Oh, you have such faith in all of that. I don’t.’

‘My faith was hard got, Francesca, I came from a tough, unforgiving place of hatred and bitterness. I learned my lessons of forgiveness and letting go a hard way and it doesn’t have to be like that. Learn from me, my dear, learn from me,’ Janet said cheerfully. ‘Why don’t we go for a drink or a meal some evening after work? I promise I won’t preach.’

‘I’d like that. And I don’t mind you preaching. You’re my inspiration. You did it. You got back on track and made a life for yourself. And you’re not embittered.’

‘And that’s
exactly
what you’re doing now. Stop being so hard on yourself. You’re human, Francesca. Your heart is crushed but it will mend and so will you as long as you keep going forward. Listen to what that woman has to say tomorrow. She might say something that will resonate with you. Sometimes it can be the simplest things that make the difference.’

‘OK, I will,’ Francesca promised. ‘And we’ll fix up an evening soon.’

‘I’ll be looking forward to it,’ Janet assured her.

Francesca put the phone down, smiling. Even though she found it hard to accept the truths Janet was explaining to her, she always felt better after talking to her. Her optimism began to reassert itself. An evening out with her friend would be delightful. Mark had never bothered much with her book-club friends. In fact, most of their mutual friends had started out as his friends. Her friends from her youth had gradually dropped out of the picture. The old familiar anger reminded her of its presence when she thought of Mark. ‘I want to let it go,’ she whispered. ‘Whoever is out there, I want to let it go.’

Nikki popped her head around the door of Mark’s office. ‘Let’s have lunch, Mark, I need to talk to you.’

‘Don’t I even get a kiss?’ he demanded. ‘When did you get back?’

‘Five minutes ago. Have to dash. See you at one.’ Nikki gave a brisk wave and closed the door. No more Miss Nice Girl, she smiled grimly. Today was going to be
all
about her.

She hurried down to the lift. She had a report to write up and she wanted to get started. The seven a.m. breakfast meeting had gone very well, much better than she’d hoped for, and she was buzzing. Work, there was nothing like it to get the adrenalin going.

‘Elaine, coffee,’ she ordered peremptorily as she strode into her office.

‘ “Please” would be nice,’ Elaine muttered as she got up from behind her desk. Sometimes Nikki could be extremely hard to take. She was obviously in one
of
her hyper moods today. It would be best to keep her head down.

Nikki was busy writing when Mark knocked on her door and strode in. ‘It’s ten past one. I was waiting for you,’ he announced.

‘Where?’ she asked without raising her head.

‘In my office,’ he said in surprise.

Nikki raised her head and smiled at him. ‘Well, I was waiting for you in mine and here you are. Let’s go.’

He frowned as he held her coat for her. ‘You’re in a funny humour.’