Francesca's Party (54 page)

Mark stared out of the lounge window. Francesca sounded so happy and carefree, he thought enviously. How he’d missed having Christmas dinner
with
her and the boys. Nikki had been as sick as a dog, unable to keep her food down. He was worried about her. She hadn’t been well since catching that terrible dose at the end of the summer. She didn’t seem to be able to shake off whatever was afflicting her. He’d insisted that she go to the doctor later today. He’d offered to come with her but she’d refused his offer. She’d lost weight and was terribly wishy-washy looking. They’d had a very quiet Christmas. It had suited him, he thought glumly. He wasn’t in the humour for socializing. They’d both gone into work for a few hours that morning, he’d left to play a round of golf but she’d stayed and assured him that she was going to the doctor on her way home. They were supposed to be going to the Inchidoney in Cork for New Year but if she wasn’t feeling up to it there wasn’t much point.

He wondered how Owen would react to his presence at the party tonight. He had to give it to Francesca, she’d done her best to sort out the bad feeling between him and his son. He was curious to see what she’d done with the cottage. He’d gone up to have a sneaky look at it one evening and had peered in the grimy windows and wondered if she had gone off her rocker. But Jonathan had told him that she’d done a magnificent renovation on it.

It had been a joy to see his son and he’d held him close on their first meeting, glad to feel some connection with his family again. He’d invited Jonathan and Owen out to dinner with his father, but Owen had declined. He’d hoped time, and the fact that Francesca was happy, would have helped to heal the rift but Owen was being as bull-headed as ever. A
trait
Owen had obviously inherited from him, Mark admitted. Gerald had been delighted with the invitation to dinner. They’d gone to Shanahan’s on the Green. It was ironic that his relationship with his own father had improved as a result of the dreadful episode when Mark had left his home for the last time, a sad and sorry man.

Mark sighed. He wouldn’t say anything to Nikki about dropping into Francesca’s. He wasn’t in the mood for a snit. She was terribly edgy lately. Life was not a barrel of laughs in the Langan/Kirwan household, he thought glumly as he went to the off licence to buy a bottle of champagne for Francesca’s party.

Nikki sat in her doctor’s surgery, flicking through a magazine. Even though she’d made an appointment, he was running an hour late as a steady stream of coughing and snuffling, well-heeled, well-dressed patients shuffled in and out. It was almost six. It was probably to be expected, she thought sourly. He’d been closed all over Christmas and apart from today and tomorrow would no doubt be closed over the New Year break as well. A wave of nausea overtook her and she swallowed hard. She’d had to take another dose of antibiotics at the end of November, her third prescription in four months for that damned chest infection that kept recurring and ever since she’d been feeling atrocious. She, who’d never been sick in her life, had turned into a complete crock. At first she’d blamed the effects of the antibiotics for her malaise, now she’d wondered if she’d developed an ulcer with all the stress she’d been under.

It had been terribly difficult working when she’d been feeling below par, but at least her work hadn’t suffered. She was in line for her biggest bonus ever and there was talk of promotion. That gave her some small comfort. She was going to ask the doctor to send her for some tests to nip all this illness in the bud once and for all, she decided as the receptionist called her name. But first she wanted something to effect an immediate cure of this damned ulcer or stomach bug or whatever it was. She wanted her trip to Cork to be a fresh start for her and Mark. A fresh start for a new year. Things had to get better than they were now. It was all so different from last Christmas, she thought unhappily as she walked down the carpeted corridor. She’d been so happy and optimistic then. Life had never looked so good. She’d felt vibrant, and full of life. Now she felt like a wet rag. She switched off her mobile. She didn’t want any calls while she was being examined.

‘Hello, Nikki, how are you?’ Dr Morris said kindly when she entered the surgery. ‘What’s the trouble?’ To her absolute mortification, Nikki burst into tears.

‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me, doctor. I feel rotten. It’s one thing after another lately,’ she wept.

‘Sit down there and we’ll have a look and a listen,’ Dr Morris said calmly as he patted her arm paternally and handed her a tissue.

The doorbell rang while Francesca’s punch was simmering on the hob. She hurried out to answer it. The boys had keys, so it couldn’t be them. She opened the door and stood rooted to the spot.
‘Ralph!’
she stammered. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

‘Hello, Francesca,’ he said cheerfully. ‘You were easy to find. Your cottage is the only one on the street with fresh paint. I figured it was yours. Journalistic instincts and all of that. Happy New Year.’ He thrust a bouquet of red and white carnations at her. ‘I thought perhaps that we could make a fresh start, if only you’d give me the chance.’

She cursed herself for telling him where she’d bought the house. ‘Oh Ralph,’ she groaned. ‘Why did you do this? Wasn’t it better to leave things as they were? I’d much prefer it.’

‘Please, Francesca,’ he pleaded. ‘I’ve changed. Honestly. Let me prove it to you.’

‘Ralph, I’m having a party tonight and I’m rather busy. Could we talk about it another time perhaps?’ She couldn’t believe he was standing on her doorstep.

‘Oh!’ he said crestfallen. ‘I suppose so.’

‘Well, it’s not really a huge party as such,’ she explained hastily, thinking that he might expect an invite. ‘It’s for the boys before they go back to America,’ she prattled. ‘I want to give them a little family send-off. And now I really must go. Please don’t think I’m rude but I’ve a lot to do.’

‘Oh, OK,’ he said dejectedly. ‘The house looks lovely. Again, the best of luck with it. Goodbye, Francesca, and once more, I’m extremely sorry for upsetting you. I hope we can meet in the New Year. Sorry for interrupting your preparations.’

‘That’s OK, Ralph. Have a very happy New Year,’ she said politely as he turned away and walked down
the
path. She felt a little sorry for him. She’d liked him, but after her experience that night, she felt she could never be comfortable with him again.

She closed the door and walked back into the kitchen inhaling the aromatic scent of the punch. She added some port and swirled some cinnamon sticks around the ruby mixture. It smelled delicious. She took a sip and was satisfied with the taste. Excitement started to bubble; she was so looking forward to entertaining her guests. She nibbled on a glacé cherry and promptly forgot all about Ralph.

Ten minutes later she heard a key jiggle in the front door. ‘Mega smell, Ma.’ Owen burst into the kitchen followed by his brother.

‘Hi, did you have a good time?’ She kissed them both, delighted to have them with her.

‘Too good,’ Jonathan declared.

Owen sloped into the dining room and snaffled a slice of salami.

‘Hands off,’ warned Francesca.

‘But I love this stuff, Ma.’ Owen chomped away happily.

‘Don’t touch another thing, Owen. Go and change your clothes and get ready for tonight,’ she ordered.

He lifted her off the floor and swung her around. ‘Make me,’ he teased.

Francesca squealed. ‘Put me down, you brat. Jonathan, tell him to stop,’ she pleaded. ‘You’ll hurt your back, Owen. I weigh a ton.’

‘Ah no, not a ton, Ma, half a ton maybe,’ Owen said cheekily as he put her down.

‘You’re brazen impudent.’ She laughed. ‘Go on and get ready.’

‘You’ve done a great job, Mam.’ Jonathan followed her back into the kitchen. ‘I’m looking forward to tonight.’

‘Your dad’s coming,’ she murmured. ‘How do you think Owen will react?’

Jonathan looked surprised. ‘Is he?’

‘Well, he wanted to meet you for a drink and I told him that I was having a party and suggested that he call in for an hour or two,’ Francesca explained.

‘That’s cool, Mam, really cool. I’m glad that you felt you could do that. I’m really proud of you, you came out of this amazingly together, as the Yanks would say.’ He hugged her warmly.

‘I had good support, love. That’s what tonight is all about. It’s to say thanks and to show that I’ve made it and I’m fine. And I’m glad Mark’s coming. It’s much better than fighting and rowing. So when your dad comes, will you have a word with Owen and tell him to put the past behind him?’

‘OK, Mam. Don’t worry,’ her eldest son reassured her.

‘Right. I’m going up to have a bath. See you shortly,’ Francesca twinkled. She was feeling lighthearted and exhilarated. She’d never looked forward to a party as much.

She climbed the wooden spiral staircase at the end of the hall that led to her newly built dormer bedroom. It was a most peaceful room. A big pine double bed lay under a Velux window and at night she could see the sky overhead. A pine dressing table and pine wardrobes filled one wall. A rocking chair and small coffee table positioned beside the small dormer window gave her a view of her back
garden.
She had such plans for that garden, she thought happily as she pulled the pale green curtains shut and began to undress. The en suite was decorated in peach and green with pine accessories. Pot-pourri and scented candles were dotted here and there. She loved lingering in a scented bath with the candles lit listening to soothing music wafting in from the bedroom. It was a warm, snug little haven. And best of all, it was
her
little haven, she thought happily as she ran the bath and poured a liberal amount of bath oil into it.

‘So here I am, an independent woman,’ she congratulated herself as she lay soaking in the fragrant water. Selling the house had been the best move she could have made. She didn’t miss it. She felt far less lonely here and she loved the security of knowing that this was her house and Mark had no say in any of her affairs now.

She was glad that he was coming tonight. Her anger and bitterness had lessened to an enormous degree. Yet she had to admit that nothing would give her greater satisfaction than to know that his relationship with that woman was over. It was a petty attitude, she knew, but the hurt had gone deep.

She could hear the boys moving around their respective bedrooms. She was going to miss them when they were gone but at least she knew that she was well prepared and capable of living on her own and it held no fears for her.

An hour later, dressed in an elegant black cocktail dress, she sipped a glass of champagne with her sons. Soft music played in the background, candles flickered in the subdued lamplight and the
Christmas
tree, the focal point of the lounge, twinkled and sparkled, the lights reflected in the sheen of the wooden floor and the glass of the windowpanes.

‘The place is really nice, Mam,’ Owen approved as he sneaked an hors-d’oeuvre.

‘Stop stuffing your face, there’ll be nothing left.’ Francesca marvelled at her younger son’s prodigious appetite. The doorbell rang. She jumped up, eager to greet her first guest. It was Millie and Aidan and the girls and there was a flurry of hugs and kisses as everyone was welcomed with a glass of punch.

Ten minutes later, Janet, Monica and Bart arrived within moments of each other and before long Ken and Carla had arrived. It was the first time they had seen the house and Francesca gave the guided tour amid much oohing and aahing and admiring comments.

Afterwards she stood in the lounge in the centre of a circle of her friends, offering canapés while her sons took care of the drinks, and felt a moment of happiness. The woman who had collapsed in a heap a year ago was gone. A far stronger, confident woman stood in her place. She’d survived.

Ralph sat in his apartment feeling very sorry for himself. He was absolutely alone, he told himself as he poured himself a generous whiskey. His wife and daughters had gone down the country to visit his in-laws, without a thought as to how he’d feel. He’d been so hopeful that Francesca would take pity on him and let bygones be bygones. After all, it hadn’t been easy knocking on her door and apologizing yet
again
for whatever he had to apologize for. She could have shown him some mercy instead of leaving him standing on the doorstep like a pariah. It was a bit much. Her manners left a lot to be desired. The least she could have done was invite him to the party. He drained his tumbler and refilled it. He’d have another drink and think about his options, he decided as the whiskey began to kick in and he felt himself relaxing.

Nikki lay tensely as the doctor examined her gently. He was being extremely thorough but she wished it was over. She wanted to be at home with Mark. She could see a puzzled look on the doctor’s face. ‘So you were on antibiotics at the end of November and it was after that that you started to feel off-colour, even though it did its work on the chest infection?’ he probed.

‘Yes, doctor.’ She tried to keep the impatience out of her voice. He’d been through this already.

‘I see. Come and sit down, Nikki, and we’ll have a little chat,’ he said, helping her up off the couch.

I don’t want a little chat. I want to go home. I just want to feel well again
, she wailed silently as she fastened the buttons on her blouse and straightened up her skirt.

‘Mark, I’ve a favour to ask you, could you drop me over to the Nelsons’ right away? I know it’s short notice but the bloody battery’s gone flat and I’m supposed to be going over for my tea. Could you give me a lift?’ Gerald asked expectantly.

‘Yeah, yeah sure, Dad. I’ll be right over,’ Mark
said.
He hung up and dialled Nikki’s mobile number. Her phone was switched off. He went into the bathroom and freshened up. By the time he collected his father and delivered him to Rathfarnham where the Nelsons lived it would be after seven. He might as well carry straight on to Francesca’s. Nikki was late. The doctor must be busy, he thought, surprised, as he dialled her number again and left a message on her answering service.