In My Sister's Shoes (21 page)

‘And?’

‘You haven’t in a while.’

‘Haven’t I?’ I asked, surprised. Sure I hadn’t been a bundle of joy, but I’d thought I was hiding it well.

‘You’ve had a face on you that could curdle milk.’

‘Well, maybe I haven’t had much to smile about until now.’

‘Did you meet a lad?’ he asked eagerly.

‘No, I got a job,’ I said, beaming.

‘Oh,’ he said, sounding disappointed. ‘No boyfriend, then?’

‘No,’ I said, annoyed that he was ruining my buzz. ‘I’m really excited about this job. It’ll be great to work again.’

‘Ah, you put far too much emphasis on that old job. What you need is to meet a nice lad who’ll look after you.’

‘Like Mark?’

‘You’d never end up with a gobshite like him,’ said Dad, giving me a vote of confidence.

‘I’ve kissed a lot of frogs,’ I admitted.

‘I don’t want to hear about that.’

‘I didn’t say I’d slept with them all.’

‘Jesus, will you stop? Just go out and find yourself a nice, sensible boy and get hitched so I can sleep in peace.’

‘Why? Are you worried I’ll be living with you for ever? Am I cramping your style?’

‘Every father wants to see his girls settled and not end up old maids.’

‘Thanks a lot.’

‘Well, you’re not getting any younger.’

‘I’ve got loads of time. Where’s the fire? I haven’t met anyone I really liked yet.’

‘Maybe you’re too choosy.’

‘Am I supposed to compromise and marry some tosser?’

‘Life’s all about compromise.’

‘You didn’t compromise with Mum. You said it was love at first sight.’

‘True, but we were lucky. Most people grow on each other over time.’

‘Like weeds?’

‘There’s no need to be smart. I’m just saying don’t turn a lad down because he might not be the best-looking fella around.’

‘Marry an ugly guy and he’ll grow on me?’

‘Stranger things have happened.’

‘Do you have anyone in mind?’

‘Well, I know Derek’s pal is keen on you.’

‘I sincerely hope you’re not referring to Gonzo.’

Dad shrugged.

‘Jesus, Dad, how desperate do you think I am?’

‘I’m not suggesting you go out with
him
. All I’m saying is, don’t rule out a fella for not looking like George Best.’

‘I’m glad we don’t have arranged marriages here or you’d sell me off to Quasimodo.’

‘There’s no need to fly off the handle. I’m only telling you to keep an open mind. You should have stayed with that fella Sam. He’d have looked after you.’

‘Yeah, well, he’s got someone else.’

‘The good ones always get snapped up. He was mad about you before you ran off to London.’

‘I went to pursue a career in media.’

‘And sure where did that get you?’

‘It got me my own TV show, Dad. Which, by the way, is a reallybig deal.’

‘Didn’t find you a husband, though, did it?’

‘I don’t want a bloody husband. I can look after myself.’

‘What about children?’

‘What about them? I don’t want any. I’m not ready for all that.’

‘Life passes by very quickly, Kate. Don’t miss out on the good things.’

‘I was happy,’ I snapped. ‘I had a great life before I had to give it all up.’

‘You never seemed that happy to me. You were always stressed out.’

‘I like stress,’ I muttered.

‘All I’m saying is that sometimes the best things in life are to be found on your own front doorstep. The grass isn’t always greener elsewhere.’

‘And sometimes, Dad, it is. A lot greener. I like being independent.’

‘I just want you to be happy, pet,’ he said, patting my arm.

‘Dad?’

‘Yes, Kate?’

‘Can I borrow some money?’

Two nights later, as I waited for Tara to pick me up for the reunion, I began to regret my decision. The wig I had bought with Dad’s money wouldn’t be ready until the next day so I was wearing a white scarf on my head, which made me look even more washed out than I was. I still couldn’t fit into most of my clothes so I had put on a green wrap dress that didn’t really suit me, but it was the only vaguely dressy thing that fitted so I had to wear it. I felt marginally better when I saw Tara, who was wearing a tent-like maternity top over stretchy trousers.

The minute we walked into the restaurant I knew it had been a mistake to come. The first group of girls we bumped into looked fantastic. Their hair was shiny, thick and beautiful, and their clothes fitted properly. Hilary Dunne was in the middle of them. She was the girl who had always intimidated everyone in the class. The ‘super-cool bitch’. Good-looking, confident and sporty, she had ruled the roost in our year. She and I had never got on – mainly because I was jealous of her and she thought me far too uncool to hang out with. I had particularly enjoyed chatting to her at the last reunion and rubbing my ‘fabulous’ career in her face.

After school she had tried to make it as a model and failed. While she was still young and beautiful she had married an older man with oodles of cash and become a ladyof leisure, which you could tell she was bored with. At the ten-year reunion, as I had spun my stories of glitzy parties and Hollywood-star encounters, she had tried to put me down in front of a group of our classmates.

‘I heard Brad Pitt hates being interviewed.’

I gave her my most dazzling smile and said, ‘Have you met him?’

‘Of course not,’ she snapped.

‘Oh, right. Well, he’s actually really charming and only dislikes being interviewed by presenters who ask him about his private life. He also told me he has a thing for Irish women,’ I lied, while Hilary smouldered.

‘So when is this amazing interview going to be on?’ she asked.

Without skipping a beat – I was getting good at this – I said, ‘It’s due to be aired over the next week. Probably Thursday in conjunction with his new movie’s premieére, which I’m also covering.’

That there was no interview to air was irrelevant. I hadn’t seen these people in ten years and I probably wouldn’t for another ten. Besides, I was enjoying winding her up.

‘It sounds almost too good to be true. I’ll have to stay in and watch you flirting with him.’

‘I hope you can squeeze it in between tennis and coffee,’ I said, walking off before she could throw her drink over me.

And now, three years later, here I was. Looking awful and feeling deeply insecure.

‘Well, look who it is,’ said Hilary, coming up to us. ‘It’s our TV star. I didn’t expect you to be here, Kate. How did you find time between recording your show? Or has that stunning blonde girl taken over? What happened?’

‘Hi, Hilary, good to see you,’ said Tara, cutting in before I could say anything.

‘Hi – my God, I hope you’re pregnant,’ said Hilary, pointing at Tara’s belly.

The other girls tittered as Tara glowered. ‘Yes, I am pregnant, and it’s wonderful. I love my new shape.’

‘Rather you than me,’ said Hilary, glancing down at her washboard stomach. ‘How anyone would want kids is beyond me. They’re far too much admin. So, anyway, what happened to your show, Kate?’

‘I’ve taken leave of absence,’ I said, gripping my wine glass in an effort to remain calm.

‘So you weren’t replaced?’ she asked.

‘No, I’ve got some time off.’

‘Why would you do that? You’d only just got the job.’

‘I felt like a change of scenery.’

‘I see you’ve also gone for a change of image. What’s with the short hair and scarf? Is that some new trend in London?’

‘Kate came home for personal reasons,’ said Tara, glaring at Hilary in a lame attempt to get her to shut up.

‘Oh, I get it. Your boyfriend dumped you and you cut off your hair. Why do women always do that when they break up with men? It’s such a mistake. Why cut off your best asset?’

I plastered a smile on myface and said nothing.

‘Never mind, plenty more fish in the sea. Are you staying in Dublin?’

‘If you must know, I took time off to come home because mysister has cancer and I wanted to be here for her. I’m also dealing with the “admin” of looking after her twin boys – which, by the way, is very rewarding. You should try it some time. As for boyfriends – I didn’t have one to dump me. And I shaved myhair off the same day my sister’s fell out. I think that answers all your questions, but if you have any more I’ll be at the bar.’

I walked away, followed closely by Tara. ‘You totally cut her down to size,’ she said. ‘You were amazing.’

I turned to her, with tears in my eyes. ‘Then how come I feel so utterly miserable?’ I asked, and downed the wine in one gulp.

25

Miraculously, Mark managed to take Fiona to her sixth chemo session. He was obviously feeling guilty about his upcoming trip to Berlin for four days to present his paper for the Goldwin Prize. She seemed pleased that he was making an effort, even though she was reallysick and spent hours throwing up after the treatment.

Each session made her weaker and I hated to see my sister so ill. I got the boys to make a ‘Best Mummy in the World’ poster to hang at the end of her bed to cheer her up. But they insisted that Teddy deliver it to her, so it was a soggy saliva-y mess by the time he had scampered up the stairs to the bedroom. Still, Fiona oohed and aahed and said it was the most beautiful poster she’d ever seen and I duly pinned it to the wall.

I had told both Fiona and Mark about my upcoming job, Fiona because I knew she’d be pleased for me, and Mark to make sure he was on hand to help out with the twins. He was flying out to Berlin the following day, so it was all falling neatly into place. Until two days before…

Bobby came home from school with a bad cold, which Fiona picked up immediately. Because her immune system was so battered by the chemotherapy, she was susceptible to everysniffle going. Overnight, her cold got a lot worse and she spiked a fever. Mark called the doctor, who said she’d have to be admitted to hospital for a day or two so they could make sure she had enough fluids and bring her temperature down. He assured us it was nothing to worry about, just a bad cold, but due to her low white blood cell count, she couldn’t fight it on her own.

The next day, the day of my job, I brought the twins to school while Mark went into hospital to check on Fiona. He called to tell me that the doctor had said she was improving, but he wanted to keep her in for another day. We could bring her home tomorrow.

‘OK, great. I’ll try to pop in to her before I head off,’ I said, relieved to hear she was on the mend. ‘Now, don’t forget to pick the twins up at twelve. I’m just going back to make their lunch and then I’ll get ready for work.’

‘Actually, Kate, there’s been a bit of a hitch,’ Mark said.

‘What?’

‘I’ve had a call from the co-researcher in Berlin and I need to fly over this afternoon. We’ve had a small crisis on the paper that needs to be ironed out. If we don’t sort it out today we’ll lose our chance of winning. I’m sorry, Kate, but I have to go.’

Was he actually saying these words? Had he lost his mind? He was going nowhere.

‘Mark,’ I said, trying to remain calm, ‘you can’t go anywhere today. I have a job I told you about ten days ago and we agreed that you’d look after your children and wife for the afternoon. You’ll have to do your work via the phone and email.’

‘I can’t, Kate. This needs to be worked out in a laboratory – it’s a very complex and detailed problem. Can you get your dad to help?’

‘He’s in London on a dirty weekend with Sheryl. You’re the only person who can do this. You can’t go, end of story.’

‘I have to go. I’m booked on the two o’clock flight. I have no choice. A year’s work depends on this. My
future
depends on it.’

‘What about
my
future? What about
my
life?’ I shouted. ‘If you don’t collect your kids from school, they’ll be left on the side of the street because I won’t be there to pick up the pieces. I’m not available today. I told you that, so you’ll just have to sort it out yourself. Goodbye,’ I said, slamming down the phone.

No way –
no bloody way
– was I giving up this job. It was the only thing keeping me sane, my little beacon of light in a few very dark months. To hell with Mark and his stupid competition. He’d have to flyover first thing in the morning as planned.

I got back to the house, made chicken soup and cheesy bread, the way the boys liked, and set it out. All Mark had to do was make sure they ate it. Even he should be able to manage that. I cleaned the house, and just as I was about to leave, Fiona rang. ‘I wanted to wish you luck,’ she said.

‘Thanks. Are you feeling better?’ I asked.

‘Much, thanks. Are you nervous?’

‘Very nervous and veryexcited. I can’t wait to get there and soak it all up. I love live TV – it’s such an adrenaline rush.’

‘I’ll be watching you from here. By the way, is Mark on his way to pick up the boys?’

‘Yes,’ I said. I hadn’t heard from him so I was taking that as a good sign.

‘OK, great. Well, break a leg,’ she said.

‘Thanks.’

As I was driving back to Dad’s to get changed my phone rang. It was the boys’ school.

‘Hello?’

‘Ms O’Brien, it’s Mrs Foley here.’

‘Hi.’

‘Are you on your way to pick up the twins?’

‘Isn’t their father there?’

‘If he were here, Ms O’Brien, I’d hardly be calling you, now, would I?’ said the old witch.

‘Well, he should be there because
he
’s collecting them today.’

‘I just spoke to Professor Kennedy. He’s at the airport, so I believe it’s
you
who should be picking the twins up.’

‘He’s where?’

‘At the airport. Now, really, Ms O’Brien, the school closes at twelve, midday, and it’s now a quarter past. This is unacceptable. The boys are quite upset.’

DAMNBOLLOXWANKERSONOFABITCH…

‘I’m on my way.’

I swung the car round, causing havoc on the road, and drove like a maniac to the school. I felt as if my head was going to explode. I didn’t know this level of anger existed. My message minder beeped. It was Mark – the coward had called directly into my voicemail. He had n’t even had the decency to speak to me in person.