Cathy Kelly 6-Book Collection: Someone Like You, What She Wants, Just Between Us, Best of Friends, Always and Forever, Past Secrets

Yesterday, they’d had a screaming match in the bathroom because Mel had dared to wear Abby’s glittery, bought-specially-for-the-Christmas-disco T-shirt.

Leonie was used to hearing Mel squealing like a four-year-old. But she’d been shocked to hear Abby doing it: ‘You cow, I hate you, hate you!’ followed by door-slamming, loud music, more shouting and more door-slamming.

Tonight, not feeling ready for a repeat performance, Leonie parked the car outside the cottage and walked slowly to her front door. The paintwork was peeling again, she reminded herself as she did every evening. It was two years since she’d last had the cottage exterior painted and the lovely rich dark green of the door was getting shabby. You didn’t notice it as much in the summer because the climbing roses hung so prettily over everything, hiding flaking paint and chipped stonework with a cluster of pale pink, glorious-smelling buds. But in the bleak winter, the place was starting to look shabby, Leonie decided. Dear little Flossie wasn’t the only thing to be neglected, she thought ruefully.

Inside, it was blissfully warm and blissfully quiet. Nobody was screaming ‘spannerhead!’ at anyone else and Penny didn’t race frantically to greet her mistress, meaning somebody had kindly taken her for a walk. One more chore ticked off the list, Leonie smiled to herself.

‘Hi! Mel, Abby and Danny, I’m home.’

Silence. A note in the kitchen explained that the girls had brought Penny out.

Danny rang, he’s home late. Save dinner for him, Mel had added in her nicely rounded handwriting.

As if she’d cook dinner and not save any for Danny. When did she not save dinner for him, Leonie asked wryly. She had a waste-disposal unit for a son and all he did was eat. In the peace and quiet, she decided to do exactly what Angie had suggested: she opened a bottle of wine (£5.99 special from Superquinn) and poured herself a glass.

Dinner was going to be the chilli she’d taken out of the freezer that morning, baked potatoes and salad. Switching the oven and the radio on, Leonie sipped her wine, and scrubbed the potatoes under the cold tap. She half-listened to news updates and traffic reports, enjoying the rare solitude. When Penny erupted into the kitchen via the back door twenty minutes later, barking delightedly at finding her beloved mistress there, a green salad was crisping in the fridge, the potatoes were beginning to sizzle and Leonie had laid the kitchen table for the three of them.

‘Hiya, Mum,’ said the twins in unison.

Mel hurried in without taking off her anorak or runners and threw herself on to the chair nearest the radiator. Her heart-shaped face was flushed with the combination of exercise and cold air, her big dark eyes were shiny and the biting wind had coloured her lips ruby red. Even windblown, she was so pretty.

Abby hung up both her anorak and Penny’s lead before hunching down beside the radiator with her sister. You’d never have believed they were twins, Leonie reflected, looking at Abby’s round, open face with its solid chin so unlike Mel’s pointed little one. Although Abby was looking a little thinner, she suddenly realized. Nothing major, just a faint thinning of her cheeks. It suited her, Leonie decided with a jolt of pleasure. Perhaps Abby wasn’t destined to look like her, with the peasant’s face that no amount of make-up could really hide. Nothing would give Leonie greater pleasure than to see Abby turn into a swan. Being an ugly duckling was such a difficult burden to bear. Well, perhaps not an ugly duckling, she told herself. But large, solid and sensible-looking as distinct from petite, dainty and Bambi-eyed.

‘You’re both in good form tonight,’ she said, smiling at them.

‘Yeah, sorry about last night,’ Abby said apologetically. ‘Dunno what got into me.’

‘Steven Connelly!’ smirked Mel evilly. ‘Or you wish he’d got on to you.’

Abby pulled her sister’s hair in retaliation. ‘Cow.’

‘Ouch,’ yelped Mel. But it was a good-humoured yelp.

They were friends again, thankfully.

Leonie sat down on a kitchen chair and sipped more of her wine. God only knew what year it was, but it certainly tasted like a good one.

‘Who’s Steven Connelly?’ she asked, knowing she wasn’t supposed to ask but unable to resist.

‘Who cares about him,’ Abby said primly. ‘He’s someone Mel thinks I fancy. We’ve much better news.’

‘You do fancy him,’ Mel said simply.

‘I don’t. Now shut up. Dad phoned,’ Abby went on.

‘About the wedding,’ Mel finished for her, sloe-black eyes glittering excitedly. ‘He wants you to come.’

‘Fliss and he want you to come,’ Abby said, emphasizing Fliss.

It was their mother’s turn to mutter ‘ouch’ to herself.

‘That’s kind of him,’ she said as nonchalantly as she could, ‘but I don’t think so, girls.’

‘What did I tell you?’ Mel said to her twin. ‘I knew you’d say that, Mum.’

‘Did you now?’ Leonie got up and bustled around at the cooker to hide her distress. ‘You’re great at knowing what I’m going to say, aren’t you? What if I said you’ve got to run the Hoover over the sitting room before dinner – were you expecting that?’ She spoke lightly, hoping to deflect them from the conversation at hand.

Mel groaned. ‘I hate hoovering, Mum. It’s Abby’s turn, anyway.’

‘He wants you to go and so do we,’ Abby spoke up.

Leonie got a packet of green beans she hadn’t intended cooking out of the freezer and slowly put them in a microwaveable bowl.

‘It’s bumper to bumper on the Stillorgan dual carriageway,’ trilled the traffic reporter on the radio, ‘and in Cork, the Douglas area is a no-go zone because an articulated truck has jack-knifed…’

‘Mum? You’d love it, you know you would. Dad wants you to phone him. You will, won’t you?’ Abby pleaded.

‘Of course I’ll phone him, girls, but I really don’t think it’s such a good idea. I mean, it’ll cost a fortune and your dad doesn’t really want me there, does he?’

‘He said he does,’ Mel pointed out. ‘It’ll be fun, Mum. Dad says he’ll pay your airfare. He’s paying for ours too.’

He must be making a bloody mint, Leonie thought. ‘I’ll phone your father, but that’s all. I’m not making any promises.’

‘Please,’ begged Ray. ‘I’d love you to. You always said we had to stick together for the children’s sake and show them people can divorce in a civilized fashion.’

Three thousand miles away, Leonie grimaced. Hoist by her own petard. She had said that, and not just for the children’s sake. She hadn’t wanted the kids to be used as pawns in the sort of vicious break-up most people had; used as blackmail in a fight that was all about power and blame, where parental responsibility counted for nothing.

Leonie had seen too many marital break-ups disintegrate into a litany of whose fault it was and why the kids couldn’t possibly see ‘that bitch’ or ‘that bastard’. It was all so unhelpful and childish, she felt.

She’d wanted to be able to talk calmly with Ray about the welfare of Abby, Mel and Danny, to do what was right for their family even though they were splitting up as a couple. And they had, always had. This very adult and mature state of affairs suited Leonie too because she’d instigated the break-up and she couldn’t face years of Ray’s venom bouncing off the kids and back at her simply because he resented what she’d done. It would have been devastating for them, and acutely painful for her. But there had been no venom. Ray had been as good as his word and their divorce had been civilized, just as she’d hoped.

Now, ten years later, her own words came back to haunt her.

‘If it was you getting remarried, I’d be there for you, Leonie,’ Ray pointed out. And he wasn’t lying, she knew.

Leonie wondered if she’d have wanted her ex-husband there if she got married again. She would, she decided. It would be nice to have him there, smiling, encouraging, giving his blessing. Proof that she hadn’t ruined his life. Which was a joke, she thought wryly. The only life she’d ruined in her attempts to find true love had been her own. Ray was happy, the kids were happy, and she was the one who longed for the passionate encounter she’d dreamed about since she was old enough to watch black-and-white movies on the telly on Saturday afternoons. Unfortunately, she was turning into a facsimile of Stella Dallas instead of an episode of Dallas.

‘What does Fliss think about this, about me coming to the wedding?’ she asked.

‘She’s as eager as I am,’ Ray said happily. ‘She had a wonderful view of the whole thing. Her parents are divorced and see each other all the time. They both own this skiing lodge in Colorado and share holidays with their new partners. It’s very civilized here. Fliss wants you to be there because she’s going to be the kids’ stepmom and she wants you to meet her. It’ll be great, Leonie. A holiday. We’ve got two extra cabins booked, so you and the kids could share one. I’ll pay your fare.’

‘Nonsense,’ Leonie said automatically. ‘I’ll pay my own fare.’ She had said it before she realized what it meant: capitulation by mistake.

‘So you’re coming! Great! It’ll be wonderful to see you, Leonie. Thanks, I really appreciate it,’ Ray said enthusiastically.

They discussed arrangements briefly but, because Ray was at work, he couldn’t talk for long. ‘I’ll call during the week, when I’ve got everything planned,’ he said. ‘I can’t wait to see the kids. And you.’

How different America was from Ireland, she reflected as she hung up. Americans had it all sorted out in their heads. Enlightened, that was the word. People broke up and went on with their lives, ex-spouses met current spouses and nobody threatened to beat anyone senseless because they all hated each other’s guts and resented the hell out of each other. Leonie tried to think of one wedding she’d heard of where the ex-spouse turned up to watch the proceedings – well, other than weddings where the ex turned up uninvited to try and wreck the proceedings. She couldn’t think of any. It was all too civilized. She’d heard of people who refused to go to their children’s weddings because their ex-partner would be there. How pathetic.