Secrets and Lies (10 page)

~~**~~

Hope watched, enthralled, from the airport arrivals lounge as her mother descended dramatically from the plane. She couldn't help smiling at the admiring glances her mother received from the other passengers, who stared at her with a mix of awe and curiosity. C
hantale was as glamorous as ever. She wore a huge navy blue hat with a dark silk veil cast across her face, giving her an instant air of mystery. Her silver-grey hair, which she categorically refused to dye, no matter how much her daughter insisted, was cut into an immaculate, sophisticated bob. There wasn't one hair out of place, in spite of her six hour flight from South Africa, where she now lived with her fourth husband!

Her figure was trim and toned thanks to the Parisienne habit of walking everywhere, even in the highest of heels. She wore a Jean Paul Gaultier crisp white blouse beneath a royal blue tailored jacket which was nipped in at the waist and a figure-hugging pencil skirt. She had a silk scarf, the ultimate French accessory, twisted intricately around her neck and draped over one shoulder. The whole outfit was set off by a ludicrously high-heeled pair of Christian Louboutin stilettos.

Chantale Decoursiere was the quintessential French woman. She oozed sensuousness and femininity and there was an easy gracefulness about her as she walked nonchalantly through arrivals. She was a classic Gallic beauty and was very short, though perfectly proportioned and very chic. What she lacked in stature she more than made up for in confidence and charm, which she certainly had in abundance.

“It's all in the details,” she used to advise Hope when she was a teenager in need of beauty advice.

“Never leave home without manicured nails and styled hair and always take care of your skin. Wear a little makeup, just some light foundation, a slick of lipstick and a coat of mascara. Let your natural beauty shine through. Makeup should accentuate, not mask your face and most importantly you must moisurise, moisturise, moisturise.”

Hope was glad that she'd listened to her mother and had religiously moisturised her face and bo
dy since she was a young girl. Now she had beautiful soft skin, just like her mother's, which looked much younger than her years.

Hope had inherited her mother's chic style. She
had learned in her early twenties what suited her and dressed to flatter her body shape. She usually dressed for comfort, but it was a stylish comfort. Her regular day-wear consisted of skinny jeans, a pretty top and flat ballet pumps and she accessorised her outfits with little fashion statements like a brooch or scarf.

She never followed the latest fashion trends, preferring instead to buy her clothes in vintage shops. One of her favourite pastimes was to spend an afternoon wandering around the many second-hand clothes shops in Cork City where she never tired of the thrill of discovering an unexpected hidden gem. She appreciated the fact that the clothes she bought in vintage shops were usually one of a kind and would rarely be seen on anyone else. She had her own individual style and enjoyed expressing herself subtly through the clothes that she wore.

Hope had a trim figure, just like her mother, thanks to the fact that she walked everywhere and ate carefully. She hated gyms and preferred incorporating exercise into her daily routine. She thought that driving to the gym to exercise was sheer madness and laughed at her friends who insisted on renewing their gym memberships year after year, despite the fact that most of them rarely attended.

Hope enjoyed her food, and believed in the philosophy of eating everything but in small portions. S
he took her time eating and savoured the best quality rather than wolfing down vast quantities of cheaper food. She was definitely her mother's daughter, whether she liked it or not.

Hope's mother sashayed serenely through the arrival doors, completely oblivious to the admiring glances of those around her. She wrapped her arms tightly around her daughter who was instantly enveloped in her mother's signature fragrance; Chanel Number Five.

“It is wonderful to see you at last, cherie,” her mother whispered, with tears in her eyes.

“I'm so happy you're here, mama,” Hope replied, repeating the endearment she'd used as a child, truly meaning the word. Suddenly she was overcome with emotion at having her mother so near and struggled to fight the tears that threatened to erupt. She hadn't realised how much she'd missed her until that moment.

All the angst and anxiousness that she'd experienced prior to Chantale's arrival suddenly evaporated at the sight of her mother's face and she felt relieved, like a great weight had been taken off her shoulders.

She truly hoped that Chantale would at least try to understand what she was going through and make an effort to give her some of the answers that she so desperately needed. She suddenly felt that her mother was her only ally in the stress and strain that had threatened to engulf her over the wedding preparations. She and Niall had been arguing constantly about miscellaneous wedding details and at one point he'd even threatened to cancel the entire wedding, much to Hope's shock and horror. Every time she asked his opinion or made an appointment to see their wedding planner he would claim
to have yet another work commitment that he couldn't escape and she was left making most of the decisions on her own. She was beginning to wonder if he truly wanted to marry her.

The parallels between mother and daughter's lifestyles were quite extraordinary. Both were attractive, charismatic women with failed whirlwind marriages behind them, and even more extraordinary was that they both had an almost identical history of addiction.

Chantale had been drinking very heavily every day at one point in her life and it was Hope who had made her realise that she was slowly killing herself. Her daughter gave her the strength to believe that if she could quit drugs that she could quit drinking.

“You saved my life, cherie,” Chantale said, as she squeezed her daughter's hands. “If it wasn't for you I would be dead by now.”

Tears brimmed instantly in Hope's eyes. The very thought of losing her mother was too much for her to even contemplate.

“I did it because I love you,” she replied, her voice catching in her throat.

The turning point in Chantale's life came several years previously, when Hope was visiting her mother, who was by then on her third marriage to a French diplomat. Chantale was drunk and aggressive and her behaviour was completely overboard, which was often the case when she was ridiculously drunk. Hope waited until she returned home to Cork from her trip and then she wrote her mother a very simple, but heartfelt note saying: “Mama, I love you. I want my mama back. I want you to get better.”

It may have seemed like a simple message, but for Hope it was the most difficult letter that she'd ever written. It took much soul-searching and agonising for her to get to the moment of being able to write that letter. She attended quite a few Alcoholics Anonymous meetings to try to fully understand something of what her mother was experiencing. After all, Hope's addiction was to drugs, she avoided alcohol as she knew that the lowering of her inhibitions would inevitably reduce her willpower to resist the drugs. She knew that her mother was drinking herself to death and she believed that the Alcoholics Anonymous meetings would give her the strength and understanding to help her mother. She was absolutely petrified of writing that fateful letter to Chantale and part of her thought that she might never speak to her again, but she was willing to take that chance for her mother's sake.

“The truth is that I owe my health and my sanity to your beautiful letter, cherie,” Chantale said tearfully as she took her daughter's hands in hers.

Hope's letter forced Chantale to realise that she was making her beloved daughter suffer when she was drunk and she knew that she had to change her ways. She was determined to overcome her addiction, but it took huge courage on her part to accept the inevitable.

When she first read her daughter's letter, Chantale flew into a blind rage. She denied that she had a problem and in her anger she tore Hope's letter to shreds. Her pride was unable to stomach the demand that she tackle her alcoholism. There was still a part of her that tried to convince herself that she didn't have a problem.

“How dare she? Who does she think she is?” Chantale screamed around her house when she first read the letter. She sulked for weeks before she was able to phone her daughter!

Later, Chantale would blame herself for Hope's descent into addiction, accepting that she was hardly an ideal role model. Of course, she felt terribly guilty for the breakdown of her marriage to Hope's father and her subsequent abandonment of her daughter when she ran away to Paris. She admitted that she had been too consumed with her own problems to fully realise the detrimental effect that her absence was having on her little girl's life. Chantale’s leaving made her feel insecure and unsure of herself and underneath her external bravado she was quite a fragile character.

The first thing Chantale insisted on doing when they lef
t the airport was that they attend a Narcotics Anonymous meeting. It was the one and only time that they had attended a meeting together and it took Hope completely by surprise. She knew in that moment that whatever stress and concerns she was facing that her mother had come to help her battle her fears, so she immediately agreed to her mother's suggestion. It was an act of solidarity between them and very emotional. The fact that they were together, facing their weaknesses, reduced them both to almost inconsolable tears. It felt as if they were drawing an unspoken line under their terrible experiences and it marked a new beginning in their relationship with each other.

~~**~~

Hope wanted a traditional wedding ceremony when she married Niall. She and Sebastian had married in a hurry at the local registry office. She'd worn her favourite smart dress by the designer Amanda Wakeley and a matching tailored jacket but it certainly wasn't the fairytale wedding that she'd dreamed of since she was a child. Hope wanted her wedding to Niall to be perfect. They had done everything “properly” from the start of their relationship and Hope planned their wedding like the dream she’d always wanted. She and Niall found exactly the ideal location to seal their romance in the remote seaside village of Achill in County Mayo.

Hope smiled when she recalled their wedding day. She'd arrived fashionably late, at half past three, at the picturesque nineteenth century St. Patrick's Church for an hour-long service. She carried a small bouquet of cream and pink roses and wore a white, strapless full-length dress by esteemed designer Vera Wang, which was set off by a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes. She was
accompanied by her bridesmaids; her best friends Rosanna Maloney, who was wearing a strappy pink floor-length dress and Grainne Fitzsimons, who wore the same style dress as Rosanna, except in lilac.

Niall arrived at the church forty five minutes before his bride-to-be. He looked very dapper in a charcoal grey morning suit with pinstripe trousers, a pale yellow waistcoat and a silver cravat. It rained heavily as Hope was making her way into the church, but she resolutely refused to allow a simple downpour to spoil her big day; to her it was the best day of her life, rain or shine, because she was marrying the man of her dreams, a man she was sure loved her dearly in return.

The lavish reception was held at The Mulranny Park Hotel, where the couple had invited their closest friends and family. Hope wanted to be surrounded with the people she loved most in the world.

“Saoirse, what
on earth have you done to yourself?!” Kerry exclaimed. She couldn't take her eyes off the hideous creation that had magically appeared on her daughter's lower back. “Please tell me that monstrosity isn't permanent!”

“Mom, it's a tattoo, get over it,” Saoirse glared defiantly at her mother.

“How did you afford it?” her mother demanded.

“I saved the money from my newspaper round,” her daughter reluctantly explained.

“It's illegal to get a tattoo if you're under eighteen. Where did you go to get it done? I'm going to report whoever did this to you.”

Saoirse went pale, shocked at what her mother might do.

“It's not his fault,” she said. “I pretended I was eighteen.”

“Did he not ask for any identification?” Kerry asked incredulously.

Saoirse hesitated for a moment. “Yes, I showed him a fake ID.” She didn't dare meet her mother's eyes.

“What? Where
did you get a fake ID?” Kerry was stunned by her daughter's latest revelation. Her mind was racing. What else was she doing with that fake ID? Was she going to pubs and clubs? Had she been lying when she'd supposedly been sleeping over at her friends' houses? Kerry felt sick, imagining what her daughter might have been getting up to.

“You're going to be stuck with that hideous creation for the rest of your life. I understand you're going through some sort of a rebellious phase at the moment but do you honestly think that a tattoo plastered across your back when you're eighty years old is going to look good? I certainly don't think so.”

“Everyone has tattoos these days, mother and anyway, I'm sure I won't care what I look like when I'm eighty. I can get it removed by laser if I feel like it when I'm older.” Clearly, Saoirse had done her research.