Wishful Thinking (a journey that will change lives forever) (22 page)

Which was why, in the meantime, she’d given in to Fiona’s requests and moved with her and Becky into that fabulous apartment in the Marina Quarter, finally leaving behind that horrible student bed-sit. 

And these days Louise
was
living the glamorous, city-girl lifestyle she’d dreamed of, so she wasn’t really making it up, was she? Only the other night, she and the girls had blagged their way into one of the celebrity hangouts in town. It had been great fun.  And there had been loads of really famous faces there – TV stars, sports stars, Irish models. Louise eyes had nearly been out on stalks at the sight of people she usually only saw in the papers or on the telly.

“And guess who we saw there?” she told Heather, sure that her sister would be dead impressed by her glamorous social life. 

“Who?”

“Troy Brophy-Hyland!”

“That tosspot rugby player with the highlights in his hair?”

Well, that was one way of describing him, Louise thought, and in truth he wasn’t exactly God’s gift, but he
was
a celebrity so …  “Yes, and he smiled at me and Fiona when we were on our way to the ladies’!”

“
Ooooh!”
Heather gushed sarcastically.

“But it was Troy Brophy-Hyland, Heather!” Louise persisted, feeling vaguely disappointed that her sister didn’t seem at all impressed by this. “He’s really famous!”

“Famous for what? For his girly hairstyle, or the amount of Irish models he’s screwed? It’s certainly not for his rugby skills.  Sure, he hasn’t been picked for the Irish team in months.”

Yes, well, Heather had a point there but –

“Louise, please don’t tell me you’ve been taken in by all these posers and so-called celebrities.  They’re a shower of fakes! God knows I come across enough of them in the hotel over here, and they are so far up their own backsides it’s incredible!”

Louise bit her lip.  But they were all so glamorous, and so good-looking and so
important
– and most people would kill to get the chance to be in the same room as them so –

“Look, just promise me you’ll keep your feet on the ground, OK?” Heather went on. “I’m sure the Dublin party scene is great fun, but remember these people aren’t your friends, and they never will be.  They’re brainless shallow idiots who worry more about posing for the society pages than they do about anything else.  Don’t fall for that crap, Louise.”

“But I like being part of it all, Heather.  It’s really exciting and glamorous and – ”

“What’s exciting about it? And it’s not glamorous – it’s bloody pathetic. Why do you hold these people in such high esteem, Louise? What have they ever done for you? ”

Louise sighed. Heather could be such a party-pooper sometimes.  She just didn’t understand the Dublin social scene, that was all.

When she told Heather this, her sister tut-tutted.  “Just be careful it doesn’t all end in tears.”

“All what?”

“That new apartment, the expensive holidays and all these mad nights out.  Listening to you, it does seem as though you’re not telling this Sam too many lies at all.  You do seem to be having a right old time of it.” Then she paused. “Which is great, Louise, but …”

“But what?”

“Well, how can you afford all this? Did you pay off the loan early, or something?”

Even though her sister couldn’t see her, Louise blushed guiltily.
The
loan.  Little did Heather know that where there had once been one loan, there were now two, as well as credit cards and an overdraft of course.  But it would all be sorted once the court case was settled, wouldn’t it?  And wasn’t everyone always saying that you couldn’t take it with you?

Anyway, Louise didn’t want to spend the rest of her life living in a dingy bedsits, thinking about paying off loans, while all her friends were going out and living life to the full.  And seeing as she had a boyfriend now, she grinned happily, she couldn’t be sitting in every night, worrying about money, otherwise she’d end up old and grey – and worse, on her own.  Everyone knew how difficult it was to find someone these days, let alone someone nice, and she couldn’t risk her budding relationship for the sake of paying off an overdrawn credit card, could she?  That would be madness!

No, that was just the way things were these days.  Fiona had
three
different credit cards, and with the way her friend spent money, she was probably
much
more in debt than Louise was. Heather just didn’t understand how things were.  She was ten years older, and had grown up in different times to this.  Not to mention that she’d already found her man and was very happily married.  So how could she possibly understand?  

“No, the loan is still there, but Mr Cahill – ”

“Louise, don’t assume you’re home and dry with that claim,” Heather interjected, a warning tone in her voice.  Her sister hadn’t at all approved of the personal liability suit, believing, rather like Louise had at the beginning that no good would come of it.  “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that it will solve everything.  God forbid, but if you lose…”

“I won’t lose, Heather,” Louise said defiantly. “Mr Cahill reckons it’s an open and shut case.  With all the complications I had afterwards – ”

“I know that, pet,” Heather’s tone softened, obviously recalling that difficult time, “but you just never know.”

“It’ll be fine,” Louise insisted, Cahill’s words reverberating in her mind.  “It’s an open and shut case, we’re certain of it.  And it’ll all be fine.”

In the weeks that followed, Rosie did her best to keep out of David’s way.  Thankfully, he had got a job as a plasterer on a building site in town, so these days she only saw him in the evenings.  He had calmed down somewhat about the house since, although he had obviously had a go at Sophie.

“Just because he’s dumped and homeless doesn’t mean he should be taking it out on me,” Sophie had whined down the phone the very next day. “And the nerve of him for suggesting that I would try to take the house from underneath him! Of
course
everything will be doled out fair and square – Rob and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

On the other end of the line, Rosie waited patiently for Sophie to remember that her mother was actually still alive, and all this talk of ‘doling out’ was for at the moment totally irrelevant. 

Not to mention hurtful.

It was hard to credit that her children were thinking this way.  Perhaps it was inevitable –particularly once Martin died – that David and Sophie would begin to realise that their parents wouldn’t be around forever, but what upset her the most was that this didn’t seem to bother them all that much.  If they realised she was getting on, surely the fact should make them appreciate her all the more?

Yet, Rosie was no martyr – she and Martin had raised their children to be self-sufficient and independent, and she certainly would never expect either of them to do what Sheila’s Gillian had done by having them look after her in her old age. 

Old age indeed!  For goodness sake – they were behaving as though she was at death’s door!  And she was in good health apart, of course, from the arthritis, and the few twinges in her bones now and then.  As far as she was concerned, she was a long way off being carted away!

But even having thoughts like these made her feel uneasy and pessimistic, and she didn’t like that.  She needed something to look forward to, something to lift her spirits and stop her thinking about how little her children seemed to think of her.   

Which was why on her most recent visit to Sheila, Rosie told her friend she was taking up a new hobby.

“It’s something I’ve always wanted to do,” she’d said, purposely omitting the most recent ‘confrontation’ with David, and his outburst about his inheritance. There was no point. Sheila would only be worried about her, and would keep on at her to be more assertive when dealing with him. 

But there was no point in aggravating the situation. David was obviously here to stay – and by the looks of things – for the long haul.  They both had to live at the house together, and there was no point in her making things worse by creating tension between them. 

So, instead, she resolved to stay out of David’s way, her intentions of looking after him in his ‘hour of need’ now well and truly out the window.  No, she’d do her own thing as normal, and let David do his, and hopefully there would be no more talk of what would happen to the house afterwards.

So when a brochure advertising a selection of evening classes came in the letterbox , she immediately decided to go for it. Her subject of choice was watercolour painting.

“What?” Sheila arched an eyebrow at this. “When have you ever been interested in that kind of thing?”

Uncomfortable with any kind of deceit, Rosie looked away.  Sheila knew her too well. The truth was that she had no interest at all in ‘that kind of thing’, but the idea sounded pleasant enough, and as – unlike some of the other options – it didn’t require any great amount of writing or studying, it should suit her down to the ground. 

Anyway, it would get her out of David’s way for one night at least, and that was the main thing.  On the others, she could pop across to one of the neighbours for a chat, or maybe go down the town with Twix for a bit of a walk around.   Still, the evenings were drawing in now, and as safe as the town might be, Rosie didn’t want to run the risk of going down dark roads on her own.  Twix might be great at acting the big bad dog, but in reality, she wouldn’t be much protection, God love her.

On the nights that she didn’t go out, she would leave David alone watching telly in the living-room, and she would stay in the kitchen, reading in her chair.  She had stocked up on some great books and was looking forward to delving into them all. 

Being without the television didn’t bother her; she could pick up the news during the day if she wanted, and she was sure life would continue just fine without
Coronation Street
.  It was all the same old storylines every week anyway, she convinced herself, and she’d get just as much drama from her books. 

And with any luck, she might really like this watercolour painting and might end up losing herself for hours in the kitchen practising that.  Rosie smiled.  Martin would be proud of her.  He was always a great man for knowledge, great for learning new skills and educating himself.  

So, it was with a nice sense of achievement that, that same evening, Rosie presented herself at the school to take her first class in over forty years.  She tried not to let the nerves show, especially when she walked into the classroom and instantly deduced that she was without doubt the oldest person there.  By about twenty years.

The odds were stacked against her though, as it seemed that this particular class was under-subscribed, and there were no more than eight people in attendance.  She had hoped there would be a few locals here, but she didn’t recognise any of the faces. 

Rosie smiled awkwardly around the room and just then her spirits lifted when another man, looking like he had a few years on her, came in just after her.

“Hello, everyone, and welcome!” the man announced in a strong, booming voice, and Rosie’s heart plummeted when she realised that the older man had to be the teacher.  Of course.

The man sat down, his long denim-clad legs facing the others; his face tanned and weathered-looking, as if he spent a lot of time outside. 

“Welcome to ‘Watercolour Painting for Beginners’.  Now we all know why we’re here – and by the looks of things there mightn’t be too many of us,” he added, his eyes twinkling humorously. 

Rosie warmed to him immediately, and her demeanour relaxed slightly.

“So why don’t we begin by introducing ourselves?  I’m Stephen Dowd, and hopefully by the end of the next few weeks, I’ll have taught you lot all there is to know about watercolour painting.” 

As Rosie was the nearest to him, he looked at her to continue with the introductions.  She blinked nervously, and although it was many, many years ago, she remembered clearly feeling the same way on her first day at school.

“Em, hello,” she began, her cheeks reddening at being the focus of attention, particularly Stephen’s.  “My name is Rosie Mitchell and I … I . . .” she said, stumbling hoarsely, “I live up the road.”

“Great!” Stephen interjected, his grey eyes alight with warmth. “We’ll have somewhere for our wild student parties then!”

The others laughed and, knowing that Stephen was trying to put her at ease, Rosie smiled gratefully at him.

The others introduced themselves and then the rest of the evening was spent learning the basic procedures of watercolour painting and becoming familiar with the paint and materials.  To her surprise, she enjoyed the class immensely, and couldn’t believe it when Stephen announced that time was almost up.

The two hours had flown by, and almost immediately she found herself looking forward to the next lesson.  Of course, Stephen’s lovely easygoing manner helped greatly, and as if sensing that Rosie was overwhelmed at being there, he seemed to take that little bit of extra time in making sure she understood things properly. 

“I know it’s too early to tell, but I think you could have an eye for this type of thing,” he said, causing Rosie to blush profusely, secretly delighted that she might be good at it.

He really was a dote, and had such a lovely way about him that he was the ideal person to teach an evening class, she thought, walking up the hill on her way home.  She wondered idly where Stephen was from, having found it difficult to place his accent during the lesson.  The South somewhere – possibly Cork or Kerry, she decided, opening the front gate. 

Rosie yawned.  She felt quite tired after all that concentrating, and despite her earlier intentions of coming home and relaxing on the armchair with a nice hot cup of tea and a biscuit, now she thought she might just go on up to bed.  She’d better let Twix out to do her business first, though.

Letting herself in quietly, Rosie hung up her coat and almost tiptoed into the kitchen.  Sheila would murder her for creeping around like that but she couldn’t help it.  Since David’s return and his subsequent behaviour, she’d felt like a stranger in her own home and at times felt almost apologetic about being there.  Anyway, it was easier to just fade quietly into the background and try not to annoy him.   So, she’d just let Twix out and then …

“Mum, where on earth have you been?” she heard a voice from behind ask.

Rosie whirled around in surprise. “David, I didn’t want to disturb you while you were watching television and – ”

“Where were you till this hour?” he asked again, this time looking at his watch.  “It’s almost half ten, and it’s pitch black out.”

Instantly, Rosie was touched by his concern. “I was taking an evening class, love – didn’t I mention it?” she said, her face slightly flushed with enthusiasm.  She didn’t think to tell
him, assuming that he wouldn’t care less as long as she was out of his way.  But as David was so worried about her, she had obviously underestimated him and –

“An evening class?  What kind of an evening class would you take?” he asked, his expression disbelieving. “Sure, you can barely write!”

Rosie winced, stung.  “I know that, David,” she said quietly. “That’s why I’m taking a painting class.”

“But what’s wrong with the painting
I’ve
been doing for you?” he asked, accusingly. “Is it not good enough for you?  Funny that, seeing as none of the rooms have been touched in years!”

“No, no,” Rosie shook her head, her heart quickening nervously,  “it’s not that kind of painting, love – it’s pictures, painting pictures – and Stephen – the teacher thinks I could be good at it – he reckons I have a good eye.” She was babbling now but she couldn’t help it.

David snorted. “Isn’t it well for you? Swanning off to painting classes and leaving the place in a heap.  Do you not realise how hard I have it working all day on that building site, without having to come home and clean up the kitchen before I can even start making dinner?”

The place in a heap? Clean up the kitchen? What was he talking about?  She had left a plate and few pots in the sink instead of washing up straight afterwards like she usually did.  But because she’d been so anxious about going to the class, and especially about what to
wear
going to the class, she’d forgotten all about it.

“David, I was going to wash up, but I was in a bit of a rush and – ”

“A bit of a rush! A bit of a rush! Well, that must mean you’re
always
in a bit of a rush, with the way this place is looked after.  The kitchen is filthy, Mum – the shelves need a good scrub, and the oven looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in months! All these germs aren’t good for our health.”

“It’s been difficult to clean the oven since I put my back out, David,” she said carefully. “It’s hard for me to bend down.  But I keep my house as well as I’ve always done.”

David snorted again, his comments, wounding Rosie to the core, and making her wonder when her son – who used to put dirty leaves in his pockets and trail mud from his football boots around the house when he was younger – had turned into an obsessive hygiene nut.

“And you know I can’t stand that bloody dog traipsing around everywhere,” he continued, and for reasons she couldn’t quite comprehend Rosie immediately felt a stab of fear.  He wouldn’t do anything … would he?

Now, terrified that poor little Twix might have taken the full brunt of his anger, Rosie turned on her heel and went into the kitchen to look for her beloved pet.

“I put it outside in the shed,” David informed her in bored tone.

“What? You can’t do that, David.  It’s cold and damp out there and Twix has been sleeping inside since she was a puppy.  She could catch her death!”

David murmured something under his breath that to Rosie’s ears sounded like ‘no bloody harm’, and if the thought of the poor creature freezing and miserable in the dark shed didn’t set Rosie off, that did.

“I’m sorry, David, but I won’t have it,” she said, her voice rising slightly as she headed for the back door and went outside. “She’s my dog, and this is my house, and I won’t have you throwing the poor defenceless little animal out like some dirty rat!”

“It
is
a dirty rat,” David challenged, appearing at the kitchen door. “Sniffing and mooching around, begging for food all the time. I have no peace with it.”

“She’s my dog, David.”

“And I’m your son.”

“I know you are, but Twix has been with me for a long time now, and I won’t have her mistreated.”

“Mistreated? I only put the bloody animal out in the shed – where it should be as far as I’m concerned.”