Constance O’Kelly sat in the corner of the kitchen in her house on Cross Avenue and almost wept. Today was the anniversary of the day her life had ended, the day Shay had told her he was packing up his things and moving out. At first she had thought he’d gone mad, had a bump on the head or was suffering from male menopause or midlife crisis or whatever those American experts liked to call it. Maybe it was stress? Working too hard. God knows, he rarely took a break and worked night and day in the busy quantity surveying business he had built up. There were always new jobs to tender for, and he constantly ignored her requests to take some time off to spend with his family.
For the previous six months he had seemed exhausted, distracted, locking himself away in the study late at night, cancelling their annual trip on the Shannon and pleading he had to meet clients in Frankfurt. He had even been rude to their friends, saying that Rob and Kevin and even his oldest friend, Tadhg, were turning into a shower of bores only interested in playing golf and talking about their kids. Constance had blushed as she had just spent an hour on the phone talking about Sally and her boyfriend Chris to Tadhg’s wife Catriona.
For weeks he had turned his back to her in bed or pretended to be asleep when she lay down beside him. Chilling thoughts of some serious illness or mysterious complaint nagged at her as she studied his long thin face and wary eyes. Then out of the blue he had told her he was leaving the house, moving somewhere else, that he didn’t want to live with her any more.
At first she had said nothing, too shocked to take it all in – then she had begged, begged him to sit down, talk to her, tell her about whatever it was that had driven this wedge between them.
‘We can fix it,’ she pleaded, ‘whatever is wrong we can fix it. We’ve been together for thirty years, raised three children – you don’t just go and throw away a marriage like ours for no good reason!’ she argued.
‘It’s over, Constance,’ he’d said, refusing even to go through the motions of rescuing their sinking marriage. ‘I’m moving out. There’s absolutely no point me staying as we have nothing to say to each other.’
She had watched flabbergasted as he took his shirts and trousers from the wardrobe and folded them neatly into the suitcase, before turning his attention to his drawer filled with socks she’d freshly laundered and matched and his boxer shorts. Funny, she had noticed a change lately: the ditching of his traditional white Y-fronts for navy blue and checks and patterned boxers. She had read in a magazine that this was one of the biggest warnings of infidelity but had stupidly imagined that in Shay’s case it was to do with personal comfort rather than his desire to attract a younger member of the opposite sex.
Shay had at first tried to imply that their marriage breakup was due to the gradual disintegration of their relationship and the fact they had grown apart and were bored with each other. She had screamed and nagged and howled at him until he had finally admitted, two weeks after he left, that there was someone else.
Another woman. Constance felt like he had taken out a knife and stabbed her. She had never dreamed that her reliable, strait-laced husband Shay was capable of infidelity.
The younger member of the opposite sex was called Anne-Marie and Shay had met her at the bridge classes they had both started last autumn, in an attempt to discover a hobby of mutual interest. She had dropped out after only four visits, bored out of her brain as she struggled to remember about bidding and aces and clubs. Working out what card to lead with had given her a headache. Shay had continued learning to play and, needing a partner, had discovered Anne-Marie, who had fitted the bill perfectly. Sometimes when Constance pictured Anne-Marie, visions appeared in her head of being led away in handcuffs for what she had planned to do to the other woman!
Three hundred and sixty-five days, twelve months, a year had passed since it had happened and, despite what her friends and neighbours and family said, it hadn’t got any easier. The hardest part, she found, was the loneliness of sitting in at night with only the TV for company. She went to the odd dinner party, cinema or theatre visit but for the most part she was left to her own devices, which after thirty years of marriage took some getting used to. Their elder boy, Brendan, was married to Miriam and lived down in Meath. A busy GP, he did his best to keep in touch but since the arrival of little Max, he had barely a minute to himself. Their younger son, Jack, was off in New Zealand, working in an Irish bar, and showed no sign of wanting to return home, and Sally and Chris had moved in together after only six months.
Her mothering skills almost obsolete, she now had to learn to accept her new role as a discarded wife. Her twenty-five-year-old daughter had just announced her engagement and forthcoming marriage to Chris.
‘I know it’s hard for you, Mum, with Chris and me deciding to get married when you and Dad’s marriage has just fallen apart,’ Sally had confided. ‘But you know how much we love each other. Now that we have made up our minds we don’t see the point of hanging around for years. We just want to get married straight away.’
‘Of course you do, pet,’ Constance had agreed, opening a bottle of champagne. ‘You and Chris are the perfect couple. It’s only natural you want to get married. I’m so excited for you. Chris will be a wonderful husband. You know I couldn’t be happier for you both!’
‘I know,’ beamed Sally, hugging her. ‘It’s so exciting organizing a wedding and everything is going to be such fun!’
The wedding was to be in September. Constance had studied the rough guest list that Sally had drawn up, and even a very quick perusal had showed at least two hundred names.
‘It’s quite a big list!’
‘Well, Chris is from a big family. His mum is one of six and his dad has five brothers and two sisters, and of course they are all married and have loads of cousins. Then there’s our lot, my work friends, a few of the guys I was in college with and my schoolfriends. Mum, I don’t know how I can shorten it.’
Constance’s heart sank. The thought of organizing a big fancy wedding at this particular time of her own life filled her with dread. She had always imagined Sally’s wedding as one of the most joyous occasions of parenthood, herself and Shay the proud mother and father of the bride. She had never envisaged an alternative scenario. And what about paying for this wedding?
Would Shay pay for it, or would he expect her also to contribute towards it? At the moment they were at daggers drawn, trying to reach agreement on some sane form of maintenance payments. She thanked heaven that at least there was no mortgage on their big five-bedroomed detached home.
‘We had always planned to sell the house once the kids were grown and buy something smaller,’ Shay argued, forgetting to mention the part of the plan that involved buying a small low-maintenance exclusive townhouse in their own area and a spectacular holiday home in the south of Spain.
‘You know, I can’t afford to keep renting,’ he complained, ‘and I’m too old to take on a new mortgage.’
She had bitten her tongue and refused to retort that age hadn’t stopped him taking on a new woman.
‘If we sell the house and divide up the proceeds fairly, there will be enough for both of us to purchase a property outright.’
She had dug her heels in and refused to budge. What was it the lawyers always said? Possession was nine-tenths of the law.
‘Did you discuss this with your father?’ Constance asked Sally.
‘Yes, Mum, of course. Daddy wants me to have the wedding I want. The one we always planned.’
‘Well, I’m glad to hear that. Glad he’s paying.’
‘Of course he’s paying,’ replied Sally, tumbling out a mess of wedding brochures and magazines from her brown shoulder bag. Constance searched for her glasses. Sally, their only daughter, had always been her father’s pet. From an early age she’d had her doting dad wrapped round her finger, so if Shay had agreed to pay for Sally to have an expensive wedding, well then, an expensive wedding was what he was going to get. She would make damn sure of it!