Well? Which is it?” She held her hair on the top of her head and twirled in front of the dressing room mirror in one of the two dresses she’d selected from the bargain rail. “Hair up or down?” Letting it tumble over her shoulders, then gathering it back together again. “Up, I think.”
Her friend leaned against the wall, arms folded. “I thought you said he wasn’t interested.”
Jackie smiled at her reflection in the mirror. “He’s not. What about the hair?”
“Down. So what are you so perky about?”
“Audrey’s party, of course. I love a party. And the dress?”
“The other one.”
Jackie pulled the pink dress up over her head and stood in her underwear. A side effect of being a life drawing model, she’d discovered, was that parading around in bra and knickers didn’t cost her a thought now.
She slid the dress back onto its hanger. “He might be interested,” she said.
“I knew it.”
“But I could be wrong.” She pulled on the other dress for the second time and turned so her friend could slide up the zip. “Sometimes I think he is and other times…I don’t know.”
“Have you found out about his wife yet?”
Jackie adjusted the sleeves. “He might not be married.”
“Well, his daughter’s mother so. You know what I mean.”
“I figure she’s off the scene.”
“You figure? You still haven’t asked?”
“Well, it’s not something you can ask, just like that.” She regarded her reflection. “So you think this dress?”
“Definitely—and of course it’s something you can ask. You have to ask.”
“I will, as soon as I get a chance.”
But she wouldn’t. James would tell her when he was ready, and something warned her not to push it. Charlie’s mother wasn’t around, and that was enough. All that mattered right now was that they were going to Audrey’s party together on Saturday night.
She couldn’t wait. He was dropping Charlie to her house just before eight and they were driving to Audrey’s, which was on the other side of the park. She’d have him all to herself for at least ten minutes. Fifteen, if there was traffic.
She’d be wearing a new dress that looked pretty damn good on her, and she was down one and a half pounds this week. She’d been doing twenty sit-ups every day for a fortnight—well, most days, and mostly twenty—and she was feeling fine. And she might even sign up for Pilates after Halloween—which would be quite funny, even if she was the only one who got the joke.
She could tell James. He’d get the joke. They’d laugh together about it.
“Right, get me out of this,” she said and her friend slid the zip down. Jackie pulled the dress over her head, wondering if she should get new underwear too. Oh, not because anything was going to happen—how could it, with her parents at home, not to mention their children?—but just because she felt like wearing something lacy and frivolous next to her skin.
And because, after all, maybe he wouldn’t bring her straight home from the party. Maybe they’d drop by his empty house for a while.
—————
Scanning the death notices—one sure way to tell you were moving on was when you took to reading the death notices—Michael almost missed the announcement. O’Dea, it read, Kevin, and Michael’s eye flew on to O’Reilly and Staunton and Tobin and—
O’Dea? Kevin? He traveled back up the page.
Suddenly, he read. Beloved son of Pauline and Hector—
Hector. In the ten years she’d worked in his house he’d never heard Pauline’s ex-husband’s name mentioned.
Removal on Friday at 7 PM from St. Martha’s Hospital mortuary to the Church of the Redeemer, burial Saturday at St John’s Cemetery after 11 AM Mass.
Kevin, suddenly dead. Pauline’s son taken abruptly from her, like his own son had been snatched from him. He remembered—could still feel—the horror of Ethan’s death, the grief that had numbed him first and floored him after. And now that grief had been visited on Pauline, who’d already, surely, had her quota of heartache. Like himself.
He was alone in the shop, with Barry gone to playschool. The two of them were going to go on living with Michael for the foreseeable future. As soon as the test results had come, all his uncertainties had disappeared. Of course they were staying with him, there was no question. They were family.
“I could show you how to cook,” Michael had said. “If you wanted.”
“Yeah,” she’d said. “I’d like that.”
“And if you wanted to learn to read, we could look into that too.” Once she got the hang of reading, she might have a hope of a job. “There are classes, I could find out about them.”
“Okay,” she’d said, her color rising.
“And that boy could use a proper haircut. I could bring him along with me next time I’m going.”
“Okay.”
She was his daughter-in-law, as good as, and he would treat her as such. She had provided him with a grandson, she was his last link to Ethan. Funny the way things worked out.
He looked down at the paper again and read O’Dea, Kevin. He should call Valerie, make sure she knew. He lifted the phone—and put it down again. He’d drive by her apartment this evening after dinner, he’d drop a note in her letterbox, and then he’d text her to let her know it was there. He couldn’t face talking to her again, not just yet.
He turned the pages to the crossword and unscrewed his pen.
—————
“Are you all right?”
The third time someone had asked her this morning. Audrey gave him the same answer as she’d given the last two—“I’m fine, just a little tired”—because she daren’t mention the reason she looked the way she did today, in case she made a fool of herself by bursting into tears.
She could feel their eyes on her all the same, as she sat in the staff room trying to read the newspaper during her only free period on Thursday. She could sense them wondering where the normally bubbly, happy Audrey Matthews had gone. Well, she wasn’t about to enlighten them, she just couldn’t.
Her eyes felt sore; it hurt to blink. The feeling was unfamiliar, Audrey being blessed with an ability to sleep soundly each night, usually within ten minutes of getting into bed. The last broken night she’d had was when Dolly had first arrived, well over a month ago.
“Audrey, there’s carrot cake. Bernie sent it in,” someone called from across the room. Bernie, husband of their principal, regularly sent in something delicious and home-baked—presumably to keep the troops happy.
Audrey shook her head. “Thanks, I might have some later.” There, more cause for them to wonder if something was up. Unheard-of for her to say no to cake, but what could she do? The thought of food, any food, held no appeal for her today. She’d filled a cereal bowl with Crunchy Nut Corn Flakes as usual this morning—and by the time she’d taken the milk from the fridge she knew she couldn’t look at them, and she’d tipped them back into their box.
She turned the pages of the newspaper, willing the time to pass. Not just the rest of today, but the rest of the week. The next few days would be horrible, the removal and the funeral. And what about afterwards, how would Pauline cope with all the time that came after that?
The bell rang, startling her. She folded the newspaper and stood, gathering her things for the next class. At the door she met a teacher she hadn’t yet seen that day.
“Audrey, are you all right? You don’t look so good.”
“I’m fine,” Audrey told her, “just a bit tired.”