6

Almost as soon as her size four Manolos touched Irish soil once more, Dorothy threw herself into training for the mini-marathon. In addition to her usual exercise regime, Jamie had her running a minimum of four miles every day. In between training sessions, they entertained themselves by keeping a beady eye on Diane’s Facebook profile. True to her word, the girl put up at least five pictures every day of her and Emily doing the full tourist trail of New York City.

By the end of the second day, Dorothy admitted to Jamie she had been worryingly needlessly. The girls were having the time of their lives, and not a hair on either of their extremely cute heads had been harmed by the experience. She was tempted to have a few drinks out of sheer relief, but Jamie insisted she had consumed sufficient alcohol in Rome to last all month, and would have to wait until after the race before she was permitted more.

He banned all except the healthiest foods and drinks from the apartment, and warned Helen not to show up with any forbidden bottles of wine. In the run-up to the marathon, he kept Dorothy’s nose firmly pressed against the exercise grindstone, to the point where she grew anxious about her own energy levels. She worried she would be exhausted by the time the race day actually came around.

Three days after returning from Rome, she called Amanda. This was partly to find out how the other woman’s training regime was progressing, and partly to invite herself around for lunch. Amanda was delighted to hear from her, and admitted she was worn out but did not begrudge the effort since she had lost half a stone from all the training.

She suggested Dorothy visit Shankill on the following Monday because it was a bank holiday and the surgery would be closed. She also agreed to call over to Horace and invite him to join them. Dorothy returned to her training regime and promised herself that, once the marathon was over, she was going to relax and spend time with her friends on less strenuous pursuits.

Just before midday on bank holiday Monday, she made sure she had not forgotten any of the gifts for Amanda and Horace. She crammed everything into her new tote bag, pleased she had splashed out on it since it was already proving extremely useful. The weather was warm and Jamie had put her hair in a French plait to keep it off her face.

Dorothy chose to wear a light green sundress she had purchased in Rome. Even though she felt incredibly dumpy in them, she humoured Jamie by agreeing to wear a pair of ballerina pumps instead of her usual wedges. He was worried she would twist her ankle in the wedge heels a week before the big race, and be forced to pull out. Looking forward to seeing Amanda, Dorothy pushed all thoughts of sprains out of her mind, threw her bag onto the passenger seat of the Focus and set off.

The worst part of the journey was battling the holiday traffic between the quays and the motorway. Once she was safely on the main carriageway, it took less than thirty minutes to reach Amanda’s house. She parked outside the gate, climbed out of the car, and stood in the shelter of the driver’s door while she perused the area. Since moving to Falcon in February, she had paid only two flying visits to Amanda. This was her first real opportunity to check out her old neighbourhood, and see how her house was faring.

From where she was standing, all looked well. The front garden was neat, and there was no junk lying around. The driveway was empty, which was hardly surprising on a warm June public holiday. She took her own emotional temperature and tried to step outside herself and analyse the results objectively. There was no sense of loss for her old house, the home in which she had lived with the twins for more than twelve years. She experienced a certain fondness for it as she took in its familiar appearance in the sunlight, but that was all. She did not for one moment regret leaving her old life behind and starting a new one. Excellent!

In an unforeseen twist to her day, the Space Ache decided to make its presence felt. A pain so intense shot through Dorothy’s torso that, for a split second, she was convinced she had been shot. She gasped with fright and looked down to check for blood. Her dress was stain-free, as were her flat shoes and bag. There was nothing physically amiss.

She eased her body back behind the wheel of the car and took ten deep breaths. As per her usual routine, she sent a positive message of love and support to her heart chakra. Everything’s fine. We’re back at the old homestead, that’s all. No need to overreact. Please don’t spoil the day.

The pain dulled to an ache, then gradually subsided to the point where it barely registered. Her heart was hammering wildly, and it took her another minute to bring its erratic beat back under control. When she was sure she was functioning at a normal level once more, she lifted her tote from the passenger seat and exited the car again. This time, she locked it and made her way up the driveway to Amanda’s front door. Her friend was on the watch and opened it straight away.

Amanda Flynn was a different looking woman to the one who had accepted a large cheque from Dorothy less than four months earlier. By virtue of the miracle of modern chemicals, her forehead was virtually line free. Her hair was poker straight and had been coloured a light brown hue and highlighted blonde. Dorothy knew that, these days, Amanda was a regular client at a freakishly expensive orthodontic clinic, where she had been fitted with an invisible brace designed especially for adults. The results were striking.

She had been wearing the apparatus for less than three months, but already her gnashers were considerably straighter and, as a result, the shape of her mouth had changed for the better. The most obvious transformation in her physical appearance was to her eyes and jawline. Since attending the party at Falcon in March, she had endured, not only an eyelift, but also something called a one-stitch jaw lift. Gone was the prematurely aged woman with the sagging skin, and in its place was one that looked ten years younger, and who positively radiated happiness. As the final touch to her new look, she had chosen to wear a tightfitting pink sundress and a pair of matching strappy sandals.

‘Gosh,’ Dorothy greeted her in shock. ‘You look amazing. I feel positively dowdy compared to you. I haven’t even had the courage to try Botox, never mind any nips or tucks.’

Amanda drew her into the house and hugged her hard. ‘Give it time,’ she laughed. ‘Once you’ve lost the weight, you’ll start to discover all sorts of annoying little things about your own body. When that time comes, at least you won’t have to worry about paying for the procedures!’

Amanda led the way into her brand new sunroom where she had set up the table for lunch. It was a large space. Even with a centrally situated glass-topped table, there was still ample room for the placement of a number of chairs and wicker sofas around the sides. It looked directly on to the back garden, and Dorothy saw at a glance it was even prettier than usual, and a positive riot of colour and vegetation. The extension faced southwest and because the sun was overhead the room was flooded with blinding light.

‘I have motorised blinds,’ Amanda announced proudly, and showed Dorothy the small, white remote control. She pushed one of the buttons and the opaque blinds began to descend from the roof.

‘That’s a good idea,’ Dorothy murmured.

‘I highly recommend them,’ Amanda replied. ‘I don’t suppose I can tempt you to a glass of chilled Chardonnay?’

Dorothy moaned. ‘Not a chance, woman, and you shouldn’t be drinking either. We have to run a marathon this day next week.’

‘We’ll be fine,’ Amanda scoffed. ‘It’s only ten kilometres. I’ll get you an apple juice instead, Mrs Goodie Two Shoes.’

‘That’s a little harsh,’ Dorothy muttered, but Amanda had already left to collect the drinks. Dorothy went into the nearest bathroom and spent a minute washing her hands. When she returned to the sunroom, Amanda was still not back. She heard the other woman’s voice coming from the kitchen, and guessed she was on the phone.

To entertain herself for a minute, she decided to play with the remote for the blinds. There were only six buttons on the miniature control, so she took a chance and pressed the one with the upwards arrow. The blinds slowly began to rise again and Dorothy got a full view of the garden stretching out before her. This time it was not empty. She saw the distinctive figure of Horace pushing a wheelbarrow full of compost towards her.

When he saw her watching him, he dropped the barrow and raised his hand to wave. It was impossible to tell if he was smiling as he had even more hair than the last time she had seen him, and his mouth was virtually invisible under the bushy black moustache and beard. He was wearing a pair of baggy grey trousers and a blue T-shirt resembling a rag.

‘Horace is my new, regular gardener,’ Amanda spoke from the doorway, as she returned with the drinks. She presented her guest with a tall glass of apple juice and ice. ‘I don’t have as much free time as I used to, so I made an arrangement for him to do four hours work for me every week. I give him a bit of cash and cook dinner for him once a week. I’m not sure which he appreciates more, the cash or the food.’

‘Will he be joining us for lunch?’ Dorothy asked, and took an experimental sip of her juice.

‘Absolutely, he’s just waiting for the signal.’ Amanda raised her hand behind Dorothy’s back and made an unseen gesture towards Horace. In response, he removed his gloves and threw them on a nearby shrub. Then he strode off around the side of the house and disappeared.

‘He’ll be back in ten minutes,’ Amanda explained reassuringly. ‘He’s gone for a quick shower.’

Amanda had made a quiche and salad for lunch, and the two women busied themselves carrying the plates and bowls into the sunroom. Amanda also carried in an ice bucket on a stand, and set the bottle of Chardonnay in it. She put a second wine glass on the table near her own, which Dorothy assumed was for Horace, who was not known for his abstinence. They had just finished organising a jug of water with ice and lemon when he tapped on the front door and Amanda went to admit him. Dorothy accompanied her and waited in the kitchen until the newcomer was led in.

Horace had changed out of his gardening clothes and was now wearing a pair of old blue jeans that were a reasonable fit, a pair of relatively clean blue trainers, and a T-shirt which had started life as black, but was now a washed-out grey. His nose and the small portion of his face that was visible were heavily tanned but, despite this, Dorothy did not think he looked healthy. The whites of his eyes were yellow and jaundiced looking, and she was willing to bet he had been drinking heavily in the preceding months. Not my problem. He’s a grown man of thirty, and I am not his mother. As if to lend weight to her theory, Horace brandished a bottle at Amanda.

‘Mrs Wilson found this at the back of the cupboard. She thinks it’s left over from Christmas and doesn’t drink white wine. Says it gives her heartburn.’

As soon as Amanda relieved him of the bottle of Pinot, Horace dutifully kissed Dorothy on the cheek and complimented her on how well she was looking. ‘Dublin 4 suits you,’ he said drily. ‘Or is it the Italian men?’

‘She assures me she didn’t as much as look at a fella the whole time she was there,’ Amanda cut in sarcastically, ‘never mind get off with one. Some folks don’t know how to enjoy themselves.’

‘That’s not fair!’ Dorothy protested. ‘You know I have crap taste in men. Why should I rush out and start copping off with total strangers just because I have money now? That makes no sense!’

‘You’re just scared, that’s all,’ Amanda replied smugly. ‘And we all know it, so there’s no point in denying it.’

‘You’d be scared as well if you had come within a hair’s breadth of marrying Victor Hines,’ Dorothy grumbled. ‘Give me a chance, for feck sake. I’m just starting to get used to my new life, and I honestly don’t think adding a man to the mix would be beneficial right now.’

Amanda flapped both of her toned arms and made a very credible fowl sound.

‘I am not chicken!’ Dorothy hissed at her. ‘I’m cautious.’

‘Shall we eat?’ Horace looked from one to the other and frowned.

Amanda put the bottle of white in the fridge then led the way into the sunroom. Horace followed her, and Dorothy brought up the rear carrying the final bowl of salad. They made themselves comfortable and while they ate, Dorothy gave them a rundown of her ten days in Rome.

‘Sounds amazing,’ Amanda said enviously. ‘I doubt I’ll get away before August, and I wouldn’t go to Italy at that time of year because it’s too hot for me. What about you, Horace, any more thoughts about seeing Vienna?’

Both women looked to him for a response.

‘I’m thinking of going in October,’ he briefly hesitated before he replied. ‘Assuming I can get somebody to take care of Trotsky. Mrs Wilson doesn’t mind having him overnight for company, but she can’t take him out for walks because he’s too strong for her.’

‘Any chance Sharon Dooley might fill the void?’ Dorothy enquired teasingly.

Horace looked at her, deadpan. ‘Sharon’s house is under offer. She expects to have left Shankill by the end of August,’ he said sombrely.

‘That’s inconvenient,’ her eyes danced with mischief. ‘Let’s hope the new owner has an obliging wife.’

Amanda sniggered as she topped up her and Horace’s wine glasses. Horace abruptly stood up. ‘Excuse me for two minutes,’ he said hoarsely, and left the room. They heard him making his way to the bathroom under the stairs.

‘What the hell is wrong with him?’ Dorothy hissed. ‘Has he lost his sense of humour on top of everything else?’

Amanda shrugged. ‘He’s not usually this morose. Sometimes he even smiles, although it’s easy to miss it under all the hair. I think he’s genuinely struggling to adjust to a life without you and the twins. Now Sharon is leaving, he’s losing yet another staple in his somewhat barren existence. Say what you like about Sharon, she has a kind heart, which is exactly what he needs right now.’

‘According to Josh and Deco, they had a whale of a time on his birthday,’ Dorothy nodded thoughtfully. ‘Apparently the three of them played their guitars, and Horace even sang along. He really liked his present. He sent me a lovely thank you card with a little poem in it. I wonder if it’s my physical presence that upsets him. What do you think?’

‘Very likely,’ Amanda replied mildly. ‘But you can’t help it, Dottie, so there’s no point on dwelling on it. Why don’t you have another slice of quiche? You’re wasting away in front of my eyes, girl.’

‘Jamie has me killed with exercise,’ Dorothy confessed ruefully. ‘Once the race is over, I’m going to let my hair down a bit and enjoy myself. I hope I’m not too exhausted by next Monday to actually finish the fecking marathon.’

Horace came back and Amanda excused herself and dashed off to the kitchen to replenish the coleslaw bowl because it was one of his favourites. He reclaimed his seat and picked up his cutlery. Then he gravely perused Dorothy’s face as if searching for a clue to the workings of her mind.

‘Does Declan know about the money yet?’ he enquired quietly.

‘The twins are planning to tell him next month when they see him for their summer visit,’ Dorothy calmly sliced a hardboiled egg as she replied. ‘They feel bad about not telling him sooner, but they understand secrecy is paramount in these situations.’

‘How do you think he’ll react?’ Horace scanned her face, and his hazel eyes bored into hers.

‘I expect he’ll be envious of me, the same as everybody else,’ she kept her voice light.

‘I’m not envious of you,’ was the morose reply.

‘You’re an extraordinary human being,’ she told him matter-of-factly. ‘I don’t expect you to react normally to anything.’

‘Do you think he’ll take more of an interest in the kids when he finds out about the money?’ was the next probing question.

‘He hasn’t exactly been neglecting them,’ Dorothy replied, as she helped herself to another spring onion. ‘He prides himself on his business acumen; therefore it’s entirely feasible he might encourage them to invest in certain shares or other things of that nature.’

‘Are you worried about that at all?’

She felt his eyes burning into her accusingly and raised her own from the plate. ‘So far, I’ve only given the twins twenty thousand apiece,’ she informed him coolly. ‘They won’t get their hands on their first million until they’re twenty-four. Even if Declan decides to take an interest in their portfolio of investments, it will be four years before they will be able to make any independent financial decisions. In the meantime, everything has to flow through me and my team of advisers.

‘I’ve done what I can to ease the transition for them without putting their backs up. I gave my sisters two million apiece, hence it would be understandable if my children felt they were being treated like second-class citizens. So far, they’ve been incredibly grounded about the whole thing and, as long as they can rely on a generous allowance, seem content to wait for the bulk of the money until they’re older.

‘I don’t mind telling you, Horace, these weren’t easy decisions for me. For months now I’ve been walking a tightrope, hoping the twins won’t end up resenting me for the steps I’ve taken. You sitting across this table in judgement upon me is not helping the situation. If not for the fact I’m so fond of you, I’d be telling you to go fuck yourself right now.’

Horace sat like a statue and heard her out. Instead of taking offence at her words, they had the opposite effect. His shoulders lowered and his body relaxed. He chuckled as he attacked his food with gusto. ‘Always the firecracker when crossed,’ he told her amiably.

‘Only you would say something so obviously untrue,’ Dorothy grumbled, and knocked back her juice.

Amanda came rushing back, apologising profusely for having been caught on the phone yet again. ‘What did I miss?’ she enquired breathlessly, as she scooped coleslaw onto all three plates.

Horace recommends I allocate space for a vegetable patch at my new house,’ Dorothy bestowed a gracious smile upon her friends.

‘Goodness,’ the other woman looked startled. ‘It’s going to be very swanky. Would something like that not look out of place in such an upmarket home? You’ll be like those Beverley Hillbillies. Minus the oil and pickup truck. Next you’ll be making plans to fill the house with double barrelled shotguns like Jed Clampett.’

Horace chuckled again as he helped himself to another slice of quiche.