The Husband's Secret(36)
Tess was about to say she’d never heard of them, but a memory of the Bell girls was gradually emerging in her mind like a reflection on water. She couldn’t visualize their faces, just their long, blond, stringy plaits flying behind them as they ran though the school, doing whatever those kids who were at the center of things did.
“Cecilia sells Tupperware,” said Tess’s mother. “Makes an absolute fortune from it.”
“But she doesn’t know us, does she?” Tess looked hopefully over her shoulder to see if there might be someone else waving back at Cecilia. There was no one. Was she on her way over to spruik Tupperware?
“Cecilia knows everyone,” said her mother.
“Can’t we make a run for it?”
“Too late now.” Her mother spoke through the side of her mouth as she smiled her toothy social smile.
“Lucy!” said Cecilia as she arrived in front of them, faster than Tess had thought possible. It was like she’d just teleported herself there. She bent to kiss Tess’s mother. “What have you done to yourself?”
Don’t you call my mother Lucy, thought Tess, taking an instant, childish dislike. Mrs. O’Leary, thank you! Now that she was right in front of them, Tess remembered Cecilia’s face perfectly well. She had a small, neat head—the plaits had been replaced with one of those crisp, artful bobs—an eager, open face, a noticeable overbite, and two ridiculously huge dimples. She was like a pretty little ferret.
And yet she’d landed a Fitzpatrick boy.
“I saw you when I came out of the church. Sister Ursula’s funeral; did you hear she’d passed? Anyway, I caught sight of you, and I thought, That’s Lucy O’Leary in a wheelchair! What’s going on? So being the nosy parker that I am, I came over to say hello! Looks like a good-quality wheelchair; did you hire it from the pharmacist? But what happened, Lucy? Your ankle, is it?”
Oh, Lord. Tess could feel her entire personality being drained from her body. Those talkative, energetic people always left her feeling that way.
“It’s nothing too serious, thanks, Cecilia,” said Tess’s mother. “Just a broken ankle.”
“Oh, no, but that is serious, you poor thing! How are you coping? How are you getting about? I’ll bring over a lasagna for you. No, I will. I insist. You’re not vegetarian, are you? But that’s why you’re here, I guess, is it?” Without warning, Cecilia suddenly turned to look at Tess, who took an involuntary step backward. What did she mean? Something to do with vegetarianism? “To look after your mum? I’m Cecilia, by the way, if you don’t remember me!”
“Cecilia, this is my daughter—” began Tess’s mother, only to be cut off by Cecilia.
“Of course. Tess, isn’t it?” Cecilia turned and to Tess’s surprise held out her hand to shake in a businesslike way. Tess had been thinking of Cecilia as someone from her mother’s era, an old-fashioned Catholic lady who used Catholic words like “passed” and would therefore stand back smiling sweetly while the men did the manly business of shaking hands. Her hand was small and dry, her grip strong.
“And this must be your son?” Cecilia smiled brightly in Liam’s direction. “Liam?”
Jesus. She even knew Liam’s name. How was that possible? Tess didn’t even know if Cecilia had children. She’d forgotten her very existence until thirty seconds ago.
Liam looked over, aimed his stick straight at Cecilia and pulled the imaginary trigger.
“Liam!” said Tess, at the same time as Cecilia groaned, clutched her chest and buckled at the knees. She did it so well, for an awful moment Tess worried that she really was collapsing.