Sushi for Beginners - Marian Keyes [99]
Ted hadn’t meant to criticize Clodagh. It was just that he’d thought his tough-love approach to child-rearing might help her. He felt misunderstood and acutely embarrassed. Even more so when Molly pointed her spoon at him and crowed maliciously, ‘Mummy hates you.’
Clodagh belted up the stairs. No chance of having the long, relaxing aromatherapy bath she’d planned. Barely time to have a quick shower before scribbling on some make-up. Then, reverentially, she put on the pink and white little slip-dress that she’d bought the day she’d gone shopping with Ashling. It had hung in the wardrobe ever since, its pristine newness a reminder that her social life was non-existent.
She watched herself anxiously in the mirror. Bloody hell, it was short. Shorter than she remembered. And see-through. But when she put on a black half-slip to cover her modesty, she just looked stupid, so she took it off again. Underwear on display was fine, she told herself. Better than fine. Compulsory, actually, if you wanted to call yourself well-dressed. Her problem was that she’d been in jeans and T-shirts for too long. So she stuck her feet into high sandals, told herself she looked brilliant and appeared at the top of the stairs like a movie star making an entrance.
‘How do I look?’
Everyone gathered below, gazing up. There was a kind of nonplussed pause.
‘Fabulous,’ Ashling enthused, a split-second too late.
Ted was open-mouthed with admiration as he watched Clod-agh’s treadmilled legs making their way down the stairs.
‘Dylan?’ Clodagh enquired.
‘Fabulous,’ he echoed.
She wasn’t convinced. She was sure she’d seen a caveat in his eyes, but he was smart enough not to voice it. Craig, however, was unencumbered by such reticence. ‘Mummy, your dress is too short and I can see your wonderpants.’
‘No, you can’t.’
‘Yes, I can!’ he insisted.
‘No, you can’t,’ Clodagh corrected. ‘You can see my knickers. Boys wear wonderpants and girls wear knickers… Unless they’re Ashling’s friend, Joy,’ she muttered to herself, astringent bitchi-ness erupting from nowhere.
Molly, engaged in the act of washing her hands with blackberry jam, was the only person who seemed not to care what Clodagh wore or didn’t.
‘You look very well too,’ Ashling said to Dylan. And indeed he did, in his unstructured, navy suit and biscuit-coloured shirt.
‘You sweetheart,’ he grinned.
‘Ponce,’ floated into Ashling’s ear, so small and contemptuous that she almost thought she’d imagined it. It seemed to emanate from Ted’s direction.
‘Are we right?’ Dylan looked at his watch.
‘Just a minute.’ Clodagh was in a flurry of leaving phone numbers. ‘Here’s Dylan’s mobile,’ she scribbled. ‘And here’s the number of the restaurant just in case the mobile’s out of coverage…’
‘It’s not likely to be a problem in the middle of Dublin,’ Dylan interjected.
‘… and this is the address of the restaurant, if you can’t get us on the phone. We won’t be late.’
‘Be late,’ Ashling urged.
Clodagh grabbed Molly and Craig, hugged them fiercely and said – without much conviction – ‘Be good for Ashling.’
‘And Ted,’ Ted added, bunching his mouth in what he thought was a suave manner at Clodagh.
‘And Ted,’ Clodagh muttered.
Just before they left, to wish them God-speed, Molly firmly placed a blackberry-jam-covered hand on Clodagh’s bottom. Unfortunately – or maybe it was fortunately – she didn’t notice.
30
As soon as Clodagh closed the front door, pitiful wailing from Molly and Craig began on the other side. With a helpless look at Dylan, Clodagh turned to go back in again.
‘No!’ he commanded.
‘But…’
‘They’ll stop in a while.’
Feeling as if she was being ripped in two, she got into the taxi and submitted to being driven into town. Fucking unconditional love, she thought bitterly. What a terrible burden it was.
Their table at L’Oeuf was booked for seven-thirty – they’d been given a choice of seven-thirty or nine, and Clodagh felt that nine