25. Julie

Marion sat opposite me in her fleecy pyjamas, drinking coffee with a large splash of brandy in it. Leaning her chin on her hand, she sighed. ‘I’m lonely, Julie. I’m fed up of being on my own. That prick is away in Dubai with nice kind Sally and I’m here raising the kids on a shoestring and going to bed alone every night, having spent all day earning money on my sex line encouraging lonely farmers to jerk off. And when I go online to date, all I meet are dickheads. Are there no nice single, separated or divorced dads in that posh school?’

There were a few, but I didn’t think they’d be Marion’s type or, let’s be honest, vice versa.

‘Maybe you need to change your online dating profile. Let’s jazz it up a bit. We’ll go out, get your hair and make-up done, take a new photo, and FaceTime Christelle and Kelly to help with the wording.’

Marion put down her cup. ‘They don’t want me bothering them on their big trip. Besides, that’s the problem right there. People getting all dressed up and made-up, and pretending they look better than they do and that they’re into opera when they actually like Dolly Parton. Saying they love to travel when the furthest they’ve been is bloody Blackpool. Saying they like going to cultural events when that means watching football in the local pub over a rake of pints. Saying they’re forty-five when they’re on a zimmer frame, and that they’re six feet tall when they’re fucking Oompa Loompas. I’m just so over it. In fact, you know what? I’m going to put up the only honest profile online.’

Before I could stop her, she had taken a selfie – and, in truth, it was not a good look. She looked like she’d just rolled out of bed, which she had. She had no make-up on and hadn’t even brushed her hair. She began to type furiously. I peered over her shoulder. Honest profile – I’m fifty-one. I have a shit load of baggage: I’m divorced, with four kids. I’m fed-up spending every night sleeping alone. I’m lonely as hell. I want a companion. I want occasional, undemanding sex. I want a laugh, a few beers, and someone to hold my hand when it all gets too much. I fucking hate opera and posh dinners. I like pubs, cheesy eighties pop music and reading romance novels. I like mindless TV. I hate subtitled films or TV shows – if I want to read, I’ll get a book. This is what I actually look like, no filter, no make-up, no bullshit. I am five foot four and about a stone overweight. I have bags under my eyes and my boobs sag a bit, but I’m funny and I know how to have a good time. If you’re a short, fat, ugly bloke, be honest about it. If you make me laugh, I’ll give you a chance anyway. Life’s too hard to spend it on your own. I’ve had lots of shit dates, one when the guy legged it and left me paying the dinner bill. If you want to meet me, be honest and don’t be a fucking wanker. PS No dick pics. If I want to see your penis, I’ll let you know .

Wow, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It was so raw and honest.

‘I’m sorry you’re lonely. I wish I could help more.’

Marion put down her phone. ‘Julie, you house me every month. You listen to me moaning and you’re always boosting my ego and telling me I’m great. You are a brilliant friend. No one can fix loneliness, except maybe your man, that actor fella, the big strong one, The Rock. He’d definitely help.’

Before I could respond, Marion’s phone began to ping and ping and ping. It was worse than my WhatsApp group.

She picked it up and began to laugh. ‘Well, well, well. It seems I’ve hit a nerve. I’m being inundated.’

‘Let me see.’

She turned her phone around and we checked out the replies. To be fair, there were a lot of frogs, but a few decent-looking men too.

Marion flicked through them. We finally agreed on one for a coffee date. He was medium height and looked a bit nerdy, but his reply was so enthusiastic and effusive that I thought she should give him a try. She replied to him and the coffee date was set up.

Marion peered at her watch. ‘That took twenty minutes. From now on I’m only going to be completely honest. I don’t have to worry what they’ll think of me because the photo shows me at my worst. And they know I curse and don’t want to talk bullshit.’

I clapped. ‘That is the most impressive online dating activity I’ve ever seen. I’d say you could be up for an award.’

Ping ping ping.

‘Jesus, what have I started?’ Marion giggled. ‘Who knew men wanted honesty? They’re usually a bunch of lying pricks.’

We cracked up laughing.

‘Well, that’s lovely. Am I included in that?’ Harry said, as he walked into the kitchen.

Marion patted his cheek. ‘No, you’re one of the rare good guys.’

Harry began to faff about with his ridiculously over-the-top coffee machine. It was his Christmas present to himself last year. It was like something you’d see in a very high-end coffee shop. He still didn’t know how to use all the accessories and kept scalding himself.

‘Glad to hear it. Would you like coffee to go with your brandy?’

Marion grinned. ‘Yes, I would. I’m celebrating, Harry. I’m going on a date. With a square of a fella who seems genuine. Julie chose him over the small fella I thought was funnier. She said I need to go for kind over funny.’

‘Probably good advice.’ Harry swished the milk under the milk-frother thing. It made violent spitting sounds and I saw him wince as boiling milk drops landed on his hand.

‘Well, I went for kind and it worked out well.’ I smiled at my husband.

‘Am I not funny too?’

‘Sometimes you can be,’ I said.

‘To be fair, Harry, you’re about as funny as a fucking Mormon, but you are one of the kindest people I know.’

‘I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.’ Harry smiled as he handed her a coffee.

Marion showed Harry a photo of her date.

‘He looks like a decent bloke. Might I suggest you try not to use every curse word known to man in the first five minutes?’

Marion sighed. ‘The whole point of this exercise is that I’m going to be completely myself, no tricks, no fakery, no lies … If he likes me, great, if he doesn’t, he can fuck right on down the road.’

Harry poured hot milk into his cup. ‘I’d consider opening your date with a different line.’

Marion laughed.

‘See, I can be funny too.’ Harry grinned.

My phone rang. It was Louise. ‘I’m on my way. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes. Are you nearly ready?’

‘Yes,’ I lied, still in my pyjamas.

‘Right. Be outside in ten.’

I hung up and put down my cup.

‘I wish Sophie hadn’t organized this.’ I groaned.

‘It’s important that you all support your dad, Julie,’ Harry said gently.

‘I know. I get that Dolores is in his life, but I don’t necessarily want to spend much time with her. It’s too early. It feels like we’re all saying, “Welcome to the family.”’

‘Fuck it, Julie, you don’t want him lonely, believe me. It sucks. Let him throw the leg over Dolores. What difference does it make? It actually takes pressure off all of you. If she is cooking for him and riding him and playing golf with him and massaging his crusty toes, then he’s happy. You don’t want him at home alone crying in the dark, do you?’

No, I didn’t. After our chat in Italy, I had slowly come around to the fact that Dad was seeing Dolores and she was helping him through the long days. He said they were only friends, but I knew Dolores wanted more. I didn’t mind Dad going out with her, but I didn’t want her to push him into anything serious. Dad was a lonely widower, and vulnerable to being controlled by determined women like Dolores. Sophie said we should all meet up because he was spending more time with Dolores now and we would lose him if we didn’t include her in our lives too. She was right, but it didn’t mean I had to like it.

Harry looked at the kitchen clock. ‘Julie, go and get ready. You know how irritated Louise gets when you keep her waiting.’

I rushed upstairs. Harry was right: Louise did not react well to my tardiness. Also, she was particularly wound up at the moment with Marco coming over next week to meet Clara. Her nerves were extra frayed.

Sophie and Gavin were in the café when we arrived. Sophie had booked a round table.

‘I can only stay an hour. I have to go into work.’ Louise sat down and peeled off her coat. ‘Zo? sent out the wrong information to a client and I have to clear up her mess. I swear to God, I think she may drive me to murder.’

‘Hello to you too,’ Gavin said.

‘An hour will be plenty,’ Sophie assured her.

‘Hi, Gavin, how’s Lemon?’ I asked.

‘A little bit better. With her mum right now. Jack’s washing-machine trick is helping, although our electricity bills are going to be huge.’

‘Whatever gets you through,’ Sophie said. ‘It’s worth it.’

Gavin handed Sophie a bag. ‘Jess texted for more supplies of Shania’s tan,’ he said.

‘Thanks, she loves it. But let me pay you.’

‘No, don’t worry, she’s paying us in publicity – she’s promised to tell all her mates to buy it and make TikTok videos of it.’

‘How are things with Marco?’ I asked Louise.

‘Good, actually. He’s very gentle and careful with Clara. She’s warmed to him really quickly. They FaceTime every day now, just for a few minutes, but she seems to connect with him. Still, seeing him face-to-face will be a whole other level for her.’

‘That’s really positive,’ Sophie said. ‘The fact that he’s so keen to be involved and so respectful of you and gentle with Clara is huge. Pippa is disinterested in Robert and so difficult to handle. It makes co-parenting so much more difficult.’

‘So is he, like, a really outdoorsy country bloke?’ Gavin asked.

‘He owns an olive farm so, yes, obviously he is.’

‘Jeez, Louise, no need to be so snappy. I’m just asking, seeing as I wasn’t involved in the trip.’

‘He is lovely and his mother is a sweetheart. The farmhouse is gorgeous and the setting is like something from a movie,’ I said.

‘Nice. Maybe I can come with Lemon next time, when I’ve got a better handle on the whole baby thing, although I am getting much better at settling her and she is sleeping for much longer at night. But I’m not gonna lie, it’s harder than I thought.’

‘Welcome to parenthood,’ I said.

‘We might not go back to Italy. Clara hates travelling so I’m not sure we’ll be going to visit. Marco will have to fly to Dublin to see Clara. For the moment anyway. Actually, he told me on one of our calls that his ex-wife had a late miscarriage and it’s one of the reasons they broke up. She refused to try again because she was so traumatized and he was desperate to have a child.’

‘Oh, my God, poor Marco and his ex,’ I gasped. ‘That’s awful, but it must make Clara all the more special. She must be like a miracle for him.’

‘Yes, he’s used the word miracolo a few times all right,’ Louise said drily.

‘Wow, kids … Whether you want them, don’t want them, have them, don’t have them, raise them alone, with an ex or with a partner, it’s never straightforward,’ Sophie said, shaking her head.

Louise bit her lower lip. ‘It sure isn’t.’

‘Well, I’ll give you my honest opinion of Marco when I meet him next week. I’ll pin him down and put the hard questions to him, don’t you worry,’ Gavin said.

Louise snorted. ‘What is it with men? Dad acted like some kind of Mafia boss when we were in Italy and now you’re puffing out your chest and declaring you’re going to put Marco through his paces. Thanks for the support, Tarzan, but, believe me, I’ve asked Marco all of the hard questions.’

‘He seems very patient and chilled out, which is good,’ I said.

‘He is the yin to Louise’s yang,’ Sophie added.

‘It was his yin yang that got her into trouble,’ I said, giggling.

We all cracked up and even Louise laughed. The respite was brief, though, because Louise looked at her watch. ‘Where the hell is Dad? We’re here for him – he could at least be on time.’

‘Why don’t we order?’ I suggested. Maybe food would help to calm my elder sister.

Louise called the waitress over. She had a way of commanding people so they jumped to attention. We ordered our food just as Dad and Dolores arrived in.

‘Well, she certainly got dressed up for us,’ I muttered.

‘It’s a lot.’ Sophie’s eyes widened as she took in the sight.

Dolores was dressed from head to toe in a bright blue trouser suit à la Hillary Clinton. She had a big, puffy, fussy pink shirt underneath. It was an onslaught of colour.

‘She looks like a Liquorice Allsort,’ Louise grumbled. ‘And what the hell is Dad wearing?’

Dad was wearing a bright green jumper with a big golf ball in the middle of it. He looked ridiculous. Mum had always made sure he dressed smartly in navy and dove grey. He looked like he was wearing a novelty jumper.

Sophie stood up and greeted them warmly. ‘Hi, Dad, hello, Dolores.’

‘Well, hell oooooo , Sophie. How kind of you to invite us out to brunch. We were delighted, weren’t we, Georgie?’

Georgie? Did she just say Georgie? I felt my stomach flip.

‘Nice jumper, Dad. Where did you get it? The joke shop?’ Gavin asked.

Dad looked uncomfortable. ‘No, ah, Dolores here bought it for me.’

‘I think bright colours suit him. He was always in very sombre colours. Wearing bright colours lifts your mood, I always think.’

‘You must be ecstatically happy then,’ Louise said, as I stifled a giggle.

‘So, Georgie, how have you been? We haven’t seen you since we got back from Italy two weeks ago,’ I said pointedly.

Dad shuffled about in his chair. ‘Oh, busy playing golf and just getting on with things.’

‘What things?’ Louise asked. ‘Clara was asking for you. I want you to come for dinner tomorrow. It’s a big week for her, and she needs to see her granddad.’

‘Of course I’ll be there.’ Even Dad was scared of Louise.

‘So what has kept you so busy?’ I asked.

‘Well, ah –’

Dolores put a hand on his arm. ‘We have a hectic social life. Golf and bridge and dinners and we’re in a theatre club and a cinema club. It’s non-stop.’

‘Wow, that’s a lot. No wonder you can never visit or even take Lemon for a walk,’ Gavin said, just as pointedly.

‘Keeping busy is important when you get to a certain age,’ Dolores said. ‘It stops you being lonely.’

‘So is checking in with your family and spending time with your grandchildren,’ Gavin said. ‘Lemon’s doing well, in case you’re interested.’

Dad stiffened. ‘Didn’t I text you yesterday to ask after her?’

‘Yeah, you did, a one-line text. I thought you might be interested in actually seeing her.’

‘I’ll call in tomorrow so.’

‘Oh, no, you can’t tomorrow, Georgie. We have Enda’s eightieth-birthday lunch.’

‘And then Dad is coming to me for dinner,’ Louise said firmly.

‘I hope you’ll still be at the triplets’ quarter-final game on Wednesday, Dad?’ I asked.

‘I wouldn’t miss it. It’ll be a great day.’

‘Good! It’s a big day for them.’ I smiled at him.

‘I’ll be there too, Julie,’ Dolores said. ‘I love the rugby. My son played, you know. He lives in Canada now, but he was good in his day.’

Bloody hell. I didn’t want Dolores at the match. I wanted Dad there alone, even if he was a bit too critical for my liking. I wanted him beside me. Now she’d be there annoying everyone.

‘Please don’t feel you have to. Dad can be a bit intense when he’s watching the boys. You might be better off staying at home,’ I urged Dolores.

‘Not at all, Sophie –’

‘It’s Julie.’

‘Sorry, Julie. I’m very keen to see your boys. I hear all about them and all the grandchildren. I’m looking forward to getting to know them all. Georgie is a very proud granddad.’

Our food arrived and the waitress asked Dad and Dolores what they would like. Dad ordered a full Irish breakfast.

‘Now, Georgie, we’ve discussed this. You have to watch your cholesterol. He’ll just have brown toast with scrambled eggs, please, and the same for me.’

‘Wow, Georgie, it looks like things have changed a lot,’ I said.

‘Don’t you worry. I’m looking after his health.’

‘And his whole life,’ Gavin noted.

Louise pointed her fork at Dad. ‘Do not forget, Clara’s father is coming here next week and you are all meeting him on Saturday.’ Glaring at Dolores, she said sharply, ‘Just the immediate family. No one else. I want everyone at my apartment at five p.m. sharp on Saturday. Do not be late and no excuses are good enough. I don’t care whose birthday it is or what golf tournament is on. You are to be there, Dad. This is important to me.’

Dolores tutted. ‘I’m afraid that’s going to be difficult, Louise. We’re away next Saturday in Belfast.’

‘Well, now, Dolores, I’ll head back on Saturday morning, I need to be there for Louise,’ Dad said. ‘I wouldn’t miss this for the world.’

‘But we’ve dinner booked, Georgie.’

Louise cleared her throat.

Uh-oh. Dolores had no idea who she was up against.

‘Does she have a death wish?’ Gavin muttered.

Sophie dabbed her mouth with her napkin and whispered, ‘Here we go.’

Louise leaned across the table, her nose almost in Dolores’s face. ‘Did I not make myself clear? My father will be in my apartment at five p.m. next Saturday to meet my daughter’s biological father. This is a huge deal in her young life. I don’t give a flying fuck about your dinner plans. And, by the way, his name is George, not that ridiculously affected name you’re spouting.’

Dolores’s face was bright red. ‘Well I never,’ she spluttered. ‘I thought I was invited here for a friendly brunch. Not to be attacked.’

‘No one attacked you, Dolores. I’m simply making it clear that my father has an important family commitment next Saturday.’

‘Georgie?’ Dolores looked to Dad for help.

‘It’s George,’ I said.

‘Well, George , have you nothing to say?’ Dolores scowled at him.

Dad looked desperately uncomfortable as he tried to find the right words. ‘I know Louise came across strong there, but she’s a bit wound up about Marco coming over. Clara meeting her dad for the first time is a very big deal. Clara is a special girl and we all have to support her.’

‘Strong? She was extremely rude.’ Dolores was not taking it.

I decided to step in before the whole thing blew up. After all, we were supposed to be putting out the hand of friendship to Dolores so we could see more of Dad. ‘Dolores, this is an emotional time for all of us, especially Louise and Clara. We all dote on Clara. It is very important to all of us that Dad is there. We also all miss Mum very much, so please understand that this new relationship is difficult for us.’

‘Well said, Julie.’ Sophie backed me up. ‘We’re very happy that Dad has a companion, but it’ll take a while for us to get used to the idea of another woman in his life. Please be patient.’

Dolores fiddled with the large bow on her shirt. ‘I understand that, but I will not tolerate people being rude to me.’

‘Louise has a direct manner,’ Dad said. ‘You need to get used to her.’

‘I say it as I see it,’ Louise said.

‘You could work on your delivery,’ Dad said, raising his eyebrows at her.

Thankfully, their food arrived, causing a welcome distraction from the tension. We ate, while Sophie and I kept the conversation light, veering away from any potential minefields. By the time the hour was up we were at least being civil to each other and Dolores was calling Dad ‘George’, much to our relief.