A Taste for Love (4 page)

Downstairs in the kitchen he made himself a mug of coffee and toasted a slice of bread. He was almost out of the rich roast blend he liked, and there was hardly any milk left, either.

Pull yourself together! he told himself. Go out and do something! Grabbing his car keys he decided to head for his local supermarket. He needed to stock up on a few things.

Rob stood in the aisle of Supervalu utterly bewildered, his trolley in front of him. Shopping should be simple, the
purchase of essential nutrients and cleaning products easily accomplished; but standing here, trying to avoid colliding with his fellow shoppers, he had to admit he felt totally out of his depth.

Kate had shopped here weekly, year in, year out, without complaint or fuss. He’d never given the slightest consideration to her purchases, and their connection to the daily meals and good food she produced and the seamless smooth running of their home. He might have helped her the odd time to lift the boxes and bags from the car and pack them away in their kitchen, but choosing what they should eat had always been his wife’s prerogative.

Kate used to consult him if they were having a dinner party or a crowd for supper, about the menu or wines, but otherwise the pleasure of sitting down to the table to a good hot meal was something he had just taken for granted. He studied the rows of tins of tuna, trying to recall which brand they had used. Usually Kate had opened the tin and put the fish in a salad, or made a toasty tuna melt.

Ahead of him there was tuna in brine, tuna in sunflower oil, tuna in water, tuna in mayonnaise, tuna in a tomato sauce, tuna with pasta, tuna with curry, tuna chunks, tuna flakes. Tuna was a minefield … He had no idea which one to buy, so he grabbed four different tins and threw them in the trolley. He stood for a second, overcome, trying to control himself, missing Kate. He would never get used to this aloneness, this absence. It had been nearly five months since she had died. Everyone kept saying it would get easier but it hadn’t. If anything her death was affecting him more acutely with each day that passed.

How did a woman of fifty-nine just die? No illness, no health risks, no strange medical history. Leave home to buy a dress for a friend’s daughter’s wedding and end up collapsing and being rushed by ambulance to hospital. An aneurysm, the post-mortem had said … a balloon that grew and grew in her brain and just suddenly burst as Kate paid for the expensive silk two-piece. No pain, no consciousness, the medics had reassured him. Alive one minute, warm and breathing. Lifeless and still, by the time he had got to St James’s Hospital. He didn’t want to think about it. Like Groundhog Day it replayed and replayed in his head, continually on a loop. He kept wondering if he had gone into town with Kate, or if she had stayed home, or gone with a friend, would the outcome have been any different?

He took up a can of organic ratatouille, studying the ingredients as if his life depended on it before slowly lowering it into the trolley. He consulted the list he had made: coffee, milk, bread, butter, marmalade, soup, cereal, sausages, cheese, apples, toilet paper, washing powder, shower gel and shampoo. There had to be more he needed. What about a nice bit of brie or the West Cork cheese that the girl on the delicatessen counter offered him to sample on a cracker with a small blob of quince? Different … he liked it.

‘Where are the crackers?’ he asked. The pretty dark-haired girl pointed him to the far aisle. Recognizing his favourite brand, Rob grabbed them and also a packet of fancy biscuits with cracked black pepper flavouring. Up at the busy meat counter at the back of the shop he picked out two large pork chops and a piece of steak before going to the cold section and stocking up on some frozen pizza and five microwaveable dinners. He added some potato wedges and potato gratin,
easily reheated judging by the instructions. As he pushed the trolley towards the checkout he chose a tub of ice cream, six doughnuts and some Cadbury’s chocolate. He deliberated at the drinks section, opting for a bottle of a decent looking Burgundy and adding a twelve-pack of Heineken cans.

A harried mother whose toddler was sitting in the trolley in front of him piled enough groceries to feed an army on to the moving belt. Meanwhile, the toddler, angel face smudged with chocolate, turned her attention to nibbling the tip of the crusty baguette in her mother’s trolley.

‘She’s so pretty.’ The blonde student operating the checkout smiled.

The mother was pretty, too, in a messy unkempt kind of way. Tracksuit bottoms and a zip-up fleece-lined fitted pink jacket. She smiled at Rob as she pretended to chastise her tow-headed daughter. Instead, she gave her a kiss as she bent over to pay and punched her credit card number into the keypad.

Kate had always wanted a daughter, well, for them to have a third child. He’d been happy with their two boys, Gavin and Luke, two great sons! They were good kids, never caused them trouble: bright and strong and happy, independent and grown-up now, Gavin working in Seattle, and Luke doing his master’s at Oxford. A third child might have unbalanced things … another son? A daughter who looked like Kate? Pretty and dark with those blue eyes and her mother’s dimples! They had argued about it. Two is enough, he had insisted, persuading Kate to put motherhood aside and agree with him.

He flinched when he saw the cost of his groceries, aware of the irritated expression of the middle-aged woman behind
him in the queue. Flustered, he finished packing his bags and tried to manoeuvre the trolley towards the busy exit.

At home, he contemplated his purchases, cutting himself a wedge of cheese and opening the peppered biscuits for lunch. He hated Saturdays. He’d read the paper, have two mugs of coffee and some chocolate, and then go out for a walk. It was overcast, but if he was lucky he might escape the threatened showers. He’d take a rain jacket and head over towards Killiney. Walk for a few hours and then come home and cook those chops.

His brother Johnny had left a message on his phone to say himself and his wife Maeve were going to Finnegans in Dalkey for a few drinks later if he wanted to join them. Johnny and Maeve had given him stalwart support since Kate had died, but he couldn’t keep living in their pockets. He’d had so many dinners in their house it was embarrassing, and generous-spirited Maeve always sent him home with something for the freezer. He texted Johnny saying that he’d see how he felt later.

Kate and he had loved Saturdays: dinners and drinks, meeting up with friends or having people in; lying in bed the next morning with the Sunday newspapers doing a post-mortem on the restaurant they had visited, or how the meal had gone, and chatting about stupid things, planning for the future. They’d been going to have a trip to California in May, spending a few days staying with Gavin and that American girlfriend of his, Joanne, and then hiring a car and driving down the Pacific Highway, Monterey, Carmel, San Francisco, San Diego. There were so many other things they had
planned to do: Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, South America! Why hadn’t they done some of it? Why had they put it off for another few years? Why had he made her wait?

Kate had looked disappointed when he had told her that perhaps it would be better to wait until he was retired in three or four years’ time to do the big trips.

‘Sydney Harbour and the Barrier Reef will still be there, Kate! Table Mountain is not going anywhere.’

‘Well, retirement or not, we are going to see Gavin soon,’ she had insisted, booking the tickets herself over the internet. ‘I want to see my son.’

He thought about Gavin and Luke now, about phoning them from the hospital to tell them to come home immediately, lying and saying that their mother was ill and needed them. How could he let them go through the torment of knowing that they would never see her again until he had them back on their home ground, here in Dublin?

The boys had stayed home for two weeks while the funeral took place. Rob was glad of their support and love, and realized what wonderful young men he and Kate had raised. He wished Kate had got the chance to meet Joanne Miller, the tall blonde American with the long legs, sparkling teeth, a big, kind heart and intelligent mind that their eldest son had fallen in love with. She had flown over to Ireland for four days, holding Gavin’s hand, making endless pots of coffee and sitting up late listening to stories about a woman she had never met, before having to return to work back in Seattle when the funeral was over.

The boys had adored their mother, and Rob had firmly rejected any talk about either of them coming back home to
stay with him. Kate would have wanted them to continue with their careers and studies.

‘There’s no question of coming back here for the moment,’ he’d insisted. ‘There is far more opportunity for both of you overseas. Your mother and I knew that. She’d turn in her grave if either of you threw up the chances you’ve been given and came back just to keep me company. I’ve Johnny and Maeve and the rest of the family, plus all my buddies. They’ve been great, not to mention your mother’s friends, who’ve been flapping around the house like a load of hens. Anyway, I’m well able to manage on my own,’ he’d assured them.

He’d driven them to the airport, the wrench as they said goodbye in Dublin’s new busy air terminal harder than he could have imagined. He’d sat in the car park for an hour afterwards, too upset to drive back home.

All the groceries packed away and his lunch finished, Rob pulled on his jacket and some walking shoes and called Bingo, their ten-year-old Labrador. The dog looked up from his red basket in the corner of the kitchen. Even he missed Kate.

‘Here, boy, time for a walk,’ Rob said, heading for the Volvo Estate parked in the driveway. Bingo lumbered along behind him and jumped into the rear seat. ‘It’s just you and me, Bingo,’ Rob said, as he slipped the car into reverse and took off for the rest of the afternoon.

Kerrie O’Neill tried to disguise the nervousness she felt in the pit of her stomach at going to stay with her fiancé Matt’s parents for the weekend. Ever since they had got engaged Matt had been on at her to come up to Moyle House, his family home, for a relaxed break, while she felt utter trepidation about having to spend so much time under the nose of his mother and father.

She’d only met the Hennessys briefly a few times, but from the minute she’d met them she had realized that Matt and his family lived a life of privilege and wealth, one that was totally different from her more humble background. She looked at the perfect diamond ring on her finger. Matt loved her! It shouldn’t make a difference where she came from, or what her parents’ social status was, but she knew deep in her heart that it did.

As they turned off the busy Athlone Road and headed towards Moyle House she didn’t really know what to expect. Matt had gone to private boarding school when he was twelve and talked far more about that than he ever did about home. His sister and brother had all left home as soon as they were
able, and only seemed to return home sporadically. She guessed the Hennessys weren’t as close as her family.

After they’d passed a few shops and a local pub and driven out the road a bit she spotted the name ‘Moyle House’ engraved on the tall granite pillars of a gateway. Matt turned up a long rhododendron-lined drive, passing under a canopy of tall chestnut and beech trees.

‘We’re here,’ he said quietly, as they pulled up in front of a very large but rather ugly grey Georgian house with sash windows overlooking a well-kept lawn and a fish pond.

Kerrie took a breath. The house was huge, a lot bigger than she had expected. It was like a stately home, or something you’d see in a period drama on TV. Imagine what it must have been like for Matt growing up in such a place! She took stock for a second, expecting Maureen Hennessy to appear, relieved when there was no sign of her.

‘Come on, let’s go in and I’ll get you a cup of coffee,’ offered Matt, as he opened the front door and a large black dog bounded out to meet them.

‘Down, Jet!’ he said firmly.

The house had patterned tiles in the hall and a wide curving stairway. Light flooded in from the tall landing window, illuminating a grandfather clock and a large coat-stand.

‘Mum!’ Matt called, peering into the drawing room and the dining room before heading down a few steps towards the breakfast room and kitchen. ‘Looks like we have the place to ourselves.’ He smiled as he filled the kettle and put it on to boil. ‘I’ll see if there are any biscuits or cake around.’

It was only eighteen months since Kerrie had first met Matt and they had fallen madly for each other! It had been a
whirlwind romance, and they had moved in together the previous year. Matt had totally surprised her with his romantic proposal in July. They’d gone to Stockholm for her boss Sven Johnnson’s fiftieth birthday celebrations, and stayed on afterwards, renting a blue-painted summer house on one of the islands for a week. They were out sailing when Matt had asked her to marry him.

‘Matt, of course I’ll marry you!’ she’d cried, overwhelmed, as Matt had kissed her and produced a chilled bottle of champagne and a picnic to celebrate their engagement. She had wanted to stay on that little sailboat out on the water for ever! She still couldn’t believe that she was engaged and going to marry Matt, the guy of her dreams.

When they’d got home Matt had organized dinner in Shanahan’s Restaurant on St Stephen’s Green to celebrate, and for both sets of parents to meet. It was awkward as the Hennessys were wealthy and used to money and position and country living, while Kerrie’s mam and dad had struggled to raise them all on her dad’s sorting office salary. Matt’s mother Maureen had quizzed her nosily about her background and family. Kerrie had become a master at fudging exactly where she came from! Matt didn’t need to know the full extent of the differences, and Kerrie had done her best to ensure that.

She had been far too busy trying to keep an eye on how many pints her dad was downing and giving her mam a blow-by-blow account of the romantic proposal to pay too much attention to the shenanigans of Dermot and Maureen Hennessy. Matt’s parents were the very opposite of hers. His dad was used to getting his way, while Maureen Hennessy was one of the biggest snobs you could ever meet. Dermot
Hennessy had begun by demanding some expensive French wine that tasted awful to celebrate the upcoming nuptials of his eldest son, while Maureen had complained that her fillet steak was a bit too rare, even though that was what she had ordered.