Love & The Goddess Read online

  Now his face lit up like a little boy’s as he inhaled the aroma of the liqueur. “Nobody in the world makes it like you do, Liz. Thank you.”

  “Kate. It’s Kate, Dad.”

  “I know you’re Kate,” he said, looking at me oddly. His short-sleeved white shirt showed off his holiday tan, yet he looked more than usually tired. His grey hair was receding further back at the temples, and his once-blue eyes were now pale grey in hollow sockets.

  I was about to ask him if he was all right, when my mother burst in, “D’ya hear him going on about your cooking? I gave up after two attempts using your recipe for that cheesecake. He kept asking me was it shop-bought. Liz has tried and failed – what are we doing wrong?”

  “Haven’t a clue, Mam,” I said vaguely, still concerned about my father’s calling me by my sister’s name. Anyway, I wasn’t about to reveal that I threw in way more Baileys than the recipe specified and then added a large dollop of old fashioned Irel coffee essence. Liz would turn up her nose at the notion of so much booze and condemn the Irel as silly. No, I would retain the element of mystery, for the sake of gaining an innocent advantage.

  “You’ll never guess who’s back in Ireland and asking for you?” My mother had a self-conscious snigger in her voice. “Billy. And like you his marriage is gone wrong. It seems to be catching. Almost all our neighbours have at least one child with a broken marriage.”

  Well, that was good to know, I thought (and was half inclined to say it, but decided to keep it to myself). Instead, I smiled brightly, “I must meet up with him. Do you know I was only thinking about him recently? We used to be so close. I don’t know how we lost contact.”

  “He’s wealthy, he’s been very successful. But he’s not your type, Kate.” That was my mother’s way of telling me to put on my chastity belt now that I was no longer a respectable married woman. Time to change the subject.

  “Home-made brown bread and scones for you in the other bag, Mam,” I said, cheerily pointing to the pink-striped plastic shopper I had left on the stained-pine table along with my shoulder bag.

  “You’re too good, Kate. Thanks, love. Do you know, I might just get some soup from the freezer and have it with that brown bread and some baked ham? How does that and a salad sound, instead of cooking a hot dinner? There aren’t that many warm evenings, we should make the most of them.” My father nodded his agreement. As he approached retirement, my mother had been taking charge more and more, with him seemingly happy to have her make all the decisions. It seemed my parents had come to fit together like the left and right of a comfortable pair of old slippers, toes turning in to meet.

  “Sorry, Mam. I’m meeting some old college friends in town this evening. We’re going for a meal.” I knew the truth would invite endless debate and concerns for my safety. I didn’t want that.

  “Oh, that’s nice. Have you got back in contact with them lately? That’s good for you. They were a lovely crowd.”

  I left them both to excitedly fawn over the bag of goodies. They were like two children who’d managed to amass the contents of the local sweet shop. It was amazing what made people happy as they got older – once a Michelin-starred restaurant would have failed to come up to my father’s exacting standards. Smiling, I left them sampling the brown bread as I went to freshen up before going on my date.

  Before setting out to meet Doctor Edward Commins, I gave him a quick call on his mobile. I’ve always been partial to a man with a nice speaking voice, so I was disappointed when he proved to be an incoherent mumbler on the phone, forcing me to continuously ask him to speak up. I hoped it was just a bad line.

  When I arrived into the packed bar of the Shelbourne Hotel, I couldn’t locate him in the crowd. As I made my way through the well-dressed throng, I was conscious of being a woman on my own. In desperation I sent him a text, and he replied saying he was sitting in the rear left corner. When I found him, he was slumped there looking rather grouchy. As I approached, he half stood up, flicking the back of his navy blazer to the sides before sitting back down again. Why did men imagine brass-buttoned navy blazers were classy? I registered that he was a lot shorter than the six foot he had claimed in his profile. I greeted him with a warm smile. “Hi Eddie. How are you?”

  “Fine,” he grunted. He gave me a slippery wet-fish handshake.

  I was immediately aware this was not going to be easy. “Have you been here long?”

  “No. Just arrived.” His voice was barely audible. The skin on his face was as smooth as a baby’s and his forehead bulged in parts as if it had suffered an overload of fillers. It might photograph well, but in reality it looked plain weird.

  “Oh, that’s good! So tell me about your job?” I tilted my head to the side, the way I would if I were coaxing a child to tell me something.

  “Just a job like any other. My neighbours are causing me terrible hassle at the moment. I built a clinic for private cosmetic clients on to my house. The stupid neighbours are objecting and want to put a stop to it. Jesus – nothing but problems! Then my stupid ex-wife wants to hang me out to dry in the divorce courts. Stupid bitch!” He gulped the remainder of his drink, banging the glass back down on the table in front of him.

  How did I answer that? “You definitely have a lot on your plate,” I heard myself say – and off I was again, pandering to another man I didn’t agree with.

  “And that’s not all. Wait until you hear about my ex-girlfriend. Denying me custody of my daughter. She’s looking for a fortune too. Bloody women! Do you want a drink? Or look…” He stood up, pulling his blazer together as he closed one of three brass buttons. “Why don’t we just cut the bullshit and head back to my place?”

  I said, amazed, “I thought we were going for dinner to Shanahans?”

  “Not hungry any more.” He took his mobile phone from his pocket. “I’ll cancel.”

  I tried to calm myself down before I spoke: “Look. To be brutally honest, you are not what I expected. I could never have anything in common with you.” I stood up as well. “I’m leaving on my own.”

  As I turned on my heel, I could hear him spluttering behind me: “Wha… What the hell? Bloody women!”

  On the drive back to my parents’ house, I felt exasperated by the amount of effort I had gone to for such a silly date. No wonder I had loved Trevor’s gentlemanly ways, if I had just encountered the alternative. For all his airs and graces, the man I had just met was no more civilized than a Neanderthal. My good opinion of men was being rapidly flushed down the toilet to the extent I wondered was evolution going backwards. My mother had been right when she used to say, “Manners maketh the man.”

  As I drove in the gate, I was startled to see my sister Liz’s car already there. Damn! I knew she’d guess by the way I was dressed that I had been out on a date and would assume I was back so early because I’d been stood up. I parked my own car around the side. Grabbing a packet of tissues, I wiped off most of my makeup and shoved my hair into a ponytail with a scrunchie that I found in the central console. Ditching the heels, I rooted around for the ballerina flats, then I pulled on a sloppy grey cardigan I kept on the seat beside me for chilly days. The result was more casual chic and should not arouse Liz’s suspicions.

  Just as I turned my key in the door, it opened from the other side. Liz was standing there holding the door open, dressed in immaculately well-cut camel slacks and a white shirt, her blonde hair pulled into a neat chignon at the base of her neck. An effortless preppy style which made most women look drab. “I heard your car arrive. Mam thought you wouldn’t be back till later. She said you’d glammed up and gone out for a meal.” She frowned, checking out my appearance.

  “Good to see you, Liz. I met an old college pal and we decided to go to a bistro for a quick bite. She had to go home as her babysitter couldn’t stay long.” I pecked her on the cheek before heading for the living area adjoining the kitchen. I became aware of an overall quietness to the house. “Where are Mam and Dad?”

  “Gone nex
t door for a couple of drinks. How’s Trevor?” Liz was smiling benignly.

  “How would I know?” I answered, flopping into an armchair.

  “All my friends said you were such a lovely couple. Don’t give up hope.” She joined her hands together and looked at me with her head tilted, lips pursed.

  I’d half expected this since she had lectured me on the phone after we split up. She made me feel I was the one to blame and I hadn’t bothered defending myself to her. But I was in no mood for her crap this evening. “What are you talking about? Get real! I wouldn’t take him back at this stage if he crawled in on his belly.”

  “Oh Kate, that was always your problem. You never could compromise.”

  “Just because everything runs according to plan for you, it doesn’t make the rest of us wrong!” I stood up to face her. “You seem to have been born with an inbuilt manual of how to live a successful life. You stage-manage your husband and your kids, just like you always do with Dad. You wrap him around your little finger. Life doesn’t work that way for me. I’ve tried but it seems we’re all different…”

  Liz butted in, “You’ve nobody but yourself to blame for your marriage break-up, Kate. You’ve always hankered after some mad bohemian life that really you know nothing about. You were never grateful for what you had.”

  What was irking her? I had been through too much to let her away with this. “And we’re all supposed to tell you how wonderful you are, aren’t we, and what a failure I am? My marriage break-up doesn’t tie in with your family values, does it?” It all came blurting out. “You push your kids into studying what you choose for them and try to arrange suitable marriages for them, and you call that success? More like intimidation!”

  “You’re just jealous of me! Just because I was always Daddy’s favourite!”

  “And you had to tell me Daddy was disappointed that I wasn’t a boy, since mam could have no more children after me. You told me my birth ruptured her womb and she had to have an emergency hysterectomy! Did you really have to tell me that at eleven years of age on the day of Gran’s funeral?”

  She paused for a moment, then said quietly, “Look, if I did say that I was only fourteen and I didn’t really mean it. You seem to have carried that grudge for a long time.”

  Tears stung my eyes. “But you did mean it. And you knew I was upset over Gran’s death! You pretend to be sophisticated but you like to get down and dirty, and you just love sticking the knife in whenever I’m at a low ebb!”

  Her face turning red, Liz grabbed her coat from the back of a chair and stormed out, banging the front door. I couldn’t believe it. We had clashed before but this was totally off the Richter scale. At least I’d finally stood up to her. And maybe that was the problem. I used to be a mouse but all this conflict had lit a fire in my belly. Knowing I was on my own was certainly making me tougher. And maybe it would make me a lot more honest. I’d felt foolish, having to make up a cover story for myself, sneaking around like a teenager, I didn’t want to have to do that again.

  After heading upstairs and getting ready for bed, I turned on my laptop. Once again, I entered the doctor’s name in a search engine and scrolled down through the various pages I had not bothered to read. On one site, a blog was devoted to complaints about the quality of his work, some people calling him a “botox-crazed brute”. Why hadn’t I checked more thoroughly before?

  I’d had a lucky escape. I should have trusted my earlier gut instinct, when I’d spoken to him on the phone, but I hadn’t been able to let go of the fantasy I had constructed earlier. From now on, I definitely needed to avoid doctors.

  Chapter Seven

  Between the ridiculous date and the unpleasantness with Liz, I was relieved to leave Dublin and arrive back in the west. There had always been an element of sibling rivalry from as far back as I could remember. But what had happened this time? A niggling voice in my head told me I’d been wrong to resurrect an old grudge against my only sister. Later that night, as I tossed and turned in bed, I felt ashamed – forgiveness was obviously something I needed to work on. The lack of it could cause embitterment and poison a person along with all their relationships. I had to contact Liz and set things straight. She had been there for me many times in the past, when I most needed her. No grovelling apologies – I didn’t want her taking over my life. Just clear the air and silently wish her well.

  In the morning, I found one missed call from Liz and three missed texts on my phone – two advertising sales, the third from Ella. I hit the playback button on my message minder: “I’m sorry, Kate. You were right when you said I was out of order. I felt sad that you and Trevor had split up. The following day I realised I had not been there for you during the past weeks. Hope you forgive me? Liz.”

  “It’s fine, Liz. Everything’s forgiven. Please forgive me for carrying a grudge.” In many respects, I was more taken aback by her humble apology than I had been by her attack. Liz had never been one to back down before. Maybe she was becoming more enlightened, or maybe I was finally learning to stand up for myself. Either way I was glad to be on better terms with her. Just as I was about to put down the phone, a text came in.

  “Of course. Would u like me to visit u? We could go for a meal and a nice walk? Liz x.”

  Relief flooded over me:“Thanks Liz. Sounds lovely but lots of unpacking to do. Let’s have a night out soon tho. Kate x”

  Next, I rang Ella who was back in town. She sounded exhausted. “Hi, lovey. How are you?”

  “Not so bad. How was the conference?”

  “Dreadful – the worst ever. There’s got to be an easier way to make a living. The managing director’s PA was a nightmare. She’s a jealous cow who resented me doing my job – she set out to sabotage everything I had organised, right down to changing menus and cancelling the bottled water.”

  “That’s just one bad experience. You’ll get over it. The Vienna conference worked like a dream for you.”

  “Competition for that type of event is cut-throat and the business just isn’t out there any more. Whenever it is, it’s going to younger hotshots in Dublin. I have no bookings for the whole of July and August.” She sighed. “Anyway, enough of my ranting. Have you gone on any dates?”

  “I have. Not wonderful experiences. The doctor was terrible. I won’t go into the story now, I’ll tell you about it when I see you.”

  “I went online last night. I’d forgotten how addictive it can be. I’m determined to squeeze in a couple of dates this week. Have you any set up?”

  “I was just about to log on when I noticed your text.”

  “Go on then, and call me if anyone interesting appears.”

  Despite my hitherto disastrous dating experiences, I seemed to be magnetically drawn back to the site in the hope a gallant knight might gallop into my world. There were five new emails. I opened them and looked at the accompanying profiles. Two were one-liners from men with no photographs, so I did not reply. The third was from an artist calling himself “luvpicasso”, a bit dishevelled but cute, a bit like the Australian actor Simon Baker. Well, maybe I was stretching that a bit but there was definitely some similarity to the quirky grin, blue eyes and fair curly hair. At forty, he was too young for me though, and sounded a bit immature. I’d always been attracted to creative types, finding they had a dangerous type of sex appeal. Or maybe the sense of danger came from my mother having warned me as a teenager that I’d end up with a hippie poet or a penniless artist, if I wasn’t careful. It conjured up images of living in a garret with barefoot screaming children. To please my mother I’d shooed the romantic chilled-out dreamers away, fearful that I might fall in love with any of them and so ruin my future.

  “Luvpicasso” wrote:

  Hi Persephone,

  U sound interesting and intelligent! Maybe too intelligent for me, lol! I see ur creative so I was wondering do you paint? I’m an artist, currently working in oils. I’m planning an exhibition with a few other artists – in this economy… yeah lol! I’m an
optimist lol! Anyway most of the women on this site are not too bright so I thought it would be nice to touch base with someone like u! Like you, I love mythology.

  Geoff x

  I definitely needed to ask someone what lol meant. I had assumed it meant lots of love, but now I wasn’t so sure. He used it a lot. He seemed a bit “fly by night” (another of my mother’s sayings for dreamers) but I decided there was no harm in contacting him. Maybe I finally needed to stop thinking I needed a dependable professional man.

  Hi Geoff,

  Thanks for your mail. I’m presently in Galway enjoying a bit of sunshine. Not sure how creative I am; I like craft work and have attended art classes. Really enjoy writing and cooking. Good luck with the exhibition.

  Kate

  The next one was from a forty-five-year old man, “Elmtree”, who simply stated he was in business. Since he was very well-dressed, I immediately wondered if he owned a menswear shop. Tall, with dark wavy hair and hazel eyes, he was exactly the type I’d always gone for. This type seemed somewhat safer than the raw sexuality of creative men, which made me scared I could lose myself completely. A terrifying thought that would make it easy for me to run in the opposite direction. The business man had written a paragraph about himself:

  “I would love to meet someone special; a woman to hold hands with and go for long walks by the sea. I like to consider myself a gentleman and believe in treating a woman as a lady. I swim, play tennis and go hill walking. I love art, theatre and literature. I believe in taking care of my body, mind and soul in equal measure.”

  I took another look at his picture and wondered was he too good to be true. At least he didn’t play golf. I read his email to me complimenting me on my hair and my dress sense. He asked what subject I taught and was my username related to my interest in mythology. He signed himself “Ray”. I wrote back thanking him for his compliments.