Page 16 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure

Chapter Thirteen

A fter damp weather all week, Saturday morning in Kindale was fine and sunny.

Mary dropped Finn off for a football game, hoping the team would play on the club’s Astroturf.

There were no shower facilities at the club and playing on the rain-soaked field would mean Finn returned like a mud ball and despite wrapping him in a bin liner, the car would need to be valeted.

Fortunately, car valeting was an additional service offered by Roisin’s Shamrock Shine.

Roisin’s brother Ruari, who was not only the most handsome man in Kindale but also a dab-hand with a chamois, ran the valeting amenity.

Mary wasn’t precious about her vehicle but as Conor insisted that she keep it in pristine condition, she never hesitated to engage Roisin’s Shamrock Shine whenever her vehicle needed cleaning.

Ruari, known locally as Romeo Ruari, was effusive with his flirting and flattery and, in only five minutes, could make Mary feel twenty-one again.

Ruari’s daughter, Ola, was the same age as Declan, and Mary occasionally ran into him at school events.

Since parting from his wife, the divorced Ruari had become the undisputed heartthrob of Kindale.

With his dark, handsome looks and shoulders broad enough to carry a week’s worth of shopping, Mary knew that his smile could melt the frost off the town’s coldest women.

Mary’s friend Una often muttered that ‘Half the females in the town would throw themselves under a bus for him…’ and Mary’s nosy neighbour had been caught straightening her cardigan and peering down the drive whenever Ruari was bent over Mary’s Range Rover, engaged in a buff and polish.

But as she made a mental note to book her vehicle in for a valet, Mary smiled.

She had no doubt that Ruari wouldn’t be on the open market for long and was as likely to stay single as a tray of Helen’s scones at the Eden craft fair.

Already, there was a queue of women tripping in and out of Gaelic Glow, emerging with plumped lips and fresh highlights before cornering Ruari with a well-timed apple crumble or a casserole piled so high with dumplings it was almost a marriage proposal.

Mary remembered that she’d not spoken to Mungo, who was probably sulking that she’d abruptly ended their call and, knowing her brother, the sulk could last for days.

Still, she’d sent a text to Jake, who told her he was grounded, but that he’d heard from his grandad and so far, the trip was going to plan.

Reminding herself that she must ask Jake for her dad’s mobile number, Mary hoped that Atticus was enjoying himself.

As Mary drove through the colourful streets of Kindale, where the houses and shops were painted in bright shades, she thought of Conor, who was at work and had left the house early.

After the dinner at the golf club, she’d asked him if his meeting had been successful, and he told her that things may eventually go in his favour, but he didn’t want to say more for fear of jinxing things.

It was an unusual comment, as they generally shared all things work-related.

With Conor so preoccupied, Mary hoped the deal would close soon so he could have more time for her and the kids.

Caitlin was child-minding Declan that morning, and Maeve, glued to Instagram, was looking for makeup tricks to make her the most desirable female at the school’s ’80s themed disco that evening.

The sixth year had come up with a charity event to raise money for a proposed allotment.

With Caitlin on the allotment committee and Maeve suddenly deciding that she was adopting a plant-based regime, Mary knew that the girls were keen to go.

To Mary’s surprise, Conor had suggested that after dropping the girls off, they go for a quiet drink in Kindale.

Mary, who’d arranged babysitting for Finn and Declan, was looking forward to an unexpected date night with her husband, and with time to spare – while Finn dreamt of premiership football and raced around the pitch – she was now on her way to Gaelic Glow for a facial, followed by a shampoo and blow-dry.

‘I shall look like the belle of the ball,’ Mary assured herself as she found a parking space outside the salon. ‘Well, half-decent, at least, in the dimly lit Salty Dog Inn.’

As Mary settled herself on the comfortable bed in the therapy room, she let her thoughts wander as a beautician applied lotions to her skin.

So far, the diet Mary had begun earlier in the week was progressing.

That evening, she planned to wear the gorgeous designer jeans she’d bought last Christmas and never fit into because they were too tight.

The couple of pounds she’d lost had made a difference, and the jeans now zipped up.

Mary contemplated digging out her Lycra knickers for added shape but knew she’d be unlikely to sit down comfortably.

And what if Conor felt amorous when they got home?

Beige Bounce Buster Briefs were hardly a turn-on.

‘Anything planned for the weekend?’ The beautician asked as she pummelled exfoliator into Mary’s cheeks.

‘A date night with my husband,’ Mary replied. As she felt her face grow hot, she wondered if the beautician was using an industrial sander.

‘A date night?’ the beautician asked, holding a rotating device to scrape exfoliator from Mary’s skin. ‘Imagine that – romance is still in the air, even after all these years and four kids.’

‘Yes, we like to keep our marriage alive.’

‘Most marriages fall flat after the third baby, especially when the pounds pile on.’

Mary felt the slight and wished the busybody beautician would keep her nose out of things. Had Mary not been assured that the facial would make her look ten years younger, she might be giving the Gaelic Glow gossip a mouthful.

Determined to ignore any further conversation and relax into the treatment, Mary feigned sleep, letting out a barely audible snore.

It did the trick, and soon the beautician worked in silence.

As Mary drifted away, she thought of her week and the session she’d put in at the gym. It hadn’t been terribly successful.

Only fifteen minutes in, feeling hot and sweaty from the treadmill, she’d moved to an upright bike, tuning the monitor to daytime TV, and began to gently peddle.

A woman on Good Morning Ireland was moaning about her husband, Hubert, who’d left her to join a reclusive cult.

Engrossed in the programme and wondering how Hubert was coping with the five wives he’d gained since joining the cult, Mary didn’t look up when someone straddled the bike beside her and began to cycle as though competing in an event.

As the programme ended, a helpline number for an adultery hotline appeared on Mary’s screen, and she heard a voice call out.

‘Making a note of the number?’

Mary spun around and, to her horror, saw that the Lycra-clad figure beside her was none other than Lucinda Darby.

Standing out like a pearl amongst stones, Lucinda seemed out of place in her sleek workout gear.

Mary tugged on her baggy old top and wished she’d worn more fashionable leggings.

Lucinda’s unmistakably high-end, form-fitting top screamed ‘designer’, the expensive moisture-wicking fabric contouring her figure into flawless proportions.

Luxurious leggings hugged Lucinda’s lean limbs.

Mary ignored the catty comment and grabbed her towel. Wiping perspiration from her sweaty brow, she took a drink from her water bottle and, with a forced smile, greeted Lucinda. ‘I thought you’d be hard at work in the office at this time of day,’ Mary said.

Lucinda touched her immaculate hair. Expertly styled, it framed a face wearing minimal makeup, save for her glossy red lips.

‘Not all of us have the luxury of being a stay-at-home housewife,’ Lucinda purred. ‘I’ve had a successful week and can allow myself a couple of hours of leisure.’

Stay-at-home housewife? Did this woman know what it took to bring up four boisterous kids and run Belvedere House?

Mary stared at Lucinda and decided that Conor couldn’t possibly have feelings for this stuck-up cow with her acidic tongue.

Mary resisted the urge to tilt her water bottle and shower Lucinda’s glossy head.

Instead, she smiled and said, ‘That’s nice. Business must be good?’

‘Oh, it gets better every day,’ Lucinda replied, swinging her body off the bike. ‘Will you be coming to our next Ladies’ Lunch Club?’

‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ Mary said and wondered how she could get out of it.

‘Excellent. We need to discuss our contribution to the Kindale Christmas Fair. I think we should make a little more effort this year.’ She tilted her head and studied Mary. ‘Don’t you?’

Mary watched Lucinda move away and place her bony bottom on the seat of a rowing machine. As her toned arms stretched and pulled, Mary thought of the event Lucinda had referred to.

Their Ladies’ Lunch Club supported the annual charity fair at Christmas by running a tombola stall.

Gathering prizes had become a competitive affair, as the ladies outdid each other by calling in favours for alcohol hampers, luxury chocolates, aromatic candles, and gorgeous gifts.

Last year, Mary, who’d forgotten all about her contribution with the run-up to Christmas and multiple school events to worry over, had searched the house and, at the last minute, donated an out-of-date box of biscuits and a wilting plant.

It hadn’t helped that the mulled wine stall was next to the tombola, and being such a frosty December day, Mary had overindulged to keep warm and ease her boredom.

When Lucinda arrived at the stall to do her shift, she had found Mary three sheets to the wind, empty glass in hand, stuffing her face with mince pies.

Lucinda’s piercing gaze and sharp tongue had sobered Mary up in minutes, but the memory of letting the ladies down was etched deep.

This year, I must try harder! Mary vowed.

The beautician had finished the facial and was spraying a mist that smelt like dead roses over Mary’s face. ‘All done, Cinderella,’ she said. ‘You can go to the ball.’

‘It will be the Salty Dog Inn, in truth,’ Mary said, opening her eyes and sitting up.

‘Isn’t that great? I’m sure you’ll have a lovely evening. You look ten years younger,’ the beautician lied, handing Mary a little bag of complimentary samples. She thanked her for the booking, then left the room, leaving her client to dress.

‘Guess who wants a large tip when I settle the bill?’ Mary muttered as she studied her newly toned face and peered into the goodie bag.

A little while later, Mary stepped out of the salon.

She was pleased that there was no breeze to ruffle her beautifully blow-dried locks, and with luck, the style would hold for the evening.

But as she drove to the football club, Mary groaned.

A group of boys were huddled in the car park, and Mary had no idea which was Finn.

The motley crew was covered in mud, as though they’d just emerged from a battle in the trenches.

Once embellished with bright logos and numbers, their jerseys were now covered in layers of grime.

‘Hiya, Mam!’ Finn came forward, his face streaked with sweat and dirt. His shorts, saggy and heavy with the weight of damp soil, were a testament to his tackles and slides across the pitch. ‘I scored the winning goal!’ he said, eyes alight.

‘Well, that’s great,’ Mary remarked as she jumped out of the Range Rover to retrieve towels from the back.

‘I’m so proud of you,’ she added, enveloping Finn in thick cotton and thrusting his boots into a plastic bag.

She winced as Finn climbed into the back seat.

He spread himself out, and Mary watched as flakes of mud and grass clung to the soft leather upholstery and pale cream carpet.

Conor will have a fit! she thought and started the engine.

But as she listened to Finn’s excited chatter while they drove away from the club, Mary smiled. It was a good job she had Romeo Ruari on speed dial.