OUT OF THE BLUE a gripping novel of love lost and found by GRETTA MULROONEY

Author:GRETTA MULROONEY [MULROONEY, GRETTA]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Joffe Books Contemporary Fiction and Literature
Published: 2016-01-29T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

The hotel where the birthday party is being held is a place of dark wood and carpets, furnished in fifties style. A fusty smell pervades it but there are huge bunches of flowers around and the staff are young and seem delighted with everyone. When Liv uses the toilet, the seat wobbles beneath her and she has to clutch the wall for balance.

She has donned the one dress she brought with her, a dark blue crushed velvet that she bought in Prague while Douglas was attending a convention on skin melanomas. She had loved Prague and the stunning baroque beauty of the churches; Douglas had loved it too and in particular the wine at forty pence a bottle. While he propped up bars she sought solace in churches, listening to choral and organ recitals. She smiled a good deal at people as little English was spoken and the act of smiling, of practising happiness, lifted her spirits. She shakes her head to banish the memory and thinks of Aidan. He is somewhere near, out in the still evening, probably tucking his daughter up in bed. When he speaks of Carmel, his voice softens and his lips curve involuntarily.

‘Well,’ says Owen, spotting her, ‘don’t you scrub up nice?’

‘You’re pretty smart yourself. I like the burgundy jacket.’

‘Thank you, ma’am. Come on and I’ll do introductions.’

Owen steers her, a protective hand guiding but not touching her back. They are sitting at a table of ten, with him beside her. Lucinda is at the next table in grey silk with one red rose pinned behind her right ear. She waves, using her other hand to cool herself with a bamboo fan. The meal is plain but well-cooked and wine pours freely. Liv is asked about herself in a genuine fashion; several people at her table knew her grandmother and speak warmly of her.

A woman opposite has a placid baby about six months old, called Roisin. The baby, replete from a bottle, lies in the crook of the woman’s arm and gazes around through grave, pearly eyes while her mother’s spoon lifts and falls to her lemon syllabub. In the middle of the hubbub she is centred in her own contented world; adored, safe. The mother is talking to her neighbour but also attentive; at her baby’s slightest shift, she moves her arm, nestling her back to comfort. When her father leans towards his daughter to nuzzle the warm curve of her cheek she grabs his hair and turns her steady gaze on him. ‘My own little rose,’ he croons. He loosens the top of her cardigan, his big fingers fumbling with the buttons. The mother automatically runs her hand over Roisin’s downy head, where hair like a chick’s is sprouting softly. Then she looks at the father and down; there is an intensity to the three of them, a knowing bond that is almost tangible.

Liv is mesmerised, abruptly sensing the loss of the child that she will probably never have. Douglas has always

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.