Colette had clearly resented her advice when they were saying goodbye. Wouldn’t even acknowledge the idea that she might be making the same mistakes with Jazzy that Jacqueline had with her.
The family who had it all they certainly were not, she thought sourly, making her way upstairs to the sound of her husband clattering dishes into the dishwasher, in high dudgeon.
‘That was a damn ordeal! Your pater is a pain in the butt.’ Des was thoroughly cantankerous as the car sped to the airport.
‘You were as bad,’ his wife retorted.
‘I won’t miss them when we go to America,’ he growled.
‘And I’m sure they won’t miss you,’ Colette snapped. ‘Don’t forget, Des, my family’s money enables us to live where we live. Aunt Beatrice was more than generous to me, and Dad lost out. So give him a bit of leeway.’
‘You know something, Colette, you will have your view of the Park and he can stick his attitude because I’m going to make a damn fortune on Wall Street,’ Des vowed, turning away from her to stare out of the window.
I married someone just like my father, Colette reflected, gazing at the runway lights lit up at right angles to them. An incoming flight flew over them with a roar that almost deafened her. And as far as Jazzy is concerned I’m turning into my mother. Jacqueline’s parting remarks had touched a nerve. Her daughter was left mostly in the care of her nanny, no matter that Colette was in denial about it. She was repeating the mistakes her mother had made with her. She would have to make more of an effort with Jasmine. Perhaps she too had inherited her mother’s lack of maternal instinct and that was difficult to acknowledge.
Hilary was a very good mother, Colette conceded morosely. She gave her girls a lot of attention. She cooked proper dinners and baked for them and helped with their homework, just like Mrs Kinsella had done for her. Colette left all that sort of thing to Elisabetta, the Italian nanny.
When she was a little girl being cared for by Sally, she’d been consumed with envy at the way Hilary’s mum always had scrumptious buns and tarts baked, awaiting their arrival home from school. Colette could still remember the aroma of freshly baked bread, and beef stew or roast chicken, wafting out from the kitchen to greet them. The Kinsella household had been a happy one. The fun they all had decorating at Halloween and Christmas, the excitement rising to fever pitch. Sally making sure that Colette was involved. Jasmine should have those sort of experiences. She hired a firm in to decorate the flat every Christmas, Colette thought guiltily.
This should be an exciting time in her life, but today’s episode had left her thoroughly disgruntled and brought up truths that she didn’t want to have to face. She would buy her daughter something particularly nice in the duty free. Jazzy loved earrings and bling. Des could sulk in the executive lounge. She would go shopping. As well as treating Jasmine she’d treat herself too. What was the point of having pots of money if you didn’t spend it? Colette felt the anticipation of a spending spree begin to build. If comfort couldn’t be found in a visit to her parents it could be found in glitzy shops or even Dublin duty free.
‘Mummy, Mummy, what did you buy me?’ Jasmine raced into the hall when she heard her parents’ key in the front door.
Colette smiled when she saw her daughter, her silky golden curls bobbing up and down, her periwinkle-blue eyes sparkling with anticipation. She was a little beauty, Colette thought proudly, sweeping the five-year-old up in her arms.
‘Hello, sweetheart,’ she exclaimed, hugging her tightly. Jacqueline hadn’t been a hugger; Colette hugged Jasmine all the time. Perhaps she’d been too hard on herself comparing her mothering skills, or lack of, to her mother’s, Colette decided.
‘No kiss for Daddy?’ Des dropped a kiss on top of his daughter’s head. ‘I’m going to change and go into the office. Lots to do before I go Stateside,’ he threw over his shoulder, striding along the parquet hallway with his luggage.
‘Would you like some tea, Ma’am?’ Elisabetta asked, emerging from the kitchen.
‘Love some, please, and will you sort out the luggage?’ Colette said, carrying her daughter into the lounge and plopping her down on the plump pale lemon-and-blue sofa that faced the enormous sash windows. The rays of the early evening sun cast glimmering prisms of light onto her Waterford Glass chandelier. That, and their paintings, would be coming to the States. That chandelier was a very impressive heirloom. Those snooty Uptown Wasps wouldn’t be able to fault her for her style and elegance, Colette decided, sinking wearily onto the sofa. She was tired after travelling and wouldn’t have minded a nap.
‘Where’s my present?’ whined Jasmine. ‘I want it now!’
‘Don’t be naughty,’ chided her mother, taking the small earring box and the bag with the jangly charm bracelet out of her handbag.
‘Is that all?’ Jasmine was astonished, grabbing the box eagerly. ‘It’s very small!’ Her pretty little face darkened.
‘See what’s in it,’ retorted Colette crossly, remembering such a scenario in her own childhood when Jacqueline had presented her with a silver Claddagh ring after an absence away and she had been disgusted.
Perhaps she should get pregnant again, even though she dreaded the idea, Colette mused. She had always longed for a sibling.
