The Women Who Ran Away - Sheila O'Flanagan Page 0,163
with his suit. I keep my iPad held up and wait for my second client of the day.
Chapter 3
Dad did a good job of building up the business. Gina Hayes is actually a client of a PR firm that he did a lot of work for. He was very pleased to get Grady PR, because although it’s a small firm, it has a great client list.
The issue of Dad’s business is another pendulum swinging in my mind. Like I said, driving is therapy. I kept doing it after moving in with Mum, partly so that I wasn’t continually obsessing about Dave (although I am, obviously); partly so that I wasn’t under her feet all day; and also because it’s bringing money into the house, even though she keeps refusing to accept it.
But now it’s become more than that. For the first time in years, I’m doing something for myself, and despite the circumstances, I’m enjoying it. It wasn’t until I took over from Dad that I realised how long it had been since I’d done anything of my own. I’ve never been what you’d call an ambitious sort of person. All I ever wanted was to get married and have a family. Work, no matter what the job, was a means to an end. My entire world revolves around my home and my family. Since Tom was born, I haven’t worked outside the house – occasional driving and keeping Dad’s books doesn’t count because that’s just helping out, and besides, it didn’t take up too much time. I did some childminding for nearly five years, but the family moved to a new neighbourhood about eighteen months ago, and although there’s always someone needing childcare on the Beechgrove estate (I’m part of a WhatsApp group of available mums), I wanted a bit of a break. Then Dad got sick and my priorities were elsewhere. I suppose Dave has seen himself in a very traditional head-of-the-household role, while I’m . . . well, I don’t know what I am. But dependent on him is part of it. Now, I can’t help thinking that perhaps Dave cheated because he’d lost some respect for me. Because he didn’t think I contributed enough.
Julie Halpin is some kind of office manager. She might not have a husband of her own any more, but she heads off to work every day in her sporty blue car, goes on holidays whenever she feels like it and always wears the most fashionable of clothes. And I’m . . . well, I’m basically the same person I was twenty-odd years ago when Dave and I first started going out together, except with added stretch marks.
If we get back together – and it’s still a massive if – something has to change. I need to find the part of me that I never knew mattered before. The rebellious Roxy. The Roxy who competed on the football pitch. The Roxy who thought of herself first and everyone else second (even if that’s not a viable option now). Driving the Merc ticks some of those boxes. The problem is, even though it’s a readymade opportunity, continuing with Dad’s business would be tricky. The hours are erratic and I’d have to be very organised about childcare. And yet . . . in the blur of the last few weeks, being a driver is the one thing that’s kept me grounded. It’s given me something practical to do. Feeling Dad’s presence in the car with me, however tenuous, has been comforting too.
More people emerge into the arrivals hall, but it’s another fifteen minutes before the nutritionist appears. I recognise her at once. Gina Hayes owns the space around her in a way I can only dream of. Even though she’s not as glammed up as when she’s on TV, she’s tall and well groomed, with glossy nut-brown hair that curls gently past her shoulders. She’s carrying a multicoloured tote bag and wearing a light fabric raincoat in pastel pink over skinny jeans, a white T-shirt and high-heeled boots. Somewhat weirdly, the raincoat is Gina’s signature look. She started off presenting her show outdoors, where the raincoat seemed appropriate. Now, even though she’s moved into a room made entirely of glass, she still wears it. It sounds silly, but it works.
I don’t have a signature look. Unless you count today’s navy suit, white blouse and tiny gold earrings, which is working Roxy, not real-life Roxy. Real-life Roxy prefers bright colours, lots of accessories and high heels;