CHAPTER SEVEN
Fiona thought it was a brilliant idea.
“Of course Pat can help you get a job! He’s always moaning about hiring twenty-year-old office juniors and having them leave as soon as they’re trained to work the computers properly.”
Fiona sat down on one of the Morans’ pine kitchen chairs, scarred from endless Dinky toy games, and crossed long, sleek legs encased in black lycra sports leggings.
“He’d jump at the chance to hire someone like you.”
“Do you really think so?” Fiona was as generous as she was eccentric. Aisling didn’t want her to badger poor Pat into hiring their suddenly single neighbour as a huge favour. If she was going back to work, she certainly needed a leg up, but not charity.
“I’m very rusty, Fiona, and I’d be eager to learn, but only if Pat thinks it would work,” she said earnestly.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Aisling. If you can whip up a four course meal in two hours without becoming hysterical when the freezer packs in and defrosts your homemade ice cream into slop, then you’ll have no trouble answering a few phones.”
“And Daddy adores you, you know,” Fiona added with a smile.
“He always wants to sit beside you at dinner parties and you’ll probably have to fight him off once he sees you sitting!
all secretarial behind the reception desk!”
Despite herself, Aisling burst out laughing, thinking of Fiona’s imposing and steely-eyed barrister father trying to inveigle her into his office for a passionate session on an antique desk strewn with legal tomes and writs.
“I just can’t see that happening.” She grinned.
“Well I certainly can,” replied Fiona.
“Since Mother left him, he like a fourteen-year-old who’s just discovered what sex is all about and is anxious to try it out as often as possible. I told you that he almost ended up in bed with one of the bridesmaids at my cousin’s wedding?”
“Really?”
“You have no idea what he’s like. Mad as a March hare and twice as randy. The thing is, women just love him, they always have Fiona paused to light up a cigarette.
“I know,” she muttered, “I don’t know why I keep smoking these things if I’m so keen on being fit. Pat gives me the same bloody lecture every day, but a girl’s got to have some vices.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” protested Aisling.
“I can hardly talk about being fit under the circumstances. My thighs haven’t seen the inside of a pair of lycra leggings for years and if my stomach gets any bigger, I’ll need those horrible roll-on things Granny wore.”
“Over my dead body,” Fiona said firmly. The only roll-on product modern girls use is deodorant, my dear. Aisling Moran, career woman, is going to be sleek, healthy and devastatingly sexy, even if I have to personally drag you to the gym three times a week.”
She got up and stuck her cigarette under the tap for a moment.
“I’ll talk to Pat when I get back from my step class and find out what’s the story work wise There’s always someone away and hiring temps from the agencies costs a fortune. He’ll be thrilled to get his hands on you. Well, Daddy certainly would.”
Aisling giggled again. No matter what disaster hung over life like a dark cloud, a few moments in Fiona’s company listening to her spiky and bitchy comments on life in general could raise anyone’s spirits.
Through Fiona’s eyes, Aisling was changing her life for the better, going back to work as a confident and mature woman.
Not for a moment would Fiona see Aisling as a terrified and lonely wife, suddenly single and unsure of what life held for her and her two sons.
That was part of her charm, Aisling realised. Fiona viewed life through tinted glasses and if they weren’t always rose tinted they certainly made everything in life look more interesting.
If her husband of ten years decided to leave his fun-loving, tennis-mad wife, Aisling knew that Fiona would take a deep breath and start again, searching for a better life and a faithful mate without being destroyed by the breakup.
She watched her friend pull on a pink sweatshirt over the tiny hot pink lycra leotard which Aisling reckoned wouldn’t fit one of her thighs. Tanned from frequent trips to the Finucanes’ villa in Spain and a perfect size ten thanks to aerobics every second day, Fiona looked fantastic.
When she was dressed in the exquisite clothes she adored shopping for, with her long nails beautifully manicured, her gold Cartier watch catching the light and her rich chestnut hair shimmering from endless salon treatments, she looked every inch a rich bitch. Thank God she wasn’t.
Aisling remember the day the Finucanes had moved into the huge red-brick house across the road, a fleet of removal vans lined up outside full of expensive-looking pieces of furniture. At least ten harassed men in overalls spent the afternoon carrying furniture into the house, struggling with huge pine wardrobes, enormous squashy sofas and a gleaming dining-room table which looked big enough for at least twenty people.
Aisling couldn’t help peering out of her bedroom window, fascinated to see what sort of furniture the new neighbours had. A tall, immaculately dressed brunette roared up in her sporty black car and marched into the house with a small fluffy dog in tow. Aisling decided that her new neighbour was obviously some high-powered career woman and wasn’t the sort who’d be interested in coming over for morning
So she got quite a shock when Fiona arrived on the doorstep two days later, introduced herself and asked were the people two doors away totally mad or just mildly insane?
“All I said was that my husband and I had moved in across the road and
that we wanted to say hello to everyone when the poor dear turned white as a sheet, told me she didn’t want to buy anything and slammed the door in my face,” Fiona complained.
“She’s deaf explained Aisling, ‘and probably a little bit mad into the bargain. If you think she’s bad you should meet her brother. He stills thinks it’s 1944 and he’s working undercover as a spy in France.”
“Isn’t there anyone normal living around here?” demanded Fiona.
“We’re pretty normal,” Aisling replied.
“Most of the time, anyway. Do you want to come in for coffee?”
“I’d love to. If I don’t get at least four doses of caffeine into my system before eleven in the morning, it goes into shock. I could go home and bring some disgustingly sweet biscuits if you want any?” she offered.
“Believe me, I’ve got loads of disgustingly sweet things here. Too many in fact.”
They’d been friends ever since. Sometimes they did their shopping together, chatting volubly while they waited impatiently in the supermarket queue or wandering through clothes shops while Fiona shopped and Aisling vowed to diet.
She’d always urged Aisling to join her in the gym or come playing tennis with her friends. Now she gave Aisling a determined look as she picked up her keys.
“You’ve got to get out and you’ve got to start looking after yourself, darling. I’ve seen enough girls fall to pieces when their marriages go sour and I don’t want to see it happen to you. Tomorrow you and I are going shopping for trainers and I don’t want any arguments, right?” She grinned and poked Aisling in the arm.
When Fiona had gone, Aisling went into the sitting room where Phillip was sitting cross-legged on the floor, eating Rice Krispies and watching some spiky-haired DJ counting down the Top Ten hits. There were comics and football cards strewn all over the carpet, along with two empty crisp packets and Phillip’s discarded socks.
“Phillip, this place is a mess! Tidy it up.” “Why? Who’s coming?” he answered back smartly.
“Dad?”
Aisling felt that knot in her stomach again, the one which sprang into action when she thought of the effect Michael’s departure would have on the twins.
The night before, she’d told them their father was going to be away for a week. She didn’t know what to say and decided that she’d break the news to them gently.
Paul had simply looked surprised.
“I thought Dad was coming to watch us play soccer on Saturday he said slowly.
“Will he be back in time?”
“I don’t know, darling.” Feeling guilty for lying and even guiltier for stopping Michael coming home to tell them himself, Aisling gave Paul a kiss on the cheek and turned to say goodnight to Phillip. Dressed in his favourite Manchester United pyjamas with a comic propped up in front of him, he gazed at her steadily but didn’t say anything.
Aisling kissed him and gently stroked the purple bruise on his left arm he insisted he’d got from banging into the goalposts at school.
“Goodnight, Giggs, or is it Cantona tonight?” she asked. “None of them,” he answered dully. She forced herself to smile and left the door ajar on her way out so the boys would have the glow of the landing light for comfort. She switched off their light and headed downstairs.!
She went straight for the drinks cabinet and a stiff gin and!
tonic.
Phillip knew something was wrong. Of course he did. Children detected every nuance of their parents’ relationship,” she’d read in a magazine once. Phillip certainly did. Michael always said that Phillip was a budding investigative reporter inquisitive, pushy and as unstoppable as a freight train.
“Why?” was his favourite word.
This time, Phillip, I don’t know why, Aisling thought morosely. She stared blankly at the comics and crisp wrappers scattered on the rug. The place needed hoovering as usual.
She had to tell the boys. She should have told them last night.
There was no point pretending everything was OK. They’d find out sometime. Phillip looked up at her, the TV forgotten and anxiety in his big, sad eyes.
“Is Dad coming home today?”
Phillip’s question didn’t surprise her. She looked at his earnest, questioning face, those dark eyes reminding her so painfully of his father. Decision time. Don’t be a coward Aisling. Tell them now, you have to. “Where’s Paul?” she asked resolutely. “Upstairs,” he answered.
Aisling went to the bottom of the stairs.
“Paul,” she called.
“Come downstairs. I want to talk to you.”
He ran down the stairs noisily, jumped the bottom two steps and landed heavily on both feet. Sockless of course. If Phillip wasn’t wearing his socks, Paul wasn’t either.
Running into the sitting room, he skidded to a halt and thumped down on the floor beside his twin. He picked up one of the crisp wrappers and looked inside.
“You’ve eaten mine!” he said accusingly, glaring at Phillip.
“I didn’t.”
“You did …”
“Quiet!” shouted Aisling. Damn, she hadn’t meant to shout.
“Boys, there’s something I’ve got to tell you,” she began in a softer tone.
“It’s about your father and I …”
She stopped, aware of the enormity of what she was about to tell them. What words could you use to say ‘your father’s left me’, she asked herself? They were still looking at her, mini versions of Michael, the same features, the same colouring.
For a brief moment, she remembered the day she’d told him she was pregnant. Wrapped up in their own private world as they walked through Bushy Park on a freezing March day, they’d gone through names they liked and tried to imagine what their baby would look like.
“Like you, I hope,” she’d smiled, wanting their child to have Michael’s dark looks instead of her own pale skin and mousey hair.
“No, you,” he’d murmured, pushing aside her parka hood to kiss the soft
curve of her neck. Phillip and Paul were still staring at her, waiting much too patiently. Poor kids, she thought, they knew something was wrong. All she could do was soften the blow, make it as friendly as possible.
Even though her heart was full of rage at what Michael had done, she couldn’t use the boys like Exocet missiles, turning them against their father as ammunition in a marital war. She shouldn’t have told Michael to get stuffed when he’d rung the night before..
She tried again.
“Dad and I have been fighting lately, and …”
Jesus, what could she say? He’s gone, he doesn’t live here any more? It all sounded so horrible, so final. If they were only a few years older they could understand. But at ten, how could they be expected to?
“Dad has moved out for a while, boys. He hasn’t been happy “Why, why wasn’t he happy?” asked Phillip anxiously.
“Was it my fault? I didn’t mean to keep asking for rollerblades.”
“No, no, darling. It’s nothing to do with you. Dad loves both of you, he’s just… he needs to be on his own for a while. He wants you to be strong and understand that he loves you very much.”
“But why’s he gone then?” Paul was looking at her with so much confusion in his eyes, that she didn’t know whether to hug him or cry
“Dad and I don’t always get on,” she said slowly.
“Sometimes adults fight and need some time on their own, and that’s what Dad wants. Time on his own. You’ll still see him,” she added, trying to sound reassuring.
“Why, Mum?”
For once, Paul was asking all the questions. Phillip just stood there, head bent, his thick, dark hair falling over his forehead.
Aisling reached out to stroke it, but he wrenched away from her hand.
“I’ll tell you what, let’s go to McDonald’s for lunch. Does that sound
like a good idea?” “OK.” Paul looked as if he might cry.
“We went to McDonald’s yesterday. I thought we weren’t supposed to eat burgers all the time?” said Phillip sullenly.
“Not all the time, no answered Aisling.
“Sometimes we can break the rules, can’t we? Where are your socks, boys? I’ll give you five minutes to be ready to go, OK?”
Paul sprinted up the stairs in search of his missing socks, while Phillip stared at the floor. Aisling put her arms around him and hugged him tightly, feeling the tension and misery in his body.
“Darling, I’m so sorry about this. It’s not your fault, it had nothing to do with you or rollerblades, or anything like that.
This is between Dad and me …”
“It doesn’t matter he said suddenly. He pulled away from her and picked his socks up off the floor.
“I’m not hungry.”
Aisling sat on the edge of the bed, talking quietly on the phone so the boys wouldn’t hear her and wake up. It was nearly half nine but it was still bright outside. A man and woman were walking a dog on the other side of the road, holding hands as their brown and white terrier ran eagerly in and out of gardens.
“It’s so unfair. The boys are so upset. I feel as if it’s my fault, as if I’m ruining their childhood.”
“Don’t be silly, you’re doing all you can Fiona answered.
“What else can you do?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Aisling sighed heavily, thinking about the day’s events. Lunch had been a disaster. Phillip refused to eat anything. Paul had followed suit, leaving a half-eaten quarter-pounder and most of his chips to Aisling. Normally, she’d have wolfed them down. But today she didn’t feel remotely hungry.
“What do you think about the term ping job Pat suggested?”
Fiona asked.
“Bloody terrified, that’s what I think. I don’t know what scares me most, actually going back to work or finding out that I can’t remember
anything after twelve years. I’d hate to let Pat down when he’s been so good giving me this chance.”
“Rubbish, of course you’ll be fine. It’s nothing demanding, honestly. You’ve got a week to think about it, anyway,” Fiona pointed out.
“Elizabeth isn’t going on maternity leave for another three weeks, so you’ve lots of time to get used to the job. It’ll be a doddle for
“Thank you, Fiona. Thanks for everything, cheering me up, getting me a job and oh … just for being there,” Aisling said gratefully.
“I don’t know what I’d have done without you or Jo.”
“How is she?”
“Actually, she’s doing pretty well. I was talking to her earlier and she’d just come in from a long walk in Portmarnock. Said she wanted to tire herself out so she’d sleep tonight. Poor thing.”
“What was the boyfriend like?” Fiona asked.
“I don’t really know, I only met him a couple of times and we didn’t exactly talk. Michael wasn’t too keen on him, but then,” Aisling gave a little hollow laugh, “Michael’s judgement has been a little faulty lately Or maybe it’s my judgement that’s been faulty.”
She paused for a moment.
“Stop moping ordered Fiona, ‘and give me the lowdown on this horrible man. Is he gorgeous or a complete scumbag?”
“He’s very handsome, all blond hair, blue eyes and white teeth. He could advertise toothpaste.”
“But still a scumbag?”
“I think so. Actually, most of Jo’s boyfriends have had some fatal flaw or another, like not wanting to settle down. Which is odd, really,” Aisling said reflectively.
“I’ve read that women who’ve been abused or hurt as children automatically go for the type of men who’ll abuse their kids, it’s a vicious circle.”
“She wasn’t abused, was she?” Fiona asked in amazement.
“Lord no. But her father died when she was young and I often think she unconsciously picks men who are going to leave eventually, sort of like her father left added Aisling.
“Strangers meeting Jo would probably think she has everything, a great
career and great looks. In reality, she has as many problems as anyone else, more maybe.”
“I know what that’s like,” remarked Fiona.
“Before my mother and father split up, they were always fighting, at each other’s throats like pit bulls. But because we had the big house, the Jag, the housekeeper, etc.” everyone assumed we had the life of Riley. Everything looked so different from the inside,” she added.
“We all pretended everything was perfect, but I never brought girls home from school in case they witnessed one of Mummy’s rages. Daddy had given her these china figurines over the years and when she got really vexed she’d fling them at him. By the time she left, there wasn’t a china ornament in the house, she’d smashed them all.” Fiona gave a little laugh.
“So I know all about covering up, I’m an expert at it.”
“I’m sorry, Fiona,” said Aisling sympathetically.
“I never knew.”
“Oh, I just don’t talk about it any more. It took me ages to get it out of my system, but I’m fine now. The point is,” Fiona said emphatically, ‘that things would have been a lot better if they’d just split up, instead of carrying on a bloody charade for years.”
“What went wrong?” asked Aisling, unable to conceal her curiosity. She’d never heard Fiona talk about her mother before, except to say that they rarely met up because her mother lived in Arizona.
“Drink,” Fiona said abruptly.
“She drank like a fish, all her family did. That’s why you’ll never see me drinking too much, I’m too bloody terrified to. It runs in families and I don’t want it to run in mine any more.”
Christ, thought Aisling, remembering the nearly empty bottle of gin in the drinks cupboard. She’d been drinking far too much all weekend.
“I’d better be going, Ash,” Fiona said.
“Pat was off playing snooker all afternoon and wants to have a cosy family night in to make up for it. I’ll be over tomorrow to discuss your working wardrobe,” she added.
“We’ll have to find something drop-dead gorgeous to give you confidence on the first day.”
“Something drop-dead gorgeous from my wardrobe?”
exclaimed Aisling.
“If we can’t find something, we’ll just have to go shopping continued Fiona gleefully.
“Fun, fun, fun!”
“Goodbye, you irrepressible shopper laughed Aisling, hanging up.
Right, she decided. No gin tonight. Just think of Fiona’s mother.
The next morning she brought the boys to school and waved them in like she did every other Monday morning.
It just didn’t feel like every other Monday. Last week, she’d been a reasonably contented, well, not totally discontented woman. Now he was separated and broke.
With her finances very much in mind, she headed for Roches Stores in the Frascati Centre and took a basket instead of a trolley. Walking around aisles scented with the delicious smell of freshly baked bread, Aisling shopped carefully, adding up the prices in her head.
Twenty pounds seemed so much to pay for such a small amount of shopping. That expensive conditioner would have to go back, there was a much cheaper generic one. And one-fifty for those little pots of from age frais? Ridiculous.
At home, she put everything away and sat down with a cup of coffee and a pen and paper. She listed the various household bills, working out how much money she needed every week. The total seemed huge, especially compared to the money she had in the bank. One and a half thousand wouldn’t go very far. What would Michael pay for the boys’ keep, she wondered?
The phone rang as she was hanging out the washing. Damn.
She raced in, nearly tripping over a raised slab on the patio in the process.
“Hello.” she said breathlessly.
“Hello, Aisling,” said her mother.
“I’ve been wondering if you were all sick or something since I haven’t
heard from you all weekend. Are the boys OK? “Only a mother knew how to ask questions that were loaded with meaning, thought Aisling, wondering where to start. She had been expecting the call. Or rather, dreading it.
It was a rare weekend when Aisling didn’t ring her mother at some point or another. She usually waited until Sunday afternoon to ring because her father was invariably having a little nap over the newspapers and wouldn’t answer the phone.
There was always something for Sean Maguire to complain about. These days, twenty-two-year-old Nicola was the bane of his life, constantly on the phone talking to ‘that boyfriend of hers’ or going out in unsuitable clothes.
Enduring one of his five-minute moans was a waste of her time, Aisling thought. It didn’t surprise her that Nicola’s twin brother, Nicholas, was never in trouble with his father, Sean had always wanted a son, something he’d never let Aisling forget.
“I was worried, Aisling,” her mother was saying.
The boys are fine, Mum.” It was time to bite the bullet.
“I’m afraid the problem is Michael…”
“Oh Lord, what’s wrong with him? I just knew there was something wrong!”
There’s nothing wrong with him, Mum.” Aisling said.
Nothing a slap on the face wouldn’t cure, anyway.
“He’s … er, we’ve split up.”
“What! I can’t believe it, Aisling, that’s terrible, just terrible.”
Aisling had never heard her mother so shocked. This was so difficult. Please God don’t let Mum figure out everything. I couldn’t face discussing the whole bloody thing again.
Aisling could hear her mother pulling up a kitchen chair to sit down on. The phone in the Maguire home was in the kitchen, making it impossible to have any sort of private conversation at all, Nicola constantly complained to her older sister. Eithne Maguire’s voice quavered as she spoke again.
“But why, Aisling? What happened? Have you been having problems and why didn’t you tell me? And what about the boys, poor lambs?”
Aisling felt a lump in her throat. Why did all this have to be so hard? Why didn’t stationary companies print separation cards, like the change of address ones. It would be so much easier.
“Mrs. and Mrs. Moran have split up and henceforth Mr. Moran will be residing at Number 10 Primrose Avenue with a Cindy Crawford lookalike while Mrs. soon-to-be-ex Moran will be remaining in the family pad fielding telephone calls from curious relatives.”
The boys are doing all right, Mum. Michael and I haven’t been getting on and we had a fight. He’s moved out for a while, that’s all.”
“That’s all?” demanded her mother.
“What do you mean, “that’s all”? Is this serious? Is he gone for good, Aisling? Tell me.”
Aisling gave up. There was no point trying to pretend that she and Michael were in the middle of an amicable separation.
She might as well tell the truth even though it hurt like hell.
“Listen Mum, I’ll tell you the truth, but I don’t want Father to know, right?” she said fiercely.
“You can tell him that we’ve grown apart and are perfectly happy with the situation, I just don’t want him knowing.”
All right, love,” Mum said softly.
“Just tell me everything.”
Everything took three-quarters of an hour and two cups of tea. Father would undoubtedly have a seizure when he got the itemised phone bill itemised so that Nicola ‘… couldn’t ruin me ringing that lout…”
While her mother was making the second cup of tea, Aisling idly mused that Telecom Eireann should have a special ‘disaster’ phone-call rate, a once-a-month reduction so that people with problems could ring their relatives and receive family counselling. They’d make a fortune.
“Are you not having a cup yourself, love?” Her mother asked in concern when she picked up the receiver again.
“No. I’ve gone off tea and coffee. Weird, isn’t it? And I haven’t so much as looked at a chocolate biscuit all weekend!”
“Well, that’s good, darling,” answered her mother, sounding unsure as to the benefits of a chocolate biscuit aversion in the middle of a crisis.
“It’s just that I’ve always tried so hard to stop myself eating biscuits,” explained Aisling.
“I wanted to be slim and a size ten, like the woman Michael married. But I couldn’t help myself, I kept eating and kept hating myself for eating. It was a vicious circle I couldn’t escape. And now I’m not hungry at all and he isn’t here to see it…” Her voice broke for the first time since they’d started talking.
“Oh Mum, what’s going to happen?
What went wrong?”
“I don’t know, love,” her mother answered.
“I don’t think it’s that simple or that black and white. When your father and I were married, we knew it was for keeps, no matter what happened. And Lord knows, I’ve felt like getting a divorce myself more often than I’d care to admit. Your father hasn’t been easy, you know that,” she added.
“But it’s different now. Everyone expects more from life, everyone wants to be happy. They demand it. Nobody wants to try any more.”
“I wanted to try,” sobbed Aisling.
“He didn’t. He’s a bastard, isn’t he?”
Her mother said nothing.
“Well he is, isn’t he? Don’t you think so? Or is it all my fault?”
“It’s not your fault, Aisling. I just don’t want to start criticising Michael. I made that mistake once with your father when he and your grandmother had a big row. By the time they were great pals again, he’d remembered the things I’d said about her and I don’t think he ever forgave me for it.”
“You mean that Michael and I might get back together,” whispered Aisling hopefully.
“Nobody knows what’s going to happen,” her mother said diplomatically.
“I just can’t see the two of you split up for very long. Michael isn’t stupid. He’ll miss the boys and his life with you. He won’t be able to forget all about the last twelve years just like that.”
“You think so?” Aisling was ten once again, with a big tear in her new green striped dress from climbing over the fence at the back of the park and getting stuck on the barbed wire. She was waiting for her mother to fix it, to fix everything. Mam always knew the right thing to say. Her gentle and kind voice softened the harshest blow. She could mend any rip with her tiny, almost invisible stitches, dry the bitterest tears with the right words, and straighten out Aisling’s world when everything seemed awry.
Now Aisling wanted her to fix something that had been battered radically out of shape. It wasn’t fair, was it?
“I’m sorry, Mam,” she said quickly.
“I shouldn’t have asked that. Jesus, if I don’t know what’s going to happen or how he’s going to think, I can hardly ask you.”
“Aisling, I’d love to tell you it’ll all work out between you and Michael, but I can’t. It may not work out the way you want. And you’ll have to face. that I do wish things were different, though,” sighed her mother.
“I know you’re putting on a brave face, darling, but it’s not going to be easy. I’d love if there was something I could say to make you feel better, but I don’t know what to say.”
“As long as you don’t tell Dad what’s really happened,” begged Aisling, ‘that’s the best thing you could do.”
“Your father isn’t that bad …” began Eithne loyally.
“Mam,” interrupted Aisling, ‘he’d be disgusted we’re splitting up and it would be all my fault. You know what he’d say.
I can just do without that sort of disapproval right now. I mean, I have to psych myself up to get a job for a start. That’s going to take about ten times more selfconfidence than I’ve got as it is. I mean,” she said tiredly, “I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night just thinking about it all in terror.
What if I’m useless?”
“Don’t be daft, Aisling.” Her mother’s voice was firm.
You’ve been running that house like clockwork for ten years, and you’ve never been afraid to get your hands dirty. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of working in an office, because you shouldn’t be.”
There it was again. Another person who believed she was super woman Had she been incredibly successful at deceiving people into thinking she could do anything? Or, and this had to be wrong, did they actually believe that she could do anything? What a pity Michael hadn’t felt
the same.