Erin Kaye - Second Time Around

To Janet Marie, my elder sister

Table of Contents

Title Page ERIN KAYE Second Time Around

Dedication To Janet Marie, my elder sister

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Erin Kaye’s thoughts on writing Second Time Around

Reading Group Questions

Read an extract from Always You

About the Author

By the Same Author

Copyright

About the Publisher

Jennifer walked through the door of The Lemon Tree on busy Donegall Square in Belfast city and noticed him straight away. Conversation competed with piped pop music, somewhere a phone rang, and fleet-footed staff clattered noisily up and down the open metal staircase. Yet, there he stood, behind the brightly-lit bar, dark head bent, arms folded across his chest, listening intently to a black-shirted waiter. Athletic shoulders strained against the yoke of his pink shirt and the rolled-up sleeves revealed pale-skinned forearms, thick with dark hair. His lower half, clad in jet black jeans, was slim, almost thin. And he had to be ten years younger than her. Jennifer, trailing behind her friends, and surprised by the sudden yearning he stirred in her, blushed and looked away.

A waitress wearing slim-fitting trousers showed them to their table, a wooden tray clasped against her chest like a breast-plate. Jennifer slid onto a bentwood chair and the waitress, businesslike, thrust a menu into her hand. She opened it and tried to concentrate on the words swimming before her eyes. What was she doing, eyeing up a guy so much younger than her, a man who wouldn’t give her a second look? And even if he did, she’d run a mile. She’d forgotten how to flirt. And the rest of it. It had been three years since she’d been with a man.

‘I know it’s Friday lunchtime but I think you need a birthday cocktail!’ suggested Donna, a full-figured bottle blonde.

Jennifer smiled her assent, determined both to enjoy the company of her best friend – and to give her the courtesy of her full attention. They did this – went out somewhere nice for lunch – twice a year, on each of their birthdays. And, because they lived in Ballyfergus, a town some twenty-five miles away, it felt like a very special treat.

‘The food’s supposed to be fantastic,’ said Donna who, despite being over forty, retained an enviably youthful complexion. ‘Donegal oysters are just coming back into season now September’s started, aren’t they?’ She went on without waiting for an answer, ‘I wonder if they’re on the menu yet …’

The drinks came, they ordered food and Jennifer took a sip of the cranberry-coloured cocktail. She smiled as Donna related a funny story about one of the receptionists at the clinic where she worked who came in so hungover she threw up in a plant pot. But, in spite of her best efforts, she could not ignore the man behind the bar. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on Donna but she was aware of his every move and gesture, her attention drawn to him against her will. For the first time in her life she wished she was younger, that she could start all over again. That she could make a man like that desire her.

‘Are you okay, Jennifer?’ said Donna. ‘You seem a little distracted.’

Jennifer’s face reddened. ‘Sorry.’ She ducked her head of dark, straight hair and blurted out, without thinking, ‘It’s just that I feel old this birthday. For the first time ever.’ She looked around the restaurant, suddenly aware that the two of them looked out of place, dressed up in heels and smart clothes while the tables all around them were taken by younger people in casual, summery chic. Even their choice of sophisticated drinks marked them out as from a different generation. She looked down at her slim black pencil skirt, tight across the hips, and her black satin-trimmed jersey shirt, and felt foolishly, inappropriately, over-dressed.

‘You’re only as old as the man you feel,’ said Donna suggestively and, when this elicited a feeble smile from Jennifer added, more soberly, ‘Your fortieth birthday’s supposed to be the depressing one, you know, not your forty-fourth. By our mid-forties we’re meant to have it all sorted, aren’t we?’ She waved an arm in the air, the collection of bangles on her wrist rattling like chains. ‘We’re meant to have a family, a fabulous career, great self-image, oodles of confidence, a raging libido – oh, and a hunky man on our arm to satisfy it.’ Donna chortled and paused for dramatic effect. She wasn’t the female lead in the town panto every year for no reason. ‘And I’d say you have it all, apart from the hunky man.’

‘It’s not easy meeting someone at our age.’ Jennifer touched the back of her neck, momentarily shocked by the short, sharp line of hair at the nape. She was still unaccustomed to the new haircut, a sleek graduated bob that she’d only had done that morning. In a moment of madness quite unlike her she’d given the hairdresser free rein to restyle her tired, mid-length hair. It had been a good move. The style was modern and edgy, yet still long enough at the front to feel feminine. While she was pleased with it, the new hairstyle had failed to lift her mood. ‘I sometimes think I never will.’

‘Of course you’ll meet someone,’ countered Donna.

Jennifer lifted the glass, threw her head back and downed the cocktail in one, wondering fleetingly if the guy at the bar had noticed her unladylike quaffing. ‘Well the way things are going, it looks like I’m going to be rattling round that house on my own for the rest of my days. Matt’s applied all over for commis chef jobs and, when he gets one, he says he’s moving out. I don’t want him to go.’

It was grossly unfair of her to expect companionship from children who were old enough to make lives of their own but she couldn’t help it. Her only company for so many years, she had come to rely on them. ‘I’m dreading it. It was bad enough when Lucy left for uni. And it’s unlikely Matt’ll get a job locally, not in this economy,’ she added glumly. ‘He’s even applied to Dublin.’

‘Well, if it cheers you any, he’s not likely to get a job down there,’ said Donna, ‘Not with the state of the Irish economy. I hear emigration’s on the up again. Apparently kids are leaving in their droves for the US.’

Jennifer looked at Donna in alarm. Far from cheering her, this news filled her with dread. What if Matt too had to emigrate to find work? To the young and dispossessed the idea of emigration was enticing, romantic even, and the well-trodden path, polished smooth by the feet of those who had gone before, was an easy one to follow.

‘You know, sweetheart, he can’t stay at home forever,’ said Donna, a warm smile spreading across her honest, broad face. ‘He has to make his own way in the world. They all do.’

Jennifer shrugged. ‘I know that. And I want that for him, of course.’ She paused, trying to find the words to articulate the depth of her melancholy. ‘But the prospect of living completely alone for the first time in decades …’ She shook her head.

‘Lucy will still come home for the weekends, won’t she?’ said Donna.

‘That’s true,’ Jennifer was forced to acknowledge. But it wasn’t the same as having children living at home full time.

‘And you’ll still have Muffin,’ said Donna cheerfully and Jennifer flashed her a grin. Donna was a glass-half-full person, the most positive, upbeat woman Jennifer had ever met. And she loved her for it. She rearranged her features into a withering look. ‘He’s a dog, Donna.’