Everyone said that Rose was immensely practical. She was attractive for Denis, a wonderful mother for Andrew and Celia. And a gifted teacher. People said that Rose was a shining example. Or if they were feeling less generous, they said that they had never known anyone to fall on her feet like Rose. Married at 25 to a successful young man, two children, a boy and a girl, a job to stop her going mad in the house all day, her own car, her own salary every month, no husband grousing about the cost of highlights. Why wouldn’t she be a shining example?

It had been Rose who suggested the whole idea of the Sunday brunches. They had all come from the tyranny of family lunches with great roasts and heavy midday meals. So they moved from house to house every Sunday, everyone bringing a bottle of wine and some kind of salad thing.

They all dressed up. The children played together. If any couple wanted to bring along a friend they could.

They congratulated themselves, it kept them young and exciting they thought. Not dead and lumpen like their parents had been. And it had been Rose’s idea in the first place.

Of course another example of Rose’s luck was that her mother lived way down in Cork. She wasn’t constantly on the doorstep criticising the way that the grandchildren were being brought up. Twice a year Rose’s mother came to Dublin, twice a year Rose took the children to Cork. It was yet another example of how well she organised her life. So they would have been very surprised if they knew how discontented Rose felt as half term was approaching. She seemed to have been teaching forever. The same things every year, and in the same words. Only the faces in front of her were different, the younger sisters of the children she had already taught.

Then on the home front there would be the same arguments with Andrew, six, and Celia, five, about which place to visit when they went to the zoo; Andrew wanted snakes and lions. Celia wanted birds and bunnies. And there would be the same discussions with the au pair. A different name every year, but always the same discussion – the time she came home at night, the long distance phone call. And Denis? Well, he was pretty much the same too. There would be the usual jokes about life being a holiday for teachers, about the workers of the world like himself having to toil on. In a million years he would never suggest the two of them were away together. It wouldn’t matter what kind of a place. Even a simple guest house. But it wouldn’t cross his mind. And if Rose were to suggest it, Denis would say he shouldn’t really go away. Business was different to teaching, you had to stay in touch. And then what about Sunday? Surely Rose wouldn’t want to miss their Sunday with all the gang. Rose began to wish she had never invented these Sundays. They were a lash for her. Always being bright and cheerful, always thinking up a different little dish to make them ooh and aah, blow-drying her hair, putting on makeup, reading the Sunday papers so as not to be out of the conversation. Bribing Andrew and Celia to behave. It was always the same.

Rose was quiet as the time came up towards the half-term holiday.

Nancy, her friend in the staff room, noticed. “Where’s all the zip and get up and go?” she asked. Nancy was single and always saying in mock despair that she would never find a man. “A bit of the magic seems to be going from it all,” Rose said more truthfully and seriously than she had intended to. “Maybe he has the seven year itch.” Nancy said. “A lot of men get it just because they think it’s expected of them. We poor spinsters keep reading about such things just so that we’ll be ready for marriage, if it ever comes. It’ll pass though, it usually does.” Rose looked at her in disbelief. Really Nancy was as thick as the wall. It wasn’t Denis who had a seven year itch. It was Rose. She was thirty-two years of age and, for the foreseeable future, her life was going to be exactly the same as it was now.

A lifetime of smiling and covering her emotions had made Rose very circumspect. She was above all practical. There was no point in having a silly row with her friend and colleague Nancy.

“Maybe you’re right, let’s hope that’s all it is,” she said with her mind a million miles away from the mild expression on her face. Because Rose now realised the truth. She was restless and unsettled. She was looking for something, a little spark, a little dalliance. Possibly even a little affair. She felt a shiver of excitement and disbelief. She wasn’t that kind of person.

She had always thought wives who strayed were extraordinarily foolish.

They deserved all they got, which was usually a very hard time. Rose found that, in the days that followed, everything had become even more the same than it used to be. Denis said, “Sorry, what was that?” to almost every single sentence she spoke to him, sometimes not waiting until she had finished. Maria Pilar every day said, “I miss the buzz, the buzz was late.” It was useless to tell the stupid girl that either she was late or the bus was early. Rose gave up trying. Andrew said every day that he hated cornflakes and Celia, to copy him, said the same thing. Rose’s mother phoned from Cork regularly to say how good the life was down there, how dignified, gracious and stylish compared to the brashness, vulgarity and violence of Dublin. Rose listened and murmured as she felt she had been doing for years. A meaningless murmur.

And then it was Sunday again. She prepared a rice salad with black olives and pine nuts for the gathering at Ted and Susie’s. She knew before they even rang at the door what Susie would say. Susie, a colourless woman, who would have looked very well if she had dyed her eyelashes and worn bright colours, in fact did say exactly as Rose had known: “How clever you are, Rose. You always think of marvellous things, I don’t know how you do it.”

Rose had the urge to scream at her that occasionally she opened a bloody cook book, but stifled it. It would not be practical to shout at a friend, a hostess. She smiled and said it was nothing. She went into the room – there they all were, each playing the role that could have been written for them.

Bill was talking about the match, Gerry about the cost of airfares, her Denis was nodding sagely about Business Expansion Schemes, Nick was telling them about a horse he knew. And the women had roles too. Annie talked about the litter in the streets, Nessa about the rudeness of the in-laws; everything was a lash. Susie, as she always did, apologising for everything. Rose’s mind was a million miles away when Ted, standing beside her and spooning some of the rice salad on to his plate, said into her ear, “Very exotic.” “Oh, it’s quite simple really,” she began mechanically. “I didn’t mean the rice, I meant you,” he said, looking straight at her. Ted. Ted with the new car every year and the fairly vague job description, married to mousey Susie who had the money. “Me?” Rose said, looking at him with interest. “Well, your perfume, it’s very exotic indeed. I always fancy that if we were all in the dark I’d find you immediately.” “Well it’s hard to prove seeing that it’s broad daylight,” she laughed with him, her eyes dancing like his. “But it won’t be daylight on Tuesday,” he said. “Not at night, that is.” “Now what made you make a deduction like that?” She was still playful but didn’t sound puzzled or outraged. It was as if she were giving him permission and encouragement to go on. “I’m going to Cork on business… overnight… and I thought that perhaps we could test out this theory of the perfume, you know. See whether I knew what part of the room you were in. What do you think?”

It was the moment to ask did he mean to include anyone else. It didn’t need to be asked. “And have you thought out how this could be managed?” she asked. She spoke in her ordinary voice as if they were talking about any of the same things they talked about in each other’s houses for the last seven years. “I gave it a load of thought,” said Ted. “It’s your half term and you could be staying with your mother, as it were.” He was leaning on a shelf and looking at her. I’m interested. That’s what he looked. It was a lovely, almost forgotten feeling to have someone looking at her like that. Rose felt a tightening of her stomach. “You’ve thought of everything,” she said. “I don’t see any obstacles, do you?” Ted might have been talking about garden furniture.

“Only the messy one of upsetting people,” she said. “Ah but you and I wouldn’t do anything like that. It’s not as if we’re falling in love or leaving anyone or breaking up any happy homes. It’s just a bit of… Well, how would I describe it…?” “A bit of excitement?” Rose suggested. “Precisely,” he said.

She thought it was very sophisticated of them indeed not to make any plans and think up any cover stories. If it was going to happen, which she thought deep down it would, then these would all come later. They rejoined the group.

Rose let her glance fall over the others, Nessa and Susie and Annie, Grace. Did none of them ever ache for a little excitement in their lives? And if they did, who would they have found it with? Hardly her own Denis. He had barely time and energy for that kind of activity in his own house without thinking of arranging it with someone else’s wife. The Sunday ended as every Sunday did with a visit to the pub. They had their traditions in this too. No big rounds meaning that people stayed all night. Each family bought their own drink. It was very civilised, like everything they did. And very, very dull, Rose realised.

As they left the pub for the car Andrew said he hated fizzy orange, and Celia who had drunk very little other than fizzy orange in her life said she hated it too. Denis opened the door of the car for Rose.

“Don’t we have marvellous friends?” he said unexpectedly. “We’re very, very lucky.” She felt a hard knot of guilt form in her chest. But she swallowed it and agreed. “But we work at it of course,” Denis said. “Having friends means a commitment of time and effort.” Rose looked out the window. If working to achieve a Sunday exactly like this every single week was the result of time and commitment, then she was absolutely within her rights to want a day off, a night out. The knot of guilt had quite disappeared. Ted had casually told her there was a great place to leave her car in for an overhaul, only a few miles beyond Newlands Cross. Rose took down the details and thanked him. If the call had been bugged by every private detective and secret service in the world, it would have seemed totally innocent. Rose went into town and bought herself a black lace nightdress and a bottle of full strength perfume with matching talcum powder and lotion. If she was going to have a bit of excitement with Susie’s handsome husband, he was going to remember it for a long time.

“I want to go to the zoo tomorrow,” Celia said at supper. “That sounds nice,” said Denis not looking up. “Mummy’s on half term.” Rose looked at her son. hoping he would speak on cue. He did. “I hate the zoo,” Andrew said. “I hate the zoo too,” said Celia. “That’s settled then. Maria Pilar will take you out for a lovely walk and an ice-cream!” “I get tired when I go on a lovely walk,” said Andrew, “So, you can go on the buzz. Maria Pilar loves the buzz.” “Eet is not the buzz, eet’s the busse,” said Maria Pilar, hissing across the table. “So it is, I keep forgetting,” Rose got up briskly from the supper table. “Now I’ve got lots to do, I’m off to see Grannie tomorrow.”

“I want to see Grannie,” Celia said. “I hate Grannie.” Andrew said. Before Celia remembered that she hated Grannie also, Rose said no, this was a flying visit. “Are you taking the plane?” Andrew asked with interest. His hatred of his grandmother might be tempered by a new experience like going in an aeroplane.

“Sorry what was that, you’re going to see the old bat?” Denis asked.

“Has Grannie got a bat?” Andrew was very interested now. “I want to see the bat,” Celia said. Rose glared at her husband. Now she would have to pretend that Grannie did have a bat.

“It’s out a lot,” she said, “Especially at night.” “It’s too much down and back in one day,” Denis said. “I know, I’ll stay the night.” Rose was surprised how easy it came when it had to – the lie, the cover up. She always thought that women who weren’t used to this would bluster or redden and give themselves away.

“You’re doing your purgatory on earth, that’s all I can say,” Denis left the supper table, and went into what they called his Denis Den. He would be there until midnight. There were a lot of figures to be sorted out coming up to sales conference time he would tell her if she protested. Annual Report time or the AGM or the Visiting Firemen. There was always something.

Rose slept a guilt-free sleep. No woman was meant to sign on for such a dull life. That had been part of no bargain. Somewhere in the air there was a little clause allowing for a few Excitements along the way.

Ted was waiting exactly where he had said at ten o’clock. He was relaxed and easy. They transferred Rose’s little overnight bag into his boot. “This is great fun,” he said. “Isn’t it just?” said Rose. On the journey they flirted with each other mildly. Rose said he drove the car in such a masterful way. Ted said she curled up like a kitten in a very seductive way.

They played Chris de Burgh tapes. Ted had to make a few calls, but he had booked a table for lunch somewhere he thought Rose would like. Perhaps she’d like to settle into the hotel first and meet him at the restaurant.

They didn’t mention Denis or Susie. They told each other none of the cute little things said by Andrew and Celia or by Ted and Susie’s children.

This was an Excitement, time out and away from all that.

Rose examined the bedroom with approval. She hung up her good dress for dinner, hid all the perfumed unguents in her case. She didn’t want it to look as if everything had come out of a bottle. She looked at her own face in the mirror. She was exactly the same as she had been last Sunday morning, only two days ago before Ted had come up with the offer of the Excitement. The same, but a little more carefully groomed. She had waxed her legs. Always a dead give-away about affairs, people said, but Denis wouldn’t have noticed. She strolled happily along to the restaurant where she was greeted by a cry that froze her blood. “Rose, Rose, over here.” It was her mother.

Sitting with Nora Ryan, the most horrible person in the South of Ireland or maybe in the whole of Ireland. A woman with beady eyes and a tongue that shot in and out like a snake’s. Delivering harsh critical words every time. They were sitting at a table for three and they pulled out the third chair for her, Rose felt a pounding in her head. It was as if they had expected her. “How did you know I was… um… coming to see you?” she stammered. “Well I rang. I rang and that not very bright girl said you were in zee Cork.” “Europeans,” said Nora Ryan, casting her eyes up to heaven. “We’re all Europeans,” snapped Rose before she could stop herself. “How observant of you, Rose dear,” said Nora Ryan with three flashes of her thin serpentine tongue.

“And what did you say?” Rose spoke to her mother. “I said that’s great, and that Nora and I were having lunch here but that stupid girl couldn’t understand a word I said.” “Spaniards!” said Nora, her eyes nearly reaching the brim of her hideous hat. “So what did you do then?” Rose felt a sense of blind panic that she had never known before.

Now the unthinkable had happened. Her mother must have told her husband there had never been any question of a visit. Was there a hope in hell Rose could pretend it had been meant as a surprise? “I had a very odd conversation with my grandson who seemed to think the house was infested with bats and that you were coming down to deal with them.” Rose put her head in her hands. “So then obviously I rang Denis at the office to find out what was happening.” “And what did he say?” “Questions, questions, really Rose, you’re like one of these interrogators on television,” said Nora Ryan.

Rose flashed her a look of pure loathing. “Mother, what did Denis say?”

“He said he was well, he said he was busy coming up to the Sales Conference …” “Before I have to take you by the throat and beat it out of you, Mother, what did he say about my coming to Cork? What did he say?” “Really, Rose,” Nora Ryan began. “Shut up, Mrs Ryan,” said Rose.

They stared at her. Rose tried to recover the lost ground. She spoke very slowly as if talking to someone of a very low IQ. “Can-I-ask-you-Mother-to-tell-me-what-did-Denis say?” Rose’s mother was fingering her throat, the one that Rose had threatened to shake her by. She seemed almost afraid to speak. “I don’t see why you’re talking like this Rose, I really don’t. I told Denis that if you called before you went out to the house this is where we’d be having lunch. To save you… to save you the journey out to the house… that’s what I was doing and inviting you to lunch in a nice smart place like this …” Rose’s mother had taken out a handkerchief and dabbed the corner of her eye. “I most certainly didn’t expect dogs’ abuse and interrogation about it.” She was hurt and she didn’t mind them knowing it. Mrs Ryan was now in the totally unaccustomed role of being a consoler.

“Now now, now now now,” she said, patting the shaking shoulder awkwardly and flashing glances of hate at Rose. “Did he know I was coming to stay with you?” Rose’s voice was dangerously calm, the words came out with long spaces between them.

“Of course he knew,” her mother sniffled. “How did he know?” “I told him.” “How did you know, Mother?” Rose’s mother and Nora Ryan looked at each other in alarm. Perhaps Rose was going mad… seriously mad. “Because Maria Pilar had told me, my grandchildren had told me…” The breath seemed to come out of Rose more easily now. “Yes. Well that’s fine, that’s all cleared up,” she said. And at that moment Ted came into the room, carrying a single red rose wrapped in cellophane. The blood drained from her head yet again.

He saw her and came over.

“What a surprise. What a huge surprise,” he shouted like a very bad actor in an amateur play. The two older women looked at each other, again their alarm increased. “Good God, it’s Ted,” cried Rose. “Of all the people in the world!” She looked around the room as if she expected to see a few other equally unexpected people like Napoleon or Princess Diana. “I’ll tell you the most extraordinary thing,” Ted shouted, unaware that the entire dining room was now looking at them and could not avoid listening to them. “This is my mother,” screamed Rose. “My mother that I was coming down to Cork to visit.”

“How do you do?” Rose’s mother began but she might as well have been talking to the wall. “The most extraordinary thing,” Ted repeated. “I was back at the hotel before… um… before coming alone here and who did I meet but Susie’s brother and his wife. Susie is my wife,” he said to the sixty or so people who were now part of his listenership.

“They are in Cork and staying in the same hotel.” He paused to let the words sink in with all the diners. “The very same hotel.” He didn’t get the reaction he wanted, so he said it in a different form. “The self same hotel, you might say.” Rose began to babble. “That’s lovely for you Ted, you can all be together. I’d love to stay in a hotel myself sometime but I’m staying with my Mother.” Mrs Ryan looked at her with narrowed eyes. “I’m sure your mother wouldn’t mind at all if you were to stay in a hotel,” she said pleasantly.

“No, no, no, I can’t. And anyway, Mother has a lot of bats in the house,” she floundered wildly to Ted, “so that’s where I’ll be staying.” Ted might not even have heard her.

“So the odd thing was that when they thought they saw me, they asked at Reception if it was me and Reception said of course, God damn interfering nosey parkers that they are, they said that Mr and Mrs Ted O’Connor were there.” Rose said, “What did you do?” “I told them that suddenly at the last moment Susie couldn’t come and then Reception said did I want to move to a single room because it would be cheaper and I said yes, but that I’d rush up and pack my things and so I did and they’re in the back of the car, if you know what I mean.”

Rose looked at him. His face was scarlet, he looked like a madman talking to other very mad people. “If you get my drift,” he roared. Rose felt a sudden maturity sweep over her. She knew now that she had enough Excitement to last her a long time. On the grounds that she was helping Ted to park his car, she left with him, retrieved her suitcase. They were both too shocked to speak. She returned to the restaurant where the diners looked up with interest hoping for Round Two. Ted had given the red rose to Mrs Ryan. “I bought it for you,” he had said without explanation.

Nora Ryan saw nothing odd in this. In her youth it had happened a lot, she said. Rose spoke courteously to her mother, planned the night in the house that she had forgotten was bat free and worked out what train to get back to Dublin and how to retrieve her car from beyond Newlands Cross. To begin what she hoped would be a fairly even tempered and unexciting period of her life.

©1992 Maeve Binchy.

Imagery sourced from maevebinchy.com