by Marian Keyes
Another reason I kept my mouth shut was that Ma, Dad and Bid – especially Bid – would have laughed at me. Everyone assumed that I was as tough as old boots – and ifI was ever foolish enough to reveal any weakness, the reaction was mild hilarity. Over the years, I’d learnt to never bother with tears, because all I got was chuckles and ‘Look at you crying there, like a great big eejit.’
However, my Paddy-obsession came dangerously close to being unmasked when I asked Ma and Bid, ‘How do you get a man to notice you?’
Ma’s advice was, ‘Be yourself.’
Bid’s advice was, ‘Don’t wear a bra.’
Be myself. So who was I?
I was the uncomplicated robust one, so I decided to play to my strengths. No feminine wiles for me. When Paddy loaded up a tray with ten pints of lager and asked, ‘Need a hand with that, Grace?’ I said stoutly, ‘Not at all,’ and hoisted it off the counter, my arms trembling with the strain.
(I was subsequently to see Marnie refuse to carry any tray with more than four glasses on it and have barmen tripping over themselves in their desire to help.)
I did every shift I was asked to do, in the hope of coinciding with Paddy’s. I was almost afraid to consider it, but I thought he liked me. The night he slipped an ice cube down my back and we had a minor wrestling match, which left me breathless and elated, I was nearly sure of it.
The most important thing I needed to establish was whether or not he had a girlfriend. I lay on my bed plotting and planning. Ask Jonzer? Ask Whacker? Ask any of the other equally horrible barmen?
I realized I could just ask Paddy.
‘So, Paddy –’ I flipped the lid off a bottle of tonic, caught it and tossed it over my shoulder into the bin – ‘you have a girlfriend?’
‘Good shot,’ he said. ‘No. Why? You offering?’
‘You wish.’ I picked up my tray and swung past him.
‘I do actually,’ he said to my retreating back.
I laughed over my shoulder. ‘Dream on.’
‘You’re breaking my heart!’
Later at home in my bedroom, I unwrapped those words like they were precious jewels, and listened to them again and again.
I do actually.
You’re breaking my heart.
I was building a connection with him, like constructing a house of cards, trembling with terror every time I added a new one, in case it sent the whole edifice collapsing into disarray.
We had lots in common: he was interested in politics; I was interested in politics. Well, I wasn’t really, but I knew about them. And we were an obvious physical match – not many girls were five foot nine. (When I was subsequently discarded in favour of a five-foot-nothing, I felt like a shamefully massive, lumbering lunk who couldn’t fit through doorways and who broke chairs when she sat on them.)
The night of my birthday, Marnie’s and my seventeenth, I added another card to the house by proposing to introduce him to the most important person in my life.
‘My twin sister will be in later. It’s our birthday.’
‘Your twin? There are two of you? One Grace Gildee is bad enough!’
I flicked water from the running tap at his face and he recoiled, laughing. ‘Are you going out later to celebrate? Am I invited?’
‘Why would we invite an eejit like you?’
‘Ah go on, Grace.’
‘No.’
‘Ah please.’
‘What part of the word “no” don’t you understand?’ (I was almost pitifully pleased with that particular line, thinking it the height of sophisticated flirting.)
Then in came Marnie and with one look she swept away all that I had built up so carefully and doggedly, and grabbed the prize.
There was a moment when I felt I had a choice, that if I put up a fight I was in with a chance. Then I copped on to myself. Paddy wanted Marnie. But even ifhe hadn’t, Marnie wanted him and I could never deny her anything.
It was hard, though. I saw them at work and I saw them at home: there was no escape. I had to witness him kissing her and holding her hand and giggling with her. I had to listen to her graphic accounts of their fabulous sex. ‘… And then he pulled my legs up around his waist and, Grace, I swear to God…’
But I got used to thinking of him as Marnie’s. Now and then I had unexpected moments when I remembered the connection I’d felt with him but I realized I must have been delusional.
They were together for nearly three years and I knew Paddy had stopped loving Marnie before she did. It was the spring before our twentieth birthdays, Paddy was in his final year in college, he was due to begin training as a barrister in October and it was obvious – to me, at any rate – that he was ready to move on to the next part of his life.
I tried to warn Marnie, but she was unreachable. In a way it was as bad as ifhe’d fallen out of love with me. Her pain was mine.
Then Sheridan told me that there was more going on with Paddy and Leechy than their platonic comforting sessions. I couldn’t believe it – Leechy was like a sister to Marnie and me. But Sheridan insisted it was true, insisted with such force, that – even though it was none of my business – I went to Leechy and asked her to stay away from Paddy.
Leechy was always eager to please. But instead of acceding, she said surprisingly firmly, ‘No, Grace. I’m Paddy’s new girlfriend.’
New girlfriend? I was stunned. ‘But he already has a –’ I gazed at her and the full truth dawned on me. ‘Are you – are you… sleeping with him?’
‘No.’ She coloured.
‘You are! Oh God. God. Oh God, God, God,’ I groaned, overwhelmed with fear. What would Marnie say? What would Marnie do? ‘Leechy, please stop. You’ve got to. Where’s your loyalty?’
‘Normally I would be loyal,’ she said. ‘Normally I’d never take another girl’s man.’
I felt like saying, Normally you wouldn’t get the fucking choice! You’re not exactly Cindy Crawford.
‘What about Marnie?’ I begged. ‘She’s been your friend since you were five!’
‘Marnie and Paddy are over,’ she said with quiet confidence. ‘I’m his type. I’m sensible and steady and I like the Carpenters. Marnie was just a teenage thing.’
‘Leechy, you’re imagining it –’ I wanted to tell her how I’d once thought his type was robust and mouthy. How I was certain that he was simply using the consequences of sleeping with her to somersault himselfout of Marnie’s life.
‘I love him, Grace,’ she said with continued confidence and that was that.
I blamed Paddy but I blamed Leechy more. Ifshe hadn’t slept with Paddy, Marnie wouldn’t have been unhinged enough to sleep with Sheridan, and ifshe hadn’t slept with Sheridan, Paddy wouldn’t have pummelled her into unconsciousness, an event that I think altered her for ever.
It was over four years before I saw him again. It was at a work thing, an early evening launch of something, in a crowded hotel function room. Suddenly he was there, taller than everyone else. He didn’t look poor and wild any more, his clothes radiated newness and money, but it was definitely him. I stared for half a second too long, enough time for him to see me. Shock stamped itself on his face. He went white and his expression froze. I turned my back to him.
‘Gotta go,’ I said to the cluster of people I was with.
‘Why…?’
I abandoned my glass on a passing tray and zig-zagged through the throng, making for the door. By the time I reached it, Paddy was blocking my path.
‘Grace –’
I dipped my head and moved sideways but with one lithe move, he was in front of me there also.
‘Grace, it is you, isn’t it?’
I swivelled in another direction, but once again he was ahead of me. ‘Grace. Please… Is this how you treat an old friend?’
‘What?’ I jerked my head up. ‘You’re no friend of mine.’
It was a mistake to look at him. He was a picture of anguish. ‘Grace, please.’ Beseechingly he said, ‘You and I have always been
friends.’
‘Friends?’ I was disgusted. ‘After what you did to Marnie!’
My loud outrage attracted a couple of startled looks.
Paddy noted them. ‘Can we talk?’ he asked quietly.
‘Work away.’ I folded my arms. ‘I’m all ears.’
‘Not here. Somewhere a bit more… private. Where I can explain?’
There couldn’t be an explanation. But curiosity was always my downfall. Maybe there really was something that would make sense of it all.
‘There’s a private bar here in the hotel,’ he said. ‘Will you give me ten minutes of your time?’
He made it so easy – ifI’d had to go any distance in his company, I wouldn’t have done it. And what was ten minutes?
In the hushed wood-panelled comfort of the snug bar, Paddy placed a drink in front of me.
‘You’ve six minutes left,’ I said.
‘In that case I’d better make it quick. Okay… I was young and… and… off my head and very angry. My mother had died, my father was such a nutjob –’
‘It’s no excuse.’
‘I’m not trying to excuse myself, I’m just trying to explain.’ He hung his head. ‘I had no home, that’s the only way I can put it.’ A long pause ensued before he spoke again. ‘When I met Marnie she became my home. All of you, really, you and Bid and your mum and dad.’ Another period of silence. ‘But when I stopped, when it happened that I didn’t love Marnie any more, I blamed her. I thought I’d stopped loving her because she was weak. If she’d been a different person, I’d still be in love with her, but she wasn’t and I wasn’t and once again my home was gone…’
I was surprised to feel a little bud of sorrow for him. Then I remembered Marnie’s swollen, battered face and it vanished.
‘I’ve been haunted by shame,’ he said.
‘Good enough for you. And why are you telling me? You should be telling Marnie.’
He hesitated. ‘I’ve thought about it. I still think about it. But, knowing what I know, knew, of Marnie, ifI got in touch, I think it would… open old wounds. I reckon I’d make things worse, not better.’
The very annoying part was that he was right. IfMarnie was to hear from him now, it would set her back years.
‘But I’m never entirely sure, it’s something I think about and I wonder…’
‘And on that fascinating note –’ I swallowed the remains of my drink and got to my feet. ‘Your ten minutes are up.’
‘How is she?’ he asked.
‘Marnie? Fine,’ I said. ‘Far better without you. You were… shit to her.’
‘I had to be. It was the only way of ending it. She would never have accepted it otherwise.’
Once again he was right.
‘She’s a very special girl,’ he said wistfully. ‘Will you stay for one more drink and tell me how she is?’
‘No.’
‘Please.’
‘No. Oh all right.’
I had nothing else to do. Well, that was how I justified it to myself.
Paddy bought more drinks and went on to talk with such kindness about Marnie, such sadness about how sensitive she was, how hard she found it to be happy that – to my eternal shame – I halfagreed with him.
The clang of a metal barrel interrupted Paddy’s flow of words. ‘God, that takes me back,’ he said. We watched as the barman changed the barrel. ‘Remember we used to do that in the Boatman?’
I nodded, abashed by the memory of me lugging heavy stuff around the pub in an attempt to impress him. What a gobshite I’d been…
‘You were the only girl who could change a barrel,’ he said. ‘You were like this… amazing Amazon. Spectacular. Nothing daunted you.’
I was stunned. I had always thought that hoicking things around like a stevedore was what had put Paddy off.
‘I’d never before met a woman like you,’ he mused.
I couldn’t look at him. I swallowed, so loud we both heard it and my Adam’s apple leapt up and down like a piston.
‘I’ve never met one since.’
Christ! I attempted a sideways glance at him and when our eyes met, emotion surged between us. Resistant though I was – and I was, all I had to do was think of Marnie’s swollen, battered face – I felt we were intimates, like he and I truly understood each other. The way we had been before he’d met Marnie.
‘Another drink?’ he said.
‘No. I’m going.’
‘Sure? Go on, just one more?’
I hesitated, then gave in. ‘Oh okay, just one.’
When he returned from the counter, he placed our drinks on the table, then turned to me and said, ‘I’ve got something to say and ifI don’t say it now, I’ll never say it.’
I had a fair idea of where this was going.
‘I made a mistake,’ he said. ‘I picked the wrong sister.’
I closed my eyes. ‘Don’t.’
Even ifhe hadn’t done the terrible things he’d done to Marnie, it was taboo to get involved with your sister’s – or friends’ – old boyfriends. He would always be hers.
‘Come home with me,’ he said.
I was convulsed by longing. I would have given my all for just one night with him. One night of his naked body, one night of dirty, tender, heart-aching sex in every conceivable position, one night of him thrusting into me, his face contorted with lust for me, me, me…
‘No,’ I said.
‘No?’
‘No.’ The picture of Marnie in the hospital wouldn’t go away. I grabbed my bag and got up to leave.
‘You’ll change your mind,’ he said. ‘I’ll persuade you.’
‘Not me,’ I said, wondering what he’d do to convince me.
But nothing happened. I didn’t hear from him again, not a word for another eleven years. Plenty of time for me to reflect on my refusal.
Then, last summer, I got a phone call from Annette Babcock, the commissioning editor of Palladian, a publishing house that specialized in celebrity autobiographies. I’d ghostwritten a couple of books for them in the recent past. (A sportswoman’s life story and the trials and tribulations of a woman who was once Miss Ireland and who’d had twenty-eight cosmetic surgery operations to keep her modelling career on track.)
It was the sort of work hacks often do on the side, what with most sportspeople or models – or indeed politicians – being borderline illiterate. The work was intensive, also soul-destroying, as you tried to transmute someone’s dull life and tedious anecdotes into readable prose, but the money could be good.
‘Can you come in?’ Annette said. ‘I’ve a job for you.’
When I was sitting in front of her, she said, ‘We’re doing Paddy de Courcy’s book.’
Jesus, I thought, Paddy de Courcy…
‘We think you’d be the right writer to do it. It’ll mean spending a lot of time with Paddy over the next month, but that’s no hardship, is it? Is it?’ she repeated, when I didn’t reply.
‘What! Sorry. Just thinking there…’ I cleared my throat. I had plenty of questions. First and foremost, why me?
‘Don’t let it go to your head,’ Annette said snippily. Clearly she fancied him. ‘It’s not like he requested you. We’ve a panel of writers we use. We put a few names to him. He said he’d read The Human Race.’ (The sportswoman’s story.) ‘He said he liked your work.’
‘Did he…?’
The thing was that I’d sort offorgotten about Paddy de Courcy. I mean, not entirely. It’d be bloody hard to, the way he was always on the news or had his handsome mug grinning out from the social pages. At times when I saw him I got a surprise little twist of something in my gut but most times I felt nothing at all.
‘Well?’ Annette asked. ‘You in?’
‘I don’t know…’
‘What?’
I was confused. Was this not risky for Paddy? I knew stuff about him that probably no other journalist knew. But maybe that was why he’d decided on me – because he wouldn’t have to fess up about
putting Marnie in hospital and shock the bejaysus out of me. Maybe he knew he’d have to include it in the book but thought he could get me to do a nice sanitized version?
Or maybe I was overthinking this. Maybe Marnie was so far back in his distant past that he’d totally forgotten what he’d done? Maybe he really had liked my work on The Human Race? Maybe this really was just a job?
‘The money’s good,’ Annette said anxiously. She threw a figure at me and, in fairness, she was right. ‘I can try to get you another couple of grand.’
‘Yes, but…’
I was all mixed up. Why would I help Paddy? The thought of working with him, of letting him benefit from my writing skills made me feel disloyal and uncomfortable. Then my crusading spirit took over – maybe I could get justice for Marnie fifteen years after the event. I thought about it a bit longer and the conviction that something good could come of this got stronger.
‘Okay,’ I said to Annette. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘A little bit more enthusiasm, ifyou don’t mind,’ she said. ‘Personally I’d be creaming myselfat the thought of all that time with Paddy.’
I closed my eyes. Christ, did she have to?
‘Now listen to me, Grace. This is a highly confidential project, because of the danger of pre-publication injunctions from other politicians. Tell no one.’
‘My lips are sealed.’
The minute I got home I told Damien.
‘His autobiography?’ Damien was deeply suspicious. ‘Why? He’s done nothing except shag models. He’s not the leader of a party. He hasn’t even been a minister.’
‘The world of celebrity autobiographies has changed.’ I shrugged. ‘You don’t need to have done anything, all you have to be is good-looking.’
Damien was watching me, his face still, his eyes bleak. ‘Why did you say you’d do it, Grace? After what he did to Marnie?’
‘That’s precisely why. I’m wondering ifI can get… I don’t know… something for Marnie. Even an apology…’
