by Marian Keyes
It was a paper bag. Big enough to fit over my head.
‘We’ve cut out eye-holes,’ TC said.
I tried to laugh but – to everyone’s horror – tears came to my eyes.
‘It was only a joke,’ Lorraine said anxiously.
‘Maybe you should take some time off,’ TC urged. ‘How much holiday time have you left?’
‘A couple of weeks.’
‘Go someplace. Maybe get a bit of sun.’
I went to Jacinta, who wasn’t unsympathetic. ‘One of the Canaries?’ she suggested. ‘Lanza-grotty? Costs nothing at this time of year.’
But I’d no one to go with.
So I’d go on my own, I decided. It would be good practice for the rest of my life.
That evening Marnie rang Ma. They spoke for ages, then Ma handed me the phone. ‘She wants to talk to you.’
‘I hear you’re going on holiday,’ Marnie said.
‘That’s right.’
‘I could come with you.’
It was an olive branch.
‘I won’t drink,’ she promised.
Of course she’d drink, but it was better than going on my own.
Lola
Saturday, 7 March
Paddy got married. All over the news. Not exactly skipping around my flat, throwing hat up in the air, as if had just won 8 million euro, but didn’t have relapse. No demands for non-lumpy soup, no driving around the city without due care and attention. Day passed ‘peacefully.’
Sunday, 8 March 17.05
Phone rings. Bridie.
‘You want to go Knockavoy next weekend?’ she asks. ‘Patrick’s Day holiday?’
‘Thought Cousin Fonchy had house booked.’ (Another peculiarly named relation. Is there no end to them?)
‘He had but fell off ladder. Temporarily blind. Can’t drive. Will we go?’
17.08
Texted many Knockavoy pals to notify them of my forthcoming arrival.
Grace
We went to Tenerife. We got a little apartment in a resort that was faked-up to look like a fishing village. The place was about a quarter full and Marnie and I were the only people under ninety. Every day we each lay on a lounger beneath the weak March sun and I read thriller after thriller and Marnie read biographies of people who’d killed themselves. Every evening we had our dinner in the same restaurant and every night we both slept for twelve hours.
We took care of each other, finding lost books and sunglasses, rubbing on each other’s suncream, warning each other about overdoing it in the sun. There was no mention of Paddy or the bitter falling-out we’d had. We were like two frail, elderly convalescents, doing for each other what we weren’t able to do for ourselves.
I’d decided I didn’t care if Marnie drank – but, true to her word, she didn’t. Maybe that was all she’d needed, I thought wryly. A fortnight in the Canaries, to cure her of alcoholism.
We talked a lot while we lay on our backs facing up through sunglasses at the sky.
‘Funny how our lives have paralleled each other’s,’ I said.
‘You mean, both of us being left by our men?’
‘Yes, I suppose.’
‘Was it my fault that you and Damien split up?’ she asked. ‘Because of all that time you spent with me?’
‘No, of course not.’
But I understood that perhaps I’d welcomed the chance to spend weekends in London with Marnie, because it took me away from the stilted terribleness of Damien and me.
By the time we’d passed the halfway point on the holiday, I was certain that Marnie wouldn’t drink. Then, on the eighth day, she had a tearful phone call from Daisy – and just like that, she was off, drinking round the clock.
For three days I spoke to no one. I just read my books and lay on the lounger and let the sun warm my eyelids. Now and again I’d go back into the apartment to check that Marnie was still alive.
Every five hours or six hours, she’d come to, get up, go out, buy more vodka, come back, drink it and pass out again. Dutifully I’d pour away whatever was left in the bottle, but when she emerged from her coma, I didn’t try to stop her from going to the mini-market to buy more.
After three days she stopped, like she’d run out of the necessary self-hatred to fuel the binge.
‘Sorry,’ she whispered at me.
‘It’s okay. Don’t worry. Do you feel well enough to go out for dinner tonight?’
‘Maybe. I don’t know.’
‘I could cook. You haven’t eaten in days. You should have something.’
She was confused. Through her haze, she asked, ‘Why are you being so nice to me?’
‘Because I love you.’ The words were out of my mouth before I’d thought them through. ‘You’re still my sister. I’ve always loved you. I’ll never stop.’
‘Why aren’t you angry with me for drinking?’ Marnie asked.
Again the words came without my volition. ‘Because there’s nothing I can do about it.’ It didn’t mean that it wasn’t breaking my heart, because it was, but I knew now that there wasn’t a thing I could do to change things.
‘And Marnie, there’s nothing you can do either. You’ve no choice. I used to think you had but you haven’t. You’re powerless, as powerless as I am.’
It was the strangest feeling – I’d forgiven her. She wasn’t going to stop drinking, I knew that now. Nothing could make her stop. She would keep drinking and keep drinking and – sooner or later – it might kill her. But even for that I’d already forgiven her.
Lola
Saturday, 14 March 18.59
Bridie, Barry, Treese, Jem, Gwen and I arrive Uncle Tom’s cabin. All together in Treese’s new SUV. (Present from Vincent.) (Vincent not present.)
19.03
Open bottle of wine.
20.08
Knock on door.
‘That’ll be Considine.’ But when opened door, who was standing there? Only Chloe! Yes, Chloe! Eyes sparkling, hair glossy, clothing as on-trend as ever.
Delighted hugs. Proud introductions. Over-interested gawking from Bridie, Barry, Jem and Gwen. Less overt staring from Treese.
Strong drinks. High spirits. Out on the town. Knockavoy crammed with visitors. People everywhere. No one sussed Chloe was trannie, simply thought she was – perhaps slightly tall, slightly bulky – girl from Dublin.
Chloe huge hit with friends.
‘Full of life and laughter,’ Bridie kept saying about her. (Do not know where she got that phrase. Bridie has propensity for peculiar phrases.) ‘Do not fancy her as, unlike you, Lola, am not lezzer-inclined, but full of life and laughter.’
Bridie tremendously drunk.
All of us tremendously drunk.
Great, great night.
Sunday, 15 March 12.09
Quite unwell. Jem and Gwen carried sofa round to back of house for me – too hung-over to do it myself – then lay on it, huddled beneath duvet. Kept Considine’s house in my sights, hoping to see him and give little wave, but he never appeared. Down pothole, no doubt.
14.14
Treese got up.
14.22
Treese went back to bed.
17.01
Aided by Barry, Bridie crept downstairs. Had been vomiting since sun-up.
‘Toast,’ she whispered.
20.27
Jem and Gwen cooked dinner. Bottle of wine opened. Tentative sips. Suddenly everyone talking and colour back in our cheeks.
21.19
Knock on door.
‘That’ll be Considine.’ But when opened door, who was standing there? Only Chloe! Yes, Chloe! Again! Different clothing this time, but just as dazzling. Thrilled, yes, thrilled to see her once more. Could not understand why felt so disappointed.
Strong drinks. High spirits. Out on the town. Knockavoy crammed with visitors. People everywhere. Again, no one sussed Chloe was trannie, simply thought she was – perhaps slightly tall, slightly bulky
– girl from Dublin.
Again, C
hloe huge hit with friends.
‘Full of life and laughter,’ Bridie kept saying about her.
Decided to count how many times Bridie said, ‘Full of life and laughter,’ but lost count after forty-eight.
Bridie tremendously drunk.
All of us tremendously drunk.
Great, great night.
Did not really enjoy it.
Monday, 16 March 6.14
Had been asleep for only two hours but was awake again. Thinking of Considine. Keen to see him. Very keen. Needed to get to him before he started applying false nails and chicken fillets and became Chloe again. Now as good a time as any. Slipped from bed and, still in pyjamas, crossed grass to his house.
Knocked on door.
No answer.
Knocked again, much louder.
No answer.
Knocked again, this time so loud almost missed him protesting, ‘Is middle of bloody night!’
‘Let me in, Cranky-Arse! Is Lola.’
He opened door and I scooted past him. His hair mussed and face sleepy. Wearing blue sweats and raggedy grey T-shirt. (All traces of Chloe removed, was relieved to see.)
‘Badger’s arse?’ I asked with sympathy.
‘Badger’s arse.’ He nodded dolefully. ‘You?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tea?’
‘No.’
‘Anything?’
‘No.’
‘Sit beside me?’
I moved. Emboldened. ‘I put head on your shoulder?’
‘Yes. I put arm around you?’
‘Yes.’
Sat side by side in hung-over silence. Remarkably pleasant.
‘Considine.’ Cleared throat. ‘Never thought would hear self say these words, but am happy to see you. Was starting to think wouldn’t see you at all this weekend.’
‘Thought you liked Chloe. Got Chloe out of retirement specially for you.’
‘Do like Chloe. Kindly of you to go to trouble. But like you too.’
He rubbed hand over stubbly jaw. Raspy noise. Sexy, if truth be told. ‘Like you too, Lola,’ he said. Silence. ‘Like you very, very much.’ More silence. But not normal silence. Silence where a lot of emotion happening. ‘Very much. Missed you since you left.’
Pause where weighed up what should say. ‘Missed you too.’
‘Think about you all the time.’
Another pause. ‘Think about you all the time too.’
‘Think about you every day.’
Another pause. ‘Think about you every day too.’
He yawned. I yawned. He said, ‘Better go back to bed.’ Seemed to be struck by notion. Twisted head to look at me. ‘You like to come?’
Gazed into his eyes. ‘… Er… yes.’
‘Good!’ Sudden, most un Considine-like grin and he swung me up into his arms – carrying me! Was mortified.
‘Put me down. You will hurt your back. I have large bottom.’
‘Perfect bottom.’ He was climbing the stairs. Not even puffing.
‘How you so strong?’
‘Potholing.’
He kicked bedroom door open, it vibrated with force, then placed me in centre of bed. Still warm from him.
All happening too fast. Lost my nerve. ‘We have had no sleep, Considine. Let’s have little snooze.’
‘Whatever you like.’
Got under duvet but kept my pyjamas on. He kept clothes on also.
Gathered me to him, pulled duvet tightly around us. I began drifting off to sleep, but felt would combust spontaneously. ‘Am too hot, Considine.’
‘Me too.’
‘Am taking off my top.’
‘Me too.’
I unbuttoned my pyjama top. He pulled T-shirt over his head. Warm smooth skin against mine. Hard muscles. Taut stomach. Oh delicious.
Shut my eyes and resumed sleeping position. ‘Am still too hot, Considine.’
‘Me too.’
But once all clothes off, felt hotter still. Freedom of unfettered limbs, legs tangled with his. I shifted and his erection banged against my thigh.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Ignore it.’
‘Would prefer not to. If that’s okay with you.’
‘That’s okay with me all right.’ Amused.
Was bloody fabulous.
No porn. No prostitutes. Only one position.
Focused. Intense. Holding himself effortlessly on tensed arms, like doing push-ups, he moved slowly in and out of me, while staring into my eyes. Thought would die.
15.01
Woken by double beep of Considine’s phone.
He read text. Passed me phone. ‘It’s for you.’
Lola, u getin de ride off Considine?
From Bridie. I replied in the affirmative. Text came back.
Finish up now. Time 2 go home. Treese
wants 2 ‘beat de traffic.’
‘Considine, I have to go.’
‘Stay,’ he said.
‘Cannot,’ I said. ‘Big job tomorrow.’
‘… Tomorrow. But I…’ He didn’t say whatever had been going to say. ‘You still very busy?’
‘Oh very busy.’ Yes, had plenty of work, but making self sound even busier than was.
‘No sign of it slowing down?’
‘No sign.’
‘And you’re feeling good?’
‘Excellent.’
‘Glad to be back in Dublin?’
‘Overjoyed.’
‘… Okay. Well, for what it’s worth, Lola, I want to tell you something. It’s important.’
‘What is it?’
‘Chloe here for you any time you like.’
Chloe? Not what had been expecting to hear.
‘Kindly of you,’ I said stiffly. ‘Will let self out.’
15.38
In the car
‘So!’ Bridie said. ‘You and trannie-man!’
‘Is nothing,’ I said irritably. ‘Holiday romance.’
‘Maybe he visit you in Dublin?’
I kept mouth closed. Considine hadn’t mentioned any possible visits and so neither had I.
‘What’s up with you?’ Bridie asked.
‘Nothing.’
But not nothing. Had been stung by Considine’s offer of Chloe’s friendship. He hadn’t said, ‘I here for you any time you like.’ Prepared to offer his trannie alter ego but not himself.
Grace
I arrived home on 19 March, the day of the general election.
‘Dee Rossini’s party is expected to do very well,’ Ma informed me.
‘Good, good.’ I couldn’t care less. I didn’t want to hear about Dee or New Ireland or anything to do with them.
‘Damien was looking for you,’ Ma said.
My heart hopped, then immediately slumped to an even lower position. He must want to talk about what we were to do with our house.
‘He rang while you were away but I didn’t want to disturb your holiday. He says to give him a ring when you’re back.’
I’d give it a couple of days, I decided. It was going to be a painful discussion and I wanted to put it off for as long as possible. He was bound to be working all hours on the election; that could be my excuse. I’d wait until after it was done and dusted.
The following morning I was woken at seven-thirty by voices bellowing from the radio in the kitchen.
‘Turn it down,’ I yelled. ‘Turn the fucking thing down.’
But no one heard me so I stomped downstairs.
‘It’s a bloodbath,’ Dad crowed, sitting at the kitchen table. ‘Your friend Dee Rossini is after making shite of the main parties. Everyone has lost seats to New Ireland – even the mighty Nappies. She looks likely to double her number of Dail seats. The Nappies will be gagging to stay in coalition with her.’
‘Very good.’
I gave the dial such a swivel I hurt my wrist, then I made toast and went back to bed. I ate my toast and drifted back into a funny, dream-filled half sleep and was woken by a tap on the bedroom door. It was Ma. �
��Someone to see you,’ she said.
My heart leapt with hope and I sat up eagerly.
‘No, it’s not Damien,’ she said.
‘Oh. Okay.’ Slowly I lay down on the bed again.
‘Get up,’ Ma hissed. ‘It’s Dee Rossini.’
Oh no. I’d have to be enthusiastic. ‘Ma, tell her I can’t –’
But Ma had disappeared out onto the landing, then, practically bowing, she was leading Dee into the room.
‘New Ireland are forming a coalition government with the Nappies. Ms Rossini’s just been made Minister for Finance and Deputy Prime Minister,’ Ma said, bursting with pride. ‘She just got a call this minute from An Taoiseach. On her mobile.’
An Taoiseach? Ma loathed Teddy Taft. She hated him, she always referred to him as the Thug and she said his nose looked like a penis. But she’d even said An Taoiseach with its proper Irish pronunciation – On Thway-shaaaaaaackkkhhhh, as ifshe was dry-retching.
‘Dee hasn’t been to bed yet,’ Ma said with admiration.
‘Grace.’ Dee came towards me. Then she got a proper look. ‘Oh my God! Grace! You look sick.’
‘Thanks a million!’ I said. ‘I’m just back from holiday! I should look good. You’d want to have seen me before I went.’
‘Are you sure you’re not sick?’
‘Completely sure. I went to the doctor. She made me.’ I indicated Ma, who was still in the room.
Ma put her hand to her chest and gave a little gasp, as ifshe too had just discovered that she was still in the room. ‘I should really…’ She sounded disappointed. ‘You must have private things to discuss. I’ll leave you to it.’ Reluctantly she left.
‘Anyway, Dee, congratulations.’ I remembered my manners. ‘You’ve done amazingly well, Dad says.’
