Watermelon

by Marian Keyes

  “And no more Denise?” I asked.

  “No more anyone, if things work out,” he said.

  I didn’t like the veiled threat in that.

  “James,” I said nervously, “you know, I’m not finding this easy. I still feel betrayed and hurt. And that won’t go away immediately.”

  “No,” he agreed in his ultrareasonable tone. “Maybe not immediately.

  But you must work on getting rid of those feelings, mustn’t you? There’s no future in this if you can’t forgive me.”

  “I know,” I said, almost sorry that I had mentioned it.

  Then I took a deep breath.

  “You were wrong too, weren’t you?”

  “I’ve already admitted that,” he said coldly. “Are we going to have to go through this every day for the rest of our lives?”

  “Well, no…but…” I said.

  “But nothing,” he said. “It’s in the past now. We have to forget it and look to the future.”

  That’s a lot easier for you than it is for me, I thought. But I didn’t say it.

  There was no point. It was getting me nowhere.

  “Well, when should I reserve the tickets for going back to London?” he said, breaking my resentful silence.

  “Oh James, I don’t know. I’ll need a couple of days to get everything sorted out,” I said.

  The thought of leaving was horrifying.

  “Claire, I can’t wait a couple of days more,” he said irritably, “I’ve got a lot of work to do at the moment.”

  “Well, aren’t you lucky that I agreed to come back to you in just two days?” I asked bitterly. “What if I’d put up a fight and it had taken you a whole week to convince me?”

  “Now, Claire,” he said smoothly, “there’s no good in thinking like that.

  I have convinced you. That’s the main thing.”

  A pause.

  “I have convinced you, haven’t I?” he asked. And if I hadn’t known better, I’d almost have said that he sounded uncertain.

  “Yes, James,” I said dully, “you’ve convinced me.”

  “It’ll be fine,” he said, “you’ll see.”

  “Yes,” I said, feeling far from sure, but I didn’t have the energy or the inclination to disagree with him.

  “James, you might as well go back to London right away,” I suggested.

  “I’ll come early next week with Kate.”

  “Why will it take you a whole week?” He sounded annoyed.

  “Well…I’ve got people to say good-bye to…and things…” I faltered.

  “I’d prefer if you came sooner,” he said sternly.

  “No, James, really, I’m sorry, but…I need time to adjust,” I said weakly.

  “Just so long as you don’t change your mind,” he said with what sounded like a forced guffaw.

  “I won’t,” I said wearily, knowing that I couldn’t. “I won’t.”

  “Good!” he said. “Well then, I suppose I’ll head back to London immediately. If I go to the airport now I’ll be able to pick up a flight. I wonder if I can get a refund on tonight’s accommodation?”

  “What a pity I didn’t make up my mind and tell you sooner,” I said. “It’s probably too late now to get your money back for tonight.”

  “Never mind,” he said kindly, “it couldn’t be helped.”

  What an asshole!

  I was being totally sarcastic!

  “I’ll call you tonight when I get home,” he promised.

  “You do that,” I said quietly.

  “Give my love to Kate,” he said.

  “I will.”

  “And see you soon.”

  “Yes, see you soon.”

  thirty-one

  “So when are you leaving?” asked Mum.

  “You’re leaving?” screeched Helen.

  “Yes,” I mumbled, aware of how weak and pathetic I must look in her eyes.

  “I think you’re crazy,” she exclaimed.

  “But Helen, you don’t understand…” I struggled to explain to her. “It wasn’t his fault. He had a really hard time with me. I was so demanding and childish. And he couldn’t cope. So he looked elsewhere out of desperation.”

  “And you believe that?” she asked, sneering in disgust. “You’re crazy.

  It’s bad enough that he was sleeping with someone else, but for him to blame it all on you, well, that’s just totally crazy. Have you no self-respect?”

  “Helen, it’s more important that self-respect,” I insisted, desperately trying to convince her. Maybe if I convinced her, I might even convince myself.

  “He’s the father of my child. And we were happy together. Very happy”—because we had been—“and if we work at it, we can be again.”

  “So how come you look so miserable?” she demanded. “Shouldn’t you be happy? The man you love is taking you back. Even though he was unfaithful to you.”

  “Helen, that’s enough,” said Mum in a warning tone. “You can’t understand. You’ve never been married. You’ve never had a child.”

  “Well, I certainly never want to, if it turns me into a total basket case like her,” she stormed, looking at me with contempt.

  “You’re crazy!”

  And she thumped out of the room.

  Silence followed.

  “She has a point,” Mum eventually said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked listlessly.

  “Well, you don’t seem very, well… happy exactly. You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

  “No,” I sighed. “I’m not. I owe it to all of us to try again. But I feel it’s all wrong. I feel manipulated. I feel kind of steam-rollered by him. As though he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. I sort of feel as though I’m lucky to get him back. Yes, that’s how he makes me feel. Lucky!”

  “But aren’t you lucky to get a second chance? Not every woman does,”

  said Mum.

  “No, not that sort of lucky,” I said, desperate to make her understand, to understand myself. “He makes me feel I’m lucky even though I don’t deserve it. As though he’s being nice to me even though he doesn’t have to be. But because he’s a good person. Out of the goodness of his heart. Or something. I don’t really know. But it does feel wrong.”

  “But he is being nice to you,” she said, seizing on the one important thing to her.

  “Yes, but…”

  “But what?”

  “But…but…he’s being nice to me, but like you’d be nice to a naughty child who was very bold but that you’ve now decided to forgive. And although I’m lot of things, I’m not a naughty child.”

  “You’re probably just paranoid,” she said, trying to be helpful.

  Thanks, Mum!

  “It can’t have been easy for him, coming back, eating humble pie, admitting that he was wrong.”

  “But that’s just it! He didn’t eat humble pie. He barely admitted that he was wrong.”

  “Claire, your nose is probably out of joint. He didn’t arrive back in floods of tears with a whole shop’s load of red roses, he didn’t beg you to take him back,” she suggested.

  “It would have been nice,” I admitted.

  “But flowers count for nothing. And love does,” she said.

  “Yes,” I agreed despondently.

  “I feel like he has me trapped now,” I burst out, finally, realizing exactly how I felt. “I’ve got to be perfect all the time or else he’ll leave me again. I can’t say a word against him because it’ll just prove that I’m only thinking of me. I feel I should be so grateful to be back with him that I can never dare complain about anything ever again. That he can misbehave any way he likes and I have to keep my mouth shut.”

  “Well, now, you don’t have to put up with any more nonsense from him,” blustered Mum. “Any suggestion of another woman and come back here immediately.”

  “Thanks, Mum.”

 
“But in the meantime, be glad you have another chance. And give it a go. Try your best. And I bet you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

  “I’ll try,” I promised.

  After all, what had I left to lose?

  “One other thing,” she said a bit awkwardly.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m not sure that I should tell you.”

  “What! What aren’t you sure that you shouldn’t tell me? Tell me, for God’s sake,” I demanded.

  “Well,” she said, looking sheepish, “that Adam called.”

  Adam!

  My heart gave a lurch. Or it might have been my stomach. Sure as anything something lurched.

  “When?” I demanded breathlessly. I felt excited, dizzy, happy. You know, the way James should have been making me feel.

  “A few times,” she admitted, looking very sheepish indeed. “Yesterday morning. Yesterday afternoon when you were asleep. Last night when you were out.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t think you needed any distractions while you were sorting things out with James,” she said humbly.

  “You should have let me be the judge of that,” I said, annoyed.

  A thought struck me.

  “You didn’t tell him where I was last night, did you?” I asked quickly.

  “Yes,” she said, sounding defensive, “I said you were out with your husband. Why shouldn’t I? It was the truth, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, but…” I trailed off.

  What did it matter now? I was going back to London. I was going back to James. No more Adam.

  But I had to see him. I had to say good-bye. I had to thank him for being so nice to me. For making me feel so beautiful and desirable and interesting and special.

  “Did he leave a number?” I asked hopefully.

  “Er, no,” she said, looking away shamefacedly.

  “Maybe he’ll call again,” I said, a bit frantically.

  “Maybe,” she agreed doubtfully.

  What had she told him?

  “And if he does, I want to talk to him, do you hear?” I told her.

  “No need to bite my bloody head off,” she muttered.

  True to his word, James called me later on Tuesday evening to say that he had arrived back safely. Had I set a date yet for my return?

  “No, not yet,” I said weakly, “but soon, I promise.”

  “Just make sure it is,” he said with a suggestive leer in his voice. Which actually made a spasm of dread—fear, almost—run through me. The thought of sleeping with him, having sex with him again, was not a pleasant one.

  As soon, as I—gratefully—hung up on James, the phone rang again.

  It was Adam!

  Beautiful, tall, kind, funny, sweet Adam.

  “Hello, Claire,” he said in his gorgeous voice.

  “Hi, Adam.” I felt so happy to hear him. I felt all girlie and giggly and tingly and simpery.

  “I hear congratulations are in order,” he said in a cold, hard voice.

  It was a bucket of cold water on my warm delight at hearing from him.

  “Wh…what do you mean?” I asked. I was some hard-hearted bitch who had seduced him for the fun of it. Who had no real interest in him. Now that my husband was back I had no further use for him.

  “Helen just told me that you’re going back to London. Going back to James,” he said accusingly.

  “Well, that’s right,” I said apologetically. “I feel as though I must. You know, for Kate’s sake.”

  “And what about for your sake?” he asked.

  I wanted to burst into tears. I felt like telling him that I was thoroughly miserable at the thought of going back to that judgmental, sanctimonious pig.

  As you can see, James was growing worse in my eyes with every second that passed. Adam was growing more desirable and attractive. I ached to be with him.

  But I couldn’t tell him that. I had to make a go of things with James.

  Wishing that I could be with someone else was not exactly productive.

  “I’ll be okay,” I told him.

  “It certainly looks that way,” he said bitterly.

  I felt too ashamed to say anything.

  “And what about my sake?” he demanded. “What about me? Didn’t Sunday night mean anything to you?”

  “Of course it did,” I said.

  “Well, it can’t have meant very much if less than two days later you’re going back to another man,” he said bluntly.

  “Adam, it’s not like that…” I tried desperately to explain. “I’ve got to…I’ve got to give it another chance.”

  “Why? He was horrible to you,” Adam pointed out.

  “Yes, but…you see, it wasn’t really his fault.”

  Adam gave a bark of humorless laughter.

  “So whose fault was it, then? Don’t tell me. No, please don’t tell me. He said it was your fault,” he said.

  “Well, yes, but you see—”

  “I just don’t believe it,” he interrupted angrily. “You’re an intelligent woman—a very intelligent woman—and you let this idiot put you down.

  “What did he tell you?” continued Adam, in full flight. “Let me see. He needed sex while you were pregnant but you couldn’t oblige? Hmmm?

  Was that it?”

  “No,” I said in a little voice.

  “Or that you were far too focused on the impending baby and he felt ignored and crowded out and had to go elsewhere for affection?”

  “No, not that either,” I told him, thankful that he hadn’t come across the right reason yet.

  “It’s pretty obvious that you’re not going to tell me exactly why it’s your fault,” he stormed, “but you can be damn sure that it’s not your fault. Why are you letting him manipulate you like this?”

  And well you might ask, I thought. Good point. Why was I letting him manipulate me like this? Oh, yes, I remember.

  “Because it was so good once that it’s worth trying again,” I told Adam.

  But it sounded insincere and feeble, even to me.

  “And Adam,” I continued tremulously, “I really had a lovely time with you. You made me feel beautiful and special and worthwhile again.”

  “Anytime,” he said sarcastically.

  “Oh, please don’t be angry with me,” I said sadly. “I’m really sorry. I really am. I’ve got no choice. I’ve got to do this.”

  “You do have a choice,” he said.

  “I don’t,” I replied. “Apart from anything else, what about Kate?”

  “So you’re going to go back to some awful relationship with a man who doesn’t respect you or care for you just because of Kate,” he said.

  “He does care about me,” I protested.

  “He has a funny way of showing it,” said Adam.

  “Look, is there any chance we can be friends?” I asked Adam, trying desperately to salvage something from all this unpleasantness.

  “No.”

  “Why not?” I asked frantically.

  “Because I can’t believe I’m talking to the same woman I was with on Sunday night. I thought that one was intelligent and had self-respect and knew what she wanted.”

  “I am intelligent. I do have self-respect,” I said almost in tears. I had to convince him. I didn’t want to lose him. I knew that there could be no romance with Adam. Not now. But I still thought he was wonderful and I wanted so badly to be his friend.

  “Anyway,” he sighed, “I can’t be friends with you. Because I want so much more from you. And I bet you couldn’t be friends with me either. We’re too attracted to each other.”

  “Well, if we can’t be friends, then we can’t be anything,” I said. It was killing me, but I had to say it. I couldn’t go back to James while I still carried a torch for Adam. A clean, honest break was less painful in the long run.

  But I was hoping to call his bluff. Because I wasn’t p
repared for what he said next.

  “Then we can’t be anything,” he said stiffly.

  Panic swept over me.

  At the tone of his voice. At the realization that he was so disappointed in me. At the thought of never seeing him again.

  “Can I have your phone number?” I blurted out.

  I couldn’t bear the idea of just ending things with him now. I was clinging on, hoping that he might be nice to me.

  Hoping that if he said he was still my friend, it would prove I was doing the right thing.

  “No,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument.

  “Why not?” I asked, brooking an argument anyway. Whatever that means.

  “Because what would you need it for?” he asked.

  “To call you,” I said.

  “What would you want to call me for?” he asked.

  “To talk to you,” I said, almost crying. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  “Claire,” he sighed, “don’t be stupid. You’ve made your decision. You’re going to London to live with another man. You can’t have us both. There’s no point in you calling me to talk to me. We’re not going to be friends. End of story.”

  “There’s really nothing else I can say, is there?” I said sadly, realizing that I wasn’t going to get what I wanted. He was not going to give me his blessing.

  Why on earth should he?

  “No,” he said.

  “I’ve let you down, haven’t I?” I asked.

  “You’ve let yourself down,” he said coldly.

  “I’ve disappointed you, haven’t I?” I said, unable to stop myself from rubbing salt into the wounds.

  “Yes, you’ve…disappointed me,” he said after a little hesitation.

  “Well, um…take care,” I said, feeling foolish. Wanting to say so much.

  But being unable to say anything except platitudes.

  “I will,” he said.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, feeling wretched.

  “Not as sorry as I am,” he said.

  And he hung up.

  I stayed standing by the phone for a while. Feeling like my heart was breaking. And feeling terrible fear. Had I made a terrible mistake?

  Was I standing at a turning point in my life? Was I really important to Adam?

  But did it matter? Because I had decided on the direction I was going in.