My Pear-Shaped Life: The most gripping and heartfelt page-turner of 2020!

by Harrington, Carmel

  While Greta was at the meeting, Ray and Billie took a seat at the counter of a bar on the corner of the street where their hotel was.

  ‘What do you want to drink?’ Ray asked.

  ‘Beer. Please.’

  ‘Two beers,’ Ray asked Marvin the bartender.

  They took a swig of their Coors Light, draining half the bottle each in one go. ‘I needed that,’ Ray said. ‘That was a long drive today.’

  ‘Me too,’ Billie agreed, going back for another slug.

  ‘Two more.’ Ray motioned to their new friend, Marvin, who told them he’d set up a tab.

  ‘You worried about Greta?’ Billie asked.

  ‘Impossible not to be. But she’s doing brilliantly, all things considered.’

  ‘She is. I like her a lot. I remember you telling me about how you delivered her. That made you close.’

  ‘I don’t think I could love her more if she were my own. Same for her brothers at home. Great guys too. I’m lucky to have them living so near to me. But I think with Greta it’s always been a little different – we are kindred spirits. I get her and I think she gets me.’

  ‘You would have liked children of your own.’ This was a statement from Billie, not a question.

  ‘I always thought I’d have a houseful. But, as you know, life doesn’t always end up the way we planned.’

  ‘Why didn’t you get married, Ray? From what you’ve told me, you’d be a catch. Good job, car, house … guys like you would be snapped up around Cawker City.’

  ‘Maybe I need to move there then,’ Ray joked. ‘I lost my way a bit. I’ve not been living my best life. I might not have locked myself into my bedroom like your mama, but I’ve made a prison of sorts for myself all the same too. I’ve done more living in the past week on this trip than I’ve done for the past twenty years.’

  ‘That’s sad. You shouldn’t admit that to anyone. Goodness, we’re a right pair, aren’t we?’

  ‘I’m just an ordinary guy, living an ordinary life. Some people might call me boring. Some have.’

  ‘I find some people to be idiots,’ Billie said. ‘And by the way, you’re not ordinary. Don’t let anyone ever tell you that.’

  ‘Thank you. And not just because you said that, but there’s something I need to say to you too. I think you’re magnificent,’ Ray said.

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘I mean it. And I’m talking about this version of you, Billie. Not the version I remember from that summer in ’95. Although that version was pretty magnificent, too. I’m in awe of you. Just so you know.’

  Billie hadn’t cried in years. She’d spent decades isolating herself from social situations and had no close friends. By choice, because she had to protect herself from the pain of her past. This came at a cost – it took something precious from her. It took her heart.

  ‘I get so scared,’ Billie said as Ray’s face moved closer towards hers.

  ‘Of what?’ Ray whispered.

  ‘I shut down my heart years ago. I don’t know how to open it again.’

  ‘Your heart is stronger than you think,’ Ray said. ‘I’ve seen how it loves your mama. And Lucy too. I’ve seen its kindness to Greta. To me …’

  And for a moment Ray thought Billie was going to kiss him again. She tilted her head to one side and moved a fraction more towards him. Then she blinked and stepped backwards, only an inch, but it might as well have been a mile.

  ‘Please Billie, let me in.’

  She picked up her bottle and took another swig. ‘Drink up. Greta will be coming out of that meeting any minute. Then we can all go for dinner.’

  ‘I’m not giving up,’ Ray said. ‘Fair warning.’

  ‘I’m counting on that.’ Then Billie made a split second decision. She reached into her handbag and pulled out her hotel key-card pack. ‘I only need one of these.’ She slid the second one to Ray. ‘After dinner, come to my room.’

  As soon as Greta saw Billie and Ray, she knew something had shifted for them. They couldn’t take their eyes off each other. She didn’t know what had happened while she was at her NA meeting, but the sexual tension between the two of them was now off the charts. So she told them she was tired and left them to eat dinner without her. She went back to her hotel room and ordered a sandwich from room service.

  She video-messaged her mam, who was annoyed that she’d not had any warning to put her make-up on.

  ‘No one can see you but me. Honestly,’ Greta said.

  Even so, Emily grabbed her sunglasses and put them on just to be sure.

  ‘I went to a NA meeting.’

  Emily’s mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ of surprise. ‘In America? Oh, I’d say that was something else. Were there drug lords there? Did someone try to sell you crystal meth? Sweet divine Jesus, we should never have let you out of the country. You’ll end up in the red desert yet, in a black bag.’ Emily and Stephen were halfway through the box-set of Breaking Bad.

  ‘Well, there was this one guy who said he was on the run from a drug dealer. He had a distinct look of Jesse Pinkman,’ Greta teased.

  ‘Very funny. Just be on your guard. And for that matter, never leave your drink unattended. Someone might try to slip something into it.’

  ‘No crystal meth. No Rohypnol. I promise. But I can tell you that the snacks were better over here. Not a single custard cream or fig roll.’ She licked her lips thinking about the caramel doughnut she’d devoured.

  Emily said, ‘Never mind all that: swear you’ve not had any pills.’

  Greta replied, ‘I, Greta Gale, do solemnly swear that I have not taken any more pills. You can get the Bible out if you want.’

  ‘That’s my girl.’

  They chatted about Ciaran’s girlfriend Claire and Greta filled Emily in about the new turn of events with Billie and Ray. It was nice. When they said goodbye, the evening still stretched out ahead of her. While she was delighted for Ray and his new romance, it kind of left her out on her own. Here she was, cooped up in Denver. She’d not heard from Dylan much today, but she knew he was busy with work. She opened a YouTube link to a Yoga Nidra class that Noreen sent her earlier. She was just about to give it a go when her phone beeped.

  Dylan: What’s your hotel like?

  Greta: Big! My ears popped in the lift on the way up to my room.

  Dylan: I’ve a question for you. What’re your thoughts on Sleepless in Seattle? URG win or fail?

  Greta: I’ve always found Meg Ryan’s character quite stalkery. I mean, she gets a private detective to find out about a guy she’d just heard on the radio. If a guy did that, he’d be arrested.

  Dylan: Ouch.

  Greta: And it’s highly unlikely that either the Meg Ryan or Tom Hanks characters stayed together. I mean, they’d hardly spoken a word to each other until they met in the last five minutes of the movie. They didn’t know each other. Not really. I reckon that by the time their lift brought them back down to the ground floor on the Empire State Building, it also brought them back to earth too.

  Dylan: So cynical.

  Greta: I like to think I’m more of a realist.

  Dylan: I’ll chat further about this with you later!

  Greta switched on the TV and found the movie Love Actually. She always got agitated when she saw the guy telling his best friend’s wife he loved her, with cards. Totally out of order! But when it got to the bit where the kid ran through Heathrow Airport to find his ‘one’, she had to admit that even her cynical body couldn’t see a thing wrong with it.

  Her room phone rang, making her jump. She answered it, assuming it was Uncle Ray or Billie checking up on her. Instead, it was reception, saying there was a package waiting for her at the front desk. She slipped her feet into her trainers then made her way down to find out what it was. Had her mother sent her something? She giggled as she pictured opening a cardboard box with a copy of the Bible inside. She wouldn’t put it past her!

  ‘Hey, you,’ a voice said from behind her, as she stepped out of the lift.<
br />
  Greta spun around in shock. It couldn’t be.

  Standing before her was Dylan.

  ‘It’s unfortunate yyyyou thought Mmeg was a stalker. Because I think I’ve just ddddone the same.’

  Greta couldn’t speak. What on earth was Dylan doing here? She looked him up and down, his curly hair more unruly than usual, his face white with tiredness.

  ‘Say something,’ Dylan said.

  ‘I’m willing to concede a URG win for Liam Neeson’s son in Love Actually. I was just watching it,’ Greta said.

  He looked amused. And that made Greta happy. She always enjoyed making Dylan smile. She gave him time to formulate his response. She knew he liked to choose his words, pick ones that he knew he could say without faltering.

  Dylan grinned. ‘Cccool kid. Brave.’

  ‘Why are you here?’ Greta asked.

  ‘You know friends can do URGs too. III … thought you could do with a friend.’

  Chapter 29

  They had an awkward moment staring at each other, wondering if they should hug. They had never been tactile. And Greta couldn’t abide the whole theatrical double-kiss darling bullshit. Thankfully neither could he.

  But Greta had changed over the past two months. She was now a shadow of her former fierce self and prone to tears at the drop of a hello. So she found herself walking towards him and initiating a hug after all.

  It took him a second to put his arms around her, and she only allowed herself to stay in them for a moment. But at that moment, Greta felt quite undone.

  ‘You’re not sleeping in my room,’ she blurted out to cover up her confusion.

  ‘I have my own rrroom.’

  ‘How did you know the name of the hotel we were in?’

  ‘You pppposted on Instagram.’

  She’d forgotten that. ‘Total stalker move, Dylan. It’s a good job that I like you and we’re friends. Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.’

  They took a seat at the bar, and she ordered a beer for him and water for herself. ‘I still can’t believe you are here!’

  ‘URG fail or win?’

  ‘I don’t know yet,’ she said.

  ‘You said yyyyou wanted to ttalk in person.’

  ‘I meant on the phone!’ Greta said. ‘Wait till Uncle Ray finds out. By the way, he and Billie have been giving each other the side eye all day. I think they might finally be back together.’

  ‘That’s good, right?’

  ‘It’s amazing. And I’m taking full credit.’

  ‘So wwwhat did you want to talk about?’ Dylan asked.

  Time for a stall. ‘Tell me about work. What’s happening with the Murder Mystery Crew?’

  ‘ShShShit,’ he said.

  ‘Things are shit? What’s happened?’

  ‘No, literally shshshit,’ he said, breaking into a grin. The previous weekend, halfway through one of the sketches, things went very wrong. The count, played by Jimmy, had the runs and had to leg it to the bathroom. Dylan couldn’t get him off the toilet to come back and murder his wife, the countess. So the countess, played by Donna, had to improvise and say that it was the count who was dead. Then whatever bug Jimmy had hit her too, and she had to run away as well.

  ‘Well, good enough for her!’ Greta said, delighted by the news. She was still sore about her taking her Ruby Mae role. ‘And it’s no surprise she got whatever Jimmy has. Sure they were shagging left, right and centre last I heard.’

  ‘By the time desserts were served, there was only one ccccast member left!’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘John.’

  ‘Oh sure that’s grand. He loves the sound of his own voice. Bet you couldn’t shut him up.’

  ‘He sang three songs from Les Misérables.’

  ‘I’d say they were all fecking miserable by the end of that all right,’ Greta said, and the two of them started to laugh. And once they started, they couldn’t stop, even when people began to stare.

  ‘Dylan,’ Greta said when she finally calmed down. ‘This friendship URG thing you did. Epic win. But I need to tell you something. When I disappeared I wasn’t sick.’

  Dylan nodded, remaining silent.

  ‘I was in the Hope Crossing Rehab Centre in Tipperary.’

  She heard him suck in his breath, and rattled on an explanation. ‘Drugs. Not cocaine or anything. Although my mam thinks I’m about to go all Breaking Bad now that I’m in America. But it doesn’t matter what drug it was, does it? ’Cos I’m still an addict. I’ve learned that. But for the record, because you are probably dying to know what, it’s sleeping pills to be precise. So there you go, that’s my news I wanted to tell you …’

  She wiped her hands on her trousers and cursed her physiological response to stress, which always resulted in her body breaking out into pools of sweat.

  Dylan took another sharp breath.

  ‘Sorry. Must be a shock for you.’

  ‘Yyes,’ Dylan said. Yet somehow it wasn’t for him, as niggles of confusion began to make sense. Pieces of Greta’s life that he’d been witness to and not understood now slotted into a jigsaw. ‘Are you OO … K?’

  ‘I will be.’ She stifled a sob. Why was she getting upset?

  ‘What can I do to help?’ Just like that. No judgement. No rubbernecking, or asking a hundred questions that Greta didn’t want to answer; no looking for the gory details. A simple offer of help.

  It got her. So much so that she had to stop for a moment, because she was overcome. ‘You are helping, just being here. It means everything to have my best friend here with me. Thank you for not giving up on me.’

  ‘Wwhen dddid it start?’

  ‘Do you remember when Gran died?’

  Dylan nodded. Greta had been very close to her grandmother.

  ‘When I was in rehab, there was this guy – Tim – who confessed in group therapy earlier that week about stealing drugs from his neighbour’s bathroom cabinet. I felt so superior to him. But I was no better than him.’ She swallowed a lump back down into her throat. She needed to tell Dylan everything. Not sugar-coat her addiction. No more secrets. ‘If I had said no to Mam when she’d asked me to help her clear out Gran’s house after the funeral, then maybe I wouldn’t have found her prescription in the top drawer of her bedside locker. I stuffed the pack of pills into my jacket pocket. Mam was less than two feet from me, rifling through gran’s knicker drawer.’ Greta felt the heat of shame rush over her body.

  Her gran had been prescribed the pills to help her sleep while dealing with her chemotherapy. Chemotherapy that didn’t work in the end. All it did was tear her up inside, make her vomit until there was nothing left. After all the pain she went through, fighting to live, and she was dead less than a week after the last session ended.

  ‘That night I took the tablets for the first time. They knocked me out cold for eight hours straight. Which is why I went back for more. That’s just over a year ago now. But things had gotten out of control.’

  She told Dylan about the things she’d done while under the influence of the pills. About the hooded man. About the bathtub. All of it. And he listened, without flinching or judgement.

  ‘Did Noreen hhhhelp with the night terrors?’

  ‘She gave me some coping mechanisms to help deal with the aftermath. Noreen figured that I’d developed a fear of sleeping because of the hooded man. When I look at the timeline of my life, there is no doubt that in times of stress the nightmares always return. When Gran got sick, the hooded man was in my dreams every night. By the time Gran died, I was just tired, scared and so bloody sad, that the pills seemed like my only escape. But of course, the pills only made everything much worse.’

  Dylan reached over and held Greta’s hand. ‘When you came to my room, you were out of it. You had taken a pill?’

  She nodded. ‘What happened that night?’

  ‘I ddon’t wwwant to … embarrass you.’

  ‘It’s fine. I’ve been mortified more times in the past few months than I have been in my enti
re life. And that’s saying something, because I’ve had a fair few embarrassing moments from day one, to be honest.’

  ‘I thought yyyou were dddrunk.’

  ‘I was – kind of. I’d had a few glasses of wine. Then I took a sleeping pill before I went to bed. That combination, I’ve learned, is a big no for me.’

  ‘Yyyou came to my room.’

  Greta had no recollection of this fact.

  It took a while for him to finish the story. But it turned out that Greta had knocked on his door. He’d been drinking a glass of water and Greta had taken the glass from him, then kissed him.

  ‘You ppppulled me to my bed.’ Dylan flushed red at this. Greta felt something inside her die, just hearing him recount the night.

  She had to push him to tell her what happened next, because he was clearly embarrassed. And all the while Greta had no recollection of a single moment that they’d shared.

  ‘Did we have sex?’ She had to whisper this part. Not so brazen then. In fact, she was terrified that she had let herself become the kind of person that could not remember if she’d had sex or not.

  ‘No!’ Dylan’s voice was loud and firm. ‘I wwwwould never do that. You wweren’t yourself. I could see that. No!’

  The relief was instant, followed by confusion. ‘But I woke up the next morning with my clothes in a pile beside the bed.’

  ‘You took off your clothes. And then you sstarted ttto cry.’

  It took a while to get this part of the story out of Dylan. He confessed that when he turned Greta down, she got upset. She’d mentioned her belly. Then mercifully she’d conked out. Dylan decided it was safer to let her stay in his room so he could keep an eye on her. He was afraid she’d puke on herself and choke. At some point he must have drifted off to sleep.

  ‘I only tttook my shoes off. I slept in my clothes,’ Dylan insisted.

  And Greta was one hundred per cent sure that he was telling the truth.

  Greta realized that she had been fortunate that she’d knocked on his door, and not on the door of one of the other cast members. One or two of the lads there might not have been so gentlemanly.

  ‘What was it like in rehab?’ Dylan broke the silence.