by Cathy Kelly
‘Amy, you’re a born creative person,’ said Nola, emphasising each word like she was teaching an empowerment course. ‘You’ll get there in the end. You’re honing your craft.’
‘I wish,’ said Amy, having just junked another 20,000 words of a novel because it simply hadn’t worked out. ‘Nobody ever said I was creative at school, no one ever read out my English essays, I wasn’t one of those kids.’
‘Hey,’ said Nola cheerfully, ‘none of us fitted in. We were the Three Musketeers of Not Fitting In. It’s hard to be creative and sparkling in any particular field when you are struggling to get by. Besides, weird teenage years are fabulous fodder for being a writer. Gosh, Tiana should have a go – she has plenty of material!’
Thinking of this made Amy send Nola a text: ‘Have amazing news about book, will phone you later.’
She felt guilty not phoning Nola immediately but Clive was coming and she wanted to see him so much, to tell him and to have him share in her excitement.
He knocked on the door quietly and she ran to it, for once not caring that he was knocking in that ludicrously clandestine way.
‘Darling,’ she said delightedly at the door.
He said nothing but just shoved her in.
‘Hush,’ he said, ‘someone will hear.’
‘Who is going to hear?’ she said, laughing. ‘We’re on the second floor. Do you think the police are peeking in to see who I have got coming round to my house?’
She was joyfully happy, her dreams were coming true. And she had someone to share them with.
‘You never know who’s watching,’ hissed Clive.
‘OK,’ said Amy slowly. ‘Clive, I’m excited because I’ve got some great news.’
Clive shut the door quietly as if the world’s secret services, MI5 and Mossad included, were indeed on his tail.
‘Just can’t be too careful,’ he said.
Some little thing inside Amy clicked into place.
‘What do you mean you can’t be too careful?’ she said, staring at him.
She was still holding the letter in one hand: it gave her power. She, Amy Reynolds, aka A.J. Sharkey, was going to be a published author. Publishers and editors liked what she had written. She was not going to be doing a series of dead-end jobs for the rest of her life. She was going to do something she loved.
‘And what do you mean, you don’t know who is watching?’
‘Suzanne is acting really weird,’ said Clive, going over to the window and peering out.
‘Acting weird?’
‘As if she knows something,’ said Clive.
And then all the cards that Amy had been building up inside her head, entire villages of little bits of paper laid on top of each other delicately and beautifully, all fluttered to the ground.
Clive was not separated from Suzanne and cohabiting in the same house with her until he had funds to move out. They were not in line for a divorce down the road when the money was sorted/the kids were older/the moon was in Venus. His wife wasn’t seeing other people, he wasn’t free to see other people. He was a married man coming round for sex and adoration and dinner, maybe not even in that order, Amy thought wretchedly.
Had she been absolutely mad? How had she not seen this? And now that she had, she couldn’t unsee it.
She didn’t know whether it was the power of suddenly having something else in her life or not, but it was all terribly clear to her now. Painfully clear.
‘Clive,’ she said, as she watched her lover staring out the window in the manner of a man distracted, ‘I’ve something important to tell you.’
This was a little test.
‘You know that book I’ve been working on for a long time?’
‘Yeah, your story thing,’ he said dismissively.
He tucked the curtains back into place and looked at her and then he smiled and walked towards her, fingers on the buttons of her blouse. Amy always wore blouses or dresses when he came over. They were more feminine, he said.
It was because he liked undoing buttons and stroking the softness of her skin and reaching her bra more easily.
‘Yes, my book,’ she said, correcting him, ‘not my story thing.’
She moved a step back so that his fingers no longer were touching her skin.
‘I sent it off to a publisher, they like it and want to publish it.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ he said, moving forward again so his fingers could go back to working on her buttons.
‘Yes, it is wonderful,’ said Amy, still waiting.
She was waiting for some excitement from him, waiting for Clive to say, ‘Darling, I’m so proud of you! This could change your life, you’ve worked so hard on this.’
But he wasn’t interested in her book, he wasn’t interested in her life being changed. Instead, he was interested in getting her clothes off and getting her into bed. Without his wife knowing.
That was all she was to him – someone he went to bed with.
Amy had never actually slept with Clive. She had never curled up beside him, happy to have a night’s sleep or even a few hours of sleep with her beloved with nothing sexual involved, just the comfort of a human being who loved her, lying peacefully beside her.
She’d never woken up in the morning to hear him pootling around in her kitchen, making her coffee, calling that he could squeeze orange juice and did she want toast before she went to work?
None of those simple pleasures. She’d got caught up in the whole dream of romance and the handsome boss who was thrilled with her beauty and would take her away from all of this. But it turned out that the handsome boss was no prince. He was a frog, or worse. Frogs were probably monogamous.
She had to be her own prince.
‘Clive, sit down for a minute,’ she said.
‘Of course,’ he replied, delighted, sitting down on the couch and reaching for her.
Amy deftly moved so she was sitting down on her single armchair.
‘Are you still with Suzanne? I need to know before we go any further.’
‘Honey, I’ve told you—’ he began.
Amy still held Cari’s letter in one hand. Normally she was not a strident person, or a person who was able to stand up for herself. But she thought now of Cari as she’d met her at her mother’s wedding: funny, sparky, with a ready wit and a career. Cari would never let a man use her. Never.
With the letter as a talisman, and summoning up all her strength, Amy refused to back down.
‘Please tell me the truth, Clive.’
‘Amy, lovie, it’s … it’s complicated,’ said Clive, and he adopted that particular face he always wore whenever he spoke about Suzanne, a face that implied great courage in the face of adversity, respect for his poor wife and lots of other things, but none of them saying, ‘I love you and I want to be with you.’
‘So if I went round to your house now, and asked Suzanne if you two were getting divorced, would she be shocked at the notion or agree that it was just a matter of money and timing?’
Clive went pale and Amy had her answer.
She knew that it was entirely her own fault. She had met this wonderful man and thought he was the answer to all her prayers when in fact he was the answer to someone else’s prayers. He was someone else’s husband, the father of other children and he would never be the father of her children.
‘There is no living-in-the-same-house-but-separated relationship between you and Suzanne, is there? It’s not over, the two of you aren’t waiting to separate amicably, am I right?’
‘Look,’ said Clive, raising his hands expansively as if he were addressing a staff meeting, ‘you know it’s difficult when you’re married. You don’t understand because you have never been in this position but—’
‘What position is that, exactly?’ said Amy.
‘A senior management position.’ Clive’s chest puffed up wth his own self-importance. ‘People don’t necessarily understand what we are going through. The stress … and you know I love Suz
anne and the kids but sometimes marriages get stagnant and I just need something else and …’
‘You needed something else and I was stupid enough to think I was all you needed,’ said Amy.
In her head, she heard a mental chorus of her two best friends shrieking at her, saying: ‘This man is nothing, nothing! How have you carried on with this?’
Somewhere in the mental chorus was Granny Maura, hissing: ‘You should be ashamed of yourself!’
‘I am ashamed of myself,’ she said out loud.
‘You are not going to tell her,’ he said, suddenly anxious.
‘I’m not going to tell her,’ said Amy. ‘I’d be too ashamed. But you know what, why don’t you go home now and try and keep it in your pants, Clive.’
‘I can’t believe you are speaking like this,’ said Clive, trying to salvage things. ‘I’m your boss.’
‘Yes,’ said Amy, her fingers still clutching the wonderful letter full of Cari’s words of praise. She tried to channel Cari Brannigan. ‘You’re my boss and I’m a junior member of staff, and I feel quite sure that the Met-Ro people would not like to think that you would take advantage of me in this way. What is this – sexual harassment? You being my direct superior and all that?’
Naked fear appeared in his eyes and that fear was a small recompense for all those hours she’d spent waiting for him to call, waiting for him to tap on the door and come round for what she thought was a wonderful romantic interlude and what had really been something quite grubby. And sad. Desperately sad.
‘Go, Clive, get out of here. Let’s forget this ever happened, just don’t do it again to poor Suzanne, she deserves better.’
‘Look, you are not serious about complaining, are you?’ said Clive, grabbing his jacket. ‘I mean that could ruin me, destroy me, I wouldn’t have a career, I’d be unemployable and—’
‘Just get out,’ she shrieked, and he went.
Amy locked the door, wondering what she’d seen in him, because in the flesh he was all those wonderful things that she had read about for years, and yet at heart he’d been weak and he’d used her. She deserved more, she deserved better.
She wanted to tell her mother – inexplicably the desire to explain it all to Bess came over her, but she couldn’t. Mum would be so upset, disappointed in her for betraying another woman.
Instead she picked up the phone and rang Nola.
First up, she told Nola about the book. Nola’s whoops of joy could be heard for miles.
‘Oh, honey, I’m so proud of you, I knew you had it in you. I knew you are a writer, just the way you sit quietly and watch everything, and all the world thinks you’re just this quiet shy girl and secretly you’re watching everything.’
‘Unfortunately, that’s not the only thing I have been doing,’ said Amy with a grimace, and she proceeded to tell Nola the whole grubby story.
‘I feel like crap, actually,’ Amy said finishing. ‘Dirty and miserable and as if I have been playing in the ash heap. How could I not have known?’
‘Because he lied to you. It’s that simple. We’ve all been burned by the wrong man,’ said Nola wisely. ‘Even me. Yes, I know you think I have it all sorted out but I haven’t. I have once spent some time with a man who told me that he was nearly divorced. Just let me tell you, honey, there is no such thing as nearly divorced. It’s like being a little bit pregnant. Why don’t you book a weekend flight and come to me. We can celebrate your book!’
‘I’d love that,’ said Amy. ‘Let me see what the story is here with the publishers and then …’
She paused.
‘Nola, I’m going to have a book published!’
It was as if the news was finally coming to settle in her head. She, Amy Reynolds, might just possibly, with luck and a four-leaf clover and lots of other stuff, be a success.
Nineteen
‘The truth will set you free,
but first it will piss you off.’
Gloria Steinem
Cari and Conal had been out every second night since they’d met. They’d gone dancing, to dinner, over to Anna and Jeff’s again, and finally, back to the glamorous French restaurant where Conal had brought her the first night.
Cari had deliberately kept everything slow. She would not let her lesser instincts rule her brain.
She wanted to know this man before he put a foot into her bedroom. Just because Elaine was seeing wedding bells after two weeks of Juan and his dog didn’t mean Cari had to be similarly silly.
And yet the more she knew of Conal, the more she found she was crazy about him. He was fun, wildly clever, definitely sexy, and more than slightly obsessed when he talked about his work, although Cari could understand why.
Her boyfriend was officially one of a group of amazing people in the world trying to cure cancer. Compared to her job, it was … well, she of so many words could come up with none.
‘Inadequate,’ she said finally, looking up from her cheesecake into Conal’s sexy grey eyes. ‘You make me feel inadequate,’ she said.
‘Really?’ he looked worried. ‘That doesn’t sound good.’
Cari shook her head. ‘No, it’s fine, but your job is so amazing, what you do so incredible and I wonder do you look at me like I’m some sort of idiot because I don’t understand everything about your work and you need to be simpatico with someone to have a relationship with them … and, you could get bored with me and run off with some sexy girl scientist—’
‘One who wears her hair up and has glasses, but rips them off and suddenly turns into a hot babe?’ he interrupted, grinning evilly.
‘Yes! Don’t tease me.’
‘Sorry. I have gone out with fellow scientists,’ he said, and she swore she saw a faint darkening of his face, but then it was gone, ‘and you tend to talk endlessly about work. Or the people you work with. But with you, I get to talk about art and literature and mummy porn.’
‘Stop that.’ She threw her napkin at him. ‘If you think you’re going to make me blush, you’ve got another think coming, doctor. I have your number now. All talk and no action.’
‘Really?’
One of his long arms reached under the table and found her knees, then played a delicate tickling game along the inside seam of her jeans.
‘Stop! We’ll get thrown out.’
‘I think we should go anyway,’ he said, and she was pleased to note the hoarse tone in his voice. She was doing this to him, not the hot lady scientists.
‘Your apartment, for herbal tea?’ he asked politely as they left.
‘Herbal tea?’
‘OK,’ he whispered into her ear, ‘something else steamy?’
‘Works for me.’
At the door to her apartment, Cari’s fingers fumbled with her keys.
His mouth was on her neck and his hands were touching her waist, as he leaned over and laid kisses on her neck from behind.
‘I love the way your hair is cut so short that I can kiss the curve of your neck,’ he murmured huskily. ‘There’s something so sexy about it, it’s an erogenous zone.’
‘Nobody ever said that was an erogenous zone before,’ said Cari, wondering had her key changed because it wasn’t fitting into the lock properly.
Somehow she managed to open the door.
The apartment was going through one of its neat and tidy stages, although Cari tried to remember if the bedroom had a certain level of chaos going on from her speedy beautification before going out on the date.
Oh, who cared. She turned around and he was holding her tight, kissing her, his big hands gently cradling her head, his mouth touching hers and it felt so amazing: this man holding her and she could feel that he wanted her and she wanted him so much and it was going to be equal.
She wasn’t taking advantage of him, he wasn’t taking advantage of her, they knew everything about each other – well, she thought she knew everything about him …
‘Stop thinking. You are over-thinking this, I can tell,’ he said.
�
��How do you know I’m thinking?’ she said, laughing.
‘You said you can tell when I’m fibbing,’ he said, ‘you know the look in my eye. I can tell by the look in your eye that you’re working things out and analysing it. You’re an analyst, Ms Brannigan, and you have been hurt but I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t jump into bed with everyone I meet.’
‘Me neither,’ she said, pulling at his shirt.
‘No, honestly, it’s been a while …’
‘I thought men couldn’t go without sex,’ she said.
‘Not this one,’ he began, unbuttoning her blouse. ‘Not when there’s someone special and you’re waiting for them, hoping—’
‘Oh, stop talking,’ she said, kissing him.
Then they were on the couch and their clothes were coming off and Cari found herself saying, ‘My bedroom would be nicer.’ And Conal, despite the extra pounds that she worried over because of all the chocolate, picked her up as if she were a tiny faery person, carried her into the bedroom, laid her on the bed and made love to her, with what she could only describe as reverence.
She ignored the fact that he had condoms with him. He was being cautious, that was all. It wasn’t that he’d been convinced she was a sure thing, right?
The next morning she woke up to feel this large body beside hers and she wasn’t scared or anxious or worried: it felt utterly right. A long hairy leg stretched over hers, a face with morning stubble nuzzled into her shoulder and it felt absolutely wonderful. She didn’t regret any of it, any of the glorious fabulous passion of it.
‘What time is it?’ he said in a husky morning voice.
‘It’s …’ Cari looked at her watch ‘… ten past seven.’
‘Oh hell, I have got to be out of here. Early work meetings again. Otherwise I’d stay, honestly, and wake you up properly, Ms Brannigan, because you look so delicious lying there naked but—’
He leaned down and kissed her again, one hand sliding down to circle her nipple. And then he was half lying on her and groaning that he had to get up.
‘Go,’ said Cari, used to having to think of work. ‘Have a shower first or they’ll know you spent all night in bed with a strange woman.’
