by Tara Heavey
I had a brainwave.
‘Why don’t we sit outside? If you set up the tables and chairs, I’ll sort the drinks.’
‘Sure. Where do you want them?’
‘Over by the cherry tree.’
Down at the bottom of the old-fashioned garden of Power’s Cottage was a massive old cherry tree. In full bloom, as it was now, it resembled a giant, fluffy pink canopy. The blossom wouldn’t last much longer; even now, the slightest breeze made pink petals rain down like confetti.
Luckily, I had some old-style lemonade in the fridge (alcohol was a definite no-no today). I made up a pitcher, with plenty of ice and fresh lemon slices, and carried it out to the garden, along with two glasses. Matt had set up two wrought-iron garden chairs and the matching table just beyond the shade of the cherry tree. He was staring up into the branches.
‘I have a lot of happy memories of this tree,’ he said as I set down the pitcher. ‘I spent a lot of time in this garden when I was a kid. My granny used to mind me and Jack after school. We spent hours up in that tree – playing Star Trek, mainly. Jack always got to be Captain Kirk because he was the eldest. See that funny lump in the bark?’
I nodded.
‘That was the throttle. You could get up to warp speed nine if you pressed it hard enough.’
I merely nodded again. To be honest, I was a little uncomfortable at the casual mention of Jack’s name.
Matt had stopped talking, and his attention was fully focused on me once again. ‘You know, I’m sure he didn’t mean it.’
‘You’re sure who didn’t mean what?’ I knew exactly who and what he was talking about.
‘Jack. Whatever he did or said to you. I’m sure it was nothing personal.’
‘What do you know about it?’
‘Nothing. But I do know that Jack has a lot of issues he needs to sort out.’
‘Issues’? What manner of psychobabble was this? Did Jack’s ‘issues’ excuse his shoddy behaviour that night? His intimations that I had dragged him to bed against his will? His comment that my body was ‘quite’ nice?
Matt must have recognised the cynicism in my face. ‘Don’t be too hard on him, that’s all. He’s a nice guy really.’
I used to think that too.
As the sun shone down on our heads, we each drifted off into our own silent reverie. It was almost too hot to make conversation on this lazy, sunshiny Sunday afternoon. I watched drowsily as two butterflies performed a mating dance. They were like free-floating petals come to life. They teased and chased each other for a full minute before disappearing over the wall into the neighbouring field.
At one point, I offered Matt some food.
‘No, thanks. I’m not that hungry yet.’
Yet? How long was he planning to stay? He didn’t expect me to cook for him – did he? But my alarm was soon dispersed by the sun’s rays, and I drifted off pleasantly again.
After a while, I felt Matt move his chair closer to mine. Then, without a word, he gently lifted my lower legs by the calves and laid them across his lap. Next, he eased off my sandals and began to massage my feet, one at a time. I didn’t object, because a) I’d just got a pedicure and b) it felt like heaven. Like the floozy I was so obviously becoming, I let him continue. I decided I liked being a floozy. I didn’t even get worried when his hands travelled up past my ankles and onto my shins, and then my knees.
But my eyelids did jerk open when I felt his hands slide under the hem of my dress and onto my lower thighs. I looked at him and gulped.
‘What ...’ I had to clear my throat before I could continue. ‘What are you doing?’
His eyes were frighteningly intense. And then he spoke the sweetest words that have ever been spoken by a man to a woman. Words that, without even realising it, I had been waiting to hear from a man all my adult life.
‘Anything you want, Lainey. I’ll do anything you want.’
My pulse racing in my ears, I stood up and held out my hand. Matt silently took it and allowed me to lead him under the heavy pink branches of the cherry tree. I leaned my back against the trunk and pulled his body in to mine. Our kisses continued from where they had left off the day before, although they were more frenzied this time. I took both of his hands in mine, kissed them passionately and then placed them at the top of my dress. He instantly got the message and began urgently opening the buttons down the front.
I had a glorious feeling of being exposed and liberated, all at once. We were outdoors, yet hidden; in danger of being caught, yet safe. The only things now separating Matt’s naked hands from my naked body were a front-loading white bra and a cotton white thong. These barriers were soon disposed of. What followed was a flurry of physical sensations, of an intensity I’d never experienced before. Wherever I arched my body, Matt’s fingers or mouth or delicious tongue followed. The rough bark of the tree against the skin of my back. The sunlight dappling through the branches against my front. The petals falling down onto my bare breasts. I almost felt at one with the universe. I certainly felt at one with the tree.
As soon as Matt was as naked as I was, I coiled my legs around him. Instinctively knowing what I wanted, as I had known he would, he hoisted me up off the earth, and I wrapped my legs around his waist.
With each thrust, a shower of pink petals rained down on our pink bodies. The tree would soon be as naked as we were. I felt like I was in a scene in a Bollywood movie – only X-rated. And then the pink explosions went off in my body and my head.
So, you see, I needn’t have worried about Matt trying to get me into bed after all.
Chapter Twenty-four
I didn’t go to work the next day. I wasn’t sick; I was in a daze. I would have been a liability in the office, staring into space and making stupid mistakes that I’d only have had to rectify the next day.
So I stared into space at home instead. I took a break from staring at lunchtime, for a sandwich and the Ricki Lake show. Tabloid TV – the modern-day version of throwing Christians to the lions. The title of today’s show was ‘Get Your Hands Off My Brother, Mother’. It featured a selection of tarts and hos who had taken liberties with more than one male member of the same family. A black colossus of a woman in the audience shook her chubby finger at one of these women and called her a ‘hoochie mama’. Was that me? Was I a hoochie mama? I wasn’t exactly sure what it entailed, but I could tell by the woman’s tone that it was no compliment. I began to get the heebie-jeebies. What had seemed so right yesterday now seemed so wrong....
I switched channels and watched an appalling Australian medical drama instead, but I couldn’t get the chilling thought that my life was turning into an episode of Ricki out of my head. I might as well up sticks and move to a trailer park in Sweet Home Alabama. And how weird that that show should be broadcast today, of all days. There was definitely a message in there somewhere.
I looked up at Mary Power, who regarded me sternly.
‘Oh, shut up,’ I said loudly, making Terence jump. ‘It’s your fault for having such attractive grandsons.’
I felt marginally better for having pinned the blame on somebody else. But blame for what, exactly? I was single. Matt was single. Jack was in New York. Chris wouldn’t give a toss. She’d just want to compare notes.
My guilt magically evaporated when Matt picked me up that evening. Later on that night, at twilight, with a brook babbling beside me and bats swooping low overhead, I became at one with a large, flat rock.
I honoured the office with my presence the next morning. I strolled in at about half past nine. My hair was down and still wringing wet after my long and luxurious shower. I’d decided to let it dry naturally for a change. Pity I couldn’t have another day off and let it dry in the sun. Sun-dried hair – almost as delicious as sun-dried tomatoes. My face was ever so slightly tanned and free of make-up. I wore a navy skirt and a white linen blouse, open at the neck; I’d noticed in the car that I’d forgotten to iron one of the sleeves, so I’d just rolled them up. My legs were
bare; I just couldn’t face tights today.
I cherished the look on Patricia’s face: amazement tempered with disapproval, overshadowed by burning curiosity. It was the first morning I’d been in the office later than her since I’d started work in Ballyknock. Oh, she was polite enough. She even told me my hair was nice down. But I noticed she didn’t bring in scones for at least three weeks.
Mid-afternoon, I had a call from Tyrone. As usual, he was introduced by the nasal and noxious tones of Barbed Wire.
‘Can you hold for Mr Power, please?’
‘Yes, Barb.’
For goodness’ sake, how long had I worked for him? And that cold bitch still announced him as if I were a stranger.
Tyrone came on the line, voice booming as usual. I instinctively held the receiver several inches away from my ear.
‘Lainey! How’s the form?’
‘I’m in great form, Tyrone, thanks for asking.’
‘Delighted to hear it. You sound it, too. Listen, I’m coming down to pay the Ballyknock office a visit.’
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow.’
Holy shit! ‘Thanks for the notice. You wouldn’t be coming down to check up on me, by any chance?’
‘Lainey Malone! What a question. Don’t you know I have the utmost faith in you?’
‘Do you, now? Sorry for insulting you, so.’
‘Apology accepted. I just feel the urge to visit the furthest outpost of my empire.’
‘Your empire? Excuse me!’
‘So I’ll see you tomorrow at nine. Oh, hold on – Barb wants a word.’
‘With me? About what?’
‘How would I know? See you.’
He put me through to his illustrious secretary.
‘Barb. What can I do for you?’ She was probably going to warn me to stay away from her man.
‘Actually, Elena, it’s a little awkward....’
What was this I was hearing? Was the great Barbed Wire unsure of herself?
‘It’s about Tyrone.’
I thought so.
‘He puts on a good show, but he’s been very unwell lately.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. He’s been working his fingers to the bone, trying to get everything sorted so he can move down to the country. He’s overdoing it. He won’t listen to me any more. Maybe you’d have a word with him – see if you can convince him to slow down a little.’
‘I’ll certainly try.’
‘And another thing....’
‘Yes?’
‘Don’t let him smoke. He tells me he’s off them, but I know he sneaks the odd fag every now and then.’
‘I promise I’ll keep an eye on him.’
‘Okay, so. Bye.’
‘See you.’
‘Oh, Elena?’
‘Yes?’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome, Barb.’
How about that? Not so cold after all.
Patricia and I spent the rest of the afternoon in a frenzy of tidying and organising. Bins were emptied, desks were cleared, miscellaneous post was filed – Patricia was even keener to impress the boss than I was. I completed several odious legal tasks I’d been putting off, astounding myself with my new-found motivation.
Tyrone arrived at quarter to nine the next morning and began a frighteningly thorough investigation of every file in the office. Equally frightening was his appearance. He had aged an unnatural amount since I’d seen him last. Gone were the chubby, prosperous, fat-cat cheeks; the skin was pulled taut over every contour of his face. I didn’t say anything until we were at lunch. He’d taken me out for posh nosh in the local golf club. He couldn’t wait to begin exercising his membership rights.
‘You’ve lost weight,’ I blurted out over coffee.
‘Thanks. I’m thinking of giving up this solicitor lark and becoming a model. What do you think? They say it’s never too late for a change of career.’
I purposefully kept my expression stern. ‘I don’t mean it in a good way. You look gaunt – sick, even.’
‘Well, the doctor told me to cut out the fatty foods, so I did.’
‘Are you sure that’s all it is? You’re not working too hard?’
‘Have you been discussing me with Barb?’
‘Don’t be so paranoid. It’s as obvious as the nose on your face. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard, as usual. You know what the doctor said: you have to start taking things easier.’
He shrugged my comments away. ‘The harder I work now, the quicker I can get down here and relax. And the quicker you can move back to Dublin. That is what you want – isn’t it?’
‘I suppose. But I don’t want you half-killing yourself in the process. That would defeat the whole purpose.’
Tyrone fished around in his pocket and pulled out a pack of Benson & Hedges.
‘No!’ I almost yelled. ‘You’re not allowed.’ He looked at me oddly and I quickly amended, ‘I mean, you can’t smoke in here. It’s a no-smoking area.’
‘Then why is there an ashtray on the table?’
I was momentarily stumped.
‘Well, it’s just that I’ve given up and it’s too much of a temptation to be around anyone else smoking.’
‘But you still have an ashtray in your office.’
‘It’s for clients,’ I said, thinking quickly. ‘In case they get stressed or upset and need to light up.’
He scanned my face. I made sure I didn’t look too triumphant as he put the cigarettes back in his pocket.
‘You have been talking to Barb, haven’t you? That’s why she asked me to put you back on to her yesterday on the phone.’
‘She might have said something.’
I waited for the legendary Tyrone Power temper to flare up, but he just grinned at me. ‘Amn’t I the lucky man, to have two such gorgeous women looking out for me?’
I breathed a sigh of relief. I hadn’t made him angry.
‘Because you’re looking great, Lainey. I’ve never seen you look so well. Country living must agree with you.’
I considered this new concept in surprise. Maybe it did suit me. Although I’d also recommend regular sessions with Matt Power to induce a sense of total well-being.
‘As a matter of fact, you look like the cat that got the cream.’
‘Do I really?’ I smiled. Like the cat that got the cream.
‘Wouldn’t be anything to do with Mattie Power, by any chance?’
That wiped the smile off my face. I hadn’t realised that the Ballyknock grapevine swung all the way to Dublin.
‘How did you know about that?’ I couldn’t play it cool.
He laughed at me. ‘A little Bridie told me.’ He was enjoying this, evidently getting his own back.
‘Whatever happened to poor old Jack? I heard you were seeing him before Christmas.’
Had he, now? He’d never let on before.
‘Bridie’s terrified you’re going to send another of her sons off packing to the States.’
The cheek!
‘What are you doing – working your way through the whole lot of them?’
‘No!’
‘And what about that Dublin lad you were seeing – Peter, wasn’t it? You brought him along to the company barbecue that time.’
‘Paul.’
‘Paul, that’s it. Nice lad. What did you do with him?’
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. When was this barrage of personal questions going to end? This was the one drawback of being on good terms with your boss.
Tyrone sensed my discomfort and took pity on me. ‘All right, all right, I’ll shut up now. But seriously, Lainey ... can I give you a bit of advice?’
‘What?’ I was wary.
‘Just be careful with young Mattie. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s a grand chap and I’m awful fond of him; but – well – he’s a bit of a lad, if you get what I’m saying. All right for a good time, but don’t get too hung up on him.’
I blushe
d furiously. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’
‘Glad to hear it. Now come on – back to the office. We’ve got work to do.’
Chapter Twenty-five
Tyrone returned to Dublin, and I did my best to return to some semblance of normality. Easier said than done, with Matt on the scene. I mean, one-night stands are so demeaning. That’s why it was so imperative that I should see Matt again. And again. And again.
We took full advantage of the long, mild spring days and dined al fresco most evenings. Over the coming weeks, I became at one with a meadow (Matt made daisy chains for my ankles, wrists, neck and waist), a deep green forest (on the forest floor amongst the bluebells), a hay-shed (it was raining. Fun but a bit prickly), a tree-house (he was the type of man who would try to get you up a tree rather than into bed), a waterfall (highly recommended) and the back of his jeep (reminiscent of teenage years. It was quite chilly that night).
You might wonder how – with all this excitement going on – I could drag myself away to Dublin for a weekend. I had two reasons for going. The first one was that Tatiana had given birth to a baby girl. No, she hadn’t been forced to abort when they had found out that she was expecting a girl; no, Chen hadn’t insisted that the child be deposited in the nearest orphanage while they tried to conceive a son and heir; no, Annie hadn’t been forcibly sterilised so she couldn’t have another child. When I rang and spoke to Chen, he wept tears of pure joy.
My parents, too, were beside themselves with happiness. They were travelling to Beijing on Monday to visit mother and child. I wanted to see them before they left, and to give them presents for Annie and my new niece – LuLing. I was now Auntie Elena. How strange.
The family home was in uproar. Cases were packed, unpacked and repacked. Piles of ironing loomed high on the kitchen counter. My mother rushed around in a blind panic, crossing items off lists with a red Biro and adding new items with a blue Biro. My father sat in his armchair, quietly reading a book entitled How to Survive an Aeroplane Crash: One Hundred Tips. I gently pointed out that his choice of reading material could hardly alleviate his fear of flying, but he just said, in a very solemn voice, ‘There’s no harm in being prepared, Rosie.’ The eternal Boy Scout.
