by Laura Elliot
‘I opened one of your texts by mistake,’ I tell him when the others have gone upstairs to shower.
‘Oh… what was the message?’
‘Something about New York. Your phone’s over there if you want to read it.’ I gesture towards the corner unit.
‘I wondered where I’d left it.’ He glances across at the phone but makes no effort to pick it up. ‘It’s probably Reedy.’
‘Reedy?’
‘He’s gigging there at the moment.’ He lifts the saucepan lid and inspects the contents. ‘This looks so good.’
‘Eleanor was here. She knows.’
He meets my eyes for the first time. ‘Who told her?’
‘Eoin.’
‘That figures. Was she dreadful?’
‘There were no thumb screws involved but, otherwise, yes, she was her normal bullying, egocentric self.’
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’ll talk to her tomorrow. Make her understand.’
‘You’re an atheist, Jake. You don’t believe in miracles.’
‘She can’t stop us doing what we want.’
‘That’s true.’ I strain the rice. ‘You’d better scrub up. Dinner’s almost ready.’
‘Okay then.’ He removes his phone from the shelf and slips it into his pocket. ‘I’ll have a quick shower. Be down in five.’
I remember Reedy. Basset hound eyes and stick legs in skinny jeans. I see his name on album credits, always as a session musician. ‘Have bass guitar will travel’.
* * *
When dinner is over, the twins, Ali and Brian head off to meet their friends from Oakdale.
‘Peace at last.’ Jake switches on the television and settles down to watch the box set he received as a present from the twins.
‘Why does everyone believe you’re the unhappy spouse?’ I ask him.
‘You know the kids.’ He shrugs, unconcerned, and presses the remote. ‘Once they get a notion into their heads, that’s it.’
‘I’m sick of fending off their pity.’
‘I wouldn’t let it bother me.’
‘Well, it does.’
‘It shouldn’t. Anyway, what’s unhappiness got to do with it? You never mentioned that word until now.’
‘But you must have been unhappy or you wouldn’t have agreed so readily when I asked for the divorce.’
‘Readily. Give me a break, Nadine.’
‘Would you have asked for one if I hadn’t suggested it first?’
‘That’s a hypothetical question. And I wasn’t aware we were involved in a competition to see who dumped who first.’
This is a ridiculous conversation. I’m behaving like a sulky child. But something’s wrong. I sense it, like nails scratching against my forehead, and I’m edgy, not knowing what it is.
‘I’m sorry, Jake.’ This is not the time for a row. ‘It’s been one of those days – ’
‘Forget it.’ He flaps his hand in my direction. ‘You’re probably due your period.’
‘Oh, here we go again!’ My anger explodes. ‘Nadine’s asking awkward questions so she must be due her period. Nadine’s in a bad mood so she must be due her period. Nadine tore my head off for being a prick so she must be due her period! Why do you always do that?’
‘Sounds like it’s due tomorrow.’ He remains unruffled.
‘That’s it!’ It’s years since I’ve shrieked like this at him. ‘I’m moving into the spare bedroom.’
‘Go ahead,’ he replies. ‘It’s what you’ve wanted to do for months.’
‘Correction… it’s what you’ve wanted me to do for months.’
The following morning we make up our row. Stress, we both agree. Who can blame us? We agree on this also. We’re perched high on the stress pyramid. An impending divorce, selling our house and business, a bank manager with the heart of a rock, adult children who need constant financial support until they’re ready to make their own way in the world. And Eleanor. I’m unsure where she should rank on the pyramid. The apex, probably. I refuse to allow her that vaulted position. My mother-in-law can and will be handled.
When Jake visits her I remove my clothes from our bedroom, clear my make-up and jewellery box from the dressing table.
‘What did she say?’ I ask when he returns.
He throws his eyes upwards. ‘Three guesses. But there’s nothing she can do to change our minds.’
‘I’ve moved my stuff into the other room. It’s more honest, don’t you think?’
‘I would have moved – ’
‘It’s done, Jake.’
I acknowledge the dragging pain in my back. He’s right, damn him. My period will have arrived by tonight. I can never decide if being premenstrual means I’m overreacting to situations or staring at the truth with a hard, unflinching gaze.
CHAPTER 16
JAKE
The New Year began as the old one ended. Recession… austerity… downturn… crash. Such words invaded his dreams and dominated his waking hours. He had married Nadine in the eighties on the cusp of a recession and now they were divorcing on the cusp of another one.
Paul Rowan from Brass & Strings, who had been trying to buy Tõnality for years, was no longer interested. He had invested everything in property and had a dead-man-walking expression when he met Jake for lunch. Flushed cheeks and red veins on his nose, an ominous sign. Susanna Cox from HiNotes Music Academy had also changed her mind. Contraction, not expansion was the only way to survive the recession, she said. Her offer to buy Tõnality was off the table. A third buyer – who had once made a derisory offer for Tõnality – was approached. This derisory offer would now be welcomed with open arms but since Tõnality lost the STRUM contract the buyer was looking elsewhere to expand.
Jake contacted an estate agent, a smooth-talking young woman, who convinced him their house would sell easily. Nine couples came to the first showing. After poking into corners and inspecting the presses, not one of them expressed any further interest. Jake suspected they were sightseers, voyeurs who, in centuries past, would have brought their knitting and watched the guillotine coming down. The estate agent was now talking about making ‘realistic market adjustments.’ This meant only one thing: drop the price.
He kept waking in the small hours. Unable to go back to sleep he would toss restlessly until it was time to get up. The bed was too big for one person but Nadine showed no inclination to share it with him again. Working together used to be easy but nowadays they snapped at each other over little things, tempers flaring when they were both exhausted.
‘You and Nadine should be sitting tight on your assets and riding out the recession together,’ said Daryl when Jake confided in him.
‘How long will that take?’ Jake asked.
‘Five years… six max.’
‘Are you kidding?’
‘I wish I was.’
Daryl worked in investment finance and had been claiming for years that the banks were in a bubble. When Jake had argued that the economic experts claimed there would be ‘a soft landing’ Daryl had snorted and said, ‘We’re talking about the economy, stupid, not a bouncy castle.’
Politicians had called him and his ilk ‘prophets of doom.’ Now it turned out that they were simply ‘prophets.’
‘If you and Nadine are serious about splitting up, you should talk to my sister,’ Daryl said. ‘Divorce is Carol’s area of expertise.’
Jake hesitated, nervous about taking such a huge step forward. ‘Isn’t it too soon to involve solicitors?’
‘I’m just suggesting an informal meeting with Carol,’ Daryl replied. ‘Find out exactly what’s involved. I’ll ring her if you like, let her know you’ll be in touch.’
‘No harm, I suppose,’ he said. ‘I’ll check with Nadine.’
Jake had known Carol Farrell since she was pumping iron in a baby bouncer. She threw up over his first pair of Converse and could beat him and Daryl at arm wrestling by the time she was six. Now she had a brass nameplate outside her office and was know
n in family law circles as The Avenger.
* * *
‘I have to admit that this is the most civilised divorce I’ve ever come across,’ Carol said when she heard their details. ‘Normally, on a first meeting I’m dodging verbal bullets across my desk.’
‘This is a mutual decision,’ said Nadine with unnecessary firmness. ‘We’re both in agreement that we want a fifty-fifty split and no animosity.’
‘I’m glad there’s no animosity.’ Carol checked the documents they had brought with them. ‘But if you decide to go through the courts I can’t work for both of you. One of you will have to be represented by a different solicitor.’
‘You belong to me,’ said Jake, half-joking, wholly serious. ‘You still owe me for a pair of Converse.’
‘Marion Norman is a good friend of mine and very competent.’ She glanced across her desk at Nadine, who nodded in agreement.
‘This seems perfectly straightforward,’ said Carol. ‘All your details appear to be in order. When there’s an equal division of assets I don’t foresee any problems. If you remain living apart for four years you’ll automatically be granted your divorce.’
‘Four years!’ Jack was unable to hide his shock. ‘Why does it take so long? This is a no-faults divorce.’
‘Under Irish law that’s the timespan.’ Carol pressed the documents together until the edges were aligned. Her nails were white-tipped, squared off, efficient. ‘If your mother and her merry band of zealots had had their way, you wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting a divorce.’
‘Don’t remind me,’ said Jake. ‘I still remember the arguments you used to have with her.’
‘The best days of my life.’ Carol’s eyes sparkled. ‘Eleanor trained me to be a cage fighter.’ She handed two information booklets to them. ‘Everything is explained here. Consider your options and get back to me when you’ve decided how you want to proceed.’
She shook their hands and escorted them to the front door. They walked in silence towards the gates of St. Stephen’s Green. It was a mild January day and the park was busy with people on their lunch break, some relaxing on benches, others strolling along the paths with cartons of coffee and baguettes.
‘Four years!’ Jake sighed when they reached the duck pond and sat down on a bench. ‘I’ll probably have a brood of grandchildren by then.’
Nadine laughed shortly and leaned her head back, sunglasses screening her eyes. ‘Do you think we’ll ever emerge from this mess?’ she asked.
‘I wouldn’t call our marriage a mess,’ he protested.
‘I’m talking about Tõnality. Losing STRUM is really affecting us. We’re in a lot of trouble, Jake.’
‘I know. But we’ll manage. It’ll just take a little longer than we expected.’
Who was he trying to convince? Not Nadine, if her expression was anything to go by. He watched the ducks waddling towards a small, chubby boy in a peaked cap. The boy held out a crust of bread but let it fall before the ducks reached him. He scampered back to his mother, who lifted him up in her arms. Sunday afternoons when the children were small, this was where they came. The scene never changed, only the ducks and the children moved on.
A woman dressed in a blue coat emerged from the shadow of trees. Blonde and slim, confident stride, Jake saw her everywhere, a flash, an illusion, as this one probably was.
The hill-walking expedition had been ruined when he realised his phone was at home. He had been consumed with dread that a text would arrive from Karin and be read by Nadine. The fact that that was exactly what happened had horrified him. No more muddied thoughts, half-baked fantasies, ridiculous texts. Text sex… his kids would coil up and die with shame if they knew. As for Nadine… how would she have reacted if she had searched his phone, discovered Karin’s photographs, read her pithy, witty comments? That night, before he could change his mind, he deleted every text and photograph he had received from or sent to her by phone. Then he emailed her.
* * *
Dear Karin,
You asked if I was a rare thing, an honest married man. When you read this email you may think your suspicions that such a species doesn’t exist are well-founded. I want to see you again… but I’m still married to Nadine. Lying to her doesn’t sit easy with me. We plan to begin divorce proceedings as soon as possible but we also have a business and a house to sell before we can move forward. Everything will be different once that’s done.
Can you wait until then before we contact each other again? I need a clear head for the moment and you fill my thoughts far too much. I understand if you’re not prepared to wait but I hope you’ll give me this time to sort out my life. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can offer you something more than empty promises.
In anticipation of better times,
Jake
She responded with a brief text.
New York is waiting for your call.
That too had been deleted.
* * *
Nadine straightened and tucked her hands under her arms as a sudden flurry of wind tossed her hair. She checked her watch and stood. ‘We’d better go back to work.’
‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
She nodded, pushed the sunglasses into her handbag. ‘‘It’s just… meeting Carol and all that… it’s so real now.’
The ducks bobbed their heads under the water, tail feathers fluttering. The woman, far too tall to be Karin Moylan, crossed the bridge above the pond and disappeared from view.
On Grafton Street the buskers were out in force: guitarists, artists in goggles, violinists, fire eaters, a threesome of cellists. A young woman worked two sticks and created enormous, elongated bubbles. A bubble floated towards them. An instant of luminosity. Rainbow hues shimmering, its distended belly almost touching the pavement before it disappeared with an inaudible plop. How could such a delicate transporter of air be responsible for killing the rip-roaring Celtic Tiger?
CHAPTER 17
His mother had already arrived when Jake drove into Bartizan Downs. The blinds were open and he had a clear view of her silhouette, the high sweep of hair, her imperious head. She was in a dangerous mood. He could read her body language, the subtle signals she gave out, the merest pressure of her lips, the lift of her eloquent eyebrows. He had no interest in being inside her head. Understanding one’s mother was almost as unhealthy as having an Oedipus complex. He squared his shoulders and hurried towards the front door.
She had rung him earlier in work and invited herself to dinner, insisted she had something of the utmost importance to discuss with him and Nadine.
‘If she mentions another word about marriage counselling I’ll strangle her with my bare hands,’ Nadine threatened before leaving the office early to shop and prepare an evening meal.
‘I’ll help you hide the body,’ he had promised.
He entered the drawing room and air-brushed Eleanor’s cheek before heading to the kitchen where Nadine was removing a roast chicken from the oven. She looked composed but she was moving around the kitchen in a controlled frenzy.
‘Eleanor’s got something up her sleeve,’ she whispered. ‘I know the signs.’
‘She can’t make us do anything we don’t want,’ he whispered back. Why were they whispering? Their kitchen was almost the size of a football stadium.
He carved the chicken while Nadine mashed potatoes and strained green beans. Years of co-ordinated practice had welded them into an efficient team when it came to bringing a meal to the table.
‘Any word on the house?’ Eleanor asked as soon as they were seated.
‘Nothing definite as yet,’ Nadine replied. ‘We’re had a lot of interest and we’re confident we’ll close the deal soon.’
‘How long has it been on the market?’
‘Not long,’ Jake said.
‘Just long enough for the For Sale sign to grow roots and sprout branches in the spring.’ Eleanor’s short bark of laughter set his teeth on edge.
‘And Tõnality?’ she a
sked.
‘Almost there.’ Nadine passed the green beans to her. ‘We have a buyer who’s seriously interested in making us an offer.’
When had his wife become such an accomplished liar?
‘Are you still going ahead with this ridiculous separation?’ Eleanor ladled the beans onto her plate and added chicken from the platter.
‘With our divorce, yes,’ said Nadine and Jake nodded in agreement.
‘Then listen to what I have to say.’ Her voice softened to a persuasive pitch he instinctively mistrusted. ‘I want to help.’
‘We’ve not having a repeat discussion,’ Nadine said. ‘No marriage counselling. That subject is closed.’
‘This is not a discussion, it’s purely a suggestion. You and Jake are lying through your teeth. Putting food on the table in the middle of a recession is a more immediate priority for families than buying grand pianos.’
‘We don’t just sell grand – ’
‘Property prices have collapsed,’ Eleanor cut through his interruption with scythe-like determination. ‘Just listen to this evening’s news if you need a reality check. I passed two other For Sale signs on this estate and your house, if you do manage to find a buyer, will sell at a considerable loss. The same applies to your company.’
‘This is none of your business, Eleanor.’ Nadine’s knuckles tightened as she sliced into her chicken.
‘You’re my family and that makes it my business,’ said Eleanor. ‘A house of cards doesn’t fall slow. All it takes is a finger flick and the whole edifice collapses. You and Jake borrowed heavily to set up in that business park. You’ve lost STRUM, your customers aren’t paying their bills and it’ll be impossible to move your unsold stock while this recession lasts. No one is interested in buying Tõnality. Your most sensible option is to agree a quick sale on your house and use the money to pay off your bank loan.’
‘How dare you make such assumptions about us!’ Nadine’s hair swept forward and hid her face.
