‘So, want the good news or the bad?’ asks Mark.
Rory presumes he’ll get both and care about neither.
Mark does a drum roll. ‘Mark Keohe is finally getting hitched.’
Rory wonders if this is some kind of joke.
‘I’ve finally met the right woman, and this time I’m not letting her get away.’
Four years and she couldn’t marry Rory. Weeks and she’s marrying Mark.
‘Would you do me the honour of being best man?’
What is he doing, trying to rub Rory’s nose in it?
‘Go fuck yourself,’ he says, slamming down the receiver. He stands, looking at the phone. How could he do that, ask him to be best man at the wedding of the woman he still loves? However quickly Louise has moved on, Rory can’t imagine her agreeing to that. But the biggest shock is that she is gone. Really gone. Alone in the apartment they once shared, he clears the fridge of its remaining beers and falls asleep in his clothes.
At work the following day, bleary eyed and numb, he is waiting in the corridor for a petite Indian nurse to finish with a patient. He is checking the chart and thinking about the tests he should run. He is also thinking of applying for a neurology post in England. He doesn’t see Lesley coming until she is on top of him.
‘What’s your problem?’ she says.
He looks up, surprised. ‘Lesley.’
‘Don’t you Lesley me.’
He takes a step back. ‘I thought you were in England.’
‘Do I look like I’m in England?’
He glances around, hoping not to see an audience. ‘Let’s talk outside,’ he says, dropping the chart quickly into the room, then taking off along the corridor, Lesley keeping pace. The day room is free. He holds the door open for her. She goes inside. He follows, his arms automatically folding in defence.
Lesley doesn’t waste time. ‘Did you have to be so heartless? If you didn’t want to be best man, you should have just said. An explanation would have been nice. But you didn’t have to tell him to go fuck himself.’ A passing visitor peers in through the glass door. Rory shields his face with a hand. Lesley doesn’t notice.
‘What has he ever done to you? All right, I admit, Louise stayed with us for a while. That was my idea. Mark wasn’t at all keen. But I talked him into it. So, if you have to get all shirty with someone, get shirty with me. Just don’t throw his offer back in his face. He might not look it, but he has a sensitive side. He does get hurt.’
Rory is busy playing catch-up. So Mark and Lesley are getting married. Does that mean he’s having an affair with Louise? Or was it a once-off thing? Should he tell Lesley? And why does he feel like laughing?
‘Well, aren’t you going to say something?’ Her hands are on her hips.
And suddenly he thinks that she’s great – straight, spunky, standing up for ‘sensitive’ Mark, defending him. If he knew, he’d die of embarrassment. Lucky bastard, though, to have someone care so much about him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I thought… well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I was wrong. I’ll call Mark, OK? Tonight.’
‘OK,’ she says, firmly.
‘And, eh, congratulations.’ He feels he should ask: ‘When’s the wedding?’
She smiles. ‘Six weeks. We don’t want to wait. We want to start a family.’
That evening he rings Mark. It’s awkward.
‘Sorry about last night.’ He hesitates, not wanting to get into explanations. ‘I’d something on my mind.’
‘What, narcotics?’
Rory laughs. But hasn’t forgotten what he saw. He wants to sort it out. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’
‘As long as you’ve nothing on your mind.’
They meet in a bar in Dun Laoghaire. And after some initial jokey banter Rory gets to the point. ‘I saw you with Louise.’ He watches Mark carefully.
‘What?’ He seems confused.
‘Outside the flower shop, a few weeks back. Looking very cosy. Too cosy.’ He doesn’t take his eyes off Mark, who appears to be trying to remember.
‘That must have been… it was the day…’ Mark stops, as if to check himself. ‘She was upset.’
‘What?’
‘I was comforting her.’ Mark scratches his head. ‘Hang on. Is that why you hung up on me, you thought there was something going on between myself and Louise? Jesus, Rory.’
‘What was it then?’
‘Something happened. I came to take her home.’
‘Why you?’
‘Lesley asked me to. She’d a private client who’d just arrived when Louise rang. I brought her back to our place and looked after her till Lesley got home.’
‘You were looking after her long before you got home.’
‘What?’
‘You were all over her.’
Mark is impatient now. ‘What? Jesus, I might have hugged her. She was upset.’
Rory doesn’t believe him, can’t let himself. ‘About what?’
‘Like I said, something happened.’
‘What?’
‘I can’t tell you. You’ll have to ask Louise.’
‘Come on, Mark. Louise and I aren’t exactly in contact.’
‘Maybe you should be.’
‘Yeah?’ Rory says, sarcastically.
‘She still loves you, Rory.’
For a moment, that thought lifts him. But he shuts it down. ‘Love isn’t the issue.’
‘You need to talk to her.’
‘There’s nothing to talk about.’
‘You’ll have to trust me when I say there is.’
‘What is it?’
‘You’ll have to talk to Louise.’
‘Come on, man. If you want me to talk to her, tell me what it is.’
‘I can’t.’
Mark will not be budged. No matter what Rory says, he can find out no more. Mark moves the conversation on to the wedding and Lesley, his first real love at the age of thirty-seven. Rory envies him. Hard to believe that Mark, of all people, is settling down, starting a family. He is even talking about moving to Birmingham. All it took, he guesses, was the right woman.
They leave the pub after last orders, the groom and best man.
Lying in bed, unable to concentrate on his latest book, The Bonfire of the Vanities, Rory tries to adjust to reality revised. Louise and Mark were never together. Louise was upset. At what, though? Something to do with the shop? Naomi? If so, why didn’t Mark just tell him? Why the big secret? It hurts that it was to Lesley and Mark that she turned. She should have known he’d have been there for her. If she really does love him, as Mark says, if there really is some reason they should talk, where is she? He’s not difficult to find. If something has changed, it’s up to her to say so.
‘I think you’re making a mistake,’ Orla says. ‘It’s too early, too soon after Louise.’
‘Louise has moved on. Time I did.’
‘Not necessarily.’
‘Look. The reason we split up was because I wanted a family. The least I can do is go out and get one.’
‘Fine. But do you have to rush?’
‘I’m not rushing. I’m just being proactive.’
He’s decided to be like Liz, take control of his life. In fact, he has even considered Liz. At least they both want the same thing. He could just pick up the phone. Not after their last conversation, though, where she turned on him when she didn’t get her way. No. Letsbefriends.com should have what he’s after: a woman that he has no history with, who wants what he wants. And let there not be any confusion about that. He wants commitment, a family. If what Orla says about everyone marrying his or her parents is true, then love is an illusion best kept out of the equation. He’s done love. He’s not in a hurry to do it again.
There is one problem. He has no experience of women who want commitment. He has always avoided them. What do they want in a man? Sincerity? Honesty? Stability?
He asks Orla over.
‘What made you fall for Owen?�
�� he asks. They’re sitting side by side on his couch, checking out the Letsbefriends.com website.
She smiles, remembering. ‘The way he carried his one.’
‘What?’
‘Oh. He’d brought me to a restaurant and was working out the tip. When he was adding up, he carried his one.’
Rory laughs. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘No,’ she says, laughing too. ‘That was it. The moment.’ Her face becomes sober. And sad.
‘God,’ he says, looking down at the laptop, ‘how’re you supposed to visualize anyone from these descriptions? What’s wrong with photos? It’s like when newsreaders describe a person as being five foot eleven with dark hair and blue eyes. Could be anyone.’
‘And of course they all lie,’ she says.
He looks at her, relieved to see that she has recovered. ‘Really?’
‘Sal has been Internet dating for over a year now and you wouldn’t believe the amount of guys who’ve lied about their age. It’s practically standard. When she reads an entry now she automatically adds five years.’
Two things shock him, the lying and the amount of time Sal has been looking. ‘Maybe only the men lie,’ he suggests.
‘The women are worse. They lie about their age and size.’
‘How are you supposed to choose if everyone’s lying?’
‘Check the other stuff.’
‘Like what? GSH – what kind of person with a Good Sense of Humour describes themselves with three letters?’
‘The TV programmes they watch.’
‘Let’s just pick all the Sopranos fans then.’
‘Maybe we should just do your entry first?’
He grimaces.
‘Oh, come on. It’ll be fun.’
They eye the blank questionnaire.
‘Maybe we should examine the competition,’ Rory suggests. ‘See what they say about themselves.’
‘Then go one better,’ Orla says optimistically.
‘Or at least try.’
They check out some of the male entries and begin to get a feel for ones that work.
‘Let’s not bother giving your dimensions. They mean nothing,’ Orla says. ‘We should just say who you look like.’
‘Who do I look like?’ He sees his first problem – he doesn’t look like anyone.
‘George Clooney.’
He laughs. ‘I do in my arse.’
‘You absolutely do.’
‘Yeah, right. Can you imagine some poor woman thinking she’s meeting a George Clooney lookalike and then coming face to face with me? I am so far from George Clooney.’
‘Not to me.’ She says it seriously.
He looks at her.
She looks at him.
A beat.
His heart is pumping.
Jesus Christ. They’re going to kiss.
This is Orla. What the hell are they doing? But their mouths are together, his hands cupping her face. He is hungry for her. She lies back. And he goes with her. Kissing deeply, his hands explore her body, one moving to her ass, pressing her to him. He tells himself he doesn’t want this, he wants commitment, family… he wants to fuck her brains out. And it looks like she wants the same, on top of him now, however that happened, straddling him, unbuttoning her shirt, eyes locked to his. Unable to wait, he pulls her down to him, has to touch her, kiss her, have her. Her moans urge him on. And on. They are moving together in a fast, urgent rhythm when he remembers the condom. It’s too late. Nothing can stop him now. He doesn’t care. And she doesn’t seem to. They should. They really should. But he can’t. Not now. God, not now.
They’re lying side by side, on their backs, facing the ceiling, chests rising and falling in unison. He is afraid to move. And suspects she is the same. Where do they go from here, lying half-naked, wholly-embarrassed on his black leather couch? She turns to look at him and he is glad to see eyes filled with amusement rather than dreamy undying love.
‘What was that about?’ she asks.
Relieved, he laughs. ‘I don’t know.’
Moments pass.
‘Who’d have guessed Internet dating could have such speedy results?’ she says.
He laughs again. She has always been able to make him laugh.
‘God.’ Her voice is serious now. ‘What would they think if they could see us now? Owen, Jenna, your parents.’
‘Jesus.’ He visualizes his brother. ‘Owen would swing for me.’
‘He couldn’t care less,’ she says, sitting up, putting her feet on the floor, and reaching for her clothes.
Rory, stuck on the inside, manages to reach his sweater, which he slips over his groin. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’
From where she is sitting with her back to him, she turns, curious.
‘He asked me to stay away from you,’ Rory explains.
‘What? When?’
Rory sits up, making sure the sweater stays in place. ‘Way back. When I was helping you find a house.’
‘He told you to stay away from me? What did he think you were doing?’
‘I don’t know, interfering with his family, something like that.’
‘His family?’ She looks incredulous.
‘That’s what he said.’
‘Unbelievable.’ Violently, she forces her arms into her sleeves. ‘Oh, we’re his family when it suits him, when he can use it to stop me getting on with my life.’ She stands suddenly, either unconscious or uncaring that her lower half is still naked. Rory feels a repetition stirring and turns away while she finishes dressing. Doesn’t take long. She is furious. ‘You think you know a person,’ she says, seeming to have forgotten completely what has just happened between them. Rory takes advantage of the moment to grab his boxers and denims. Once dressed, he begins to feel a little less awkward. Still, he moves away from the couch.
‘Want a coffee?’ he asks, to clear the air, move back to safer territory.
‘Got anything stronger?’
‘Beer?’
‘That’ll do.’
They sit at the kitchen table. Owen’s presence lingers.
‘At least you’re divorcing him,’ Rory tries.
She avoids his eyes.
He tries unsuccessfully to meet them. ‘You didn’t tell him, did you?’
Her silence answers for her.
‘Why not?’ He doesn’t understand. What about getting on with her life?
Finally, she looks at him. ‘Jenna and I have been getting on so well since I got back from the course. At first, it was because I was such a zombie; I couldn’t get into a flap about anything. She failed an exam and I didn’t care. I told her not to worry; there were more important things in life. We haven’t been getting on like this in two years. She’s finished up for the summer and we’ve been spending so much time together. She needs it. I do too. I don’t want to ruin it by telling her I’m divorcing her father. Let him make the first move.’
And Rory sees that, however temporarily, she is sacrificing her freedom for her daughter. When will she be able to break free? Rory wonders. When will she be able to get on with her own life?
25
Rory hasn’t called Orla. Neither has he heard from her. Though it has only been a week, he misses her company, hadn’t appreciated how much they talked, supported each other, how up she made him feel. Will they ever be able to go back to the closeness they had? He wonders what she’s doing, and what her silence means.
Late Friday night, when his doorbell rings, he doesn’t delay.
It’s Owen, looking wretched. He pushes past Rory.
‘Come in,’ Rory mutters, with quiet sarcasm.
Owen turns, swaying slightly. ‘Who is he?’ he asks, words slurring.
Rory closes the door. He is tired. Disappointed it’s not Orla. ‘Who is who?’
‘This bloke she’s supposed to be in love with.’
In love? His mind is racing, but he tries to play it cool. ‘I presume you mean Orla?’
‘You know who I mean.’
‘She does.’
Another surprise. She must mean Morel. ‘How should I know who he is?’
‘You went on that course together. She must have met someone.’ It’s as if Owen can’t imagine her meeting anyone normally.
‘Just because you met what’s-her-name on a course, doesn’t mean…’ He stops, realizing suddenly how ridiculous this all is. ‘Hang on a minute, why should you care?’
‘Because,’ Owen’s body sags, ‘I miss her.’ He sinks onto the couch.
Rory tries not to think about what happened between them. If he does, Owen might sense something.
‘Any chance of a drink?’ he asks.
Wordlessly, Rory heads to the fridge. Pulls out two beers. Not bothering with glasses, he hands a can to Owen, who snaps it open and takes a long drink. Rory sits on the armchair opposite, his own can untouched, looking at his brother.
‘I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life,’ Owen says, his voice heavy with emotion. ‘I love her.’
‘No, you don’t. You can’t – not after the way you’ve treated her.’
‘I do.’ His voice softens. ‘The only reason I don’t want to see her happy is because I don’t want her happy without me,’ an admission, Rory feels, that would never have been made without booze, and by the looks of Owen, a lot of booze. ‘I’d go back tomorrow if she’d have me.’
‘And what’s-her-name, does she know you’re here, talking like this?’
Owen’s eyes are wide and vacant. ‘I don’t love her. I thought I did. Orla was never like this when she was pregnant.’
‘Kate’s pregnant?’ Rory doesn’t get it. Why leave one family only to start another? He remembers Owen’s you-don’t-know-what-marriage-is-like speech.
‘You’re telling me she’s pregnant. And acting like a princess. Treating me as if I owe her something, as if I’m there to serve her. She sees the world only from her point of view.’ Rory knows someone like that, and he’s not too far away. ‘If it weren’t for the baby, I’d leave.’
But there is a baby. ‘When is it due?’
‘December.’
‘Maybe you should go home,’ Rory says.
‘To Orla?’ he asks, suddenly hopeful.
‘No, Owen.’
‘I don’t want to go back.’ He sounds like a child.
Do You Want What I Want? Page 19
