Rory stands. ‘I’m making coffee.’ He heads for the kitchen. Does Orla know about this baby? Does Jenna?
When he returns with two mugs, Owen’s face is enthusiastic. ‘If I left Kate, became single again, and really tried with Orla, do you think she’d have me?’
‘Owen. Your girlfriend’s pregnant. You’ve a baby on the way.’
‘Yeah and it’s ruined everything. Jenna thinks I’m trying to replace her. She won’t believe me that it was an accident. She doesn’t want to see me, Rory. She doesn’t want to see her own dad.’
Rory’s mind plays catch-up. It was an accident. He has told Jenna. So Orla presumably knows. Maybe that’s why she hasn’t been in touch. Maybe it has nothing to do with what happened between them, rather the latest bombshell that has been dropped on her life and that of her daughter. She’s probably trying to cope with the fallout.
‘This is not my fault,’ Owen says. ‘The baby wasn’t planned.’
‘Maybe not by you.’
Rory expected this suggestion to surprise Owen.
He doesn’t blink.
Rory stares at him. Maybe now he finally sees that walking out on a marriage isn’t the simple, clean act he thought it would be, and that his all-encompassing need for passion is having ramifications that have him trapped, like a train stuck on the wrong tracks, moving away from everything he loves.
Owen finally crashes out on the couch. Rory finds a sleeping bag and throws it over his shabby, snoring frame. He starts to pick up the empty beer cans and coffee mugs, thinking that Owen isn’t the only one to have messed up. What happened between himself and Orla was a mistake he never should have let happen. It’s too complicated. Her life is still intertwined with his brother’s. Rory needs to keep things simple, focused. He lost Louise because he wanted a family. If he doesn’t find one, losing her will have been pointless.
In the privacy of his bedroom, he pulls out his laptop. He opens the home page of Letsbefriends.com. One very simple action will bring him to the list of female ‘members’. But for some reason, he can’t do it. He clicks the tiny ‘x’ at the top right of the screen, then shuts down the computer. He reads his novel until he falls asleep.
In the morning, he finds Owen a different man, controlled and determined. He has showered, borrowed a razor and somehow managed to lose the scruffy down-at-heel look. He is going home, back to Kate.
Rory offers to take his mum to visit Siofra in her new home. He’s decided that with his sister living so far away now, he’ll see to it that June still manages to get out and about a bit. And what better outing than a visit to the daughter and grandchildren she misses so much. Time Rory caught up with the kids anyway. Thankfully, his own father isn’t interested in coming.
They pull up outside a big, modern house on an estate just outside Kildare. The garden is dug up. The place has a bare, barren look about it.
‘I should have brought a plant,’ his mother worries.
‘I think it’s you they want to see.’
And that’s the truth. When Siofra gets Rory on his own, she thanks him.
‘It’s so good to see her. I rarely get to call, what with rushing out of Dublin as soon as I finish work so I can have some time with the kids, then trying to settle in here at the weekends. The commute’s a killer. I’m shattered most of the time.’
‘She understands.’
‘I know, but she misses the kids. Grandparents should see their grandchildren.’
‘Look, you needed the space.’
‘I’m beginning to think that maybe we didn’t need it so much.’
Their mum has heard none of this conversation, busy as she is with Daisy and Alex. And yet before they leave, she expresses regret that she never learned to drive. ‘Imagine how handy it would be for everyone if I could get down here under my own steam.’
On their way back to Dublin, Rory’s mother is marvelling at how quickly her grandchildren are growing, when he drives into the grounds of a five-star hotel.
‘Where’re we going?’ she asks.
He pulls up in the car park. ‘I think it’s about time you learned to drive.’
‘You’ve come in here to teach me to drive?’ She sounds incredulous.
‘It’s as quiet a spot as you’ll get.’
She laughs. ‘Rory. I’m sixty-five years old.’
‘Like I said, about time.’
Her hand lands lightly on her chest. ‘I couldn’t. I’d be terrified.’
He opens the door. ‘Let’s swap places. Just see how it feels to be behind the wheel. We won’t go anywhere.’
She looks doubtfully at him, but there is curiosity in her eyes.
Sitting across from her, he watches as she leans forward and grips the wheel. He imagines her tearing up a motorway in this position.
She peers down at the pedals. ‘Which is which?’
He shows her.
She has an imaginary drive, accelerating, braking, but forgetting to change gears.
He explains how. ‘Here, switch on the engine,’ he says, ‘or it won’t work.’ When he sees her face, he adds, ‘Don’t worry, we’re not driving, just changing gears. The car won’t move.’
She turns the key a notch too far and the engine makes a loud grating sound. She switches it off quickly and eyes him, guilty. ‘I haven’t banjaxed it, have I?’
‘It’s fine. Everyone does that. Try again.’
She hesitates in front of the wheel, as though saying a silent prayer. But she does try again. Soon she is saying, ‘This is fun,’ and, ‘I’ve always wanted to drive, you know.’
‘Why don’t we take it up the road a bit?’
‘No. No. This is fine, lovely.’
‘But the car park’s empty. There’s no one on the road. You’ll never get an opportunity like this again.’
‘I couldn’t.’
‘Imagine Dad’s face if he heard you’d driven.’
She turns to him, a smile crossing her face. It reminds Rory of the mini rebellions they shared when he was a kid. And so she tries, checking her rear-view mirror every few seconds as though it will keep her safe. She indicates, though the only traffic is a tiny wagtail going about its business. She tries to pull off but the car jumps and cuts out. ‘Mother of God,’ she says.
‘It’s fine. Try again, just let the clutch off more slowly.’
They manage to drive two hundred metres up the deserted road through the plush golf course. They’ve cut out about eight times. She is elated that she has driven at all.
‘Don’t tell your father,’ she says, then smiles. ‘Not until I get better.’
‘Atta girl,’ he says, and gets out of the car to help her from the driver’s seat.
26
Rory holds off for two weeks. But it doesn’t feel right. And one day, finally, he has to pick up the phone.
‘Hey,’ he says, nervously, waiting for Orla’s response.
‘Hey, yourself! It’s good to hear from you.’
The warmth of her reaction encourages him. ‘I’ve been meaning to ring. How are you?’
‘Fine. You?’
‘Is it too late to take Lieutenant Dan out for some fresh air?’ he asks.
‘Lieutenant Dan would love some fresh air.’
It is a beautiful, balmy evening down at the pier. The clouds are like lily pads of melting ice cream in a clear blue sky. The sea is glassy calm. Not a hint of a breeze. Hard to believe it’s Ireland. Lieutenant Dan runs ahead barking at seagulls, knowing he won’t get them before they fly off, but trying anyway. They walk in silence. Sunlight glistens off the white hulls of moored yachts. Nothing stirs.
‘I heard the news about Owen,’ he says, eventually. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘No.’ She half-laughs. Then sighs. ‘You know, it wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d told Jenna.’
‘He didn’t?’
‘Of course he didn’t. That would have been the decent thing to do. She read it on Kate’s blog.’
‘Ka
te has a blog?’
‘Egomaniac that she is.’
‘Why would she put that up on her blog?’
‘I don’t know. She mustn’t have thought anyone reads it. Or maybe she didn’t think Jenna would find out she had one.’
‘God almighty. Is she dumb or something? Jenna spends a huge amount of time on the Net.’
‘I don’t want to believe she did it on purpose.’
‘Jesus.’ She could have – if Owen was afraid to tell Jenna, and Kate wanted her and Orla to know. But surely no one is that Machiavellian. ‘How’s Jenna?’
‘Devastated. It’s like she’s finally admitted to herself that her father has his own agenda and she’s not on it. She is so hurt.’
‘And you? Are you OK?’
‘I’m all right. Though I could kill him. He thinks his actions have no effect on anyone. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.’ She looks away and the anger seems to drain from her. ‘I can’t believe how much he has changed. There was a time I’d have forgiven him, taken him back.’ She looks lost. Alone. Rory has an urge to put his arm around her but after what happened between them, that simple gesture might be confused.
‘Sorry for not getting in touch,’ he says. ‘It was awkward.’
‘I know.’ She looks down at her flip-flopped feet. ‘What got into us?’
He is stuck. Doesn’t want to be the one to say it was a mistake – just in case, on the off chance, it wasn’t for her. ‘You were always better at analysis,’ he says.
She looks out over the pier wall towards the city, at a horizon dominated by construction cranes. When she turns back, she is half-smiling. ‘Wonder what Bingley would make of it.’
He thinks of Bingley and his ‘nothing happens by accident’ theory. Could that be what she means? It was no accident? Or is he reading too much into it? Ever since the course, he’s begun to see too many possibilities in simple statements or actions. Life was much easier without insight.
‘I was missing Paul,’ she blurts out. ‘That’s why. For me.’
He looks at her. So it is Morel that she loves. Relief floods him. He feels like laughing at himself, that she might even consider loving him! He’ll have to do something about his ego. Still, what’s so great about Morel?
‘I’m sorry, Rory. When I finally worked out what got into me, it seemed awful, like I was using you, which I wasn’t. It just happened, but I couldn’t face you.’
He pretends to be appalled. ‘So you used my body?’
She laughs, relieved. ‘Didn’t hear you complaining.’
‘No.’
‘So why, you?’
He shoves his hands into his pockets, looks down. ‘I don’t know. Lonely, I guess.’ Suddenly, he looks up again, ‘Not that you’re not lovely, you are…’
‘Shut up.’ She links his arm and nudges him with her shoulder.
They walk in easy, companionable, relieved silence. Both heads turn together to watch a dinghy being towed, sails down, into the harbour by a motorboat. A father and son in lifejackets sit staring blankly ahead, disappointed that the wind died and they couldn’t make it in under their own steam. The name of the boat is Tsunami and Rory is thinking it’s about time they changed that.
‘How did you know that Kate was pregnant?’ she asks, as though it’s just occurred to her.
‘Owen told me.’
‘You were talking to him?’
‘It wasn’t my idea. He barged in one night, drunk, wanting me to tell him who you were in love with. I said I didn’t know.’ He pauses. ‘I wondered why you’d told him.’
‘I’m a fool. That’s why.’ She sighs. ‘He called to collect Jenna, had the nerve to say I was looking well. I was so angry with him, going off having another family, upsetting Jenna; I just wanted him to think for once that we were better off without him. I just reacted, blurted it out. Now I’m dreading that he’ll say something to Jenna to make out that he’s not so bad, he’s not the only one.’
‘He won’t say anything. He’s sorry.’
‘What do you mean, he’s sorry?’
‘He told me that leaving you was the biggest mistake of his life.’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘He said he’d go back to you tomorrow if you’d have him.’
A brief flicker of hope crosses her face. Then it’s gone. Replaced by anger. ‘What makes him think I’d have him back?’
‘He doesn’t. But he said that if it wasn’t for the baby, he’d leave Kate, be on his own and try to win you back.’
She looks at him, eyes so wide and sad, he knows he has said too much.
‘Fool,’ she says of Owen, but there are tears in her eyes.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘No, no,’ she says, her voice high. ‘I’m glad you did. It’s just that if it’s true, it means that everything we’ve been through has been a waste. We should still be together, happy, not washed up and wrecked like we are, all of us.’
They’ve stopped walking. Orla’s head is lowered, her shoulders shaking. He puts his arms around her and holds her to him. He thinks about Mark and Louise and wonders again about what might have upset her then.
Later, back at the apartment, having smuggled Lieutenant Dan in, the conversation has moved away from Owen. On to Louise.
‘Maybe you should talk to her,’ Orla suggests. ‘See what happened.’
He thinks of Mark and Lesley. ‘She has other people now.’
‘But maybe it’s you she really wants.’
‘She knows where I am,’ he says, and hears the hardness in his own voice.
After an hour or so, Rory checks his watch. Eight-thirty.
‘D’you need to be somewhere?’ she asks.
‘Nah, I’m meant to be meeting some friends in Dalkey, but I think I’ll leave it.’
‘If you’ve arranged to go, then you should.’
‘You could come,’ he suggests out of politeness, knowing that a) she’d hate it and b) she’d cramp Johnny’s style.
‘No. I should be home. Jenna’s going out with friends.’
‘So?’ He doesn’t understand. Doesn’t that give Orla free reign?
‘I like to be home when she’s out. You know, in case of emergencies.’
He wonders if she is being overprotective, then decides he hasn’t a clue. One thing is clear though, the free spirit she rediscovered on the course is beginning to fade, eclipsed by the roles she has to play. For the first time, he understands what happened with Morel, the freedom that affair offered. What he finds harder to comprehend is why in all the cases he knows, it is men who have left their marriages despite the fact that most of the compromising is done by women. He thinks of Louise and what she used to say about men. Maybe there was something in that, after all.
Rory invests a bit of energy in his appearance this time, showering, shaving and throwing on a white linen shirt he bought that day – a birthday present to himself. When he arrives at the pub Johnny and gang are already there, sitting outside in the beer garden basking in the evening sun. Aftershave floats on the balmy air. As does the hum of conversation and laughter. A lot of the faces are rosy and shiny, a combination of sun and booze. Rory pulls up a chair. After a round of ‘heys’ and ‘how’re you doings’ the conversation quickly resumes. Johnny is having a go at Mark, calling him MarkandLesley.
‘He’s turned into a real waste of space, not even hitched and already she won’t let him out.’
Rory, remembering what it was like being in a relationship, guesses it’s more a case of Mark choosing to be with Lesley over Johnny.
‘Ginormous ass at three o’clock,’ says Pete.
All heads turn.
‘Jesus,’ says Johnny, appreciatively. Then it’s straight back to the conversation. ‘So where’s Louise these days?’
Rory tries to sound casual when he says, ‘Not around my ankle.’
‘What, you broke up?’ Johnny looks stunned. But then his face changes, as though he has dis
covered the reason. ‘It was that Polish broad, wasn’t it?’
‘No. As a matter of fact it wasn’t “that Polish broad”. We’re apart weeks.’
‘Fuck me. I thought you guys were together for ever.’
‘Yeah, well you were wrong.’
‘I’m sorry, man,’ Johnny says.
Rory makes a point of trying to attract the bar boy’s attention. ‘I’m not.’
Johnny nods with his whole upper body. ‘Cool. One more drinking buddy.’ Classic Johnny, Rory thinks, viewing his breakup as an unexpected bonus. Johnny’s group of single mates is becoming an endangered species. All around him, people are pairing off, getting hitched. Weddings in Italy, Greece, you name it. A regular moan of his is whatever happened to the good old-fashioned Irish wedding where you got smashed and tried to move in on one of the bridesmaids?
Rory manages to finally order. Being Irish, he makes it a full round.
‘Hotties at twelve o’clock,’ Johnny says, suddenly.
The ‘hotties’ he is referring to are three girls walking past on the path outside. To Rory they look too young, their hair long and straight, heavy make-up and legs that seem to go on for ever, the tops of which are disappearing under those tiny puffy skirts that used to be in when he was a teenager. Siofra had an orange one. He glances at Johnny. A bit young, mate, he feels like saying. He looks back at the three. And nearly chokes on his beer. The emerging ringleader is Jenna, his sixteen-year-old niece, the same Jenna that he used to bounce on his knee and who is now making eye contact with his mid-thirties friend. Rory looks at Johnny, who is holding Jenna’s gaze. Rory reacts by standing suddenly. He assumes that when she sees him, she’ll stop, not wanting to risk her mother finding out she was flirting with grown men in pubs.
She does see him, but her reaction is not what he expected. Without taking her eyes from his, she says something quickly to her friends, and, in perfect synchronicity, they start walking towards him.
Crap. What now?
He stays standing – to look authoritative. But slips his hands into his pockets – to seem casual about it. ‘Jenna,’ he says, when she reaches him.
Do You Want What I Want? Page 20
