Rules for a Perfect Life

by Niamh Greene

  ‘I was away on business, Rita,’ I say, trying to remain calm. ‘Dom took the call, so I just have to get the details from him.’

  ‘I see.’ Her voice is less clipped – she has a soft spot for Dom, that’s for sure.

  ‘I’ll investigate and get back to you ASAP.’

  ‘Make sure you do, Mary,’ she sniffs haughtily. ‘Otherwise I may have to take my business elsewhere. I’m very unhappy with this level of service – we expect better.’

  She hangs up and I slam the receiver back into its cradle.

  ‘The name is MAGGIE, you stupid cow!’ I shout at the phone.

  ‘Maggie, why so excited?’ Dom arches an eyebrow at me. ‘Not that I’m complaining. I love nothing better than to see you get hot and sweaty.’

  ‘Shut up, Dom, or I’ll sue you for sexual harassment,’ I snap grumpily. Solid Mahogany has managed to put me in an even worse mood than before.

  ‘I look forward to it, darling. Or, if you prefer, we can just play Courthouse? I’ll be the judge and you can be the very bad girl – how about it? Now, I’m not saying it would be as hot as playing Tarzan and Jane but I’d do my best.’

  He licks his lips cheekily and I can’t help but laugh in spite of my bad humour.

  ‘Maggie, Dom.’ Right then, Dermot appears in front of us, his face ghostly white. He’s been getting progressively sicker-looking for the past few weeks – but he looks really deathly today.

  ‘Are you all right, Dermot?’ Dom asks.

  ‘Not really,’ Dermot says, his voice raw. ‘Actually, I need to talk to you both. Can you come into my office, please?’

  He promptly disappears without another word. Dom and I glance at each other anxiously before we rise silently from our seats. I try not to let the panic in my chest overcome me but I know this is probably it. Dermot doesn’t make a habit of calling us into his office and, from the expression on his face, he’s not about to offer us performance bonuses and company cars.

  ‘Chin up, Maggie,’ Dom whispers, grasping my hand in his. ‘Maybe it’s not what you think. And even if it is, it’s not the end of the world.’

  I smile at him and nod, but I feel as if I’m floating above my body, looking down. If Dermot is calling us in to tell us our jobs have gone it is the end of my world as I know it.

  I’ve already left the man everyone else insists is the love of my life. Mum and Dad were so devastated when I finally told them that they had to go to Marbella for a holiday to recover. How will they take this news? And then there’s Theresa. I’ve spent months listening to her harp on and on about how I’ve made a huge mistake in leaving Robert – she says he’s ‘a fine catch’ and definitely irreplaceable, especially at my advancing age. I never used to think thirty-two was so bad, but then again I hadn’t known that it’s apparently the exact age when any decent man ceases to look at you. Theresa wasted no time informing me of this fact – she says it’s why she’s hung on to Malcolm for dear life, even though he abandoned her in her darkest hour.

  Now not only am I going to be manless, I’m going to be jobless too. It’s utterly tragic – which technically means that I’m a tragic heroine. Funnily enough, not even that thought is enough to cheer me up as I stumble blindly into Dermot’s office to hear my fate.

  Rule Two: Always have a Plan B

  ‘I’m really sorry, but it looks like I’ll have to let you both go.’ Dermot’s face is ashen. He’s explained to us, as if we weren’t already painfully aware, that the collapse of the property market means that Hanly and Company is in serious financial trouble and that it no longer makes sense to keep us here when he could easily do the pitiful amount of work involved himself.

  ‘It’s all my fault,’ he goes on, his voice cracking. ‘If only I hadn’t invested in that damn apartment complex I might have been able to get through this. But I’m screwed now – the developer’s talking about handing back the keys to the bank. I’ve lost my money, I can barely hang on to the business and I’m ruining your lives as well. Christ, it’s the pits.’

  He buries his head in his hands, distraught, and my heart constricts. How will he cope without us? He won’t be able to deal with clients shouting down the phone at him. I’ll have to find the answering-machine for him before I leave so he can screen the worst of the calls. Where is that thing? I think I shoved it under the stairs the last time Dom left all those rude messages on the tape. I’ll have to dig it out.

  It suddenly strikes me that I may be in shock – isn’t this what people do when they’re in shock? Focus on insignificant details, like where they might have put the answering-machine?

  ‘Whoa there, steady on, Dermot. You’re not ruining our lives.’ Dom pats Dermot on the arm. I know this physical gesture of support goes against his better judgement – Dom doesn’t believe in being overly demonstrative to his own sex: he told me it once led to a very awkward encounter in the toilets of Sheeba nightclub with a man in a pair of very tight leather trousers. ‘Every cloud has a silver lining. This little setback could be just what we all need to reassess where we’re headed.’

  I smile gratefully at Dom for trying to make Dermot feel better. He’s lying, of course. This cloud has no silver lining – it’s an utter disaster – but there’s no point in telling Dermot that, and it’s kind of Dom not to rub salt in his wounds. Dermot doesn’t need to hear that he’s responsible for ruining our life plans: he’s upset enough as it is.

  I try to assess how I feel now that the ‘what if’ has become a ‘for sure’. It’s almost as if I’m floating above my own body – as if this isn’t really happening to me at all. It’s not an unpleasant sensation: it sort of reminds me of the time I smoked weed with the cool gang at the back of the school football pitch when I was fifteen. It turned out that I’d actually been smoking a tobacco roll-up and I made a right fool of myself because I told everyone I felt all spacey and out of it. That was when Patty O’Houlihan laughed and said they’d only been winding me up. It was so embarrassing.

  I never admitted any of that to Mum or Dad. What will they say when I tell them this? They’re still devastated about me and Robert splitting up so this will send them over the edge. I’m sure when I was growing up they didn’t think I’d be such a disaster zone.

  ‘It could?’ Dermot raises his head from his hands and looks at Dom hopefully.

  He’s as vulnerable as a small child. It’s so sad to see him this way. He’s always been soft-hearted – which is probably another reason why he didn’t capitalize on bigger property deals when others wouldn’t have thought twice. He only invested in the apartment block when everyone else was getting out of the market. Now he looks like a broken man. As well as his unhealthy pallor, his eyes are bloodshot and he’s lost weight too – his cuddly jowls have all but disappeared. I suddenly realize I can’t remember the last time I saw him eating one of the BLTs he loves so much – in fact, I can’t remember the last time I even saw him nibble a biscuit. He’s clearly been too stressed to eat.

  Unlike me. Theresa says the fact that I overeat when I’m under pressure is a symptom of some unresolved psychological issue: she maintains I’m subconsciously trying to eat my pain away. Theresa loves to read self-help books – she often says she might become a psychotherapist once the twins are older and less dependent on her for everything – after all, if she can retain so much knowledge about emotional baggage when they won’t even let her wee in peace, who knows what she could achieve? I know the thought often keeps her going when one of them poops on the hall rug for the umpteenth time in a week.

  ‘Sure it could!’ Dom says brightly. ‘This blip could be our golden opportunity!’

  It’s weird, but he sounds almost … sincerely cheerful. I’m quite impressed. If I didn’t know better I might start to believe his pep talk myself. Obviously lying about all the women in his life has made him quite the expert.

  ‘Yes. I, for one, refuse to be broken by all this financial misery,’ Dom goes on, smiling broadly. ‘I already know what I’m
going to do.’

  ‘You do?’ I turn to look at him and realize he is serious – he’s not mucking around. He does think this could be some sort of opportunity.

  ‘Yup,’ he announces. ‘I’m going to Australia!’

  He grins at both of us, thrilled with himself.

  ‘Australia?’ I repeat, dumbstruck. This is the first I’ve heard of it – how come he never told me? ‘Why Australia?’

  Suddenly I’m a little bit annoyed. He should have confided in me. It was almost – almost sneaky of him not to. Maybe then I would have made some concrete plans too, instead of just vaguely hoping that everything would turn out OK.

  ‘It’s not why, my gorgeous Maggie. It’s why not? I’ve always wanted to go and now’s the perfect opportunity. My cousin Pierce says there’s still work over there and I know from experience that the Aussie birds are little crackers. Pierce says threesomes are ten a penny and he’s no James Bond, so can you imagine how well I’ll do?’ Dom rubs his hands together, beaming at the idea.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re thinking with that,’ I dart a disdainful look at Dom’s crotch, ‘at a time like this.’

  Why is everything always about sex with him? It’s unnatural. Maybe he has some sort of real problem. His outrageous stories are funny, but if even half of them are true he could be a proper sex addict.

  ‘Maggie, Maggie, Maggie,’ Dom shakes his head in mock seriousness, ‘you know I pride myself on thinking through this.’ He glances at his zip and grinds his hips in my direction, grinning, just in case I missed his point. It’s his signature move, one he practises endlessly in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom. He says it’s far more effective when he isn’t wearing anything. Thankfully I’ve never seen that version.

  ‘Well, I think you’re mad,’ I say stiffly. ‘Barking mad.’

  I’m really put out that he hasn’t mentioned his grand plan to me before now. Somehow I had just presumed that he hadn’t thought things through – that he’d flounder if the worst happened, just like me. Hearing otherwise has thrown me.

  ‘In fact,’ I go on, unable to stop myself, ‘I read in the papers last weekend that there are no jobs in property in Oz either so you’re fooling yourself if you think you’re going to land some big number. It’ll never happen.’

  Technically, all this is untrue. I’ve never read anything of the sort but Dom won’t know that. He never reads any papers – not unless they feature page-three girls, that is. I feel a little guilty for lying but for some reason the thought that Dom has a life plan in place now that disaster has struck is extremely unnerving. Dom is a fly-by-night, a messer. He never plans for anything. He lives from day to day, minute to minute – so how come he seems to have thought through this scenario? It doesn’t add up.

  ‘Maybe so,’ Dom smiles enigmatically at me, ‘but who says I’ll stay in this business? Who says I won’t do something completely different?’

  ‘Like what?’ I retort. ‘You’re not qualified to do anything else. Not that you were ever qualified to work here either, of course.’ I make a face at him.

  ‘Maggie, why so negative?’ He tuts. ‘It’s a very unattractive trait in such an attractive girl.’

  ‘I think you’re right to go,’ Dermot pipes up suddenly.

  His voice takes me by surprise – I’d almost forgotten he was in the room, I was so busy being annoyed at Dom for his stupid optimism.

  ‘See?’ Dom winks at me. ‘This man has the right attitude. Tell us more, Dermot!’

  ‘Well … I always wanted to travel,’ Dermot muses slowly, ‘but I never made the time. I was always too busy with this place.’ He gestures helplessly round his office. ‘Now it’s too late.’ He looks forlornly at his desk, where stacks of files jostle for space. Dermot has his own special filing system that no one else has ever been able to interpret. His office is like a bomb site but if he wants a memo he can usually find it in less than thirty seconds. His unique method of organized chaos seems to work just perfectly for him.

  ‘Dermot, my friend,’ Dom counsels, moving to stand behind him and pat his shoulder, man to man, ‘it’s never too late.’

  ‘Nah, my time has passed,’ Dermot laments. ‘I’m far too old to be off gallivanting round the globe. And now I couldn’t afford it, even if I wanted to. I’ve worked all my life and it’s amounted to a big fat nothing. I can’t believe I’m such a failure.’

  His voice breaks and I feel tears well in my eyes – it’s awful to see him like this. ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, Dermot,’ I choke.

  He looks so devastated – I know he really is heartbroken that things have turned out this way.

  ‘I guess I did my best,’ he shakes his head again, ‘but I must be the only estate agent in Ireland not to have made any serious money during the Celtic Tiger years. What kind of a gobshite does that make me?’

  I wince. Dermot never uses bad language – never.

  ‘Now I won’t even have enough to fund my retirement,’ he says. ‘It’s going to involve far less luxury than Yvonne had bargained for. God knows how she’s going to react when she finds out the truth.’

  ‘You mean she doesn’t already know?’ Dom asks, glancing at me to gauge my reaction.

  I try to keep my face neutral to hide any surprise that may be registering, but the truth is, the fact that he hasn’t told her is not that much of a shock. Yvonne is Dermot’s second wife. They married exactly three years after his first wife, Marie, died of breast cancer and Dermot has always treated her like some sort of princess. He’s showered her with gifts and money since the day they met. My personal theory is that he’s been trying to make up for the frugal existence he and Marie had – they reared three children and put them through college but they never treated themselves. Marie died without ever enjoying any of the perks of wealth, and I’m convinced that Dermot is so racked by irrational guilt about all she missed out on that he’s been trying to make up for it ever since. He still never spends anything on himself, but Yvonne has been living a cosseted existence since she met him. Telling her that the business has collapsed and her gilded life is about to come to an abrupt end will be very difficult.

  ‘Not exactly,’ Dermot admits sheepishly. ‘She’s aware that things have been … tighter than usual. But I haven’t been able to bring myself to tell her everything. I didn’t know how she’d take it.’

  ‘Give Yvonne some credit,’ I say. ‘She didn’t marry you for your money.’

  Dom raises his eyes at me behind Dermot’s back but I try not to react. We’ve always agreed from the very beginning that Yvonne is a proper gold-digger. Anytime she breezes into the office she’s wearing the latest designer creations and carrying a must-have It bag with a superior sneer to match. This change in circumstances is going to devastate her and Dermot is right to be worried: if funds dry up she may well decide to walk and take her collection of gorgeous handbags with her. Poor Dermot would be gutted if that happened – he actually seems to love her, not that I can understand why. She’s shallow, manipulative and charmless. She isn’t even that good-looking – take away the hair extensions, fake tan and inflated boobs and she’d be really ordinary. Dom’s theory is that she gives Dermot so much kinky sex that he’s willing to look past all that – but then again, he has a sexually related theory for almost everything.

  ‘She had her heart set on an indoor pool,’ Dermot says mournfully. ‘She’ll never get that now.’

  ‘Did I mention I’ll have a pool in Oz?’ Dom interrupts. ‘And a Jacuzzi – that’s where all the threesomes happen, Pierce says.’

  ‘Dom!’ I shoot him a look to shut him up. ‘Pools are vastly overrated, Dermot,’ I go on. And they play havoc with fake-tan addiction, I want to add but I stop myself just in time. There’s no point in making it worse – Dermot will find out soon enough that Yvonne’s loyalties lie firmly with her Platinum Visa.

  ‘Try telling Yvonne that,’ Dermot replies, forlorn. ‘She has expensive tastes. If I can’t provide for
her the way she expects I don’t know what will happen. She could leave me.’

  ‘Oh, stop being so melodramatic,’ I say briskly. I have to get his mind off things somehow or he’ll end up crying on his desk. ‘She’ll never leave you – she’s mad about you.’

  This is another barefaced lie. I don’t think Yvonne loves Dermot – I think she loves what she thought he had. Now that that’s all gone she probably won’t be able to pretend any more.

  Dom makes another face at me, but I continue regardless. It would be useless telling Dermot that his wife is a twenty-four-carat bitch who will dump him like lightning for a new model once she discovers how bad things really are.

  ‘Do you think so?’ Dermot sniffs, and I know he’s trying to pull himself together.

  ‘Of course she is,’ I confirm, ‘and why wouldn’t she be? You’re not half bad.’

  Dermot smiles a watery smile at me, the first since we entered his office. I know I’m safe half flirting with him like this – he’s old enough to be my father after all.

  ‘I have some money for you both.’ He clears his throat to compose himself and passes two envelopes to us. ‘It’s not as much as I would have hoped to give you, but it might help a bit.’

  ‘Thanks, boss,’ Dom says, and I bite my lip so I won’t cry.

  I know Dermot will have done his best by us. The scary thing is this money is going to have to last me until I can find a new job. Not that there’s much hope of that any time soon because no one is hiring. The newspapers are full of features about the terrible situation that thousands of people have found themselves in. Five hundred hopeful applicants turned up for a cashier position in a city-centre supermarket the other day. The terrifying thing is I don’t even know how to operate a digital cash register – I wouldn’t have stood a chance.