by Niamh Greene
Letters to a Love Rat
NIAMH GREENE
PENGUIN IRELAND
Published by the Penguin Group
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First published 2009
Copyright © Niamh Greene 2009
The moral right of the author has been asserted
All rights reserved
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book
ISBN: 978-0-141-92444-1
By the same author
Secret Diary of a Demented Housewife
Confessions of a Demented Housewife
Prologue
1979
Dear Charlie,
You are invited to my birthday party. It is on Wednesday at three o’clock in my house.
You are the only boy coming but you don’t have to wear a dress. Mummy says hitting is not allowed. I would like a doll.
Love
Laura x
Dear Charlie,
Mummy says I have to write and say thank you for the doll. But you cannot come to my house ever again because Daddy says you are a holy terror.
Love
Laura x
1989
Hi Charlie,
Jenny said she saw you kissing Susan Vine at the school disco last week when I had chickenpox. I don’t believe her, but why did you ignore me at the bus stop? I know I still look a bit spotty, but I’m not contagious any more.
Helen x
Charlie,
I saw the hickey on Susan Vine’s neck. I hope your you-know-what falls off.
I’m going to snog Patrick Maher on Friday. I hate you.
Helen
1999
Dear Charlie,
I love you more than life itself. More than I have ever loved anyone before – even Jimmy Nolan. I can’t believe I’ve found my soulmate at last. I love you, honey lips.
P.S. I’ve been thinking what we should call our future children. How about Jack for a boy and Jill for a girl? Wouldn’t that be adorable?
Love you xx
Kate xxxxx
Charlie,
You are a self-centred, heartless asshole. I cannot believe you have done this to me. I have burned all your pathetic love sonnets – they mean nothing now that I know the truth about you. I hope you rot in hell.
Kate
2009
To: Charlie
From: Rex
Re: You fat bastard
Hey Charlie, you fat bastard,
Sorry about tying you to that telephone pole on your stag night, but it was pretty funny. Who was that bird you were talking to in the club? Can you get me her number? She had a great rack.
Rex
To: Charlie
From: Lulu
Re: You
Hey naughty boy,
Hope you enjoyed your stag night… If you want to get naughty again, give me a call…
Lulu xx
Molly
I squeeze my eyes shut against the sun streaming through the window and try to pretend that it’s not morning yet. I don’t want it to be morning. Or anywhere even close to morning. Because if it’s morning it means I have to get out of this warm, cosy bed and face the real world. I have so much to do today, I really ought to get up and get going. But the trouble is, two blissful weeks of a honeymoon spent lolling by an aquamarine seawater pool doing nothing but sip exotic cocktails has made me chronically lazy and I just can’t bring myself to move. All the hardcore relaxing (interspersed with a few half-hearted trips to see worthy cultural stuff ) has finally proven to me what I always suspected: I’m perfectly suited to a life of idle leisure. If I ever win the Lottery I now know for sure that I will not be one of those people who keep the day job, just in case they get bored with all the five-star resorts and private planes. You know the type – they say things like ‘Money won’t change me’ or, even funnier, ‘Money can’t buy you happiness.’ After fourteen days at an all-inclusive couples-only resort I now know that money could buy me happiness and that if I ever do win wads of cash I’d be very content to lounge by a pool for ever and be waited on hand and foot. I’d throw in a few devoted servants to fan me down with giant palm leaves and rub suntan lotion into my back too, given half the chance.
I’m so annoyed I’ve even woken up – I’d been having such a delicious dream about the day Charlie and I got married. Maybe if I snuggle under the duvet some more and try really, really hard I’ll be able to get back to it. I clamp my eyes shut and try to concentrate.
Where was I? I was past the part where I’d floated down the aisle clinging to Alastair’s arm. Al had been thrilled to give me away. When I asked him if he’d take Dad’s place on the day, he burst into tears. I was really touched. We’ve been friends for so long I didn’t think he’d be that surprised that I wanted him right beside me, but he was. Sometimes of course I think that getting to be in all the official photographs was the real reason he was so delighted – centre stage is Al’s favourite place to be.
I’d skated over the part where mad Aunt Nora had caused a bit of a scene by shouting and roaring about my ex-boyfriend David just as I reached the altar – I didn’t want to dwell on that, not even in a dream. I was past the bit where my sister Tanya had taken my bouquet from me – even the part when she’d fumbled and almost dropped it – and I was right at the wonderful point where Charlie and I had just said ‘I do’.
That part had been so romantic. At that moment, when Charlie looked deep into my eyes and promised to love and cherish me for ever, I knew that I was doing the right thing. All the doubts melted away. All the niggling little worries that we hadn’t known each other long enough, that we were rushing into things, that we might regret it – they all disappeared and in that second I knew that everything would be all right. I’d found the One and now we were going to live happily ever after, just like characters in a chick-lit novel with a pretty pink cover and swirly gold lettering on the front. When Charlie slipped the slim platinum band on my finger I realized, right then and there, that I had found my fairytale ending. I wasn’t going to die alone and lonely. I wasn’t going to end my days as a bitter old woman who didn’t believe in love. Even after everything that had happened, how close to the edge I’d come after Mum and Dad died and David and I broke up. It was all going to be all right.
If only I could get back to that dream, even for a few minutes. If I squeeze my eyes tightly enough maybe I might, just might, be able to drift off and recapture it. I shuffle under th
e goose-down duvet and try to concentrate, but it’s no use – it’s not working. The sun is too bright and now I can hear the noise of traffic drifting up from the street below. I’m going to have to get up. But maybe not just yet – maybe I’ll have time for a quick cuddle with Charlie first. After all, isn’t that supposed to be one of the perks of married life? You have love on tap whenever you want it. Things were a little quiet on that front when we were on honeymoon, but perhaps that’s not so unusual – after all, I was busy organizing the wedding and then we were both completely shattered afterwards… and work kept calling him every five minutes on his BlackBerry, so he was a bit distracted. But now that we’re back home we probably won’t be able to keep our hands off each other. Not that we’re one of those couples who are all over each other all the time – we’re a bit more restrained. Over the top Public Displays of Affection just aren’t our thing – Charlie says our connection is more cerebral. And that suits me just fine, because passion is all very well and good but it can never be sustained. Once you get over the snogging-till-your-face-hurts stage at the start, lust usually fades away and all you’re really left with is companionship and the ability to tolerate each other’s bad habits. Passion never lasts – except with David; we’d never lost our lust for each other – but I’m not going to think about that now, because that would be completely inappropriate.
Anyway, having a cerebral connection with someone isn’t as boring as it sounds – it can come in really handy. For example, Charlie’s a mine of knowledge on current affairs and history – all the stuff I’m not very good at – which means that he helps me along if I get stuck. He’s very good at prompting me to say the right thing, so that I don’t seem too silly at dinner parties. Sometimes it can be a little embarrassing – like the time he teased me for not knowing how many states there were in America and everyone cracked up. I did try to tell him that of course I knew how many states there were – it’s one of the facts I do know; after living in San Francisco for a year I ought to – but it was too late. Everyone thought it was hilarious, so I let it slide.
But it’s so lovely to wake up with him as my husband. Imagine if I’d never gone to those media awards? I’d never have met him. I wouldn’t be a happily married woman and we wouldn’t be Mr and Mrs Charles Adler. What makes it even stranger is that I really didn’t want to go. The only reason I was there at all was because my editor, Minty, had bullied me into it. Being the features editor/general skivvy at Her magazine isn’t the worst job in the world, but going to boring awards dos is my least favourite thing. I only caved in because I thought I might get a goodie bag or a few free passes to the movies. For that, I was just about willing to sit through the agony of long speeches and very bad food.
When I got there, I noticed Charlie almost immediately. It was hard not to: he was sitting right opposite me and everyone at the table seemed to be hanging on his every word. He was charming and authoritative and very handsome, and so when he started to talk to me after the awful speeches I was intrigued. He certainly wasn’t my type: unlike David, who’d always looked a bit scruffy, Charlie was well groomed and polished. And he was so attentive. He seemed to think that everything I said was witty and hilarious – he even told me he loved my curly hair. It was like something out of a romcom movie: I was Julia Roberts in my blue full-length satin dress, and he was Pierce Brosnan in a well-cut tuxedo. All his smooth talk was very flattering, and after a few glasses of wine I started to believe him when he said I was the most gorgeous creature he’d ever seen. He spoke like a swashbuckling hero from the Mills & Boon novels I used to read at school; it was heady stuff. He said ‘creature’ quite a lot. And ‘ravishing’. And ‘intoxicating’.
When I was leaving he begged me for my phone number but I wouldn’t give it to him, so instead he wrote his on my wrist and made me promise to call. I just laughed and said maybe I would and maybe I wouldn’t, but really I had no intention of calling him – I was officially off men. Since David and I had broken up I hadn’t dated anyone else and I didn’t want to. I was happy by myself. Sure, sometimes I felt a little lonely when I was heating a frozen dinner for one in the microwave or curled up on the couch alone, but mostly I was pretty content and, anyway, work kept me so busy I barely had time to think. So I honestly never expected to clap eyes on Charlie again. I wrote off our meeting as a funny encounter that I’d tell Tanya about over a glass of wine – we’d giggle together about the charming stranger who’d been so flirty. But the very next morning he called to ask me out. The very next morning! It was practically unheard of. Because I’d refused to give him my number, he had called the switchboard at Her – he actually took the initiative. I got such a shock when he was put through and I heard his sexy velvety voice that I almost fell off my chair. I was so tongue-tied that Samantha and Penny in the office knew immediately that something was going on and proceeded to spend the rest of the day quizzing me about it. And now, six months later, we’re husband and wife. I still can hardly believe that we’re married. Really and properly married. Legally binding, no going back, till-death-do-us-part married. It’s been such a whirlwind since we met, sometimes I find it hard to grasp that we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together.
I snake my arm across to cuddle Charlie, but the sheet is cold and empty on his side of the bed. He must have gone for an early run – he’s really into keeping fit. Which is fine by me as long as he doesn’t press-gang me into going jogging any time soon. Although we could look really cute together if we bought matching Lycra running leggings and fleece tops. I think about this for a while. Maybe I could make an effort to get fit, develop some shared interests. I mean, obviously we love each other, but we probably should start doing stuff together more – that’s the best way to keep the passion alive. We don’t want to slide into being a settled married couple who have nothing in common. Then again, Lycra leggings are pretty unforgiving. And that seaweed wrap I got for the wedding didn’t have any long-lasting results, so I’d have to go on a serious crash diet before I could even think about getting fit. And it’s way too cold to go jogging so early in the morning.
Suddenly I wonder if Charlie put the coffee pot on before he left – I stick my nose out from under the cover and take a sniff. I can’t smell a thing. Maybe he’s going to bring me back a latte from the café on the corner instead. And some croissants to share. That would be fab. As long as he doesn’t expect me to eat that awful organic porridge he loves so much. That stuff is vile – even worse than the smelly cheese he’s so fond of.
I open one bleary eye to see what time it is – I really should get up soon. I’m going to need extra time to make myself look presentable. I have a bit of a tan from soaking up the sun while we were away, but the flight has played havoc with my complexion. I’ll have to brush on extra bronzer and apply some of the tinted body moisturizer with the light-reflective properties that I treated myself to in the duty free – that’ll give me the perfect finishing touch. And then there’s my hair. All the sun and sand has left it so dry and brittle I could be the ‘before’ picture in a hair conditioner ad. I probably could squeeze in a hair mask if I’m quick. My bed head is legendary: it takes me a full hour to get it in shape sometimes. That’s the curse of having thick, curly hair – you have to work extra hard to make it look halfway decent. Luckily for me, Charlie loves my wild hair almost as much as I hate it.
It’s right then, just as I’m trying to remember where I left my hair straighteners, that I spot the sheet of paper on Charlie’s pillow. He’s left me a little love note – how cute. That’s the first time he’s done that. I’m really touched by his thoughtfulness.
I stretch out one arm and bring the letter close to my face so I can read it – he’s probably told me he adores me and can’t wait to get back from his run to do all sorts of naughty things to me. My insides warm at the thought. I’m definitely going to seduce him when he comes in. I’ll have to ask him to have a shower first of course – all that sweat from running may look sex
y and manly, but it can pong a bit.
But first I’ll read his note – that’ll get me in the mood. Prising my eyes apart is quite hard, but I really want to savour every special word, so I rub the gritty sleep away and try to focus on the page.
Dear Molly,
I’m sorry, I just can’t do this. Please don’t hate me.
Charlie
P.S. The bins are put out on Tuesdays. Try to remember to rinse the yogurt cartons before recycling.
Julie’s Blog
11.03 p.m.
Right. This is it. Mr X is coming back. I have to come up with a plan. I can’t continue my mad, passionate affair with him – having shag-fests with my boss would definitely be wrong. Especially when he’s just back from his honeymoon.
11.04 p.m.
If only I could stop thinking about his strong, manly hands holding my face when we snog – he’s so good at that.
11.05 p.m.
And the neck-stroking thing – the way he trails his fingers so slowly and so sensuously across my throat. That’s almost impossible to resist as well.
11.06 p.m.
And of course there’s that wrist-rubbing move he does. That’s amazing…
11.07 p.m.
This isn’t helping. I have to focus… I know! I’ll make a list. That’ll work.
Reasons to continue relationship with Mr X:
a)He’s gorgeous
b)He has really sexy toes – evenly spaced and no abnormally long ones
c)He has very little body hair (strongly suspect he has back, sack and crack wax on regular basis – once accidentally-on-purpose stumbled across his Visa bill on his desk and spotted beautician charges)
