by Marian Keyes
‘Oh?’ Jack’s dark eyes were interested.
‘I saw my husband…’
‘Your… um?’ The sideshow of emotions on Jack’s face interested her. He was bothered. Though she couldn’t feel it yet, she knew this was a good thing. ‘I didn’t know you were married,’ he settled on.
‘I’m not. Well, I am, but we’ve split up.’ Painfully, she added, ‘We’re getting divorced.’
Jack looked deeply uncomfortable. ‘Christ! I’ve never been through it, so I’m not going to patronize you with advice or stuff… I mean, I’ve split up with people, which is rough, but not the same, I’d imagine. But, anyway, well, it sounds…’ He searched around for the appropriate word and couldn’t find anything dramatic enough. ‘Rough, it sounds rough.’
She nodded. ‘Yeah. Look, I don’t know why I’m telling you this.’ With a sudden show of control and efficiency, she blew her nose, rummaged in her bag, then flipped open a mirror. ‘I’m a horror-show,’ she said briskly.
‘You look fine to me…’
After a quick repair job with Beauty Flash and All About Eyes, she said, ‘I’d better get back. Ashlings to shout at, Gerries to row with.’
‘You don’t have to…’
Slowing down, she momentarily took off her mag-hag persona. ‘You’ve been very kind to me,’ she admitted. ‘Thank you.’
42
‘Him, there, the tall one.’ Ashling pointed through the crowds at the River Club.
‘That’s your boyfriend?’ Clodagh asked incredulously. ‘He’s lovely, a bit like Dennis Leary.’
‘Ah, he’s not really,’ Ashling demurred, thrilled.
All of a sudden she felt nearly as good as Clodagh. OK, Clodagh obviously needed glasses, but so what! And wait until she saw Marcus perform!
It was Saturday night and there was a star-studded cast on at the River Club. As well as Marcus and Ted, Bicycle Billy, Mark Dignan and Jimmy Bond were also playing.
‘Quick, spread your jacket and your bag across as many chairs as possible.’ Ashling threw herself towards a vacant table. The comedians were doing the great honour of sitting with them, and Joy and Lisa were also coming. Even Jack Devine had said he might drop in.
From across the room, Ted had spotted Clodagh and came running. ‘Hello,’ he exclaimed, pathetically aglow. ‘Thank you for coming.’
‘I’m looking forward to it,’ Clodagh said graciously.
Ted pulled up a chair and sat next to Clodagh in a way that proclaimed they were ‘special’ friends.
Ashling anxiously watched the interplay. The dogs in the street knew that Ted fancied Clodagh. But what of Clodagh? She had insisted on coming without Dylan.
With wild animation Ted chatted away until suddenly he realized that he might have to vomit. His usual nerves were wildly exacerbated by Clodagh’s presence. White-faced, he made his excuses and lurched towards the gents’.
Ashling watched. Clodagh did not follow him with her eyes as he zigzagged off. Good. She managed to rein in her ridiculous anxiety. Clodagh and Ted, as if!
‘Hiya.’ Joy arrived and gave Clodagh a wary nod.
‘Hiya.’ Clodagh nervously attempted a smile. Joy made her feel even more deficient than usual. But according to Ashling, Joy had recently been dumped by her fella, so was to be treated with tenderness.
Then Clodagh’s eye was caught by someone approaching their table. A woman so shiny and gorgeous, trendy and funky that Clodagh tumbled down a well of inadequacy. She’d agonized over what to wear for tonight, this desperately yearned-for treat, and had been rather pleased with the results, but one look at the fabulous clothes and quirky accessories of this woman conspired to make Clodagh feel rather pathetic. As if the way she’d assembled her appearance was naïve and clueless. It looked as if the woman was going to join them. She was taking off her jacket, saying hello to Ashling. Fuck! She must be…
‘My boss, Lisa,’ Ashling introduced.
Clodagh managed a mute bow of her head, then watched with jealousy as Lisa greeted Joy like an old friend. ‘Michael Winner, Prince Edward or Andrew Lloyd Webber. And you must sleep with one of them!’
‘Prince Edward, I suppose.’ Joy was rather subdued. ‘David Copperfield, Robin Cook or Wurzel Gummidge?’
‘Yuk.’ Lisa frowned. ‘Wurzel Gummidge – please! Robin Co-no. David Copperf- no, I couldn’t. I suppose it’ll have to be Wurzel Gummidge. Ugh.’
Mad keen to fit in, Clodagh turned to Ashling and challenged loudly, ‘Brad Pitt, Joseph Fiennes and Tom Cruise, and you must sleep with one of them!’
Lisa and Joy exchanged a look. Clodagh just didn’t get it, did she?
Too late, Clodagh saw that she’d done something wrong. ‘Oh,’ she admitted, stung raw by her own stupidity. ‘They’re meant to be unattractive, aren’t they? Who wants a drink?’
‘Clodagh, can I introduce you to –’ Ashling said. Marcus had arrived at the table. ‘Marcus, this is my best friend Clodagh.’
As Marcus shook Clodagh’s hand, she felt marginally better. He was nice and friendly, not like those two bitches, Joy and Lisa.
‘I’m just buying a round,’ Clodagh smiled at Marcus. ‘Can I get you something?’
‘Only a Red Bull. I don’t drink before I go on stage,’ he explained kindly.
‘OK, I’ll get you a proper drink afterwards.’ Stiffly, she asked Joy, ‘What would you like?’
‘Red Square.’
‘Red… um?’ Clodagh had never heard of such a drink.
‘It’s vodka and Red Bull,’ Ashling explained. ‘I’ll have one too.’
‘And me,’ said Lisa.
And so will I, Clodagh decided. When in Rome… Hey, who was he?. A tall, dishevelled man had arrived and was hovering uncomfortably on the edge of the group. Gorgeous! Not really her type – a bit too unkempt – but all the same… Then she noticed Lisa attach herself to him like she had suckers.
‘Would, um, Lisa’s boyfriend like a drink?’ Clodagh asked Ashling.
‘Who? Oh, him, he’s not Lisa’s boyfriend, he’s our boss.’
‘Well, would your boss like a drink?’
Ashling swallowed a sigh and with bad grace said, ‘Mr Devine, this is my friend Clodagh, she’s going to the bar.’
Jack smiled at Clodagh, shook her hand and said, ‘Call me Jack.’ Then he insisted on buying the round.
Ashling couldn’t help an eruption of jealousy. Why couldn’t he be nice to her? Then she switched her focus to Marcus and immediately felt better. Before the gig began he was approached by a steady stream of fans. Female fans, mostly. As she watched the girls go up to him, she swelled with pride that he was her boyfriend. She couldn’t help being pleased with herself for bagging him. He could have had anyone, she thought, and he picked me.
It was Clodagh’s night, no doubt about it. The comedians – intimidated by Lisa, sick of the sight of Joy and respectful of Ashling being Marcus’s girlfriend – swarmed around Clodagh with her swishy new hair, gorgeous face and tight, white trousers. Ted’s dark little face was miserable, but he was hopelessly out-numbered.
Clodagh, blazing a trail through Red Square after Red Square, was having a blast. During one of the breaks, Ashling overheard her saying to a cluster of men, ‘I was a virgin before I got married.’ With a twinkle in her eye she added, ‘A long time before, mind.’
Everyone fell into convulsions and Ashling couldn’t help a shameful little thought, It wasn’t that funny. She pushed it away – it wasn’t Clodagh’s fault she was beautiful. And it genuinely was nice to see her enjoying herself so much.
Then Clodagh crossed her legs and all eyes flickered to the movement. Unselfconsiously she eased her embroidered mule off her foot and let it swing idly on her big toe. Ashling watched several sets of eyes – all male – scud back and forth in time with it, looking mildy hypnotized.
Ted’s act went down a storm and when he came back to the table, alight with triumph, Ashling watched Clodagh rub his shoulder and say, ‘You were brilliant!’
&n
bsp; Some time later Ashling saw Clodagh smiling at Jack Devine with the tip of her tongue poking out saucily through her teeth. Then Bicycle Billy got the same treatment. Oh no! It was her I’m-gorgeous-and-I-know-it smile, at least that was what she thought. But to quote Phelim on it, it was her scary-old-bat-from-Benny-Hill leer.
The next time Ashling looked, Clodagh had deteriorated markedly. With the slinkiness of an affectionate cat, she was rubbing her face against people’s shoulders and explaining with charming bleariness to everyone, ‘I’ve two children, so I don’t get out much.’ She hugged Lisa and said earnestly, ‘I’m pissed! You see, I don’t get out much.’ Then she saw Ashling looking and exclaimed, Oh Ashling, I’m pissed. Are you cross with me?’
But before Ashling could demur, Clodagh had turned away and, skimming over the top of her words, was explaining to Mark Dignan, ‘I’ve two chirn, soadoan get out much.’
Marcus was last on the bill and as he took the stage Clodagh was whispering and giggling with Jack Devine. Ashling was annoyed, she’d really been looking forward to showing off how good her boyfriend was.
‘Shush,’ she elbowed Clodagh, then indicated the stage.
‘Sorry,’ Clodagh said loudly – too loudly. Then proceeded to absolutely scream with laughter at everything Marcus said. When, amid rapturous applause, he returned to the table, Clodagh propelled herself into his arms and insisted, ‘You were HILARIOUS!’
Marcus gently disentangled himself from her and steered her back to her seat beside Ashling. As he sat down he squeezed Ashling’s hand and gave her a secret smile.
‘She’s right,’ Ashling murmured, ‘You were hilarious.’
‘Thanks,’ he mouthed, and they shared a moment of warm mutual regard, which went on for far longer than was decent.
‘Is that it, then?’ Clodagh demanded. ‘No more funny stuff. Do we have to go home?’
‘Jesus, no!’ Jimmy Bond looked aghast. ‘Late bar until two.’
‘Brilliant!’ Clodagh exclaimed and promptly knocked over someone’s glass. It clattered against the table and sent a stream of lager rushing over Bicycle Billy’s thighs. ‘Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry,’ Clodagh insisted, fuzzily. ‘God, I’m verr sorry.’
‘Ah, the poor thing,’ Ted sympathized. In unison, most of the table chorused, ‘She doesn’t get out much.’
Mark Dignan had just rejoined them and took in the scene, Bicycle Billy rubbing his soaked legs with the sleeve of his jacket, Clodagh apologizing thickly. Before anyone started to condemn her, Mark had some news for them. ‘She’s got two children,’ he confided and furrowed his brow to urge compassion, ‘so she doesn’t get out much.’
Next Clodagh started up a long, huddled head-to-head with a woman from another table. They looked as though they were solving the problems of the world, but when Ashling eaves-dropped, all they seemed to be saying to each other was, ‘If you don’t have chirn yourself, you can’t understan’.’ ‘Thass right. If you don’t have chirn yourself, you can’t understan’.’
Then Clodagh went to the loo, and when she hadn’t returned to their table after ten minutes Ashling anxiously scanned the room and saw her in intimate conversation with a trio of girls. The next time she looked, Clodagh was laughing with a man. Shortly after that Clodagh was talking to two boys, making elaborate hand gestures that looked exactly like she was demon-strating how to express breast milk. But she seemed happy – and so did the two boys – so Ashling decided to let her alone. Not long afterwards Ashling went to the bar and as she placed her order she saw Clodagh weaving between tables, then bumping into one, sending a dozen drinks rocking. ‘Whoops!’ she exclaimed loudly.
Two men leaning on the bar were also watching Clodagh.
‘That was close,’ one remarked, as the drinks just managed to pull themselves back from toppling.
‘Ah, yeah,’ the other replied, ‘but she has two kids so she doesn’t get out much.’
‘Excuse me, could you change one of those Red Squares to a Red Bull?’ Ashling, on impulse, asked the barman. Clodagh had had enough to drink.
But amazingly, drunk and all as she was, Clodagh knew she’d been fobbed off with an alcohol-free drink, and turned slightly nasty. ‘Mus’ think I’m a big gobshite,’ she complained. ‘Mus’ think I’m a big, stupid gobshite.’
‘Should we get her home?’ Marcus murmured.
Ashling nodded, so grateful for him.
‘I’m not leaving until I’ve had another drink,’ Clodagh insisted belligerently.
Marcus was sweet, as though explaining to a child. ‘You see, Ashling and I want to go home, and it seems like a good idea to drop you off.’
‘Well, go home,’ Clodagh ordered.
‘But we’d really like you to come with us in the taxi.’
‘I might,’ Clodagh said sulkily. ‘But it’s only because I like you.’
‘Do you need any help?’ Ted asked hopefully.
‘No.’ Ashling was firm. ‘We’re just going to drop her home to her husband.’
Clodagh enveloped Ted in a big hug, then puckered up – Ashling flinched – and kissed him on the forehead. ‘You’re cute,’ she said fondly. ‘Don’t forget to come and visit me.’
‘I won’t!’
‘Come on.’ Ashling took her arm, but Clodagh had turned around and was trying to get to someone else.
‘Bye, Jack,’ she carolled.
‘Bye Clodagh, nice to meet you,’ Jack smiled.
‘Nice to meet you too.’ Clodagh’s voice was like cream. ‘Hope to see you again soo- Ow! Ashling! You’re pulling my arm off!’
Grimly, Ashling tugged her towards the exit.
In the back seat of the taxi, Clodagh complained bitterly and at length about what spoilsports Ashling and Marcus were, how she didn’t want to go home, hew she’d been enjoying herself, how she had two children and didn’t get out much… Then, abruptly, mid-rant, silence fell. Her chin on her chest, she’d passed out peacefully.
When Dylan answered the front-door, Marcus said cheerfully, ‘Delivery of a drunken woman for you. Sign here.’
With much stumbling and hoisting, Clodagh was helped in, then Marcus and Ashling got back into the taxi to go home.
‘Have you a pen?’ Marcus asked Ashling, as they whizzed through the dark streets to Ashling’s flat.
‘Yip.’
‘And a piece of paper?’
Already Ashling was seaching.
Out of the corner of her eye she watched Marcus scribble something. It looked remarkably like, ‘Delivery of a drunken woman for you. Sign here.’ But before she could be sure, he’d folded it away.
The following day, Ashling’s phone rang at a quarter past eight. The earliness of the hour meant it would be Clodagh, in the horrors. And indeed it was.
‘I’ve been awake since half six,’ she said humbly. ‘I just wanted to say sorry for last night. I’m really sorry, I’m so sorry. Did I make a terrible fool of myself? I suppose the problem is that because I’ve two children I don’t get out much.’
‘You were fine,’ Ashling said sleepily. ‘Everyone thought you were great.’
Clodagh? Marcus mouthed at her. Ashling nodded.
‘You were lovely,’ Marcus called from his pillow. ‘Very sweet.’
‘Who’s that? Marcus? That’s decent of him. Tell him I thought he was brilliant.’
‘She thought you were brilliant,’ Ashling relayed, turning to Marcus.
Clodagh’s relief only lasted a moment. ‘I can’t tell you how much I was looking forward to going out and I enjoyed myself so much, but now you’ll never let me come out with you again. It was the nicest night I’ve had in years and I blew it.’
‘Don’t be mad, you can come out with us any time you like!’
‘Any time,’ Marcus echoed.
‘Um, Ashling, would you have any idea how I got home?’
‘Marcus and I dropped you off in a taxi.’
‘Oh yes,’ Clodagh said confidently. ‘I remember… Actually, I don’t
,’ she crumbled. ‘I remember the comedians being on stage, but I don’t remember much after that. I had a horrible feeling that I’d knocked over someone’s pint, but I think I just imagined that.’
‘Um, yeh.’
‘But it’s very bad not to remember how I got home.’ Clodagh recommenced flaying herself with guilt. ‘Oh my good God,’ her voice dropped several octaves into a disbelieving groan. She had suddenly remembered Something too awful. ‘I have a horrible feeling… ah no, I couldn’t have.’
‘What?’
‘These girls I was talking to in the ladies’, one of them was pregnant. I think I offered to show her how well my episiotomy stitches had healed. Oh bloody hell, tell me I didn’t,’ she moaned softly. ‘I’m imagining it. I must be.’
‘You must be,’ Ashling lied stoutly.
‘Well, even if I’m not imagining it, I’m pretending I am. I blame that bloody Red Bull,’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m never touching it again!’
After she hung up, Marcus kissed Ashling and asked softly, ‘Was I good last night?’
‘Well… no.’ Ashling was surprised. They hadn’t made love when they’d come in.
‘No?’ His voice was sharp with anguish.
Oh Christ! Too late, Ashling realized what he was on about. ‘On stage? I thought you meant in bed. You were fantastic on stage, I told you at the time.’
‘Better than Bicycle Billy, “one of Ireland’s top comedians”?’
‘You know you are.’
‘If I knew it I wouldn’t have to ask.’
‘Better than Billy, better than Ted, better than Mark, better than Jimmy, better than everyone.’ Ashling wanted to go back to sleep.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Jimmy’s gag about the football supporters was great, though.’
‘It was OK,’ Ashling said cautiously.
‘How OK?’ Marcus pounced. ‘On a scale of one to ten?’
‘One,’ Ashling yawned. ‘It was crap. Let’s go back to sleep now.’
43
Oliver’s visit had shattered Lisa’s fragile equilibrium. At work her eye was off the ball and her bitchy-remark quota was way down. What made things worse was that he didn’t ring her. She’d hoped that he would, if only just to leave a jokey ‘Thanks for the shag’ message. Especially now that he had her number. But the days passed and hope faded.
