by Marian Keyes
‘No,’ Lisa called feebly.
‘WHAT?’
‘No.’
‘I can’t hear you. Did you say yes?’
Angrily, Lisa dragged herself from the bed. For fuck’s sake! All her life she’d been strong. She’d never given in to PMT or mental-health days or anything. And the one time she decided to have a nervous breakdown, people kept interrupting it. She flung open the front-door and roared into Beck’s face, ‘I SAID NO!’
‘Right you are.’ He crackled a big, cellophane bouquet into her arms and slipped past her into the hall. ‘Quick, before someone sees me. I’m meant to be at school.’
Lisa gazed dully at the flowers. They were good ones. No carnations or any of that cheap-skate unimaginative shit, but lots of weird stuff – purple thistle and orchids that looked as though they came from another planet. Who were they from? Suddenly her hands were shaking and she was ripping open the envelope. Could they be from Oliver?
They were from Jack.
All the note said was, ‘We think you’re great. Please come back to work.’ But, with a flash of insight, Lisa recognized it as an apology. Jack had known she’d had her sights set on him, and he wasn’t interested. He knew that she knew. And she knew that he knew that she knew and all at once it didn’t matter anyway. Though good-looking and hard-bodied, Jack would have driven her loco. He didn’t care enough about the things that were vital to her. She’d only been diverting herself with fantasies of him – Oliver was the man she was really upset about.
Beck was agitating for her attention. ‘I want to ask you something.’
‘What?’ The word was dragged up from her toes.
‘Help me put this in my HAIR?’ He produced a packet from his sweatpants. It was Sun-in.
‘Don’t tell me, you want to be in a boy-band,’ Lisa said.
Beck’s face was a picture as he searched for the right words. Eventually he located them. ‘Would you ever fuck OFF?’ he exclaimed. ‘I’m going to be a winger for Man U.’
‘So you need blond highlights?’
‘Duh,’ he scorned her stupidity. ‘’Course I do!’
‘Not now, Beck, I’ve the flu.’
‘No, you haven’t.’ Already he was on his way into her bathroom and he turned and gave a one-skiver-to-another wink. ‘But if you won’t grass on me, I won’t grass on you.’
She leant against the wall and toyed with screaming, then simply yielded to her fate.
An hour later Beck departed, his hair striped with blond. ‘Thanks Lisa, you’re a COOL girl.’
After his departure, she sat at her kitchen table, smoking. She was cold and kept meaning to get a top, but every time she finished a cigarette, she lit another one.
In the silent room the phone rang and her heart nearly jumped out of her chest – her nerve-endings were frayed to pieces! The answer-machine picked up: she wasn’t so much screening calls as stonewalling them. But every cell in her body went on red alert as Oliver’s voice filled the room.
‘Babes, it’s me. Uh, Oliver, that is. Thought I’d give you a bell about the – ’
She snatched up the phone. ‘It’s me. I’m here.’
‘Hey,’ he said warmly. ‘Thought you might be. I called you at work, they said you were at home. Did you get the, um… ?’
‘Yes.’
‘I tried calling you Thursday and Friday at work to let you know it was coming, but couldn’t get you. Left a message with your PA to call me, didn’t you get it?’
‘No.’ Or maybe she did. She had a vague memory of Trix trying to press some message on her on Friday morning.
‘And I would have called over the weekend but I was working. Mental shoot in Glasgow with psychotic models. Twenty-hour days.’
‘It’s OK.’
‘So, um… even though we knew this was going to happen, it doesn’t feel too hot, no?’
‘No,’ she gulped.
‘But one of us had to do it.’ He sounded very uncomfortable. ‘To be honest, babes, I thought it’d be you. I was wondering what was taking you so long.’
‘Busy,’ she swallowed. ‘New mag and all that.’
‘Right! But, hey, I felt a total toe-rag putting those five things on it. I don’t mean to bad-mouth you, you know that, right? Like, I was pissy at the time but not now, know what I’m saying? But they’re the rules. We’ve not been separated two years and adultery wasn’t the reason we split, so we have to give some reason to the court.’
Lisa wasn’t quite ready to speak. She was waiting for the storm of crying that was happening in a locked place within her to pass. If she opened her mouth now it would all come out.
‘Lees,’ he pressed. He sounded concerned.
‘I…’ she managed.
‘Heyyyy,’ he cooed.
‘It’s very sad,’ she shook.
‘I know, I know. Tell me about it!’ After a pause, Oliver seemed to be thinking aloud. ‘Why don’t I visit you? We can sort it, put it to bed and all that.’
‘You’re loco.’
‘I’m not loco. Look at it this way, we can both save ourselves a wedge in solicitor’s fees if we sort out things like the apartment face to face. Any idea how much it’ll cost each time my brief writes a letter to yours? Lots, Lees, I’m telling you.
‘C’mon babes,’he coaxed. ‘We can do this totally, like, amicably. One on one. Mano a mano’ When she didn’t speak he cajoled further, ‘Hombre a hombre.’
With the tiniest of laughs, she managed, ‘OK.’
‘Yeah? For real? When?’
‘This weekend?’
‘You won’t be working?’
‘No.’
‘Well, well, well,’ he said, in a tone she wasn’t quite sure of. Then he lightened up. ‘I’ll try and get a flight on Saturday and I’ll bring all the bumpf.’
‘I’ll meet you at the airport.’
Just one night, she promised herself. One night pressed up against him, then she’d get over it.
She hung up the phone, unsure of what to do next. She could go back to bed, but instead, on a wild whim, decided to ring Jack.
‘Thank you for the flowers.’
‘Don’t mention them. They were just to say that we… I… have the greatest respect for you and that –’
‘Jack, apology accepted,’ Lisa cut in.
‘Ehm, what are you talking ab –’ Then Jack stopped and sighed. ‘OK, thank you.’
‘So what’s been happening?’ She almost managed to sound interested.
Jack’s tone cheered. ‘Lots of good stuff, actually. The magazine’s gone into reprint. I don’t know if you saw them but pictures of the party were in five papers over the weekend and we’ve had requests for you to go on national radio during the week. We’ve had four unsolicited applications to replace Mercedes. Dublin’s a very small place. And I found out which magazine Mercedes has gone to. It’s not Manhattan, it’s a teen weekly called Froth’
It could have been because Oliver was coming, it could have been the good reports about Colleen, it certainly could have been the news about Mercedes, but something had shifted in Lisa, because when Jack then asked, ‘Any chance of you coming back to work?’ she was able to answer, ‘S’pose.’
‘Good.’ he said. ‘That means I can stop writing this article on men’s skincare.’
‘???’
‘Trix made me do it. With yourself and Ashling out and Mercedes gone, she’s the most senior member of Colleens editorial staff who’s in. The power has gone to her head. She’s talking about sending Bernard for a facial just to see if she can make him cry.’
‘I’ll be in in an hour.’
En route to the bathroom for a much-needed shower, Lisa passed her bedroom and was shocked at the state of it. What had she been thinking of? She just wasn’t the kind of person who lost it. Other people did, and good luck to them. But not Lisa – like it or not she was a survivor. Not that she didn’t feel raw and wretched. She did. But nervous breakdowns were like coloured contact le
nses – fine for other people, but they weren’t really her.
57
Ashling shifted in the bed and located the phone from underneath her. She’d been sleeping with it for four days. For the millionth time she pressed Marcus’s home number. Answering machine. Then his work number. Voicemail. Finally his mobile.
‘Still no reply?’ Joy asked sympathetically as she and Ted clustered on Ashling’s smelly bed.
‘No. God, I wish he would. I’d just like some answers.’
‘He’s a dirty coward. Call around to his work. Hassle him at gigs. That’d be good, actually,’ Joy said fiercely. ‘In the guise of heckling, you could really wreck his head. Shouting up at him that he’s hopeless in bed and that his mickey’s
‘– really small,’ Ashling finished wearily for her.
‘Really freckly, I was going to say,’ Joy said. ‘But I’ll accept “small”.’
‘No. No way. To either of them.’
‘OK, forget the heckling. But why don’t you call around to him? If you want him back you should fight for him.’
‘I don’t know if I want him back. Anyway, I don’t stand a chance. Not against Clodagh.’
‘She’s not that beautiful,’ Joy said savagely.
Automatically they both turned to Ted, who blushed. ‘Not at all,’ he lied atrociously.
‘See?’ Ashling flung at Joy. ‘He thinks she is.’
In the awkward silence that lowered on to them, Ashling took a dispassionate look around. She’d been in this room since Friday afternoon. It was now Monday evening and she’d left her bed only for brief visits to the bathroom. Her intention had been to have a sleep to get over the shock, then find Marcus and see what she could salvage. But somehow she’d never managed to get back out of bed. She liked it here now, she thought she might stay.
Her empty stare alighted on a bundle of tissues. All unused. Why wasn’t she crying? With the weight of sadness she was carrying she felt she should be in perpetual convulsions. But she remained resolutely dry-eyed. Not even a hint – no catch to her voice, no achey swelling in her throat, no fullness in her face bones.
Not that she was numb. Oh, if only.
She spoke slowly, more to herself than the other two. ‘I keep wondering what I did wrong, and I don’t think it’s my fault. I let him try out new material all the time. I went to all his gigs. Well, nearly.’ Look at what happened the one time she didn’t go. He’d picked up her best friend. ‘I agreed with him ten times a day that he was the best and that all the other comedians were crap.’
‘Even me?’ Ted asked uncertainly. ‘Did he think I was crap?’
‘No,’ Ashling lied. The first night she’d met Marcus he’d enthused madly about Ted, but only – she realized with hindsight – because he didn’t take him seriously. When it became clear that Ted had garnered a small but devoted following, Marcus began subtly to slag him off. Smart enough to know that Ashling wouldn’t permit full-blown insults, he contented himself with remarks like, ‘Good on Ted Mullins. We need one or two lightweights in this game.’ By the time Ashling noticed that he was actually denigrating Ted, she was too set in her helpmeet role to object.
‘It was all about Marcus Valentine,’ Joy observed. ‘He sounds like a selfish fucker.’
‘It wasn’t like that. It was fun helping him. We were close, we were pals.’ That was what hurt so much. But he’d met someone he liked better, it happened all the time.
‘Did you sense that something was going on?’ Joy asked. ‘Has he been behaving any differently?’
It was painful to think of the recent past in the light of her discoveries, but Ashling had to admit, ‘The last few weeks, while I’ve been so busy, he’s been narky. I thought it was just because he missed me. Imagine!’
‘Did the, um –’ Joy was making a half-hearted attempt to frame the question delicately and realized she couldn’t. ‘Did the riding continue as normal?’
Ted put his hands over his ears.
‘No,’ Ashling sighed. ‘It slowed down a lot. Again I thought it was my fault. But we did have sex since I was in Cork. So for a time he was doing us both.
‘Why did Clodagh stand for it?’ she wondered, as if she was talking about a character in a soap opera.
‘Maybe she didn’t know,’ Joy suggested. ‘He could have lied to her. Or maybe he was using you as leverage to try to get her to leave Dylan.’ Too late, Joy realized how cruel she sounded. ‘Sorry,’ she said humbly. ‘I wasn’t thinking… And what about Clodagh? If I had my choice between Marcus and Dylan I know which one I’d choose! Oh Christ. Sorry again. Listen, would you like some chips?’
Ashling shook her head.
‘Anything to eat? Chocolate? Popcorn? Anything?’ Joy demonstrated the wide choice of confectionery on Ashling’s chest of drawers.
‘No, and don’t bring me any more.’
‘Are you planning to get up ever again?’
‘No,’ Ashling said. ‘I feel so… humiliated.’
‘Don’t give them the satisfaction,’ Joy said stoutly.
‘I feel that everyone hates me.’
‘Why? You’ve done nothing wrong!’
‘I feel like the whole world is against me, that nowhere is safe. And I’m very sad,’ she added.
‘Of course you’re sad.’
‘No, I’m sad about the wrong things. I keep thinking about Boo and how sad it is. And all the other homeless people, being cold and hungry. The loss of dignity, it’s so dehumanizing…’
She stopped. She’d caught the she’s-totally-flipped look that had passed between Joy and Ted. They thought the shock had unhinged some part of her. How could she care about homeless people, people she’d never met, when she had such a real-life tangible disaster of her own? They didn’t understand. But there was one person who would understand.
If she hadn’t been so catatonic, she’d have shuddered in horror. This is how my mother felt And it was then that she made the shocking connection. Dammit, I think I’m having a nervous breakdown.
Flowers or no flowers, when Lisa got into work and saw Jack she couldn’t help a burst of anger at his rejection of her.
‘How are you?’ He watched her carefully.
‘Fine,’ she said touchily.
‘We missed you.’ His eyes were kind – but not pitying – and her ire evaporated. She was just being childish.
‘Want to see my skincare piece?’ He proffered a print-out, which claimed that the Aveda stuff was ‘nice’, the Kiehl stuff was ‘nice’ and the Issey Miyake stuff was ‘nice’.
Lisa fluttered the page back on to the desk and, with an advisory wink, urged, ‘Don’t give up the day job.’ They must have been really panicked about the Colleen staff if the likes of Jack had attempted an article. ‘And Ashling’s still out?’ She couldn’t contain her smugness. Hey, she was getting divorced, and she’d come to work.
It was only now she was back that she realized what a big buzz there was about the magazine, and how all her efforts to put it on the map had borne fruit. While she’d been lying in bed convinced she was the greatest failure of all time, she’d become a bit of a star – only in Ireland of course, but still.
There had already been one job offer from a rival Irish magazine and several journalists had rung, some interested in doing a serious profile on her, more of them interested in using her for ‘filler’ pieces, like ‘My Favourite Holiday’ and ‘My Ideal Date’.
She permitted a certain warmth to creep through her, but more important than any magazine success was the coming weekend with Oliver. She had to look utterly spectacular – she’d have to organize a haul of fabulous clothes and get her hair done. And her nails. And her legs. She’d eat nothing, of course, so that she could eat normally with him…
‘It’s the Sunday Times,’ Trix waved the phone at Lisa. ‘They want to know what colour knickers you’re wearing.’
‘White,’ Lisa said absently, and Kelvin almost came.
‘I’m only joking,’ Trix b
leated. ‘They just want to ask about your hair-care…’
But Lisa wasn’t listening. She was on the phone to the DKNY London press office. ‘We want to do a spread for our Christmas issue, but we need the clothes by Friday.’
‘Lisa, can we talk about Mercedes’ replacement?’ Jack asked.
Mercedes leaving them in the lurch burst another firework of rage in her, which she had to work to disperse. ‘Trix, ring Ghost, Fendi, Prada, Paul Smith and Gucci! Tell them we’ll run some pages on them for the December issue but only if they get the threads to us by Friday. Come on.’ She beat Jack to his office.
‘She’s up to something,’ Trix observed – to thin air. She missed Ashling and Mercedes, it wasn’t nice having no one to play with.
Jack and Lisa looked at the four unsolicited applications for fashion editor and decided to interview all of them.
‘And if they’re pants, we’ll run an ad,’ Lisa said. ‘Can I ask you something? How do I find a solicitor?’
Jack thought for a moment. ‘We have a legal firm on retainer. Why don’t you go and see them? If they can’t do your, um, stuff, they’ll recommend someone who can.’
‘Thanks.’
‘And I’ll do whatever I can to help you,’ Jack promised.
Lisa eyed him suspiciously. There was no getting away from it. She liked him. He was continuing with the warm, supportive relationship he’d been offering since the day she’d cried in his office over not going to the shows. It wasn’t his fault she’d chosen to over-interpret it.
On Tuesday afternoon Ashling’s phone rang. She snatched it up. Be Marcus, she prayed. Be Marcus.
But her heart sank when she heard a woman’s voice. Her mother. ‘Ashling love, we were wondering how your launch went and I rang you at work. They said you were out. What’s wrong, are you sick?’
‘No.’
‘What then?’
‘I’m…’ Ashling hovered over the taboo word, then gave in, feeling both fear and relief. ‘I’m depressed.’
Monica knew immediately that this was not a simple case of ‘I’m depressed because I forgot to record Friends last night.’ Ashling had taken great care never, ever to use the word depression with regard to herself. This was serious. History repeating itself.
