by Marian Keyes
‘My boyfriend got off with Clodagh,’ Ashling explained weakly.
‘Clodagh Nugent?’ Monica sounded furious.
‘She’s been Clodagh Kelly for the past ten years. But anyway, it’s more than just that.’
Monica considered anxiously. ‘How bad are you?’
‘I’m in bed. It’s my fifth day. I have no immediate plans to leave.’
‘Eating?’
‘Nope.’
‘Washing?’
‘Nope.’
‘Suicidal thoughts?’
‘Not yet.’ Goody, she had that to look forward to.
‘I’ll get the train up tomorrow morning, love, and I’ll mind you for a while.’
Monica waited to be told to fuck off, as usual. But instead all she got was a weary, ‘Fine.’ Fear clutched its cold hand around her heart. Ashling must be very bad indeed.
‘Don’t worry, love, we’re going to get help for you. I won’t let you go through what I went through,’ Monica promised vehemently. ‘Nowadays things are different.’
‘Less of a stigma,’ Ashling said through unresponsive lips.
‘Better drugs,’ Monica retorted.
Joy and Ted were trying to tempt Ashling with a fresh consignment of chocolate and magazines on Tuesday evening when her doorbell rang. They all froze.
For the first time in days, Ashling’s listless face became illuminated. ‘It might be Marcus!’
‘I’ll go and tell him to fuck off.’ Joy was already moving to the door.
‘No!’ Ashling said fiercely. ‘No. I want to talk to him.’
Within seconds Joy was back. ‘It’s not Marcus…’ she hissed.
Ashling immediately eddied back into the mire.
‘It’s Divine Jack.’
This bizarre visit jolted Ashling a little from her torpor. What did he want? To sack her for missing work?
‘Wash yourself, for Christ’s sake!’ Joy urged. ‘You smell dodgy.’
‘I can’t,’ Ashling said heavily. So heavily that Joy knew she was wasting her time. As a compromise she insisted that Ashling put on a clean pair of pyjamas, comb her hair and brush her teeth. Then Joy considered two bottles of perfume. ‘Happy or Oui? Happy,’ she decided. ‘Let’s try the power of suggestion.’ She drenched Ashling in a haze of Happy then pushed her, as though she was a wind-up toy, in the direction of the living-room. ‘Off you go.’
Jack was on her blue sofa, his hands hanging between his knees. It was the weirdest sight. Depressed as she was, that thought burrowed through her stupor. He belonged to the world of work, yet here he was, making her flat look even smaller than it already was.
His dark suit, messy hair and askew tie gave him the aspect of a careworn and distracted man. She hovered in the doorway, watching him exchange thoughts with her maple laminate floor. Then he cocked his head to one side, saw her and smiled.
The light in the room changed as he stood up.
‘Hi,’ Ashling said. ‘I’m sorry for missing today and yesterday.’
‘I only came to see how you are, not to hustle you back to work.’
Then Ashling remembered. Jack had been unexpectedly gentle and kind after Dylan had delivered his terrible news.
‘I’ll try and come in tomorrow,’ she offered. There was as much chance that she’d climb Kilimanjaro.
‘Why don’t you take the week?’ he suggested. ‘Try and come back on Monday?’
‘OK. Thanks.’ The relief that she didn’t have to attempt to face the world was so great that she didn’t even argue. ‘My mother is coming to stay for a few days. If anything will drive me back to work, that will, I’m sure.’
‘Oh yes?’ Jack’s smile was empathetic. ‘You’ll have to tell me all about it sometime.’
‘Yes.’ She couldn’t imagine having the energy to even tell the time.
‘And how are you now?’ he asked.
She hesitated. It wasn’t exactly the kind of thing you discuss with your boss, but fuck it, what did it matter? What did anything matter? ‘I feel very sad.’
‘That’s to be expected. The end of a relationship, the loss of a friendship.’
‘But it’s more than that.’ She was trying to make sense of her overwhelming grief. ‘I feel a sadness about the whole world.’
She watched Jack. Did he think she was a nutter?
‘Go on,’ he urged gently.
‘All I can see is the sad stuff. And it’s everywhere. We’re the walking wounded, the entire human race.’
‘Weltschmerz,’ he said.
‘Bless you,’ she said absently.
‘No,’ he laughed softly. ‘Weltschmerz. It’s German for “world sadness”.’
‘There’s a word for this?’
She knew she wasn’t the first person to feel like this. She knew her mother had too. But if a word had actually been invented to describe the feeling, lots of others must have felt it. It was a comfort. Jack rustled a white paper bag. ‘I, ah, brought you something.’
‘What? Tissues? I could open a shop. Or grapes? I’m not sick. Just, just… humiliated.’
‘No, it’s… well, actually it’s sushi.’
She paused, stung. ‘Are you having a laugh?’
‘No! It’s just that you seemed interested when we got it in the office.’ When Ashling remained mute he laboured on, ‘I thought you might enjoy it. There’s nothing scary, not even raw fish. It’s mostly vegetarian – cucumber, avocado, a little bit of crab. A sushi-for-beginners kit. I could take you through it…’
But at Ashling’s suspicious expression he backed off. ‘Ehm, fine, I’ll just leave you to it then. Hope you feel better. See you on Monday.’
After he’d gone Ted and Joy appeared in the living-room.
‘What’s in the bag?’
‘Sushi.’
‘Sushi! That’s a weird thing to bring.’
They circled the white paper bag warily, as if it was radioactive.
‘Will we take a look?’ Ted eventually asked.
At Ashling’s, ‘’f you want,’ he slid out the lacquered black box and stared, fascinated, at the little rice rolls arrayed in pretty ranks.
‘I didn’t think it would look like this,’ Joy remarked.
‘And what are all these other things?’ Ted poked at a silver sachet.
‘Soy sauce,’ Ashling said uninterestedly.
‘And this?’ Ted peeled the lid off a short styrofoam container.
‘Pickled ginger.’
‘And this?’ He indicated a mound of green putty.
‘I forget what it’s called,’ Ashling admitted sullenly, ‘but it’s hot.’
After more time was spent in cautious exploration, Ted took the bull by the horns. ‘I’m going to try some.’
Ashling shrugged.
‘This looks like a cucumber one.’ He popped it into his mouth. ‘Now I’ll cleanse my palate with a slice of ginger, then I’ll –’
‘That’s not how you do it,’ Ashling said irritably.
‘Well, show me then.’
58
The gentle knock on her window made Clodagh jump to her feet. Happiness flooded through her. He was here. She flew to the front-door and opened it quietly.
‘The cock crows at dusk,’ Marcus said in a thick Russian accent.
‘Sssshhh.’ She put her finger to her lips in an exaggerated gesture but they were both bubbling over with laughter and delight.
‘Are they asleep?’ Marcus whispered.
‘They’re asleep.’
‘Halleluiah!’ He almost forgot the need for quiet. ‘Now I can have my wicked way with you.’ He stepped into the hall, grabbed her and, both of them giggling and bumping against the coat-stand, he began to remove her clothes.
‘Come into the front-room,’ she invited.
‘I want to do it here,’ he said wickedly. ‘On the Wellingtons and the schoolbags.’
‘Tough, you can’t!’ She went into convulsions at his fake-sulky face. ‘You look like Craig
.’
He thrust his bottom lip out further and she laughed even more.
‘But seriously,’ she whispered, ‘what if one of them gets out of bed to go to the bathroom and sees us in the throes on the hall floor? Go on, into the front-room with you!’
Obediently, he picked up his shirt and followed her in. ‘It reminds me of being a teenager, all this sneaking around. Kinda sexy.’
Dylan had terrified Clodagh with his threats about custody, so she was determined that Molly and Craig wouldn’t see her in bed with Marcus. But this week Marcus was very busy at work, so daytime sex was out. The only time they could hope to do it was when Molly and Craig were asleep. A daily period of approximately twenty minutes.
On the couch, they pulled the clothes from each other’s bodies and, in a brief pause to stare into each other’s eyes, Clodagh sighed up at him, ‘I’m so happy to see you.’
The five days since Dylan had left had been a strange, nightmarish time. Guilt was ripping her asunder, especially because the children kept asking when Daddy was coming home. She was increasingly isolated: even her own mother was furious with her. And she felt frighteningly out of control – appalled at the destruction that she had unleashed.
The only time the horror let up was when she was with Marcus. He was a diamond in the rubbish tip of her life. She’d read that phrase somewhere – in the novel where the woman opens a second-hand designer-clothing shop – and it had leapt out at her.
‘Not as happy as I am to see you.’ Marcus scanned her naked body, then placed his hands under her and turned her on her stomach. Before he entered her he waited a moment, almost reverently. It was nearly a week since they’d actually had sex. There hadn’t been a hope of it on Saturday afternoon. After Craig had hit Marcus with the red truck, he wouldn’t let him within three feet of Clodagh.
‘Come on,’ Clodagh implored, her voice muffled.
Marcus worked himself once, twice with his hand, then positioned himself accurately at her entrance. Nothing could beat the first thrust into her. Because their time together had always been short there was a fired-up violence to their sex: he liked to get all the way to the hilt on the first go, shoving through that semi-resistant yielding, straight into head-lifting ecstacy. And if he could elicit from Clodagh a stifled gasp that was midway between pleasure and pain, it spurred him even more.
But this time his long, perfect stroke was halted about halfway when Clodagh tensed, semi-sat up and hissed, ‘Ssshh.’ She turned her head to the ceiling and froze. ‘I thought I heard… No,’ she relaxed again. ‘I must have been imagining it.’
He got all the way in on the second go, but couldn’t help feeling he’d been deprived of something. After a short, furious shag, they had another slightly less frantic one with her on top.
Dipping with sweat she lay on him and murmured, ‘You make me happy.’
‘You make me happy too,’ he replied. ‘But do you know what would make me even happier? Going upstairs to bed. This couch is doing my back in.’
‘We shouldn’t really. What if they see you?’
‘You could lock the bedroom door. Come on,’ he grinned, ‘I’m not finished with you yet tonight.’
‘Yes, but… Oh, OK, but you can’t stay the night. Deal?’
‘Deal’
Dr McDevitt was alarmed by the woman marching into his surgery and demanding Prozac with menaces. ‘And we’re not leaving without it!’
‘Mrs –’ he consulted his appointment sheet, ‘Ah, Kennedy, I can’t just go handing out prescriptions…’
‘Call me Monica, and it’s not for me, it’s for my daughter.’ Monica directed his attention to Ashling.
‘Oh Ashling, I didn’t see you there. What’s up?’ He liked Ashling.
She shifted helplessly and, aided by her mother’s elbow, eventually came up with the goods. ‘I feel awful.’
‘Her boyfriend left her for her best friend,’ Monica elaborated when it became clear that Ashling wasn’t going to.
Dr McDevitt sighed. Being jilted by a boyfriend, well, it’s life, isn’t it? But people wanted Prozac for everything-if they lost an earring, if they knelt on a piece of Lego.
‘It’s not just the boyfriend.’ Monica pressed Ashling’s case. ‘She’s had family problems.’
Dr McDevitt could well believe it. Overbearing mother, perhaps?
‘I suffered from depression for fifteen years. Been hospitalized several times –’
‘No need to boast,’ he muttered.
‘– and Ashling’s acting the way I did. Flung in the bed, refusing to eat, obsessed with homeless people.’
Dr McDevitt perked up. This was more like it. ‘What about homeless people?’
Another prod and a hissed, ‘Tell him!’ from Monica before Ashling raised her pale, stiff face and mumbled, ‘There’s a homeless boy I know. I was always bothered about him, but now I’m sad about every single one of them. Even the ones I haven’t met.’
This was enough to convince Dr McDevitt.
‘Why do I feel like this?’ Ashling wondered. ‘Am I going mad?’
‘No, you’re not, but, ehm, depression is a peculiar beast,’ he dissembled. In other words, he hadn’t much of a clue. ‘But at a guess, it sounds from your, eh, mother’s testimony that you could have inherited a tendency towards it and that the trauma of losing your earri-I mean boyfriend, triggered it.’
He gave her a prescription for the lowest dose, ‘On the proviso,’ he scribbled something on a pad, ‘that you also go for counselling.’
He approved of counselling. If people wanted to be happy let them put their backs into it a bit.
*
Outside the surgery Ashling said, ‘Can I go home now?’
Monica had only been able to inveigle her to the doctor by getting a taxi. ‘Just walk to the chemist with me, then we’ll go back.’
Disconsolately, Ashling let Monica link arms with her. She kept being made to do things she didn’t want to and was too subdued to resist. The problem was that Monica had made Ashling’s happiness her project, because she was so overjoyed to get an opportunity to make up for years of unavoidable neglect.
It was an early-autumn afternoon and, as they walked slowly through the benign sunshine, Ashling leant against her mother’s elbow, thick and soft from layers of clothes.
After the chemist, Ashling found herself being walked through Stephen’s Green, where she was forced to sit on a bench and watch the lake through slanting sunshine. Birds splish-splashed on the water and Ashling wondered when she could go home.
‘Soon,’ Monica promised.
‘Soon? Good.’ Then she recommenced watching the birds. ‘Ducks,’ she observed leadenly.
‘That’s right! Ducks!’ Monica was as animated as if Ashling was two and a half. ‘Getting ready to fly south for the winter… For the warmer weather,’ she added.
‘I know.’
‘Packing their bikinis and sun-tan lotion.’
Silence resumed.
‘Ordering their traveller’s cheques,’ Monica elaborated.
Ashling continued to stare straight ahead.
‘Painting their toenails,’ Monica suggested. ‘Buying sunglasses and straw hats.’
It was the sun-glasses that did it. The image of a duck wearing shades and looking like a mafioso was comical enough to elicit a half-smile from Ashling. Only then was she allowed to go home.
*
On Saturday morning, when Liam picked Lisa up in his taxi to drive her to the airport, his admiration was blatant.
‘God above, Lisa,’ he exclaimed paternally. ‘But you’re looking fantastic!’
Scamtastic, actually. ‘I should do, Liam. I’ve been preparing since seven.’
She had to admit that she’d pulled it off. Everything was perfect: her hair, skin, eyebrows, nails. And clothes. On Wednesday and Thursday couriers had delivered some of the most magnificent garments on the planet, she’d cherry-picked the choicest pieces and was now wearing them.
On the drive, Lisa explained a little of what was happening, which upset Liam.
‘Getting divorced,’ he muttered. ‘Your man must be mad. And blind.’
To get near the door, Liam parked in a spot that was both illegal and dangerous. ‘I’ll be waiting here for you.’
Lisa was already breathless, even before she ran into the arrivals hall. Although the monitor said that Oliver’s flight had landed there was no sign of him, so she stood at the meeting point, trained her eyes on the double glass doors and waited. Her heart was pounding and her tongue kept sticking to the roof of her cotton-wool mouth. She waited some more. People appeared in regular spurts, traipsing self-consciously through those who were waiting, but no sign of Oliver. After a while she jumpily rang home to check that he hadn’t left a message saying he was delayed, but there was nothing.
She was almost convinced that he wasn’t coming when finally she saw him moving gracefully towards the glass doors. Her head went light and the ground see-sawed slightly. He was all in black. A long-line black leather jacket over a black polo neck and lean black pants. Then he saw her and smiled his thousand-yard smile. The only man-made object they could see from space, she used to say to him in another life.
She rushed forward. ‘I’d almost given up on you.’
‘Sorry, babes,’ his lips curved around his shockingly white teeth, ‘but I was stopped by Immigration. Only person on the whole plane to be.’ He put his hand on his hip and said with exaggerated curiosity, ‘Now, I wonder why that was.’
‘Bastards!’
‘Yeah, just couldn’t seem to convince them I was a British citizen. Despite having a British passport.’
She clucked with concern. ‘Are you upset?’
‘Nah, I’m used to it. The same thing happened the last time I visited here. You look great, babes.’
‘So do you.’
Kathy was just finishing a mighty clean-up when Liam dropped them home. She tried to slip away discreetly but Lisa stopped her.
‘Oliver, this is Kathy, she lives across the road. And Kathy, this is Oliver, my hus – friend.’
