by Marian Keyes
60
It was midnight and Jack Devine was exhausted and dispirited. He’d been pacing the streets of Dublin for a couple of hours, looking for Boo and having no joy. He felt like a particularly bad gumshoe. Apart from checking the doorways in the streets around Ashling’s flat, he had no idea where to look. Where were good homeless haunts?
The street people he’d asked had denied all knowledge of Boo. Perhaps they really didn’t know him, but Jack suspected that it was more to do with protecting him. Should he have slipped them a tenner, blown smoke in their eyes and said, ‘Maybe this’ll help your memory’? Wasn’t that what happened in Raymond Chandler books?
Cursing his dearth of street smarts, he continued walking. Off the main streets, along dark laneways, into loading bays… maybe this was him! A fleshless bundle of limbs was huddled under a coat on a flattened cardboard box.
‘Excuse me,’ Jack crouched down beside him, and a small, thin, very young face looked up at him. Defensive and frightened. It wasn’t Boo. ‘Sorry.’ Jack backed away. ‘Sorry to have disturbed you.’
He made his way back out on to the main drag and just ran out of steam. He’d had enough for one night, he’d try again tomorrow. Heading for his car, he suddenly heard someone call, ‘Jack! Over here.’
And there, sitting on a hairdresser’s step, reading a book was, of all people, Boo.
‘Out on the piss?’ Boo enquired, with his gappy grin.
‘Er, no.’ Jack was stunned that it was Boo who had found him. ‘I’ve been looking for you for the past couple of hours.’
‘So it was you.’ Earlier JohnJohn had warned him that some chap was asking about him. He’d suspected he was a plainclothes – because what else could he be? – but he wasn’t entirely sure.
‘It was me.’ Jack crouched down beside Boo and suddenly, as though crossing an invisible line, the smell hit him like a blow from a lump-hammer. With enormous effort of will, he forced his face not to register it.
‘So what’s up?’ Boo was wary. He’d liked Jack that time he’d stopped and chatted about those fashion photos with him. But generally people did not seek Boo out unless he was in some sort of trouble.
Tuning out the reeking air. Jack searched for the right words, unwilling to sound patronizing. He wanted Boo to come away from this with some dignity.
‘I have a problem,’ Jack began.
Muscle by muscle, Boo’s face began to shut down.
‘I have a vacancy at the television station I work at and I’m looking for the right person to fill it. Your name was suggested to me by a colleague.’
‘What do you mean?’ Boo’s eyes were narrow with suspicion.
‘I’m offering you a job. If you’d like it,’ he added quickly.
Boo’s face was a study of incomprehension. This was outside the breadth of his experience. ‘Why?’ he finally managed. People being nice to him was a rare event and he wasn’t inclined to trust it.
‘Ashling thought you would be suitable and I respect her opinion.’
‘Ashling…’ If she had something to do with this, maybe it wasn’t a total put-on. But what else could it be? Sharply, he said, ‘You’re taking the piss, are you?’
‘No, I’m really not. Why don’t you come and see us over at the station and you might believe me then.’
‘You’d let me in?’
At that Jack thought his heart might cave in. ‘Of course we would. How else would you do any work?’
It was then that Boo went against his every natural instinct and began to believe Jack. ‘But why…?’ His eyes glistened and he looked terribly young, so like a child. Jack felt his own face fill with emotion. ‘I’ve never had a job before.’ Boo swallowed.
‘Well, isn’t it about time you started?’
‘Can’t be a layabout all my life!’
‘Er, yeah.’ Jack wasn’t sure whether or not to laugh.
‘Oh, lighten up,’ Boo elbowed him with a watery grin. ‘And will it be just book reviews I’ll be doing, or will you be needing other stuff done as well?’
‘Erm –’ Jack was entirely wrong-footed. ‘Other stuff as well, I’d say.’
The next morning at work, Jack offered his news to Ashling as if it was a present. ‘I found Boo and told him about the job over at the TV station. He seemed keen.’
‘Great!’ Her enthusiastic voice didn’t match her whey-face.
‘He’s short of clothes, so I’ve told him to come in and see Kelvin. There’s a lot of men’s clothes in the “fashion department” that no one wants, he might as well get togged out.’
Ashling became very still. She still hadn’t shed one tear, but this was almost enough to dissolve her. ‘That’s very nice of you,’ she said to her chest.
‘The thing was,’ Jack sounded confused, ‘at first Boo seemed to think that we wanted him to do book reviews for Colleen. Why’s that?’
She lifted and released her shoulder bones. ‘Search me.’ Suddenly she wished she hadn’t said that. The words had caused something to dart across Jack’s face and it froze her mid-shrug. Whatever it was made her feel alive. And afraid. ‘Book reviews?’ She tried to focus, then remembered. ‘I’ve been giving him proof copies. Of books no one else wanted,’ she added hastily. ‘And he always gave me his opinion.’
‘Oh right. Well, he starts as a runner at the station on Monday. The book reviews on Colleen are Lisa’s call. But we can always ask her,’ he concluded cheerfully.
In floods of tears, Clodagh opened her front-door.
‘What’s wrong?’ Marcus gasped.
‘It’s Dylan. He’s a bastard.’
‘What’s he done?’ Marcus demanded, following her into the kitchen, his face bruised with fury.
‘Oh, I deserve it,’ Clodagh sat at the table and wiped her leaking eyes. ‘I’m not saying I don’t. But it’s so hard. Whenever I see him he has more bad news and he makes me feel awful.’
‘So what’s he done?’ Marcus demanded again.
‘He made me give back all my credit cards. And he’s closed our joint account and instead he’s going to give me an allowance every month. For guess how much?’
Sobbing again, she named a sum so low that Marcus exclaimed, ‘Allowance? That’s more like a forbiddance!’
She rewarded this with a trembly smile. ‘Well, I’ve been a bad girl, what do I expect?’
‘But he has a duty to look after you, you’re his wife!’ Marcus’s vehemence wasn’t matched by his actions. He was fumbling in the containers along the window-sill.
‘But I suppose he doesn’t feel he should take care of me…’ She paused. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Looking for a pen.’
‘Here.’ One was located in Craig’s pencil case. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Just…’He scribbled something on a scrap of paper. ‘Something. Let’s go to bed,’ he murmured into her neck.
‘I thought you’d never ask.’ She summoned a less watery smile and led him to the front-room. But Marcus paused and wouldn’t go in. The novelty of having teenage sex on a couch had begun to pall.
‘Let’s go upstairs.’
‘We can’t.’
‘How long is this cloak-and-dagger stuff going to go on for? C’mon Clodagh,’ he cajoled. ‘They’re only kids. They don’t understand.’
‘You brat,’ she giggled. ‘You’d better not make noise.’
‘In that case you’d better not be so fucking sexy.’
‘I’ll try,’ she grinned.
The sex was fantastic, as always. She managed to lose herself and her shame and her new-found penury with each stroke that Marcus banged into her. Until she felt his rhythm falter.
‘Go faster!’ she hissed.
But he went even slower, then stopped altogether.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Cloooodaaaagh.’ His voice was full of warning, his eyes were focused elsewhere and she was hurriedly excavating herself from under him. I forgot to lock the door.
&nbs
p; It was both a shock and not a shock to see Craig framed in the doorway, staring at Marcus.
‘Daddy?’ he asked in tremulous confusion.
‘Mum, it’s Lisa.’
‘Hello, love,’ Pauline said warmly. ‘How lovely to hear you.’
‘You too.’ Lisa’s throat ached at the love she heard in her mum’s voice. ‘Hey, I was thinking of coming to see you and Dad next weekend. If it’s good for you,’ she added hastily.
‘Do you know?’ Pauline mused. ‘We couldn’t possibly think of anything we’d rather do. We’d absolutely love to see you.’
When Lisa had left Kathy’s house on Friday night she’d felt raw, naked and exposed, as though everything which made her who she was had been stripped away. And out of nowhere she’d wanted her mum.
It was an unexpected reaction, and so was what followed next – the first shock of realization passed and it no longer seemed so dreadful. You can take the girl out of the council house, hut you cant take the council house out of the girl, she half-laughed to herself. She wasn’t exactly happy about it, but she wasn’t exactly unhappy either.
In the immediate aftermath she’d been engulfed with the desire to run away. But that had left her and instead she wanted to return to the source.
‘I’m so looking forward to seeing you, Lisa. It’s cheered me right up.’ Such was Pauline’s delight and warmth that Lisa wondered how much she’d imagined her parents’ uncomfortable awe of her. Had it all been projected by herself?
The days stacked up for Ashling. The world remained a griefscape and when she woke up every morning, she felt as though she’d been drinking really heavily the night before. Even on the nights when she hadn’t. But after a couple of weeks she realized that the small things, like brushing her teeth and having a shower, no longer seemed ridiculously onerous.
‘That’ll be the anti-depressants taking hold,’ Monica said, in one of her many phone calls. ‘Those Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors are a godsend. Much better than those old-fashioned Tricyclic whatever-they’re-calleds.’
Ashling was surprised. She hadn’t expected the anti-depressants to work and she realized she’d had no faith in anything. After all, her mother hadn’t got well. At least not for a very long time.
As well as keeping herself clean, she managed to work, so long as it wasn’t anything too tricky. She’d always been embarrassed about her conscientiousness but now vaguely recognized that it had probably been her salvation.
‘The November horoscopes are in,’ Trix waved pages. ‘Gather round everyone and I’ll read them out.’
The entire office crashed to a halt. Any excuse. Even Jack hovered, aware he should be reading the riot act. He would, he decided, just as soon as they’d done Libra.
‘Read Scorpio,’ Ashling urged Trix.
‘But you’re Pisces.’
‘Go on. Scorpio. And then Capricorn.’
Clodagh was Scorpio and Marcus was Capricorn and Ashling wanted to know how they were going to fare in November. Jack Devine caught her eye and flashed her a tricky look – a mix of censoriousness and sorrow. He knew what she was up to. Haughtily she turned her head away. She could read whoever’s horoscopes she liked and there were far worse things she could be doing. After all, Joy had suggested putting a curse on Marcus and Clodagh.
According to their horoscopes, Clodagh’s and Marcus’s month was going to be up and down. Ashling could well believe it.
‘What are you, JD?’ Trix asked.
‘Mr Devine to you…
‘Libra,’ he sighed, when it became clear she was still waiting. ‘But I don’t believe in any of that star-sign stuff. Librans never do.’
Ashling found that sort of funny. She peeked out from under her hair and looked at Jack. He was already watching her. They exchanged a little smile, then quickly she found herself diving beneath her desk. She emerged with her handbag but, confused, she wasn’t sure she needed anything from it. Had she only got it in order to stop looking at Jack Devine? Then she realized it was nearly lunch-time anyway, and time for her appointment with Dr McDevitt.
The ten-minute walk to the surgery was like walking through sniper-fire. She was afraid of being out and seeing something that might cause her pain. Her eyes, as much as possible, were downcast and she didn’t see much of people above knee-level. This guaranteed a safe passage until a Bosnian refugee tried to sell her an out-of-date Big Issues. Immediately she was slapped by a wave of hopelessness.
And there was worse to come – from Dr McDevitt himself.
‘How’re you getting on with the Prozac?’ he asked.
‘Fine.’ With a wan smile she said, ‘Please sir, can I have some more?’
‘Side effects?’
‘Just some nausea and trembling.’
‘Loss of appetite?’
‘It was gone anyway.’
‘And you know you’re not supposed to mix this medication with alcohol?’
‘Um, yeah.’ Asking her not to drink was going too far.
‘How’s the counselling going?’
‘Er, I haven’t gone.’
‘But I gave you a number to call.’
‘I know, but I can’t ring them. I’m too depressed.’
‘Ah now!’ He sounded cross, picked up the phone, made a call, then made another. He put his hand over the mouthpiece and said, ‘What time do you finish work on a Tuesday?’
‘It depends…’
‘Five?’ he asked irritably. ‘Six?’
‘Six.’ If she was lucky.
He hung up and handed her a page. ‘Every Tuesday at six. If you don’t go, there’ll be no more Prozac.’
Bastard!
Returning listlessly through Temple Bar she heard a shout of ‘Hey Ashling!’ A young fashion-victimy man in absolutely ludicrous shoes was clumping after her and it took a second to recognize him as Boo. His hair was shiny, his face had colour and, unexpectedly, she laughed.
‘Look at you,’ she said, in delight.
‘I’m on my way into work, I’m on the two-till-ten shift.’ He promptly lapsed into convulsions. ‘Can you believe I just said that?!’
Then he launched into breathless, effusive thanks. ‘Everything’s going great at the telly station. They’ve even given me an advance on my wages so I can stay in a hostel.’
‘And the work’s not too difficult?’ Ashling had been vaguely worried that after a life without boundaries, Boo wouldn’t be able to adapt to the disciplined, responsible world of work.
Boo scoffed. ‘Being a runner? Piece of piss! Even in these shoes.’
‘Cool clothes,’ Ashling remarked, taking in his over-tailored jacket, his frantic shirt and his very peculiar shoes. They looked like the Starship Enterprise times two.
‘I look like a tool’ Boo started laughing again. ‘The shoes are the worst. Kelvin at your office gave me all the mad things he didn’t want, but at least they’re clean, and I can buy normal clothes when I get paid. Hang on! I’m just going to say those words again.’ Smacking his lips he repeated with relish, ‘When I get paid.’
His glee was contagious. ‘I’m delighted everything’s working out for you,’ Ashling said, with sincerity.
‘Well, who do I thank? Only you.’ Boo gave his gappy grin. Kelvin hadn’t got round to kitting him out with a new tooth, it seemed. ‘And thanks to Jack too. He’s great!’
Boo’s face was alight with anticipation as he waited for Ashling to agree.
‘Great.’ But she was confused. When exactly did Jack Devine get so nice?
‘Did you hear about me thinking I was going to be reviewing books for him?’ Boo yelped.
‘Er…’
‘I had it all arseways. I don’t even want to review books any more.’
‘Um…’
‘I want to be a camera-man. Or a sound-man. Or a newsreader!’
Back in the office, Ashling had to brace herself to tackle Lisa about leaving early on Tuesday evenings. ‘The doctor won’t give me any more Proz
ac unless I go for counselling.’
Lisa was clearly annoyed. ‘I’ll have to OK it with Jack and you’d better come in early to make up the time,’ she said resentfully.
But then it passed. Ashling was a good girl really.
And she could afford to be charitable. At least I dont have to go for counselling, she thought smugly. Or take Prozac.
61
One Saturday night, about a month after everything had fallen apart, Ted did a comedy gig. Marcus was also on the bill.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Ashling said with ton-weight gaiety, ‘but I won’t be going along to support you.’
‘No problem, no bother, not at all, who’d expect you to!’
‘But you will have to start going out again sometime,’ Joy urged.
Ashling shuddered. The very thought.
‘There are no strangers,’ Ted wheedled, ‘just friends you haven’t met yet.’
‘Better still,’ Joy said, ‘there are no strangers, just boyfriends you haven’t met yet.’
Sullenly Ashling said, ‘There are no strangers, just exboyfriends I haven’t met yet.’
She remained clenched with tension until she next saw Ted on Sunday afternoon. She tried very hard not to ask, but eventually gave in. ‘Ted, I’m sorry, but was he there?’
When Ted assented, Ashling asked in an even more subdued voice, ‘Did he ask about me?’
‘I wasn’t talking to him,’ Ted said quickly. Why did he feel he was advancing through a minefield?
Ashling was annoyed. Ted should have talked to him, so that Marcus could have asked about her. Although if he had talked to him, she’d have felt betrayed.
In a voice even more diminished she forced herself to enquire, ‘And was she there?’
Feeling somehow to blame, Ted nodded confirmation.
Ashling slid into morose muteness. Even though she’d hoped otherwise, she’d known Clodagh would be at the gig because Dylan spent Saturday nights with the kids, thus providing a built-in babysitter. Ashling cursed her memory, which had managed to retain every little detail Dylan had provided her with about the lovebirds. She was better off knowing nothing. But it was irresistible, like picking at a scab.
