by Marian Keyes
How could she ever have thought that Marcus would do? Dylan was wonderful: patient, kind, generous, devoted, hard-working, much more attractive. She wanted her old life back. But she expected a certain amount of rancour and resistance from Dylan and she wasn’t looking forward to having to eat humble pie to win him over.
A racket of childish voices at the front-door indicated that they were back. She hurried to let them in, and gave Dylan a friendly smile which fell on stony ground.
‘Could I have a quick chat with you?’ She forced her voice to remain bright.
When he shrugged a flinty ‘All right,’ she put Craig and Molly in front of a video, closed the door and came into the kitchen where Dylan was waiting.
She swallowed hard. ‘Dylan, these past months… I was wrong, I’m very sorry. I still love you and I’d like you to –’ she choked, ‘I’d like you to come home.’
She watched his face and waited for the golden light of happiness to wash over it and cleanse away the glittery hardness that had taken up residence there since all this started. He gazed at her incredulously.
‘I know it’ll take a while to get back to normal and for you to trust me again, but we can go for counselling and all,’ she promised. ‘I was out of my mind to do what I did to you, but we can make everything all right again… Can’t we?’ she asked, when still he didn’t reply.
Eventually he spoke and he said only one word. ‘No.’
‘No… what?’
‘No, I’m not coming back.’
She had not anticipated this. Not in any of her scenarios. ‘But why?’ She didn’t really believe him.
‘I just don’t want to.’
‘But you’ve been devastated by what I… um… did.’
‘Yeah, I thought it was going to kill me,’ he agreed thoughtfully. ‘But I suppose I must have gotten over it, because now that I think about it, I don’t want to be married to you any more.’
She began to shake. This wasn’t happening. ‘What about the children?’
That got him. ‘I love my children.’
Good.
‘But I’m not going to get back with you because of them. I can’t.’
She was losing. All the power she’d thought she possessed was being revealed as a mere façade. And then something so unlikely as to be almost laughable occurred to her. ‘Have you… you haven’t… met someone else?’
He laughed unpleasantly. I did that, she thought, suddenly ashamed. I’ve made him like this.
‘I’ve met lots of someone elses,’ he said.
‘Do you mean… are you saying… you’ve slept with women?’
‘Well, not much sleeping gets done.’
She belly-flopped, feeling betrayed, jealous, cheated on. And his knowing, taunty tone roused a horrible suspicion. ‘Do I know any of them?’
His smile was cruel. ‘Yes.’
Her stomach flopped again. ‘Who?’
‘What a question to ask a gentleman,’ he scorned.
‘You said you’d wait for me,’ she said quietly.
‘Did I? So, I lied.’
It was when Lisa was offered a job by Randolph Media’s main rivals that she began to think about her future. In her ten months at Colleen she’d brought it to where she wanted it in terms of circulation and advertising revenue. It was time to go.
Already she knew she was going to return to London – it was where she belonged and she wanted to be near her mum and dad. But when she considered her options, she realized she wasn’t quite sure she had the stomach for editing a monthly glossy any more. Clambering up the greasy pole, humiliating others and taking credit for their work no longer held the appeal it once had. Nor did the vicious rivalry between magazines. Or the savage internecine warfare which existed within the ranks of a title. Once she’d been excited, fuelled even, by such a competitive environment. But not now, and at this realization she experienced panic – had she become a weakling, a sap, an also-ran? But she didn’t feel weak. Just because there were some things she didn’t want to do any more didn’t mean she was weak, it just meant she was different.
Not too different, obviously, she acknowledged wryly: she still loved the shallowness of magazines. The clothes, the make-up, the relationship advice. So the obvious career move was to look for consultancy work.
Something weird was going on, Ashling realized. At first she hadn’t noticed, she’d just thought it was an isolated incident. Followed by another isolated incident. Then another. But when does a series of isolated incidents stop being a series of isolated incidents and start becoming a pattern?
She’d been afraid to read too much into it because she so badly wanted it to mean something. It was Jack Devine. He’d taken her out for a drink to celebrate her coming off Prozac. Then, a week later, when it became clear that she wasn’t going to go mad again, he’d taken her for another drink to celebrate that too. Then he’d taken her for a drink followed by a pizza to celebrate her starting her salsa lessons again. Then he’d taken her for a full-on dinner at Cookes to celebrate Boo moving into his first flat. But when Ashling had suggested that it would be appropriate if Boo joined them, Jack didn’t seem at all keen. ‘I’m going out for a few pints with him and some of the other lads from the station tomorrow night,’ he’d added.
And now he’d sidled up to her desk and suggested going out again.
‘What are we celebrating this time?’ she asked suspiciously.
He paused. ‘Er, that it’s Thursday?’
‘OK,’ she said. Because it was Thursday. But she was confused. Why was he being so nice to her? Did he still feel sorry for her after all the drama? But that was in the past. And any other reasons for his attention seemed preposterous.
It was Lisa who enlightened her.
‘So you and Jack have finally got it together?’ she said as airily as she could manage. She still wasn’t entirely zen about being overlooked, it just wasn’t her way and probably never would be.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You and Jack. You like him, don’t you?’ she teased. ‘As in like him.’
The hot high colour that spilled across Ashling’s face was her answer.
‘And he likes you,’ Lisa pointed out.
‘No, he doesn’t.’
‘Yes, he does.’
‘No, he doesn’t.’
‘Oh, don’t be so naïve, Ashling,’ Lisa snapped.
Ashling looked at her in alarm, then after a period of stillness, she said faintly, ‘OK, I won’t.’
That evening in the restaurant, Ashling attemped to address the situation. She so didn’t want to, but she suspected she had to. To give her courage, she lit a cigarette which Jack watched her smoke as if she was doing something remarkable.
Stop looking at me like that. I can’t think straight.
‘Jack, can I ask you something? We’re out, having our dinner. Is this a…’ She froze. Maybe she shouldn’t say it, what if she was wrong?
‘Is this a… ?’ he prompted, his expression keen to oblige.
She exhaled heavily. Fuck it, might as well. ‘Is this a date?’
He considered her intently. ‘Do you want it to be?’
She pretended to give it some thought. ‘Yes.’
‘Then it’s a date.’
They both let their eyes wander around the restaurant. ‘D’you want to go on another one?’ Jack asked over-casually.
‘Yes.’
‘Saturday night?’
Yikes. First outing not on a week day. New ground being broken. ‘Yes.’
Once again their gazes set off roaming around the room, looking at anything except each other.
Ashling heard her voice once more. ‘Jack, can I ask why you want to go on a… you know… with me?’
She raised her eyes to him at the same moment that his gaze returned to her, and their looks collided with force. Her breath left her and excitement leapt, like tiny fishes nibbling beneath her skin. ‘Because, Ashling,’ Jack said softly, ‘you’
re interfering with my plans for world domination.’
But what did that mean?
‘I can think of nothing else apart from you,’ he said. He sounded quite matter-of-fact. ‘It’s affecting everything.’
Her head filled up, up, up with air and she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t locate a single suitable syllable. She’d suspected he liked her, but now that he’d said it…
‘Say something,’ he urged anxiously.
She mumbled, ‘How long has this been going on?’ I sound like Dr McDevitt.
‘Ages,’ he sighed. ‘Since the night of the launch.’
‘That long?’
‘Yes.’ Another sigh.
‘But that’s months!’
‘Six of them.’
‘All that time…’ She was raking over the past half-year, her version of her life falling into an entirely different arrangement. Did he mean it? Well, he’d said it, but she was afraid to believe him. Yet.
‘No wonder you were so nice to me,’ she managed to say.
‘I would have been nice to you anyway.’
‘Would you?’
‘Sure,’ he smiled sheepishly. ‘Well, maybe. Probably… And you?’
‘Me?’
‘How do you, er, feel?’
Still the words wouldn’t come, and the best she could manage was, ‘I feel like going on a date with you on Saturday night.’
‘OK,’ he nodded, reading between the lines. ‘Maybe you’d come over to my house? You said you’d show me how to dance.’
She’d never actually said she would, but she let it go.
‘And I still think you’d like sushi, if you’d only trust me,’ he added wistfully.
‘I do trust you.’
The following day, when Lisa handed in her notice and announced her intention to return to London in a month, Jack had the good grace to say, ‘We were lucky to get you for as long as we did.’ But she was sharp enough to realize he wasn’t giving her his full undivided.
‘And you could replace me with Trix,’ she suggested innocently.
‘We’ll certainly give it some thoug –! Ahahaha, nice one!’ he laughed nervously.
64
In a house in a bleak, sea-facing corner of Ringsend a man and a woman nervously greeted each other. Through the uncurtained windows the still, black sea watched him lead her into a room that he’d spent several hours cleaning earlier that day. The sea had known Jack Devine a long time and it had never seen such a frenzy. Mind you, he could have ironed his flannel shirt and put on a pair of untorn jeans while he was at it.
The woman sat on the recently hoovered couch and touched a hand to the hair she’d had specially blow-dried. She rearranged herself slightly, feeling the crisp lace and cotton of her new underwear remind her of their presence.
‘Hungry?’ Jack asked, handing her a glass of wine.
‘Starving,’ she lied.
On a small table, Jack arranged chopsticks and soy sauce and ginger and other sushi paraphernalia, then, with painstaking care, he prepared the little rice parcels for Ashling, ‘It’s nothing too out there,’ he promised. ‘It’s sushi for –’
‘– beginners, I know.’ And she was touched to the soul, in a way that had been impossible six months previously, when her soul had been out of order.
‘Perhaps if I don’t have wasabi with the first one? Break myself in gently?’ she suggested.
‘Fine.’ But she saw a whisper of disappointment scoot across his face and it made her sad. He was trying so hard.
‘I’ll chance it,’ she amended. ‘It’s best to have them all together, isn’t it? The different tastes complement each other.’
‘Only if you’re sure,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to scare you away.’
Delicately he placed a tiny, transparent sliver of ginger perfectly centre. With his chopsticks he daintily tidied up the ragged edges and she marvelled that he was going to all this trouble, for her.
‘Ready?’ he asked, lifting the sushi towards her.
For a moment she panicked. She wasn’t sure she was. Feeling as though she was opening more than just her mouth, she let him place the tiny bundle on her tongue.
Anxiously he watched her reaction.
‘Yum,’ she finally said, with a smile. ‘Scary but yum.’ Not unlike yourself.
She tried a cucumber one, a tofu one, a crab and avocado one, then pushed the boat out altogether by having a salmon one.
‘You’re fantastic,’ Jack enthused, as though she’d just done something really worthy of note, like passing her driving test. ‘You’re just great. So whenever you’re ready for the salsa…’
Oh no.
‘Well, it’s kind of hard for me to show you,’ she said quickly, ‘because the man is supposed to lead.’
‘Try anyway,’ he urged.
‘But…’
‘Just a rough idea,’ he grinned.
‘We don’t have the right music.’
‘What do we need? Cuban stuff?’
‘Yeeeesss,’ she said slowly, realizing her error. She’d thought there wasn’t a hope he’d have such obscure music, but she was forgetting that he was a man.
She was going to have to go through with this.
‘OK, never mind the music. The stuff on the stereo will do. Right, we both stand up.’
Immediately he got to his feet and she felt threatened by his height looming over her.
‘And we face each other.’
They turned to each other. Except they were about ten feet apart.
‘Perhaps slightly further in,’ Ashling suggested.
He took a step, then she did. Eventually she arrived at his front, reluctant to get too close. But she was near enough to smell him.
‘You put your arm around me. If you want,’ she added hastily.
He slid his arm along the small of her back and, briefly, she hovered her hand above his shoulder, then with a small surrender lowered it. She could feel the heat of him through his shirt.
‘And this hand?’ He demonstrated his free one.
‘You hold mine.’
‘Right.’ He was so matter-of-fact that when his big, dry hand grasped hers, she decided to relax. She was showing him how to dance, it was perfectly acceptable that they touch each other.
‘When my leg goes back, yours follows it, right?’
‘Show me.’
‘OK.’ She slid her leg out behind her and his leg came forward in tandem.
‘Now the other way,’ Ashling said. ‘You move your leg back and I follow it. And again.’
They practised it several times, increasing in speed and grace, until mid-move Jack stopped and Ashling kept going and suddenly she found herself pressing her thigh hard against his. She jerked to a halt, but didn’t pull away. They were perfectly still, frozen in the dance. Eye-level with his chin, she thought vaguely, he needs to shave. It was important to think normal things at a time like this. Because in other corners of her consciousness, other thoughts were going on.
‘Ashling, would you please look at me?’ Jack’s voice against her hair was anguished.
I can’t.
Then suddenly she could. She turned her face upwards, his sloe-black eyes blazed down and their mouths met in a hard kiss. Many months of waiting went into it. The low-down opening sensation yielded in Ashling: normally it burgeoned gradually, but this time it arrived with an abrupt thrust of desire.
His hands on her face, they kissed until they hurt each other. Hungry and desperate, they couldn’t get enough of each other.
‘Sorry,’ Jack whispered.
‘’s OK,’ she murmured back.
Gradually the kisses calmed, becoming dreamier and gentle until his lips were like feathers as they sucked against her tender mouth. The music was still on the stereo and they seemed to be circling slowly.
The sea looked in and thought, Slow-dancing in his front-room, well I’ve seen it all now.
Ashling slid her hands under Jack’s shirt and up along the
delicious newness of his back. Their bodies were pressed up against each other, his palms on her bottom were pulling her even closer and she felt syrupy, floaty, blissful. She had no idea how long they spent like that. It could have been ten minutes or two hours, but suddenly Ashling had taken off Jack’s shirt. Well, it only involved opening one button.
‘You hussy,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you a shirt and I’ll raise you a pair of boots.’
‘OK.’ Her heart was banging in her chest. ‘What exactly does that mean? I take off my boots?’
‘And your shirt. I can see you’re not a poker player, I’ll have to teach you the rules. Off with your shirt.’ Already he was helping her out of it. ‘Now you say, I’ll raise you a pair of jeans.’
‘I’ll raise you a pair of jeans.’ She swallowed with nerves and excitement, as slowly Jack popped the buttons on his fly. Her hands trembling, she waited a tantalizing moment before unzipping her black trousers and wriggling out of them.
‘Socks!’ he declared, but his jokey tone was not mirrored by the intent expression in his eyes. Her throat was closed and she felt trickly and achey with longing, as they stood before each other, Jack in white Calvins, Ashling in her new high-cut all-in-one (with waist effect).
‘Got the rules?’ Jack asked thickly.
She nodded slowly, taking in his perfect legs, the sculpted arms, the flat area of black hair on his chest that snaked down to his stomach. ‘Think so. And what’s wild?’
‘You?’
She surprised herself with a laugh. Waist or no waist, she was more confident than she’d ever been without her clothes.
She reached out her hand and touched the thick column that was straining against the white cotton and was rewarded with a shudder from him. Then she put her finger inside the waistband and pulled. No need to speak. It was perfectly clear what she wanted.
He reached in and freed himself. Revealing black pubic hair, he slid off his Calvins while holding his erection in his fist. Ashling was transfixed by how erotic it was.
Upstairs on Jack’s freshly laundered bed, he peeled her underwear off in slow motion. Inching it down and away from her with such tiny, languid movements that she thought she’d shriek. Finally there were no more obstacles.
