by Marian Keyes
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ Jack asked anxiously.
‘What do you think?’ She smiled lazily at him.
‘You might be on the rebound.’
‘I’m not on the rebound,’ she said gently. ‘Honestly.’
Suddenly he froze. ‘You’re not doing this for a bet?’
She laughed hard, genuinely entertained.
‘No? I just had a vision of Trix running a book on you and me.’
They slid themselves along each other and every touch, every gesture was inquisitive and gentle. Their breath grew shorter and, with gathering speed and desire, they stopped being gentle and became wild and wanton and rough. She dug her nails into his buttocks and he bit her breast. They rolled over each other, welded together as he thrust into her, then she slid tightly down on him.
Afterwards, they lay tangled together, glowing with unity. But suddenly Ashling was gripped with uncertainty. What if he changed his mind? What if, now that he’d slept with her, he went off her?
Then Jack said softly, ‘Ashling, you are the nicest thing that has ever happened to me,’ and all her doubts went away.
‘Of course the question is,’ Jack spoke into the darkness, ‘will you respect me in the morning?’
Sleepily Ashling said, ‘Don’t worry. I didn’t respect you anyway.’
He pinched her.
‘Of course I’ll respect you in the morning,’ she reassured. ‘I might disparage you a bit in the afternoon, mind,’ she added. ‘But I can guarantee my undivided respect in the morning.’
65
On the first Monday in April, a week before she returned to London, Lisa received notification of her final decree in the post. Before she even opened the envelope she knew what it contained – silly though it was, she was sure she sensed a slightly unpleasant air emanating from it.
Her instinct was to recoil from it, to shove it under the phone book and pretend it had never come. Then, with a sigh, she quickly tore it open. She’d had to do lots of unpleasant things in her life. If she didn’t face them head-on she’d never get anything done. But they had to be done fast, like ripping off a plaster.
Her head was amazingly clear. She noted the way her fingers shook as she pulled out the pages, then watched the sentences scroll away from her eyes, too quickly to be read. When the words slowed down and stopped moving she forced herself to study the hard black letters on the white page. One at a time, until the message she already knew revealed itself – it was over. No more living half-in-half-out of a marriage, instead it was all tidied neatly away. The end. Fin. That’s all folks.
With ongoing crystal clarity, she observed that she hadn’t suddenly started skipping around the hall with the liberation of closure. Instead she noted that her temperature had soared – was she sweating? – and that she didn’t feel joyous and free.
All through the divorce process, she’d hoped that the next part of the procedure would be the one where she’d magically feel healed. But now they’d reached the end of the line and she still wasn’t restored to her former happiness. If anything she actually felt worse.
Perhaps the sadness of a divorce doesn’t actually disappear, she realized. Instead you have to incorporate it, learn to co-exist with it – which seemed like such a slog, she felt like going back to bed.
Fifi had thrown a party when her divorce had become final, so why didn’t she feel like doing the same? The difference, she reluctantly admitted, was that she didn’t hate Oliver. Shame she didn’t, she mocked herself. There was a lot to be said for acrimony.
She folded away the document in her hand and she forced hope upon herself. It would all be OK. Some day. London was the place. She’d meet another man there. Even if sometimes it really depressed her how crap other men were. By comparison, she conceded. It might help if she stopped using Oliver as a yardstick.
Once back in London she’d do her best to avoid him. Their paths might cross occasionally in the course of work and they would smile civilly at each other. Until the time came when they could meet, work and not think of what might have been, the other life they might have lived. Time would pass and one day, some day, it wouldn’t matter any more.
But I’ve failed, she admitted, in a wash of excoriating honesty. I’ve failed and it’s my fault. I can’t fix this, I can’t make it go away and I will have to live with it for the rest of my life.
She’d always been the sum of her triumphs. One success stacked on top of another had made Lisa who she was. So where did this failure fit in? And it would have to, because she was visited with the understanding that our lives are a succession of experiences and that the broken ones count as much as the perfect ones.
This pain has changed me, she admitted. This pain that is not going to go away for a very long time has made me a nicer person. Even if I don’t want to be, she acknowledged wryly. Even if I consider it a fate worse than death, I am softer, kinder, better.
And I’m glad I was married to Oliver, she thought defiantly. I’m sorry and sad and pissed off that I messed it up, but I’ll learn from it and I’ll make certain it won’t happen again.
And that was the best she could do.
She sighed heavily, picked up her bag, then left for work like the survivor she was.
When she reached the office it was abuzz – with preparations for Lisa’s leaving party on Friday. It was almost as elaborate an operation as the launch party. Lisa planned to leave Dublin in a blaze of glory. She’d already told Trix she was holding her personally responsible for the leaving present and that if they got her a Next voucher she’d maim her.
‘Lisa,’ Trix held the phone out. ‘It’s Tomsey from the curtain department at Hensards. Your wooden blind is finally ready!’
At close of business that day, Lisa cornered Ashling as they got the lift down to the lobby. She was anxious to clear something up with her.
‘I want you to know,’ Lisa emphasized, ‘that I put your name forward to be editor and I sang your praises to the board. I’m sorry you didn’t get it.’
‘It doesn’t matter, I’d hate to be editor,’ Ashling insisted. ‘I’m one of life’s second-in-commands, and we’re just as important as leaders.’
Lisa laughed at Ashling’s blithe self-possession. ‘The girl they’ve appointed seems fine. Could have been worse, it could have been Trix!’
Lisa had no doubt that one day Trix would edit a magazine and so ruthlessly she’d make Lisa look like Mother Teresa by comparison. But at the moment Trix had other things on her mind. The fish-mongrel had been shown the door to make way for Kelvin and a wild office romance was underway. It was a ‘secret’.
As the lift doors opened Lisa sharply nudged Ashling and sneered, ‘Well, look who it is.’
It was – of all people – Clodagh, looking extremely nervous.
‘What does she want?’ Lisa asked aggressively. ‘Come to try and nick Jack from you? Cow! Want me to tell her that her husband tried to pork me?’
‘That’s a lovely offer.’ Ashling heard her voice from far away. ‘But no need, thanks.’
‘Sure? See you tomorrow then.’
Clodagh stepped forward when Lisa left. ‘Just tell me to get lost if you want, but I was wondering if we could talk.’
Ashling was helpless with shock and it took a while to find words. ‘We’ll go to the pub next door.’ They located a seat and ordered drinks and all the while Ashling couldn’t stop staring at Clodagh. She looked good, she’d had her hair cut much shorter and it suited her.
‘I’ve come to apologize,’ Clodagh said awkwardly. ‘I’ve grown up an awful lot over the past few months. I’m different now.’
Ashling nodded stiffly.
‘I see how selfish and self-obsessed I was and how cruel I’ve been,’ Clodagh spilled. ‘My punishment is having to live with all the damage I’ve caused. You hate me and I don’t know if you’ve seen Dylan lately, but he’s ruined. He’s so angry and… hard.’
Ashling agreed. She didn’t li
ke being around him any more.
‘Did you know that I asked him to come back and he wouldn’t?’
Ashling nodded. Dylan had almost taken out an ad on national television to publicize it.
‘Serves me right, huh?’ Clodagh managed a weak smile.
Ashling didn’t answer.
‘We’ve sold the house in Donnybrook and me and the kids are living in Greystones now. Miles out, but it was all we could afford. I’m a single mother now since Dylan decided he couldn’t cope with custody. It’s a steep learning curve –’
‘What was it all about?’ Ashling interrupted sharply.
Clodagh twitched anxiously at the anger in Ashling’s voice. ‘Something I’ve been asking myself a lot.’
‘And? Any conclusions? Bad patch in your marriage? They all have them, you know.’
Clodagh swallowed nervously. ‘I don’t think it was just that. I should never have married Dylan. This is probably hard to believe but I don’t think I ever really fancied him. I just thought he was the kind of man you married – he was so good-looking and charming and had a good job and was responsible…’ She glanced anxiously at Ashling, whose set, thunderous face wasn’t exactly encouraging. ‘I was twenty and selfish and I didn’t have a clue.’ Clodagh longed to be understood.
‘And what about Marcus?’
‘I was desperate for some fun and excitement.’
‘You could have taken up bungee-jumping.’
Clodagh nodded miserably. ‘Or white-water rafting.’ But Ashling didn’t laugh. She’d honestly thought she would. ‘I was unfulfilled and frustrated,’ Clodagh attempted. ‘At times I used to feel like I was being suffocated –’
‘Lots of mothers are bored and frustrated,’ Ashling snapped. ‘Lots of people are. But they don’t have affairs. Especially not with their best friend’s boyfriend.’
‘I know, I know, I know! I can see that now, but at the time I was clueless. I’m sorry, I just thought I should have anything I wanted because I was so miserable.’
‘But why Marcus? Why my boyfriend?’
Clodagh reddened and looked at her lap. She was taking a real risk admitting this. ‘Probably anyone would have done.’
‘But it was my boyfriend you picked. Because you didn’t have any respect for me.’ Ashling cut to the heart of the matter.
Shamefaced, Clodagh admitted, ‘Not enough. Which I hate myself for. I’ve spent the past months feeling guilty and shitty about it. I’d give my left tit for you to forgive me.’
After a long, sweaty pause Ashling sighed heavily. ‘I forgive you. Like, who am I to judge? I’ve hardly lived a perfect life. As you pointed out, I was a total victim.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry!’
‘Don’t be, you were right.’
Clodagh’s face lit up. ‘Does that mean we can be friends again?’
Another long pause as Ashling thought about it. She and Clodagh had been friends since they’d been five. Best friends. They’d lived through childhood, adolescence and early adulthood together. They shared a common history and no one would know her the way Clodagh knew her. That sort of friendship is rare. But…
‘No,’ Ashling broke the tense silence. ‘I forgive you, but I don’t trust you. To lose one boyfriend to your friend is misfortunate, but to lose two is careless.’
‘But I’ve changed. I really have.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Ashling said sadly.
‘But…’ Clodagh objected.
‘No!’
Clodagh realized it was pointless. ‘OK,’ she whispered. ‘I’d better go. I really am sorry, I just want you to know that… Bye.’
As she left, she found she was shaking. It hadn’t gone the way she’d hoped. The last few months had been nasty in the extreme for Clodagh. She was shocked and indeed surprised by how painful she found her life. Not just her new, grim, single-mother circumstances, but the insight she’d been given into her own self-seeking behaviour.
Contrition was a new emotion for her, and she’d expected that if she explained the understanding she’d had into her selfishness, and stressed how very sorry she was, she’d be forgiven. That instantly everything would be perfect again. But she’d underestimated Ashling and she’d learnt yet another lesson: just because she was sorry didn’t mean people were ready to forgive her and just because people forgave her didn’t mean she’d feel any better.
Sad and lonely and still burdened with the fruits of her destruction, she wondered if she’d ever be able to fix all that she’d broken. Would anything ever be normal again?
As she passed Hogan’s a crowd of boys noticed her and began whistling and shouting compliments. At first she ignored them, then on a whim tossed her hair and gave a dazzling over-the-shoulder smile which elicted whoops of wild appreciation from them. All at once her heart lifted.
Hey, life goes on.
Meanwhile, when Lisa had left Ashling and Clodagh in the office lobby, she’d made herself walk home. She’d started doing that to counteract all the dinners Kathy made her eat. As she walked along she worked hard at keeping the sadness at bay. I am fabulous. I have a fabulous mum and dad. I have a fabulous new job as a media consultant. I have fabulous shoes.
When she turned into her street, one of her neighbours was sitting on her doorstep waiting for her. What amazed her was that they hadn’t got the key from Kathy and just let themselves in, she thought drily.
She’d miss them all when she returned to London. Although Francine kept telling her she wouldn’t have to, that Lisa would have so many visitors it would be almost as if she’d never left.
Who was on her step, anyway? Francine? Beck? But they were the wrong sex to be Francine, and they were too big to be Beck and… Lisa’s step faltered as she realized they were the wrong colour to be either of them. It was Oliver.
‘What are you doing here?’ she called in astonishment.
‘I’ve come to see you,’ he called back.
She reached her front-door and he stood up with a big, white grin. ‘I’ve come to win you back, babes.’
‘Why?’ She put her key in the lock and he followed her into the hall. She was confused – and oddly resentful. She’d put a whole day’s effort into ‘moving on’ and he’d scuppered it.
‘Because you’re the best,’ he said simply. Another dazzling smile.
She clattered her keys on the kitchen table. ‘You’ve left it a bit bloody late,’ she said snippily. ‘We’ve just got divorced.’
‘You know,’ he said, thoughtfully, ‘I feel so shit about that. It has messed with my head like you just would not believe! Anyway, nothing to say we can’t get married again,’ he grinned.
‘I’m serious,’ he insisted when she gave him a you-mad-bastard look.
She threw him another one but all at once her thoughts got a bit frisky and out-of-control. The idea of marrying Oliver again was ludicrous but seductive. Extremely seductive – for about a nano-second, then she got real.
Briskly she asked, ‘Don’t you remember how horrible it was? At the end we rowed all the time and it was bitter. You hated me and my job.’
‘Right,’ he admitted. ‘But I’ve got to take some of the rap. I was too arsey. When you changed your mind about having a baby, I should have listened to you. I know you tried to tell me, babes, and I did not want to know. That was why finding you were still on the Pill blew me away. But if I’d listened, well… ‘And you are so not as hard as you were. Sorry, babes,’ he said as she bristled, ‘but you’re not.’
‘And this is a good thing?’
‘Sure.’
At her sceptical face he said softly, ‘Lisa, we’ve been apart more than a year, and it still hasn’t got any better for me. I’ve never met anyone who even comes close to you.’
His expression was enquiring, waiting for some encouragement or endorsement from her, but she gave neither. All the buoyancy he’d had on arrival drained away and he was suddenly anxious. ‘Unless you’ve met someone else. I’ll just naff off if y
ou have,’ he offered graciously. ‘And forget about trying to win you back.’
Her face inscrutable. Lisa eyed him and considered shooting him a sly little maybe-I-have-maybe-I-haven’t smirk. That would bring to a halt this crazy, dangerous situation. Then abruptly she decided against it. She’d never played games with him, so why start now? ‘No, Oliver, there’s no one else.’
‘Right,’ he nodded slowly and carefully. ‘Well, I might as well finish ripping my guts out here.’ After a nervous pause he continued, ‘I still love you. Now that we’re older and wiser,’ – uncertain little laugh – ‘I can see it working out.’
‘Can you?’ Her question was cool.
‘Yes,’ he said stoutly. ‘And if you were interested I could base myself in Dublin.’
‘You wouldn’t have to, I’m moving back to London at the end of the week,’ she muttered.
‘Then, Lisa,’ Oliver said, his face deadly serious, ‘the only question is, are you interested?’
A long, tense silence followed until Lisa eventually spoke. ‘Yeah, I suppose.’ She was suddenly shy.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yeah.’ A nervous giggle spilled from her.
‘Babes!’ he exclaimed, in mock outrage. ‘So what are you doing, making me sweat like this?’
Still shy, she admitted, ‘I was afraid. I am afraid.’
‘Of what?’
She shrugged. ‘Of hope, I suppose. I didn’t want to, in case you were just being mental. I had to be sure you were sure until I could even think about it. The thing is,’ she admitted bashfully, ‘I love you.’
‘Then there’s no need to be afraid,’ he promised.
‘When did you get so wise?’ she grumbled.
He laughed hard and loud, a proper Oliver laugh, and suddenly her thoughts were like greyhounds who’d been let out of a trap. They just took off.
How lucky was she to get a reprieve? The full extent of her sheer, jammy, good fortune revealed itself to her and she was soaring, almost weightless with happiness. Not everyone gets a chance like this, she realized, savouring – for once – the value of the present moment.
