The Real Liddy James

by Anne-Marie Casey

  It had taken time, and a series of intense withdrawal symptoms—she kept sticking her hand in her pocket for her phantom phone—but Liddy had finally got used to its absence. Now she actually gave thanks that she could not be similarly disturbed. When she glanced over, Storm was walking back and forth, arms gesticulating like an animated stick figure. She pulled her baseball cap down over her nose and the aged wetsuit up over her top, and enjoyed the feeling of the sun baking her and the faint odor of burning rubber. She lay back and ran her fingers through the sand.

  It was considered impolite, Liddy often thought, to tell the truth about the intangible, magical privileges of wealth. She never lied about it to herself, however. No sitting in a dingy kitchen playing pass-the-parcel for her sons. No mandarin orange and a Rubik’s Cube for their birthdays. She had promised that her own offspring would never be impoverished in their memories, experiences, and opportunities—whatever it cost her. Whenever she heard someone opine that such children did not live “in the real world,” she would scoff and say, “You can’t manufacture hardship.” She would never wish the frustrations and deprivations of her own experience on them.

  But lying on the beach that day, as Matty and Cal splashed cheerfully in the waves, Liddy saw that they were all far, far from the things she had convinced herself were vital to their happiness. And yet they were happy.

  “Liddy! Liddy!”

  She sat up to see Storm, her face drawn and ashen, crouched in front of her.

  “Something dreadful has happened!”

  Liddy sat up to check that the boys were safe. They were.

  “That was Roberta from Brazil! She’s getting married to this bloke she’s been traveling with! She’s flying back in a fortnight and wants to have the ceremony in the house. She’s e-mailing me instructions as we speak. I knew I shouldn’t have got the Internet fixed!”

  “The Internet’s fixed?” said Matty, approaching.

  Liddy tried to look innocent. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll leave. Move into a hotel—”

  “What?” shrieked Storm. “You can’t leave, Liddy.” She grabbed Liddy’s hands in hers. “You have to help me!”

  Storm’s head was darting around from side to side like a terrified meerkat. Liddy quickly said she would.

  “I have to start calling people. She said some names to me, actors she used to work with at the Abbey Theatre. I thought they were dead!”

  A thought occurred to Liddy. She paused to consider how she felt about it before saying it aloud. It turned out she was no longer tired and no longer confused.

  “Will Sebastian come back?” she said. (She felt excited.)

  “Not a hope,” said Storm, reassured of Liddy’s friendship and her offer of organizational assistance. “He said last time he was never going to another of Roberta’s weddings.”

  If Liddy had any doubt about the witchy powers of Roberta “Daffodil” Stackallan, they were removed by the fact that the weather remained fine, and the morning of the wedding dawned exquisitely rose pink and fair.

  Liddy stood by the window in her bedroom, cup of coffee in hand, happily watching the gentle mist rising over the fields. She listened to the birdsong; she was beginning to distinguish between the blackbird and the robin and the song thrush. She had come to love these brief moments of meditation during the days, moments where she was able to stop and stare. It was positively mindful she said to herself. Her life coach would be so proud.

  She glanced over at Cal, still fast asleep on a blow-up mattress in the corner of the room—now that they spent significant time together during the days he had abandoned the practice of sleeping on top of her legs at night—and took a moment to consult the handy day planner she had prepared and distributed to the relevant parties to ensure smooth running for the day ahead. Individual duties, detailed with color-coded stickers, were listed in half-hour increments. Liddy and Cal were starting at 8:30 a.m., meeting Seamus and his big ladder beside the nineteenth-century sundial at the foot of the stone steps that led up to the house. (After an evening spent researching pagan wedding rituals, Liddy had suggested it as the venue for the ceremony, in the absence of any nearby woodhenges.)

  Underneath the day planner were two plastic folders; one contained a printout of important druidic principles and a glossary of terms, the other a police background check on Roberta’s husband-to-be, a certain Harvey Browne, which Liddy had organized. Liddy had felt the details of his backstory were somewhat vague (there appeared to be a series of missing years in his forties). But as he was the same age as Roberta, appeared to be employed, and, most important it seemed, was neither a Romany sculptor named Jorge nor currently married to someone else, Storm was relieved, particularly as they wouldn’t meet him until the ceremony. Roberta and Harvey had flown into the airport from Rio the previous morning, made one phone call to check on the progress, and, reassured, immediately booked into the nearest luxury hotel for extensive spa treatments. Whatever her choice in men, Liddy had to admire Roberta Stackallan’s ruthless ability to delegate.

  The now-familiar sound of a vehicle rattling down the track and a screech of brakes signaled the start of the day. The front door burst open to reveal Storm, significantly more rumpled than usual.

  “Where are you, Matty?” she shouted, brandishing her day planner, but to Liddy’s amazement, Matty appeared in the doorway fully dressed.

  “And Will hasn’t arrived!” screeched Storm, to no one in particular. “I can’t bear it when people don’t do what they say.”

  Liddy shrugged sympathetically. This was not an accusation that could be leveled at her. She was also still in her meditative state.

  “Chill, babe,” Matty said cheekily. “Bye, Mom.” He kissed Liddy, who felt a tuft of his baby beard on her cheek, before following Storm out the door. They headed up to the bungalow to start cooking.

  Liddy lifted her arms above her head and stretched. She suddenly realized she was doing a yoga sun salutation. She stopped immediately. Enough is enough. She glanced down at her day planner: 7:30 a.m. shower, wash hair, bleach mustache. Dutifully, she headed toward the bathroom.

  By two o’clock, the sun was dappling through the arch of willow and white flowers Liddy and Cal had woven with the help of Seamus, who had proved unexpectedly creative at floral design. Liddy stood beneath it in an aged T-shirt, rolled-up jeans, and a white panama hat. Up at the bungalow Storm was finishing the buffet dinner and Matty was preparing the playlist for the party on his laptop.

  Liddy looked over to see Cal sitting on the lawn brushing the large, scruffy dog.

  “Hello?”

  It was a man’s voice, a deep, melodious Irish lilt she recognized. Liddy did not move. She paused to enjoy the moment, which was completely unexpected but completely thrilling.

  Then she turned—

  —but standing before her on the lawn was a younger, shorter, and more rotund version of Sebastian (as if Sebastian were reflected in a side mirror where objects appear closer than they really are), a burning cigarette stub hanging off his lower lip.

  “Hi. I’m Will.” He looked at her with an expression in the sexually interested range.

  “I’m Liddy,” she said, trying not to look too disappointed. “I’m a friend of Sebastian’s.”

  “Bugger!” said Will. He took a final drag on his cigarette before hurling it into the ornamental fountain, ignored her outstretched palm, and opened his arms to embrace her, extravagantly kissing her on both cheeks. To her surprise, despite this uncomfortable invasion of her personal space, she immediately liked him.

  “Good to see Seb’s back in the saddle again! Where is he?”

  “Alaska,” said Liddy, but she was saved from further explanation by the agitated arrival of Storm.

  “Will! Thank goodness. Better bloody late than never. Liddy, show Will the day planner. What time is it?”

  “Tim
e for the druidic priest to arrive,” said Liddy, glancing at her watch.

  Will looked at Storm. “Oh, no,” he said. “Not the one Roberta met on the retreat in Clonakilty—the one that married the woman to the dolphin?”

  Storm rolled her eyes and nodded.

  “Is it legal?” asked Will, looking at Liddy.

  “It is,” said Liddy. “Roberta and Harvey, that is. Not the woman and the dolphin. The druidic priest is a solemnizer as well as a white witch.”

  “Oh well, there goes another chunk of the inheritance,” said Will.

  “What happens if you wanted to divorce the dolphin?” asked Storm, turning to the expert among them.

  “Human-animal marriage is not recognized by law in any country,” said Liddy. (Curtis had once raised it in a partners meeting under the heading of new business.)

  “Yeah. Imagine trying to divide the marital assets!” said Will. “By the way, I hear Chloe fleeced Sebastian!”

  “Don’t say that in front of Liddy. She was Chloe’s lawyer, but she was only doing her job,” replied Storm.

  Will looked confused for a moment, but given that today was already full of confusing things, he decided to let it go.

  “And honestly, what did the apartment mean to Sebastian apart from bad memories?” Storm added.

  “An awful lot of money, I expect,” said Will. Storm elbowed him.

  Liddy consulted the day planner.

  “One of you has to pick up your mother and Harvey from the hotel. And we still need a broomstick for them to jump over,” she said.

  “Oh, Storm, get the one you use every full moon!”

  “Ha bloody ha!”

  The two siblings dissolved into childlike giggles.

  “Greetings in the bounty of Mother Earth!”

  A gray-bearded man in white robes was approaching.

  “Jesus Christ, it’s Gandalf,” muttered Will, reaching for his cigarettes.

  “Remember the elven greeting!” said Liddy. She nodded at Cal, who walked forward with his right hand outstretched, his fingertips to the sky.

  “Blessings, friends,” said the man. “I am Brian the Druid.”

  “I am Liddy . . . the lawyer,” she replied. “Here are Roberta’s children, Storm and Will, and my son Cal. We were just talking about broomsticks.”

  “Any twigged besom will do,” said Druid Brian. “I have brought my own handfasting. Storm and Will, does your mother intend to be monogamous?”

  “Until she meets husband number seven, I guess,” said Will.

  Will and Storm burst out laughing again. Liddy shot them a cold-eyed look. She was beginning to find the sibling hilarity rather challenging, particularly as there were still ten trays of sausages to be cooked before four o’clock that afternoon.

  “For a monogamous coupling we use a tight handfast,” continued Druid Brian. “A polyamorous or open couple will opt for a loose handfast.”

  He stared hard at Liddy. “I am polyamorous.”

  In all her research, Liddy had not discovered the correct way to respond to that. She tried nodding understandingly. Druid Brian was still staring. “Do not be afraid of your shadows, Liddy the lawyer.Your aura tells me you are at one with this place, a true Being of Light, a friend and follower of Nature.”

  Liddy was gratified. She always liked being the best in any group.

  “Now I must bless the sundial with oil and water.”

  He lifted his robes to reveal socks and sandals and walked off. Will and Storm were now laughing so hard they were barking like foxes.

  “Honestly, you two,” said Liddy, exasperated. “How are we going to get everything done if you don’t take it seriously?”

  “Yes,” said a male voice behind them. “I mean, our sixty-four-year-old mother’s getting married for the sixth time in the charred ruins of our ancestral home and she’s asked a druidic priest called Brian to officiate a ceremony that includes the fertility ritual of jumping over a twigged besom. The problem is definitely that we’re not taking it seriously.”

  “Sebastian!” screeched Storm, leaping into his arms and hugging him.

  “Hello, Sebastian,” said Liddy, stung. When she had imagined the completely unexpected but completely thrilling moment of seeing Sebastian again, this was not how it was meant to go. Disoriented, she flipped into her default settings. “Come on, I’ve got a schedule.”

  “Sounds like a military operation,” said Sebastian.

  “Well, my ex-husband did once compare me to a Sherman tank!” said Liddy brightly, then immediately wished she hadn’t.

  “When I saw you just then I couldn’t decide if I recognized you or not,” he said. “Now I definitely do.”

  “Oh,” said Will cheerfully. “The two of you are friends. Not friends friends . . .”

  “Don’t be such an idiot, Will,” said Storm. “How could Liddy be Seb’s friend friend? She’s a top lawyer like him. She’s not his type at all!”

  “Good news for me,” said Will lasciviously. “Right, I’m off to collect the happy couple!”

  Cal came over and took Liddy’s hand.

  “And who is this?” said Sebastian.

  “This is my younger son, Cal,” said Liddy.

  Sebastian leaned down and offered his right hand formally to shake Cal’s.

  “Yes, he looks like you,” he said.

  “He looks like my father, actually.”

  “He must be a good-looking man.”

  “My mother says he was ‘the handsomest buck ever came to Belmullet.’” Her accent was spot-on. Liddy glanced at Storm, who laughed.

  “By the way, Liddy,” said Sebastian. “I don’t think your phone’s working. The line’s dead.”

  “I threw it in the lake.”

  “That seems rather . . . uncharacteristic.”

  “I know,” Liddy said, resisting the urge to say, See, I can be a spontaneous person.

  “Are we staying in your house?” asked Cal.

  Sebastian nodded politely.

  “You need a swimming pool,” Cal said.

  Liddy noticed Sebastian was wearing jeans and a white linen shirt, unbuttoned at the neck. The sight of the top of his chest and the line of his collarbone and the strands of dark hair below it distracted her.

  “How do you feel about giving a speech, Seb?” said Storm.

  “Don’t push it. I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “Sausage rolls?” said Liddy, thinking, I’m not spontaneous about the cooking times of raw meat, of course. Storm, sensing a change in her brother’s mood, dutifully scuttled off.

  Liddy looked at Sebastian. He looked away. She turned back to the wedding arch, where Cal had run and was preoccupied, tying ribbons around the dog’s collar.

  “Why does my mother have to keep making such a fucking mess of her life?”

  He spoke very quietly. Liddy could only just hear him above the sounds of the water and the wind and the birdsong that were silence in this place. She walked toward him and he reached out his hand. And as she took it and felt the warmth of his palm, she experienced the disorienting state of erotic excitement she had felt the first time she had ever met him. She shook her head a little. Who could have guessed the banal yet bizarre truth about aging, that fifteen years later she would still feel exactly the same way?

  “I can’t lecture anyone on that. Can you?” she said.

  Sebastian stared at her. “I told you I was a pessimist.”

  “How was your trip?” she asked.

  He answered with a noncommittal grunt, then curled his fingers into hers. “How are you?” he said.

  Because she felt nervous, she had to suppress the urge to jump around manically with her hands clamped to her sides as if in a straitjacket.

  “I’ve got over my funny turn, thank you,” she said, inst
ead.

  “You gave me a bit of a scare. It wasn’t the pain-in-the-ass Liddy James I’m used to.”

  “Some people find me very accommodating. We’ve just always rubbed each other the wrong way,” she said.

  “Don’t be daft.”

  “Sebastian . . . you’re the one who called me a nasty woman.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head. “It’s okay. I know what you meant.”

  “That’s good,” he replied. “Because I bloody well don’t.” He looked around. “Do you remember being here when you were a kid?”

  “I do, actually,” she replied, although she was finding it difficult to concentrate.

  Now he tilted his head and smiled his roguish smile. “Maybe we walked past each other years ago? Maybe we snogged each other at the youth hostel disco?”

  “I wasn’t a very snogging type of young woman,” said Liddy. “You should have seen me.”

  “I bet you were beautiful.”

  “No,” said Liddy. “I was five foot eleven at age thirteen, with braces and a concave chest.”

  “I got my tongue stuck in a girl’s braces once.”

  “Ouch!”

  “Yes. Sorcha Lennon. Unforgettable, for the wrong reasons.”

  He turned and walked a few paces, still holding her hand. On the lake, two gray herons rose in the air and called to each other, the distinctive croak echoing.

  “I knew you would like it here,” he said.

  “Is that why you invited me?”

  He didn’t reply. She looked down at her feet. She flicked her hair behind her ears.

  “I thought maybe you had a bit of a . . . thing . . . for me?” she said.

  He looked at her. “Maybe I do?”

  I’m flirting, thought Liddy delightedly. She seemed to be getting it right this time. She was more mature, of course, and her life had taught her how to have sex for fun. Then it occurred to her that she was quoting his ex-wife and stopped.