“I need to put something on,” he said embarrassed.
“Oh, right, sorry,” I agreed and turned my back to him.
He got out and struggled to put on his shorts and a T-shirt. He left and I sat into the bed.
“Hmmm, warm.” The marble floors looked great, but they were bloody cold. “Clo,” I whispered.
She moaned.
“Clo,” I shook her.
“Ten more minutes,” she mumbled.
I shook her harder. “It’s Em, I really need to talk to you,” I said, still shaking her.
She didn’t jump or even open her eyes.
“What the …?” she mumbled.
I turned on the light. She opened her eyes slowly.
“This better be good,” she warned.
“I’m in love with Seán,” I said.
It was funny because I hadn’t intended on opening the conversation that way.
She sat up and faced me. “Well, it’s about time,” she noted, half smiling.
I was panicked. “What the hell am I going to do?” I asked.
“Tell him,” she said.
“Easy for you to say,” I said, trying to get comfortable.
“Easy for you to do,” she replied. “He’s in love with you and you’re in love with him. Simple.” She reached for her fags.
“Do you really think so?” I asked.
She lit her cigarette and took a drag. “I know for a fact. He told me last year.”
I couldn’t believe it. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I almost screamed.
She looked at me knowingly. “Because we both know you would have freaked out and kicked me.”
I thought about her answer and in light of recent events I really couldn’t argue. She was right. I would have freaked out. I wasn’t ready.
“But you’re ready now,” she said, reading my mind.
I felt butterflies in my stomach. I’d forgotten how that felt. It was nice, but also a little troubling.
“Jesus,” I said.
“Jesus,” she agreed.
We sat in silence and she finished her cigarette.
“Where’s Tom?” she enquired after about five minutes.
“I sent him into my room.”
She laughed.
“So how do I tell him?” I asked.
“Just jump him.”
Wise counsel, but not the kind I was looking for. It must have been written on my face because she continued pretty quickly, “It’s not rocket science, Em, you just have to say it.”
We sat in silence again.
“You don’t think it’s unfair to John?” I asked, needing to hear her say the word “no”.
“Don’t be a prick,” she replied.
“Close enough.”
And that put an end to that line of questioning.
“OK,” I agreed, “I’ll tell him.” I smiled at her resolutely.
“Good,” she said, putting out her fag. “Now turn off the light and get some sleep.”
I obeyed and lay down.
I’m in love with Seán, I thought as I drifted into a peaceful sleep.
* * *
We all met at breakfast. Clo had politely warned Tom not to open his mouth about the previous night’s sleeping arrangements and he dutifully complied. We sat together at the breakfast table.
Anne was hungover, mumbling, “No eggs.”
Clo and Tom were playing footsie and grinning stupidly at one another. Richard was eating toast and writing an itinerary for the day’s events. I don’t know what Seán was doing as I couldn’t look at him, fearing I would blush and vomit simultaneously. I remember thinking that this could become a real problem before Richard interrupted my thoughts.
“I’ve a big day planned. We’re going to take a hike up the mountain. Then I’m going to show you some local woods. We’ve booked a fishing boat for the afternoon and then, if you’re feeling up to it, I was thinking about taking in a game of golf for an hour before dinner. I’m thinking of eating around eight. How does that sound?”
Clo laughed and told him it sounded like hell. Anne threatened to kill him, but Seán thought it sounded great and I briefly wondered what I saw in him. I recovered to add my concerns.
“If we do all that and eat a big meal at eight, we’ll be asleep by ten and it’s New Year’s bloody Eve.”
Anne and Clo agreed. I thought Tom was getting up to give me a standing ovation, but he was just heading to the fridge for some milk. When his thirst was finally quenched he agreed with Richard and Seán. It was the girls against the boys and I didn’t like the odds. Anne’s will to fight was diminished and Clo could be bought by a promise from Tom. It was obvious that yet again Richard would have his way.
Richard briefly wondered why he didn’t have a hangover and I prayed that at some point it would kick in. It didn’t and, as we piled into his Range Rover, I cursed God again. Seán was sitting up front. Clodagh, Tom, Anne and I were sitting in the back. I caught Sean smiling at me through the rear-view mirror. Something made me wave and suddenly I felt awkward. I noticed myself fixing my hair twice within the space of five minutes and started to panic. Anne was wedged in beside me. She leaned over and I jumped, terrified she was about to vomit.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked.
I relaxed. “I thought you were going to throw up.”
“I’m fine,” she assured me, grey-faced and smelling of wine.
I remained unconvinced. “Do you want the window seat?”
She leaned in again. “No. So what’s up?” she whispered.
“Nothing,” I replied.
“You’re lying,” she whispered a little louder.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I whispered back trying not to sound panicked and worried that Tom would hear her.
“There’s something going on. You’re quiet, you’ve been fixing your hair since you got into the Jeep and Clo told me about last night.” She smiled and leaned back in the seat, some colour returning to her cheeks.
“I was going to tell you,” I whispered, embarrassed and mentally punching Clo in the face.
“It’s about time,” she laughed.
I blushed, realised I was blushing and blushed some more. Realising that I was now blushing more, I blushed even more. It was a slippery slope so I hid my face in my lap. Clo leaned over Tom fearing that I was sick. “Emma are you sick?”
Richard stopped the car. Seán climbed over the seat.
“Are you OK?” he asked, concerned and so sweet.
Still the colour of beetroot, I decided to answer from my lap. “I’m fine,” I said.
“Can you lift your head up?” he asked.
Fuck off, my brain silently begged.
He wasn’t going anywhere so I raised my reddened face to meet his.
Clo burst out laughing.
“Richard, please drive on,” I said with all the authority I could muster.
Seán returned to the front seat, slightly confused.
Clo mouthed the word “sorry” but it was obvious she wasn’t because she was still laughing. Richard drove on. Anne was too sick to laugh, but I could sense that she would hold her stupid grin all the way up the bloody mountain. I closed my eyes and leaned against the window. My eyelids were protecting me from my audience and my inner voice repeated, “Be cool, be cool.” After a while I began to wonder who I was trying to fool. Seán knew I wasn’t cool and he didn’t seem to mind. Then again, now that I realised I loved him, the least I could do was try not to make a fool out of myself at every possible turn. But it’s not like I could change. The problem was that he knew me too well. It was all very confusing. Later, when Richard stopped the car so Anne could throw up, I found myself looking out the window smiling at the beauty and forgetting my stupid little world for a while.
We started our mountain hike around eleven. We were still walking at three. Richard, Seán and Tom walked ahead, talking about football, motor racing and oohhing and ahhhing at flora and
fauna. Clo, Anne and I lagged behind. Initially we were really enjoying ourselves. Anne felt much better. The scenery was beautiful, it was dry and although it was cold the skies were blue. That was great for about an hour. Three hours later it was wearing thin. We were lost and the lads were too busy being retarded to notice. We managed to keep ourselves busy by discussing the object of my newly discovered desires. The conversation ran the usual course. I was nervous and unsure. They were excited and felt it was a dead cert. I talked rubbish and they told me how fantastic I was. I talked some more rubbish and Clo complimented my hair. Then I remembered Friends and I froze. I stopped and looked at Clo and Anne. They looked back.
“What?” Clo asked, more to get me moving as opposed to talking.
“Friends,” I said.
They looked blankly at me.
“Ross and Rachel,” I said, believing it enough for them to catch on.
It wasn’t.
“And?” said Clo.
I couldn’t believe it. Friends was her favourite TV programme. It was perfectly obvious what I was getting at.
“Ross is secretly in love with Rachel for ages, but he doesn’t say anything – he’s just her friend. He’s always there for her. He’s her rock. She’s just come out of a big relationship. She’s all over the place while he waits in the wings. And when eventually she realises that she’s in love with him, he’s seeing a Chinese chick. Last week she ended up on her face in the airport.”
I finished my homage to the American sitcom long enough to take a badly needed breath.
Clo smiled. “Emma, it’s fine. Seán isn’t with a Chinese chick – he’s over there trying to look up a deer’s arse.”
I remained uncomforted. “It’s an analogy,” I said.
Anne smiled.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she replied.
I wasn’t budging.
“It was just a funny episode,” she grinned.
Clo linked my arm and started walking me. She reminded me that my life wasn’t an episode of Friends and also pretty accurately predicted that the Chinese one wouldn’t last long. Ross and Rachel were bound to get together. I wasn’t sure, as consummated love wasn’t always a ratings winner. I knew this didn’t make for a good argument so I just shut up and walked.
We eventually found a pub and everyone was starving. It was three thirty and Richard’s whole itinerary was messed up. The girls cheered. The lads had to concede. Playtime was over. We all ate way too much and whiled away a very pleasant three hours drinking Irish coffee and melting by the fire. We didn’t make it back to Anne and Richard’s until after eight. We all had hot showers, changed our clothes and only started cooking the dinner at nine. We drank wine although Anne stuck to weak beer. Everyone was helping out, setting the table, sorting out some music, stirring sauces and filling glasses, while bumping into one another. It was a definite case of too many cooks. I got my jacket and decided to go for a cigarette.
I sat on the bench outside looking out into the darkness with only my fag to light the way. I heard footsteps behind me and my heart skipped because I knew it was Seán.
“I thought you’d given up,” he said.
I smiled while he sat. “I did,” I answered, exhaling. “You’re watching me fall off the wagon.”
He smiled. “Mind if I join you?” he enquired and I wanted desperately to kiss him.
I handed him a cigarette instead. We smoked silently although I was having a full-scale conversation in my head.
Seán, how’s your fag? Oh good. Listen, by the way, I love you and I’d like to shag here and now.
We sat in silence.
Then he asked me what I was smiling at.
“Nothing.”
We returned to silence. I started to feel the pressure. I needed to say something, anything to start a conversation. The tension was thick in the air. I couldn’t think of anything, which was ridiculous – we’d been friends for years. I kept wondering why he wasn’t talking and wishing that he’d speak, but he just smoked. It was getting weird so I decided just to open my mouth and say the first thing that came to mind and to hell with the consequences so I did.
“Happy New Year, Seán.”
He looked at me. “It’s only half nine.”
I smiled. “I know,” I said and took a drag out of my cigarette, wishing I could smoke quicker.
This was too hard. I was a coward. I didn’t have the courage of my convictions. I was weak and I was scared. It was funny, I had no real idea that I was in love with Seán until last night and now suddenly the prospect of losing him was sickening. Seán had told Clo that he was in love with me, but he was drunk and it was over a year ago. Maybe he’s moved on – that’s why he’s going to London. London was Seán’s Chinese girl! I’d blown it, left it too late. He was going to London and I had missed the boat. Saying something now would be stupid. It would just make things difficult and it could definitely ruin our friendship. It hadn’t even been two years since John died. By the time we finished our never-ending cigarettes I had decided things were best left as they were. We walked down the path to the house and he put his arm around my shoulder.
“You look sad,” he said.
I smiled at him and hugged him close. “I’m not sad. I’m happy to be here,” I answered. I felt his warmth and I wanted to tell him after all.
* * *
We ate dinner and drank wine. Anne even managed a glass or two. We moved into the sitting-room. It was raining outside. Richard had lit a fire. The TV was muted and the stereo sang. Seán sat beside me and I felt like the whole room was waiting for something to happen. He didn’t notice. He was busy scribbling in his notebook. Anne asked what he was doing. He told us he had an article to write for the following Tuesday and he was taking some notes. Clo chastised him for being a nerdy swot. She couldn’t believe it was thirty minutes to midnight on New Year’s Eve and he was working. He defended himself by noting his articles were always a great conversation piece, while conveniently ignoring the fact that the conversations invariably ended up in arguments.
This time, he needed to define the modern woman.
Clo laughed. “Easy. A great date, a shit housewife.”
We laughed and agreed she was right.
He grinned and took it down. He looked up at me. “What about you, Em? If pearls, high heels and a duster defined women in the fifties, what describes women in the nineties?”
It was a good question. I was unsure of my answer. He looked up from his notepad.
“Well?” he said.
“Do you want the glossy magazine answer?” I knew he always wanted the glossy magazine answer.
He grinned and nodded.
“OK,” I began. “Cosmopolitan leads us to believe that the modern woman works hard, pays her own bills, carries her own condoms, isn’t adverse to a one-night stand. She can cook, fix a flat tyre, do the splits, give birth in a pool without the benefit of painkillers, retain the figure of a well-endowed sixteen-year-old well into her sixties, is an uninhibited lover, a football fan, has a large music collection and enjoys lewd jokes.”
The others were laughing while Seán was scribbling wildly and I wondered why he didn’t just read Cosmopolitan. He looked up after a minute.
“What do you say?” he asked.
“She’s free,” I answered without thinking.
Clo broke into “Working on the Chain Gang”. The others joined in, but Seán just smiled and nodded his head while I sat thinking about what I’d just said.
I’m free.
He asked Anne, if she could pick to live the life of any female TV character, who it would be.
She thought for a minute, sloshing her beer and grinning widely. “Lois Lane.”
He asked why, although it seemed pretty obvious to the rest of us.
“Superman,” she nodded, grinning. She didn’t need to say anymore.
Clo nodded her head in agreement, before noting that she’d like to be Pamela Anderson in
Baywatch and Tom supported her choice enthusiastically. I said Dana Scully. However, when Clo pointed out that she was overworked, had a gross job, no boyfriend and was always in a crisis, I briefly wondered about my mental health and quickly switched to Jasmine Bleeth, Pammie’s friend in Baywatch. Clo gave me the thumbs-up.
Richard turned up the TV. It was five to twelve. I was sitting next to Seán.
Christ.
I briefly considered lighting a cigarette, but I didn’t want Anne to know I was still smoking. Suddenly everyone was smiling at each other and yelling out the countdown. My bladder throbbed and I feared I would pee. All roared a collective “Happy New Year!” Anne and Richard kissed and held one another. Clo and Tom were sinking into the chair together. Seán and I smiled at one another.
“Happy New Year, Em,” he said and my heart stopped, making it difficult to respond.
He smiled and pulled me into him and I swear it kick-started my heart. I was buzzing like a teenager, but then he kissed my cheek and pulled away.
“Happy New Year,” I mumbled and we stood there awkwardly, waiting for the others to pry themselves apart. After that we listened to eighties music and got drunk.
Clo and Anne followed me to bed. They were troubled that I had not taken advantage of the New Year’s kiss with Seán as discussed and agreed upon earlier that day. I apologised for being pathetic. Anne was sympathetic, but Clo was having none of it, telling me to take my head out of my arse, which now was becoming a common theme. I whined that there was nothing I could do about it.
Clo grinned knowingly. “Of course there is, you can go to his room.”
Anne nodded her head in agreement. It was after three, but my protestation was falling on deaf ears. Clo reminded me unnecessarily that we were driving back to Dublin the next day and time was running out. She and Anne walked to the bedroom door.
“It’s now or never,” Anne said.
“Amen,” Clo bowed her head.
Noel had mentioned he was thinking about going to New Guinea during our Christmas Day phone call. I briefly wondered whether or not he had made it there but had forgotten him by the time they had closed the door behind them. Alone in a dark room, I was faced with a decision that could potentially lead to the worst humiliation of my life. I could just go to his room and tell him or go to bed and let him go.
Pack Up the Moon Page 18
