by Izzy Bayliss
“Wendy – good to see you!” I forced myself to smile even though it felt like I was pulling my cheeks back with vice grips.
“How are you, Lily?”
“I’m good. How are you, Wendy?”
“No really, Lily how are you?” It was the way she said “are” that I knew that she knew. “I mean since Marc, –” she cocked her ear to her shoulder, “you know?”
“Well I’m okay –” I said feeling a bit unnerved. I hadn’t seen Wendy in years, how did she know about Marc and I?
“What a terrible thing to do. Really it was the lowest of the low. When Janice told me what had happened, I was so shocked. Especially to you - you’re just such a nice person.” She sounded so condescending. Describing someone as “nice” was akin to saying they were harmless, and was possibly the biggest insult you could give someone.
“Erm . . . thanks Wendy,” I muttered.
“He always was a bit of a jack-the-lad, wasn't he?”
“What do you mean?”
“Come on, Lily – everyone could see it?” She laughed nervously.
“See what?”
“Lily, y’know. That you and Marc . . .” She was starting to get flustered now.
“What?” I demanded.
“Oh God, Lily, I'm sorry I feel like I'm digging a hole here . . . he always had an eye for the ladies . . .”
“What are you saying?”
“I don’t know – I well . . . now don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think you two were ever really suited. I mean when we were in school, he was so . . . so . . . good-looking . . . y’know? He was the one boy everyone wanted to go out with. And he was trendy too, and into his keeping fit and clothes and you – well you’re . . . well you're different . . . y’know?”
“No, I don’t know actually,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Well you’re more . . .” she paused for the right word, “homely.” She plastered a saccharine smile on to her face.
“Homely?”
“What I mean is that you’re both very different people. You must be able to see that?”
“Eh no, I don’t think I can.”
“Aw sorry, honey, I’ve offended you now, haven’t I?”
“No – not at all, Wendy. How would you have done that?” I said sarcastically.
“Oh good – look, I read a really good book after I broke up with Darren Fielding in sixth year. It’s called He’s just not that into you. I can’t remember who wrote it but it really helped me move on after him.”
“He’s just not that into you? I repeated. “We were married, Wendy, he must have been into me at some point.”
I wanted to grab one of the bags of potato croquettes that were in the freezer beside me and batter her over the head with it.
“Of course, Lily – look I’m sorry, I’m only trying to help you but I’m probably making everything worse. I know how devastating a break up can be, especially when you’re the last one to know.”
How did she know all this? Did everyone know something that I didn’t?
“Last to know what?”
“Sorry, Lily – I'm digging a hole here, me and my big mouth. Look I have to run and get the kids from school.”
And before I even had a chance to ask her what she was talking about, she was gone straight past the frozen waffles, down the aisle where the pasta and sauces were before turning around the corner into the fruit and veg section and out of my sight, leaving me standing there spitting chips.
Stunned, I made my way towards the checkout. What had Wendy meant when she said that I was the last to know – how long had it been going on? It couldn’t have been that long, because we had only got married three months before and why would he have married me if he had been having an affair? But still her words had rattled me. And what had she meant when she said that we were very different people? She had made it out as though I was batting above my league being with Marc in the first place. At least that was what she seemed to be hinting at. I knew Marc was good looking, and if I was really honest he’s probably the better looking one in our relationship – if we were on Your face or mine? we’d probably both pick his face, but at the same time, I’m not a minger. I knew I could do with losing a few pounds – I was a bit curvy, but curvy women were in – you just had to look at Kim Kardashian or Beyoncé. But had everyone else known what I had secretly feared – that Marc was too good for me?
I had just reached the queue to pay when I saw it on the magazine stand beside me: “'The Recluse' – hottest young stars, secret romance revealed - see full story on page 10.” Below it was a picture of Marc kissing Nadia on the lips like love’s young dream. So this was the shoot Frankie had been working on. Even though she had warned me not to read it, I quickly picked up a copy off the stand and flicked to page ten. I knew I was only torturing myself by looking at the pictures but I couldn't help it. The headline at the top of the page screamed: “Exclusive Interview with 'The Recluse' stars Nadia Williams and Marc Glover as they welcome us into their beautiful city centre home - the beautiful actress talks films, her charity work and the rock that helps her through it all.” The photo on the opposite page was of Marc sitting perched on the edge of a sofa while Nadia lay along the length of it, leaning back in to his arms. She was wearing a delicate white lace dress sewn with tiny gold beads, which looked amazing on her dark skin. Marc was wearing a white shirt to compliment Nadia’s dress, grey skinny jeans and a black skinny tie. His hair was styled up into a quiff. He was barely recognisable – I had to admit it, he looked well. Could Frankie at least not have picked something a bit uglier for him to wear, I wondered?
There were five full pages dedicated to them in various poses and outfits. Their smiling faces taunted me from the pages – it was the salt in the wound. It hurt. I had to admit they looked well together, like they were meant for each other. They were both glamorous with their Hollywood white teeth and cool hair. How could I have thought that Marc would ever be happy with the likes of me? They were in a different league altogether. This must be how Jennifer Anniston feels when she sees Brangelina on the cover of every magazine, I thought.
Nadia Williams has plenty to smile about – not only is she the critically acclaimed star of The Recluse, and a successful business woman with the launch of her own perfume the eponymous named Nadia last year, but now she is loved-up with her new man Marc Glover. Nadia – tell me how you and Marc met?
Nadia: “We met on the set of The Recluse. Marc just walked into the shoot one day and I noticed him straight away. I couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the scene – I kept forgetting my lines and my heart was beating wildly. I said to Charlie (co-star Charlie Woodward) who is this man? I knew instantly that there was going to be something special between us.”
Marc: “Well obviously I knew who Nadia was. I have always been such a big fan of her work, so when she asked me out for coffee – I jumped at the chance. I was so nervous because I was in awe of her, and I almost cancelled, but I needn’t have been as we just clicked straight away.”
Nadia: “We ended up spending the rest of the day together – neither of us could bear to say goodbye and we’ve been together since.”
I couldn’t believe it – Marc had started working on that film just before we got married. Was it going on before then? It would kill me altogether to know he had been having an affair and still had gone ahead with our wedding because he didn’t have the balls to call it off.
So Marc how do you balance working together and living together?
Marc: “Nadia and I just work – from the day we met, we just clicked. We love being around each other, and I am happiest when I am in Nadia’s company. I feel very lucky that I get to both live and work with this amazing lady.”
The up-and-coming actor is clearly smitten with the beautiful actress. It is obvious this couple can’t keep their hands off each other, as Nadia lovingly reaches across and gives her boyfriend’s hand a reassuring squeeze.
Na
dia – what is it about Marc that you love most?
Nadia: “Well Marc is hugely supportive, and never lets me get stressed. He is my rock during all the madness,” smiles a radiant Nadia, her brown eyes sparkling with happiness.”
Marc: “We make a good team.” An adoring Marc smiles back at his other half.
Then there were some pictures of Nadia posing in the various rooms of her apartment. There wasn’t an IKEA flat-pack wardrobe in sight.
Every item in their stylish apartment has been carefully chosen from Nadia’s travels.
Nadia: “I found these vintage fabrics at a flea market in L.A. and I had them made into cushion covers, and the artwork came from a tribal community, which I visited when I was filming in Marrakech last year.”
Blah, blah, blah. Look at me – I’m so worldly and exotic, I thought bitterly. On the next page there was a full-page photo of them standing on the balcony staring into each other’s eyes with the caption, “Love’s young dream.” Nadia was wearing a flowing silk maxi-dress with a string of daisy chains in her hair, and Marc was wearing a cream linen shirt with cut-off khaki pants.
When asked about the charity Children First, of which she is patron, an emotional Nadia tells us how close the work is to her heart.
Nadia: “These children have no one to care for them – no one at all, and I am honoured if I can use my profile to help highlight their plight. Even if I’m exhausted from travelling halfway around the world and staying in faceless hotel rooms, when I think of these poor children then I feel very grateful indeed.”
A modest Nadia laughed off the question when asked about the secret to maintaining her beautiful looks with such a hectic schedule. But it is clear that there is one obvious reason for the actress’s glow - and that is her boyfriend Marc.
I wanted to scream at the page – that’s my husband. They are not 'love’s young dream’! There they were lolling about at photo-shoots and acting like they were just destined to be together. It wasn’t fair. She had everything a girl could dream of – a cool job, gorgeous home, she looked beautiful, she had magazines fawning all over her and designers begging her to wear their clothes – she had all of that but it still wasn’t enough, she had to go and take Marc too.
“Eh . . . this isn’t a shoe shop, love – there’s no try before you buy here.” The girl behind the checkout shouted over to me.
“Sorry, it’s just this is my husband – I pointed at a picture of Marc looking deep in thought sitting backwards on a chair.”
“Do I look like I give one?”
“Well . . . no, I suppose not . . .” I made my way up to her till and rooted around in my purse for the change to pay for the magazine and the few groceries that I had managed to pick up.
I went back out through the automatic doors and saw Piotr looking up at me expectantly. Shit! I’d forgotten the tea I’d promised him. I couldn't very well leave him without it so I trudged back around the store and got a cup of tea at the deli-counter. I quickly added one sugar and a splash of milk, which was the way he liked it best and hurried back to the checkouts to pay.
“There you go,” I bent down and handed the polystyrene cup to him when I got back outside.
“Ah thank you, Lily – you’re very kind lady you know that. When I get enough money I take you out on date to dinner,” he said in his funny Polish-Dublin accent.
“I’d like that, Piotr. Now you wrap up warm, do you hear me? I saw on the forecast that it’s going to be wet tonight.”
I hauled my bags of shopping home thinking over everything. I walked past children playing chasing, and I wished I could join them – not to play chasing, I’m far too unfit – but just to be that innocent and carefree again, and to have none of the pressures and worries that come with adulthood. I wanted to go over and tell them to enjoy it now while they could because it wouldn’t last, and soon they’d be old like me with a property in negative equity and a broken marriage. But I knew I’d probably just scare them away and then I’d feel really bad.
Chapter 13
When I reached my duplex, I climbed the steps and opened the door. It was only then that I realised that I had just bought butter and had forgotten to buy the really important things like alcohol and chocolate that I had gone to the shop for in the first place. I sank wearily into the sofa and sighed. I knew I was feeling sorry for myself, but I figured I was allowed to wallow given the recent events in my life. I was unemployed in a recession, with a husband who had left me after only three months of marriage and was now gracing magazine covers with Ireland's leading actress. And I had managed to achieve all of this by the ripe old age of thirty-two. My phone rang and I didn’t recognise the number so I pressed the answer button and put on my polite phone voice.
“Is that Lily McDermott?”
“Speaking.”
“Hi, Lily this is Greg O’Connor calling from Irish Bank Mortgages.”
Uh-oh. “Hi, Greg, what can I do for you?”
“Well, Lily, your mortgage payment bounced yesterday and I was just calling to find out when we may expect to receive June’s payment?”
“What?”
“There weren’t enough funds in your account to meet the direct debit.”
Even though I had just been fired, I had been paid last month so I knew that that wasn’t the problem and then it suddenly dawned on me. Marc.
“Sorry, Greg I wasn’t aware of this. Can I call you back? I just want to have a look at the account.”
When I hung up from Greg, I opened up the laptop and logged onto the Internet to check our bank balance. I knew the mortgage went out on the first of every month, and to be honest I hadn’t even thought about discussing our finances with Marc. It wasn’t really up there on my list of priorities the evening he had called over telling me he wanted a separation.
I quickly scrolled down the screen and saw our balance was dangerously low. I checked through the recent transactions, and saw that Marc hadn’t put any money into our joint account like he normally did at the end of the month. I looked down through all the recent activity on the account. The standing orders for his gym membership and his subscription to Social Importance magazine (he liked to check if he had managed to get photographed at any of the many charity events that he went to) had already left the account for that month. Funny how he hadn’t thought to cancel those! I took a look at our credit card account next and noticed recent transactions for the last few weeks that we hadn’t been together. There was one for 1 St Martin Lane, the new restaurant in the city centre that was getting rave reviews in the press and that I could never afford to go to in a million years. There was a transaction for Hamill & Forrester jewellers, and another for the Apollo cinema. Then there were recent ones for different bars and restaurants in Puerto Banus. Well, Marc Glover had another thing coming if he thought I was going to be subsidising his wining and dining of Nadia. I was seething with rage. It was bad enough that he had walked out on me for another woman like that – but if he expected me pay his share of the mortgage, while he was living a high fallutin' life, he had another thing coming. How could he be so selfish? He knew I would be struggling to meet the mortgage on my measly pay packet, and that wasn’t even taking into account all the direct debits for electricity, gas, insurance and God knew what else came out of the account. We were in the midst of one of the worst recessions in living memory, as the economists were keen to tell us, so it wasn’t as if I could even put the place up for sale; it was worth half of what we paid for it, and there were at least ten identical duplexes in the estate for sale for over a year now, and all were showing no sign of budging. We had bought our house in Ballyrobin because it was all we could afford. Even though it was miles away from all our friends and families and where we both grew up, it was okay because we were together and it was our home. But now that Marc and I were no longer together, I was stuck out here in the middle of nowhere on my own. I knew I could probably ask Dad to help me out, but what would happen the following month? I needed
to get another job quickly. God it was all such a mess. I would have to ring the bank first thing in the morning and cancel all of his standing orders and the credit card too. A smile came over my face at the thoughts of him bringing Nadia out for a fancy meal, but then not being able to pay because his credit card was declined.
I felt a gnawing hunger grow in my tummy. I needed something sweet but I had forgotten to buy chocolate in the shop. There was only one thing for it, I decided to bake myself a cake, and I was going to eat it all by myself and not feel an ounce of guilt.
I raided my baking cupboard and thankfully I found all the ingredients to make a sponge cake. I had flour, butter, sugar and eggs. I measured them out using my trusty four, four, four and two recipe; then I mixed them all together until the mixture was a creamy yellow colour. I rooted around my presses to find a heart shaped cake tin, because I thought things always tasted better when they were heart shaped. I poured the batter into the tin and put it in the oven. Then, while it was baking, I made a large bowl of butter cream icing.
After the cake had risen, I removed it from the oven and when it had cooled, spread the icing generously over its golden top. Then I cut myself a slice and fought off any guilty thoughts about the magnitude of calories that I was about to consume – I deserved this. My life was shit. I ate another slice, then another one, until finally half way through the fourth slice I started to feel slightly queasy.
Frankie called over with a bottle of wine, while I filled her in on my woes. I had phoned her to tell her that the magazine was out, but she told me she had already seen it. Even though she was cross with me for buying it, we analysed every detail of the photos while we finished off the rest of the cake.
“That is one hell of a cake, Lily," Frankie said, helping herself to another slice. My God it should be illegal, it tastes so good.”
“I know.” I stopped to feed myself another forkful. “There are probably that many calories in it that it should actually be illegal. You’re not allowed any guilty thoughts when you eat it, that’s the rule.”
