Right Girl

by Ellie O'Neill

  I couldn’t help myself. Every part of me said no. I shook him away. ‘I can’t, Mason, I can’t live like that, it’s ridiculous.’

  He shook his head and I swore I heard him say, ‘There’s no other choice.’

  ‘No, you’re wrong. There has to be. This can’t be it.’

  ‘We can figure things out, we get along – lots of married people don’t even get along. Maybe we could have an open marriage, or . . . I don’t know.’ His eyes narrowed.

  And I couldn’t help myself, I laughed, in exactly the way that drives him mad. ‘If I ever thought for one second that this was the wrong decision, you’ve just confirmed it. An open marriage? Are you mental? That is not how a relationship should be. That’s outrageous.’

  He reached over and took my hand again and this time I let him. It was a gesture of friendship, nothing more. We fell into each other a little, our foreheads almost touching.

  ‘I know, I know, but we’re going to have to figure something out because I–’

  ‘Freya, it is you.’

  With a start I looked in the direction of this new voice and the sky promptly fell in on me.

  Patrick.

  Mason’s hand was wrapped around mine, we were shoulder to shoulder on a couch, we were nose to nose in an intense conversation. Oh my God.

  I pulled my hand away and rose to my feet. Just as quickly Patrick took a step backwards.

  ‘Patrick, I . . . this is . . .’ I went back and forth between them like a demented pinball.

  Patrick’s face was crushed in confusion. ‘I think I’ve seen . . . enjoy your lunch.’ He spun on his heel and was gone.

  ‘No. No. No.’ I grabbed my bag and threw a thunderous look at Mason. I did a strange shuffle of my feet that could be interpreted as a stomp and hurried to the door. I burst through it, looking left and right, peering desperately down the street to see where Patrick had gone. I needed to try to make things right. I couldn’t see him, I couldn’t see his large frame moving down the street. He was gone. I couldn’t catch my breath. I needed to breathe some fresh air into my lungs, to relieve some of this terrible weight crushing me. How had this happened? I hardly even noticed the tears streaming down my face. I didn’t know if I was angry or upset. Everything was wrong.

  32

  I did what any self-respecting twenty-eight-year-old does when something goes horribly wrong in their life: I headed straight to Mam’s house, got into my onesie and threw myself onto the couch and into a tub of ice cream. Mam took one look at me, asked me what was wrong and then promptly gave up as she couldn’t decipher a single word between all my sobs and heaves and declarations of what a terrible person I was and how I seemed to mess everything up. She dutifully hovered around like a mammy satellite, handed me the TV remote and offered to make me tea. I think I slept, or I watched a few hours of reality TV – either way, I slipped into a peaceful coma, and when I came to, I was a little bit calmer about life and ready to eat some cheese on crackers.

  ‘You’re awake?’ Mam hopped off the kitchen chair like a startled rabbit. ‘You were fast asleep on the couch two seconds ago.’ She had a full face of make-up on.

  ‘What?’

  Mam pirouetted around me like a jittery ballerina on speed. ‘Freya, this is Sean.’

  I realised then that we were not alone. Sitting on the heavy pine kitchen chair beside Mam was the Silver Fox – twinkly blue eyes and a warm, friendly smile. He stood up in the manner of a gentleman and I could almost imagine him in a tuxedo, kind of in a James Bond’s father way. He thrust his hand at me, and said something about it being a pleasure.

  I attempted to rearrange my teddy bear onesie into something other than a teddy bear onesie, and smoothed down my frizzed-up hair. ‘I’m so sorry, I’m not normally like this. I just broke up with someone.’ A noise came from my throat that sounded like a hyena. I attempted to swallow it. ‘Well, actually, I didn’t break up with someone, we can’t break up and I . . .’ I took a massive wobbly breath. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Sean.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ Sean said very kindly even though he was clearly a bit uncomfortable. ‘I should probably go.’

  ‘No, no, don’t leave, I’m leaving, I was just coming in to say goodbye.’ Then completely unexpectedly, the tears started, big uncontrollable sobs. My shoulders shook and my whole body heaved. I threw myself onto the table, roaring.

  I heard Mam behind me, talking to Sean about pre- wedding jitters.

  ‘It’s not,’ I sobbed, ‘there’s not going to be a wedding.’

  ‘All very normal, love. Sean, nip over to the fridge there and open a bottle of wine. I think we all need a glass.’ Mam’s voice was lovely and calm. I heard a bottle pop and the sound of glasses being pulled from the cupboard.

  ‘So you and Mason broke up then?’

  ‘No, Mam,’ I said into my elbow. ‘He won’t break up with me.’ I crumpled again and collapsed into a series of sobs. Some peach-coloured loo roll found its way into my hands and I sat up to blow my nose. Sean positioned a wine glass on the table where my forehead had just been to stop me collapsing again.

  Mam rubbed my shoulders supportively. ‘He won’t break up with you?’

  I sniffed.

  ‘And you want to break up with him?’ Mam sounded confused.

  ‘Yes, yes.’

  ‘Why? Why would you want to break up with him? Don’t worry, you’ll fix this, it’s just pre-wedding nerves.’

  ‘Sorry, Sean.’ I drank some wine, blew my nose again, and straightened up.

  ‘It’s a great way for me to meet the family, no airs or graces.’ He smiled and I liked him immediately. He made me feel better.

  ‘You get what you see, Sean.’

  ‘I’ll have dinner ready in twenty minutes. Both of you sit down and relax please,’ Mam said in a controlling voice.

  I nodded solemnly and said, ‘I’m just going to go and make a phone call. I’ll be right back.’

  I could not bear the idea of Patrick thinking that I had deceived him. Even though I knew that technically I had, a few times. But that was all just a horrible mess, and now that things were out in the open, I would be able to do something, I just didn’t know what. I would have to fix this. I wandered back into the sitting room and took a deep breath.

  Unsurprisingly, Patrick didn’t answer. Instead of hanging up and trying again in a few days when things had calmed down, which would be the level-headed thing to do, I left a long, tearful, blathering message, talking about BBest and percentages, and how I was actually in the process of breaking up with Mason because BBest was wrong, which was why I was holding his hand, and eventually his voicemail got bored of my snot-filled confession and hung up on me.

  Mam cooked pork chops with peaches and mashed potatoes with so much butter I actually felt my heart slowing down to a sluggish rhythm. It was perfect comfort food, and I appreciated it. I also liked Sean. He was attentive and sweet to Mam. He made little jokes about her, slagging off her cooking and her housekeeping, all done with such good humour and affection. He put his hand over hers at one point and they giggled into each other conspiratorially. Mam was glowing. She looked about ten years younger; she may have had some work done and not told me about it or there was the outside possibility that these two weren’t more than a little bit in love. They were a perfect distraction.

  33

  That night, back in my own bed, I spun around like a dervish, chasing sleep. My mind was racing. I took the little bottle of sleeping tablets off my bedside table and shook them up and down. My sleeping had been so erratic the last few nights what with my guilt of being a cheater that I had been clocking up four or five hours in total, so my Waist Watch had prescribed a sleeping pill. I pulled the duvet over my head and rolled around on my pillows some more, flipping and flapping like a bird caught indoors. Sleep eluded me. I thought about reading a book to try to calm my mind, but I didn’t think I would be able to focus.

  I decided to write a list. W
hen I read anything about successful people, they always recommend writing lists for everything, especially when you’re down and want to get back up. So I would, I would write a list and try to take back control of my life. I took out my laptop.

  CURRENT PROBLEMS

  I may end up trapped in a loveless/open marriage with Mason.

  Granddad is still in prison.

  Not marrying Mason means my bank loan will disappear and my business might collapse. (MESSED UP!)

  Is Mason really that bad?

  He’s not Patrick.

  But Patrick won’t talk to me ever again because he thinks I’m a cheating toerag.

  I am a cheating toerag.

  Nothing about this list was making me feel better about myself. I slammed my laptop shut. What did successful people know anyway?

  I felt like I was teetering on an edge, and it wouldn’t take much to push me into the abyss. My gut was telling me that I needed to figure out what was happening with BBest, maybe then I could understand how to get out of this bind with Mason, and then I could clear things up with Patrick and then maybe just maybe I would stop feeling so horrible about everything. So, I thought with relief, BBest was my starting point.

  I wanted to talk to someone about BBest, and I remembered that conversation I’d had with Jay, how animated he was about the Luddites. I knew Cat would be asleep, but Jay the eternal night owl should be up. I left my bed and grabbed a hoodie off the back of a chair.

  Jay had headphones on and was sprawled on a bean bag in front of the TV that took up an entire wall. His straw-coloured hair was tied back in a man bun and he had a sprinkling of stubble across his jaw. I stood to the side and waved at him, trying to get his attention. It was ridiculous that he was startled and jumped slightly from the bean bag when he saw me standing in my pyjamas, considering he was in the process of killing zombies or aliens with blood coming out of their eyes.

  ‘Okay?’ he mouthed at me.

  I smiled miserably at him and shook my head.

  He twisted a microphone in front of his mouth. ‘Taking a chicken nugget break, back in fifteen.’ He rolled off the beanbag and stood tall in his bare feet, briefly stretching out his back. ‘Kitchen?’

  I followed him. He pulled out a barstool for me to sit on and sat himself down opposite. His legs were so long his knees touched the surface of the island. He looked at me, his blue eyes searching. His face was creased with concern. ‘Are you okay, Freya?’

  ‘No, not really.’ I fiddled with the cord on my hoodie. ‘So you might be pleased to know, or not, I don’t know, but I tried to break up with Mason today.’

  There was a sharp intake of breath. ‘Are you okay? I mean I’m not pleased but–’

  ‘I’m okay, I’m a bit – I don’t know what I am.’

  ‘Hang on, what do you mean “tried”?’

  ‘I mean I tried to break up with him, but it turns out that we are both so intricately tied up together through BBest that it’s not that simple.’

  Jay remained stony faced.

  ‘We’re both first-option choosers, we’re ninety-three per cent, we turn our backs on this and . . .’

  ‘There would be consequences. Shit.’

  ‘It’s not just me, it’s not just this situation, it’s a lot of other stuff, Jay. I’ve been thinking a lot about BBest, and how I consult it for everything, and I feel like I’ve lost myself. I don’t make any decisions for myself anymore, like I haven’t seen a bad movie in years, but then I think that maybe it might be fun to see something that wasn’t chosen for me.’ I was in freefall, babbling. ‘I don’t choose my food, my hair – I don’t even know if I like a fringe, BBest says it suits me, but I don’t even know. My dinner! BBest just told me to eat a lamb chop and I did, I think I would have preferred fish tonight. And Mason, he’s not my choice, he’s BBest’s.’ I felt calm, more angry than sad.

  ‘It’s really tough, Freya.’ He looked at me sympathetically. ‘You’re not the only one, you know. We’ve all allowed this to happen.’

  ‘How? How did this happen? I feel really stupid.’

  ‘Don’t. It’s not your fault. It was all sugar coated and looked pretty but gradually we gave away control. But the thing is now you either make peace with it, or you rage war against it.’

  ‘I want to rage war. I’m as mad as hell.’ The words slipped out of my mouth. And then I was on my feet, my teeth gritted, my fists clenched so tightly I could feel the pain of my nails digging into the palms of my hands.

  ‘Okay.’ Jay rocked off his stool and lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘If you really want to go to war?’

  ‘I do, I do.’

  ‘I know people in the Luddite movement.’

  ‘You do? What? You’re a dark horse.’

  ‘Yes, I wear a few different hats, you know. I’m not just a gamer.’ He spoke so confidently and so assuredly I was left in no doubt that he knew more than I thought.

  ‘Unfashionable, old, well-worn hats.’ I smiled at him.

  ‘Do you want my help or not?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I briefly supported them a few years back, but I didn’t want to bite the hand that feeds me.’ He sat down again, looking genuinely conflicted. ‘Are you sure you want to get involved? These guys don’t mess around.’

  ‘I’m in. I need to be. I have to do something.’ I was startled by the gritty determination in my voice. ‘Can you help me? I don’t know how to contact them.’

  He was working something out in his head. ‘I might still know someone.’

  ‘You could get me an introduction?’

  ‘Maybe. But Freya, you know the guards are really clamping down on their meetings. Any organised meeting that does not have a government official in attendance is seen as an act of terrorism. If you go to one, you could be arrested.’

  ‘I already went to one.’ I half-smiled, feeling a little bit boastful.

  ‘What?’ He fell off his stool. ‘Are you crazy?’

  I smirked, slightly smug at my boldness. ‘There was one in Blackrock. It was interesting, they asked for my help and well, I couldn’t give it to them then but I can now. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘You have to be careful. It won’t just be your granddad in prison.’

  ‘I know . . .’ I waved my hands in the air. ‘But I have to do something, I have to.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I felt like a weight had lifted, like the sun had finally come out.

  ‘You have to be careful who you talk to, Freya.’ He pointed to the ceiling, to where I knew Cat was sleeping.

  I didn’t say anything.

  ‘She’s so passionate about BBest, if she knew you were getting involved in the Luddites . . .’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Well, let’s just say I wouldn’t trust her. Her allegiance is with BBest, not you.’

  I knew he was right. It stung, but I knew he was right. ‘I won’t mention anything to her.’

  ‘And Mason. You can’t tell him either.’

  I was hoping to never speak to Mason again but unless I could figure out what was going on with BBest, I may still end up married to the guy. I wondered how much Jay had been involved with the Luddite movement.

  ‘You were really into this weren’t you, Jay?’

  ‘Yes. But zip it, this is just between me and you. I was completely anonymous. All my work was behind the scenes.’ He held his fingers up and gestured like he was typing on a keyboard. ‘The Luddites wouldn’t know who I am or where to find me. I kept a very low profile, but I did believe in what they’re doing.’ He clenched his fists.

  ‘But not anymore?’

  ‘Let’s just say, I’ve backed away. I have my reasons.’

  ‘Okay, Mr Cloak and Dagger.’

  We were interrupted.

  ‘Return to game, Jay, return to game.’

  ‘My fifteen minutes are up. Don’t do anything to arouse suspicion, Freya, keep your head down and carry on with business as normal. It’s impo
rtant that you play the BBest game.’

  I nodded.

  He looked at me calmly, a slight grin on his lips. ‘Remember that too. It is all a game.’

  34

  I was not nervous. I had an eerie sense of calm about me. I understood what I was doing and I felt strangely empowered. It was like I was watching myself in a movie and I was a secret agent in a trench coat, with excellent hair and in-depth knowledge of karate moves. I was on the side of good. At every step, I told myself I could back out now: as I drove across the city, as I swung left into the car park, as I parked. It was not too late, I could turn around. I checked the time: 7.59. In one minute I was to exit the car and take the stairs to the rooftop car park. I had one minute to back out. I looked around, there were three other cars parked on this level. Were they all attending the meeting or did everyone have different entry points? Logistical nightmare, organising a movement, I thought, mildly hysterically. Was that what this was? Was this what I was joining up to? Thirty seconds. I clasped my handbag and stared at the dashboard. Here we go, here we go.

  My footsteps seemed too loud as I clip-clopped across the cement, breathing in the dusty air. My hands clawed at the strap of my handbag and I imagined I looked like I was expecting to be robbed at any moment, walking with a tight shuffle, my eyes flitting around every corner. I took the stairs two at a time, almost excited for what awaited me at the top, which was a blast of cold air. I saw a much smaller gathering than before, maybe twenty people, and one or two joining the group. I recognised the speaker from the previous meeting but no one else.

  ‘This is the last time we’re going to gather like this for a while, it’s getting too hot.’

  As soon as he started to speak the group hustled around as if starved of information. I joined in, bumping shoulders with a man in a red jumper and carefully inching forward, pretending that I too was part of this group looking to be fed. It was obvious that we were all strangers, there were no nods of recognition or half-smiles hello. I presumed the speaker was the only constant.