by Alex Coleman
“What is it?” I said. “Nothing.”
“No, what?” “Nothing, honestly.”
She was clearly lying, but I didn’t pursue it.
“So,” she went on. “Is Lisa Gerry’s … I mean, are they having an affair or what?”
“He says not. He says it was just once. He says never again.”
“Do you believe him?”
I shrugged again. There was a silence.
And then, better late than never, she reached across the table and, briefly, rested her hand on mine. “It’s a terrible thing,” she said.
For the first time since I’d arrived – for the first time in years – I heard sisterly concern in her voice. There wasn’t a lot of it, but it was there. It was a start. I thought of that bit in The Weakest Link where the contestant opts out, protecting their gains to date: Bank.
“My head’s not getting any better,” I said. “Would it be all right if I had lie-down for a while?”
“Oh,” Melissa said, surprised. I’d only been there for ten minutes. “Oh, right. I’ll show you to your room.”
Niall thumped his rabbit again. “DEAD!” he declared with real delight.
“Good boy!” said Melissa.
* * *
I had wanted a lie-down because I felt weak and sick. It was nothing to do with tiredness; headaches and sleep didn’t go together, not in my experience anyhow. And yet I was dead to the world within a few minutes of collapsing on Melissa’s guest bed. I just shut down, like a computer that was trying to open too many documents at the same time.
Normally, my dreams were highly abstract. I woke up most mornings trying to guess the significance of the giant talking toothbrush or wondering who the old man with the spider’s legs was supposed to be. But on this occasion, I had one that was fairly self-explanatory. I was sitting behind a desk in a tiny office, not much bigger than a cupboard. A succession of women trooped in and sat opposite me, their faces inches from mine, and explained how Gerry had given them the greatest sexual experience of their lives. A few of them were famous. Sharon Stone was there, for example. She told me that Gerry had “nailed” her up against a wall behind Tesco. When I woke up, I was astonished to find, firstly, that I’d been asleep at all, and secondly, that I’d been asleep for hours; it was almost seven o’clock. My headache hadn’t cleared completely, but it had lost most of its teeth. I went to the bathroom to give myself a bit of a wash and tidy-up, then tiptoed down the stairs. I found Melissa in the kitchen, methodically chopping a courgette.
“Oh, you’re up and about,” she said. “How do you feel now?” “Much better,” I replied. “Can’t believe I slept.” “Colm’s home from the hospital. He’s in the living room playing with Niall. Why don’t you go on through? Dinner will be a while yet.”
“Okay … eh …” “What?”
“Does Colm know? About Gerry?” “Well, yes. I had to tell him, I couldn’t –” “No, that’s fine. Just asking.”
“I didn’t want –”
“It’s fine, really. I would have told him if you hadn’t.” “Okay.”
“Okay then.”
We looked at each other uncertainly. Then I took off in the direction of the living room.
Physically, at least, I’d always thought that Colm was Melissa’s exact opposite. Where she was tall and willowy, he was short and, not to put too fine a point on it, dumpy. Even their faces seemed to have gone out of their way to provide contrast. Melissa’s natural expression was serious, melancholy even. Colm’s default setting was sunny and open. If he’d been an actor, he would have been type-cast as a rosy-cheeked butcher, always ready with a smile and a joke as he handed over the sausages. When I walked into the sitting room that day and got my first look at him in months, I almost choked on my own tongue.
“Colm!” I gasped. “You’ve lost weight!” I was pretty pleased with myself for having come up with this description of what had happened to him. What I really felt like saying was: Colm! Are you in the final stages of a terminal disease?
He sprang to his feet and hugged me hard. Then he withdrew from the hug and held me by my shoulders in a let’s- have-a-look-at-you sort of way. “Jackie O … how are you?”
“I’m okay, Colm.”
He leaned in and whispered. “I heard what happened. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah. Cheers.”
“We’ll talk later. If you want to, I mean. You don’t have to.” “Don’t WHISPER!” Niall yelled from his position six inches in front of the TV. Then he spun round and glared at us, as if to emphasise that he wasn’t joking.
“Niall’s watching a DVD,” Colm said brightly. “Aren’t you, son? Tell Auntie Jackie what it is.”
The boy’s shoulders drooped. “It’s a DVD.” Colm tried again. “Yes, but which –”
“SPONGEBOB, SPONGEBOB, SPONGEBOB! IT’S SPONGEBOB!”
“All right,” his dad said. “Calm down.” He looked at me and shrugged, embarrassed.
I smiled to let him know that there was no need.
For the next twenty minutes or so, we watched the cartoon, more or less in silence.
I amused myself by trying to guess the value of the artwork on their walls. Since I knew less than nothing about art, it was kind of pointless. I based my estimate on the fact that they had real art – canvasses that someone had arted all over – as opposed to cheap prints from Roches Stores (like ours). The figure I eventually came up with was: a lot. Stuck for something to say out loud, I was eventually reduced to mentioning Colm’s weight loss again. He smiled ruefully and nodded towards Niall. I took that to mean that it was stress- related, and not something of which he was particularly proud.
When the DVD finished, Colm leaped from his chair and scooped Niall up into his arms.
“Right, sunshine,” he said, “let’s get you into a bath and a bed. Kiss your Auntie Jackie goodnight.” He swept his wriggling cargo down toward my face.
I braced myself for a punch or a head-butt, neither of which arrived.
“GoodNIGHT!” Niall yelled and planted a smacker on my cheek.
“Sleep well,” I said. “Don’t let the bed-bugs bite.”
His face fell. As his father carried him from view, he said, “Bugs?”
CHAPTER 7
Dinner was weird. It was if I had just happened to drop in on my way past. We talked about the weather (the weather!), Melissa’s impending return to the legal profession, property prices (of course), Ant and Dec, the many problems associated with hiring tradesmen, good spots for a weekend break, the late John Paul II, Jade Goody, weirdo patients of Colm’s, Bono, Michael Flatley and the fact that none of us knew anyone who used cocaine, even though the papers kept telling us that practically everyone was at it. There were a couple of occasions when I almost mentioned Gerry myself, just to shatter the strangeness. Melissa was more open towards me than usual, but that wasn’t saying much. The barrier between us was still there, like a pane of glass, a discreet but effective blockage.
We were halfway through dessert when the phone rang. I knew it was Gerry, somehow, even before Melissa returned from the kitchen and told me so.
“You don’t have to talk to him,” she said. “Not if you don’t feel like it.”
“Exactly,” Colm chipped in. “Maybe you should let him stew for a while. He knows you’re safe. Tomorrow’s another –”
“No,” I said, getting up. “No, I’ll talk to him.”
In the kitchen I found the phone sitting on its end by the knife block. It seemed to be gently pulsing, as if it was a living, breathing, quite possibly dangerous animal. I picked it up and wet my lips.
“Yes,” I said. It seemed a better bet than “Hello”.
There was nothing on the other end for a moment. Then I heard heavy breathing. It sounded perilously close to … heavy breathing.
“Jackie,” he said eventually. “Yes.”
“Jackie … I’ve been ringing around for the past hour.” “Really.”
“Melis
sa was last on my list.” “What do you want?”
He took a deep breath. “I want you to come home.” “No.”
“Jackie, we have to have a … conversation.” “Do we? And what do we have to say?” Another deep breath. “I know I’ve hurt you.” “Do you?”
“Jackie, please. I’m sorry. I’m lost here, I don’t know what to say. All I’ve got is sorry.”
I manufactured a pause. “Not much, is it?”
“No. It isn’t. I know it isn’t. That’s why I want to see you. I want us to talk about it properly, face to face, so I can –”
“No, Gerry. Just … no, all right?”
There was silence for a few seconds. Then he said, “But you believe me, don’t you? You believe me that it was just once, just one stupid, ridiculous mistake?”
I didn’t want to get drawn into specifics – I was much more comfortable with the short rhetorical questions and general fobbing-off. But this, I felt, was something that needed an answer. “Why should I? She’s been flirting with you for months, don’t deny it. Months.”
“She –”
“And you were supposed to be shooting a wedding this morning. What, do you expect me to believe that it got cancelled at the last minute so you had to come home and then you happened to bump into Lisa and things got out of hand? You expect me to believe that instead of the other explanation – that there never was a wedding and you and her were, basically, on a fucking date?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I expect you to believe. You got my message, didn’t you?”
“What message?”
“On your mobile. I rang you this morning, but it was engaged, so I left a message. The wedding was cancelled. The groom’s mother had a coronary in the middle of the night. She died.”
I felt the ground shift beneath me, just a little. “No. I didn’t get any message.”
“Please, check your ph–”
“It hardly makes much difference, does it? So the wedding was cancelled. Gave you a chance to slip in a quickie with your girlfriend, didn’t it? An unexpected treat.”
“That’s not how it was. I swear on the kids’ lives.”
“Don’t you dare!” I howled. “Don’t you dare swear on the kids’ lives! Not about this. Not about anything. But definitely not about this.”
“Jackie, I –” “Goodbye.”
I hung up, dearly wishing it was an old-fashioned phone that I could slam home into its cradle. Jabbing the button with my thumb just wasn’t the same.
I could tell as soon as I walked into the dining room that Melissa and Colm had heard me raise my voice. It was the way they looked at me – nervously, afraid, no doubt, that I was about to break down all over them.
“Are you okay?” Melissa asked. I retook my seat. “I’m fine.” “How was it?”
“It was … Excuse me a second.”
I got up again and out to the hall table, where I had dropped my handbag earlier. Sure enough, I had eight missed calls, all from Gerry. The last seven were recent. The first was from that morning. He must have called when I was talking to Robert or Chrissy. I dialled my message service as I walked back to the kitchen.
“Hi, it’s me,” Gerry said. “Unbelievable – the wedding’s off. The best man’s just after calling me, in bits. The groom’s mother took a heart attack and died in the middle of the night. Imagine that, the poor bastard. Anyway – I’m heading back to the house for a while, but I’ll be in the studio this afternoon if you’re looking for me. All right then. See ya. Don’t work too hard. As if.”
I put the phone down on the counter and returned to the dining room, where we did a re-run of my previous entrance.
“Are you okay?” Melissa asked again. “I’m fine.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I shrugged and sat down. “There’s not much to talk about. He’s sorry.”
“I would think so,” Colm said, then tucked in his chin and sheepishly sat back. “Not my place to say, but ... you know.”
“He’s still swearing it was just the once.”
Melissa’s top lip twitched. “And do you believe him?”
I shrugged. “I thought the whole wedding cancellation thing was bullshit. But it turns out he left me a message this morning. Telling me that he was on his way home. The groom’s mother died, so they called it off.”
“Big deal,” Melissa said. “Still doesn’t mean it was a one- night stand. One-morning stand, whatever.”
“I know,” I said. “I told him that.”
“And – and – even if it was, what difference would that make?”
“I know that, Melissa. I said as much to him myself.” “And?”
“And nothing. He wants me to come home. That’s why he called.”
“What did you say?” Colm asked.
“I said no. Which doesn’t mean I’ll be under your feet for the next six months, don’t worry. Three at the most.”
Colm’s eyebrows did a little dance. “Wow.” “Wow what?”
“No, nothing, just … you’re holding up so well. Making little funnies and everything. I’d be a mess in your position.”
Melissa gently slapped the table and said, “Yes.” I gave her a look.
“You were doing it this afternoon too,” she said. “Cracking jokes about curtains and Posh Spice.”
At least now I had an explanation for her earlier bout of face-pulling. “Maybe that’s just my way of coping,” I said.
“Maybe,” she allowed. “But Jackie … you haven’t even cried.”
She meant that I hadn’t cried since arriving in her house. What she didn’t know and what I had just realised was that I hadn’t cried at all. I searched back through the day, looking for a tearful memory that I knew I wouldn’t find. Nope. Nothing. “It’s the shock,” I said weakly. “That’s what it is. Shock.” Melissa cocked her head quickly to the side, a gesture that seemed to say, That’s one possible explanation, sure, but it’s not the right one.
“Tell me how you feel about it,” she said. “The whole thing.”
I gawped at her. “Tell you how I feel about it? What kind of a question is that? I just caught my husband –”
“Yes, I know you did. But, apart from the jokes, all you’ve had to say about it is that your neighbour’s really good- looking and so is Gerry.”
My eyes narrowed. “What are you getting at?” “Never mind. Forget it. Tell me –”
“No, go on. You might as well. You’ve come this far.”
She sighed. “All right then. All right. It sounds to me like you think he’s got, I don’t know … an excuse. For doing what he did.”
I snorted. “That’s ridiculous. What do you mean, an excuse?” “You’ve always had an inferiority complex about him, Jackie. About Gerry. You can’t deny it.”
“I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.”
“You don’t think you deserve him. You’ve never thought you deserved him, right from the start. Do you know how many times you’ve told me about catching other women looking at him? Over the years? When you said it this afternoon, did you really think that was the first time?”
“Women do look at him,” I fumed. “All the time.” “You’re doing it again! Who cares how many women look at him? It wouldn’t make any difference if the whole country was sending him their underwear in the post! It still wouldn’t give him the right to take his pick from the neighbours, now would it?”
I pushed my plate away from me, then pulled it back. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I’m just saying it’s not healthy, that’s all. It’s not healthy to think your husband’s bound to land on someone else sooner or later, that it’s inevitable. You know how you look, how you sound? Relieved.”
My heart almost stopped. “Listen,” I said through my teeth, “I’ve never been in this position before. I don’t know how I’m supposed to behave, I don’t know what I should be doing to satisfy everybody’s expectations. But I’m
plenty upset, believe me.”
“Of course you are,” Colm said with a sideways look at his wife. “No one’s saying otherwise.”
But Melissa didn’t give up so easily. “Colm, how many times have you heard Jackie going on about how other women give Gerry the eye?”
“You’re like a dog with a bone!” I said. “Let it go, for God’s sake!”
Melissa said, “Let him answer.”
Colm looked deeply uncomfortable, like a child who’d been called upon to rat out his friend. “Well, Jackie … I have heard you saying that quite a few times. It’s –”
“There you go,” Melissa interrupted. I glared at her. “There I go what?”
“You know what. You’re not reacting properly –” “Properly! My God!”
“– because you’ve got this inferiority complex. When it comes to Gerry. We’ve discussed it before, haven’t we, Colm?”
It was probably my imagination but I thought I saw beads of sweat appearing on his forehead, just like that.
“I, eh … yes,” he said. “I suppose so. It has come up once or twice.”
I shook my head. “And what? You were waiting for the right opportunity to come along so you could tell me what you think? Then it’s not all bad news today. At least you got to tell me where I’ve been going wrong my whole life. Brilliant.”
“Come on, Jackie,” Melissa said, as if I was the one being unreasonable, “don’t be like that. You’re a good-looking woman. You always were and you still are.”
“Gee, thanks. What’s next? ‘There’s plenty more fish in the sea’?”
“That’s not what I mean. You have no reason to feel inferior, that’s what I’m getting at. Tell her, Colm.”
He moved his lips but seemed to have lost the power of speech.
“Go on,” I said. “You might as well join in.”
“Maybe ‘inferiority complex’ is the wrong term,” he said tentatively. “But I can see how, maybe, in the past, you might have felt some, I don’t know … Look, I’m no expert –”
“Oh, spit it out, Colm! Jesus!”
He cleared his throat. “I can see how you, possibly, along the way, might have felt some … guilt. Maybe that’s what’s going on here.”
