by Marian Keyes
These days, I’m always exhausted. Everything is a monumental effort and there are days when it literally feels as if lead weights are strapped to my legs. The only time I feel positive about life is when I’m with Josh – or thinking about being with him.
Go away, Mystery Caller. I need this sleep so badly.
But the doorbell brrrrings again and suddenly I’m energized with fury. Who the hell is it? Some pestery feck, no doubt! Looking for sponsorship for some shite or other. Or maybe one of the girls has lost her key. Clueless eejits.
I’m in the mood for a fight so I thump down the stairs, wrench the front door open and demand, ‘What?’
Hugh is standing there. Seeing him shocks me. Seeing him always shocks me: we were once so close and now we’re strangers.
I will never get over this if I keep meeting him.
‘Amy, sorry,’ he says. ‘I texted you to ask if it was okay … You didn’t get my text?’
‘My phone was on silent. Because I was having a sleep!’
‘Sorry to wake you. I just need to pick up my –’
‘Why did you ring the doorbell?’ My voice gets louder. ‘You’ve got a key to this house – the locks haven’t been changed!’
‘It feels wrong to just let myself in. I mean, I would have, if you hadn’t answered, but this is no longer my home.’
‘And don’t you forget it! For the love of Christ.’ I thump back up the stairs. ‘Not only have you ruined my marriage, you’ve ruined my power-nap.’
He looks chastened and sad and I pause on the stairs. ‘Why are you here anyway?’
‘Picking up my sleeping bag.’
‘What? Chizo’s kicking you out? Are you homeless?’
‘I’m staying in Nugent’s garage for a few weeks. There’s an airbed but no spare duvet.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake! Don’t try to make me feel sorry for you.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Chizo has three spare bedrooms, she’s kicking you out, and I’m the one who has to worry.’
‘She’s got family coming from Nigeria. I’m only in Nugent’s for a couple of weeks, then I can go back.’
Wrong-footed, I accuse, ‘Next you’re going to tell me we need to talk money.’
‘Now doesn’t look like the best time.’
‘You mean because I’m so narky? I’m only narky because …’ Yes, why was I so narky?
‘Because you’re so tired.’
‘Grand. Well, I’m only narky because I’m so tired.’ And I’m only so tired because I’m so … so something else. Perhaps sad. But it’s nicer being narky.
‘Can I do anything to help?’ he asks.
I glare at him. ‘Actually, you can.’
His face becomes radiant with hope.
‘You can rewind the clock to last September and stay here with me, instead of fucking off to Thailand to fuck a hundred other fucking women.’
‘Amy,’ he whispers, ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Whatevs.’
‘Listen to me, Amy. I’m begging you to hear what I’m saying. I’m not a cheater. Until … this, I never even looked at another woman. Genuinely. Truly. And I never will again.’
‘You might want to rethink that,’ I say. ‘Because you and me are done. Beyond done.’
After a hesitation, he says, in a strangled voice, ‘I’ll just go to the shed to get the sleeping bag, then I’ll be out of your way.’
‘Your beloved shed.’ My voice is bitter. ‘Where you hatched your Great Escape.’ I thump up the rest of the stairs and slam my bedroom door behind me. I climb into the bed again and, out of nowhere, I wonder how Hugh had felt the year before last when I’d been flirting with Josh.
He’d said he’d known something was going on. That must have been hard for him. Really hard.
I don’t want to think about this. It’s making me feel uncomfortable and ashamed. Anyway, he was probably fine about it. And even if he wasn’t, it’s all in the past, and so much has happened since then that it’s irrelevant.
But something in me needs to check. I jump from my bed, hurry down the stairs and catch Hugh just as he’s about to leave. ‘Hey!’ I call. ‘I want to talk to you.’
He looks wary. ‘Okay.’
I sit on the stairs and he takes a step a couple below mine.
‘The summer before last,’ I say, ‘when I had an innocent thing, a crush, on Josh …’ How do I voice this without making it sound as if I was in the wrong? ‘How did you know?’
He stares at me. ‘You want to talk about this now?’
‘Aaah, yeah.’
‘Oh-kay. You were different. Absent. I’d be talking to you and you’d be miles away. You removed yourself emotionally.’
Well, that wasn’t so bad. That sort of thing happens in all marriages.
‘And you looked different.’
I did?
‘You bought new clothes –’
‘I’m always buying new clothes.’
‘These were different. The shoes were higher, the skirts were tighter … And your hair. You started getting it blow-dried every Monday evening.’
I hadn’t realized I was that obvious. But, looking back, I admit that he’s right.
‘You were always in good form on Monday evenings. And in bad form when you came back from London on Wednesdays.’
‘Because I was tired! I’m still in bad form every Wednesday night.’
‘You asked how I knew,’ he says levelly. ‘I’m telling you.’
‘Okay.’
‘You wanted to have sex more often.’
‘That’s a good thing!’
He presses his lips together and shakes his head. ‘You know something? It wasn’t.’
My skin flames. I don’t like this but, in fairness, I did ask. ‘How did you feel, though, that time?’
‘How d’you think I felt?’ He touches my knee and his voice is soft. ‘Amy? I was scared. Shit-scared. Terrified. I love you, loved you, you’re my life, the idea of losing you –’
‘So why didn’t you say anything?’
‘It would have made it real. I didn’t want it to be real. So I hoped it would run its course.’
‘Which it did.’
‘Which it didn’t.’ He sounds unexpectedly angry.
‘It did. I stopped seeing him.’
‘You’re with him now.’
‘Only because you went away.’
For a moment I think Hugh is going to lose it. His eyes darken and he swallows the hot words he visibly wishes he could unleash.
‘That’s not why you left, is it?’ I ask. ‘Because of Josh? It was because of your dad? Then Gavin?’
‘Yes, but –’
That’s all I need to know. Stiffly I say, ‘I appreciate you talking to me about this. Let yourself out.’
I go back to bed. That conversation with Hugh hadn’t gone exactly the way I’d have liked. It hasn’t dispersed my guilt, not entirely, and I don’t like being saddled with it.
But everything ebbs and flows – something I’ve learnt over the years. No emotion stays constant. Anything that increases eventually decreases. At some point, this niggly flame of shame will be snuffed out.
I squeeze my eyes shut and desperately try to resume my slumber but my phone rings: Maura.
‘What?’
‘Are you and Hugh getting back together?’
‘No.’
‘I was afraid of that.’
‘It’s none of your business.’
‘Sorry.’ She sounds humble. ‘I know I’m controlling. I’m trying to stop.’
There’s a danger she’ll launch into her well-worn speech about her painful childhood and I’m too irritable to hear it. ‘Good luck with that,’ I say.
No sooner have I ended the call than the front door opens and slams shut and someone thunders up the stairs. ‘Mum? Mum?’
It’s Neeve. She bursts into my bedroom and declares, ‘My advertisers have offered me a new package. More money!’
‘That’s great.’ My voice is flat.
‘You okay? Was Hugh here?’
‘How did you know?’
‘Because you’re always narky after he calls round.’
‘I was narky before he called round.’
‘Oh, God, it’s spreading. You’re going to be narky all the time now. You over at Granny’s yesterday, eeeesh.’
‘Only because Alastair was being a clown. And Granny a selfish –’ I stop.
‘So how about that Alastair?’ she says, with a sly smile. ‘Would he be open to a hook-up? Asking for a friend?’
‘You don’t have any friends.’ This isn’t even true.
She creases with mirth. ‘So funny to see you pissed! Anyway, I could be talking about Derry. Too cute how she totally blanked him.’
Oh, whatever. Neeve and Alastair, Derry and Alastair, Neeve and Derry – the three of them can become a thrupple for all I care.
‘About your new offer, Neevey. Don’t sign anything until a lawyer has looked at it.’
She should go to the firm that Hatch uses, they’d take good care of her.
She sounds surprised. ‘I’ve got a lawyer. Daddy set me up with him.’
Oh. ‘Well, that’s brilliant.’ Simply fucking brilliant.
105
Tuesday, 31 January
Josh says slowly, ‘Marcia found the book … The one you gave me for Christmas.’
I’m waiting. I didn’t do anything stupid like inscribe it, there’s nothing incriminating, no story here.
‘She had a go at me for spending money.’
Okay. Not the worst outcome.
‘But I told her it was a gift.’
What?
‘From a woman.’
Oh, my God, he’s a total asshole.
‘She went apeshit.’
‘Of course she did! Josh, where was it when she found it?’
‘On my bedside locker. Hiding in plain sight, like.’
‘Or right in Marcia’s face. Like.’
‘What’re you saying?’
‘You’re …’ I’m trying to formulate my thoughts. ‘You want to bring something to a head with Marcia? What did she say to you?’
‘She told me to end it with whoever the woman is. I said I’d think about it. But, Sackcloth, no way am I going to.’
‘Josh. What are you thinking?’
‘Marriages run their course. I think mine is done.’
This has suddenly got too big, too serious, too life-changing, and I don’t want to be part of it.
And there’s something else: I’m not convinced that Josh is sincere. Something is telling me this is a well-worn pattern with him and his wife. ‘Josh? Be honest. Am I part of some game you’re playing with Marcia?’
‘What? How can you even –? No, I’m serious about this. About you.’
I don’t know what to think. I’m confused, suspicious and very afraid. If he’s not playing games with Marcia, then the alternative is actually worse.
Sulkily Josh says, ‘I want to tell her about you –’
‘No!’
‘– how sweet you are, how different you are to her.’
‘Josh! Stop! Please! What would be the point? Our lives are in separate countries.’
‘They don’t have to be.’
I feel as if I’ve fallen into a deep, narrow well.
‘Seriously, Amy,’ he says. ‘You could live in London. With me. I’ve been thinking about nothing else. You could get a job here.’
It’s hard to know which objection to mention first. ‘I have three kids.’
‘They’re nearly adults. And they all have dads. Klara could live with Hugh.’
‘Do you mean Kiara?’
‘Yeah, Kiara. I meant, sorry, Kiara. And Sofie too.’
‘And Neeve?’
‘She’s twenty-six. She’s not your responsibility.’
‘She’s only twenty-two.’
‘Same difference.’ He’s exasperated.
This is whirling way out of control.
‘Anyway, what about you?’ Suddenly I need to hear about his future ‘plans’.
‘Marcia and I split up, sell the house. The kids stay with her –’
‘What if she doesn’t want that?’ Because I wouldn’t want to end up living with two traumatized pre-pubescent boys.
‘Okay, we can share their care, fifty-fifty.’
‘What about Yvonne and Buddy?’ The dogs.
‘I want the dogs.’ He’s emphatic about that.
I’ve never had a dog, they seem lovely, people get so much happiness from them, but aren’t they a lot of work? ‘And where would we live, you and I?’ My questions are purely theoretical, there’s no way this is actually happening.
‘We’d buy a place. Marcia and I would split whatever we’d get for the house, and you’d put in your share from your house.’
‘We hardly know each other, Josh. This is madness. All of this talk is madness.’
‘I know what I want. And I want you.’
But I don’t want you. This hits me like a blow to the heart, and I think I’m the most terrible person alive. I wanted him when it was passion and fun, and when I thought that was all he wanted from me. ‘Josh, please …’ I say haltingly. ‘This is insane. I don’t want to move to London.’
‘Okay, I’ll get a job in Dublin.’
My surge of horror shocks me. ‘Josh, you don’t want to split up with Marcia.’
‘Aye, I do. I’ve wanted to for a long time. We make each other miserable.’
That may be true. But … ‘If you and Marcia split up, don’t do it to be with me.’
His exasperation vanishes and he’s icy. ‘What the fuck does that mean? You’re bailing?’
‘I mean …’ Christ, I’m nervous. ‘You and your wife, you need to sort your stuff out. Just between the two of you.’
‘Are you breaking up with me?’
Am I? It hadn’t been my plan. But the sudden swerve into life-altering territory has scared me rigid. Certainly scared the lust out of me. Fabulous secret sex once every seven days is a totally different thing from moving home, moving job, moving country … I fancy him. But not enough to do those things.
‘Josh …’ I pick my words carefully ‘… this is big stuff. Huge. We’ll see each other next Tuesday. Let’s use that week to think about what we really want from each other.’
‘Are you breaking up with me?’ he repeats.
‘I’m not, I’m truly not.’ I don’t want this to end. But I have to admit that it’s veered way off course from what it originally was.
‘It’s because your husband is back. I knew it, I fucking knew it.’
I can hardly speak for exasperation. ‘I miss the family that Hugh and I made, but me and Hugh, it’s gone for ever.’
He stares me down. ‘You are so cold.’
Christ, you can’t win. ‘Look.’ My tone is placatory. ‘Let’s both have a think about what this means to us and we’ll talk about it next week. Okay?’
‘I don’t need to think. I know what I want. And I want you.’
106
Friday, 3 February
Steevie and I haven’t had any contact since the night of her surprise visit – our friendship is probably over. After thirty years, that’s a weird one.
The ending feels ragged and unpleasant, and I know if I bump into her, it’ll be awkward as hell. Our stumbling block was that we didn’t – couldn’t – see eye to eye on the issue of cheating husbands. Steevie has her set of rules: after inflicting some pain, she’d have taken back Lee, if he was keen. But my rule – which I didn’t even know I had until I was in the situation – is that I can’t give Hugh another chance. I didn’t ‘decide’ to be this way, it’s just the way I seem to be.
I wish Steevie could have accepted that. I’m hurt and resentful that she didn’t. But at least I’m sticking to my guns. There’s a certain comfort in that.
Although I’m down a second important relationsh
ip – first Hugh, then Steevie – I have no belief whatsoever in astrology: I wouldn’t even glance at my horoscope but might there be something in my planetary chart that indicates this is a time of endings?
Speaking of endings, my phone beeps with a text. One word. Kabul?
Since Tuesday night, Josh has been texting me mini-break location suggestions, each appropriately grim for my sackcloth sensibilities. He’s probably trying to be funny, but his tone is more passive-aggressive than good-humoured.
Alastair looks up from his screen. ‘You okay?’
‘Another suggestion from Josh for the Valentine weekend that’s not going to happen.’
‘Let me guess? Aleppo?’
‘Close. Kabul.’
‘Christ, he’s gas. Today’s, what, February the third? He’d want to get on to lastminute.com fairly sharpish. I booked my mini-break to Nice weeks ago and I don’t even have a girlfriend.’
‘Please shut up,’ I murmur. Then, ‘Sorry.’
‘No need to apologize,’ he says cheerily. ‘You’re in the anger phase of your grief.’
I wish he’d stop telling me this.
‘You’ve done denial and bargaining. All you need now is to get through depression, then you’ll be into acceptance.’
‘That’s not how it works and everyone knows it. You hop from phase to phase at random. I’ll be hopping for years. I can’t imagine feeling okay ever again.’
‘You will. Grief is a process.’
At the moment it’s hard to have faith. ‘The only thing that made me happy was Josh,’ I admit. ‘And now even that’s gone weird. Him talking about leaving Marcia and me living in London. It’s insane.’
‘But what did you think was going to happen? Was it just going to continue like this, every Tuesday, for years and years?’
‘No. Sooner or later we were going to run out of road.’
‘Maybe,’ he suggests, ‘this is just the end of the beginning.’
I can’t see it. ‘All that upheaval, it would be horrible for everyone.’
I’d told Josh that we should use this week to think about what we really want from each other. But I’d only meant that he should get his head straight. I already know what I want: nothing serious or soul-searching. Just fun. And, yes, hot sex.
Other people having affairs might be different, their connections are genuine and go way beyond incendiary sex. They are actually in love, and they change their lives for each other – leaving jobs, moving cities, breaking up families.
