by Marian Keyes
‘Um, sure.’ My tone is horribly jovial. ‘For birthdays and those things.’
Sofie and Kiara exchange a look – it seems Hugh and I weren’t the only ones to have prepared for this.
‘Not just those,’ Sofie says. ‘We want us to do regular family stuff.’
‘Like, watching Crazy Ex-Girlfriend together on Mondays,’ Kiara says. ‘The way we used to.’
‘But –’
‘We’ve been chill about this,’ Kiara reminds us. ‘Really chill. But there are conditions.’
Helplessly, I look at Hugh. He seems as flummoxed as I am. ‘Okay,’ I say, because it seems there’s no choice.
But it’ll be strange and exhausting.
‘Where will you live?’ Kiara asks Hugh. ‘With Carl and Chizo?’
‘Um, no. I’m looking for a flat.’
Is he? Well, what had I expected?
‘Good luck with that,’ Sofie says. ‘Maybe Richie Aldin will rent you one of his.’
‘I know, right!’ Kiara says. ‘From his “property portfolio”.’
‘And he’ll only charge you half the market rate!’
‘Such a cool guy.’
‘Totally such a cool guy.’
Sofie and Kiara laugh and bump fists and, I must say, it lifts my heart to hear them bitch about Richie.
‘So, don’t worry about us,’ Kiara says. ‘So long as we act like a family a lot of the time, then we’re good.’
‘Oh-kay.’
‘I love you both to the moon and back,’ Kiara declares.
‘Me too,’ Sofie says. ‘I love you to the sun and back.’
‘Well, I love them to, like, Venus and back.’
‘Venus is nearer than the sun, you dumbass.’
‘Is it? No!’
‘It totally is! So are we done here?’ Sofie asks. ‘Because I’ve got to study. And so do you, Kiara. Like, you really do – “Venus and back”!’
‘Sure, yes, fine, absolutely.’ Poor Hugh is trying to gather himself.
‘See you tomorrow,’ Sofie says.
‘Yep. Tomorrow. That’s right. Physics tutorial,’ he reminds me.
Sofie and Kiara make for their rooms, and Hugh and I look at each other.
‘That went well,’ I say.
‘Yeah.’ He’s stunned.
‘They’re so mature,’ I say. ‘And calm.’
‘More calm than me,’ he says.
‘Me too. I suppose they’re adults now.’
‘Even though they’ll always be our little girls.’
‘Oh, Jesus Christ, Hugh, stop!’ The high of it having gone smoothly has suddenly disappeared and now I want to die from sorrow.
‘I hate to do this, Amy … We need to talk money.’
Mutely, I gaze at him. Then, ‘This never stops, does it? The separation that keeps on giving. Okay, when? The weekend, it’ll have to be. I’m too busy at work.’
‘Saturday?’
‘Grand. Saturday.’
112
Friday, 10 March
Four days later, Mum’s EverDry ads are rolled out. Suddenly her smiling, slightly airbrushed face appears on bus-shelters and in railway stations across (some of) Ireland and Britain, with the immortal tagline ‘Still Having Fun’.
I see one when I race out at lunchtime to buy a new blur serum and the shock almost ends me. I’d known it was coming – after all, it had been me who’d negotiated with Adshel – but it’s beyond weird when your elderly mother crosses over into being public property.
It’s only two months since she became the ambassador, but as it’s a quiet time of year in advertising, it was easy to fast-track the whole business.
I text Neeve to make sure she knows. To be honest, I’m just using it as a lame excuse to contact her. Too many times now I’ve left pathetic messages, where I laugh weakly and say, ‘Are we ever going to see you again? Ha-ha-ha. Your sisters miss you.’
So it’s nice to have something concrete to convey.
Mostly she ignores my missives. Sometimes she shoots back a couple of kisses or hearts. The only time I’ve had actual words from her since she left was after I told her that Hugh wouldn’t be moving home. Good, she’d texted. Then, Watch Crazy Ex-Girlfriend with him every Monday? Prefer to eat glass.
Well, I wasn’t wild about the idea myself. In fact, I was so unhappy about it that on Monday evening, waiting for him to show up and play happy families, I’m unable to eat my dinner.
I can’t do this, I thought. I really can’t do this.
But I had to. That was the long and the short of it. I would get used to it. People eventually become inured to the most appalling circumstances. Like, sometimes I think about what it would be like working in an abattoir or chopping the heads off chickens – jobs no one yearns to do. But if you have no other option, you get on with it. And your revulsion couldn’t stay at its original sky-high level, could it?
I’m watching a giant bowl of popcorn rotating in the microwave when Kiara says, ‘Here’s Dad.’
And, yes, indeed, here is Hugh, letting himself in with his own key, as instructed.
‘Hello again,’ he says to me.
‘God.’ I’m striving for humour. ‘You might as well be living back here, I see you so often!’ This is in reference to the meet we’d had on Saturday afternoon to straighten out our finances.
He indicates his key. ‘Was that cool? To use it.’
‘It’s what we agreed!’ Once again my tone is slightly too breezy. Well, it’s a process. We’ll get there. Soon we’ll be one of those divorced couples who are in and out of each other’s lives and the very best of friends.
Well, maybe not soon. But sometime.
‘Hey!’ Hugh exclaims. ‘I saw one of your mum’s ads! On a bus-shelter. I nearly crashed the car with shock.’ He’s laughing. ‘She looks fantastic.’
‘I know!’ Kiara cries. ‘It’s mad, right? Like, Granny.’
‘Good for her.’
It is good for her. It’s also good for me because Mrs EverDry has paid Hatch a bonus, a lovely lump of cash that went straight into the yawning hole of my joint account with Hugh. It’s bought us a bit of wriggle room.
‘C’mon, Mum, c’mon, Dad.’ Kiara sweeps us into the front room.
‘There’s beer in the fridge,’ I say to Hugh.
‘Oh. Ah. Thanks.’
He looks slightly stunned and I say, ‘Time-slip?’
‘Yep. Time-slip.’
Awkwardly I pat his arm. ‘It’s shit, I know, but it’ll eventually pass.’
‘Sofie!’ Kiara calls up the stairs. ‘Come on!’
Sofie scampers down and into the living room, and we all clamber on to the couch. Hugh and I park ourselves at each end, as far away from each other as we can get. None of us mentions Neeve, even though her absence feels huge.
We pass the popcorn back and forth, Hugh and I drink beers, and we all watch Crazy Ex-Girlfriend.
This was a habit for us every Monday night but we’re unable to replicate the true experience. It’s like eating chocolate brownies made with artificial sweeteners – they might look the same but something is definitely off.
When the episode ends, my mood is low but Hugh and I have been pleasant to each other and I’m willing to declare the evening a qualified success. A little too quickly the girls hug Hugh goodbye and disappear off to bed, leaving me standing alone in the hall with him.
‘While I remember,’ he says, ‘there’s a date for scattering my dad’s ashes. Easter Saturday.’
‘Oh? You mean … Am I invited?’
His face darkens. ‘Of course! You’re part of the family, you and the girls.’
‘Still?’
‘Yes! Nothing changes that.’
‘Christ, it’s so weird, all this new etiquette to cover separated couples. You know, who’s invited to funerals and who isn’t.’
He nods, looking very sad. ‘I still can’t believe it’s happened. I never thought we’d split up. I never thought we’d be
that couple.’
‘Me either. I thought we were different.’
‘But I suppose everyone thinks they’re different.’
‘So.’ My throat aches with the onset of tears. ‘Tell me about the ashes.’
‘Like I said, Easter Saturday morning, that’s five weeks away. Howth Hill, then a fancy lunch in Maldive –’
‘Maldive! Fancy!’ I actually mean, ‘Over the top.’
‘Fancy is right.’ His expression is wry. ‘Chizo’s gig.’
‘Ah, suddenly it all makes sense.’
‘She’s been tasting menus in Ireland’s finest for the past ages.’
‘And who’s coming?’
‘Everyone. John, Rolf and Krister from Uppsala, Brendan, Nita and their kids from Manchester, Carl, Chizo and Noah, the Boy Wonder, from Foxrock, and you, me, Neeve, Sofie and Kiara from Dundrum.’ He flushes. ‘I mean … what I meant … I know I don’t live in Dundrum.’
‘Stop.’
We exchange one of those looks, a stoic acceptance.
‘And Neeve?’ I ask. ‘You’re sure you want her there?’
‘Dad was fond of her.’
‘God alone knows why!’
‘Ah, she’s fine. So, yes, of course Neeve.’
Unexpectedly I think to ask, ‘How are you, Hugh? You know, with your dad? And Gavin?’ In all my resentment over him having left me, I had no interest in the – doubtless ongoing – grief of his double bereavement.
‘Ah, I’m okay.’
‘Hugh. Give me a real answer.’
He squirms. ‘I don’t know, Amy. I miss them both. I think about Dad a lot, about when we were all kids. He was such a good man.’
‘So you’re lonely?’
‘Yes, but –’ He cuts himself off. I’m sure he’d been about to say that he was lonely for me and the girls, as well as for his dad and Gavin, and he doesn’t want to sound like he’s blaming.
‘You’re sad?’ I ask.
Thoughtfully, he says, ‘It’s more accurate to say I feel scared.’ He sighs. ‘I dunno, Amy. I don’t know the names for most of my emotions. All I really know is I’m not insane, the way I was last year, when it seemed like I had to rush out and seize the day and live fully and all that.’
113
Friday, 17 March
On Friday evening, on the drive out to Mum and Pop’s, the sky is still light. It’s the first time in months that it hasn’t been dark at six thirty. I do a quick calculation – the clocks will be going forward in two weeks. Spring is definitely here.
I should be glad at this visible marker that time is passing: every second is taking me closer to that magical place when my pain will have healed. Today, though, it hurts me. Every new event, every turn of the seasons, every dawning of a fresh month, is another milestone, taking me further away from when Hugh and I were a family.
When I turn into Mum’s driveway, there are two kids playing in the front garden. Then I see it’s actually Sofie and Jackson, doing handstands. Their peals of laughter fill the evening air.
‘Hi, Aaa-mee!’ they call across to me, when I get out of the car.
I stand and watch them.
‘Spot me,’ Sofie orders Jackson.
‘What does that even mean?’ he asks.
‘I dunno, but spot me!’ She manages a passable handstand and he holds her legs. ‘Okay, let go now.’ But as soon as he steps away, she collapses on to the grass, where she lies on her back, laughing and laughing.
‘Now my go,’ he says. ‘Spot me!’
They’re so very sweet. Both of them are starting their Leaving Certs in less than three months. They’ve been diligent about studying and it’s heartening to see them having such innocent fun.
I’d wondered how they’d survive the trauma of Sofie’s pregnancy – my suspicion had been that they’d split up. But they seem as close as ever.
‘Amy!’
I look around. Derry has the front door open. ‘C’mere!’ she shouts.
‘What?’ I hurry towards her. ‘What is it?’
‘Mum.’
‘What?’
But I can hear her talking loudly, so she mustn’t be dead.
Instinctively I hasten towards the source of all the nervy energy in the house: the living room. Mum has the floor.
‘… me,’ she’s saying. ‘Yep, little old me! Less of the “old”, though, mind you.’
Joe is there with Siena, and Finn, Pip and Kit, as are Maura, The Poor Bastard, Declyn, Baby Maisey and Kiara. And poor Pop, of course, looking utterly bamboozled.
‘Amy!’ Mum notices me. ‘Wait till you hear. Tonight’s Late Late Show! They’ve bumped Ed Sheeran for ME!’
Christ. Well, this is news. Mum is due to start the media part of her ambassadorship on Monday, but The Late Late Show had resisted all my pleas for an interview.
‘I’m amazing?’ Mum asks. ‘I’m amazing, right?’
‘You’re, ah, wow …’ Joe’s voice trails off.
‘Unbearable,’ Derry butts in. ‘That’s the word you’re looking for. Or insufferable, if you’d prefer.’
‘Insufferable is good,’ Joe says.
‘WILL SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT IS GOING ON?’ Pop beseeches.
‘Kiara,’ Mum commands. ‘Call Neevey. Tell her she needs to style me. Tell her it’s urgent.’
My heartrate speeds up. How will Neeve respond? Is she going to hare out here at a moment’s notice to help her granny, when she hasn’t made even ten minutes for me since the day she left?
‘AS THE HEAD OF THIS HOUSEHOLD I INSIST THAT I BE TOLD WHAT’S GOING ON.’
‘Shut up, Pop,’ Kit says.
‘I’LL SHUT YOU UP, YOU LITTLE SCUT.’
Sofie has appeared at my elbow, she plucks at my sleeve. ‘So, Amy? Can I talk to you?’
My stomach lurches.
‘It’s okay.’ She collapses into giggles. ‘I’m not pregnant again. So listen, in the Easter holidays, there’s an intensive revision course at the Institute. Can I do the physics and chemistry modules?’
My hopes for Sofie have always been modest, I only ever wanted her to be happy. Suddenly, though, she actually has ambitions. She’s applied to do physical chemistry in university and she’s really going for it.
‘But it costs money.’ She winces. ‘Lots.’
‘Let me talk to Hugh,’ I say. ‘But don’t worry, we’ll find it.’
Anxiously I return to the action. Is Neeve really coming?
‘Yes,’ Kiara confirms.
And, sure enough, she materializes not half an hour later, looking shiny and expensive.
‘WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?’ Pop looks alarmed. ‘YOU’VE GONE ALL SPARKLY.’
I lunge at her and hug her so hard she says, ‘Ow! Mum, for the love of God.’
‘My little girl.’ I cover her face with kisses.
‘Would you get fecking off me!’ But she’s grinning.
‘I’ve missed you, honey.’
‘There’s no need to drench me.’
‘Can I have a quick word? In private?’
‘Oh, shite.’ She flicks a look at Sofie and Kiara.
‘Nothing bad. Just … come upstairs.’
In the bedroom that functions as the overflow room, I say, ‘Easter Saturday. Keep it free. We’re scattering Robert’s ashes.’
‘Robert?’
‘Hugh’s dad. Sweetie, you know who Robert is. Was.’
Her face hardens. ‘I’m not going.’
‘But –’
‘I’m not going. He wasn’t my real granddad. I don’t have to go.’
‘But –’ Robert was always so nice to Neeve.
‘Not. Going. Now I have to style Granny. Excuse me.’
Suddenly I’m furious. ‘Hey! Have some respect. Robert loved you. And you know what? You owe it to Hugh!’
‘Hugh?’ she splutters. ‘Joking, right? He’s not my dad –’
‘He took care of you for years, collected you from parties and –’
‘I’ve go
t a dad! And I don’t even know why you’re going. You and Hugh are over.’
‘I want you to come.’ I’m adamant.
‘Why?’
‘For Hugh.’ Our faces are very close and we’re almost hissing at each other. This is exactly how it was all through her teenage years.
‘Why do you care? He fucked off! He publicly humiliated you. He deserves nothing from you. He. Is. An. Asshole.’
He isn’t. He’s a man who made a mistake. A big, huge mistake, admittedly. But he wasn’t cruel to me, not deliberately. He was very good to us all for a very long time and he deserves our support as he says this last goodbye to his beloved dad.
‘I’m going.’ I grip her arm. ‘And so are you. And that is the end of the fucking matter.’
114
Monday, 20 March
Mum’s interview on The Late Late Show is a bit of a bust. All the adulation has gone to her head and she doesn’t remember that she’s only there to promote a product. She barely mentions EverDry, which means that Mrs Mullen has been sending me furious emails all weekend.
Also, Ed Sheeran was not bumped to make way for Mum. No one knows where she came up with that piece of nonsense.
On Monday morning, Tim, Alastair and I have to hold an emergency meeting about getting Mum back on track.
‘Someone needs to set her straight.’ Tim is grim.
‘I beg you, don’t let it be me,’ I say.
‘Grand.’ Even Alastair seems daunted. ‘I’ll do it.’
The relief!
My energy is always in such scant supply, these days, and Petra has offered an explanation that sits comfortably with me: ‘Those in constant physical pain are exhausted. Enduring the unendurable saps one’s strength. I conclude it must be the same for emotional pain.’
It’s having to see Hugh that is so bloody draining. Chronic dread is eroding the lining of my stomach, the burning sensation waking me up during the night.
But Sofie and Kiara are adamant about our happy-family TV-watching every Monday night.
Tonight, after the show has ended, and Sofie and Kiara have scampered away to leave me alone with Hugh, we discuss Sofie’s request for extra tuition. It’s a lot of money, a sum we don’t have lying around.
‘Extend our overdraft?’ I suggest.
He grimaces. ‘Not sure the bank would go for that.’
