by Marian Keyes
Instantly so do I.
I whip round to Hugh. ‘Do you remember –’
‘– when she first came from Latvia?’ His eyes are also shiny.
‘– and she was so scared? You were the only one she’d trust.’
‘– and remember the day we bought her bed?’
‘– and painted it pink?’
‘– and you made her those magical curtains?
‘Look at her now, Hugh.’
‘We did good, didn’t we, babe?’
‘We really did.’ My mouth is wobbling.
‘We can be proud of that.’ He gives me a big, reassuring smile and I want to press myself against him. ‘Okay, I’d better go,’ he says. ‘See you soon.’
‘When?’
He seems surprised.
‘September,’ I answer myself.
There’s no reason for us to see each other until the girls return.
‘Well, we could –’ he says.
No, September will do fine. I’d wanted time away from him to recover properly. Now is my chance.
It’s eleven thirty when I get in to work.
‘Did you cry?’ Alastair asks.
‘Not really. Not until the end.’
‘Heartless mare.’
‘Alastair? I won’t see Hugh until September.’
‘But that’s good. The plaster’s finally been torn off and you can spend the summer forgetting all about him.’ Then, ‘What? What’s up?’
‘It’s just I can’t bear the thought of being me in a year’s time or five years’ time or twenty years’ time without Hugh.’
‘Oh.’ He blinks. ‘That’s … that’s quite a statement, Amy.’
‘I thought those sorts of feelings for him were, like, severed …’
‘Aaaah, you might want to revisit that.’
‘I don’t understand what’s going on with me.’
‘You’re the one who’s always saying that a love thing is a relationship just like any other, that you can be really close, then fall out terribly, then make it up again. Practise what you preach.’
‘I’ve got some thinking to do.’
‘You could go on a silent retreat.’ He’s animated. ‘Glenstal Abbey? I’ll give them a shout. They’d do me a favour, get you in quickly.’
‘No abbeys, none of that lark. My own house will be as empty as the grave this weekend. I’ll do a …’ I feel foolish even saying the word ‘… “retreat” there.’
At two o’clock, I shut up shop.
‘What’s going on?’ Tim asks.
‘Got to go. Sorry. I’ll work from home. Neeve is calling round to collect her belongings. Richie’s van delivered them last night.’
‘She has a new flat already?!’
‘Unlike the rest of us, she has plenty of money.’ I feel I should add something. ‘Tim, after this weekend everything goes back to normal. There’ll be no more missing days.’
‘Good. Glad to hear it.’
‘Leave her alone,’ Alastair cries. ‘She’s had a shit time of it!’
‘It’s fine. Stop. It’s grand. Goodbye.’
I make for the door and Alastair calls after me, ‘Good luck with your silent retreat!’
Neeve seems unfazed by her Trial by Public. ‘In a crisis you find out who your friends are.’ She sounds philosophical. ‘Or, should I say, you find out who your friends aren’t?’
I’m not sure if she’s talking about the friends who wouldn’t let her stay with them or if she’s referring to Richie. Then it becomes clear.
‘Was Dad always like this? Selfish? All-about-him?’
I waver before I lay into Richie. He’s Neeve’s flesh-and-blood – she gets half of her DNA from him. What can I say that doesn’t invalidate the shitty way he treated her or make her fear that she might turn out just like him?
‘He was different when I first knew him,’ I say. ‘He was great then. Very loving.’
‘So what happened?’
‘I think … perhaps too much success too young?’ I genuinely don’t know, but this is the best I can produce.
‘I’ve been a total bitch lately,’ she says. ‘And it’s coincided with me having a lot of success.’
My instinct is to flim-flam her, but she has been horrible.
‘I’m sorry, Mum. And I’m sorry about Robert’s ashes-scattering.’
I make myself say it: ‘Hugh was more upset than I was. You should apologize to him.’
‘Okay. Hey, have you been to Hugh’s flat?’ she asks. ‘Oh, Mum. Like, he cleans it and that, but it’s so small and there are these cork tiles on the ceiling and they’re falling off and, yeah, it’s bad. He doesn’t deserve to live like that.’
We sit in silence, then she says, ‘I always had a thing about Hugh, about him not being good enough for you.’
‘Really? I don’t think I noticed.’
Playfully, she pushes me. ‘I was wrong, Mum. He’s really kind. I used to think he was nice just so I’d like him but I think it’s for real.’
‘Oh.’ It’s immaterial now.
‘Richie only wanted me when I made him look good, and he ditched me at the first sign of trouble. But Hugh, who isn’t even like my real dad, gave me his bed. He slept on the kitchen floor. He bought me doughnuts and he cooked stuff. He lent me his laptop and his car.’
‘I’m sorry about Richie,’ I say.
‘It sucks.’ She sighs and wipes away a tear. ‘I don’t know why but he’s never going to love me.’
Oh, Christ. ‘Neeve!’
‘It’s okay. It’s not my fault. Just because he doesn’t love me, it doesn’t make me unlovable.’
‘I don’t think he loves anyone but himself,’ I say. ‘I love you. We all love you.’
‘Thanks, Ma, love you too. So! You think you and Hugh will get back together? Because you totally should.’
‘C’mon. You saw the pictures of him with that girl from Scotland.’
Her face becomes troubled. ‘Yeah. Everyone would think you were a total sapsucker if you took back a cheater. Sorry, Mum. I should just butt out of stuff that’s not my shit. See you later at Granny and Pop’s.’
As soon as I arrive in Mum’s, Derry yells across the kitchen at me, ‘By Christ, have I got plans for you for this summer!’
Maura’s head jerks up.
No! After months of freedom from her interfering in my affairs, I really don’t want a resurgence of it.
People are milling about the place – Dominik, Siena, Joe’s thuggish little boys, Declyn, Mum …
‘You and Hugh have been broken up for nine months. It’s time for you to meet a new man!’ Derry declares.
‘No. Like, no way. I don’t want any man, ever again. I’m done.’ I move right up next to her. ‘Derry, let’s not have this conversation, not here.’
‘Sit down, so.’ She pulls two chairs into a corner.
But Mum takes one of them. ‘I’m your mother,’ she says. ‘I might have wisdom.’
If she has, it’ll be a rarity.
‘Go on,’ Mum says to Derry. ‘Tell her.’
‘Amy, you’re only forty-four,’ Derry says.
‘I’ll be forty-five next month.’
‘You’ve got the rest of your life to live, you’ll be lonely.’
‘But a man wouldn’t make me less lonely.’
‘You’re kinda missing the point. If you loved him, he would.’
‘You’re kinda missing the point: I wouldn’t love him. I’m done. I’ve loved enough men. I’ve no love left to give.’
‘What you mean is, you still love Hugh.’
Carefully I say, ‘I do still love Hugh. In a way.’
‘In what way?’
‘In a “friends” way.’ After some prompting, I tell Mum and Derry about the night when Hugh said he’d always get me the cheese club membership. ‘I felt so much love for him when he said it.’
‘A “friends” kind of love?’ Derry’s look is suspicious. ‘You sure that’s all it
was?’
‘It was definitely love.’
‘Yeeeeeah. Hey, Neevey, what do you think?’
Neeve has just arrived and bursts into our little circle. ‘Mum.’ She seems anxious. ‘I feel bad. Something I said earlier. About you being a sapsucker if you got back with Hugh.’
‘It’s okay, Neevey. It’s what everyone would think.’
‘Who are all these people you think are judging you?’ Mum interjects. She’s been listening quietly until now.
‘Well, Steevie and Jana and them.’
‘Who cares what they think?’ Derry says. ‘Anyway, you cheated too. Technically before Hugh did. Amy wins cheating! You could issue a press release, telling everyone you went first. Then no one would judge you for being a sappy wifey.’
‘Did you really cheat?’ Neeve is agog.
‘Not now, Neevey, please.’
‘Okay. The important thing is, if you got back with Hugh, would you think you were a sap?’
‘Yes.’ I have to be honest. Then, ‘But I’m not sure I care.’
‘Remember what I said,’ Mum says. ‘About loving people when they’re at their worst.’
‘That’s just a recipe for abuse!’
‘Nothing is ever black and white!’ Mum is suddenly animated. ‘Life is all about the grey. If Hugh was the type who made a habit of dirty dealings, I wouldn’t advise you to give him another go. But Hugh is lovely.’
‘It’s like you all want me to get back with him!’
‘We do!’
123
Saturday, 1 July
I wake with a thought: This is my life. I’ve only got one. I should live it the way I want to.
Just as I’m trying to establish exactly how that would be, my phone rings: Alastair. I shouldn’t answer but I do. ‘What?’
‘And hello to you too, Amy.’
‘You know I’m doing my silent retreat.’
‘I know, but listen!’ His voice is fizzing with excitement. ‘I’m on a course right now and I’ve just heard something that will definitely help you. You need to hear this! Ask yourself one question. What would I do if I wasn’t afraid?’
‘Afraid of what?’
‘I don’t know. Afraid of being hurt again? Afraid of the judgement of others? Afraid of being alone?’
‘I’m not afraid of being alone.’
‘So what are you afraid of?’
‘I need to talk to someone about this.’
‘You are.’
‘I mean a friend.’
‘I am your friend.’
‘Yes, but …’ What had I meant?
I’d meant that there’s only one person who really understands me. And my greatest fear right now is of being seventy and it being twenty-five years since I broke up with Hugh.
‘Ring him, Amy, for pity’s sake.’ Alastair hangs up.
We take a beer into the garden and we sit cross-legged, facing each other.
‘I need to talk to you,’ I say. ‘I’m tying myself into knots about what the right thing to do is.’
‘About what?’
‘I need some wise person – someone like Oprah – to tell me, “This is your life, Amy. You’re the only one living it. Do what makes you happiest.” I need someone to give me permission.’
‘You can give yourself permission.’
‘Should I get back with you? Without breaking all your records?’
‘Please break them,’ he says. ‘You can destroy everything I own if you’ll just take me back.’
‘Then it defeats the purpose. I need to hurt you.’
‘You are hurting me. Every second without you is agony.’ Tears come to his eyes.
‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ I say. ‘Except sometimes I do. I get these bursts of rage, and I want to be mean to you.’
‘So be mean. I’m willing to take it.’
‘But what if you decide you don’t want to. And you leave again?’
‘I won’t.’
‘In the six months you’ve been back, have you … you know … slept with anyone else?’
‘No.’
‘You could be lying.’
He rummages in his jeans pocket. ‘Here’s my phone. You know the code. Check texts, calls, anything you like. Go on.’ He presses it on me.
‘You could have deleted stuff.’
‘So check in “trash”.’
‘You could have a second phone.’
‘I haven’t. But feel free to search me.’
‘You’re not going to wait for ever,’ I say. ‘Life doesn’t work like that.’
‘It did in Love in the Time of Cholera.’
‘That’s South Americans for you. You’re Irish.’
‘I will wait for ever,’ he says. ‘You’re the best. The sweetest, the sexiest, the prettiest, the most interesting. I promise I’ll never hurt you again.’
‘You can’t promise that. No one can.’
‘Babe, I’m not one of those guys. Some people are natural cheaters. They can do it, no bother. I’m not like that. When I was away, you were the one I wanted. Even when I was with those other girls, I was lonely for you.’
‘See? Now I want to thump you for reminding me of them.’
‘So thump me.’
No. I wait it out and eventually the rage passes.
‘What do I mean to you?’ he asks. ‘Forget for a moment about how “good” I am for “taking in” Neeve and Sofie. What do I mean to you?’
‘You’re the person I most want to watch telly with. You’re my best friend and I love you. And,’ I add, ‘you’re a man. A really sexy one.’ I pause. Because he is really sexy. ‘I thought my love for you ended when I saw that photograph. But it’s come back.’
‘Oh, wow.’ His voice is hushed and his face is aglow.
‘But, Hugh, I haven’t learnt from my mistakes. I still don’t know why I started … messing, you know, flirting … with Josh.’
‘Course you’ve learnt. You say that if you could go back in time you wouldn’t have started seeing him.’
‘But what if I get a crush on someone else? Like, I don’t want to. But what if I do?’
He shrugs. ‘Don’t.’
‘As simple as that?’
‘Life is unpredictable. Everything carries risks. But you can intend not to act on it if it happens.’
‘That’s very wise. What if you decide you want to run away again?’
‘I won’t.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because I can.’
‘Okay.’ Cautiously, I say, ‘So I won’t get a crush on anyone else and you won’t run away. Have I got things correct?’
‘You have.’
‘Okay. Okay?’
He looks amused. ‘Okay.’
‘Is that it?’
‘Is what what?’
‘Just, I thought if we got back together it would be more dramatic than this.’
He doesn’t move but his eyes darken. ‘If you want drama, I can give you drama.’
Epilogue
Neeve fiddled with the white rose in Hugh’s button-hole. ‘Stand fecking still, would you?’
‘I am.’
But he wasn’t. Hugh was way out of his comfort zone dressed in a morning suit – any sort of suit, really – even though he looked handsome and impressive.
‘Check you out,’ I said. ‘The paterfamilias.’
‘Check you out,’ he said. ‘Hot wife.’
‘Vom.’ Neeve rolled her eyes.
‘She’s coming down now,’ Kiara called from upstairs.
Mum, Derry and Maura were among the people who dashed to the foot of the stairs to see Sofie start her careful descent. Her dress was a simple satin column and she had nothing in her long, tangled, white-blonde hair but fresh flowers. She looked like a creature from a fairy tale.
I clutched Hugh’s hand and squeezed it hard.
‘Not too late to change your mind,’ Neeve called up to her.
‘Shush.’
>
‘Seriously,’ Derry said. ‘Twenty-six is far too young to get married.’
‘Quiet, you.’ Maura was aghast. Sofie was the first of the new generation to get married. She’d have liked every single one of them boxed away safely – nothing could be permitted to jeopardize this.
‘Just because Alastair won’t put a ring on it,’ Mum retorted.
‘Hah.’ Derry was blithely unaffected. ‘He’d marry me in a heartbeat.’
‘I don’t believe a word of it.’
‘Just because you wish he was your boyfriend.’
Mum put her hand to her chest and gasped. ‘Poor Pop barely dead three years, how very dare you?’
‘I wish he was here today,’ Sofie said.
Cantankerous as he’d been, we all missed Pop dreadfully.
‘But he wouldn’t have known where he was,’ Mum said. ‘He’s better off where he is.’
By the time Pop had passed peacefully in his sleep, he’d been entirely gone in the head. He’d no longer recognized any of us, and that had been hard. But it meant that a lot of our grieving had been done while he was still alive.
The photographer, who’d been fussing around, getting in everyone’s way, called, ‘If we could have the bride and her bridesmaids.’ He gathered them on the front step, where they made a comically mismatched trio: Sofie, a luminous wisp, Kiara, grave and unadorned, and Neeve unnaturally glossy – almost laminated-looking, the way media stars tend to be.
‘State of you.’ Neeve flicked a finger at Kiara’s bare face.
‘State of you.’ Kiara shoved Neeve’s hand away and they both laughed.
Kiara had spurned the hair and make-up services that Neeve had procured for free. The only thing about her appearance that Neeve approved of was her tan. Despite my suspicions that she’d outgrow her do-goodery tendencies, as soon as Kiara had left school, an NGO had given her a job. She had moved speedily up the ranks and about eighteen months ago had been seconded to their Ugandan office.
A phone on the hall table beeped.
‘It’s Jackson,’ Derry called to Sofie. ‘He’s begging you to give him another chance.’
Good-humoured laughter greeted this. Sofie and Jackson had broken up about three years after they’d left school but had managed to stay the best of friends.
