by Olivia Ryan
I tried everything. I saved up for expensive clothes. I learnt how to use make-up properly. I went to the best hairdressers in town and copied the latest styles. I got into the habit, very early on, of taking care of myself, doing my nails properly and never letting my eyebrows get out of control. I even read books about how to walk tall and talk to people confidently. They didn’t help. I just felt even more of a failure than ever when I still hung around at the edge of the group, stammering with nerves when anyone asked me a question.
Because Katie was my best friend, I lived in her reflected glory. I knew people thought of me as Katie’s quiet little sidekick, but I didn’t mind – it meant all the popular girls and boys in the class accepted me. They were generally nice to me. They’d say kind things about my clothes or my hair and tell me I was pretty – but I knew it was only because of all the hard work with the make-up and blow-drying. It wasn’t much fun because I was scared to go swimming or run around on wet and windy days the way they did, without a care in the world, unless I had my hair stuck down with about a gallon of hairspray.
And then my parents ruined my life forever, the way parents can when you’re fifteen, by taking me away from Katie, away from my school and all the friends I had, not just away but abroad. At the time, I thought my life was over, that I might as well be dead and I’d never get over it. Of course, I did, and I made friends too, but what I never did get over was my shyness – and I didn’t have Katie to help me any more.
We spent our holidays together, but the gulf between our lives seemed to grow wider every year. When Katie visited, and told me about her boyfriends, her parties and discos, her first kiss, the first time she fell in love, the first time she had sex… I listened, I laughed with her, I was happy for her… and I never stopped wishing it was me.
‘When are you going to get yourself a boyfriend, Jude?’ she used to ask cheerfully, completely oblivious to the fact that I was trying desperately, I’d have done anything to get one, but no-one ever seemed to notice me. I’d spend hours getting myself ready to go out, only to sit in the corner and wonder why I’d bothered.
In the end, I got very drunk at a party at university, threw myself at a fellow who was almost as drunk as me, and kind of ordered him to have sex with me. I badly needed to get rid of my virginity. Needless to say it wasn’t a pleasant experience, partly because he threw up as soon as he’d finished and partly because I passed out before I finished, but at least I didn’t have to spend the rest of my life wondering about it. I went out with a couple of guys after that, but normally they only wanted sex and then lost interest. And I didn’t enjoy the sex so what was the point? I might have tried being a lesbian, but none of the girls seemed to fancy me either.
I know Katie’s always been anxious about me. But I don’t like her anxiety. You know what annoys me most about it? Her continual nagging at me to lighten up. To stop worrying about my hair; to go out without my make-up on and enjoy the freedom. Freedom? The thought of it horrifies me. I’d feel even more vulnerable than I do already. What does she know about such things? She runs and hops and skips through her life, in her frayed jeans and trainers with her hair flying carelessly around her face, while I totter self-consciously beside her, in my high heels and my war paint and hairspray and my fixed smile. We must look an odd couple of friends. But I love her to bits and that’s the trouble. I can’t be jealous of her because she’s my best friend and I love her. So what could I do? If I invented a boyfriend, at least it kept her happy and kept her off my back. And it worked a treat.
Of course, one lie always leads to another, and I found myself having to make up a whole package of excuses for Fergus. Why he couldn’t come to the wedding; why he couldn’t come and pick me up from hospital. No wonder Katie and Emily were beginning to get that anxious look in their eyes. Well, I know I could have told them the truth by now. To be sure I should have done, especially once I realised they were coming back to Kinsale with me. But there was a wicked little part of me that was getting a bit of a kick out of seeing the disapproving glances between them. Imagining them thinking: Poor Jude, sounds like she’s picked a right bastard – what a shame for her – after so long on her own and all! I know it was mean of me, but I thought I’d keep up the joke just for a bit longer – till we got home and they saw Fergus for themselves. I thought we’d have a huge laugh about it all together. But looking at them now, they just look totally stunned and to be honest, I think they’re wondering whether I’m completely off me head. Poor old Jude, still on the shelf, can’t get a real man, has to make one up. Bloody sad, probably needs therapy.
I suppose I ought to put their minds at rest and tell them that actually, it’s been the most tremendous fun inventing Fergus The Boyfriend. Shame he wasn’t real – although to be honest, I’d probably have ditched him long ago if he was!
ABOUT A PHONE CALL
We drink our tea, eat our biscuits, and try to keep off the subject of Fergus. Not Fergus-the-Cat – we’ve done a lot of talking about him; about how cute he is, how sweet, fluffy, furry, purry and lovable. We’re all talking nineteen to the dozen about the bloody cat because we don’t want to broach the subject of Fergus-the-Fictitious- Boyfriend. Certainly not in front of Roisin-from-upstairs, who has the air of somebody who would spread the story all over town by midday tomorrow, and even more certainly not in front of Harry. However nice he is, I don’t know him well enough to have a full-on discussion about Jude’s mental health and her love life, or lack of it, until he’s well out of the way. That’s got to be girls-only stuff.
Instead, we tell Roisin all about our weekend in Dublin and how Jude came to break her ankle. She tells us about the one and only time she’s been to England, in 1979 to the wedding of a niece who emigrated to Swansea.
‘But Swansea’s in Wales,’ I point out.
‘Yes, you could be right, I did hear tell of that once meself. These foreign places move around, do they not – England one minute, Wales the next, ’tis very confusing, so it is.’
‘Do they?’ says Emily, looking blank.
‘Sure, ’tis only here in God’s own country that the towns seem to stay put in one place,’ she says smugly. ‘Have you ever noticed Kinsale moving out of County Cork, Judith, or Cork becoming part of Northern Ireland, God save and preserve us all?’
‘No, Roisin.’
‘You see?’ she nods triumphantly at Emily. ‘Didn’t I tell you so?’
I’m thinking privately that Roisin’s barking mad and it’s probably best just to humour her, but I can see Emily frowning and squaring up for an argument.
‘Would you like more tea, Roisin, before you get back to Paddy’s dinner?’ says Jude hastily before she can start anything.
‘Bless yer heart, I could sit here drinking tea and telling you me traveller’s tales all day, if it wasn’t for me arthritis.’ Emily’s frown deepens at this, and I catch her eye, shaking my head, warning her off any attempts to make head or tail of Roisin, who, if not barking mad is probably rolling drunk. ‘But you’re right about Paddy’s dinner, God love you. If I don’t have his tatties in the pot by the time he sets foot in the door, he has a face on him to scare the devil himself out of hell, God save our poor souls from his mighty wrath.’
‘Paddy’s mighty wrath?’ echoes Emily faintly, looking worried.
‘No, the devil’s, I think,’ Harry whispers behind his hand. ‘Just smile and nod.’
‘Thanks a million again for looking after Fergus,’ says Jude, as Roisin struggles with her arthritis to haul herself to her feet. ‘Give Paddy my regards.’
‘Goodbye. Nice to meet you,’ I say, going to the front door with her.
‘And likewise yerself, bless your sweet innocent heart,’ she says, laying a heavy florid hand on my arm. Innocent ?‘May all the blessings of St Anthony be with you on your holy wedding day.’
Oh, fuck. No way am I telling this fruitcake that there’s no holy wedding day happening. I’ll probably have her here for the rest of the da
y talking about the devil’s wrath.
‘Thanks,’ I say. Smile and nod, smile and nod.
‘And don’t you be worrying your head about Judith, now. I’ll bring her down some tatties and stew every evening till her leg’s mended, bless her heart. You and your little friend can just get yerselves home to Wales.’
Harry heads off, straight after Roisin goes, to pick up his cousin. He’s already phoned the pub in Urlingford, where, amazingly, someone handed in Jude’s crutches almost as soon as we must have left them in the car park. When he commented to the barmaid on the surprising honesty of the crutch-finder, he was apparently treated to a lecture on the inherent integrity of the citizens of Urlingford, culminating, indignantly, with:
‘’Twould be a mortal sin indeed to steal the crutches off the legs of a cripple!’
‘Cripple?’ retorted Jude, when he told her. ‘I’ve only broken me sodding ankle!’
‘Yeah, and you’re getting tatties and stew from upstairs for as long as it takes to mend it!’ I said with a grin.
‘Jesus. She means well, the daft old bat, but I’ve had her stew before, and it’s enough to set your intestines in concrete, so it is.’
God save us and preserve us from Roisin’s stew, then.
It’s quiet now, with just Emily and Jude and me. We put the telly on and slob out in companionable silence.
‘So, Jude,’ I say lightly after a while. ‘Are you going to tell us about it? About Fergus?’
‘Sure, and isn’t he the sweetest little cat that ever…’
‘Not the damn cat, Jude. You know what I’m asking you here. Why? Why the need for that dumb trick? Making up a boyfriend, making excuses for why he wasn’t around whenever he should have been? What the hell was all that about?’
‘Just a joke, Katie, for the love of God. No need to get upset.’
‘A joke?’ I shake my head at her. ‘We were worried about you – did you know that? We thought he sounded like he was messing you about. I was going to chop him up and throw him in the river.’
‘And what river would that have been, Katie?’ she asks, completely straight-faced. ‘Only I’m not sure you know your way around here, and the river is…’
Emily giggles. I glare at her.
‘So suddenly this is really funny, is it?’
‘Come off it, Katie,’ says Emily mildly. ‘Jude’s taken the piss out of us, we fell for it, serves us right.’
‘It stopped the nagging, for a while,’ Jude adds quietly.
‘Nagging?’ I’m cross, but only because I recognise the truth of this and I don’t want to admit it. ‘I have so not nagged you, Judith Barnard!’
‘You so have!’ she returns, laughing, imitating my Essex accent. ‘Every phone call, every e-mail, every time we see each other! “When are you going to get a boyfriend, Jude? When are you going to find yourself a man, Jude?”’ She stops and gives me a very pointed look. ‘Don’t you realise it’s just rubbing salt into the wound? Don’t you think I’d give anything to have a nice man in my life like the rest of the population of the world? Do you think I like being lonely and unloved?’
She says this flippantly, as if it’s a joke, but I suddenly see – years and years of nagging too late – that it isn’t. It’s hurting her, and I’ve been adding to that hurt. I jump to my feet as if I’ve been stung, run across the room and throw myself at her.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I tell her, through the tangle of her hair and mine as our faces bump together. ‘I didn’t realise… I didn’t think. I was worried about you; I just want you to be happy.’
‘So do I, Katie, so we’re both after the same thing, are we not?’ she responds lightly. ‘Now will you get off me for the love of Jesus, before you break my other leg, with the weight of you, you great lump, you!’
‘Well, that’s nice, isn’t it!’ I retort huffily.
There’s a moment’s silence and then Emily sniggers and before we know it, we’re all killing ourselves laughing.
‘All right, I suppose I asked for it,’ I admit eventually.
‘It is quite funny,’ says Emily. ‘We’re all dying of curiosity about this guy – is he nice, is he good-looking, is he going to marry you and give you babies. And he’s a bloody Burmese cat!’
‘Don’t you be swearing about my pussy, young lady!’ Jude admonishes her, and we all start laughing again.
‘Just don’t ever say that again,’ I tell her when we finally calm down. ‘OK?’
‘What? Say what?’
‘That thing about being unloved. It’s not true. Whether you’ve got a man or not, it isn’t true.’
‘Cos we love you, baby!’ says Emily.
‘Yes, we do. Better than any man ever can, Jude. Don’t you ever forget it!’
She nods and grins at us both. She looks too choked up to reply. Probably too much laughing.
‘Shall Katie and I cook us something for dinner?’ asks Emily when we’ve finally slobbed in front of the TV for long enough.
‘Or shall we send for a takeaway?’ I put in quickly. I’m still on my holidays, thanks very much. Soon enough for normal cooking to be resumed when I get home. ‘Do you have takeaways around here, Jude?’
‘Do we have takeaways? Did you think Kinsale is a sleepy village in the back of beyond? It’s the gourmet capital of the Irish Riviera, Katie Halliday! There’s a queue a mile long for some of our restaurants, with fine good chefs from all over the world and tourists coming here specially for the seafood!’
Shit. That’s telling me, isn’t it.
‘So do you have takeaways?’
‘Yes, we do, Katie – is it Chinese or fish and chips you’d be liking?’
It’s not till we’ve piled the sweet and sour prawns and egg fried rice onto our plates and we’re just about to get stuck in, that I remember to ask Jude:
‘Who’s St Anthony?’
‘Patron saint of weddings, amongst other things. Although if you ask me, there’s a lot of confusion between these patron saints as to who’s responsible for what. St Valentine is obviously supposed to be the saint for lovers, fair enough. And I’ve heard some folk say St Nicholas is your man when it comes to brides and weddings – but how he can find the time to attend to that as well as playing Father Christmas, I couldn’t say.’
‘Does seem too much of a job for one guy,’ agrees Emily with a forkful of rice halfway to her mouth.
‘So I think, Katie, I’d put my money on Anthony if I was thinking of a quick prayer in relation to a wedding,’ says Jude quite seriously.
‘And is there a patron saint for cancelled weddings?’ I ask her without missing a beat.
She looks up at me, a question in her eyes. I have a sudden vision of the lilac bridesmaid dress hanging in my wardrobe, and a lump comes to my throat. Maybe I should be looking for the patron saint of broken promises and jilted bridesmaids.
‘Is it all out in the open now, so, Katie? You’ve told Emily?’
‘Yes. Emily knows. They all know, now, Jude. I told them all at the airport.’
Now it’s Emily’s turn to drop her fork and stop eating. We’ll never get through the meal at this rate.
‘Jude knew about this?’
‘Em – I had to. I had to tell someone or I’d have gone mad.’
‘Sure I only knew a few days before we went to Dublin, Emily.’
‘I only knew a few days before, myself!’ I say grimly.
‘And you couldn’t tell me?’ Emily asks softly, looking back at her dinner.
‘It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t that I couldn’t… didn’t trust you. Don’t be silly, that’s ridiculous. It’s just that I wasn’t ready for Mum, or Lisa, or Auntie Joyce and all the family to know about it. They’d have wanted me to cancel the hen weekend, for one thing. I know everyone thinks I’m peculiar for still going ahead with it – but it was what I wanted to do. Maybe it sounds mad, but I thought, if I just carry on, keep it to myself, have the hen weekend, pretend nothing’s happened, I won’t have t
o face it all till I get back.’
‘And I encouraged her,’ Jude tells Emily. ‘What would be the point of sitting at home, miserable, while her man still buggered off to …’
Emily shoots her a warning glance and Jude tails off, ‘… to that place where he’s gone to,’ which makes us all smile, despite ourselves.
‘It was too soon,’ I try to explain to Emily. ‘Too soon to talk to any of you about it. I couldn’t face you with it. It was easier telling to Jude on the phone; I didn’t have to see her face. See the disappointment.’
‘Jesus, will you listen to the nonsense of her? Disappointment? Sure I was only concerned about your own disappointment, you silly girl, and when you told me you thought it would be better for the two of you to not be married, that you’d been arguing and you wanted to go back to how you were before – well it sounded like it was for the best, when all was said and done.’
