by Marian Keyes
Oh, those wonderful days at the start of the year when she’d quietly shed eleven pounds in six weeks! Being a long-term veteran of extreme eating plans, she knew a lot of that had been water. But she’d been in the groove, as if a switch had been flicked and she was in not-eating mode. Everything had stayed good until the evening of 13 February when the kids were in bed. Suddenly some sort of euphoria flooded through her, an ecstatic relief: it was reward time.
‘Ed? Honey? Valentine’s Day tomorrow. Did you get me chocolate to show you love me?’
‘Yeah,’ Ed said warily. ‘You said it was okay.’
Poor Ed. He had no understanding of the civil war that raged inside her. Again and again she issued blanket bans on any sugar in the house. Sometimes she’d make Ed round everything up and throw it all out – it was too painful to do it herself. But maybe a day or a week later, she’d be pleading with him to give her whatever he’d saved because he’d learnt by now always to save something.
One time, when Ed was out, she’d gone into Vinnie’s room and raided his stash. Her behaviour had horrified her: she was behaving like a drug addict, powerless to stop.
But she’d green-lit a Valentine’s Day blow-out. Ed had been instructed to buy a big box of fancy chocolates, which she intended to devour without guilt. The plan had been to get right back up on the starvation horse on 15 February, but she’d found she couldn’t.
The last eight weeks had been a series of lost battles. Every day had started full of resolve, but at some stage she’d have a narky customer or a moment of happiness that deserved to be celebrated and she’d eat something nice. Then she’d write the day off as a failure, deciding she might as well go wild and start again tomorrow.
But she had to be thin for the Easter weekend with Ed’s family – there would be swimming, fancy dinners, lots of socializing. However, control eluded her and it was only five days ago that she’d finally managed a single sugar-free twenty-four hours.
It was too late. All the weight she’d lost in those quiet, cold January days she’d put back on. She was now almost a stone heavier than she’d been on that February night. She was horribly ashamed of herself. She’d have given her left leg to get out of this weekend – an illness, a migraine, anything would do.
There had even been a brief, insane moment when she wondered how a person broke their own ankle – it lasted an instant, barely a flash – but the flood of relief at the thought of hiding at home while everyone else went to Kerry was glorious.
‘Time to go downstairs,’ Ed said.
‘I just need to …’ She jiggled a mascara wand on her lashes.
‘Honey, no need for any of that grooming.’ Ed was in high spirits. ‘This weekend is family. Relaxed.’
‘I need to distract attention from my size.’
‘Don’t say that. You’re beautiful.’
‘You need your eyes examined.’
‘And you need your head examined. Seeing as you’re getting gussied up, should I make an effort?’
She laughed. Ed always looked messy, from his tangled curls to his five-year-old trainers. ‘You’ve found your look, you’re working it, you’re grand.’
Out in the corridor, she said, ‘We’ll take the stairs.’ It would make no difference to her size, she knew that, but surely every little helps.
‘No!’ Vinnie and Tom clamoured. ‘We want to go in the lift.’
‘Mum,’ Tom was suddenly anxious, ‘what if they put tomato on my burger?’
‘We’ll tell them not to, honeybun. We’ll tell them two times.’
‘Three times?’
‘Three times.’ And now fresh shame was in the mix. She worried about the lads being infected by her torment around food. Tom was finicky and small for his age, while Vinnie was far too fond of his grub and starting to look it.
In the restaurant, lots of Caseys were already milling around the long table. Cara found herself doing the Scan, where she automatically checked out the weight of every woman there. She wished she didn’t.
Jessie looked the same as always. The thing about Jessie was, she was tall, and weight was always easier for tall people. Even so, you could tell she never gave her size a moment’s notice.
And there was Saoirse. Seventeen years of age, the lucky girl had the same body-type as her mum: healthy and sporty but a long way from being skin and bone.
Paige, Liam’s ex-wife, now she’d been skin and bone. Not scrawny, nothing as tacky as that, but fine-boned and elegantly narrow. The first time Cara had seen her tiny ribcage, prominent clavicles and pretty little face, she’d felt queasy with jealousy. But that had passed quickly. Despite her Very Important Job, repositioning the Irish arm of ParcelFast, Paige was touchingly open about her social anxiety. ‘I’m no good at this,’ she’d once confessed to Cara, at a party Jessie had forced them both to attend.
‘But you’re the woman who is “aggressively going after the DHL/Fedex market-share”,’ Cara had quoted at her. ‘“A force to be reckoned with”.’
‘I’m just a nerd. I do okay in work situations. But when I have to be me? Not so much.’
It had long been a mystery to Cara how Paige and Liam had lasted any time at all as a couple. Okay, they were both extremely good-looking, but Liam had lived an unconventional life and Paige was entirely by-the-book.
When they’d finally divorced, two years ago, Jessie had tried to keep Paige in the Casey orbit.
But Paige was so keen to consign Liam to her past that she’d found a new job in her native Atlanta shortly after, taking their two daughters with her. Jessie had been up in arms but forced to stand down when she discovered that Liam had agreed to this arrangement, in exchange for a rent-free apartment in Dublin.
Cara missed Paige – they all did, but Cara’s sadness had been laced with a hefty dose of anxiety about what kind of woman Liam would produce next. What with Liam being so sexy, his new girl was bound to be a prestige version and prestige always meant thin. But Nell had surprised everyone. She was fresh and fun, and in no way glamorous. Nor was she a wisp: her hips and chest were curvy and she was almost as tall as Liam. Mind you, she also had a flat stomach, toned biceps and not a hint of cellulite …
‘Jesus, Cara, your hair!’ Jessie said. ‘It’s so sexy! You look great. And don’t say that your dress hides a multitude. Just for once?’
‘Ha-ha-ha. But this dress does hide a multitude.’
Saoirse had been listening to this exchange. Earnestly she said, ‘I think you’re beautiful.’
Cara tended to be intimidated by teenage girls – so shiny and Insta-ready. But Saoirse was sweet, with an innocence that made Cara suspect she was probably sniggered about by the more sophisticated girls in her class.
‘Cara, you have dimples!’ Saoirse declared. ‘Who doesn’t want dimples?’
‘I’d prefer hip bones.’ They shared a laugh.
‘Wait till the menopause kicks in for me,’ Jessie said. ‘I’ll be ginormous.’
Cara rolled her eyes. ‘The menopause will be far too scared of you. You’ll sail through it.’ She sat and immediately Tom attached himself to her.
‘Tom!’ Jessie said. ‘Hello, honey. You look so grown-up in your new glasses. What’s that you’re reading?’
‘Harry Potter.’
‘But you’re only eight! You’re so clever.’
‘I’m bookish,’ Tom said. ‘That’s just another word for “bad at hurling”, but it’s okay.’
‘You’re adorable,’ Jessie said.
‘That’s one more word for “bad at hurling”, isn’t it?’
Jessie had moved her attention to Vinnie. ‘How’s Vinnie?’ she asked. On the far side of the table, he was having a fork-jabbing competition with TJ. ‘Vinnie? What’s going on?’
‘Vinnie!’ Cara called. ‘Jessie’s talking to you.’
Surprised, Vinnie looked up. ‘Hi, Auntie Jessie.’
‘How are you, sweetie?’
‘I have attention deficit, but it’s not bad e
nough to be a disorder. And I set fire to a wooden crate in the field near the school.’
‘Just testing his boundaries,’ Tom said.
‘That’s all. And I won’t do it again.’
Menus appeared on the table. Could she skip the starter? No, that would cause a medium-sized outcry. Okay, she’d have a Caesar salad – dressing on the side, skip the croutons. Basically that was only lettuce.
For the main course, maybe the fish. Protein was good. No potatoes, though. Potatoes were very bad. But she needed carbs: if she let herself get too hungry, there was a danger she’d binge later. Oh, God, here came baskets of bread. Bread was always a mistake: it lit a fire in her, making her crave all the food and stripping her of any power to resist.
‘Look at you.’ Jessie scanned the length of the table, all the kids from seven-year-old Dilly to seventeen-year-old Saoirse. ‘Everyone’s getting so grown-up!’
‘We need more babies,’ Johnny said. ‘Fresh blood.’
‘Don’t look at me,’ Cara said. ‘I’m done.’
‘And Nell won’t, because of the state of the planet.’ Liam flashed a smile at his wife. ‘It’ll be up to the next generation. How about it, Saoirse?’
‘Stop!’ Saoirse squealed. ‘Anyway, Ferdia’s older than me. Let him have the next Casey baby.’
‘No!’ Jessie actually went pale. ‘No way. He’s got his studies and – no. Just no.’
Pity the misfortunate woman that Ferdia brought home to meet his mammy, Cara thought.
Where was he, anyway?
‘Missed the train.’ Jessie sighed. ‘The clown.’ She rolled her eyes but her heart wasn’t in it. She tried so hard to pretend that Ferdia wasn’t her favourite child. ‘While I think of it,’ she said, ‘is anyone free tomorrow afternoon around four thirty to collect Ferdia and Barty from Killarney station?’
‘I’ll do it,’ Nell said, super-fast.
‘Or I can,’ Ed said.
‘No, please, let me.’ Nell was insistent and Cara understood. She was embarrassed by the money being spent on her this weekend and was attempting a – frankly, impossible – rebalancing of the scales.
Cara had been the same back in the day.
Jessie and Johnny had become an item around the same time as she’d met Ed. Very quickly, Jessie had begun inviting Ed and Cara to come along on their family holidays. But when they’d admitted that the costs were out of their reach, Jessie offered to subsidize them. They’d refused. The whole idea made them uneasy. Jessie didn’t give up. Over and over she explained that as an only child she’d be getting more out of these family holidays than Ed and Cara. Jessie’s generosity was sincerely meant but it didn’t stop Cara doing whatever she could to show her gratitude.
Seven months earlier, an opportunity had presented itself. Johnny had made a chance remark about keeping track of their online purchasing. ‘It’s the returns,’ he’d said. ‘So much of Jessie’s stuff goes back, but I keep forgetting to check if we were refunded.’
‘Just set up a spreadsheet,’ Cara had said. ‘Easy. I can do it for you.’
‘But wouldn’t you need access to our emails?’
Johnny had misunderstood. Cara’s offer was merely to set up a spreadsheet, not to track their online shopping.
‘You’d need to come to the house to see them?’ Johnny asked. ‘Or could you access them remotely? How often could you do it?’
‘Er, once a month?’ She’d decided to go with this unexpected acceleration. ‘But don’t you mind me seeing all your financial stuff?’
‘Course not! Jessie, come here! Cara’s going to monitor – that’s a lovely word, “monitor”, very reassuring – our online buying. Making sure we get our money back for any returns.’
Jessie wasn’t quite as delighted. ‘Cara, don’t judge me. I’m trigger-happy, especially late at night if I’ve been on the sauce, but most of the stuff goes back. I know the couriers cost money, but if I was to get in my car and drive to the shops, the cost to my time and the petrol, well, it’s probably better –’
‘Stop. I won’t do it if it makes you uncomfortable.’
Jessie had chewed her lip. ‘Ah, it needs to be done.’
‘It does.’ Johnny was adamant.
‘And you’re family, Cara.’
After a couple of months when Cara had traced over a thousand euro in misdirected refunds, Jessie was fully on board. So much so that Johnny asked if she’d take on more work. ‘Could you do monthly accounts for us? Just a breakdown of what we spend the money on. That way, we’ll get a handle on where it all goes.’
The thought of discovering how much they earned and what they spent it on made Cara feel panicky. But how could she refuse?
‘Ed says you do it for the four of you,’ Johnny said. ‘He says you’re great.’
‘I’m not great.’ But she and Ed operated so close to the bone that rigid financial planning was vital. Conversely, Jessie and Johnny had no budgeting system.
‘If the bank rings me,’ Jessie had said. ‘I know I’ve got to rein it in for a while.’
Jesus.
‘Is that bad?’ Jessie had added. ‘It’s just that I’m looking at figures all the time at work so I haven’t got the energy for it at home.’
‘And I’m useless,’ Johnny had said.
Cara seriously doubted that.
‘It’s true,’ Jessie said. ‘All he’s good for is talking. Buttering people up. Giving them guff.’
‘Making deals,’ Cara had tried to protest.
‘Making people like me,’ Johnny said. ‘That’s the sum total of what I do. Please, Cara.’
She had guilted herself into agreeing to a trial period of four months. But, as she said later to Ed, ‘It feels far too personal. It’s like watching them having sex.’
Ed snorted with laughter. ‘Then just stop doing it, honey.’
‘But they’re so good to us. I’d been hoping for a chance to do something. Just … not this.’
Immediately Cara had seen that Johnny and Jessie spent more than they earned. Maybe they didn’t even realize – but, thanks to their five credit cards and generous overdraft, all the plates kept spinning. When she’d completed the first month’s figures, she’d advised that a cap on their outgoings was necessary. They nodded in solemn agreement – then completely disregarded what she’d said.
On the second month, she’d made another attempt, which they ignored just as they’d ignored the first.
On the third month, Jessie had jumped in: ‘No need, Cara, we get it. Thing is, we had a few one-offs, which is why we looked overspent. But they’re done now so the overspending will sort itself out.’
‘Okay.’ Cara was breathless with hope. ‘So you’d like me to stop doing this?’
‘Oh, God, no! The info could be very useful, if ever we need to see where the money is going. If you’re okay to keep doing it, we’d like you to.’
Clearly Jessie thought that appearing to take responsibility was the same thing as actually doing so.
After wrestling with worry, Cara reminded herself that Jessie owned a successful business. The board she was accountable to consisted of just her and Johnny. Any time she liked, she could increase her own or Johnny’s salary.
Or – Cara was hazy on this sort of thing – take money from the company’s ‘reserves’? Or get a personal loan based on the assets of the business? Either way, this was her chance to repay their generosity.
SIX
Cara’s dinner had been downright Winning at Life: no bread, no potatoes, no dessert.
Afterwards the five youngest kids began clamouring for ‘Auntie Nell’ to play football with them. ‘Sure!’ Nell said. ‘Let me change into shorts.’
‘And the rest of us will sit on the patio,’ Jessie declared. ‘Drink loads and pretend to watch them.’
But Cara was afraid of wine – not just the calories but how it weakened her resolve. However, not drinking simply wasn’t an option – not around Jessie. ‘It’s nearly dark,’ sh
e said, but everyone was already making their way, with unseemly haste, to the patio.
‘It’s not,’ Jessie said.
‘Am I allowed a drink-drink?’ Saoirse had tagged along.
‘You’re only seventeen,’ Johnny said.
‘You’re not my father.’
‘Jessie!’ Johnny tried to hide behind his wife. ‘Saoirse’s Luke Skywalker-ing me again!’
Cara watched the three of them fall about laughing. It would be a different story if Ferdia were here. When he said stuff like that to Johnny he meant it.
‘We know she drinks anyway,’ Johnny said to Jessie. ‘It’s better if it’s out in the open. Grab those chairs. Cara, what are you having?’
‘Fizzy water.’
Jessie gasped.
Cara couldn’t help laughing at Jessie’s shock. ‘I might as well have ordered stagnant rainwater served in a dirty bucket.’
‘You’ll have gin,’ Jessie said. ‘A large one. Medicinal. You’re obviously not thinking straight.’
Nell, now wearing shorts, was back. Like the Pied Piper, she’d accumulated several more children, in addition to the Casey bunch. The game was on and all the kids – some of them young teenage boys – were giving it socks. Nell was a vision, racing and tackling, her pink hair flying.
No fake tan on her legs, Cara noticed, which meant her skin had a slight touch of the corned beef about it. And still she looked beautiful.
Jessie noticed Cara’s gaze. ‘Amazing, isn’t she?’ Jessie always brimmed with admiration for Nell. ‘She’s so natural.’
‘“Pure” – that’s what Liam says she is,’ Saoirse chipped in.
‘What?’ Liam heard his name.
‘Liam, Liam,’ Saoirse begged. ‘Tell us about the first time you saw Nell. I loooooove that story.’
‘Ah, go on, Liam,’ Jessie pressed. ‘Tell us again.’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell it.’
SEVEN
… Well, the rose-tinted version.
On a sunny evening last May, Liam was wandering the aisles in the Tesco near his apartment in Dublin’s much sought-after Grand Canal Basin. A nameless restlessness bothered him, an uncomfortable, unidentifiable need.
