by Marian Keyes
TWELVE
‘Down for the weekend?’ Dominique, the massage therapist, led Jessie through the dimly lit corridors.
‘With my family. They’re hiking around Lough Dan today.’
‘And you’re having a bit of me-time. Very wise.’ She led Jessie into a fragrant room. ‘Take a seat. Have you any special concerns?’
‘I have horrible feet.’
‘I’m sure they’re grand. I mean, how would you like to feel after the massage? Detoxed? Relaxed?’
‘Relaxed. I guess.’ But if she relaxed, who would take care of everything? After Rory had died, when she’d gone for bereavement therapy, the woman had said, ‘You think you’ve to keep the planet turning.’ But she’d always been that way. It was impossible to delegate because she felt she could do everything better and faster than anyone else.
The massage was under way. ‘You really are quite tense.’
Which is why I’m getting a massage.
‘The knots in your neck …’ Dominique made it sound as if Jessie had tied them deliberately.
Or maybe she was being touchy and unreasonable? She’d a lot on her mind. That article had unsettled her. The implication that she’d been sleeping with Johnny when she’d still been with Rory: why did almost every interview bring it up?
She could issue a statement saying she’d never cheated on Rory, but she was entitled to a private life. And, anyway, it was ancient history now. Besides, the people who mattered most to her in this – Rory’s parents, Michael and Ellen, and his two sisters, Keeva and Izzy – would never believe her.
As soon as something had started with Johnny, she should have told them. But she’d persuaded herself that nothing was really going on. It was only when she got pregnant with Bridey that she’d had to ’fess up – but by then it was too late.
That was thirteen years ago. She could see now that she must have been jelly-brained with love to think the Kinsellas would be happy for them. She’d hurt them badly and she was far from proud of it. Mercifully, the estrangement didn’t extend to Ferdia and Saoirse, who had a close, loving relationship with their Kinsella grandparents, aunties and cousins. Even so, back when the kids were still young enough to need dropping off and picking up, Ellen and Michael quietly, without announcement, always enlisted another adult as a go-between, so that whenever Jessie knocked on the Kinsella door, it was invariably opened by a neighbour or an in-law. Michael and Ellen had gone to a good deal of trouble to avoid seeing her or Johnny.
These days, Ferdia and Saoirse were old enough to make their own way. Jessie thought if she ever did bump into any Kinsellas now that they’d be civil to each other. In the aftermath of that massive row, someone she suspected was her ex-sister-in-law, Izzy, had left a few savage online reviews of PiG. But that had stopped a long time ago. Other than Rory, the Kinsella she’d missed most was Izzy. She’d been her best friend, her soulmate almost. She’d loved Keeva too – both of Rory’s sisters had been her bridesmaids because she had no sisters of her own – but Izzy was the special one.
Even now, remembering the confrontation with Izzy, as she took in Jessie’s swollen stomach, was like a knife in the guts. ‘You’re pregnant?’ she’d whispered. ‘It’s Johnny’s?’ She’d cried her eyes out. ‘Rory is gone. You’ve taken everything and we have nothing.’ That terrible day had ended with Izzy yelling, ‘You never really loved Rory.’
Which was nuts. She’d been mad about tender-hearted Rory.
Okay, Johnny had managed to give the impression that if she was interested, then so was he … It was quite a skill, promising something without ever actually committing. And, yes, it had given her a flutter. Was that so bad? Throughout school and university she’d been a freckly swot – no one had fancied her! And Johnny had been so sexy, so in demand … To have two men, both after her, had been exciting …
Maybe the only reason that Johnny was interested was because his best friend had her. But still. The important thing was she hadn’t encouraged it. It was Rory who’d persuaded Johnny to come and work for Parnell International Grocers, insisting he’d be a great asset.
If she were to live her life again, she’d still choose Rory all those years ago. He’d been much more her type – he’d been reliable. While Johnny had always seemed just … well … ever so slightly slippery …
But Rory had died, which had hardly been a reliable thing to do. And, despite everything, she’d ended up with maybe-ever-so-slightly-slippery Johnny, so who knew anything?
THIRTEEN
‘The legs are walked off us,’ Bridey complained. ‘There should be a law against making children exercise too much.’
Silently Nell agreed. It had been a lovely day: the lake had sparkled, the packed lunch from the hotel had included mini bottles of wine, but the temperature had dropped, she’d spent the last hour carrying Dilly on her shoulders and she was tired.
‘We’re nearly back at the cars,’ Johnny said.
‘If we were working in a movie, we’d have been allowed a break hours ago,’ Bridey persisted.
‘Oh, shut up!’ TJ burst out. ‘You’re only twelve but you talk like an old woman!’
‘They’d have had twins of each of you to do half the walk,’ Nell said.
‘They would!’ Tom was very charmed by this.
‘You’d be sitting in your trailer now and your twin would be doing this last bit.’
‘There’s the car park!’
‘Finally.’
A squabble – yet another – broke out over who got to sit beside Nell in Johnny’s people-carrier. Refereeing their on-going bickering was hard work.
Johnny’s people-carrier swung into the hotel car park and countless Caseys tumbled out.
‘Let’s wait for Vinnie and Tom.’
Seconds later, Ed’s car arrived. Car doors opened and slammed shut.
‘Uncle Liam,’ Bridey said, ‘let’s FaceTime Violet and Lenore! We can pretend they’re here.’
‘Okay.’ Liam cut his eyes at Nell.
This was her cue to leg it.
She’d wanted a relationship with his daughters, but he’d quashed that hope. ‘It’s too hard for them. They’re upset enough by the divorce …’
She’d met the girls in person just once, on a speedy visit to Atlanta last October, for Liam to tell them he was getting married again.
‘They should at least clap eyes on me,’ Nell had said.
‘It won’t be pleasant …’
It wasn’t. Ten-year-old Violet had reacted with fury and seven-year-old Lenore was confused and tearful. Nell sensed they all just needed to get to know each other but Liam was having none of it.
‘Nell? Where’re you going?’ Bridey sounded confused. ‘You’re their stepmum!’
‘It’s okay,’ Liam said. ‘Nell doesn’t need to be here.’
‘But –’
Unexpectedly, Cara spoke up. ‘There’s so many of us, we’d only get in the way.’ She took Nell’s arm. ‘See you guys in a while.’
Nell let herself be pulled towards the lobby. ‘Thanks.’
‘No bother.’ Cara gave a quick smile and relief stole through Nell.
‘Liam tries to protect them,’ Nell explained. ‘His girls, I mean. It’s hard for them that he got married again. He thinks it’s better if they don’t see me.’
‘Okay.’
‘He’s got to do what’s best for them. But I’m being selfish. I feel bad because I’m not going to have kids. I really love them, but the planet, you know?’
‘Well, fair play to you.’
As they waited for the lift, Cara said, ‘Fancy restaurant tonight. Time to break out the Gucci.’
‘What? Oh! You’re joking! Jesus, my heart!’
‘Sorry!’ Cara said, and they laughed.
‘You will get used to this,’ Cara said. ‘In time. It took me aaaages but, yeah, what clothes to wear, everything.’
‘So what should I wear tonight?’
‘A dress. Have you one?’
Cara followed Nell into the room. One glance at the beaded black gown was enough. ‘Too formal.’
‘So there’s this.’ Nell produced an off-the-shoulder sheath with a zip that ran from the back of the neck to the hem.
‘That’s beautiful,’ Cara breathed. ‘Put it on.’
Nell hastened to the bathroom, wriggled into it and returned, plucking at the fabric, weirded out by something so tight.
Cara looked stunned. ‘Nell! You utter goddess. And that aubergine colour goes so perfectly with your hair …’
‘There’s a “but”.’ Nell was anxious. ‘Not suitable for a family resort?’
‘That. You’re waaaay too hot. Anything more casual?’
‘Yeah, but …’
Nell’s brand of casual wasn’t cutting it. As well as the request to fix the toaster, her boiler suits were generating looks. Children flocked to her, attracted by her pink hair but confused by her masculine clothes.
‘I’ve this?’ Nell produced a dark-blue cotton box-shaped shift. It was a couple of sizes too big, but it had cost only four euro in Oxfam.
‘Put it on.’ Then, as Nell appeared in it, ‘Oh, wow. So cool. That’s the one. Shoes?’ She dismissed the borrowed high heels and fell on Nell’s red Converse. ‘These! You look amazing. Okay, see you at dinner!’
The lock clicked – Liam was back.
‘How are they?’ Nell asked.
He was always upset after talking to his kids. ‘Okay. I think. Hard to tell, really.’
‘Liam, will it ever be okay for me to try to get to know them?’
‘How do I know? But did you want to corrupt their happy memories of past Easters, in the thick of their cousins, by hogging FaceTime today?’
‘I just meant – sorry. Sorry.’ She kept getting things wrong. It was so important that the Caseys liked her but she’d already had that blow-up with Ferdia. He’d apologized, he’d acted normal on the walk today, but it was a reminder that she didn’t know these people, or how to behave with them.
‘Listen, get ready,’ Liam said. ‘It’s nearly time to eat.’
‘I’m ready.’
Liam stared. ‘That’s what you’re wearing? That – what is it, anyway? – giant shirt?’
It hurt. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt.
‘It’s got a hospital vibe. You look like a nurse.’
‘And not a sexy one, right?’ She flashed her teeth. ‘But, wait, it gets worse, you haven’t seen the back.’ She pirouetted, displaying the line of buttons that went the entire length. ‘It’s more like those gowns for when you’re having an operation where your bum is hanging out.’
It worked. He laughed.
At first glance you wouldn’t think Liam had a taste for expensive threads: his look was low-key and muted. But when you drilled down, you discovered that his knackered-looking black joggers had cashmere in the mix and his anonymous tops were pure merino wool.
It was time to remind him who he’d married. ‘Liam, I love beautiful things – I’d love a truckload of new clothes. Getting them second-hand, it’s all a bit shit. I know it’s a pain, me and my principles. Seriously, I get on my own nerves, but I’m not doing it to be sneery.’
‘Yeah, I know, baby. I’m sorry.’
In the eleven months she’d known him, he’d never been this uptight. Up to now, almost none of their time had been spent with his brothers. Even their wedding had been family-free. Usually Liam was fun and wildly spontaneous. Their life was a million miles from five-star hotels, and they jumped on any opportunity for adventure. There had been an impetuous weekend in Tallinn. Another in Madrid, where they’d spent two days in the Prado. On 23 December, Liam had chanced on rock-bottom flights to Namibia, leaving the following morning. A frantic afternoon was spent racing around, borrowing camping gear and booking a jeep. By Christmas night they’d been drinking duty-free gin and gazing awestruck at the constellations of stars in the empty desert sky.
In the formal dining room, Jessie rushed at Nell. ‘Your dress!’
God, had she messed up big-time?
‘Acne?’ Jessie said. ‘No, don’t tell me. Filippa K? One of the Swedish designers? I adore that oversized look.’
‘Oxfam,’ Liam said. ‘Probably an ex-hospital gown. If this dress could talk, well, the haemorrhoid operations we’d be hearing about.’
Jessie tuned him out. ‘You’re stunning.’ She spoke directly to Nell. ‘You make everything your own. I wish I had your confidence.’
‘Bougie ho alert,’ Saoirse muttered.
Alpha Phoebe swished past in a Zadig & Voltaire dress with fraying seams and a fashionably torn hem. Nell coveted that brand. In her dream scenario, their entire collection somehow ended up in her local charity shop. She slid a look at Liam, who nodded meaningfully at Phoebe. Should she take it to heart? No. Instead she hit him a covert whack and took her seat at the table.
‘Now, about tomorrow,’ Jessie said. ‘I know I’m a control freak and that you all call me Herr Kommandant, but the Easter-egg hunt means a lot to me. Please, could everyone be there? It would make me very happy.’
Ed, Cara, Liam, Nell, even Saoirse and Barty were in agreement.
‘Ferdia?’ Jessie tried to catch his eye. ‘Please.’
‘Yeah. Yep.’ His laugh was slightly weary.
Ferdia’s phone lit up – the message he’d been hoping for. ‘Bart,’ he muttered. ‘Sorry, like, but I’ll be needing the room tonight. I don’t know how long for …’
‘Phoebe? Grand. I’ll just hang out by the lake, in the cold, in the dark, on my own.’
‘Sorry her sister is so young …’
Barty shrugged. ‘Not my type.’
Hopefully, Ferdia asked, ‘Is anyone here your type?’ If he could hook Barty up, he wouldn’t feel so bad.
‘I’d take Nell, if you were offering. She’s hot.’
Ferdia shrank back. ‘Bart … She’s so not. And she’s married to my uncle.’
‘Step-uncle.’
‘The important part is that she’s married.’
‘Relax, Ferd.’ Barty grinned. ‘I’m just fucking with you.’
But what was this … almost … conspiracy that Nell was amazing? He’d overheard his mum and Cara talking earlier about a visible razor nick on Nell’s knee. ‘If that happened to me,’ Cara was saying, ‘I’d have to get into the car and drive all the way back to Dublin.’
‘She’s so capable,’ Jessie this time, ‘with that job of hers. But so beautiful and wild. And her clothes! Fabulous! I never know what to expect.’
Jessie’s non-stop love for Nell’s clothes was weird. Was it patronizing, trying to avoid the truth that Nell looked poor? Or was it out of fear? Middle-class Jessie had no frame of reference for someone like Nell, so if she kept insisting how cool Nell was, no one would guess she was actually confused by her?
FOURTEEN
Phoebe showed up around midnight. Ferdia had been right about last year: her parents had taken her phone because she’d been repeating her Leaving Cert. Now she was first-year UCD, studying law and business.
‘I’m in Trinity,’ he said. ‘Third-year economics and sociology.’
‘Trinity. Wow. You in rooms?’
‘Got my own place.’
She looked sceptical. It was rare for a third-level student in Dublin to live away from home. ‘Where exactly is your own place?’
‘Foxrock.’
‘And your family live where?’
‘Foxrock.’
‘So you do live at home!’
Her triumph made him laugh. ‘It’s a mews near my folks but it’s totally my gaff.’ No need to mention that it had been Nana Parnell’s granny flat until she’d died and the décor was still old-lady chic. Or that it was at the bottom of the garden, close enough to the main house so that when he and Sammie were yelling at eac
h other, Bridey often appeared, requesting that he stop with his ‘anti-social behaviour’.
Phoebe picked up his right hand. ‘What’s with all the rings, Ferdia Kinsella?’
‘There’s only four. You make me sound like Lil Yachty.’
‘Tell me about this.’ She was focused on the hammered silver wrap on his thumb. ‘What do these numbers mean?’
‘Map coordinates for the place in Kildare my dad came from.’
‘Nice. And this one? Looks like something that fell off a tractor!’
‘Close.’ It was a chunky aluminium nut that TJ and Bridey had found under Jessie’s car. Having tried to scratch an inscription into it with a sewing needle, they’d presented it to Ferdia in a formal ceremony, asking that he commit to always being their brother. But he wasn’t telling Phoebe that. She’d probably scoff.
‘Don’t you care about all these tats on your hands?’ she asked. ‘Like, when you’re interviewing for a job?’
‘I wouldn’t want to work for a place that judged me on them.’
‘Principles? You’re hilaire. So, you planning on setting up on your own? Making a fortune like your mum?’
Ferdia laughed, a little hopelessly. ‘No.’
‘You’re studying what? Economics and sociology? Economics I get, but sociology? Why?’
Because he’d envisaged himself as a high-up in an aid agency, striding around a hot, dusty city of tents, getting doctors to attend to sick children, signing off on orders for emergency supplies to be dispensed to fresh influxes of refugees. However, his ten weeks last summer of volunteering in the Philippines had been a tedious, dispiriting affair, spent counting things and ticking them off endless lists: anything from containers of bleach to packages of protein powder. He hadn’t met a single one of the people he was allegedly helping and not once had there been the chance for any heroics. Now he had no real idea of how to steer his future but he couldn’t admit that to her.
‘What’s your plan?’ he asked.
‘Finance law. Big multinational, beast it for a few years, make a fortune, then see what I want to do with the rest of my life.’
