by Marian Keyes
Nell nodded as sympathetically as she could. Jessie, caught up in righteous defensiveness, barely noticed. ‘You can’t fecking win with Rose. Don’t even try, Nell, that’s my advice to you.’
‘Okay.’
‘All right! I admit it, I knew Johnny had a thing for me. Well, I suspected. But is that so bad, Nell? For my whole life, no one fancied me, only prissy old fools who lived with their mothers and had wacko hobbies, and then two rides come along at once. And I didn’t encourage it. Plus! Plus! I was sure he only wanted me because I belonged to his buddy, you know?’
‘I do.’ Nell realized that Jessie was slightly drunk.
‘No one believes me, Nell. Maybe Saoirse does. But Ferdia doesn’t. Ferdia really doesn’t, no matter how often I tell him. Izzy – you know, Rory’s sister – wrote a thing on TripAdvisor, saying I was a whore. Me! I’ve only slept with four men in the whole of my life.’
‘That’s rough.’
‘Do you know what age I was when Rory died? Thirty-four! Barely older than you are now. By which I mean, young! I really loved Rory, I was devastated. People said I shouldn’t have fallen for his best friend. But doesn’t that seem the most logical person to fall for? Ferdia and Saoirse knew him – wasn’t that better than bringing a stranger into their lives?’
‘Of course.’
‘But it was very sad, losing the Kinsellas. Took a long time to get over it. Ah, don’t mind me, Nell, I’m a bit pissed.’ She stared into her now-empty wine glass. ‘I’ve finished my drink. Nature’s way of telling me I’ve overstayed my welcome. Right, I’d better go down and feed the bunnies. See you later.’
For some reason, lately Jessie couldn’t stop thinking of those early days with Rory and Johnny.
Within weeks of each other, the three of them had started in sales at Irish Dairy International. Almost the same age, doing the same job, in friendly rivalry with each other, they’d bonded instantly.
The Three Amigos – they’d actually been nicknamed that. From the word go, they’d had so much fun.
Johnny was the charmer: chatty, entertaining, generous with compliments and widely regarded as very sexy. For one of his birthdays, the girls in marketing Photoshopped his picture with a star glinting off his smile.
Rory was the steadier of the two, amusing and witty in a quiet way.
The funny thing was that, seeing she’d go on to marry both of them, she hadn’t fancied either of them.
She liked fey, creative boys, the more anguished the better. Loving them back to happiness was always her hope but, at best, those types were simply bemused by her. Neither Rory nor Johnny was remotely angst-ridden. Cheerfully they talked about wanting to own their own home, drive a cool car, get promoted – the same life goals Jessie had.
They liked the same music and the same movies – middle-of-the-road stuff. (Despite Jessie’s fondness for unsuccessful creatives with dirty hair, her taste was solidly mainstream.) She was never tongue-tied or shy around either of them. They, in turn, treated her like one of the lads. In a lifetime first, she fitted in.
It became their thing to go for drinks on a Friday and dissect their disappointing love lives. Rory and Jessie seemed to specialize in unrequited crushes, while Johnny was a commitment-phobe who accumulated obsessives. It had taken well over a year for Jessie and Rory suddenly to become awkward around each other, while Johnny circled, confused and anxious. For about a month, all three were locked in an uneasy tension until one Friday night it came to a head.
It was late, there were no taxis to be had, so Rory and Johnny said they’d walk Jessie home.
It had happened before, it was no big deal. Except that, walking along, three abreast, with Jessie in the middle, Rory quietly took her hand.
She’d been expecting it. Expecting something. And he’d picked that particular night to make his move.
Then, almost laughably, on her other side, Johnny slipped his arm around her waist.
She hadn’t reacted to Rory holding her hand and she didn’t react to this.
She didn’t know how to.
The three of them marched along the rain-glistening pavements, perfectly in step. No one spoke. Sandwiched between both men, in a state of almost feverish confusion, Jessie wanted this never to end. Or perhaps she wanted it to stop immediately. She had no idea.
Did Rory and Johnny each know what the other was doing?
At the time she’d thought they didn’t. But in later years she’d decided that maybe they did, that they were locked in some sort of almost-sibling rivalry and she was their battleground. After a lifetime of pining for the wrong men, it was the strangest thing to realize that both of them were the right kind and both were hers for the taking.
Without ever acknowledging Johnny’s interest in her, she weighed up the pros and cons of Rory, as if it were a business decision. This was too important a choice to let her inexperienced heart make.
She’d asked herself if she could live with him, if she trusted him with money, to be a good father, to stay faithful. If she could be faithful to him. It was impossible to predict the future, but as risks went, Rory looked like a safe bet.
Other factors helped to cement her decision. She and Rory had both grown up in a small place, without much money but with loving parents. They had the same values – work hard but live decently.
There was also the suspicion that Johnny only wanted her because Rory did. If he got her, he’d probably get bored and start playing games. And that was something she could not handle – she was well able to be tough at work, but her heart was tender.
Once she’d decided, she was certain. There was to be no messing with Johnny, no occasional moment when they stared longingly at each other and pretended to be thwarted lovers.
She married Rory and Johnny was their best man.
FORTY-FOUR
What about a set that was partially suspended? The main set would be at stage level, but there could be, perhaps, two or three ‘rooms’ hydraulically lowered and raised, as required. Maybe even one would be enough. She’d have to check the cost but, as an idea, it was ingenious. She’d create so much more space. Other factors played into this, though. Insurance, mostly. Covering themselves against actors falling off and injuring themselves might be prohibitive.
Liam burst into the room, breaking her train of thought. ‘Back from my swim,’ he said. ‘Amazing out there. You’d have loved it.’
‘Guess I would.’ She angled herself away from him and towards her drawings.
‘The sun is so hot. Like being in Greece. Except for the water. Baltic!’
He sat at the bottom of the bed, watching over her shoulder as she worked. Now that she had an audience, her brain emptied.
‘I should have a shower. Shouldn’t I?’
When she remained silent, he said, ‘Nell? Hey? Should I have a shower?’
‘If you want.’
‘Like, I don’t want but do I want to feel salty all evening? … Do I? Nell?’
‘… Probably not.’
After remaining on the bed for several more minutes, he got up. Her nerves were taut, waiting for the bathroom door to close. But he left it open, then started to sing.
A bomb of rage exploded inside her, she flew across the room and slammed the door shut.
As soon as he came out again, he demanded, mock-wounded, ‘Why’d you close the door? Did you not like my singing?’ Then he began drying himself vigorously, sending water droplets over her drawings.
‘Careful, hon.’
‘This is a bedroom,’ he said mildly.
He even got dressed noisily, chatting away to himself: ‘Where’s the neckhole in this T-shirt? Jeans or shorts? Hard to know. It’s warm now but could get cold later?’
New footsteps and chatter sounded in the hallway, then Barty, short and smiley, stuck his head around the door. ‘Hi, Nell.’
Next, Sammie, a rucksack on her shoulder. ‘Hi, Nell, hi, Liam.’
Finally Ferdia, towering over the other two. �
��Why didn’t you wait for us?’ he demanded hotly.
‘Because your train was delayed,’ Liam said.
‘For a few minutes!’
‘Nearly an hour.’
‘It was my fault,’ Nell said. ‘I had work to do and … Sorry. We should have stayed.’
Ferdia looked from Liam to Nell, then back again. He seemed about to throw another accusation, then his ire visibly drained. ‘What’s the story with the bedrooms?’
‘There’s two more,’ Liam said. ‘Take your pick.’
‘Oh. Okay.’
Within moments, Ferdia was back. ‘Who said you could have the best room?’
‘First come, first served.’ Liam was cheery.
‘Is that why you didn’t wait for us?’
‘Come on.’ Liam laughed. ‘Please save us from millennials and their sense of entitlement.’ Then he added, ‘Present company excepted, maybe.’
‘I have a sense of entitlement?’
‘… Weeeeeelll …’
Oh, just fuck off.
Ferdia and the others left. ‘Okay!’ Liam clapped his hands together. ‘Time for a beer. Beer, Nell?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Ah, go on.’
Finally, she turned her entire body towards him. ‘Liam, I’m sorry I can’t give you my full attention right now. You know how much this opportunity means to me. Please let me get on with it, just for the next two days.’
‘Jesus, I only offered you a beer!’ He strode from the room, leaving acrimony in his wake.
Sometime later the light was fading and Ferdia loomed in the doorway.
What now?
‘You like some food?’
‘No. Well, okay – wait, is someone making something?’
‘I’m doing a stir-fry. You vegetarian? Okay. I’ll bring you some.’
Liam lounged, his legs over the arm of the chair, swigging from a bottle of beer. In the kitchen, Ferdia and his little friends were gathered around a wok. In good form, he idly scrolled through Facebook, half read two articles on cycling, took a look at Twitter … and realized that the three kids had moved outside to the deck. He twisted his body to get a better look. Wait a … Had they a joint on the go out there? Why would they sneak out on him? Did they … They couldn’t possibly think he was a disapproving adult?
He swung his feet to the floor and went outside. Barty had a reefer in his hand.
Suddenly Liam was angry. This was bad manners. ‘Hey! Why are you sneaking around with your doobie? Not cool.’
Ferdia and Barty exchanged amused glances.
‘Yup. It’s not cool.’ Barty wheezed with mirth and passed the joint to Ferdia.
Liam’s stare was cold. The little prick.
‘Give him a toke,’ Barty said to Ferdia. ‘G’wan, give the oul fella a toke.’
At this, Sammie lay back on the deck and laughed and laughed. ‘Sorry,’ she tried to say to Liam. ‘I’m sorry.’ She sat up again. ‘I’m not laughing at you. I’m just a bit …’
Stung and confused, Liam was trying to figure this out. Sammie was laughing at him. Barty did think he was old. It was total bullshit. Liam knew he was cool – he’d always been cool. ‘You keep your little joint, kiddos,’ he said. ‘Careful you don’t get too stoned.’
Tonight was the ‘relaxed’ part of the anniversary celebrations: a session and a sing-song in Canice Casey’s favourite pub. An open bar had been laid on for the townspeople who hadn’t made the cut for the lavish dinner on Saturday night.
Nell had had the foresight to borrow appropriate clothes. Tonight was a crisp cotton shirtdress in pale grey. She wound her pink hair into a bun on the crown of her head and shoved her feet into her ancient Birkenstocks.
In the living room, Liam was lounging on an armchair, several empty beer bottles on the floor beside him. Doritos bags littered the table.
Sammie looked up. ‘Nell! You look fucking amazing.’
‘Thanks, hon. Hey, Liam, we’d better go. You guys coming?’
‘Yep,’ Ferdia said. ‘Free bar, right?’
Liam narrowed his eyes at him. ‘Say what?’
‘Say what, what?’ Ferdia replied.
Oh, for God’s sake! ‘Where are the car keys?’ Nell asked.
‘What do you need them for?’ Liam said.
‘To drive the car.’
‘It’s only a few kilometres.’
‘I’ll be coming home on my own.’
‘Why’s that?’
You know why. ‘Because as soon as everyone’s drunk enough not to notice, I’m sloping back here to work.’
‘You won’t get parking in town.’
Nell noticed Ferdia watching this exchange. He seemed to be enjoying it and she felt angry. ‘And maybe I might,’ she said pointedly. ‘Let’s be positive.’
‘There’s a spot!’ Sammie said to Nell. ‘Just there. Your man is coming out.’
‘Thank you, you awesome creature.’
‘It’s a bit narrow,’ Liam said. ‘Don’t scratch my car.’
She took a breath. ‘I. Won’t.’
She slid the car in and the five of them piled out.
FORTY-FIVE
When Liam pulled the pub door open, a roar of heat and noise hit them. The place was rammed.
Nell spotted Canice standing about halfway down, big, balding, boomy, a pint in his hand. He was loudly holding forth, surrounded by those who probably depended on his patronage for a good portion of their livelihood. Bursts of raucous laughter accompanied his every remark.
Rose, beside him, perched on a high stool, dressed in a spangled cocktail frock, was similarly garlanded with sycophants.
Liam pushed his way through the crowd and Nell followed. ‘Congratulations, Rose,’ she said politely. ‘Congratulations, Canice. Fifty years. That’s, ah … awesome.’
She wasn’t certain if a hug might be in order. But the imperious bow Rose gave disabused her of any such notions.
‘Who’s this?’ her mother-in-law asked, with a cold smile. ‘Ferdia? Oh, Jessie’s boy. Good Lord, you’ve got very … hairy. And here’s Barty. Honestly, I feel I see Barty more than I do my own flesh-and-blood. Not that you’re my flesh-and-blood, Ferdia.’
Nell hoicked Sammie forward to introduce her, then set her free. Time to end this chat, before Rose got really nasty.
‘What’ll you have to drink?’ Canice bellowed at Liam.
‘Pint, thanks,’ Liam said.
‘Nellie, my girl?’
‘Fizzy water.’
‘Not drinking? What’s up with you?’ Canice winked.
‘Ugh, I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you’re getting at.’
His eyes bulged. She’d shocked him. Shocked several people, she realized, to go by the sudden lull.
‘Young lady, I beg your pardon,’ Canice blustered.
She smiled and repeated, ‘A fizzy water, please.’
It was produced in jig-time by a nervous-seeming boy. He reminded her of a bar-keep in a Western, poised to duck down behind the counter just before the shooting started. She took her drink, smiled again at Canice, at Rose, at Liam, then pushed away from the bar, feeling their eyes on her back.
Being stone-cold sober was hard when everyone else was knocking them back – and everyone really was. Johnny was in the thick of things, regaling a crowd with funny story after funny story but his energy was fractured, almost glinting from him, like flint sparks. Jessie, her eyes too bright, was flitting around, being everywhere at once.
Cara grabbed Nell’s arm and locked her into a strange, dark conversation where she insisted over and over that Nell didn’t know how beautiful she was. ‘Don’t let anyone ever body-shame you, Nell. Do you promise me? Promise me!’
Even Ed, normally calm and upbeat, was sculling pints with a quiet desperation.
It was quite mad how scared everyone was of Canice and Rose. Yes, they were terrible people, but Johnny was ancient, heading for fifty. Far too old to be scared of his dad!
It
was also hard having to yell to be heard and answering the same questions again and again. After an hour of shouty, repetitious shite, she struggled through the crowd to Liam. ‘Have you the key?’
‘Why’d you say that to my dad?’
‘What? Oh? About being pregnant? Because I’m not.’
‘You shouldn’t have. He’s furious.’
He was always furious. ‘Key?’
‘That little fuck Ferdia took it.’
She had to push hard through the dense knots of people until she reached Ferdia and his gang clustered in a corner, down near the back. ‘I need the key.’
‘Why are you leaving?’
‘Work. I’ve a big-deal presentation on Monday.’
‘Woo-hoo for you.’
Steadily she looked at him. ‘Key?’
‘I was trying to be funny.’ He was sheepish and clearly drunk. ‘Epic fail.’
‘You’re gas,’ she said, with polite sarcasm. ‘Key.’
He handed it over. ‘How will we get in?’
‘Knock. I’ll open the door.’
‘What if you’re asleep? Oh, but you won’t be, right? You have your big-deal presentation on Monday to prepare for.’
She rolled her eyes, fought her way back down the pub, then slipped out into the mild night, exhaling with relief.
FORTY-SIX
Ferdia opened his eyes into darkness. He felt he’d been asleep for a long time during which the world had altered irreversibly, but it was only 1.43 a.m., less than an hour since he and Sammie had gone to bed. Now he was wide awake with so much of the night still to get through.
The reality of losing Sammie had settled in him, like a ball on a lottery wheel coming to a final rest. It was too hard to stay here with these thoughts. Sliding from the bed, he located some sweats and a T-shirt on the floor, grabbed his phone and slipped out onto the deck. Listening to the rush and hush of the waves, he lay on a lounger and his eyes began to adjust to the dark. The white foam of the wave caps became visible and – What the fu–! A noise! Behind him! A rat?
A woman’s voice – Nell’s – said, ‘Who’s that? Ferdia? You gave me a fright!’
